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lovebugism · 2 months ago

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✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all.

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water.

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls.

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him.

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you.

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura.

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes.

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you.

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him.

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now.

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you.

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that.

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath.

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is.

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames.

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended.

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now.

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way.

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before.

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens. “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame.

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs.

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands.

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath.

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air.

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in.

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now.

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more.

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward.

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours.

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…”

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor.

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’.

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure.

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away.

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver.

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

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4ever-feral · 2 months ago

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HES SO SLUTTY & IM ON MY KNEES YESS SIRR 😩🫦

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talaok · 2 months ago

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Give up

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun.

Warnings: big ass unspecified age gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie and he's nervous and he's not so very sure about this bc of how old he is + he's out of practice. smut| oral (m and f receiving) and swallowing you know what. sub!Joel vibez all around

Pt. 2

This wasn't anything new.

The fact that he was coming over wasn't at all surprising to either of you.

You always found a way to be around him, and no matter how he ignored your every attempt at flirting- he never said no.

It had taken all of two minutes.

You'd knocked on his door, your best little skirt and tight little top on, and faked a pout as you told him:

"There's something wrong with the shower again Mr. Miller"

To his defense, Joel really tried not to stare at your ass as you walked right in front of him to guide him to your house, but that fucking skirt seemed more of a joke than anything.

You both knew there was nothing wrong with your shower, the switch that granted the hot water had just mysteriously turned itself off once again.

This had been going on for months now, since he first arrived in Jackson... since you knocked at his door that one chilly morning to introduce yourself to your new neighbor-

All it took was one look, and you were hooked.

He was gonna be yours.

"there- 's hot" he nodded, shutting the water off once he'd made sure it worked properly again, before drying his hands on his pants.

"thank you so much Joel" you smiled wider than necessary "What can I do to thank you?"

And no, you didn't even try to make your words not sound dirty, quite the opposite actually.

He cleared his throat, his eyes breaking from yours in a nervous shift.

You always did that- had this annoying effect on him.

"'s nothing darlin'" he shook his head, "didn't even take five minutes"

"Still- I feel like I owe you," you said, biting down a smirk

Shitshitshit

"How 'bout some cake?" you suggested just as he was about to have a stroke.

"sounds good"

__ __ __

"'s real good darlin'"

"thank you" you smiled happily, watching him clear his plate in under a minute

Yeah... you were a great baker, what can I say

"you want another slice?"

"You spoil me sugar," he laughed, patting his belly "I can't"

"alright" You couldn't help but softly laugh as you placed his plate in the sink.

You caught him looking away just as you turned around, which made you smile to yourself, a smile that only widened when you noticed the chocolate on the corner of his mouth.

"Oh Joel"

"Mh?"

You sat beside him at the table, your legs brushing against one another as you leaned closer.

"You've got something... right here"

You swiped the chocolate off with your pointer finger, making a show of popping it into your mouth to clean it.

His eyes remained transfixed on you as your tongue licked your digit clean until you were finally done with a loud pop.

"Jesus"

"What?" you smirked, knowing exactly what "that gave you some ideas?"

"babygirl-" he stopped you immediately, shaking his head

"Oh c'mon Joel" you pouted, your hand going to rest on his forearm "What's a girl gotta do to get you to give up?"

He blinked, looking at you intently and nervously altogether.

"Why do ya even care about an old man like me sweetie?"

You couldn't help but laugh "Have you ever looked in a mirror, Joel?"

You swore you saw pink flood his cheeks- the man was blushing.

"Plus you're kind... and funny when you want to.... and you make me feel-" you bit your lip, trying to find the right word "safe... you make me feel safe"

He scratched his beard, but you couldn't help but notice he hadn't used the arm your hand was still on.

"'m sure there's boys here that are funnier and kinder and make you feel even safer babygirl" he spoke gently "Pretty sure most of them are prayin' you give 'em a chance actually"

You hummed, raising a brow

"but what if I don't want them?"

"You want an old man instead?" he huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.

You rolled your eyes "How old even are you?"

"old enough to be your father darlin'"

God, maybe there was something wrong with you, but those words only made your need for him burn harder.

"so?"

"so I ain't even supposed to look your way babygirl- it ain't right"

"But why?" you pouted "Shouldn't I get to have a say in what's right and wrong for me?"

He sighed, not really knowing what to answer to that.

"What if I don't care?" you spoke softly, your pointer finger on his chest, circling his pec "What if I like you, Joel? what if I wanted to show you just how much right now?"

"sweetheart" he started, shaking his head

"You'd stop me?"

And there it was, the pause... your way in.

"Joel?" you called for him, your voice sickly sweet "Would you?"

He couldn't do anything but tell the truth when you were looking at him like that.

"I don't think any man in his right mind could or would ever stop you darlin'"

Satisfaction took over your whole body.

"no?" you teased, grinning like a cat "Not even if he's old enough to be my father?"

He sighed, what looked like resignation in his eyes.

"I'm just a man sweetheart"

And that- that got him the biggest smirk ever known to man.

There was no sound, it was like the word got quiet as you stood up, placed your hands on his thighs, and slowly kneeled between his legs.

He didn't know what to do, he was genuinely frozen, torn between guilt and attraction, the need to let go, to finally do this- that his brain was short-circuiting.

You took advantage of his silence, making quick work of his zipper, and pulling down his boxers just enough to free his cock...

All your speculations got proven right there- he was huge.

"oh wow," you bit down a grin as you watched your fingers struggle to wrap around his whole base.

You gave him a tentative squeeze, and the strained groan rumbling from his chest was just about the hottest thing you'd ever heard.

"y-you- f-fuck"

You stopped him before he could start protesting, your tongue sliding slowly on his tip before leaving a little kiss right on top.

"You're so big" you hummed, your tongue licking him up from base to head, feeling every vein and twitch of his member.

He was looking down at you just as you looked at him, and he seemed... mesmerized, like he couldn't believe this was really happening, that this wasn't another one of the dreams he'd get about you at night, and that it was really your lips wrapping around him.

Goddamnit

You had barely a little more than his tip in your mouth and he was already gone- and I mean gone gone.

He couldn't even remember why he'd spent so long ignoring your not-so-subtle hints-

Just a minute ago he wanted to tell you that no, you don't gotta do that, and ask you sure about this? - But now... now all he could do was throw his head back as he realized that his lack of practice these past few years had really gotten to him, and that he already had to grab at the chair beneath him with all his strength as he tried not to come embarrassingly fast.

You hummed around his cock, and he couldn't stop his hips from thrusting upwards, a small choking sound fleeing your throat.

"goddamnit, 'm sorry baby-"

But the moment he looked down at you, he saw everything but anger... you seemed happy- you were begging him to do it again with your eyes.

But he couldn't, and part of you already knew that.

He shook his head slowly, still trying to think as straight as he could given the situation, but while he was busy with that... you settled for the next best thing... you forced his manhood down your throat all on your own.

The groan he let out was damn near feral.

You couldn't actually get all of it down there, it was the biggest dick you'd ever seen in your life after all, but you swore that with a little bit of practice (that he'd hopefully grant you), you'd get there.

Still, he didn't really seem bothered or in any way disappointed by your inability.

It was an indescribable feeling seeing this tough, rugged man shiver with pleasure before you, his eyes shut and knuckles white with the effort of gripping onto something.

"I- fuck"

He didn't even know what he wanted to say, he just... it felt so fucking good

Your head was back on bobbing up and down his length, and what used to be groans had turned to moans coming out of his mouth.

"Y-you've gotta-" he swallowed, his sentence interrupted by the feeling of your fingers playing with his balls.

"Y-you've got t-" to stop

But you were choking on his girth again

"I-'m gonna-" come

You watched him struggle with his words, his breathing, and his self-control with what would have been a huge smirk on your face if your mouth hadn't been so preoccupied.

You knew he was about to come already, it really wasn't hard to understand,

You also knew that if you stopped now there was a chance you'd get to do more later- but really, this was something too perfect to leave halfway done, and besides... you feared that if you went with your initial plan of straddling his lap and riding the man to heaven, you'd leave him traumatized.

So you didn't stop, you kept massaging his balls as you worked his dick in and out your mouth, ever so often forcing him as deep as you could and choking while drool and saliva dripped down your chin.

"J-Jesus, sweetheart- I-"

All his words came out in rugged breaths, barely coherent- his eyes were back on you, shadows of lust and need darkening his iris as his right hand went to your cheek, a gesture almost too sweet considering what you were doing.

"F-fuck"

And that was it.

He groaned so loud you probably could hear him from outside the house as he reached his climax, rope after rope of his come filling your mouth and throat.

Joel Miller had come in your mouth... and it couldn't have been any more perfect.

You didn't take your eyes off him for one second. You greedily swallowed all his spent as he breathed heavily, eyes still closed.

His dick was softening in your hand as you pulled his boxers back on top of it, a little wave of disappointment washing over your gut.

It's ok, I'll see it again soon

Just as you were plotting exactly how you were gonna get in his pants in the future, his voice startled you

"I-I don't know what to say"

A soft smile pulled at your lips

"You don't have to say anything" you reassured him as you sat back on your chair, your eyes inevitably falling back to where his boxers peeked from the unfasted fly.

"now- I won't keep you hostage any longer, 'm sure you have important stuff to do back at your house"

The frowns on his forehead deepened as his eyebrows came together in confusion.

"What?"

Now you were confused.

"I'm just saying- thank you for... this" You bit down a smile "You know how long I've been wanting it- and you can bet your ass we're doing it and more, again and again, and again" his eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount and you had to stifle a laugh "but... I'm letting you free for tonight"

He took his time to say something.

Silence wrapped around you for a good minute before he was able to mumble something.

"sweetheart-" he cleared his throat to try and clear his thoughts "I-I dunno how you're used to... bein' treated, but this ain't over"

A spark of excitement ignited in your belly

He couldn't mean...

"unless you want it to be, of course"

Oh my

"I definitely don't want it to be" you hastily spoke, almost breathless "but I would like to know what you... mean"

I mean, not to be prejudiced, but you very much doubted he could get it up again so quickly given his... well, age.

He cleared his throat again and you finally realized it was just a nervous tic and he didn't actually feel the need to.

"You should be on a bed" he avoided your question

You couldn't help but smile as you got up

"Such a gentleman"

"that's the last word that comes to mind right now" was all he grumbled

__ __ __

"sit"

that's all he said, and now there you were, sitting on your bed as he looked at you with a mix of lust and uncertainty.

Until he finally did it- he crouched between your legs.

He cleared his throat again, and you felt on the urge of cumbusting.

he was gonna eat you out

You'd only ever done this once, and even then you had to basically beg the guy, just for him to be god-awful at it.

Somehow you had a feeling Joel wasn't gonna be bad at all.

"You sure about this, yeah?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

He could probably ask you to put it up your ass and you'd say yes.

"Yes Joel, I'm 100% positive"

He gave you a little nod, and his hands- his big, strong hands- went to your thighs.

You watched him as if he'd disappear at any moment as he slowly- oh so very slowly- took your skirt off.

He swallowed tightly as his eyes fell on your clothed cunt.

If you didn't know any better you would have guessed he was holding his breath as he got rid of your panties.

"Jesus Christ"

I shouldn't be doing this- I really shouldn't be fucking doing this.

She's not even half my age- she's a kid for god's sake- I'm fucking disgustin-

Every single thought in his mind turned to dust the moment you spread your legs- the moment your wet, drenched, pussy came fully into view.

"Y-you-"

he didn't even remember what he wanted to say- and he didn't remember when his thumb had decided to find your folds, but it had.

He heard a whimper leave your mouth and he felt his cock twitch in his pants, hardening again.

It usually took him a whole fucking hour to get hard again

He looked up at you, and you looked hotter than ever before.

Your cheeks were flushed, your bottom lip was between your teeth, and you looked so... perfect.

"I haven't done this in a- while"

As he spoke those words he hoped you'd think he only meant this... as if you'd actually care about how he hadn't gotten laid in years.

"'s ok Joel" you nodded, smiling encouragingly.

He swallowed again, his gaze slowly lowering.

He couldn't believe you were this wet for him- a pretty thing like you.

His thumb moved, gently sliding up and up and up, until he found your clit, earning another little moan.

Fuck

He circled the little bud, and your cries got a little higher and he swore- he swore going to hell was worth it, worth this.

He had to taste you- fuck, he'd been dreaming about the taste of you since he first saw you- So with all the carefulness in the word, he bent down, his lips finding your soft thighs.

He could see your belly inflate and deflate with your exited breaths as he kissed his way closer and closer to your heat, until he was right there, and he couldn't help but leave a kiss on your mound, on the hair covering it so very nicely.

"Joel-" your voice was strangled "please"

If it had been twenty years ago he would have said something cocky like "'s ok baby, it's coming", his whole demeanor would have been very different too. He used to be in charge in the bedroom, always- he used to feel smug and sure of himself, but now... now he was old and out of practice, and he was... he was nervous.

But all it took was to look up at you, at those beautiful pleading eyes, to find the courage.

You wanted this. You wanted him.

And you tasted better than he could have ever fucking imagined.

A deep, feral groan rumbled in his chest as his tongue passed between your folds, as he gathered all your slickness on his taste buds, all that sweet sweet juice that felt like fucking heaven.

Yeah, now I remember why I used to love this so much

You were moaning like a desperate little thing above him, your thighs squeezing his face as your feet clung to his torso.

And he was gripping the outside of your legs, keeping you as close to him as humanly possible, his face as deep in your core as it would go.

His nose was rubbing against your clit in a way that made you see stars, and he was still lapping, not focusing on anywhere in particular, just aimlessly and desperately feeding off of you.

"Oh my god Joel-" you gasped as two of his fingers found their way inside of you.

His movements were slow, he didn't wanna hurt you, and he wanted to find what made you feel good, which is why he kept exploring until his digits curled up into that sweet cushy part of you, and he felt you squeeze him as you threw your head back.

"f-fuck!"

Your left hand had traveled to his locks, gripping them tightly as your hips frantically moved against his face to try and seek more.

His mouth was focusing only on your clit now, thoroughly sucking on it- and just when you thought this couldn't get any better, that this was the most pleasure you'd ever experienced and there was no way he would be able to top this- another one of his big, thick fingers pushed into you.

The cry you let out was something Joel would be thinking of until he was six feet under.

Three of his fingers were so much more than what you were used to.

"J-Joel" you whimpered actual tears staining your vision as you looked down at him "Oh my fucking g-god Joel"

Your gut had been right. He was really fucking good at this

He was watching you, studying every little face you made as the squelching of his fingers moving inside of you filled the room together with your moans.

"I-I'm coming"

You could barely finish the sentence that the world went bright, and the purest pleasure you'd ever felt erupted in your body with a million different blasts.

For a whole minute, you were in another universe- and Joel eagerly enjoyed the show, not stopping his movements for even a fraction of a second.

You feared the moment you opened your eyes you'd wake up in your bed after yet another dream about this man- and yet he was still here, looking up at you with only adoration in his eyes.

He couldn't help but steal another little kiss on your core before he leaned away.

"well... wow" you smiled like an idiot, your breathing still a little labored "You know what you're doing Mr. Miller"

He didn't say anything, but you saw pink flush his cheeks again as he let your legs go, robbing you of his touch.

You would have been disappointed if it wasn't for the fact he was very clearly having trouble not having his gaze fall down to your heat.

You smiled to yourself as you accepted the skirt he quietly handed you.

Seeing you standing before him with it on when he knew you were bare and wet underneath made Joel's brain freeze for a moment, but that was of course, until you stood on your tiptoes, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"thank you for this Joel"

Your voice was so sweet it sounded angelic to his ears- but the sweetness was replaced by something very different very quickly.

As you stood back down to your normal height, your body, being flushed against Joel's, came in contact with something that very much piqued your interest.

he was hard- very fucking hard

"no babygirl"

he was already shaking his head, crushing all your dreams

"but-"

"I can't" his tone was firm, although you could still hear restraint behind his words, like it was costing him a lot to say no.

"It feels to me like you very much can" you rebutted, smirking softly.

"I- it ain't right"

Oh my god

It took a lot not to roll your eyes "I thought we were past that whole thing" you said, cocking an eyebrow "Do I need to remind you what you were doing just a minute ago?"

"that's different"

"How?"

"it just is"

"what if I beg you Joel?" you purred, your best doe eyes looking up at him "What if I told you about how much I'd like to feel your cock inside of me? How desperate I am for it, Joel- how much I need it"

He was gonna go home and punch himself in the face for what he was about to say.

But it was true, he couldn't. It wasn't right- he needed... to think about it at least

"darlin'" he spoke softly "I can't... not right now"

there it is

The smirk that pulled at your lips was the most mischievous thing in the world.

"right now" you repeated his words, biting your lip as you played with the hem of his flannel "I can live with that- but Joel...don't even think this is over"

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javierpena-inatacvest · 4 months ago

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Me, You, and Baby, Too

Summary: You and Joel have always wanted kids, but didn't want to rush into having them until you both were ready. After a surprise at his job, Joel realizes there's nothing more he wants to do than put a baby in you as soon as he gets home.

Pairing: Husband!Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (it's baby making time, so hush), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big ole fat and nasty breeding kink (.... don't look at me it's bad), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Joel "Daddy" (in the sense you want to have his babies, but also 🤷🏼‍♀️), Sweet soft Joel who loves his wife and would give her the universe if he could, honestly with just the way Joel is talking about makin' babies, I think I'm pregnant

A/N: It's that time of the month where Madeline ovulates and writes feral breeding kink smut!!! 🤪 Okay I am so nervous to post this because I have never written for Joel before and I'm worried it's trash with a capital T, but after re-watching TLOU, I need 2003 Joel Miller carnally, so here we are. This is also inspired by @mrsmando post about 2003 Joel Miller constantly keeping you barefoot and pregnant because it made me unwell, and no lies were told. (thanks for ruining my life mimi) 🤠 ANYWHO I hope you guys like it, and if not, I'll shut up and go back to writing Javi and Frankie and pretend like this didn't happen

There were a lot of stereotypical answers that you expected from your husband when you asked him how his day at work had been:

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Long.”

“My knees are killin’ me.”

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.”

“Better now that I’m home with you.”

So when Joel arrived home today after a new job he had started with Tommy on a bathroom renovation, there were few things that could have prepared you for the response your husband had when you asked him how his day had gone.

“Hey, honey. How was your day today?” You smiled, watching Joel stroll in through your front door, kicking off his work boots at the entryway, beginning to put away his things before strolling into the kitchen to greet you.

“Pretty good." He paused, leaning in for a quick kiss before making his way over to the closet before speaking again. "Saw a real cute baby today.”

You could practically feel your heart skip a beat as you looked up from the vegetables you had been cutting up for dinner, tightening the grip you had around your knife to make sure you didn’t drop it in shock.

Out of all the things for Joel to bring up on the first day at a new job, a cute baby had been at the top of the list.

Not floor plans.

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did.

Not even what he had done today on the job.

The top news that Joel Miller had to report back to you about his day was the sighting of a cute baby.

You and Joel had always agreed that you’d wanted kids, and your husband had been not only adamant, but genuinely excited at the prospect of becoming a dad. But only being a little less than a year into your marriage, the two of you had decided you didn’t want to rush into anything, and when the time felt right, you’d both know it.

But one by one, as your friends began to announce their pregnancies, baby showers, and pictures of their adorable newborns, you couldn’t help but deny the baby fever starting to burn hotter and hotter inside you with every passing day.

You’d brought it up in passing a few times with Joel, talking about your friends who had kids, or a cute mom and her children you saw walking around in your neighborhood, and while he had always had a positive response to what you had to say, you just had a feeling that now just wasn’t the time for the two of you yet, and that was okay.

But here you were, standing in your kitchen, jaw practically scraping the ground at the notion that your husband had dropped just about the least subtle hint ever that babies weren’t just at the forefront of your mind- they were on his, too.

“Awh, really?” You asked, shaking your head to snap out of your shocked state, returning back to dice the onion you had been working on before Joel could turn around to see you after finishing hanging up his things in the closet, trying to subtly coax more information out of him.

“Yeah.” He smiled, joining you in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his chest for a soft kiss to greet you, “The family we’re startin’ the bathroom reno for just moved in. Had their first baby a few months ago and just hadn’t had time to work on fixin’ things.”

“So they’re already putting the baby to work with you and Tommy?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at Joel playfully, giving him a quick peck back on the lips as he laughed at your sass.

“Cheap labor.” Joel shrugged back, playing into the joke, “Nah, she woke up from her nap while Tommy and I were runnin’ through some measurements so her mom brought her out for the last lil bit we were there. She was damn cute, too. Just smilin’ and laughin’ at everything.”

You were glad Joel’s arm was still wrapped around your hip, because you were convinced if it wasn’t, you were about to melt to the floor into a puddle, watching how soft and sweet Joel was talking about a cute, smiling baby.

“Well a cute baby definitely sounds like a very nice perk of being on the job.” You smirked, trying to play it cool enough to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest.

“Yeah.” Joel replied softly, quietly pausing for a moment, watching the gears turning in his brain, carefully calculating his words before he spoke.

“You okay?” You asked, looking up at Joel, knowing your husband well enough that he had something on his mind he was trying to work up the confidence to spit out.

Joel looked back down at you, big brown eyes locking with yours as his grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, tongue swiping against his plush bottom lip as he took a long, deep breath in and slow exhale out.

“Honey, what is it?” You asked again, now slightly concerned with how nervous your husband looked in his stoic silence, reaching up to gently wrap your fingers around his arm, thumb stroking his skin.

“I want one.”

You froze, worried that your heart may have actually stopped as you looked at Joel, making sure that you had really just heard what he had said.

“W-what?”

“I want one. A baby. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and seein’ that baby today, it just- shit, I just couldn’t stop picturin’ what it would be like to have one of our own I guess.”

If you weren’t a puddle before, you sure as fuck were now.

An overwhelming sensation of nerves and excitement began thrumming through your veins, your heart beat pounding in your ears as your face grew warm and a smile started to spread between your cheeks. You were almost certain you had to be dreaming, asking again to make sure that someone needed to come and wake you up and send you back to reality.

“Joel… Really?”

“Yeah, really. Nothin’ I want more. I know I ain’t gonna even be close to the perfect dad, but I know you’ll be sucha good mom, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want some tiny lil versions of us runnin’ around. Couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. Like I said, I know that we ain’t talked about in a while, and if ya aren’t ready yet that’s okay but I-”

Before Joel could even finish the rest of his thought, you were pressing up to plant your lips to his with passionate intensity, hands roaming up his chest before cupping his jaw and the scratchy stubble of his cheeks while your stomach flipped with arousal and want, already feeling a damp patch beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear.

You pulled away, kisses traveling along his jawline and up his neck until you were nipping at his ear, the hot breath of your words whispering against his skin.

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?”

“Fuck-” Joel groaned, reaching his other arm around you grab at your ass, pulling you in tight enough to feel the bulge beginning to grow under the denim of his worn jeans, pressing against your thigh.

“‘Cause there’s nothing that I want more than to make you a daddy.” You smirked, looking up to watch Joel’s eyes darken with lust, jaw going slack as a low groan rumbled in his chest, his once half hard cock now fully erect and straining against his zipper, trying to keep from giggling watching your husband try to string together any sort of thoughts to speak.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” He moaned, running his hand over his face to try and regain his composure to keep from busting right then and there. “You- fuck, you sure, baby?”

“Mhmmmm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my whole life. So sure,” you paused, softly pressing your lips to his between words, “that I think we should go make one right now.”

Your adamant confirmation was all it took to set off something almost animalistic in Joel, crashing his lips back into yours in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, gripping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up around his hips and lock your legs behind the small of his back. Without ever letting your mouths part, Joel was already halfway to the bedroom before you had even realized it, playfully giggling at how frantically he was carrying you down the hallway, your bodies bumping against the walls and door frames, too focused on desperate and needy kisses for any sort of spatial awareness.

Finally reaching your bed, Joel carefully laid you down, letting your back fall into the mattress, leaving your lower half to hang off the edge before your husband was on his knees, settling himself between your parted thighs.

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Joel tightened his grip around the meat of your legs, peppering kisses up the inside of each across your soft skin before coming face to face with your core, planting another soft kiss there before letting his fingers ghost over your heat, still covered by your jeans.

He rapidly worked at the button of your pants, shuffling them down off your hips to reveal your underwear, now absolutely soaked with arousal from the prospect alone of Joel knocking you up and carrying his baby.

“Jesus Christ, baby girl, look at ‘cha.” Joel tutted, admiring how the cotton of your underwear clung to the outline of your cunt, sticking to the puffy and swollen lips of your pussy from how wet you were. “Haven’t even touched ya yet. This all for me, darlin’?”

Just as you began to try and answer, Joel took one of his fingers, barely dragging it over the damp fabric before beginning to rub soft circles over your covered clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you at the electric sensation.

“F-fuck- It’s all for you, b-baby.” You stammered, moaning even louder as a second finger joined the first, pressing more pressure into you sensitive nub as he nudged each of your legs to drape over his shoulders, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your underwear, making you instinctually lift your hips as he yanked them off your legs to crumple in a messy pile with your pants.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel mewled, running his fingers up and down through the weeping seams of your folds, toying with your entrance while draping his arm across your hips to hold your squirming lower half in place. “Wants me to fuck her full of me and fill her up so bad, huh?”

“P-please, Joel. Want you to fill me up so badly.” You whimpered, staring down at your husband, a devilish grin spread across his face, licking his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your blissed out face and the glistening mess between your thighs.

“I will sweetheart, promise. Gotta taste you first though, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice n’ready for me. ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till I knock you up.”

With that, Joel was diving between your legs, lapping you up in long and firm strokes, pressing against your clit in the way he knew would make you fall apart under his tongue. While he would have loved to have spend hours just like this, making you writhe under his touch, drinking up your arousal like a wandering man parched in the heat of the desert, Joel had one thing on his mind, and one thing only-

To get you pregnant.

Joel began to intensify the pace of his tongue, swirling and sucking around your clit as two of his thick fingers pushed into your heat, sliding in and out of your entrance with ease from how wet and worked up you were. Curling his fingers ever so slightly, you cried out as Joel bumped against your g-spot, pushing against the soft, spongy spot as his tongue worked its magic.

You could feel the arousal shooting through your veins, heat beginning to bloom in your stomach as Joel fucked you with his fingers and mouth, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his thick, brown hair to brace yourself for your impending orgasm.

“J-Joel, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” You whined, pussy beginning to flutter around Joel’s fingers, the tightening only egging him on further to get you to cross the finish line.

With just a little more pressure of his tongue, Joel could feel your cunt clamping down around his digits, watching the pleasure shoot through your body as you came, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami.

As you reached your high, Joel drank up your arousal, not faltering in his pace, too focused on your pretty cries of his name being chanted like a prayer to do anything but keep going and making you feel good.

Truth be told, Joel had gotten so lost between your thighs, the only thing stopping him was the tensing feeling between his, so pussy drunk and determined to fuck you full of him that he was worried he was about to cum too if he didn’t stop.

Pulling off you, Joel frantically stood up, racing to undo his belt and jeans, yanking them down his legs in tandem with his boxers as his cock slapped against his stomach, precum already pearling from his tip, desperate to be inside of you. His shirt quickly followed his pants, ripping it over his head as his broad body caged yours under him, helping you to scoot back on the bed until your head hit the pillows, trailing kisses up and down your body the whole way.

As Joel kissed and nipped at your skin, you quickly shuffled off your top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him, moaning as his tongue flicked against each of your newly exposed pebbled nipples, grouping your breast and kneading the soft flesh in his palms.

Even though you had just came, you could already feel your cunt starting to clench around nothing, desperate to feel Joel inside of you, to stretch you out with his thick cock and fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. But with the way your chest was heaving and breath shaking from your orgasm, you could barely muster out the words you wanted.

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.”

You snaked your hand between your bodies to reach for Joel’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his length and swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you stroked him, trying to guide him to slide between your legs and ease your ache.

Lowering his hips, you moved your hand and let his replace it, Joel pumping himself a few times before guiding his tip between your folds, collecting your slick to coat his cock, using every last ounce of self-control he had as his eyes locked with yours, wanting to see your face as he pushed inside you.

“Please, what, darlin’?” Joel teased, knowing damn well what you were begging for.

“Need to feel you, Joel. Need you to put a baby in me.” You moaned, reaching up to grab his face, your palm rubbing against his stubble as your fingers tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck.

With one more pump, Joel lined himself up with your entrance, sliding into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting of his length making the breath hitch in the back of your throat, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you with his tip just kissing your cervix.

Joel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your mouth fall open, parted lips letting a soft moan escape while your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the newfound sensation, giving you another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your core.

“Christ, baby girl, so wet and tight. Like this pussy was made just for me. Made for me to fuck ya full of me until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take.” Joel groaned, reaching down to grab your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest, stretching you open to take Joel even deeper, practically feeling him in your stomach with the position he had you in.

“Joel, oh my god- fuck, you feel so good. Fuck, baby. Want you to fill me up so bad.” You whimpered, Joel now beginning to pick up his pace as he thrust in and out of you, continually punching in that perfect spot over and over again, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting.

Joel’s fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your legs down just far enough to be chest to chest with you, the sweat dampened curls of his forehead brushing against yours as your mouths met in an electric kiss, catching each other’s muffled moans with each snap of Joel’s hips.

“Yeah, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you? Let everyone see what a pretty momma you are, carryin’ our kid?” Joel grunted, picturing you, months from now, belly round and tits swollen, pregnant with your baby, wondering how many you’d let him give you, because fuck, he’d keep knocking you up until he had nothing left to give.

Each push and pull of your bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in your stomach with the way Joel was pounding into you and the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, already feeling yourself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure once again.

“Yes, fuck, fuck- yes, Joel. I wanna have your baby. Want you to knock me up so I can make you a daddy. Please, baby, please.” You were all but sobbing at this point, your fingers digging into the tan and sweat sheened skin of Joel’s broad shoulders, overwhelmed by the lewd combinations of Joel’s heavy pants in your ear and wet squelching of your pussy as his pelvis flushed against yours repeatedly.

Joel could feel you beginning to tighten around him, pussy sucking him in with its warmth and wetness, ready to clamp around his cock and milk him for all he was worth.

“That’s it, darlin’, I know you’re close. Gotta cum for me first though, baby girl. Gotta feel ya soak me before I stuff ya so full of me, I swear t’god, you’ll be drippin’ outta me for days. So fuckin’ full that I’ll get you pregnant right now.” Joel groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab your leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before you lifted your other to join it, locking your ankles to keep him as close to you as possible.

“Joel, oh my god, fuck baby, fuck, I’m gonna- fuckfuckfuck-”

Suddenly, your orgasm was rushing through every inch of you, crying out as the pleasure hit you like a freight train, choking Joel’s cock with your pussy, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had you nearly floating out of your own body.

While Joel would have kept fucking you until the sun went down, the truth was he was relieved to feel you cum, spending every second since your agreement in the kitchen trying to keep from finishing until he was balls deep inside you and you were soaking his cock as you reached your high. The realization that now was his chance to make good on his promise, to fill you up and fuck a baby into you, ignited something primal, feral, in him, pounding into you at a punishing pace as he could feel himself teetering on the brink of collapse right with you.

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Shit, I’m gonna cum too, fuck- gonna fill this tight lil pussy up so goddamn much, give you a baby, make you a momma, oh fuck!”

With one final stutter of his hips, Joel let out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milked himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his spend, making sure nothing went to waste.

He couldn’t help but but press even further into you, plugging you with his length and fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it took, collapsing on top of you with his cock still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both caught your breath.

Joel was convinced he had never cum so much in his entire life, afraid that if he pulled out, that somehow he’d have more left to give, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk letting anything coming out of him end up not inside of you.

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him.

“Joel, baby, I love you but you’re kinda squishing me.” You huffed, giggling to yourself as you watched your husband come-to in real time out of his post-orgasmic state, immediately offering a half muttered apology as he rolled off you, sitting back on his knees to admire the shiny and slick mess between your legs.

“Fuck me…” Joel murmured to himself, eyes wide as he stared at your pussy- wet, puffy and soaking with your arousal, bringing his fingers to your spent hole as he watched a dribble of his cum begin to leak out. Gently scooping it up, he collected everything he could, pressing it back into your cunt before pulling his hand out. Crawling up the bed to lay next to you, Joel wrapped you up in his arms as the little spoon, peppering ticklish kisses over your back and shoulders, making you burst into laughter.

“Joel, stop! That tickles!” You squealed, squirming in his grasp, trying to defend yourself from his unrelenting attack of soft, plush lips and scratchy beard dancing across your skin.

“Don’t laugh so damn hard, or all my hard work’s ‘bout to come out!” Joel teased, giving you a playful nudge, pulling you in even closer.

“Stop making me laugh, then! Plus, I think you came enough to put quadruplets inside of me, so I think we’ll be okay.” You snorted, Joel joining in on the laughter.

“Baby, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard in my whole goddamn life.” Joel sighed, shrugging as you rolled your head up to look at him and that stupid goofy grin he got whenever he couldn’t contain his excitement about something. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, Joel.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Joel slowly bringing his arm to rest across your stomach, thumb slowly tracing careful circles on your skin.

“You’re gonna make such a good mom. I’m the luckiest man alive that you wanna have a family with me. Still not really sure what I ever did to deserve it.”

“Joel! You’re gonna make me cry! And this is before pregnancy hormones, ya jerk.” You tried to laugh, choking back the tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah, what a jerk, your husband tellin’ you how much he loves you.” He teased back, planting a long kiss on your temple, before pressing another one to your lips. Another wave of soft silence followed, watching Joel’s face scrunch in a calculated concentration. “How big of a crib you think I gotta make? I don’t know ‘bout a rockin’ chair, but a crib can’t be that hard. I gotta measure the guest room tomorrow.”

“Honey, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet, you don’t need to have a crib built tomorrow.” You teased, laughing at Joel, despite the fact his mind was already thinking about a baby room and accessories had you melting.

“Sweetheart, what did I say earlier? I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till we know there’s a baby in there.” He smirked, nodding at his hand still splayed across your stomach, “So you better get comfortable, ‘cause if it’s up to me, there ain’t a chance in hell we’re gettin’ anything but a positive pregnancy test at the end of this month, and we'll sure need that crib nine months from now. Never hurts to get a head start."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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mssalo · 2 months ago

Text

fixation

You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, oral fixation (f!reader), oral (male receiving), finger-sucking, dirty talk, praise kink, established relationship, consensual dynamic, playful possessiveness, casual intimacy, semi-public setting, reader can’t keep her mouth off of Joel’s cock (I get it) 6k.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

It had been about 11 months since you and Joel started seeing each other, and every day with him felt like a quiet discovery, learning things about each other that made each moment feel richer.

But there was something you hadn’t quite figured out how to bring up yet—a part of you that you weren’t sure how he’d respond to. Yet, in his presence, the need always seemed to flare up, subtle but persistent, tugging at you like a habit you couldn’t quite ignore.

One evening, you were curled up together on his couch, the night warm and quiet, and you’d been a little fidgety, your mind distracted, wondering if he’d picked up on your subtle hints.

His hand rested easily on your thigh, his thumb tracing soft, absent-minded circles over your jeans, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, breaking the comfortable silence as he glanced over at you, his eyes soft but observant.

“You’ve been a little… antsy tonight.” He tilted his head, watching you carefully with that warm, reassuring smile of his. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks heating up as you avoided his gaze, feeling that familiar warmth creeping in, making you both nervous and a little thrilled.

His hand squeezed your thigh just slightly, his fingers gentle, urging you to look up.

“Baby,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and curiosity, “you know you can tell me anything, right? If there’s somethin’ you want, or… need?”

He trailed off, his gaze lingering on your mouth, a knowing smile beginning to form.

You swallowed, feeling the warmth in your face intensify as his words sank in, and finally, you gave him a small nod, glancing up at him shyly.

Your lips parted slightly, but the words felt stuck, tangled up in the way he was looking at you, his gaze warm and inviting.

A quiet laugh slipped past his lips as he brushed a thumb over your bottom lip, his voice dropping to that rough, soft tone that always seemed to send a shiver through you.

“Got a feeling I know what’s been on your mind,” he murmured, his hand moving up to cradle your cheek as he leaned in closer.

“You got a little fixation, don’t ya?” he whispered, his tone playful but warm, his eyes glinting with quiet confidence.

Your heart raced, and you gave a small, embarrassed nod, your gaze dropping to his chest as you felt the words tumble out in a near whisper.

“I… I just like having… something to keep me busy,” you admitted, your voice soft, almost shy.

Still brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, his eyes sparking with that familiar glint.

“Need somethin’ to keep that pretty mouth busy, huh?” he murmured, his voice soft and rough as his thumb lingered, his hand steady on your face.

“Should’ve known,” he said with a grin, his gaze dropping down to your mouth. “Come here.”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a gentle yet confident touch.

As you leaned in, you saw the soft amusement in his eyes, the way his expression held a subtle, reassuring warmth.

You parted your lips, shy but eager, letting his thumb slip between them, and he watched, his gaze intense but filled with that easy confidence that always seemed to make you feel safe with him.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your tongue as he watched, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"Didn’t need to be shy about it… any time you need this, you just come to me, alright?"

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as his thumb brushed your lower lip, his other hand steady on your waist.

It felt like a quiet promise, a comfortable acceptance that brought you even closer, and you felt your lingering hesitation melting away as he held you there, happy to give you exactly what you’d been craving.

“I don’t mind one bit,” he whispered, his thumb still in your mouth, feeling your soft, tentative sucking as he gently pulled you closer.

Joel’s eyes softened, his voice was low, roughened with curiosity and a touch of arousement as he asked, “Is this what’s been on your mind, babygirl? Just my fingers?”

His question lingered in the air, his tone hinting at more as he kept his gaze steady on yours, letting the words sink in.

He watched the way your cheeks flushed deeper, and he let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he murmured, “Or was it somethin’ else you were thinkin’ about?”

Your heart raced, his hint unmistakable, but there was something about the warmth in his gaze and the steady grip of his hand that put you completely at ease.

The words felt caught in your throat, but Joel waited, letting his thumb slip out of your mouth, his hand settling under your chin to lift your gaze to meet his. “I can make sure you get exactly what you need… all you have to do is ask.”

He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

His voice softened, a quiet encouragement. “Whatever you want, I’m here, sweet bug.”

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip again, encouraging as he kept his gaze steady, patient, letting you find the words.

Your cheeks warmed, but the way he was looking at you—reassuring, warm, without a hint of judgment—made it easier to open up.

“I just… feel calmer when I’m, you know, sucking on something,” you began, your voice quiet, a little shy.

“Something solid. It’s like… I like the weight of it in my mouth.” You paused, catching your breath, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and relief as you finally said it out loud. “I don’t know why, but it’s… comforting.”

Joel listened closely, nodding as his thumb traced a gentle line along your jaw. His smile softened, and he murmured, “I figured, pretty one… I could see it.”

He tilted his head, watching you with a look of gentle understanding that helped ease the lingering embarrassment. “Were you embarrassed to tell me?”

You hesitated, giving him a small, shy nod. He chuckled softly, a low, comforting sound that settled any lingering nerves.

“Can’t say I haven’t noticed,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough, as he looked down at you. “The way you linger, like you can’t let go of my cock once you’ve got your mouth on it… like you’re not quite done with me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and quiet laughs slipped out of the both of you.

He tilted your chin up, his gaze softening, still playful but carrying a deeper warmth. “You like the weight of it, hm?” he asked gently, a thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “Feels good for you, yeah?”

You gave a small, shy nod, meeting his gaze as your pulse quickened.

He leaned closer, his tone a gentle murmur as he continued, “Darlin’, anytime you need that—anytime you want me, you come to me. I’ll be more than happy to help you calm down.”

With that, he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his hand still cradling your face, his words sinking in as he held you there, his touch reassuring, making it clear he was there for you, always.

· · ───𖥸

It had become a quiet ritual between you and Joel ever since that night—one where he was more than happy to help you find comfort whenever you needed it.

At first, it was just his fingers. When you’d feel the day’s tension creeping up, he’d let you settle close, slipping his fingers between your lips as he watched you, warm and intent.

The gentle weight, the grounding feel of his hand against your jaw as he let you draw his fingers in, helped you feel calm in a way that words couldn’t quite reach.

Joel noticed it too, the way you’d relax under his touch, how you’d quietly seek him out and never let go until you were completely at ease.

Tonight, though, you found yourself wanting more. It had been a long and hard day, one that left you feeling edgy, and his fingers alone weren’t enough.

As you walked into the living room, you found him on the couch, relaxed with his arm draped across the back, his other hand resting on his thigh.

The sight of him there, so grounded and steady, instantly soothed something in you.

He noticed you right away, his gaze softening as you approached, catching the fidgeting in your hands.

“Hello there, pretty girl,” he greeted, his voice warm, with that touch of curiosity he always had when he knew you needed him. “Need anything?”

You didn’t say anything, instead sinking to your knees in front of him, your gaze falling to his lap before meeting his eyes again.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, his expression soft but knowing, his lips curling into a small smile as he reached down, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“Had a rough day, huh?” he murmured, his tone low, patient as his hand moved to cradle your jaw.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, holding you there gently, his eyes darkening with quiet understanding.

“Is this what you’ve been needing?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble, letting his fingers linger at your lips, already familiar with the comfort it brought you.

But you shook your head slightly, looking up at him with that same shy glance, your gaze flickering down as you hesitated, unsure how to ask for what you really needed.

Joel’s gaze held steady, his thumb brushing over your lip as he read your expression, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Or maybe… you want a little more than that?”

You felt your cheeks flush, but the look in his eyes made the words come easier. You glanced up, giving him a small nod as your hands settled on his knees, silently asking for permission, for more.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip, and he chuckled softly, his gaze dropping to meet yours. “Is that what you’ve been needing?” he murmured, his voice low, rich with amusement. “My cock… to make you calm?”

The words sent a thrill through you, and he watched as you nodded, barely able to meet his gaze, your cheeks warm. ”Yes... please,“ you whispered quietly.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his hand guiding your chin so you couldn’t look away.

“No need to be shy with me, darlin’,” he continued, his voice a quiet, steady invitation. “If that’s what you need, I’ll give it to you. Always.”

Joel leaned back slightly, the soft lighting casting shadows across his strong features, highlighting the rugged lines of his face and the warm, steady gleam in his dark eyes.

He watched you closely, his gaze never faltering as you settled in closer, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, grounding you with his steady presence.

A subtle smile played at the corner of his mouth as his hand settled over yours, guiding you with a gentle but firm touch.

His fingers brushed your jaw, coaxing you to look up at him as he murmured, “Go ahead, sweetheart… take what you need.”

Your fingers brushed over the outline of his cock, feeling him hardening beneath your touch, his quiet, restrained breaths signaling his anticipation.

His gaze darkened, his eyes holding a mix of warmth and intensity as he watched you, his lips parting slightly as you felt his cock pulse beneath your hand.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his voice deep, a touch of approval in his tone as his other hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing soft, grounding circles there.

His touch, his steady gaze, everything about him filled you with a quiet confidence as he murmured, “You’re doin’ perfect, darlin’… don’t stop.”

His voice, low and calming, was a quiet invitation, full of the easy confidence that you found so comforting.

“Go on, pretty girl,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours.

You tugged his jeans down just enough, freeing him from the fabric, and your breath hitched as you took him in.

His cock was thick and slightly curved, already hard and flushed with arousal, the tip a deep, needy pink that glistened faintly, inviting. Dark, neatly kept curls surrounded his base, a subtle, masculine scent rising from him, earthy and undeniably him.

His hand moved at the back of your neck, thumb grazing lightly against your skin, steadying you as you leaned in.

His voice, low and gravelly, sent a shiver through you as he murmured, “My sweet girl... Lookin’ so good with your mouth just inches from me. Can see you want it… don’t hold back.”

His words dripped with quiet command, tinged with that deep warmth that made you feel secure yet set your nerves alight with anticipation.

You opened your mouth, your tongue trailing along the underside of his length, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him.

The heat, the weight of his cock, filled you with a heady calm, grounding you in the sensation. Joel’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your neck, his other hand resting on his thigh, fingers curling as he watched you take him inch by inch.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, his voice dark and warm, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you.

“Look at you, takin’ all of me like that, slow and easy. Your lips… they look so damn good wrapped around me, sweet one.” His tone was full of approval, deep and rich, letting you know how much he was enjoying this, letting you settle into the moment.

You began to move your mouth over him, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive head, savoring every ridge and vein.

The faint sheen of your saliva coated him, catching the light, and his cock looked even more inviting, glistening and hard, throbbing slightly in response to your touch.

Joel let out a low, pleased hum, his hand stroking your cheek, encouraging you as you took him deeper.

“God, baby, good job,” he murmured, his tone thick with admiration. “So sweet and focused… like you were made for this.”

His fingers trailed through your hair, gentle but firm, guiding you without any hint of impatience. “Gettin’ every inch, nice and slow… takin’ your time just like I like.”

Your mouth tightened around him, feeling his cock twitch as you took him deeper, letting the weight of him press down on your tongue, grounding you, calming you in a way that nothing else could.

His scent, his warmth, his quiet, filthy praise—everything about this moment soothed you, made you feel safe, yet utterly alive.

“You love how it feels, yeah, baby?” Joel’s voice was a low rasp, and his words spurred you on, made you feel bolder. “The weight of me, how thick I am in that pretty mouth of yours. Tellin’ you, sweetheart… there’s nothin’ I like more than watchin’ you get lost right here.”

You could feel the pulse of his heartbeat through his cock, and it made you shiver.

His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over the corner of your mouth as he watched you, eyes dark, lips parted in quiet approval.

He tilted his head, studying you with that intense, appreciative gaze that always made you feel seen, adored.

“You keep that mouth workin’ as long as you need, baby,” he murmured, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Long as you want, it’s all yours. Just… fuck, yeah, just like that.”

The praise made you feel a rush of warmth, and you took him deeper, letting him feel your eagerness, your need.

His cock pulsed against your tongue, and you savored the feel of him as his fingers stayed steady at your neck, grounding you with his warmth and strength.

“Feelin’ better already?” he asked, his voice gentle, his tone rough with desire.

His hand traced down your jaw, thumb pressing lightly at your lip, pulling it down so he could see himself disappear into your mouth. “Look at that, darlin’... look at you, takin’ me so well. Such a good girl, lettin’ me calm you down just like this.”

You hummed softly around him, the vibration making his fingers tighten slightly on the back of your neck.

His breathing grew deeper, more ragged, but he kept his touch soft, steady, letting you take the lead, letting you have what you needed. “That’s it, baby… don’t rush, just keep me right there. Slow and steady,” he whispered, his voice low and dark, every word soothing yet making your pulse quicken.

His hand stayed firm as he leaned back slightly, allowing you to settle comfortably as you continued to savor him, tasting, exploring, letting his words and his touch fill you with warmth and calm.

Every brush of his thumb, every murmur of approval, grounded you deeper, letting you lose yourself completely in him, in the simple, comforting weight of him on your tongue, a connection that was yours and his alone.

You relaxed deeper, each slow movement of your mouth deliberate, savoring the weight of him, the feel of his thick, flushed cock filling you, grounding you.

Joel’s hand stayed steady at the back of your neck, fingers pressing just enough to let you know he was there, a solid presence holding you close.

“Babygirl, look at you,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp that made your pulse quicken, each filthy word dripping with pride.

“My perfect little thing, workin’ so hard… always giving it your all. Just needed somethin’ to fill that pretty mouth, didn’t ya?”

His fingers tangled in your hair, a gentle but possessive touch that sent a thrill through you. “That’s what I’m here for, baby. You look so damn good like this, takin’ me slow.”

Your cheeks flushed, feeling yourself sink into his words, every filthy murmur making you crave more, making you want to show him just how much you needed this.

You let your tongue swirl around the head of his cock, tasting him, savoring the salty heat, feeling him twitch under your attention.

He let out a low groan, his other hand moving to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he watched you, dark eyes heavy with desire.

“God, baby, you’re too good at this,” he muttered, voice dipping lower, dripping with arousal.

“So focused, takin’ me so good, like you were made for it. Seein’ those lips stretchin’ around me, so damn eager. Look at you… got me hard as a rock, and you’re takin’ your time, just workin’ every inch.”

His hips shifted, barely a nudge forward, just enough to let you feel his need, but he held back, letting you control the pace.

“Bet you’d stay right here all night if possible,” he chuckled, the sound rich and dirty. “You’d just keep suckin’, hm? Letting that pretty mouth of yours get all messy for me.”

You felt his cock pulse, a heavy, throbbing weight on your tongue as he watched you, his breathing roughening as he sank further into the sensation.

His grip on your neck tightened just slightly, his control slipping as he saw how lost you were, how you kept at it with such gentle, focused attention.

“Love how you’re suckin’ my cock for me, baby… so fuckin’ devoted. Just lettin’ me fill that mouth, takin’ me all the way. It’s like you can’t get enough, huh? Just keepin’ me right there, like you’d never let go.”

His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and he bit his lip, feeling his own need taking over as he tried to hold back, not wanting to pull you from the calm, submissive state you’d found.

But with each slow, wet stroke of your mouth, each deliberate pull of your lips around him, he felt himself teetering closer to the edge, and a quiet, breathless laugh escaped him as he leaned down, his hand cradling your face.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice thick with both regret and need, “but you’re too damn good… I can’t hold back any longer. I’m gonna cum.”

His thumb pressed against your cheek, feeling the fullness of his cock in your mouth as he whispered, “Hate to take this from you, but I want you to swallow every drop, every bit of me… you’ve earned it, good job.”

He let out a deep, guttural groan as he came, his cock twitching in slow, heavy pulses against your tongue, spilling into your mouth as he held you close, his grip tightening just enough to anchor you, keep you steady as he filled you.

His other hand brushed over your cheek, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, watching with dark, hooded eyes as you swallowed everything he gave, his voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur.

“God, look at you, darlin’… swallowin’ every fuckin’ drop like the good girl you are. So perfect, so fuckin’ perfect. Just lettin’ me use that sweet mouth, keepin’ me close.” His thumb lingered at your lips, his voice warm, affectionate as he whispered, “You’re exactly where you belong, sweetheart… right here, with me.”

He stayed there, holding you, his voice softening as he praised you, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your cheek, grounding you as you both came down, feeling safe, cherished, and completely at peace in the warmth of his touch.

As you eased back, Joel’s hand remained at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gentle, soothing circles, and he looked down, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took in the calm, relaxed look on your face.

You were utterly at peace, your eyes heavy-lidded, a faint, satisfied smile on your lips as you looked up at him, the tension you’d been carrying all day melting away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rich with warmth and pride, his hand steady as he helped you rise.

“My perfect girl, you did so well,” he whispered, pulling you up to settle you against his chest, cradling you close as his hands drifted to rub soft circles on your back.

He could feel how completely at ease you were, the deep calm radiating off you as you leaned into him, feeling safe, cherished, like you’d found exactly what you needed.

You let out a quiet, sleepy murmur, snuggling into his warmth, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of gratitude, the words barely audible as you let yourself sink into his embrace.

Joel’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle as he held you, one hand moving up to brush through your hair, his fingers gentle, comforting.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

“So calm now… my sweet girl, lettin’ herself relax.” He could see the sleepiness in your eyes, the way your breathing had slowed, your body completely soft in his arms.

He tucked you closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand never stopping its gentle, grounding strokes along your back.

“You can rest now, baby,” he whispered, his tone full of care as he continued to hold you, letting you know he was right there. “You’re safe with me… just close those eyes. I’ve got you.”

You melted further against him, your body fully relaxed, your breathing deep and even, your face tucked against his neck, perfectly content and utterly calm in his embrace.

He felt you drift closer to sleep, your soft breaths warm against his skin, and he tightened his hold, letting you find that final bit of peace, held close and cherished in his arms, exactly where you belonged.

· · ───𖥸

Over time, it became second nature, a quiet ritual between you and Joel.

The comfort you found in each other had only deepened, making those moments when you had him in your mouth feel easy, almost instinctual.

There were mornings when he'd sit on the edge of the bed, tousled hair and a sleepy smirk, and you’d settle between his thighs, taking him slowly as the sun crept through the blinds, warming the room as he murmured sleepy praise, his hand steady in your hair.

Or lazy afternoons, when you'd both wind down on the couch, and he'd reach over, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder, just to let you know he was there, that he understood what you needed.

Sometimes, even in the middle of the night, he'd feel you shift closer, your warm breath against his skin, and he’d know exactly what you needed without a single word exchanged.

He’d guide you under the sheets, his voice a low, sleepy rumble as he whispered, “Go on, darlin’, take what you need,” his tone gentle, reassuring as he let you lose yourself, knowing how much it helped you relax, how much you needed him in those quiet hours.

And then, there were moments just like now—calm and casual, like you were simply sharing another part of your day together.

Joel stood at the stove, his back turned slightly as he tended to a simmering pan, cooking up something simple for dinner before a friend came over.

His shoulders were broad and relaxed, his stance easy, completely at home in his space.

You were on your knees - his hard cock in your mouth, your lips wrapped around him, taking him slowly, almost like an afterthought, as if this were as natural as holding his hand or sharing a quiet drink together.

The kitchen filled with familiar sounds—the soft sizzle of the pan, the clink of the spatula, Joel’s steady breaths mingling with yours.

His free hand occasionally drifted to your hair, brushing over it with gentle fingers, not guiding but simply acknowledging you there.

Every now and then, his hand would graze over your cheek, tracing a soft line along your jaw as he continued to stir the food, keeping his focus on both you and the task in front of him with that calm confidence that made you feel secure.

He glanced down at you with a smirk, his eyes warm with that casual affection, the amusement clear on his face as he took in the sight of you.

“Look at you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and playful.

“Can’t keep away, even while I’m tryin’ to get dinner on the stove.” He chuckled, running a thumb along your jawline, his tone casual and amused. “But hell, can’t say I mind one bit.”

His hand returned to the pan, stirring with a practiced ease, completely unfazed as you continued to take him deeper, your lips sliding over his length with a slow, familiar rhythm that felt grounding, comforting.

You could feel his cock twitch in your mouth, but his breath remained steady, his voice calm as he casually carried on.

He kept stirring the pan, flipping the food, but you noticed how his fingers tightened on the spatula, his calm demeanor wavering ever so slightly as his eyes lingered on you a moment longer.

His hand drifted back to your hair, gripping a little firmer this time, letting his thumb brush over your cheek as he took in the sight of you, your cheeks hollowing as you pulled him in deeper.

“That’s it… good girl,” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, rougher.

“Always so eager to get me in that pretty mouth of yours, no matter what we’re doin’. you just can’t get enough.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in admiration as he went back to the stove, still casual, as if it were perfectly natural for you to be on your knees, sucking him off while he cooked.

You felt your own excitement building, a warmth settling over you as his words sank in, his easy praise making you feel cherished and bold.

As Joel continued cooking, your pace grew a little faster, your mouth working over him with that same familiar, comforting rhythm, but now you could feel his cock twitching, thick and heavy against your tongue.

He glanced down with a small smirk, clearly enjoying the way you seemed to lose yourself, the casual intimacy of it making him feel grounded, completely at ease.

Just then, the doorbell rang, echoing through the quiet kitchen.

Joel paused, casting a quick glance at the door before looking down at you with that calm, teasing expression, his fingers stroking through your hair.

“Well, guess Paul’s here,” he murmured, his voice low and amused, as if the idea of his friend arriving right now only added to his pleasure. “Mind hurryin’ it up, darlin’?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, feeling a surge of need as his gaze held steady on yours.

The doorbell rang again, and you gripped his thighs tighter, pressing in, whispering in a low, urgent tone, “Please, baby… fuck my mouth. I need you to cum. right now.”

A low groan escaped him, his amusement giving way to a darker need as he held your head in place, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“Well, since you’re askin’ so nice, baby,” he murmured, his tone dropping, filled with pride and pleasure as he looked down at you. “Guess I can’t keep you waiting, can I?”

With a steady hand, he guided your head, his hips beginning to rock gently, then harder, each slow thrust filling your mouth with a deep, satisfying pressure that made you feel grounded, completely in tune with him.

His hips rocked forward, his hand guiding your head to take him as deep as possible, his voice breaking into low, filthy groans.

“That’s it… just like that. God, you’re a perfect little thing… lettin’ me use you, lettin’ me fill that pretty mouth like you’re starvin’ for it.”

His breaths grew more ragged, his cock pulsing with each movement as he picked up the pace, letting himself go, his fingers digging into your hair as he held you steady.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice thick with need, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper. “You want my cum, don’t you, sweetheart? Just need to feel me fillin’ that pretty mouth of yours.”

You hummed in response, the vibration making him gasp, his cock throbbing. Joel’s breaths grew heavy, his control slipping, and you could feel him getting closer, his words now a strained murmur.

“Almost there, sweetheart… just a bit more. Need you to swallow every bit for me.”

With one final thrust, he let go, his cock pulsing as he spilled into your mouth, warm and thick, his groans deep and satisfied as he watched you take everything he gave.

His thumb brushed over your jaw as you swallowed, his gaze filled with a mix of pride and possessiveness. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered, his voice rough as he held you close.

Just as you both caught your breath, the doorbell rang again. Joel smirked, helping you up and wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb before pulling you into a quick, reassuring kiss.

He glanced at the door, chuckling. “Better let Paul in. Don’t want him thinkin’ we forgot about him.”

He straightened up, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he went back to the stove, leaving you flushed, fulfilled, and feeling like you were exactly where you needed to be.

You straightened up, catching your reflection in the hallway mirror and smoothing your hair, feeling both satisfied and a little flushed.

You opened the door to see Paul standing there

“Hey, Paul,” you greeted, trying to keep your tone light and casual, though you could feel Joel’s gaze burning into you from behind, clearly amused.

Paul stepped inside, glancing between the two of you with a smile. “Took you both long enough—I almost left again.”

Joel strolled over, leaning casually with that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, his eyes glinting as they met yours, “guess I finished up just in time.”

Your cheeks flushed as Joel’s smirk lingered, a private joke hanging thick in the air, while Paul remained blissfully oblivious.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

I really liked this…. a bit too much. 🫎

Just a little reminder that your comments, and reposts with reactions, mean the world to me. They’re the only “thank you” I get for these stories, and truly the reason I stay motivated to keep writing and sharing.

Knowing you’re enjoying the journey and hearing your thoughts keeps this all alive.

So please, keep those comments and reposts coming—they’re what make it all worth it. Thank you so much for being here and for all your support!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️😭😭😭‼️‼️

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taeslarityy · 6 months ago

Text

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night.

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic.

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls.

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely.

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park.

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that.

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night.

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm.

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home.

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity.

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds?

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa.

You also adored the fuck out of Joel.

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock.

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman.

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts.

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.”

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day.

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.”

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided.

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.”

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by.

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home.

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet.

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm.

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already.

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee.

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it.

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name.

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house.

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted.

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?”

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you.

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest.

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long.

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

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immortal-imagines · 2 years ago

Text

Sabotage - Part 1

Summary: The start of a new uni year brings new classmates, new lessons and a new professor.

Parts: 1, 2, 3 (to be continued)

(professor!Joel x Reader)

Warnings: mentions of smut, alcohol, swearing

Word Count: 1,435

A/N: I’m starting a professor Joel series, which I’m having loads of fun writing so far! Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts.

It was the first day back after what felt like forever. A summer to remember they’d said. You’d had enough alcohol in your body to forget the year let alone the last couple of months. It was all change this term though. Taking on a Masters had never been something you’d considered, until you finished undergrad and had no clue what came next. Another year of lectures, why the fuck not? An MA in English lit? Sure.

You had one friend who decided to take on the challenge with you, Kelsey. You’d picked a flat together just outside of campus – nothing special, but bigger than you expected to get for your budget. Living room, kitchen, pretty standard and brimming with party possibilities. Your bedroom was somehow the biggest. You weren’t sure how you’d managed to wrangle that one, but you weren’t going to complain.

The UK rarely got warm days, especially in September, but for some reason the universe decided move in day was going to be a million degrees. You and Kelsey heaved box after box up the stairs of your new apartment complex. Sweaty was an understatement. And of course you were on the third floor with no lift.

“Do you… do you think we’ll ever feel cool again?” Kelsey huffed, wheeling what you hoped was the last suitcase through the door. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, wrinkling your nose at the amount of moisture that came off. “Please tell me there’s nothing else?” No sooner had you said those words, the door to the flat next door opened, revealing a tanned, toned looking Ken doll of a man. All muscles, abs and blonde.

Kelsey straightened up, frantically brushing fly-aways down and tugging at her now damp tank top.

The guy leant on the door frame of his flat and flashed you both a Ryan Gosling style grin. “You ladies need a hand?”

You had to restrain yourself from an eye roll. Sure, he was hot, but it was textbook pickup lines. Plus you were way too hot for sex. Kelsey didn’t seem to agree. She put on her best sex eyes, biting her lip.

If you weren’t careful you’d end up unpacking this whole flat yourself.

“I think we’re…”

“I could use some help,” Kelsey interrupted you. She gave you a quick, stern look, before looking back at the guy.

“I got some help in here,” the guy gestured to his apartment, looking Kelsey up and down.

“One sec,” Kelsey held up a finger to him, turning to you, whispering, “I’ll love you forever if you let me go with him. I’ll help unpack later, I promise.”

You shrugged. “Have fun. But if you’re not back in two hours I’m calling the police and assuming you’ve been murdered.”

Kelsey beamed. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

The guy held his hand out, which she took, and they disappeared into his flat.

You looked at all the boxes strewn around the living room. That was a job for tomorrow, when you didn’t feel like you were going to melt. You took your suitcase and dragged it into your bedroom. At least this room could be unpacked.

Just as you unzipped it, you heard the unmistakable moan then thud of what you assumed was Kelsey’s back against the wall. Shower. You would have a cold shower first.

Kelsey returned an hour later, looking suitably satisfied. You’d had a shower, unpacked most of your stuff and were now lying on the sofa with a handheld fan directly on your face. You raised you head as she walked in.

“Any good?”

“Useful,” was all she said, before disappearing into the bathroom.

You took that as she’ll be spending a lot of time next door.

The first lecture of a new course always felt like starting school all over again. A bunch of new people in a classroom not really knowing what they’re doing there. Kelsey had decided that lecture number one is always useless and opted instead to stay in bed. You didn’t argue with her. She was the kind of girl who walked to the beat of her own drum. An admirable if slightly irresponsible trait. But who were you to judge?

So you really did feel like the new girl. You sat at a desk relatively close to the back. It was still early so all the good seats hadn’t been taken yet. Just a few keen beans right at the front, then one other guy on your row.

You rummaged in your bag, with that awful feeling that you’d forgotten something. Shit, laptop. And you didn’t have a notebook. Not a good start. You contemplated asking the guy on your row if he had a spare piece of paper, but he looked so blazed that you’re not sure he would even know what class he was in. Instead, you figured it was early enough in the class to rush to the nearest supply cupboard, which you hoped was in plains sight.

You grabbed your bag and rushed to the door, not seeing the figure walking in.

“Fuck!” You collided with his body, the coffee in his hand now all down your dress. You looked up to see who the poor student was whose drink you were now wearing and your heart sank.

This man looked close to 50, but a very good 50. His hair was tousled and he had a strong jawline, accentuated by his rough beard. There were mature students, of course, but the feeling in your stomach told you this wasn’t a student.

The man took a couple steps back, glaring down at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Class hasn’t started yet.” His Southern drawl caught you off guard. American? Your body couldn’t decide if it was anxious, sick or horny – or a combination of the three.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I was just… I forgot my laptop. I can get you another coffee,” you rambled.

The man pushed past you, setting his bag on the desk. He wasn’t dressed like your previous professors had. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt, tight around his arms, and jeans. He took a pad out of his bag, ripped out a couple of pages and held them in your direction. You took them, unsure whether you should go back to your seat or go to the bathroom and clean up the mess your dress was now in. He decided for you.

“Sit.”

The embarrassment that now engulfed you was unbearable. You stank of coffee and your dress that was once red was now slightly brown and damp. And he hadn’t even asked if you were alright. Dick, you thought. What a shitty term this is going to be.

Other students were now filing in, so you went back to your original desk, thankful you were in the back. It didn’t stop people from turning to look at you. This was your new reputation. Fuck, why couldn’t Kelsey have been here? You envied her choice to stay in bed and wished you’d done the same.

“Now that most of you are here, I’ll start. I’m Professor Miller. I’m taking your English lit classes this semester. Maybe next ‘f you’re lucky.”

Who did this asshole think he was? Attractive, sure. Asshole, definitely. A rage started to burn in your stomach. You’d apologised to him.

“’f you’ve done the summer reading you’ll know we’re covering The Great Gatsby this term. I dunno what it’s about. Never read it. Your first assignment is to write me an essay explaining the plot.”

He leant forward, hands on his desk. “Any questions?”

You frowned. Maybe another degree was a mistake. This seemed like it was going to be a massive waste of time.

“You,” he gestured in your direction. “’s there a problem?

“No, I…”

“Good. This isn’t a class to sleep through. ‘f you’re not gonna take it seriously, get out.”

He gave you a look. It was a look that said ‘don’t fuck with me’. The rage that had been bubbling inside you was now full on erupting. Did he really think he could humiliate you in front of a new class and not get something in return? Your eyes quickly flickered to his hand. No ring.

You smirked, folding your arms. Heat settled at your core. You thought you saw some of that in his eyes. They were black, rage mixed with something else. You held his stare for a moment longer. He was the first to break.

Professor Miller, you don’t know what you’re in for.

#Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #professor!joel #prof!joel #tlou #smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro imagine #pedro pascal smut

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kabuki-writes · 2 months ago

Text

A Reflection Of Venus

chapter: 1 chapter 2 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: For years Acacius was able to keep his precious and only daughter away from the Emperor's eyes. But after his latest victory, he couldn't evade the already inevitable.

Note: Reader is the daughter of General Acacius and his wife, which is not Lucilla in this fanfiction.

word count: 3.1k

General Acacius was a hero for the Roman Empire, a sun that was burning brighter with every new victory he won in a new war campaign ordered by Emperor Geta and his twin brother Emperor Caracalla. The reign of the twins was nothing compared to one of their deceased father Emperor Septimius Severus, who was once one of the closest friends and brother-in-arms of Acatius. While Severus fought wars mainly to protect the borders of the already massive Empire, his sons' hunger for expansion became clear from the very first day they inherited the title "Emperor". And general Acacius became their tool in this project. Nothing was too expensive, they backed him with legions, war-ships, the best equipment and supply, and the capable general became an unstoppable force, a soldier of the God Mars himself. But at what cost?

As the years went on, he'd rarely been home, always travelling with his marching soldiers and being on the front line of every battle he fought. And when he came back, he felt sick from all the pomp and gold the Emperor's threw at him, the victory processions through Rome, while the smell of blood still lingered in his nose and the cries of the women and children echoed in his mind. It was one of those days. The sun stood high over the wide street that lead to the Palatin, the sides filled with the cheering crowd - common people, soldiers, slaves, senators, merchants, they all celebrated his victory in a triumphant procession. His marching soldiers were led by Acacius chariot, clothed in the white armor of a victor. His face could've been one to be carved in marble, stoic and upright, facing the great Palatin, where the Emperors would await him.

Geta and Caracalla - the twin-sons of Septimius Severus, Emperors of Rome. They stoof there in golden Armor like sun gods with their golden crowns on top of their short gingerblonde hair. Their unusual pale skin was a testament to their wealth as they could afford to stay out of the sun, which burns especially hot on summer days like this one, and of course on the battlefields in Africa, where Acatius' men had to fight against the rebellious Nubians. They awaited their victor with proud smiles on their lips, while Acacius' procession ended at the footsteps of the Emperor's palace. He walked the marble steps towards them, his long cloak moved in tact with his walk. He didn't look forward to see the faces of Rome's tyrants again, but they hadno idea.

Instead, he greeted them as he was used to. His hand on his chest, speaking the words.

"I greet you, my Emperors. Nubia is no more. I present a new victory to you, to the realm and to the Roman people."

With a proud look on their faces and a wide smile, the twins stepped forward. Emperor Geta hold the laurel wreath of victory in his hands and places it on top of Acacius' greying hair.

"And Rome rewards it's heroes with gratitude and admiration. We bow to your victories, General Acacius."

With those words, he offered him to turn around and face the celebrating crowd. Geta and Caracalla took their places at his side, giving him a moment of spotlight, applauded by the people, while they did benefit from it as well. Acatius was their general, their armored knight. Every victory he presented was another triumph for their own reign and power. After the earned celebration in front of the common folk, the Emperors and Acacius retreated inside, where servants quickly served them wine for a toast.

"Another great victory, you never disappoint us, dear Acatius," Geta expressed and hold his glass up for a toast, his brother Caracalla following the gesture. "To the glory of the Roman Empire".

"To the glory of your reign", Acacius lied and took a sip from his glass, trying to numb himself a bit with the taste of the alcohol. How he hated conversations with both of them.

" But don't get too comfy here, my brother and i were already discussing another campaign soon. You'll get everything you need, just tell us how many soldiers and ships and it will be granted," Geta explained, which left a bitter taste in Acacius mouth. His jaw clenched for a moment, while he tried everything not to show his distaste about another war campaign.

"Please forgive me, my Emperor, but isn't the realm big enough already? Rome has already difficulties to feed the people. Further expansion would-"

"They can eat war", Emperor Caracalla threw in with an almost diabotical grin, while Acacius got a warning eye from Geta. It was clear that his words weren't the ones both wanted to hear right now.

"Don't worry about things like that, Acacius. You're a military general, your job is to win battles - nothing more. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he answered, even though he hated to hear that he was reduced to this. He'd experienced war and peace alike and therefore he knew about the dangers of continuing this madness. Moments like this really let him question if those maniacs were of the same blood as Septimius Severus.

"But you're right, you've earned yourself at least a bit of rest - one or two weeks. Don't worry, we've taken care about the wellbeing of your family. They got everything they needed and more in our attempt to show our gratitude for your service to the throne. Speaking of which.... we expect you to join us for a great feast tonight - here in the palace. A party to celebrate your victory, it is accompanied by a couple of fights in the arena tomorrow," Geta explained joyfully, while Acatius tried to keep his mask up.

"I am incredibly honored, but would prefer to spend time with family after being away for such a long time."

"The Emperors show you their gratitude and you're insulting us. We expect you to come and you will come", Caracalla hissed with a sudden shift of tone, his eyes staring at Acacius in clear anger, while his brother placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. But his staring eyes were warning Acatius once again.

"Of course, we don't just invite you, but your whole family. Bring your wife and... you have a daughter, if i'm not mistaken? We haven't had the pleasure of getting to know her yet, since you never brought her to any festivities. I am sure she will be delighted, if you don't plan on hiding her again."

Acacius stood there in silence, a reaction that made Caracalla burst out into laughter as if he'd just heard the funniest joke from his brother. The respected general didn't even look at him, why should he. Standing here in front of them should've been an honor, yet it felt like a disgrace. They were nothing but spoiled kids with the power of an empire in their hands. And now they even forced him to reveal his dear daughter to them. Something he tried to avoid for too long, knowing fully well about the debauchery and excessiveness of Geta and Caracalla.

"We're waiting for an answer, Acacius?", Caracalla purred with a wide grin on his pale face, revealing his gold tooth.

"It will be an honor to be your guest... together with my daughter."

_____________________________________________

You watched the face of your father sunken away in his thoughts, as you made made your way to the palace in a palanquin carried by a couple of slaves and protected by soldiers. The city was painted in darkness which made the palace seem like a temple with all the lights that welcomed you. It was an exciting moment for an upper-class lady to be a guest at the palace, especially for you, a woman that usually stayed away from the most parties. Not because you wanted to, but because it was an order from your father. You obeyed, yet it bothered you, even more when you'd reached the age of a young woman - the age in which it was expected from you to find a proper husband.

"Why are you so worried, father?", you finally managed to get off your lips, pulling Acacius out of the battle he fought in his head. He couldn't just tell you that he despised all of this and especially the Emperors himself as he couldn't be sure if someone outside this palanquin could hear him. So he simply took your hand and placed a soft and caring kiss on the ring that had been a present for your last name day.

"I guess I'm rather tired than worried. The parties in the palace are always quite excessive, music, dances, feasts... i just came back from the desert and now i have to enjoy all those things", he sighed and looked at you. "And i don't want to stay too long, especially not till the orgy starts. The servants will come and bring us home before that." And even you knew he would rather go and murder Dyonisos himself than allowing his daughter to stay and witness this.

All those words and yet you knew it wasn't everything.

"I'm glad that you take me with you this time. I've only known the imperial palace from afar," you confessed, while you straightened the long, blue dress you wore. It was decorated with all sorts of silver embroidery and jewelry, encapturing the stars and moon. Your long hair was styled by your servant Yanna into a high braid and finalized with a silver diadem. For the first time you really got the chance to make yourself so presentable that you almost felt like a princess. In the end, you were about to meet the Emperors which made it important to look like the woman you were - the daughter of a general. And you also presented his household tonight, because your mother felt sick tonight. She often suffered from migraine, which kept her a prisoner for days sometimes.

"You really look beautiful", your father said to you, it was honest, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes, which you still couldn't grasp. But there was no chance to take this conversation further as the palanquin stopped. Acacius got out first to help you out. He knew the way as it wasn't the first time for him to attent an official ceremony or party here. Through a long corridor you reached a large room with with an open access to the garden terrace facing the beautiful gardens. It was packed with people from the Roman upper-class, wealthy merchants, politicians and military officers, who were accompanied by their wives, sons and daughters. While they chatted and feasted on the large selection of delicious looking food, a group of musicians played their melodies to which professional dancers moved their bodies.

All those private parties at the homes of your friends seemed to vanish straight from your mind, nothing could be compared to what you were seeing now. It nearly took your breath away, while two royals were watching you from the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________

Geta and Caracalla were sitting on a higher ground, which was highly decorated with two golden chaise longues, cushions and velvet drapes. They were accompanied by a selected group of slaves, women and men, who were assigned to bring them anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted.

While Geta was in in a conversation with one of the senators, which clearly bored him according to his facial expressions, it was Caracalla, who noticed the new guest first, while he fed his little monkey Dondus a grape.

"Such a shame that he hid his daughter for so long. She is a gorgeous looking bird, don't you think? ", he whispered to his brother with a mischievous grin, patting his arm so that he would turn his attention to Acacius and you. Geta's eyes quickly went to you, admiring the way your dress hugged the shape of your curves.

"The gods must've sent us Venus herself to honor us with her presence," Geta answered, while an unreadable smile played on his lips. „No wonder our dear General is so protective of her. Is she already promised to someone?“

„Why do you ask me!?“ Caracalla snapped back, as if his brother didn’t know that he had a lot of spies around the city, who delivered him the newest gossip from the streets of Rome. With an annoyed eye roll, he leaned forward, adjusting the golden laurel wreath on his head. „No, she is a blank parchment. Probably untouched too.“

Geta still watched you with an intense interest as if you were a rare diamond, he needed to claim. But he was not the only one in this room, because Caracalla stared at his brother, noticing the way he looked at you. There it was again, the old melody. Whenever he wanted something, Geta wanted it too. They already shared the title of Emperors, their wealth, their whores… It was already something that cooked in him for a long time. But now he had an eye on you and wasn't happy about the fact that Geta might try to get you too.

Before he could even bring this thought to an end, his twin brother Geta already stood up from his chaise lounge and made his way through the crowd, the direction was clear. Caracalla's nose twitched in a mixture of nervousness and anger, and he got up quickly as well, not as gracefully as he wanted to, but he didn’t care. He had to tame the inner urge to backstab his brother before he could even reach you.

_____________________________________________

You still stood at the side of your father sipping on your first goblet of fine wine, while your eyes went over all the different guests and the excessive decor. Your father was sunken in a conversation with another general, Marcus Galbanus, an old friend and brother-in-arms of Acacius. But their conversation quickly stopped as soon as the Emperors approached them. Both your father and Marcus Galbanus lowered their heads and greeted them according to the etiquette, while you curtsied deep. This was the very first time you got the chance to meet the Emperor's of Rome Caracalla and Geta. And given the importance of those two figures, you even felt a little nervous.

"We almost feared you wouldn't show up to your own party, Acacius. But we're happy you made your way here... we already heard that your dear wife lays sick. Please, send her our best wishes. Nonetheless we would be delighted if you could introduce us to your company tonight", Geta demanded in a playful tone, knowing how much Acacius had tried to delay this. Caracalla stood at his side, his staring blue eyes drilled themselves into your appearence. Even though he was a man that had tasted a lot of men and women, one even more sensual than the other, your whole appearence, your face, your lips, your smile, everything - you reached a sentience in his mind that could only be gifted by the gods. The mere thought of having you infected his brain like a curse.

You could sense the tension that raised in your father as if everything in him resisted the situation. Yet he placed his hand softly on your shoulder and did as they wished. "This is my daughter, y/n..."

"I'm honoured to meet the Emperors of Rome", you said in a soft voice, earning you an appreciating smile by Geta and an unreadable grin of Caracalla.

"Oh the pleasure is on our side, my dearest. How do you like this Ceremony in honor of your father's victories?", Geta asked. But before you could even answer, his brother added, while he took another sip of his wine "Your father is a Roman hero through and through, isn't it right Acacius?" His tone had something else in it, almost as if it was some kind of mistrust. But you needed to ignore the irritation you felt and simply nodded.

"It is breathtaking. I've never witnessed something like this and it makes me incredible proud to see the gratitute he earned himself through the love he has for Rome and its people," you answered, trying to remind the Emperor's of Acacius loyality, which was undoubtful.

"Then you'll enjoy the ceremony in the arena tomorrow as well, i'm sure. Please, we invite your father and you to be our guests."

"I don't think that such entertainment is suited for a young woman of her status," your father suddenly interfered in a calm yet set tone, only earning the laugh of Caracalla. "Let your daughter decide for herself, General."

The atmosphere shifted to an unspoken intensity. You could sense your father's worries and given all what you've heard from the colosseum, you didn't really think of it as something worth to witness. Seeing people die in such a terrible way only for the pleasures of the masses seemed like a farce. Acacius always called it the most needless form of brutality amongst humans, he despised this himself and therefore avoided going into the arena whenever he could. But you also read the eyes of Geta and his brother, who waited for your answer and would not accept a simple 'No'.

"It would be an honour," you answered, and Geta leaned forward a bit, which made your father's jaw clench in anger. Not because of your answer, he was aware that a choice was not existing, when facing an Emperor, but because the way the twins looked at you as if you were a price they could simply claim. But you were a smart girl and definitely not naive, so he fully relied on that.

"So this is a 'Yes'?", Geta asked again and you looked him straight in the eyes, not backing off. "Yes."

"Excellent!", Caracalla shouted and clapped into his hands. "We'll have a lot of fun tomorrow."

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched to a smile and he nodded in response to his twin. Yet he hid his displeasure of having him as a rival in this little game. It was clear that Caracalla had layed his eyes on you too, but he won't allow him to simply take and fuck you like you were a common whore. Maybe you could've potential for something more and strenghten his position as well as his popularity. Because both Emperors were still unmarried - and it was expected from them that this would change sooner or later.

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii imagine #kabuki writes

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absurdthirst · 2 months ago

Text

Love Across Lifetimes {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20.8k

Warnings: War, death, kidnapping, attempted escape, nudity, voyeurism, attempted assault, violence, hand jobs, oral sex (female receiving), loss of virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out game is strong, imprisonment, death by beheading, reincarnation, oral sex (male receiving), happily ever after

Comments: Sent to retrieve Caracalla's bride, General Marcus Acacius finds that you never agreed to marry the emperor. Falling in love with you on the journey back to Rome and discovering how dangerous that love could be.

A/N: Written before I saw the movie on Friday but just couldn't get it edited until now.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| 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.

“I am getting married.” Caracalla announces suddenly, surprising his generals as they crowd around the table that has the map of the empire laid out. “Congratulations, highness.” Marcus secretly feels sorry for whatever maiden has been coerced or picked to marry the spoiled ruler, but he nods respectfully. “We had not been aware that you had arranged a union.”

Caracalla grins. “That is why I need you, General Acacius.” He explains, pointing to a small kingdom on the edge of the Roman Empire. “My future empress is far enough away that I need you to fetch her.” He tells him. “Give her a proper escort to Rome.”

Marcus frowns slightly as he wonders what games the man is playing but it comes off as thoughtful instead of disrespectful. “Then I will gather my men and bring your bride to you.” He agrees, trying to imagine the spoiled, haughty girl that wants to be the empress of Rome.

****

You growl as your arrow misses the target. You’ve been training every day but you are still learning how to fight. Your father wants you to be prepared to defend your people when you become queen once he passes. Your instruction adjusts your arms, “you must concentrate. Your mind is not focused.” He murmurs and you narrow your eyes, focusing on your aim after you reload and you release, the arrow hitting its target. You grin, pleased with yourself, when you hear the horns. Soldiers come rushing towards you, “we must get you somewhere safe, Princess. The Romans are here.” Your eyes widen, “here? Why - why are the Romans here?” You ask, stumbling as they escort you inside and the battle begins outside to protect you and your kingdom from invasion.

****

Marcus wipes his brow, his skin covered in blood as he fights the men of this kingdom, knowing what his goal is, but they fight to protect their home. Why they fight when he was here to escort the princess to Rome, he doesn’t know but he had no time to ask when they attacked. He hears a battle cry and spins, swinging his sword to behead the man, his head rolling on the ground and Marcus’s chest heaves as the last of the men fall. He has won. Now, it’s time to meet the king and his daughter. The real reason he’s here.

“Do not cry, daughter.” Your father wraps his arms around your body to try to comfort you. He knows he will die, his army has been defeated by Rome and now the leader of that army will bring his head back to the emperor. “Show strength to our enemies so that they may know that we are not afraid.” The doors to the throne room are pushed open and a Roman soldier strides in, his walk confident yet weary. Covered in blood and dirt, he had not bothered to stop to clean up, eager to get this unpleasant task over with.

Marcus stands tall and watches you cling to your father. He says your name and your father frowns, “why do you want her? Surely my head is enough to satisfy the emperors.” Marcus frowns, “they informed me that she is to be empress to Caesar Caracalla. I thought this deal was arranged.”

Your father scoffs, “then why would my men fight?” He reasons and Marcus tilts his head, “I am following orders. She must come with me to Rome.”

Your eyes widen, “no. No. I will not. Father. Please.” You beg and he shakes his head, cupping your cheek, “be strong, daughter. Remember your training. Remember who we are.” He orders and nods to his men to grab you so he can step forward. “No! No!” You cry and your father kneels down before Marcus, “do what you must but know that I will curse the Roman Empire and her emperors.” He warns and Marcus swallows harshly, withdrawing his sword. “Make it quick.” Your father orders and you bury your face in the chest of the man holding you so you don’t see your father beheaded.

Marcus sighs as he lowers his sword. “I will not spill the blood of my future empress’s father.” He declares. The king is old and does not have too many years left, it is better to show you the mercy of Rome. Most of his soldiers are dead. “Your daughter will rule the world”, he tells the old man before he turns towards the man holding you. “Have her belongings packed and give them a few minutes to say their goodbyes.” He instructs, cursing Caracalla for what he has done. This is not a retrieval of a bride but a kidnapping.

You pull away from the men holding you, scrambling to kneel down next to your father and pull him close. You wrap your arms around him and he kisses your head, knowing he has no choice but to let you go. Your maids rush around to pack your things and soon, they are being loaded into the carriages that the Roman General brought to the palace. “You need to go.” Your father says and you shake your head, “no. No. What if - I do not know the emperor. He must be cruel. He must be, to have sent his army to destroy our people.” You choke, tears in your eyes.

“Men may think they rule the world but they do not. It is women who are smarter, emotionally stronger. They manipulate the men to do their bidding. Be like them. You may marry a man you do not love but you will be Empress of Rome. You will have power. Power is stronger than love.” Your father murmurs and wipes your tears away. “Be strong, daughter. Rule the world.” He orders and you nod, glancing over his shoulder to where the general waits for you.

“I love you.” You murmur to your father, knowing you’ll never see him again. “I love you too.” Your father nods, not letting you see how his heart is breaking. You try to step back but you don’t let go. Clinging to your father until the Romans step forward and grab you, dragging you away with a cry. You are carried onto a horse, the general swinging on behind you, and you sob as you are taken away from the only home you’ve ever known.

Marcus lets you cry, not bothering to offer you any platitudes or false words of comfort. He had just destroyed your home and stolen you away because his emperor wanted you. He’s sure Caracalla purposefully didn’t inform him that there had been no agreement, which angers him. Many good men had died for nothing. Marcus hands you a somewhat clean linen to blow your nose as he guides you farther and farther away from your home.

You don't say a word as you take the linen to blow your nose. You remain silent, refusing to give the General your voice as company while he begins the long journey back to Rome. Hours later, Marcus orders his men to set up camp when the sun starts to disappear beyond the horizon and he dismounts his stallion, holding his hands out to help you but you huff and kick his hands away, swinging your leg over to land on the ground with skills beyond a Roman woman. You have been raised around horses, taught to ride from a young age.

Marcus raises his brow at your stubbornness, secretly admiring it, but he knows that means you will cause trouble. He turns to his page and says, “have a bath prepared, I need to clean up, but allow our guest to bathe first.” He instructs. “She will be your future empress, so treat her with respect.”

You cross your arms and stubbornly stand there while his men work on setting up his tent and grabbing the tub that was carried on the cart at the back of the militia to prepare for you. You watch Marcus speak to his men, his body covered in the blood of your people and you clench your jaw. You don't wish to be empress to murderers, pillagers...monsters. You glance around, his men are busy and you see the horses are loosely tied up while they set up camp. You decide to take a chance. You run to the General's horse, swinging your leg over his back as you jump onto the horse, grabbing the reins to take off from the makeshift camp.

Marcus is talking to one of his men when he sees you jump onto the horse, his horse. “Shit!” The men start shouting and running towards you, spooking the other horses and causing chaos. He takes a second to admire your form, your ease in which you command the arrogant horse. Even if it’s no use. While his men scramble to stop you from escaping, Marcus plants his feet and sticks two fingers in his mouth. Emitting an ear piercing whistle that immediately makes his horse’s head rear up and change the direction he was running. Coming back to his general because he has been called.

You try to stop the horse, but he makes his way back to the general. You scramble off of him, jumping and falling into a heap. You hear footsteps towards you and you try to stand up, attempting to run but your arms are grabbed and you are pressed against the general. “Do not make another move, Princesa.” He growls, his knife pressed against your neck as his arm wraps around you and you hiss, sweat on your brow and you stop struggling, slumping in defeat.

Marcus hates how you look crumpled and broken, but he needs you to cooperate with him. Once you get to Rome, you can cause Caracalla all the headaches you wish, you will be his problem. Marcus just needs to deliver you to him safely. He softens slightly, pulling the knife away but he keeps his arm around you. “I don’t want to chain you up, but I will.” He threatens softly. “I would rather you make this easier on both of us.”

You nod, knowing you have no chance of trying to escape again if you are chained up. “Fine.” You murmur, inhaling deeply when he lowers his arms and his men gather around the horses, one of them taking the stallion back to the group. You are soon escorted into a tent, a bath full of hot water awaits you and you glance around at the soldier, “I will not strip with you standing there.” You declare with your chin raised up, “send a woman or leave me be.” You order and the soldier hesitates but steps out of the tent to speak to his superior.

Marcus sighs and dismisses his man before pulling the flap back and stalking into the tent. “There are no women here.” He tells you, making you snort. “I’ve seen the women.” You huff, crossing your arms and he frowns. “The camp whores.” He tells you bluntly. “Women who travel with the army to fuck my men. That is the kind of woman you wish to attend you?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. You’ve heard about the women of the night and their services but you know they are hungry for coin, for status, for power. He watches you shake your head, “then you will have to strip with a guardian. I cannot allow you to be alone since you’ll try and run again.” He says and you scoff, “you want me to display myself in front of your men? They will take what does not belong to them.” You spit and Marcus sighs, “then allow me to stand guard. I will turn my back.” He turns around to allow you modesty and you huff, unsure of when your next bath will be so you reach for the clip that holds your robes together, letting them drop to the floor, unaware that a mirror is in Marcus’s eye line.

He had meant to be true to his word, to allow you privacy, but the movement in the mirror had made him instantly tense. Anticipating an attack. Only to find your dress falling from your body and your beautiful tits on display to him. You are gorgeous, like one of the goddesses. He can see why Caracalla would send him to retrieve you for his own. He would want you, if he were in a position to have you. He clears his throat and looks away, only to be drawn back to the vision when you turn around to step into your bath.

You sigh as you sink into the water, not as hot as you like it but beggars can’t be choosers when you are facing your entire world being turned upside down. You see how tense the General is as you reach for the oils, bathing yourself with a soft hum. You want to show him you are unbothered by his presence.

Marcus keeps looking away and then finding his gaze coming back to the mirror. Watching as you slowly go through your bath. It’s incredibly sensual and his cock twitches under his tunic and armor. He has been a long time without a woman, and you are gorgeous with the fiery spirit Marcus likes.

You wash yourself, making sure you are clean for the arduous journey ahead and you stand up, reaching for the linen to wrap around yourself to dry off and Marcus is still turned away from you. You glance around, “I have nothing else to wear. I will need to redress.” You say and Marcus shakes his head, “there are tunics in the trunk. Mine but you’re welcome to one.” He says and you huff, walking over to open the trunk. You drop the linen to pull the tunic over your head.

It’s jarring to see you, to see any woman in his clothes, but Marcus grunts as he turns towards you. “Now I need to clean up.” He tells you, expecting you to demure and turn away so he can clean the dirt, sweat and blood off his skin and change into clean clothes.

You sit down on the chair that faces the bath and you stare at him, challenging him to strip off in front of you. You won’t shy away and give him the advantage even if he gave you the same courtesy. You want to irk him. Get inside his head. That’s your ticket to escape.

He watches you with a frown for a moment, but you just arch your brow and he snorts. Reaching for the thick leather ties of his chest plate to start stripping off the protective gear.

You watch the general that has stolen you from your home strip off. He’s strong, that’s evident in his form, but with each piece he removes, you see how war hardened he truly is. The deadly strength in his form has you shifting in your chair and when he pulls his tunic over his head, your throat goes dry at his exposed figure. His cock flaccid and you hate how your stomach twists at the sight of him.

He’s grateful that he’s got enough self control that his cock isn’t hard. You act like his body doesn’t affect you and he pretends like it’s nothing to be naked in front of you. “There are guards outside the tent.” He warns as he grabs his own linen and strides over to the bath, eager to clean up.

You roll your eyes at his warning and watch as he gets into the water, blood immediately turning the water red. You swallow at that. The blood of your men swirling in the water. “Is the Roman army always so brutal?” You ask, watching him wash the blood from his skin with the cloth that he grabbed.

“Your men attacked us.” Marcus reminds you. “We believed that we were simply fetching the emperor’s intended bride.” He sighs softly. “When they attacked us, we had no choice but to fight back, believing we were being drawn into a trap.” In truth, he regrets the bloodshed, and would have avoided it if he had known you were unaware of the emperor’s claim on your hand. “I don’t like killing needlessly.”

You swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes at the deception. Either by him right now or by the emperor you are intended to marry. “I never agreed to marry your emperor. I have never met him. What is he like? Is he cruel?” You ask, knowing some leaders can be too obsessed with themselves to do what’s right for their people.

“Sometimes.” Marcus tells you honestly. “He - has whims that drive him.” He knows that you could tell Caracalla and he would be angry at his general, but he also needs him to win the wars and claim the territories that he craves. “He will not like you running from him, he is used to being publicly adored.” He snorts, knowing how most really feel about the ruler.

You scoff and roll your eyes, “he sounds like a true Caesar. Self absorbed and focused on his own whims instead of helping the Romans achieve greatness. There’s no greatness in the vastness of the empire, there’s greatness within their people but from stories I have heard, they are starving. Taxed to their eyeballs and looking for salvation from anyone but their emperors.”

Marcus doesn’t confirm your comments, although they are true. “Then perhaps you as her empress can bring comfort to the people.” He tells you, continuing to wash. The water is murky now, but he feels better. He just needs to wash his back and his hair.

Your lip curls at the thought of marrying the emperor. You’ve heard rumors about him and his twin brother. How they make rash decisions based on emotions. “Perhaps I shall arrive and the emperor doesn’t deem me beautiful enough for his hand. Or maybe I will be too dumb. Or untameable. These are all things he should consider when picking a wife, no?” You tilt your head and look at the general’s back.

“You would think.” Marcus mumbles under his breath. “The emperor is very certain in his choices once he has made them.” Until he decides against them. He doesn’t tell you that, knowing it would be unfair to give you false hope. Caracalla wants you, so he will have you.

You huff, “I don’t know why he picked me. My lands are not conquered. My father will delegate someone to inherit the kingdom. I have nothing to offer.” You confess and Marcus grunts as he tries to clean his back. “

“I cannot claim to know what the emperor chose you.” He huffs, knowing he should have called his page into help. His muscles are sore from the fighting and he is not as limber as he might have been. He needs help to wash his back.

You see his struggle, your eyes glancing down to the knife that lays on the floor by the tub, clearly left there for him to use if needed. You see your chance. “I can assist you, General.” You say and stand up, kneeling next to the tub. He eyes you cautiously but hands the cloth to you. You grab the knife with your other hand and lean closer, starting to wash his back with the cloth. You see him relax slightly and decide to strike, dropping the cloth and bringing the knife up at the same moment.

Marcus reacts quickly, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. “You want to kill me?” He growls, scowling at you. “Do it when you’re the empress.” He tells you. “Until then, remember that I hold your life in my hands.”

You drop the knife and he catches it with his free hand, placing it on the other side of the tub. “You’d never escape without my men delivering you to the emperor. They are on orders to take you there even if I’m dead. You’ll be delivered to the emperor. Dead or alive.” He warns even though he knows it would be his head if you are delivered dead but he won’t be looking over his shoulder the entire journey home. “Fine.” You hiss, “you’re a bastard.” You growl and he chuckles, “nothing I haven’t heard before. Now, you were washing my back?” He reminds you, handing you the cloth. You roll your eyes and continue washing his back, knowing you’ll need to make a new plan.

He can hear you fume and plot needlessly as you roughly swipe the linen over his skin. “It will take us several weeks to get back to Rome.” He reminds you. “I would rather this be a pleasant trip.”

His tone makes you clench your jaw but you know you can’t run yet. You decide to focus on your survival and you know the General is key to that. You clean his back, your eyes trailing down his chest to take note of the scars and blemishes on his skin. “You have been fighting a long time.” You observe, “you must be weary.”

Marcus hums, knowing that he is weary of war and watching men die. One day he will fall on the field of battle and his fight will be over. “It is a heavy burden to watch men die.” He tells you. “Or be the cause of their death.”

You nod, seeing the haunted look in his eyes, and you are taken back by it. You had heard about the General, whispers from men who returned from far away lands that the General was lethal but right now you see a man who is tired of war and tired of death. “I can only imagine the things you have seen.” You hand the cloth back to him now that his back is clean and you reach for the oils, deciding to help him wash his hair. Perhaps you can win him over with kindness.

“My hope is that because I have seen them, my children will not have to.” He murmurs, even though he has no children. He sighs and shakes his head. “It does not matter. Wars will always be fought.”

You pour the oils into your palms, rubbing them together and you slide your fingers through his strands, your fingertips turning red as you wash his hair. “War will always be a man’s game. If women ruled the world, there would be no war. Simply silence.”

“Women are smarter than men.” Marcus’ eyes slide closed as he leans back. “I have always thought so. You might not have the strength that I do, but you think differently.” He chuckles.

You smirk, picking up the jug to rinse his hair, “women have their power between their legs. Men’s weakness is between their legs.” You say and Marcus snorts, closing his eyes as you slide your fingers through his hair.

“My father - he’s a good man. I- I want to thank you for sparing his life.” You murmur, admiring the general up close. He has lines on his face but he’s handsome. “Do you have a wife? Children? Back in Rome?”

“No.” Marcus’s brow pinches together for a moment. “My wife died in childbirth many years ago.” He hasn’t talked about Marcella in a long time, but he feels like he owes you a little bit of himself after all he’s taken from you.

Your stomach drops and you find yourself feeling sorry for him. “I’m sorry. No words can ever take away the pain I imagine you must feel.” You whisper, finding a vulnerable part of the war hardened General.

“They are running through the Elysian Fields, waiting for me.” He murmurs. “Or with the gods.” He sighs. “Or just gone. I don’t know. But it was a long time ago.”

“I am certain they are at peace, waiting for you. You shall die in bed knowing they are there waiting.” You say and he shakes his head, “I shall die on the battlefield. Killed by a man my junior. I have accepted my fate.” He murmurs and you sigh, “and I will not accept mine.” You withdraw your hands from his hair and grab the linens for him to dry off. “I am tired and hungry. I wish for your men to bring me a tray.”

He cracks an eye open and watches you. “I cannot have you telling Caracalla that you were starved on the journey to Rome.” He snorts before he grips the sides of the tub and heaves himself up with a groan. Water sluices down his body and he steps out of the tub onto the carpets lining the floor of his tent. Taking the linen with a nod of thanks, he quickly dries himself off and wraps the cloth around his waist to move to the tent flap and opens it. “Bring food and wine.” He orders one of the guards. “Enough for me and our guest.”

Your eyes follow his form, the muscles in his back moving in a way that has your throat dry. You need wine. That’s all. Yet why did you find yourself wanting to strip the linen from his waist and see more of him? “Thank you.” You murmur, certain that his men are whispering. “You will need to be careful. I’m sure you do not want your men spreading rumors that you are nude and in a tent with the future empress. The emperor will not take kindly to not having a pure bride.”

He lifts a brow, amused and confused by your worry of his own safety. “I thank you for your concern.” He nods as he moves over to the trunk you had pulled a tunic out of to get his own. “Although I doubt Caracalla will believe that I seduced you.”

You raise your eyebrows, “and why is that? You are too loyal to your emperor to imagine you committing such treason? Or am I not pretty enough for the revered General Marcus Acacius?” You scoff, wondering why he is so loyal to his Caesar when it’s clear he is weary.

He snorts and shakes his head. “You misunderstand.” He tells you. “I am old, scarred.” He gestures to his body. “Not young or handsome, rich or powerful.” He doesn’t bring up his rank, because you don’t seem like a woman who would care about a generator. “Caracalla would believe that I was too unappealing to seduce someone of your beauty.”

His answer makes your stomach lurch and you stand up, walking over to him. He puffs out his chest, prepared for your attack, but instead, you slide your hand down his covered chest. “You are not old. You are experienced. You have wisdom. And you are handsome. Weathered but I guarantee you any woman would eagerly slide into your bed. Do not discount yourself, general. You are appealing. You could seduce if you wanted to.” You pull your hand away, “Caracalla sounds like a fool if he believes otherwise.”

Marcus knows you are trying a new tactic and he frowns slightly. Your words make his body tighten in need but he doesn’t reach for you. “Perhaps I appeal to some.” He concedes, stepping away from you and reminding himself that you are trying to escape. “I am not worried about who would want me in their bed.”

You frown when he steps back. You may have been trying to form an escape plan but you genuinely mean your words. You sigh and make your way over to the chair just as his men bring in food and wine. You are starving and you should wait to see if Marcus eats first but you highly doubt he’d poison you when his job is to deliver you to the emperor.

He thanks his men and pours two large cups of wine before handing you one. “Drink.” He murmurs softly. “It has been a long day for you and you will make yourself sick if you do not drink and eat.” The sadness that had made your heart hurt has now been replaced with a fiery glow and he has to admire it, even if he needs to squash it. The men carry out the tub silently and he sits down on the bed since there is not another chair. He will have to have one brought, but for now, he will give it to you.

You know you can’t starve yourself in protest, you’ll need your strength if you want to attempt an escape again. You pick up the cup, taking a sip and you have to admit the Romans know their wine. You look at the meat and cheese on offer, taking some in your free hand and you chew on it, watching Marcus as he sits on the bed. “Will I have to share the tent with you?” You ask and he snorts, “I cannot have you running off again.” You nod, strangely feeling safer being in his tent. You know his men would likely take advantage of you on your own. Men at war are monsters, and you feel better knowing the General whose head depends on delivering you safe to his Emperor, is the one sharing your tent.

Marcus relaxes as you start to eat. His body is weary and he is tired, but he still watches you to make sure you don’t try to run. “Did you have a man you were to marry?” He asks. “In your land? Is that why you would not want to be empress?”

Your eyes flick up to meet his and you stare at him for a moment. You shake your head, “no. I did not. Many asked for my hand but I wanted to learn as much about my kingdom as possible from my father, to be the best Queen I could be for them. I was focused on training and politics. Not men.” You confess, “the only man I spent time with was my stallion.” You tease, placing a grape into your mouth.

“A wise choice.” He chuckles and takes a sip of his wine. “Horses are far better than people.” He sighs softly. “For what it's worth, I am sorry that your life has been disrupted and changed.” He murmurs.

It’s clear he genuinely feels that way and you nod, “thank you. I appreciate you being so honorable. A rare trait nowadays.” You sigh and he nods in agreement. You continue eating in silence until it’s time to sleep. “Will I be sleeping on the floor?” You ask, seeing one bed and nothing else for you to lay down on.

Marcus shakes his head. “You will sleep on the bed, with me.” You huff and he lifts a brow. “I will not touch you, except to make sure you do not try to escape.” He tells you. “Would you rather be tied to the bed so I can sleep?”

“I didn’t know you were that way inclined, General.” You tease, knowing that having an attitude won’t get you anywhere. You sigh and make your way over to the bed. “If we are to be sharing a bed for weeks, I pray you do not snore.” You slide under the sheets and turn on your side, not wanting to watch him as he settles in.

Marcus sets his cup down and kneels in front of a small altar he has set up for the gods. Lighting the incense to burn through the night for the souls that had been lost today in battle. He closes his eyes and murmurs a prayer. “Keep my men safe, allow them to return to their wives and mothers.” He says, like he does every night. “If my life must be the sacrifice for that, let it be done with honor.”

You listen to his prayer and you frown, maybe he isn’t a monster. He is praying for his men to return home safely even if it means his death. It takes you back and you turn to look at him as he stands up from his kneeling position. “You are different from most men, General.” You murmur.

“I will take comfort in your words when you are cursing me for completing my task.” He frowns slightly. “The gods have forced us together and I can only hope that there is a reason for it.” He sees you shiver and frowns, “do you need another fur?” He asks, thinking you might be cold since the temperature is dropping now the sun has gone down. He runs hot so he doesn’t sleep with many blankets no matter how cold it gets.

You nod, shivering under the sheets and he grabs another fur from the trunk, placing it over you, and you watch as he slides under the sheets beside you. “Goodnight, princesa.” He murmurs and turns his back to you after blowing out the candle next to the bed. You watch him as he relaxes and you close your eyes, sleep finally taking you after a traumatic day.

Marcus stays awake for a long time, listening as your breathing evens out and he sighs. “Damn you, Caracalla.” He curses softly, knowing that he would have never fought your people if he had known you were never in agreement to marry the emperor. Guilt swirls in his stomach and he wonders what the other man will do with you once he has his prize.

You awake with a start, confused by your location until you realize where you are and what happened. You blink and your lower lip trembles but you refuse to cry. You wake up a little more and realize you have shifted in your sleep and you are curled into the chest of the General, his arm under your head, and you gasp at the way you somehow curled around each other during your slumber.

Marcus is awake, he has been for hours but he refused to move when you were nestled up against him and sleeping peacefully. “Sleep deep, princesa?” He asks, his voice rough with disuse.

You immediately shift away from him, sitting up, and you’re flustered. You had liked how it felt in his arms and that scares you. “I- I’m sorry.” You choke out, shifting away from him.

“Do not apologize.” He murmurs, missing the feel of your body against his. “It is natural to seek out comfort when you are vulnerable.” He sighs. “Even if you would not when you are awake.” He groans as he shifts to sit up. “Come, I will have water brought for you to clean up and give you a moment of privacy for you to use the pot.” He motions over to a screen that he had ordered set up for your comfort when nature calls.

He’s considerate and that takes you back. “Thank you.” You murmur and he nods, shifting to stand up with a groan. You watch him leave the tent after putting on his sandals to get his men to bring water and you use the pot during his absence. His men bring water and you clean off behind the screen and Marcus returns with food and drink. It takes a while for his men to pack up camp but Marcus looks at you when you stand by his stallion. “I’d offer you a hand up but I know you are more than capable.” He says and you chuckle, reaching for the saddle to swing yourself up onto his stallion, wearing a new tunic from his trunk.

Marcus tries not to stare at your legs, his tunics much shorter than the dresses you have undoubtedly packed away in your things. Instead of saying something, he takes his cloak off and drapes it over your legs for warmth and privacy. “My men are not used to seeing such a beautiful woman.” He explains so you do not take offense before he pulls himself up behind you and takes the reins.

You scoff, “no need for flattery, General, I am willingly on your horse. I am not running away.” You lean back against him a little as he flicks the reins to move the stallion forward.

“No flattery, but the truth.” He hums in your ear. “The whore’s fuck them. But you are beautiful, untouched. Legs on display, you will have my men fighting to touch you and then I will have to kill them.”

“To preserve my innocence for the emperor.” You murmur, turning your head and your face is so close to his. Your eyes focused on him as he blindly controls the horse. “Yes.” He rasps and you hum, “you serve your emperor well, General. Many never see loyalty as strong as that in their lifetime. I wonder what would cause you to break that loyalty, make you throw your morality to the wind.”

He doesn’t answer, knowing that you don’t expect a reply. The army moves slowly and there are times that Marcus stops with you to let you attend to your needs before catching back up with the other officers. Many horses come up to him while you ride, asking questions or informing him of different things, but Marcus handles all of them with ease and grace, aware that the road is weary for everyone.

The sun beating down on you has you weary and you find yourself leaning back against the general, closing your eyes, and his arm wraps around you to keep you in place when you fall asleep. He’s spoken to you about Rome, answered your questions, and you have told him about your people, your lands, in between riders offering him questions or information.

Marcus looks down at you and sighs. He should slow the travel down. You are exhausted and he knows Caracalla will be less than pleased if you arrive worn out. He motions for his men to approach and speaks quietly. “We will make camp early every night.” He decides. “It will take longer to get home but the men will be better rested.” He isn’t doing it for the men, but for you. Perhaps by that time, you will have accepted your fate as empress. “Have the scouts find a place to rest for the night.”

Marcus shakes you awake gently when the horse has stopped moving. You gasp, reality hitting you once again, and you fluster, realizing that you fell asleep on him yet again. “I seem to be creating a habit. I’m sorry. You are welcome to wake me any time.” You say and he tuts, “you need your rest, princesa.” You don’t argue and you see the men starting to prepare camp. “I wish to have another bath.” You say and Marcus nods, swinging his leg over the horse and he holds his arms out for you to help you down. This time you allow it, his large hands gripping your waist as you are helped down from the horse and your chest is pressed against his, your head slightly tilted towards his face. “Thank you, General.” You murmur, patting his chest plate and stepping back, hating how your heart pounds at his proximity.

His dark eyes watch you. “You are welcome.” He nods and hands the reins of his horse off to one of the men. “Would you like for one of your trunks to be brought to my tent, or would you like to keep wearing my clothes?” He smirks slightly as he asks, secretly enjoying the way you look in his tunics.

You smirk, “I suppose I should wear my own clothes so you can have your cloak back during the rides.” You tap his chest plate, “I also would like to wear something that reminds me of home.” You murmur and he nods, calling over one of his men to retrieve your trunks. It doesn’t take long for the men to step up camp and you enter Marcus’s tent, grateful to be out of the sun, and you walk over to your trunk to open it, gathering the oils you wish to use for bathing.

The tub is brought into the tent by three men and set in the middle of the space. “We will bring hot water as quickly as it boils.” A young boy of fifteen informs you with a small blush. “The general ordered the water to be hotter than it was yesterday.”

“Thank you.” You tell the boy, knowing his mother must be worried sick about him wherever she is. You know Marcus is speaking to his men and won’t return until you are done with your bath. Two men return with pails full of steaming hot water and you thank them, watching them leave after they fill the tub. You’re just about to remove your tunic when the tent flap opens and one of the men return. “Did you forget something?” You ask and he chuckles darkly, “I wanted to see what the fuss is all about. Why did we lose men to retrieve you as our future empress? You must have a cunt made of gold.” He says and you try to open your mouth but he covers it with his palm, his other hand grabbing your waist to drag you against him. Your training kicks in and you bite down on his hand while elbowing him in the side, making him choke, and you rush out the tent, screaming for Marcus.

Marcus is talking with his men when he hears a scream of his name and instantly knows it’s you. His eyes dart towards the tent even as he draws his sword, lurching forward to race towards you as he sees your figure darting from between the tent and the men, looking behind you with an expression of pure terror. He sees one of his men chasing after you and he would have believed that you were trying to escape again if it weren’t for that scream and that you are racing towards him. When he reaches you, he throws his arm around your waist and drags you behind him roaring the name of the soldier as he plants his feet as a barrier between you and the other man. “What the fuck is going on?”

You cling to him, feeling safe with him in front of you. “He - he grabbed me in the tent. Came back alone and I tried to scream but he covered my mouth. He was - he said he wanted to know why I was chosen as empress. Said he wanted to know if I had a cunt made of gold.” The soldier scoffs, “she’s lying. She tried to escape. Bit my hand when I tried to stop her and she’s a lying cunt.”

“If she was trying to escape, she would not have screamed my name or run towards me.” Marcus growls, furious that one of his men would try to harm you. He points his sword at the man. “Tell the truth now or your death will be slow and painful.” He warns.

The soldier scoffs and rocks on his feet, his eyes narrowed towards you. “As if any man here would deny wanting to feel a virgin cunt around their cock? And the future empress? Fuck the Emperor and his ridiculous wars. We lost men retrieving this bitch. I wanted to see if she was worth the sacrifice.” He confesses, looking around to see if any of the others would back him up.

Marcus waits, giving the men time to speak up and voice their opinions but everyone is quiet. Feet shuffle and leathers creak as they stand and wait for their general’s wrath. He rocks his jaw. “I have lost men for a cause I would never have agreed with.” He admits. “But that is not her fault. And I have never condoned rape.”

The soldier scoffs, “men have taken what isn’t theirs throughout history. We need to remember that. Perhaps the General wants to save her for himself? That’s why he is kept in his tent.” The soldier digs a deeper hole and you step around Marcus. “I never asked to be taken from my home, from my people. I am sorry you lost men, so did I. I never asked for this and I certainly never asked to be taken against my will.” You stand tall, not letting the men see you are afraid.

Marcus lets you speak, knowing that it is your right. “You dared to try to defile the future empress of Rome.” He reminds the man. “Dishonoring your house, your name.” He reaches out and pulls you behind him again and steps forward. “The gods will judge you.” He declares, his sword coming up with a quick swing of his arms and he beheads your attacker without any hesitation. The headless body stands for a moment before collapsing onto the ground as his head rolls away. “Any man who seeks to take what is not his will be given the same.” His voice lifts and his words are stern. He looks back at the body and spits on it before dropping his sword.

You don’t flinch at the sight of the beheaded man. You’ve witnessed worse as the Princess of your kingdom. You never shied away from the horrors of war, knowing that you needed to experience it to lead your men. Marcus grabs your arm but you’re not scared of him as he escorts you to his tent. He releases your arm as soon as the flap to the tent closes and you turn to face him. “I’m sorry.” You spit out, worried that he’s angry with you.

“Did you try to seduce him?” Marcus demands and you hiss in anger. “No! I did not try to seduce him!” You look angry, but he can tell you are being truthful. “Then you have no reason to be sorry, princesa.” He responds quietly. “He made his decision to act like he did and it cost him his life. You did not cause it.”

You nod, knowing he's being reasonable, and you sigh, glancing at the bath. "I would like to bathe now." You say and Marcus has the man's blood splattered on his face. "You need to as well." You observe and he nods, "I will leave you." He says and you reach for his hand, "no. Can you - can you stay? I don't want to be alone." You plead softly and he nods, looking down at your hand. He turns his back to give you your privacy and you undress, sinking into the water.

Rage arms in his veins and he doesn’t dare to look into the mirror right now. Afraid of his own reaction. He hasn’t killed the man because he had attacked the future empress, he had killed him because he had dared to touch you. The possessiveness that is silent in his system is not good and he clenches his fists as he takes several deep breaths to calm himself down.

You slide your oils along your skin and it hits you. A sob escapes your lips as the reality of the past few days hits hard. You have been taken from your home, nearly watched your father be killed, nearly assaulted, and you are to marry a man you've never met. Your emotions run high and you sob, tears dropping into the water.

Marcus hears your muffled sobs and they rip at his heart. “You’re safe, princesa.” He says roughly, thinking you are overwhelmed from your attack. “No one will harm you while I live.”

His words wrap around you and you feel safe with the man tasked to take you. You are conflicted and your sobs calm, inhaling deeply as you wash your face, "thank you, Marcus." You murmur, watching his back as he stands guard.

“And I am sorry.” He confesses softly, feeling more like himself now. He doesn’t turn around and watches the tent flap for any movement outside. His back is tense as he stays turned away from you and you wash quickly, standing up, and you wrap the linen around your form. “You can look now.” You say, certain that he wants to wash off the blood of the dead soldier. “I have oils you can use.”

“Thank you.” He nods his head and starts to strip, not realizing his body is still hard. His cock jutting up in frustration and arousal. He knows you are not looking, so he doesn’t bother to turn away as he strips down.

You turn towards the tub at the same time he’s stripped and stepping in. His cock hard and your eyes widen. You have never seen a man naked like that before and it has your face heating up. “I have - the oils.” You choke, holding them out to him as he sinks into the water.

He sees how wide your eyes are and looks down. “Forgive me, princesa.” He murmurs, reaching out slowly to take the oils. “It sometimes happens on its own.” He confesses. “You don’t need to worry that I will act like the man I just killed.”

You shake your head, “no. No. I know. I just - I’ve never seen - you are beautiful.” You murmur, knowing he wouldn’t hurt you. Whether that’s for the emperor’s sake or yours, you don’t know, but you know he hasn’t harmed you.

His eyes watch you, surprised that you are saying such things to him. At least you don’t fear him. “I am just a man.” He tells you. “Thank you.”

You shake your head, “you’re a good man. You could’ve treated me badly, let your men touch him, maybe even taken me for yourself, but you didn’t. You’re a good man, Marcus.” You murmur, shifting to kneel by the tub.

He shakes his head. “Don’t praise me too quickly, princesa.” He growls softly. “You don’t know what I have thought, imagined.” His fingers curl around the edge of the tub and he looks back at you after looking away.

You frown, tilting your head in curiosity, “tell me what you’ve thought, imagined. Perhaps it will tarnish my opinion of you but I need to know.” You say, knowing you cannot hide from the truth. It’s better to face reality when you are on a journey to marry a man you do not know.

“Touching you.” Marcus confesses. “Taking you, for my own, seizing your innocence and showing you what it is like to have a man between your thighs.” He swallows harshly. “Not to have you as a prize but to experience your fiery passions and see what you could be.”

His words immediately make your stomach twist, your cunt clenching around nothing in a feeling not entirely foreign to you. You shuffle closer, placing your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “I had a dream earlier. When I was riding on your horse. The rhythm of the horse and you pressed against me…I imagined you inside me, taking me without anyone knowing.” You confess and slide your hand lower, your eyes watching him for any protest as your hand trails until you are wrapping your fingers around his cock. He chokes, “you don’t-” You shush him, “let me touch you, General. Show me what to do.”

He should push your hand away, refuse you, but he feels frozen in place. His cock twitches in your hand, making the water ripple slightly and you gasp while tightening your grip on him. His hand slowly uncurls from the edge of tub and he covers your hand with his much larger one and he groans softly when he starts to slowly guide you in how to stroke him.

You are fascinated by the look on his face. He looks wrecked already and you love that you are making him feel this way. You squeeze him when his hand tightens around yours, setting the pace he wants.

“You don’t-“ Marcus closes his eyes and pants slightly. “It’s- just like that.” He tells you, knowing that you will do what you like and he’s too worked up to deny you.

You don’t listen to his protest because you want to do this. “You should know by now that I never do anything I don’t want to do, General.” You smirk and continue pumping his cock.

He knows that, he knows it very well. He lets go of your hand and lets you control his pleasure as you stroke. “Admire that.” He grunts.

You feel empowered by the way he groans, withering under your touch. This powerful general is moaning your name and you control his pleasure. It’s intoxicating and makes you wet as you control this part of your destiny. “I know. You are unlike any man I’ve ever known. So strong. So powerful. Yet you don’t abuse your position. I admire that.”

He groans softly. “Real power doesn’t require abuse.” He had learned that from Marcus Aurelias and Maximus when he was younger and he had never forgotten it.

You continue pumping him, moving your hand a little faster and his hand falls away to grip the side of the tub, his neck elongated when he throws his head back. You can’t help but lean in to kiss the skin there.

The groan he gives you is almost pained, pleasurable in the most gut wrenching way. He says your name again, trying not to rock his hips up as you touch him. “That’s it, princesa.” He praises.

You kiss his neck, loving how you can feel his pulse beneath your lips while you squeeze his cock, instinctively twisting your wrist as you pump his cock. You want him to fall apart for you.

Marcus gasps out your name softly and he feels his body tense. Knowing that he is about to cum, he locks eyes with you.

You look at him, loving the way his lip curls slightly and you pump his cock. feeling it pulse in your grip and finally, he lets out a low groan of your name. Spurts of cum hit the back of your hand and his stomach and you watch him in fascination and arousal.

He rides out his orgasm with a groan and reaches down and stops your hand. “Princesa- you have to stop.” He tells you, wondering what you thought of the first time you touched a man.

His plea makes you chuckle and you loosen your grip on his cock, letting it soften against his belly, and you reach for the cloth to wash his skin. “You look so beautiful when you fall apart.” You murmur, caressing his cheek with your other hand.

“I should not have let you touch me.” He murmurs softly. “But there is something about you that makes me reckless.”The emperor would have him killed if he ever found out, but Marcus can’t find it in himself to care right now. “Did you enjoy making me weak?”

You lower your hand and dry your other hand off on the linen, still kneeling by the tub. “I did.” You smirk at the relaxed look on his face, “here are the oils.” You hand him one, “I’m sure you want to clean up after an arduous day.” You say and you offer him a shy smile now that the lust has passed from his eyes.

Marcus frowns for a moment before he takes the oils from your hand. “Thank you.” He should touch you, to give you the same pleasure, but you don’t seem to be wanting it. “I try to be clean when I sleep.” He tells you. “I rest better.”

You nod, shifting to stand up and you grab a tunic from his trunk, letting the linen drop from your body to pull his tunic over your head, letting him see your bare back and ass. You feel his eyes on you and that makes you smirk as you turn to face him while he washes off with the oils you gave him.

He feels like it’s deliberate, you wearing his tunic again. “You like my clothes.” He notices how you show off slightly, twisting as flaunting the shorter hem with a smirk on your face. “And you wonder why I view you as mine.” He snorts.

“They are more comfortable than my clothes.” You confess, brushing down the hem, “and I like that they are yours.” You add, making your way over to his bed to sit down, watching him rinse off and he shifts to stand up, water dripping from his form and you unashamedly drag your eyes down his body. “It makes me think that I’m yours.”

He stares at you for a moment. “I could give you pleasure.” He offers, wanting to touch you. “You would stay pure and still know what it’s like to have a man touch you.” It’s a risky offer, but he wants to have some claim over you right now.

His offer makes your body warm and you arch as he reaches for linen to dry himself off after he steps out the tub. He steps towards you once the linen is wrapped around his waist and you shift to kneel on the bed, reaching for the hem of his tunic to remove it. You pull it over your head and toss it to the floor, “touch me, Marcus. I want to know what it’s like.” You order, knowing you should hate the man who kidnapped you from your home but you want him, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

His gaze is focused, intense as he admires your body. “You are beautiful.” He growls, eyes roaming from your tits to your thighs, drinking in the sight of the curls that cover your cunt. “Lay back and spread your legs.” He orders. “Close your eyes to start.”

You follow his order, laying down on the pillows of his bed. Your heart is pounding and your stomach twists with anticipation when you spread your legs, allowing him to see your wet folds. “Close your eyes.” He reminds you and you close them, shivering in anticipation.

Marcus comes over to the bed and slides his hand up your thigh and holds your waist while he leans in and presses his lips to yours gently. Kissing you softly for your first kiss and capturing your gasp and sliding his tongue into your mouth when you open up slightly.

You reach up to cup his cheek, unsure of what to do. You’ve never kissed anyone before and you find yourself too eager, knocking your nose against his. He chuckles against your lips and tilts his head, sliding his tongue back into your mouth and you moan, keeping your eyes closed.

You yield to him, giving him a sense of conquest because he knows you would not just give in to anyone. His hand slides up and cups your breast as he breaks off the kiss to move his lips down your body. “Princesa, I will make you moan in pleasure and shake apart on this bed.” He promises right before he wraps his lips around your other nipple as he squeezes your tit in his hand.

You gasp, tangling your fingers in his damp hair while he bites and sucks on your nipple. “Oh gods.” You moan, your cunt clenching around nothing and you love these sensations. It’s more than you’ve ever felt. He releases your nipple with a pop and switches to the other one, making you whimper, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him between your thighs.

Marcus kneels between your spread thighs. Kissing and flicking his tongue against your sensitive nipples and switching back and forth between them. Until your legs are pressing against his hips and your whimpers have become loud. He can smell the arousal from how wet you are becoming and he bites down on your hard nipple before pulling off of it and kissing down your stomach. “Your cunt aches, doesn’t it?” He asks, wedging his shoulders between your thighs and hooking your legs over them. “Throbs?”

You nod, lost in the haze of the pleasure he’s already given you. You open your eyes to look down at him, his dark eyes fixed on your cunt and you whimper again. “It does. I- I need - I don’t know. Your fingers. Anything.” You beg a little, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Nothing but my tongue inside you.” He promises, knowing he can’t risk your innocence that way. He knows he can make you cum on his tongue. “Now you can watch.” He smirks. “Watch as I service you, show you what it feels like to have your cunt eaten.”

You watch him kiss your thigh, his breath washing hot over your cunt and you can’t stop the whine that escapes your lips. “Please, Marcus.” He chuckles and grips your thigh, keeping you spread open as he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds. The sound that escapes you is almost inhuman. You’ve never felt the wet, hot glide of a tongue there and it makes you cry out.

Your scent is almost as intoxicating as your taste. Marcus groans heavily as he takes another taste with a swipe of his tongue. Settling in to bury his face in your cunt and devour you completely. It has been a long time since he has tasted a woman and you make him ravenous.

His tongue carves a path no one else has taken and your back arches as the pleasure clouds your mind. You love it. You moan his name and tangle your fingers in his hair, letting him decide how he’s going to ruin you with his tongue.

Marcus focuses on your sounds. Sliding his tongue and flicking it to pull the prettiest sounds from you and repeating the actions when you obviously enjoy it. He loves how you are giving yourself into his care and letting him show you these pleasures. Claiming a piece of you that you could never give someone else because it is his.

Your hips rock up unconsciously trying to chase his tongue but he throws his arm over your waist, keeping you still so he can push his tongue into your dripping cunt. “Oh fuck.” You curse, “Marcus. That - it feels so good.” You almost choke on your words, overwhelmed by the feelings.

He hums against your folds, his nose pressed against your clit as he works his tongue deeper inside you. Feeling the way your walls try to clench down around him and he knows you would feel exquisite around his cock, but he can’t take your innocence.

He works you higher and higher with each swipe of his tongue. His broad shoulders stretch you wide for him to have access to all of you and he sucks on your clit, making you cry out loud enough that you’re certain his men hear you.

Marcus pulls his head away and smirks at you. “Not so loud, princesa.” He coos teasingly. “The men already think I am keeping you for myself.” He dives back into your folds after you slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

You love how he’s claiming you like this. You want the men to know you are being kept by him but you understand how that’s dangerous for you both. You feel your stomach twist with a foreign feeling, clenching and your thighs tighten as the feeling spreads until you are moaning into your hand as you fall apart for him.

Marcus continues to suck on your clit, watching you with a possessive gaze and feeling his cock harden again. He can’t take you, but he wants you to enjoy every second of pleasure that courses through your veins. Pulling away when you are whimpering, before it turns to pain, he kisses your clit once more. His mouth is soaked with your juices and he licks his lips. “Beautiful, princesa.”

You whimper, overly sensitive to his touch and you run your fingers through his hair, loving how he looks ravenous still. “I wish you could fully claim me.” You confess breathlessly, “fill me up.”

“I cannot.” He comes up and presses his lips to your softly. “Not because I do not want to.” He promises. “I would not put you in that kind of danger.”

You sigh, nodding in understanding that the emperor would want a pure woman for empress otherwise you’ll likely be killed. You caress his cheek and swing your leg over his, feeling his hardening cock against your thigh. “Do you want me to-?” You ask but he shakes his head, reaching for your wandering hand to bring it to his chest. “No. Let’s rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead when you curl into his chest. “Goodnight Marcus.” You whisper and he hums, “goodnight, princesa.”

****

Everyday, he pleasures you with his mouth, spending more and more time with you wrapped around him as you muffle your cries. Sometimes even risking touching your clit while you are riding to the next encampment. He talks with you outside the bed, having thoughtful conversations and learning about you. Falling for you. You are sexy and intelligent, far too good for the spoiled emperor, but it is not his decision to make.

You blink as you awaken before Marcus. A rare opportunity. You look at him as he sleeps, the sheets and furs at his waist and his arm is under you, making your heart flutter. You’ve fallen for the man tasked with bringing you to the emperor. He’s strong, brave, smart, and not to blame for your kidnapping. He’s loyal and follows orders but he’s been in your bed, pleasuring you. You see his hard cock, tenting the sheets and you whimper, still wet from your nightly routine of him eating your cunt. You move slowly, not wanting to startle him, and you shift to straddle him. He doesn’t awaken and you smirk, deciding to take action when he won’t. He clearly wants you and he’s too rigid to take what is already his. You shift the sheets down and grip his cock, hovering naked over him, you decide to take your fate into your own hands and position him at your entrance. You sink down, watching his brow furrow as he stretches you out with his cock.

Marcus groans at the pleasure of his dreams, although night spent dreaming of being buried in your cunt. Of filling you until you are round with his child and keeping you. Your weight shifts and you hiss slightly, breaking through his sleep until his eyes open. Marcus grabs your hips, gasping your name as he tries to lift you off his cock before the damage can be done but all he manages is to bury himself deeper as he lurches up. “What have you done? Princesa-“ he chokes out, unable to say anything else as the weight of your actions washes over him. You are no longer pure.

You giggle, bending over to kiss him softly, “I don’t care. I want you. I don’t give a shit if the emperor knows I’m pure or sullied. I will claim I had lovers in my kingdom. He sent you so far away to claim me with no knowledge of my purity. I want you, Marcus. I’m yours. All of me.” You promise, kissing his chin as you adjust to his cock inside of you.

He closes his eyes and sighs softly, hands sliding up your back gently, caressing your spine. “He doesn’t deserve you.” He murmurs quietly. He loves you, he has completely been ensnared by your grace and beauty, your brilliance and your strength. “I am yours, princesa. Completely.”

You grin, pecking his lips, “I love you, General.” You promise and start to move on top of him. “Show me. I don’t - this is all new to me.” You murmur, reaching for his hands to bring them to your hips, wanting him to guide you.

“Does it hurt?” He frowns slightly and you roll your eyes and clench down around him. “No, it feels incredible.” You promise breathlessly. “Good.” Marcus hums. “Riding a man is similar to riding a horse.” He flashes you a grin. “Roll your hips and keep your seat.”

You furrow your brow in concentration and work on rocking your hips like you’re riding a horse. You tense your thighs and moan when the sensation makes your spine tingle. “Oh gods.” You choke, “you feel so big inside me.” You grab his hand to place it on your belly so he can feel himself pressing against your womb.

Marcus growls in pleasure, watching you with dark eyes and tensing underneath you. “You feel perfect around my cock, princesa. So tight.” He rocks his hips up slightly and makes your tits bounce.

You moan when he rocks his hips up and you fall forward onto his chest, your hands pressed against his pecs and you rock back onto his cock. He feels incredible inside you and you love it. He feels like everything you’ve imagined since you started an intimate relationship with him. “Fuck.” You curse, feeling him twitch inside you and he grabs your hips, keeping you still so he can thrust up into you. “Ohhhh.” Your moan is garbled as you let him fuck you and it has your body tensing. You clamp down on his cock, eyes squeezed shut at how good it feels.

He can’t spill inside you. He can’t risk planting his seed in your womb. He plants his feet on the bed and holds you tight. “Cum for me.” He growls. “Cum, princesa.”

His words tip you over the edge, crying out as you collapse against his chest. Cunt spasming around his cock as you soak him.

Marcus flips you over, needing to be in control so that he can pull out of you when he’s about to cum. Now that you have seen the stars, he starts to hammer into you ruthlessly. Groaning your name as he fucks you.

You watch him, jaw clenched as he fucks into you hard and fast. You are pushed up the bed and the sheets shoved to the floor as he fucks you. You cling to him, scratching down his back as he prolongs your orgasm and you want him to cum for you. “Shit, I need - want to see you cum.”

“Have to- have to pull out.” He pants, neck straining and he grits his teeth. “Fuck.” He hisses, loving how wet and tight you are. How you fit around him like armor. He rocks his hips another half dozen times and when you nip his jaw with your teeth, he’s pulling back. Quickly pulling out of your cunt and throbbing against your belly as he paints your skin with his seed. “Fuuuuuuuck.”

You can’t deny you’re disappointed he didn’t fill you up but you know it’s too risky. Arriving in Rome full of his baby would be a death sentence and you reach between you, pumping his cock to wring him dry with a moan of his name in the aftermath of your pleasure.

Marcus rocks his hips into your grip until every drop of his cum is painting your skin. “I love you, princesa.” He murmurs softly, leaning in and kissing your lips before he shifts off of you to collect a linen to clean you up.

“I love you too, my General.” You murmur, watching him as he carefully cleans your skin. You love him. That much is clear and you don’t know what the days ahead hold for you but you know you must let him go when the time comes. For both your sakes. For now, you’ll enjoy the journey to Rome.

****

“Princesa-“ Marcus wakes with a groan as you slip into his bedchambers he has been graciously given until the wedding between you and Caracalla. The emperor had been very pleased with your arrival and had arranged feasts and games in honor of the upcoming nuptials. All arranged to best his brother and to show off the extravagance of Rome. Tonight, Marcus had drank too much heavy wine during the feast, trying to drink his sorrows away since you will be marrying the emperor in two days time. “You should not be here.” Every night since arriving, you have snuck into his bed and every night he reminds you that this is risky. Even as he is pulling you towards him, he knows he should push you away. You are already naked, having stripped before slipping into his bed.

“I know but I need you, Marcus. We don’t have a lot of time left before I am in Caracalla’s bed. You are dreading marrying the emperor. He’s childish, selfish, and clearly deranged. You do not want to marry him but you have no choice. He’s already threatened you when you pushed back on the wedding being so soon. You straddle him, leaning down to kiss his lips, “take me, Marcus. I want you to claim me. Show me that I belong to you.”

He cannot deny you, not when his own heart aches so fiercely because of your fates. “I love you.” He promises, reaching up and cupping your cheek as he wraps his other arm around you to roll you into your back. “You are mine. I have touched you in ways no other man ever has.”

You look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and you ache for him. You want to be in his bed every night. You want to be his. You don’t give a damn about being empress, you want to be his wife. Even without a title. You’re wet for him already, having thought about him all day, and he groans when he slides the head of his cock through your folds.

“Mine, princesa.” Marcus promises with a groan as he starts to push into you slowly. Rolling his hips as he savors the feel of breaking you open again. No matter how often you have had sex, he is obsessed with the way your body gives under the pressure of his cock against your walls.

You take him like you’re made for him and you think you are. You are destined for each other but unable to be together. Star crossed lovers. You throw your head back as he rocks into you, his lips finding your neck and you grip his shoulders, “I love you.” You gasp, wrapping your legs around him.

“Isn’t this sweet?” Dread races down Marcus’s spine as he hears a voice that makes him freeze above you. The voice of his emperor. Twisting his head, he finds Geta smirking as he strolls into the light from a corner of the room. “You love each other.” He hums mockingly, eyes alight with manic glee. “I told my brother that there was something between you, but he didn’t believe me.” Anger flashes across the man’s face before it’s replaced with nonchalance. “Now he will.” He declares before he raises his voice. “Guards!”

You cry out as Marcus pulls out of you and is immediately ripped off of you, guards grabbing him and you try to scramble from the bed but the guards grab your legs, pulling you back and you scream as you are held naked in front of Geta who walks over to you and grips your chin. Your lip curls in disgust and he chuckles, “my brother thought he was so clever, bringing a foreign princess to marry. He hoped you’d be pliable, dutiful, obedient. You wouldn’t be corrupted by the pleasures of Rome but it appears our great General has shown them to you. Taken you as his own despite his emperor’s orders. You’re nothing but a foreign whore.” Geta scoffs and you can’t help it. You spit at him and he hisses, his hand coming up to slap your cheek.

“Don’t touch her!” Marcus barks, but the men who are holding him are not his own soldiers, loyal to him. They are loyal to Geta, to Caracalla. The emperor turns towards Marcus with a raised brow and a smirk on his face. “I believe those were your orders, General.” He snorts. “You disobeyed.”

Your cheek stings but you don't let Geta see you cry, knowing this means your death. You doubt the Emperors will allow this to pass without punishment but you will not be a withering flower. You'll stand strong until the last moment.

“I seduced her.” Marcus confesses, hoping that you might be spared from execution. “Take my life and spare her.”

"No!" You cry and try to move but the guards keep you against them. "No. I - I let him seduce me. I should've kept my legs shut. He's a man. He took what was offered. Take me. Not him." You plead, knowing Rome needs him. They never needed you. Marcus shakes his head and Geta chuckles, his lips pouting, "awwww the lovers want to die for each other. No need. You'll die together. In front of Rome." He promises and looks to the guards, "take them to the cells."

Marcus starts to struggle, shouting at Geta and the men until he is hit over the head with a sword and crumples to the ground unconscious. Dragged away without any consideration as you are pulled out of the room, still naked, to be taken to the cells beneath the palace.

You are dragged down to the cells and you are pushed into one, thrown on the floor without any clothes given to you. You hear the door to the cell next to you open and your eyes widen, knowing Marcus will be there. You wait until the footsteps of the guard fade and you rush up to the door, gripping the bars. "Marcus." You call, hoping he is awake and can hear you, "Marcus."

Marcus groans, head pounding but he hears you call his name again. “Princesa.” He chokes out, stumbling to his feet and managing to make it to the door. His head is bleeding and his eyes can’t focus, but he doesn’t care about that. “Are you hurt?” He demands.

"No. No. Are you okay?" You ask, wanting to hear that he's not in pain. "I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle." He says and you rest your forehead against the bars, "how do we escape?" You ask, hoping he has a plan.

Marcus closes his eyes. “We don’t.” He admits quietly. “My men have been sent home, everyone here is loyal to the emperors.” He sighs. “I failed you, Princesa.”

You choke on a sob, the reality of your fate hitting you and you sink down against the door, resting your back against it. "I wish things were different. We never should have come to Rome. We could've gone back to my lands. You could've been my prince and we - we would get married, have children. We could've - we could've died in old age, in peace."

“Not in this life, my love.” Marcus knows that he must face death with strength, but tears slip down his cheeks for you. “In another life, perhaps.” He closes his eyes. “I will search for you.”

You nod even though he can't see you, "in another life. I'll love you even in death, my General. I'll find you in the next life." You promise, "I'll never stop searching." You sob and before you know it, you hear footsteps from the hall and your heart pounds. "Marcus!" You cry and you back up when the door is pushed open. "It's okay. What are you doing?" He growls when he's pushed back into the cell. "You will bathe and dress. You'll be brought in front of the emperors." The guards order and a tub is brought in, a handmaid bringing your clothes to dress you and do your hair.

Marcus prays that Caracalla has overruled Geta. That he will spare your life. “Do what they say.” He orders you softly. “Do what you must to survive.” He knows his own life is forfeit but if you live, he will die at peace.

You are silent as you dress, preparing to stand before the emperors, and the guards soon arrive to take you away. The door is opened, your hand maid crying which makes your stomach twist, but you keep your head high. You want to speak to Marcus before you’re dragged off so you step towards his door. He’s standing then and you reach between the bars to touch him. “I love you. I don’t regret a thing.” You promise, “I love you, Marcus.” You promise and the guards drag you away, making you cry out as Marcus says “I love you too. Always.” You keep your head high as you’re escorted through the halls until you are taken outside. You frown and that frown turns into panic when you approach a large platform. People gathered in the piazza with the emperors sat down in their thrones. “Ah, welcome.” Geta says your name as you are shoved onto the platform and your hands shake but you grab your robes. Caracalla walks over to you, gripping your chin, “you betrayed me. You let him touch you. I cannot have a whore for empress. I could never confirm my heir is mine. You’ll suffer for your affair. I must show Rome that we do not allow such insolence.” Caracalla hisses and you know that this is the moment you die. You refuse to let them see that you’re terrified and you are pushed to kneel after your hands are tied behind your back. You keep your shoulders back as the soldier pulls his sword from his side and you hear a cry. Turning your head, you see Marcus being dragged to the side of the platform and your strength dissolves. He is to be killed as well. “Ah, General. Please watch. You’ll see what we do to traitors to the empire. Stand there and watch her die. You’ll soon be joining her.” The emperors laugh and you have tears running down your cheeks as Marcus tries to get out of the grip of the five men holding him. “I love you.” You mouth just as the sword is brought down and it all goes black.

“Nooooooo!” Marcus howls in rage as your head is separated from your body and he struggles against the men, breaking free with one hand and grabbing for the swords they carry. Tears sting his eyes and all he can think about is avenging you. Killing the emperors that have ordered your death. “Bastard!” He shouts out, the people silent as they watch the commotion. “She was never yours! She never agreed to marry you! You kidnapped her from her home!” He shouts, wanting the people to know exactly why you had died. How you had been brought to Rome. The soldiers holding him had fallen back after he had grabbed the sword. “She was not yours to claim! She was mine!”

Caracalla raises his hand, telling the soldiers to come forward to surround Marcus as he swings the sword. "I sent for her. She was mine from the moment my soldiers left Rome to find her. She was my key to securing her lands. You had orders and you failed. You fucked her, claimed her as yours, without permission and the gods will punish you. Who wants their emperor to be justified?" Caracalla asks the crowd who cheers, "the people want their emperor to be happy. And you know what would make me happy? Seeing you dead beside her. Traitors in life and in death." He claps his hands and the soldiers move closer to Marcus.

Marcus knows he will die, that is his fate, especially now that you are already walking through the Elysian Fields. Instead of battling the men who have been ordered to kill him, he drops his sword. “Rome will consume you.” He predicts. “She will rise against you and you will fall.”

Caracalla scoffs and Geta rolls his eyes while the soldiers grab Marcus and drag him to the stage. He kneels down, jaw clenched in defiance, and he growls, "fuck the emperors." His last words before the sword comes down and his head rolls on the floor moments later. The emperor grins, reaching down to grab his head, blood dripping onto the floor. "May everyone know that this is what Rome does to traitors. Even a General and a Princess are not exempt from the hand of the law." Caracalla declares and the crowd is silent. General Marcus Acacius is dead. The Roman Empire is crumbling.

****

All his life, Marcus has awoken with the knowledge that he has walked these roads before. It had been present every day, even if he could not articulate it. The sense that he had smelled that scent before, or tasted that fruit is always hanging on the edge of his consciousness. The nagging sense of déjà vu that had plagued him. His grandmother had called him an old soul, one who had lived lives before and it makes sense, considering he was named after a Roman general who had betrayed his emperors for love.

You huff as you drag your suitcase up the steps to the hotel your best friend had booked for her wedding. Of course she had to get married in Rome. Her husband-to-be is from the city. She had met him during her semester abroad and now years later they are getting married. You had flown over to Italy to be her maid of honor. You take a break and wipe your brow, your dress taking up a lot of space in your case, and you inhale deeply as you drag your case up the stairs to the entrance of the hotel. "Fuck me." You pant when you walk into the glass door, your brain starved of oxygen after your climb. You hear a chuckle behind you and you groan when a large hand reaches for the door to open it. You hear him ask you something in Italian, and you frown, head hurting, and you try to remember the phrases from the book you bought with you. "I'm sorry. I don't speak Italian." You say as you turn to look at him, and your eyes widen. Your embarrassment has been witnessed by the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.

The second he sees the eyes of the pretty American, he knows that he’s met you before. In some life. It’s the instant quickening of his heart racing in his chest makes him smile. “Why would you come to Rome if you do not speak Italian?” He teases, reaching for your bag to take it for you.

He feels familiar and you wonder why, your heart pounding in your chest and your palms get sweaty as he carries your bag into the cool reception area. "Thank you. And for the record, I have been studying. Piacere di conoscerla." Your brow furrows in concentration and the man smiles at you, making you feel even more lightheaded. He grins, "pleasure to meet you." He replies in English and asks your name. You give it to him and his brow furrows, his stomach twisting. "My father is a historian. He loves Ancient Rome. He has come here many times on different trips for work." You confess, unsure why you are telling a stranger this but it feels like you've known him your entire life.

“Interesting.” Marcus licks his lips. “There was once a Princesa during the reign of Emperors Geta and Caracalla with that name.” He tells you. “Do you know the story?” He asks, wondering if you are here by chance, but he feels like you are not. “The lovers, right?” You ask, nodding and he smiles. “General Marcus Acacius fetched her from her home, stole her - from a bordering kingdom.” He had been told the story so many times as a child he can recite it by heart. “Falling for the strong and brave princesa during their journey to Rome where she was to marry Emperor Caracalla. They became lovers, star crossed, of course.” He frowns slightly, feeling an ache in his heart like he did every time this part of the story was told. “He watched as she was executed by the Emperor’s command after they were discovered but not before they had vowed to find each other in the next life.”

“How tragic and romantic. Put Romeo and Juliet to shame.” You quip and he nods, “their story was told many times during the fall of the empire. If a general wasn’t immune from punishment, then the plebeians certainly weren’t. The uprising began that day and Rome crumbled eventually.” He tells you and you nod, “I hope they found each other in another life.” You confess and tilt your head, “I still don’t know your name.” Just as the words leave your mouth, there’s footsteps down the stairs and your best friend squeals as she rushes towards you. “You’re here!” She hugs you and you hug her back, excited for her and her wedding. “And I see you have already met our best man. This is Marcus.” She says and you look at the man who helped you with your case. You murmur your name, “and Marcus. Like the story.” You offer him a soft smile and he winks at you, turning towards the groom to embrace him with a hug. “Antonio and Marcus served in the army together.” Lucille whispers as you turn to look at the men and you watch Marcus. He’s older than you, but he’s handsome. “And he’s single.” Your friend whispers and you roll your eyes, “don’t. I don’t want to be a cliché.” You whisper back and she giggles, taking your hand to drag you to the reception. She speaks in Italian to check you in and soon enough, a key is placed in your hand.

Antonio smirks as Marcus watches you walk away. “I didn’t tell you her name so it would be a surprise.” He chuckles, knowing how much Marcus enjoys telling that story of the Roman General. Marcus snorts and shakes his head. “I was watching her ass.” He tells his best friend honestly, who laughs. “She’s single.” He informs him. “Marnie made sure to tell me to pass that along.” He grins at Marcus. “I think she’s hoping that our two best friends hook up at her wedding.”

Marcus snorts, “you know I have that thing with Maria.” He says and Antonio rolls his eyes, “where you fuck her and she goes off to date men twice her age for money and she won’t commit? I love you, man, but you know that’s not serious. You want serious. You want the whole package.” Antonio knows his best friend and Marcus sighs, watching you as you walk towards the stairs with your case. “Get her case. Your rooms are next to each other. Marnie’s doing.” The groom holds his hands up and Marcus snorts but follows his direction. “Can I get your bag?” He asks and you nod, “I’m not built for this. We have elevators as big as a bathroom in the States.” You joke and Marnie beams as she looks between you. “Go settle in. We have a welcome dinner at eight and tomorrow it’s a spa day before the rehearsal dinner.” She says and you nod, hugging her before you make your way upstairs, followed by Marcus who carries your case. “What have you got in here? Bricks?” He teases and you giggle, “a girl has to be prepared for anything.” You tease and step onto the floor where your room is. You look at the numbers until you find it, placing the key card against the lock. “Thank you for carrying my case.” You say to Marcus after he places your case down in your room, his chest heaving a little and you get a little lost in his dark eyes. “You’re welcome, princesa.” He teases and your stomach lurches, your heart pounding at the nickname. “Thank you, General.” You tease, reminded of the story. His eyes widen a little and he reaches for his key card. “Turns out I’m next door so if you need anything, just knock.” He says and you nod, “thanks again.” He shuts your door and you slump down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with a smile on your face. Maybe coming to this wedding alone wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Marcus has already unpacked his tuxedo hanging up and he sighs, feeling restless. He can hear you moving around next door and he decides to go see if you would like to sightsee with a translator. He feels drawn to you and Antonio is right, his arrangement with Maria isn’t satisfying. He needs to know if the connection he feels to you is real. He checks his hair and feels like his stomach is twisting as he knocks on your door.

You had showered and gotten changed into a sundress. The Italian sun is still hot and you are surprised by the knock on your door. You walk over to it, opening it and your heart thumps when you see Marcus standing there. “Hi.” You offer softly and he rubs the back of his neck, “hi. I, uh, I wondered if you wanted to see some of the sights. I know you’re going to be busy with wedding stuff but I have a friend who does tours and I wanted to show you Rome.” Your eyes widen at the gesture and he falters, “or not. If you’re busy.” You shake your head, “no. I’d love to. Let me just grab my purse.” You step back to grab your things and make sure you have your room key then you step into the hall with Marcus.

Marcus smiles as he guides you towards the stairs. “It has been a long time since I have walked the ruins as a tourist.” He explains. “I am an archeologist. So this is my passion and my job.”

“Wow. You know your stuff.” You grin, excited to see the sights with someone who knows so much about the ruins. You make your way downstairs and you adjust your purse on your shoulder as you exit the hotel and make your way down the stairs where you met Marcus. “No need for a gym with these steps.” You joke as you make your way down and Marcus chuckles, “we are a city of walkers but we do have quicker ways to get around.” He guides you over to his Vespa and your eyes widen, “I’ve never - this would be my first time.” You confess and Marcus opens the seat to grab two helmets. “You’ll be safe. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You nod and he places the helmet on your head, buckling it under your chin and you bite your lip at the feel of his hands on your skin.

Marcus feels his skin tingling when he touches you and once your helmet is in place, he smiles as he turns to climb on. “Wrap your arms around me, Princesa.” He instructs. “I would let you ride in front of me, but your pretty dress would fly up.” He’s smirking slightly, but you just nod and take a moment to settle in behind him, the weight of your arms comforting around his stomach. “I will keep you safe.” He promises.”

For some reason, his words warm you to your core and you believe him. He revs the engine and pulls away after kicking the kickstand up and you’re soon riding through the streets of Rome. Your eyes are wide at the sights and you wrap your arms around him a little tighter, letting him take you where he wants to go. You’re happy to be with him, feeling a sense of comfort like you’ve never known before.

American tourists have movies about Roman holidays so Marcus might zip through traffic a little more recklessly than he might have normally. If only to feel you squeeze him a little tighter, turning back to see your eyes wide as you take in the city he loves. Smiling like you are flying through the air. Perhaps a little romantic dreaminess in your eyes, like it’s something out of a fairy tale. He takes you around to all the famous sights. Skirting along the edges of the cars as he makes his way to the best examples of Ancient Rome, his own dig site.

You watch the city pass by until Marcus comes to a stop in an area that’s fenced off from the public. “Are we allowed to be here?” You ask, glancing around as he swings his leg over the bike and helps you over, reaching up to unbuckle your helmet. “We are allowed to be here” is all he says and you trust him as he locks the bike and takes your hand to guide you to the padlock. He pulls the key from his pants and opens it, escorting you inside the restricted area. “What is this?” You ask and he flicks on some of the overhead lamps, showcasing the dig site. “My latest project.” He says and your eyes widen, “wow.”

He watches as you look around curiously, the building had been built to protect the site and he smiles as he motions to the half excavated site. “We are right outside what would have been Geta and Caracalla’s palace.” He explains motioning to the center of the sight. “This area was their piazza, the place where they showed Rome their treachery.” He frowns slightly. “This is the spot where the general and the princesa were executed.” He hops down into the pit, to the stone platform and offers his hand to you to help you down. “Eventually, the people of Rome would have both emperors killed right here as well.”

As soon as he says the words, a sense of dread washes over you and you shiver, your head aching as a flash of a crowd looking up at you hits you. “Are you okay?” Marcus asks and you inhale deeply, nodding as you look at the site. “Yeah. Just - a lot of history to take in.” You confess and take his hand, letting him help you down to inspect the site he had excavated.

He wonders if you feel it, if the icy fingers of dread had inched down your spine. If you remembered like he had. People would think that he was crazy if he told them the truth. “We found the site a year ago.” He murmurs, his voice not carrying very far as he crouches down. “But we have uncovered so much. Look, there is a sword right here.” The first layers of the artifact have been uncovered but removing and cataloging the items had not been possible before he had closed the site for the wedding. His team would not work without him there.

You kneel down beside him, eying the sword that looks so familiar. “Incredible. Did - did you feel that? The dread?” You ask, voicing his question as the feeling hovers over you like this is an area you’ve been to before. “It’s so strange. I feel like I know this place.” You confess and glance down at the sword, “this sword feels familiar but it can’t be. It’s just my mind.”

“I feel it.” Marcus admits quietly, reaching for your hand and guiding it towards the relic. “I want to see something.” He murmurs, hoping you get the same flashback he does when he touches the sword.

Your fingertips touch the sword and you gasp, seeing an image of Marcus but he’s wearing armor, a scar on his face, and he is holding the sword, standing beside two men with blonde hair. “Oh my God.” You choke and he tilts his head, “what did you see?” He asks and you swallow, your throat dry. “You. But - but you’re wearing armor. Ancient armor. You’re standing next to two men with blonde hair.” You reveal, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Princesa.” Marcus murmurs, reaching out and cupping your cheeks as he turns towards you. “I have been looking for you for lifetimes.” He confesses softly. “Always looking, never finding you, until now.” He frowns slightly and sighs. “I was killed, right after you were, right here. Our bodies next to one another.” He sees the confusion in your eyes. “We are fated to be together again, since we were star-crossed so many years ago.”

You are confused, trying to process his words and the images become clearer. You and Marcus knew each other, loved each other, in another life. You can see the love in his eyes despite knowing each other for a few mere hours. You lean closer, “Marcus. Finally.” You murmur, pressing your forehead against his as it all becomes clearer. You have found him. Your love. “This is crazy.” You confess, gripping his wrists but you don’t love his hands, “you don’t even know me as I am now.”

“It does not matter.” Marcus hums. “I know your soul, just as you know mine.” His thumb brushes gently over your cheekbone. “I have waited so long to see you again, to kiss you once more.” All his relationships have never worked because they weren’t you, his princesa.

You can’t believe this is happening but it feels so right, like this is what you’ve been waiting for. All those relationships that fell apart because they weren’t him. You can’t help it. You surge forward to press your lips to his and you immediately feel like you’re home when his lips touch yours. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before.

Marcus groans into your mouth, pulling you closer and thanking the gods that he had been right. That he had trusted his instincts. “Princesa,” he growls, sliding his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss.

You let go of his wrists and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours. His tongue sliding against yours and you whimper into his mouth, flashes of the time you spent with Marcus in a past life go through your mind and make you fall in love with a man you knew all those lifetimes ago.

Marcus kisses you again and again, learning how you like to be kissed now and it fuses with the memories he has carried for his entire life. Breaking away to look into your eyes as he pants slightly. “I am sorry.” He murmurs softly. “I wish I could have protected you then.”

You shake your head, pecking his lips. “Don’t. There’s nothing you could’ve done. We were destined for death and we are here now. We are safe. We can be together. I- I live in the States and you’re here but…one of us will have to move. I do love pasta.” You confess with a smirk, “and Italian men.”

Marcus chuckles softly and lifts his chin to kiss your forehead. “How do you feel about living in an apartment that overlooks the old city?” He asks. “My place is only a few blocks from here. I’m staying in the hotel because of the wedding party and being the best man.”

“I’d say I better start learning Italian.” You grin, knowing your parents won’t understand your move but you do. There’s no way you’re going to be parted from him now. Marcus chuckles and it warms you. “We should be heading back for the welcome dinner.” He says after he checks his watch and you nod, letting him help you stand up and you glance around the place where you were killed all those years ago. He escorts you back to his Vespa and you are back in the hotel after he speeds through the small streets of the city. He holds your hand as you enter the hotel and you are soon outside your rooms, “I better get ready for the dinner.” You murmur, leaning against him and you kiss his jaw.

“You will look gorgeous, princesa.” He murmurs, turning his head and kissing your lips again. “Although I cannot say you look better than the bride, it will be bad manners.”

You giggle, “no. She will look gorgeous. God, I want to invite you into my room but we don’t have time.” You whine, sliding your hands down his linen shirt, “later. Later I want you in my bed, baby.”

Marcus hums in agreement. “Tonight.” He agrees. “No one will interrupt us. I can relearn how you taste.” He growls, leaning in and nibbling on your earlobe. “I can recall it even now, princesa.”

Anyone who could hear you would think you’re crazy but to you and Marcus, this is very real. You whimper and step back before you allow yourself to give in and forget about the reason that you’re here. You shower and dress in one of the pretty dresses you’d packed for the wedding events, grabbing your clutch, and you hear a knock on your door. You open it and see Marcus standing at your door, looking devastatingly handsome in his jacket with his shirt slightly unbuttoned. “God, this isn’t fair. Do you think they’d miss the best man and maid of honor if we went missing?” You tease, trailing your eyes along his form.

His eyes flash in amusement and even though he wants to push you back into the room and strip you out of the at dress, he extends his arm. “It’s an Italian wedding.” He jokes. “They expect it.” You beam at his offer and immediately step forward and wrap your hand around his arm. “Tell me, princesa, do you still like to ride horses?”

You nod, “I grew up riding horses. Felt instantly drawn to it and now I know why.” You squeeze his arm and he helps you downstairs to the welcome dinner full of family and friends. Marnie and Antonio see you and Marcus, their eyebrows raised as you hold hands and Marnie giggles, “I didn’t think you two would hook up that fast. But it seems my matchmaking skills have surpassed my expectations.” She teases and you grin, looking at Marcus, “it feels like I’ve known him forever.” Marcus winks at you and your friends beam until they are dragged away and Marcus takes you to the bar to get you a drink.

Marcus keeps his hand on your waist possessively as he turns towards the bartender. “What kind of drink would you like, princesa?” He asks, making you smile at the nickname. “Whatever you will have.” He nods and loves how you trust him with choosing for you. “Renato Ratti Barolo Serradenari.” He tells the bartender before he leans into your ear. “It reminds me of the wine we drank while we were traveling to Rome.”

You grin, “we drank a lot of wine during that journey and I seem to remember you drank it from me instead of a cup many times.” You smirk and he chuckles, his hand sliding a little lower, “best way to drink it.” You giggle and the bartender sets your glasses down just as a hand curls around Marcus’s arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you, lover.” She coos, leaning in towards Marcus.

“Maria.” Marcus lifts a brow as he turns towards the statuesque blonde. “I didn’t think you could come?” She had claimed that she was too busy to accompany him, and now she is here when he would want her anywhere else. “My schedule cleared.” Her bright smile is stiff, having been canceled on by her current conquest. It’s frustrating and she needs the comfort of Marcus before she starts her search for a wealthy man to marry again. “Now I’m all yours for the weekend.” She promises, dropping a kiss on the edge of his mouth before turning towards you. “Oh! Who is your little friend?” The first part of the conversation was in Italian, but now she switches to English for your benefit.

Marcus says your name, “she’s the maid of honor and my date.” He confesses, “the love of my life and I will be spending tonight with her. I’m glad you could make it Maria but tonight, I have my princesa.” He squeezes your waist and you lean into him, giving her a smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You don’t feel threatened, knowing Marcus wouldn’t continue his relationship with her now that he’s found you again.

“The love of your life?” She huffs in confusion, not expecting him to so blatantly turn down her company. “Princesa?” Her eyes narrow. “That nickname you moan every night in your sleep? This is her?”

Marcus nods, rubbing your hip, “it’s her. I have long dreamed of this beautiful creature and now she’s here. I am hers and she is mine.” He admits and your heart thumps, knowing this sounds crazy but you are a love story centuries in the making. You place your hand on his chest, “yours.” You promise and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

Maria is dumbfounded, unable to speak and she turns on her heel and walks away. He pulls you closer. “Apologies, princesa.” He murmurs softly. “I did not know she would show up, but I will talk with her and let her know that we are no more.” He gazes into your eyes lovingly. “No one else could ever capture my interest.”

You shake your head, "it's okay. We didn't even know this was possible until today. I cannot be angry with you for keeping company." You caress his chest, "and we know the truth. Everyone else is going to be confused." You remind him and he nods, knowing that the story is unbelievable. You are soon seated opposite each other at the welcome dinner and you stretch your leg out to caress his while everyone eats their dessert.

His dark eyes meet yours, smirking slightly as you trail your foot up his let and press against his crotch lightly. Despite the centuries apart, you are still bold and have no problem in taking what you want. He reaches down and squeezes your foot playfully while Antonio asks him a question that makes him look away from you.

Marnie grabs your attention, talking to you about the spa session for tomorrow and you half listen, watching Marcus speak to the groom until the bride nudges you. "What's up with your both? It's like you've known each other forever." She observes and you shrug, "it just feels right. Like I was meant for him." You see Marcus wink at you from across the table, caressing your foot. "Good. I thought he was perfect for you." You nod and smirk at Marcus, eager for him.

“Maria looked unhappy.” Antonio observes with a smirk. He’s never hidden the fact that he’s never cared for Marcus’s previous lover so he seems to be thrilled. “Just- don’t hurt her. Marnie will make me hurt you if you do.” He jokes, rolling his eyes, but Marcus snorts. “I would rather cut my own arm off.” He promises seriously. “She is precious and I will keep her heart safe.”

You feel bad but you are eager for the dinner to be over and not soon enough, it is. "Go. Go." Marnie orders when you hug her and you reach for Marcus's hand when you are finally free of maid of honor duty for the night. He smirks, guiding you through the crowd until you are walking up the stairs and you giggle when he slaps your ass.

He is eager to touch you again. To find out if the same things he had done to you so long ago still works. “You have no problem with the stairs now.” He teases, chuckling when you huff and roll your eyes.

You open your clutch, finding your keycard when you reach your door and you moan when he presses against you, his lips finding your neck and his hands on your hips. You lean back against him, tilting your head as you blindly try to unlock the door.

“Princesa, when was the last time you had a man touch you?” He doesn’t care that you’ve had other lovers, he just wants to make sure that he prepares you properly. He twitches against your ass and grinds against you. “Eaten your pussy like it is a luscious desert?”

You whimper at his words, "I had - my ex and I broke up a few weeks ago. It didn't work. I didn't know why but he wasn't you. I've been tested." You reassure him, "no one has ever made me feel like this and you haven't even touched me." You whine and grind back against him, the door finally opening with a beep.

“I’ll get tested.” He promises, sure that Maria wouldn’t give him something, but he will want to give you that reassurance. “This time I can wear a condom.” He guides you inside and spins you around to press you against the door as it closes. “Then I will spill inside you like I wanted to do so many times we were together in that life.”

You moan, "yes. So many times I wanted you to do it. Knock me up and claim me so he couldn't." You confess, your hands sliding up to push his jacket from his shoulders, your fingers immediately working on the buttons of his shirt when the jacket is on the ground.

He holds your chin with his two fingers and tips your head up to take his kiss, pouring himself into the way his mouth slots against yours. Pressing you into the door more firmly as he grabs your ass and pulls you up to allow your legs to wrap around his waist.

You wrap your legs around him and he turns, carrying you over to the bed, your heels dropping to the floor on the journey over and you moan when he lays you down. "I've missed this view." You tease while he shrugs off his shirt, exposing his chest.

“That bed in our tent, covered with furs to keep you warm.” He chuckles. “Although you preferred to wear me at night.” His hands slide under your dress to drag your panties down and peel them off your legs to toss away. “Wearing my tunics.”

You sigh in delight when his hands caress your legs after he tosses your panties over his shoulder. "You loved me in those tunics." You giggle and he nods, "I fucking did." You grin and his hands push your dress higher, "don't tease me, baby. I have waited many lifetimes for this moment."

“Not teasing.” He huffs. “Appreciating.” He reaches under your arm for the zipper to your dress. “We have all night. Nothing to stop us or come between us.” He reaches for the strap and drag them down to expose your tits to his delighted eyes. “Watching you bathe that first time made me ache. Wanted you then.”

You lift your hips so he can drag your dress off your body and you shiver in anticipation. "I would've taken you that night. I hated you for kidnapping me but also thought you were incredibly strong and handsome. I would've let you fuck me but I was pissed at you." You smirk until his hands find your tits, squeezing them to make you moan his name.

He loves that you’ve retained all your memories, or recovered them. Knowing that while you have to learn about each other now, you do know the people you used to be, the history you shared. “I was still denying myself.” He settles down between your thighs and presses his nose against your bare cunt. “No hair.” He hums, inhaling your scent with a grin. “But you still smell the same. Let me see if you taste the same.”

You can't believe how many memories are coming back to you when hours ago, you didn't know the man between your thighs existed. His tongue slides through your folds and you moan, closing your eyes as your fingers tangle in his hair.

He can almost smell the smoke from the camp fires as he licks into you. Tasting you again and twitching against the sheets of the bed. Groaning as he holds your thighs and pulls them apart even more to devour your cunt properly.

You lift your thighs a little higher, your hands cupping your tits as his tongue makes your mind go blank. "Fuck." You pant, "that's so good." You compliment him as his tongue slides through your folds like he's been there a thousand times and in a way, he has.

Marcus doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue inside you, remembering how much you had loved it and he grunts in approval when you whine in pleasure. Wanting to make you cum like this once more. His fingers dig into your thighs as he eats you ravenously.

His nose presses against your clit and you whimper, one hand coming down to run your fingers through his hair. He is pushing his tongue into you like a man starved and your thighs press against his head, wanting to keep him between your thighs.

He feels your stomach heave and he throws an arm over your waist to keep you pinned to the bed. Loving how responsive you are and desperate to cum you appear. Trying to roll your hips down to his tongue.

You haven't felt like this before and your body is so heated, overwhelmed by how he's making you feel. You moan, your chest heaving as he slides his tongue up to suck on your clit. "Oh God, yes!" You cry, your walls starting to flutter around his tongue.

Marcus growls into your folds, throbbing in need as you soak his mouth and chin. Loving how your thighs squeeze his head harshly while your back bows up.

He laps at you, working you through it, and you whimper, "fuck. You are so good. I need to see you, Marcus. Need to see you again." You plead, lowering your thighs from his face.

Marcus stretches tall and climbs off the bed so he can unbutton his pants. The suit he had worn didn’t require a belt and his shoes were toed off near the door. Leaving him to pull down his pants and boxer briefs, letting his hard cock spring free.

You groan, shifting onto your knees and after he kicks his pants aside, you shuffle closer as he stands at the foot of the bed. "Fuck. So thick." You moan and you grip his cock, leaning in to take his cock between your lips.

Marcus moans, reaching down and caressing your cheek, “still so damn eager.” He chuckles, eyes fluttering from the way your tongue presses against the sensitive head of his cock when you roll the foreskin down.

You moan at the salty taste of his cock as you take him deeper. You have memories now of doing this many times but right now, it’s your first time in this lifetime and you are eager to enjoy it.

He doesn’t rock his hips, letting you set your own pace and he admires the length of your lashes as your eyes flutter up at him. “So beautiful.” He coos, caressing your cheek again. “My princesa is beautiful in every lifetime.”

His words have you dripping and you start to rock your jaw, watching him until you move a little faster and you close your eyes in concentration. Your palms dig into the mattress as you keep yourself upright while you take his cock down your throat.

Marcus grits his teeth, enjoying the pleasure of your mouth, but he wants to be inside you. He wants to have your walls squeezing him tight as he makes you cum. “Good girl.” He hums, pulling back.

You whine when he starts to pull you off his cock, spit dripping down your chin, and he grabs your waist to shift you to lay down against the pillows. "Want to be inside you." He murmurs and caresses your leg, "let me grab a condom." He says and walks over to his bag, shuffling until he's walking back to the bed, kneeling on it as he opens the packet.

He knows that as soon as he gets his results back, he will be discarding the condom, but he needs to do this. He pinches the tip and holds himself while rolling the rubber down his length. “Dreamed about this.” He groans, leaning forward and kissing you again.

You cup his cheeks, your heartbeat in your ears as you watch him settle between your thighs. "I love you." You murmur, unable to believe you've been reunited like this. He shuffles closer and you gasp when he starts to push into you. "You okay, princesa?" He asks and you nod, "perfect. I feel perfect." You promise, wrapping your legs around him.

He groans, the way you squeeze him changing from the placement of your hips. You are hot and tight, perfect and he feels like he’s come home. “You are so wonderful, princesa.” He praises breathless as he starts to slowly pull back to surge forward again.

You let him rock into you, take control, and you caress his shoulders and back. “No scars.” You observe, “not battle hardened.” You murmur, sliding your hands down his chest.

He can’t tell if you are disappointed or pleased, but he continues to thrust, picking up the pace and smirking when you whimper. “Feel good, princesa?”

You nod, “so good. I’ve missed you so much.” You confess even though this morning you had no memory of him. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him. You try to rock up to meet his thrusts and you caress his skin, “I’m so happy you are unharmed.” You answer his unspoken question .

“Life is more complicated but easier.” He huffs, turning and scattering kisses over your shoulder. “We are free to love, to go where we wish.”

“I know. Imagine explaining the Internet.” You joke breathlessly and he chuckles against your skin, continuing to rock into you. “Fuck. And modern birth control. I got an IUD so no unexpected - I really thought that was going to happen to us back then.” You confess, “then I would’ve been killed.”

“It was not meant to be.” He presses his lips to yours again. “Maybe in this life.” He grinds into you, stealing your breath on a moan as he chuckles against your lips.

“We are together in this life.” You murmur against his lips and you moan, sliding your tongue against his as he rocks into you. It’s everything that’s been missing from your life and you love him. God, you love him. You whimper when he adjusts his hips and hits something delicious inside you.

“There?” He groans your name into your mouth and slides down to his elbows, pushing his arms under you because he needs to feel closer. It’s not enough, it might never be enough. He concentrates on that spot, wanting to see you fall over the edge and have a new memory of you.

You nod, your mouth falling open as he rocks into you and you pant, your walls fluttering around his cock. "Shit, baby. I - fuck. You're gonna make me-" You choke as you fall apart, clamping down on his cock and pulsing around him.

Marcus hisses, gritting his teeth while you soak him in your juices. Loving how you are coming apart for him. “Fuck, fuck.” He groans, trying to fuck you through it but his thrusts are harder.

You slide your hands down to his ass, squeezing, “cum for me, General. I want to see you cum.” You plead, groaning when his face screws up and he twitches inside you, spilling inside the condom. You slide your hands up his back and whimper, loving how he looks when he cums for you.

Marcus strains over you, working himself through it with a grinding circular motion of his hips until he is collapsing into you. “Fuck.” He pants. “Perfect, princesa, you are so perfect.”

You sigh, loving how he feels on top of you, your hands caressing his back as he presses you into the mattress. You feel complete, like you’re where you were always supposed to be.

****

“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest declares and you grin, looking at Marcus. His face is bright and he surges forward to press his lips to yours, spinning you to dip you as he smiles against your lips. The city of Rome as your background along with a beautiful sunset. Marnie and Antonio stand either side clapping and you kiss your husband. It may have taken many lifetimes but you and Marcus finally found each other again. No one, not even an emperor, can separate you now.

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

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thesummerpetrichor · 4 months ago

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𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂

Father in law!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Your soon to be husband leaves you at the alter, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Literally just porn without plot, lotsa fucking, I want father in law Javi. Minimally edited lmao I just banged this out Can’t wait for you to read it!! Hope you enjoy, nasties! Mwah!

Masterlist

You rich and I'm wishin', um

You could be my mister, yum

Delicious to the maximum

Chew you up like bubble gum

You love me, he wants me

I think I want you too

Best day of your life- yeah, what a fucking joke. But what were you expecting? Ditching people at the altar seemed to run in the family. Okay, maybe that was a bit of a harsh assessment of the Peñas, especially Peña senior, who, despite all you had heard of him from your ex fiance, had always shown you kindness.

The thing is, it becomes really fucking hard to be charitable to a family when their son humiliates you infront of the entirety of Texas. Leaves you high and dry on the steps of the biggest church in town in your great grandmother’s silk dress. It becomes even harder when you learn his mother had been in on it all along, sparing you not even a little apology, or a comforting embrace after her son's little getaway plan had been revealed.

Instead of extending you a supporting hand, she ran away to make sure her baby boy was okay, and that this entire ordeal hadn’t taken a toll on his emotional and psychological well being.

How thoughtful.

Of course, you were the pathetic one– unable to look anyone in the eye, sobbing on your fathers shoulder till you couldn’t breathe any longer. So distraught and unwell even getting out of your wedding attire seemed impossible. It only made you feel even more pathetic. At some point you ended up curling up in your hotel bed, still in the “happiest day of your life” outfit, and pleading for some time alone from your friends and family to wallow in your own suffering.

You would eat your feelings in the from of the apology chocolates the hotel had complimented for you, but you couldn’t manage to even do that without feeling like a total fucking looser.

After all that had transpired, and after years of hearing nothing but sour things about your soon to be father in law, safe to say you were surprised to see him at your hotel room door at midnight as the ambassador the family seemingly sent to smooth things over.

For it being only your second time meeting the man, this was far from the most opportune scenario. In fact, him showing up all sorrowful and apologetic for his shitty excuse of a son, in his navy blue suit and loose tie, made your already pathetic day all the more difficult to get through.

Your whole relationship you had blamed every fault of your boyfriend on his absent, detached father. You’d heard plenty about the lack of childhood visits, quality time, and playing soccer that had plagued your partner’s life, and had found it quite easy and comforting to pile on every relationship problem you ever came across as the consequence of Javier Peña’s lack of responsibility and good parenting.

What you didn’t expect, was to find that Javi Peña was a whole lot more normal and level headed than you anticipated. He was just a guy trying to make a good living and provide for his family. Sure, he was a little bit reserved, but he was only ever warm and sweet and even quite chatty with you. To be frank, you should have seen your boyfriend’s shitty behavior as a consequence of his insufferable mother from a mile away. God knew you weren’t expecting Peña Sr. to be the better of your two soon to be in laws.

That being said, you would have never expected to be on your hands and knees, on what was supposed to be your marital bed, being pounded from behind by your ex soon to be father in-law.

Because that's where you are now, eyes rolling to the back of your head thanks to the most intense pleasure you've ever felt. The drag of Javis cock against your walls has been building a steady heat in your belly, the stretch of him so perfect and delicious it has you pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust.

Any other day a man like him wouldn’t have needed much to woo you– with his cut jaw, handsome features and those chocolate brown eyes you wished his son had inherited. Safe to say on a day like this one it took even less, just a few rubs on your back, a hand smoothing over your head and trailing down your waist, a few “pretty girls” and “poor things” and some fucking sympathy from someone from your boyfriends sorry family.

Fucking pathetic.

But Javier knows his son is pathetic, knows he is a good for nothing moron who doesn't even know what he was losing out on when he walked out on you.

“He’s a fuckin fool- look at this tight little pussy, squeezin’ me so fuckin good. Bet he didn’t fuck ya like this, huh baby? Didn’t make ya cum over and over, make ya scream… stupid fuckin boy..” Javier’s grip on your hips tightens on hearing your moan, and he curses under his breath when your pussy flutters around his cock.

Your legs are threatening to give out under you, your knees tender from how long you've been leaning on them. Javier’s hand moves to grip the fabric of your veil, using it to pull your head back and make you face the mirror that's been teasing you all evening. “Look- Look at ya- fuckin cryin’ on my cock. ‘S the only reason ya’ shoulda’ be cryin’ in this pretty dress..” With drooping eyes you're faced with your own reflection– stains from your mascara running down your face now less thanks to the sorry of the afternoon and more thanks to the way Javi’s cock has been nudging your sweetspot.

You watch your tits spill out of your beautiful silk dress, the fabric now disheveled and a far cry from the sophisticated, simplistic garment it once was. You can barely recognise it, but then again you can barely recognise your own reflection. “Look at that pretty little body- fuckin made for me.”

“Yours-” you cut yourself off with a gasp, Javi’s hands squeeze your hips and your cheeks set ablaze at the way he looks at you when you catch it in the mirror. The whole sight is so debauched and depraved– you on your hands and knees for a man who could easily be mistaken for your father. But somehow it's even dirtier- the possibility of your ex finding out sends you into overdrive.

The silk of your dress brushes against your hot skin, flipped lewdly up to reveal your bare ass, bunched at the waist, the straps drooping and threatening to fall. Javi pulls the zip down even further, watching as it hangs off your body, draped like fabric from a 15th century painting.

Javi’s voice calls your attention back to the present moment, lewd words showing you he doesn't hold back the way his son does. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt up..” The stretch is so delicious between your legs, you feel the steady throb continue to tighten the coil inside you and you can’t help but moan. “Yeah, you want that? Want daddy to put a baby in you?” the thought makes you shiver, that name makes you shiver, has your cunt clenching around his cock. What an image- you, belly round with your father in laws child, well, your ex father in law. Unlike his son you were sure he would be the perfect husband, would bend you over ever surface in your picket fence house and fuck you just like he’s doing now.

Deep, and hard and fast, just like you need it. Just like you've always needed it..

“Please daddy, want your babies, wanna be yours…” Your voice is so broken and wrecked you're afraid he can’t understand what you're even saying. To be honest you can’t be bothered much, it feels so good, his thick, hard cock feels so good pounding between your thighs there's little else you can keep your mind on.

“Yeah? you like that sweetheart? we can play house..” you nod your head and his hand tightens its grip around your veil, exaggerating your movements, bending you to his will. “Wanna play house with daddy? can be my pretty little wife” you fist the sheets, pushing back against him with his every thrust. You do want that, you’ve always wanted that. And what better person to do it with. Sure, his wife always complained about how he was never around, but that's looking a lot more like a her problem– especially with the way Javi’s tip continues to kiss your sweet spot.

“Yes daddy, please..”

Javier lets go of your veil, and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you down into the mattress till your cheek is pressed against the warm, fluffy duvet. One hand keeps you there, the other lands a quick spank to your ass and kneads at the flesh with a newfound desperation. “Won't be able to even say his goddamn name after I'm done with ya. Stupid boy doesnt know how to treat a pretty thing like you– so sweet, so gorgeous, so fucking smart. Too fucking good for him.”

With your lips parted and breathing heavy you drool onto the covers, letting Javi pound you into the mattress and overshadow every other thought that dared cross your head earlier in the day. If his plan is to make you forget about anything that isn't him, it sure is working. You don't think you’d even want to sound out his incompetent son’s name after he’s done with you.

As if he can read your mind his voice calls from behind you. “Want ya to be drippin with me.” the wet schick of his cock fucking into your tight, wet, hole reminds you of just how needy you are for him, and the prospect of having him dripping out of you– down your thighs, between your legs, leaving you all messy for him to come back and do it all over again, drives you absolutely insane.

“He’s fuckin useless, just like his ma. But look at you, so fucking tight ‘round me, making all those pretty sounds, she fuckin’ wishes she was you.” His words have your cunt squeezing around his cock, and a lewd, pornographic moan slipping past your lips. “My girl’s gonna be the perfect lil’ mamma, aren’t ya, so fuckin’ pretty.” You would certainly like that- in fact you’re almost surprised with how appealing it sounds to you.

“Gonna be perfect for you daddy, only for you.” your dress rides up even further, the front slipping further down.

“Thats my fucking girl.” That growl of his sends shivers down your spine– possessive, and confident and dripping like honey from his lips. It was almost like it could send you over the edge by itself. The lewd creaking of the bedframe fills the room, the sound of skin on skin driving you wild. The way he handles you– firm and deft but gentle and passionate, it's nothing like his son.

He’s nothing like his son.

“Yeah, bet it feels good don’t it, bein’ fucked by a real man? Feel daddy so deep in ya? Nothin ever been that deep before, huh..” You shake your head ‘no’ and he coos at how pathetic you must sound, barely able to make a coherent sound, forget string together a whole sentence.

“Make me go fuckin’ crazy, babygirl.”

What he says is fucking filthy, there’s no denying, no justifying it. It makes you squirm, makes you even wetter, makes you want him even more.

“Think you wanna go back to him? With daddy’s cum drippin between those pretty thighs, show him how a real man treats his girl?”

“Gonna make ya beg him to stay, gonna talk some sense into him, just so daddy can have ya all to himself, ain't that right? You gonna sneak into daddy’s room in the middle of the night? All wet an’ achy? Beggin’ daddy to fuck ya how ya need?”

“Wanna run away with me baby, live in a perfect little house, let daddy give ya his babies, fuck ya full’ve my cum every single night?”

His hands roam your body, smoothing over your hips, reaching forward to squeeze at your breasts, pinching and kneading the flesh. He bends down to trail light kisses along your spine and the feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your head twists side to side against the sheets as you squirm, each sensation like it's heightened to the maximum, the heaviness and the throb between your thighs at an all time high.

You know you're close, you can’t hold it off much longer. Your cunt squeezes and your toes curl. You also know Javi won't last, you can feel him pulse against your swollen walls, can feel the way he desperately thrusts into you, pushes you further down against the mattress, grips your skin with that renewed fervor, with the desperation of doing anything to hold on to the incredible sensation.

“Come for me, babygirl, come for daddy, show daddy how much ya needed this, show daddy how bad ya need his cock.”

Your legs part even further under you, if that's even physically possible, your entire upper body being smashed into the mattress. You call out Javi’s name, followed by a string of desperate, strained, whiny daddy daddy daddy’s.

With a strangled moan that's partially muffled by the covers you come undone, your head spins and your heart pounds in your chest, you feel yourself gush and clamp down around his cock. You feel Javi’s hips stutter behind you and his cock throb against your wet walls. The feeling only prologues and intensifies your orgasm, your body going slack and eyes rolling back into your head.

“Please daddy, need your cum, please, give it to me..”

Javi’s groans catch your attention as you come down from your high, still reeling from the aftershocks when you feel his cock twitch inside you and paint your walls with his hot spend. Your words are strained and slurred, but they clearly get the job done. You shiver and press your ass back against him to meet his stuttery, sloppy thrusts, and bite your lip when you feel him tighten his grip on your hip, feel him land a final spank to your ass for good measure as he slows down.

You keep your ass in the air, face still pressed against the mattress as Javi pulls out. You hear him mutter a few strained curses under his breath as he does, and catch him looking between your legs to see his spend obscenely leak out of your used hole. He reaches his fingers to rub against your messy folds and you whine, feel him gather up your juices and push them back inside your cunt in a way that has you almost cumming right there again.

Your dress is still pooled at your waist and he unzips it entirely, sneaking his hands under your thighs and flipping you over and yanking you towards him.

“You really want daddy’s babies?” Your head falls back against the bed when you feel his hand cup your cunt, rub your messy, swollen folds with the calloused tips of his fingers. You barely manage to nod.

“Then I ain’t done with ya yet pretty girl.” You tilt your chin to catch his gaze, now in nothing but your stupid little wedding veil. You’re not sure about the best day of your life, but this sure as hell contends for one of the best nights.

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

I'm neon phosphorescent

Open like a Christmas present, oh

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it alright

Be my daddy tonight

What's up what's up

Be my daddy be my daddy

Be my daddy be my, be my daddy tonight

AHHHHH feel like I’m going to hell for this one. Thanks so much for reading!! Please please please let me know what you think. I’d love to know your thoughts!!! Thank you to everyone who engages with my work, you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

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lovebugism · 1 month ago

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✶ ┄ HOUNDS OF LOVE !

part one | part two

summary: you and marcus live lightyears apart within the city walls when emperor geta takes a greater liking to you than expected. you start to find a strange sense of understanding within the crazed emperor, while general acacius plots your escape. (11k)

pairing: marcus acacius / f!reader, emperor geta / f!reader

contents: established relationships, angst, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of war, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of emotional abuse (geta has anger issues he's working on), swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, unprotected sex, exhibitionism & voyeurism) (this is another dark fic!! please heed the warnings!!)

“Meet me in the garden,” you pant against the General’s mouth as you kiss him with a desperate sort of fervor. It’s all wet and hungry and unforgiving, like biting into an apple. “At sunset, on the morrow. Say you’ll meet me there.”

Despite your delicate touch, you cradle Marcus in a most violent hold. You keep him impossibly close with one hand wrapped around his neck, tanned and taut with the strain of war. Your other twists in his hair, dancing through the greying curls of fine silk. You embrace the General within the candlelit crypt where, before now, only death seemed to roam.

Marcus stands as still as the statues of ghosts surrounding you. You lick into his mouth like you plan to breathe life back into his lungs, even while he withers into nothingness at your feet. A thin layer of your spit coats the scruff of his chin. He balls his calloused hands into fists at his sides and pretends a part of you isn’t glittering upon him. He holds onto plausible deniability like a shield.

“It is not safe,” Marcus murmurs in a gruff whisper when you pull back to take a breath. His lidded eyes dart over your kissed face — gaze heavied, lips swollen. Beautiful devil, fallen angel. “You know this.”

Not anymore, he wants to say. Not while you belong to Them.

“Why not?” you challenge, always so girlishly gentle in your stubbornness. “Everyone will be at the feast, Marcus— No one will see us, I’m sure of it.”

Your eyes flit between his kissed mouth and dark-eyed gaze. Universes shine in your irises despite the shadows of the labyrinthine tomb. Marcus feels a white-hot knife twisting in his chest as he resists the urge to hold you.

“It’s the world we live in now, petal. There is little use in questioning it.”

“But why?” you question, anyway. “Why must we live in this world, hm? The war is over— We could make our own, somewhere far away from the city. Somewhere no one could ever find us—”

You create heavens with your naivety.

Marcus burns them down with words.

“The Emperors would not stand for losing their general. For them, the war is never finished,” the General interjects in a sorrowful deadpan, aching when your face twists with grief. “And if they misplaced you? They… They would burn cities to the ground in their hunt… They would set the world aflame before they stopped searching for you.”

Marcus knows this because he knows himself — every star in the sky would burn out before he stopped looking for you. He knows this, too, because he knows the Emperors. Perhaps better than anyone else in the entire world.

Geta and Caracalla were born with the belief that they possessed ownership over everything they touched. Anyone stealing from their Empire would meet a swift and tortuous demise. They were merciless gods who dangled life and death on their fingertips. Only those who kissed the ring would make it out of their rule alive.

And you knew it, too.

That was the worst part of it all: you knew it.

Tomorrow comes and passes like rolling summer clouds, slow and heavy and suffocating. You watch from the royal garden as the sky turns from a glittering sapphire to milky shades of peach and lavender. Another day gone by that you’ve spent grieving on your own.

Though time marches mercilessly on, threatening to untie unbreakable bonds, it changes little of how much you and Marcus have grown together. Like cherry trees kissed with the promise of spring, with your roots tangled gracelessly together. It’s a knot that cannot be undone, not even by the promise of death.

And for that, you figure you must be grateful.

Because as you sit on the stone steps of an artificial lake, twirling your fingers in the warm water of the koi pond, you wonder how dreadful it must be for the multi-colored carp. To swim in circles your whole life, to think the world is only as big as the bricks holding you hostage.

At least you know what it means to grow up in the rolling green of an infinite countryside. At least now you have gardens to roam in the greatest city in the world. At least now you get to live.

A breeze sweeps suddenly through the garden, rippling the crystalline water and rustling the bright green leaves over your head. It carries the soft sound of footsteps scraping the stone trail. Your ears perk, your heart stops, and your head whips over your shoulder. You hope to see Marcus standing at the steps below you.

Your chest tightens and deflates all at once at the sight of Emperor Geta.

He’s adorned in his white-gold cloak, with his laurels sat atop his strawberry-blonde curls, and carrying a jeweled ring on each finger. The sunlight paints the man in flaxen rays of light. The rainbow-colored flowers seem to bloom with every one of his steps. All you can think is how beautiful he is — much too pretty to be so cruel.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” the Emperor concedes, eyes wide and palms splayed in surrender. His sandals scuff the cobbles with each hesitant stride.

“No, of course not,” you blurt with a rapid shake of your head, a quickness sure to give away your choked-back terror. “I just… I only thought you’d be at the dining hall with the rest of the court.”

“I was. Until the handmaidens notified me of your absence.”

You meet his wide-eyed expression with a narrowed gaze, lips curling into an unsure smile. “How can I be absent from a place I do not belong, Your Majesty?” you quip, though your voice threatens to shake.

Geta’s brows furrow. His ringed fingers twitch at his sides. “Belong?” he echoes.

“The feast is for nobility, and I grew up in a brothel,” you answer, giggling quietly under your breath. “I am certainly the farthest thing from royalty.”

You flash him a gentle smile and playful gaze, but the Emperor only frowns.

He can hardly stomach the thought of it — of his most precious thing living in the countryside, surrounded by filth, touched by unworthy hands. He’s glad you’re now, where only he can touch you. Where he can make you clean.

“There is a place for you there, nonetheless,” Geta tells you and takes another step closer. He stands at the bottom of the stone steps and tilts his chin to his chest. His chocolate eyes harden as he presses more firmly, “And I will see that you attend.”

His sudden glacial disposition makes your stomach wrench. You’ve grown so used to him now, learned all the ways to keep him satisfied, that you’ve forgotten how quickly angered he can be. You don’t want to remember his wrath.

You nod at the invitation with a wavering smile, knowing you aren’t at liberty to turn him down, and rise from your spot by the pool.

You hold your gown in both hands as you descend the stairs, flinching slightly when Geta rushes to help you. Sometimes, you think he can sense your worry, or that he regrets snapping at you the way he does. Either way, his efforts to pivot the situation are apparent to you — like he never learned how to apologize, so he’s forced to improvise in the matter.

His warm, petaled hand engulfs you to ease you down the tricky cobbles.

“I only mean that… it is strange. Being without there… Or anywhere, really,” he admits, talking slowly like each word is foreign to him. His gaze darts from yours to the vacant path ahead. “I find that I am looking for you in places I knew you could not be. It’s foolish, I know.”

His gentleness is perhaps more striking than his rage.

“It isn’t foolish, Your Majesty,” you insist as you reach the bottom of the staircase. You peer at him through your lashes and fake another smile. “I just didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Geta doesn’t understand your meaning. Where was the poetry in his words? How did such burdensome feelings of tenderness make him a poet?

“Neither did I,” he muses, guiding you out of the garden with his hand in yours.

Though still riddled with feelings of uncertainty, Geta is strangely moved by how you’re looking at him now — with the sun sparkling in your softened gaze, more gentle than anyone deserves to be looked at. So he figures he can be a poet for you, if he must.

You bathe again in the rosehip oil Geta always insists you wear, and dress yourself in the fine silk gown you know he prefers. The pale blue fabric drapes off your shoulders and flows to your ankles, cinched at the waist with a jewel-encrusted belt of gold. Your skin and body are adorned, in this moment alone, with perhaps more money than you’ve ever seen in your life.

The thought makes your head swim as you amble to the dining hall.

The silent guards at your side make no effort to rush you for fear of the Emperors’ wrath. Still, though, the notion that they are commissioned to ensure your attendance is not lost on you. Any attempt to flee will surely be met with force — if not from the knights, then from Geta himself.

The feasting is long done by the time you arrive. Mingling bodies flit around the crowded manor in a blur. Live music swells distantly as rose petals fall from thin air to decorate the marble floor. You wring your hands nervously together as you weave through the bustling court, gravitating to the large open window at the back of the hall — where you know the Emperors rest on their plush, velvet chaises.

Caracalla notices you first.

The boy rises from his lounged position — laurels crooked on his blonde head and robe shifting up his pale thighs — and smiles at you with all his crooked teeth. His lone golden tooth glints in the sunlight.

“You showed,” he announces to no one in particular, just before his wild head swivels to his brother on the other side of the couch. “See, brother? I told you there was naught to worry about. Did I not?”

Geta does not appear happy to see you. His features remain in an emotionless scowl while his smokey eyes rake over your form. “You did,” he responds distantly, if only to appease his younger brother.

Caracalla doesn’t seem to notice the tension caging him on both sides as he flashes you another toothy grin. “He threatened to send the Praetorians after you,” he lilts like it’s some kind of silly secret.

The Emperors’ bodyguards line the wall behind them, as well as all the entrances and nearly every window. They were like your Marcus — military veterans, strong and sharp and ruthless — though you imagine the only soft side you’ll ever see of them is a fist. They are certainly not the kind of people you want sent after you.

“Well, you were right, Your Majesty,” you grin. “There was naught to worry about. I was simply making myself presentable for the court.”

Caracalla holds his ringed hand out for you as you near him. You bend at the waist to kiss the emerald on his ring finger. The motion is muscle memory to you now. “You look beautiful,” he slurs like a child. “Like a fairy, almost.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” you nod politely and rise to full height again.

You feel his ocean eyes on your body as you pass him by, glassy and sparkling with a boyish sort of wonder. A stark contrast to the way his brother glares daggers at you.

“You certainly took your time,” Geta monotones in place of a greeting.

You stand obediently at his side and twist your clammy hands into knots. “I was only getting dressed, Your Majesty. I wanted to look pretty for you—”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor spits and turns away. You’re always pretty, he’d say if he could get the words out. Instead, he softens his suddenly hardened edges and flashes you a gentler glance. “I thought you’d defied me,” he confesses, as though in lieu of an apology for his fleeting hysterics.

“I couldn’t,” you murmur with a quiet smile.

Not wouldn’t, he notices. Not shouldn’t.

But couldn’t. Like your body was fated to listen to his command.

A funny feeling sparkles like gold in his chest. It makes him fidget uncomfortably on the couch. “Sit down,” he instructs with a wave of his ringed hand before slouching back in his seat, pale arms splayed along the edge of it. His brows pinch when you descend onto the empty spot beside him. “Not there.”

You freeze in place. Your eyes widen and dart to his thighs, spread out and hidden beneath the skirt of his robe. You look to Geta once more and cower beneath his expectant look. You sink hesitantly onto his lap, feeling like your heart’s in your throat as you lean into his chest.

Your unsure hands curl around his shoulders. His curls brush your cheek. He smells overwhelmingly of musk and wine and cinnamon. Something about it makes you dizzy.

You survey the room from your position in Geta’s lap. Most people aren’t looking, you find, too busy talking and flirting and dancing together. A few noblemen across the way leer incredulously at you, though, like they’re trying to gauge if they know you from somewhere. You presume you likely slept with one or more of their sons during the war, most of which are likely dead now.

A few women crowd behind the chaise — all dressed in muted shades of silk, all dripped in jewels and gold. They’re pretty, effortlessly so, as they talk into their goblets full of wine. Some looked relieved to have the Emperors’ attention off of them. Others sneer at you for it, having no idea you’d switch places with them in a heartbeat if you could.

Your eyes dart across the dining hall, almost instinctually so. They lock immediately with Marcus the moment he enters the room.

The General wears his black-gold armor and a faraway look in his eye as he leads a group of foreign gladiators into the manor. A hush lulls over the crowd, which parts for him without thinking. Marcus navigates through it with an absentminded sternness, like every step is muscle memory.

He softens only when his gaze meets yours.

His puffed-out chest deflates with a wavering exhale at the sight of you, a lamb on the lap of a man who holds a knife to your throat. He blames himself for it most of all, knowing he’s the one that brought you to slaughter.

“Finally!” Caracalla shouts into the silence, voice ringing through the hushed court. “Where have you all been— In the showers together?”

A bout of laughter rolls over the crowd as the blonde boy leans over to you. You try not to grimace at the bitter smell of wine on his breath. “Who nearly missed the games, little dove,” he croons too close to your ear.

The nickname makes you tense. You muster a smile, anyway, and remind yourself to breathe. “What a shame that would’ve been,” you lilt in response.

“The armor is tricky, Your Majesty,” Acacius confesses, voice deep like a cathedral organ. “Especially for those who have not donned it before. Such as yourself.”

There is a bite to his words despite their monotoned delivery. Caracalla pays it no mind as he lounges back on the couch, wine sloshing in the chalice he holds in a limp hand. “Get it out with it, then,” he slurs.

Each gladiator faces the other. One is tall and sturdy, like an oak tree. The other is shorter and lankier, much too young and far too pretty to fight in such gruesome battles. As Marcus’ voice booms throughout the quiet dining hall to introduce them — The Barbarian versus The Might Vincenzo — Geta presses his mouth to your ear.

“Which one shall we bet on, little dove?” he whispers to you as his hand curls tighter around your waist. His other idles over your skirt, pale and jeweled and warm, though his long fingers threaten to dip between your thighs.

You blink hard to keep your head from swimming. “Hm?”

“Which one of these imbeciles do you think will win?” Geta repeats.

“Oh, um, I— I don’t know, Your Majesty,” you stammer in response. It’s hard to think about anything other than how close Marcus is to you now. How pretty and wartorn he looks. How desperately you wish to hold him.

“Just guess,” the Emperor presses, squeezing softly at your hip. “It’s only for entertainment, anyway.”

How could certain death possibly entertain you? your mind races as your mouth blurts, “The little one, then.”

“Really?” Geta hums in amusement. His dark eyes, smudged with brown liner, squint softly at your glossy profile. They flit across your features like he’s seeing you for the very first time, though you aren’t looking back at him to notice. “Hm. I would’ve picked the oaf.”

“Well, it is the most obvious choice, Your Majesty. Though, I find it’s often the smaller ones that surprise you—”

You turn your head to look at him. Your breath catches audibly in your throat when you find the Emperor much closer than expected. He’s so close your eyes nearly cross to meet his gaze. So close, that the tip of his large nose threatens to brush the bridge of yours. So close, you get drunk on the alcohol tainting his breath.

Geta’s wine-stained mouth curls upwards in a cynical smile. “They do, indeed,” he croons quietly, raspberry breath fanning warm over your jaw.

Chills pebble along your skin accordingly. It takes great strength from you to break his magnetic chocolate gaze. You turn away from the Emperor and focus instead on the gladiators circling one another. Vincenzo moves in seemingly practiced motions, unfazed by the brutality of such duels. The nameless Barbarian houses a great sadness in his young eyes — a hardened look of regret, perhaps, for what he knows he must do.

“Let’s not entertain them for our amusement, brother,” the Barbarian mutters lowly to his opponent, blade hanging limp at his side.

The larger man charges like a rhino. A deep roar sounds in his throat as he thrusts his knife towards the younger boy’s neck. The Barbarian dodges the swing with ease, possessing all the swiftness of a snake as he ducks past his opponent and slices his muscular bicep with one fell swoop.

The crowd gasps in a mixture of horror and amusement as Vincenzo’s blood drips onto the floor like deep red wine. It stains the marble in fat droplets, blending with the rose petals littered at the gladiators’ feet.

You flinch at the sight. Your breath hitches as you turn away — eyes squeezed shut, brows tightly furrowed. Geta chuckles with merriment. You feel it rumbling in his chest as he murmurs, “Don’t be frightened, little dove. It’s only a game.”

Something in you aches when the Emperor reaches for the jeweled goblet at his side. Your fearful eyes remain fixed on his face while the hall erupts in a symphony of violence — of battle cries and laughter, of dropped blades and dull smacks.

“Here,” Geta offers with the wine in hand. “Drink. It will calm your nerves.”

He presses the rim of the chalice to your mouth. His gaze never waves from your lips as they part to welcome the bittersweet raspberry. The wine pools like blood on your tongue. It tastes like guilt going down.

Dusk falls over the city like a wounded swan. The velvet darkness outside your window makes shadows of everything it touches, only partially diminished by blinking stars and waning silver moonlight. The crescent shape of the bright white orb would fit just perfectly beneath Marcus’ jaw, you think to yourself.

The thought alone sends a warm, melancholic feeling down your spine — with such an intensity only the tenderness of twilight could elicit.

You slide from the crimson satin of your mattress with a tight chest. You migrate towards the entrance — bare feet padding faintly along the floor, thin cotton nightgown trailing behind you. You stand before your bedroom door and rap your knuckles rhythmically against the wood.

Twice, once, three times.

And then you wait.

“It’s me,” you hear Marcus murmur from the other side.

Your heart swells like sunshine in your throat. You smile wide despite yourself, with no one else around to see it. “It’s been Romulus for nearly a fortnight,” you tell him, panting slightly from where you’d held your breath in anticipation. “I was starting to think you’d been banished from your post here forever.”

“You know the Emperor likes to torture me,” he quips, though his usual monotone never wavers.

It might’ve been easier on you both, if Geta had shipped him off to lead another meaningless campaign. At least then Marcus could miss you from leagues away. Instead, he has to guard your bedroom door and miss you from the other side of it. Torture is an understatement.

“Well, I quite like it when you’re here,” you confess quietly, tracing shapes onto the doorframe with an absentminded hand. “Makes me feel safe.”

You wait patiently for a response.

“Good,” is all the General can think to reply.

Your face pinches with concern. Your chest does, too. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know… Our conversations together have grown so short— I worry you do not wish to speak with me at all.”

Though you cannot see him, Marcus flinches at your words. He stands like a statue outside your door, in the middle of the dim corridor, and glares over his shoulder into nothingness. “It isn’t true,” he insists, voice low but honeyed still. “I wish to speak with you always.”

“Then why do you not?”

“Because it isn’t safe,” he repeats, though you never seem to hear him.

“Will it ever be?”

Marcus goes silent as he ponders for a moment. Quiet engulfs the bedroom all over again, filled only by crackling candles. “No,” he answers after a few long moments. “Not for a long while.”

You feel like he’s stabbed you with a freshly sharpened blade, right between your ribcage and into your bleeding heart. It would hurt less, anyway. “Why?” you wonder aloud in a pained whimper, knowing the answer will do nothing more than twist the knife.

The answer sits ready on Marcus’ tongue, as though the question of why has plagued him long before you asked it.

“Because I… I ruined you. By bringing you here.”

“You saved me,” you correct.

“I destroyed you,” he retorts, voice heavy with choked-back emotion.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for you,” you remind him of the blatant reality, which threatens to consume you every time you see his face. You wish you were holding it now, cradling Marcus’ bearded cheeks in your supple palms, so that he might understand the weight of your words. “I would’ve lost everything if you hadn’t taken me with you. I would’ve been tortured, probably killed. But now I get to—”

The word gets caught in your throat. You swallow hard and fake a smile at nothingness. The pretending comes naturally to you now.

“Now I get to live. Both of us do.”

There is a brief moment of knowing silence. This isn’t what living is supposed to feel like — fleeting touches in dark crypts and whispered conversations through bedroom doors. Both of you know it, but it’s a truth too brutal to admit out loud.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“You know… We aren’t unspectacular things, Marcus,” you speak slowly and with a strangled intention. “We’ve already come so far. We’ve survived so much— We can survive a little more, can’t we? Until it’s safe again?”

“I don’t presume we have any other choice.”

“We don’t,” you sigh. “Because I love you.”

“I know,” Marcus nods, with an air of surrender in his words. “Because I love you, too.”

You fall into the heavy wooden door as though it were your lover’s body. You did not need to see him to feel held by him. He hadn’t touched you, and he didn’t need to. His presence alone affects you in such a way that it feels like he has been caressing you for a long, long time.

Marcus’ heavy armor clunks faintly on the other side of the door as he stands up straighter. Emperor Geta enters his line of sight, a shadow slinking down the candlelight corridor. He clears his throat. “Your Majesty—” the General announces, for you and you alone.

He hears your feet pad against the floor as you scurry from the entrance.

“Dog,”the Emperor greets in a cynical deadpan.

His sandals scuff the cobbles when he stands before the taller man. The torches hanging on the walls bathe Geta’s face in flickering amber hues, highlighting his tired features where the makeup had worn throughout the day. He seems weighed down by a certain kind of grief. The kind that makes Acacius feel ten feet tall.

“Have you been guarding my Empress like a good little hound?”

Marcus nods politely, though the term of endearment catches him momentarily off guard. To be the Emperor’s whore was one thing, but it was entirely another to be referred to in such high regard. The General tries to contemplate what that must mean as he answers, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Geta grins despite his visible fatigue. “Good boy.”

You’re already back in bed by the time the door swings open. You lounge along the expensive satin sheets and pretend you’ve done nothing but wait obediently for the Emperor, while simultaneously swallowing down any remaining feelings of longing and heartache.

Geta enters the room like a rolling storm cloud. He wears all the chaos of the day in his mussed blonde curls, smudged makeup, and wrinkled garb — a palpable sort of disarray. You scramble on the mattress to greet him, like you often do, until he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“No. Don’t,” he commands. “Stay there. Don’t get up.”

You obey, freezing partially upright, with your elbows holding most of your weight. Your face swirls with concern at his look of annoyance. Your heart drops to your stomach in fear.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, though the Emperor pays you little mind as he migrates to the table by the window.

He pours himself a chalice of wine. The glugging flagon fills the heavy silence. You swallow hard and stare timidly at the back of him. “Are you angry with me?” you repeat once more — a question that seems to accompany womanhood, especially when bound by the innate violence of man.

“I couldn’t be,” Geta answers like it’s obvious, sparing you a fleeting glance over his shoulder. He turns away to down the full goblet in three lengthy gulps, then wipes his stained mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s only my brother,” he confesses through labored breaths.

Your worry lessens, but only slightly.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s acting like a child,” Geta spits, angered all over again, as he pours himself another cup. “More so than usual.”

“Has something happened?”

“Nothing that should concern you.”

“Well, it’s certainly bothering you, Your Majesty,” you coo in slow and calculated measures as you rise from the many cushioned pillows. “So, forgive me, but it cannot help but concern me as well.”

Geta is unaccustomed to such tenderness. He tenses beneath it, glances hesitantly over his shoulder like he plans to find a ghost sitting in your place — as though he’d only heard the words in the wind and not from your mouth. A foreign feeling swirls again in his hollow chest, like a blizzard of snow or a flurry of rose petals.

“He’s jealous of me. Just as he always has been,” the Emperor tells you as he stalks toward the bed. He gestures mindlessly with his hands, and the wine sloshes over the rim of the gold chalice until it hits the stone floor. He raises it to his mouth, tips his head back, and down the bittersweet pomegranate.

His neck is long and milky white. His protruding adam’s apple bobs with each languid swallow. A drop of deep red trails from his mouth and down his chin once he’s finished. He rubs it away with a fist. You forget to stop staring.

“Lay down,” he commands, chest heaving.

Your body obeys without a second thought. You lie back on the velvet cushions, docile and willing, in a way that comes naturally to you now. You’ve been Geta’s thing for so long that a part of you has grown used to it. Needy for it.

The mattress dips beneath the Emperor’s wait as he kneels beside you. Your mind starts to reel.

Your brain seemingly anticipates an inevitable pleasure, which comes to you like clockwork most nights. It makes your mouth water like a drooling hound that knows when it’s feeding time. A funny feeling stirs in the pit of your belly and pools like honey in your undergarments. Your thighs clench together when a subtle throbbing begins to pound between them.

You should be grateful when Geta crawls beneath the sheets only to rest his head on your chest.

You’re shocked, most of all, by such a foreign act of tenderness.

Your breath catches when his cheek presses to your breast. He nods gently to rub his burning skin over the smooth cotton. A deep exhale fans from his nose as he rests his body weight against you.

You cradle him with hesitant hands and remind yourself to breathe. Your fingers scratch lightly over his clothed shoulder while your others comb through his strawberry-blonde locks. It’s a warmth so foreign to the two of you that it threatens to bring you both to tears.

“He says he wants someone like you— my brother,” Geta admits after a few moments of long silence.

“A whore?”

“A paramour,” the Emperor corrects, face twisted in irritation at your use of the term. He focuses on the muffled sound of your heartbeat when anger threatens to consume him. A heavy sigh deflates his chest. His anxious fingers twist in your nightgown. “I told him he could have his pick— Between us, we have plenty of women to go around, but… He insists his mind is stuck on you.”

Your bated breaths come to you in trembling inhale-exhales. You hope he doesn’t sense how frightful his words have made you.

Geta is cruel, yes, but he is at most times predictable. Though Caracalla may be kind, he is most of all volatile. And there is nothing more dangerous than an erratic, easily excitable ruler.

“And what did you tell him?” you wonder with a feigned sense of curiosity.

“That you were mine, of course,” Geta blurts like it’s obvious. “He offered to share, to which I told him that he should be grateful that I’m sharing the throne alone with him… And now he’s off with his monkey, crying like a child…”

You feel strangely comforted by his words. You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose and rake your fingers through his blonde-brunette curls. “Your brother is a fragile thing, Your Majesty,” you advise in gentle murmurs. “You must be gentle with him.”

“I don’t know how to be gentle with anything,” Geta confesses, half-muffled into your chest. “Least of all, with someone like him.”

“Shall I speak with him? Perhaps I can calm him— make him understand?”

“It’s my burden alone.”

“It is mine as well, Your Majesty. So that mustn’t be true.”

Geta turns slowly to face you, with all the hesitance of someone unused to such kindness. His chin rests on your clothed sternum and bobs with each word. “You shouldn’t have to carry it,” he whispers into the honeyed silence of the candlelit bedroom.

You muster a small smile. “I know. But I will, anyway,” you shrug. “When you care for someone, your brain has little say in the matter.”

Geta falters at your admission. A foreign emotion swims in his chocolate button eyes. He’d rather blame it on the flickering flames strewn around the room. “Is that what this is?” he mutters, almost to himself, when he finds the breath to say the words.

Your fingers in his hair slow to a stop. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“This… This tenderness,” the Emperor answers, spitting the word like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it. His face scrunches distantly, as if it were sour on his tongue. “Sometimes it overwhelms to the point of tears. It’s a… a blinding radiance, like… a knife— lodged somewhere deep in the body…”

You cup Geta’s freshly shaven face between two, gentle hands. He swears he sees the sun.

“Why do you speak of love like it hurts you, Your Majesty?”

He swallows hard. “Because it does,” he confesses before rising from your body.

You mourn his warmth as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress. He sits with his back facing you. His dove white robe hangs off one pale shoulder when he bows his head.

“I never believed in it as a child— the permanence of it all, of… love. And yet, I… I find myself longing for it anyway. Like a fool.”

You rise on one elbow and resist the urge to touch him. “Wanting to be understood by someone doesn’t make you a fool, Your Majesty.”

“I know that I… That I haven’t been the most gentle with you at times. But I am… I am sorry for it,” Geta tells you in near inaudible murmurs, flashing you a sheepish glance over his freckled shoulder. “I understand it must be difficult for you.”

“What, Your Majesty?”

“To be caught between all that was. And all that must be.”

Your stomach wrenches at his words. Your chest tightens beneath the weight of them until you have to fight for every wavering breath. You take a trembling inhale and rise so you’re sitting at his side, taking careful calculation in the following words you speak.

“We cannot… We cannot choose who we love, Your Majesty. We can fight ceaselessly against it, perhaps, but it doesn’t change fate.”

You reach out for him with one tremoring hand. You rake a rogue curl behind his ear and hope he doesn’t know Marcus’ face is the one stained permanently behind your eyelids.

“We love who we love, Your Majesty. And the rest stay ghosts.”

Geta’s eyes glitter with an emotion you’ve not seen from him before. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, as though searching for something in your gaze — sincerity, perhaps, or maybe an equal sense of longing.

You blink, and his mouth is on yours. Geta kisses you back onto the velvet-satin and settles over you once more. It’s wet. Hungry. Unforgiving.

You kiss him back with a similar intensity, clutching his robe in both hands, desperate to understand him.

Marcus remains on the other side of your door — an invisible ghost, an unwilling witness. He hears all of it, as clearly as he would if he were seeing it with his own eyes. A hollow feeling of yearning and hunger gnaws at the pit of his stomach as he tries to imagine your pleasured form. The painting behind his eyelids is blurred and distorted with time.

He wishes he could see you now, even with Emperor Geta fucking you into the mattress. He could pretend that he was the one fucking you, at least, and let the image alone bring his withered form back to life.

You’re together in his head, entwined still, with your mouths bruised in a relentless kiss.

Marcus hopes you’re still together in yours, too.

General Acacius spends most of his nights in the crypt, which he feels is rather fitting for a half-dead thing like him. When he is not surveilling your bedroom door, or being otherwise taunted by Emperor Geta, he finds a strange sanctuary in the dreary tombs. It is perhaps the only place where he is left alone.

Caracalla is petrified by thoughts of ghosts, and Geta detests history, so neither is likely to show their face in such an ancient mausoleum. Which is ideal for someone plotting an insurrection.

You find him there in the wee small hours of the late, late night. He wears a deep red cloak over his white robe, perhaps to conceal himself, as he shuffles around the room to snuff out flickering candles. You wonder who he lit them for because you know he does not need them. He’s grown too used to navigating in the shadows.

Your sandals scuff suddenly against the damp cobbles. Marcus does not seem startled by the intrusion. He knew you were there by the sweet scent of your perfumed body alone. There is nothing about you he would not immediately notice.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders with his back facing you, voice low with a timbre that bounces off the tomb walls.

“I wanted to see you,” you answer sheepishly.

Marcus says nothing in response.

You wring your hands into knots and shift your weight on your feet. He extinguishes the torch on the far wall, and shadows engulf the windowless crypt — save for one lone candle flickering atop Emperor Commodus’ cracking tomb. Your eyes flit from the flame to Marcus’ silhouette, gaze swimming with uncertainty.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why not,” he monotones and flits across the room like a ghost.

“What do you do down here?” you ask. When your voice inevitably trembles with distant alarm, you quip, “I only mean it mustn’t be healthy— Spending so much time in the dark.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Marcus insists with a venom that makes you flinch. He hooks his pointer finger around the hook of the candle holder, and the dancing flame paints his statuesque features in shades of amber. He softens immediately at the sight of you.

“I just do not wish to incriminate you,” the wartorn man confesses.

Your chest aches with an immediate concern. “What does that mean? Please do not tell me that you’re doing something perilous—”

“No,” Marcus interjects firmly, then amends. “Not yet, at least.”

“Explain it to me, then. Help me understand.”

“It’s best you do not know, petal. It’s safer that way.”

The word alone makes you cross. You wish he’d stop using it.

“But I will tell you when the time is right, I swear,” he assures you, though his voice threatens to tremble with wavering strength. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, heavy with an emotion you cannot place. “I will keep you safe no matter what, you know that—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Acacius,” you murmur with a stern glint in your eye, clutching the downy fabric of his robe in your fists.

“There is naught to worry about, petal. I assure you.”

Marcus takes a step closer to you despite the voice of reason in his head telling him otherwise. He lifts his free hand and swipes a callused palm over your cheek, soft and warm with sleep. You lean into his touch like a cat. A funny feeling blossoms in his chest.

“I’ve been thinking… About what you said some days ago… Making a new world for ourselves…” He talks slowly and deeply and nearly to himself. You nod against his palm to egg him onward. “You were right. We deserve better than this— Why should we have to live like dogs?”

Marcus swipes his thumb over your jaw and takes another daring step closer. You feel the heat from the candle he holds in his free hand, though your eyes remain on his face. You couldn’t look away from him if you tried. A part of you is hesitant to blink even, for fear that you might miss him for a millisecond too long.

He angles your gently head upward with his weathered palm. You can smell the musk on his tanned skin from here, as well as the ale and mint leaves on his breath. It’s dizzying. The ground seems to sway under your feet at the dwindling proximity between you.

“We love each other, don’t we?” he murmurs in a honeyed voice.

You nod without a second thought. Your mouth waters with the hopes of tasting him.

He nods with you. “So fuck the war.”

Marcus ducks down to press his mouth to yours. His lips swallow your own in a kiss, lingering and languid and deep enough to drown in.

You melt into his touch with a heavy sigh exhaled through your nose. The warm breath fans across his unshaven cupid’s bow while your hands migrate to his hair. You twist the greying tendrils in your fingers, keeping him impossibly close against you.

When Marcus goes to grip the fabric of your nightgown in both his hands, the candle holder tumbles to the ground. The gold clatters audibly across the cobbles. The wax light falls on his side, and the flame begins to dwindle on the murky stone floor.

You wonder, briefly, if it will take fire — if the smoke will give you away, or if the tomb and all its history will burst into flames, or if the inferno will take you and Marcus with it.

Though it snuffs quickly out, bathing the two of you in a navy blue darkness, you figure you wouldn’t care if it did burn you to ash. Not as long as Marcus was there to kiss you into embers.

Marcus’ face consumes your dreams.

The details are blurred with the haze of sleep, but he was there — touching your face, asking to try again. You merged into one another like ghosts. Like drops of melted honey. Like lovers of Pompeii turned to ash. Every day, you tell yourself that it is unsafe to love him more than you do now. And yet he haunts your dreams, and yet you find more love in you for him.

And yet…

A violent hand pulls you from your gentle slumber. It jerks mercilessly at your arm, snatching you from your peaceful dreams and waking you into a nightmare.

“Wake up!” a strident and familiar voice bellows into the quiet bedroom, lit only by the faint blue of an early morning. The words are punctuated by another rough tug at your wrist. You awake to the sharp aching in your fingers.

“Wha—” you slur, trying to blink away the bleary mist as you lift your heavy head from the pillows. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Up!”

You’re urged from the mattress by the unforgiving fingers digging bruises on your arm. You squint through the sleep and ebbing darkness to find Geta looming over you — blonde curls mussed on his head, swollen eyes wide and wild, velvet robe askew on his shoulder to reveal his pale chest. His skin there is flushed red with anger. You don’t know what you did to deserve his wrath.

“Geta?” you gasp through a faint whimper in your throat, trying to pull your wrist from his grip. He only holds you tighter. “What are you doing— You’re hurting me.”

“Liar!” is all he shouts in response, like he doesn’t even hear you.

The crazed Emperor drags you out of bed just to drop you to the cobbles. The thin sleeves of your nightgown slip off your shoulder; the skirt of it bunches at your thighs. You make yourself as small as possible as you shrink away from the man towering above you.

“I don’t understand,” you squeak through the heart in your throat.

“Liar!” he shouts again.

His voice rings through the shadowed bedroom. You cower in response. He sobers at the fear twisting your features, but only slightly. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage, beating red-hot rage through his veins. He can hardly hear you through the rushing in his ears.

“What have I done?” you whisper, voice trembling.

“You have made…” Geta trails off, swallowing the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away burning tears and spits, “A mockery of me.”

Fear ebbs into confusion. “I have not—”

“You lie!”

“I do not!” The volume of your voice startles even you. You blink up at him with wide, pleading eyes, searching for any ounce of mercy within him.

You find none.

Just a man made of towering orange flames, threatening to set you ablaze.

“I have given up everything to be here,” you whimper. “To be at your side. To understand you—”

“Make no mistake… Your lies no longer have an effect on me, little dove,” Geta interjects through a bout of cynical laughter. He shakes his head and grins despite the tears glittering in his eyes. “You think you are so clever. That you were brought here, to my Empire, to be cherished...”

The Emperor takes slow, daunting steps towards you. You shrink away from him and choke back a sob bubbling in your throat. Tears fall from your lashes in fat droplets down your burning cheeks.

Geta grins like it pleases him.

“Let me be clear, so there is no longer any misunderstanding…” he tells you, speaking in slow, deep murmurs as he crouches before you. You can see the flecks of gold glimmering in his deep brown eyes from here. You can see the fire swimming within them, too, as he assures you, “You were created merely for me to destroy you.”

The throne room is absent of its usual bright red roses and ornate gold decoration. The chandelier overhead has not yet been lit. Instead, the spacious room is illuminated by an ever-rising sun — which basks everything it touches in shades of melancholy blue.

The servants light torches along the wall while you and Marcus stand together before the scowling Emperor. Something about it strikes a feeling of nostalgia in your chest, though these circumstances are much different than the ones you were brought here under. Geta no longer looks at you with lust in his dark eyes. He looks at you, instead, with betrayal.

“Thanks to the civic virtue of some good men…” the eldest Emperor quavers into the silent room. “…Your insurrection has been revealed.”

Your stomach twists at his words. Your mouth falls softly agape with shock. Of any explanation you could’ve been given upon your sudden imprisonment, you couldn’t have expected this one. You thought, perhaps, that he had somehow found out about your meetings in the crypt with Marcus. You would’ve been able to stomach that, at least. Your love for Acacius is something you’d be willing to die by.

But not this.

Not something you were completely unconscious of.

Geta continues tearily. “The honor… The dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you— All this, you have forfeited by your treachery.”

“Emperor Geta, please,” Marcus sighs. His deep voice echoes through the empty throne room like a heavenly, sorrowful instrument. He bows his head and swallows hard, knowing now that he must beg for mercy. Not for himself. But for you.

“Torture me, if you wish, but let her go. She had no part in this—”

“Forgive me,” Geta spits emotionlessly. “But I have no cause to believe you, General.”

Marcus turns to you then, tired eyes wide and pleading. “Tell him. Go on, it’s alright,” he urges gently, though your silence makes his chest ache. “Petal, tell him— Tell him you were unaware.”

You say nothing.

“Tell him!”he repeats in a shout that rings through the quiet throne room. His trained apathy splinters for the first time in front of Geta. He is perhaps more fearful now than he has ever been before. No war was nearly as frightening as the thought of losing you.

“What does it matter?” you mutter in response, voice fragile like glass. “He made up his mind the moment he found out.”

“Then take me if that’s what you want,” Marcus says, pleads to the merciless Emperor. His sandals scuff the stone floor as he takes a step closer in surrender. “Put me in the Colosseum— Crucify me on the royal steps, if you must— But please, do not make her suffer for something I brought upon her. Do not punish her for my sins.”

“You are the Great General Acacius…” Geta croons bitterly. “What could one more splash of blood possibly mean to you?”

“Everything,” Marcus answers without a second thought, voice heavy with a predestined grief. “It would mean everything.”

Something in Geta shifts. You see it flickering in his dark, teary eyes. A surge of power, almost, like a stroke of bright white lightning. The corner of his pink mouth twitches as he tilts his chin upward. “Step back ten paces,” he commands suddenly.

Marcus’ brows pinch first in confusion, then relax a moment later when he inevitably obeys. His feet sound along the cobbles as he takes ten slow steps backward. He mourns the distance it puts between the two of you.

“Turn around,” Geta’s voice echoes through the vacant throne room.

You hear Marcus take a wavering breath in. He spins on the heel of his leather sandal until his back is facing you. His heavy eyes flutter shut as his chin falls to his chest. He searches for an ounce of hope within himself, knowing he’d lost all of it some time ago now.

The Emperor smirks. “Good dog.”

Acacius seethes.

Geta’s dark eyes, rimmed red with emotion, flit back to you. Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach — dread, perhaps, or maybe acceptance for what’s surely to come.

“Was it a lie?”

“What?” you ask with bated breath.

Geta shrugs, then readjusts his robe when it falls from his shoulder. “Any of it.”

“No.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I am.”

Geta snarls at your subdued emotion. “I am the Emperor of Rome. I could have my pick of whores— You being here is a privilege. Do you understand?”

You nod once. “Yes.”

“You came from filth— to the greatest city in the world,” Geta spits the words like so many drops of venom. He waves his hands up and down your form, pale fingers now void of their usual gold rings. “You were just… some whore without a face before I made you better. I did this!”

He gestures wildly around the darkened manor, voice breaking at the volume of his shouting. His robe falls askew to reveal more of his bare chest as spit coats his bitten lips. You remain in place while the Emperor inches closer. The fear has left you, as well as any instinct to cry — your grief is too violent for that now.

“I brought you here,” Geta convinces himself. His saliva splatters on your cheek in faint droplets. Tears glitter on his cheeks like stained glass windows. A fire flickers in the deep brown of his eyes.

“I willed this— I cared for you with every bit of conscience as I was born with.” He takes a deep breath and steps back, shaking his head in disgust. “And yet…”

He turns away.

You’re able to take in a deep breath for the first time in several minutes when he parts from you. The leadened weight on your chest remains.

“If you do not wish to be here, I certainly will not make you,” Geta rambles in teary blubbers. “One whore is as good as any other— Perhaps I can find one who is capable of pretending she cares.”

You step towards his retreating form. “Geta—”

“Go!” he shouts, looking back at you with a crazed look in his sleep-worn eyes. He wipes spit from his chin and quietens, strangled by an unavoidable emotion. “Now. Walk through those doors, and I promise no harm will come to you. Just do not stand before me and patronize me in this way, I will not stand for it.”

His promise makes your chest swell with hope. You remain frozen even still, stuck at an unnavigable crossroads. Such assurances of safety mean little to you when Marcus

has a sword to his throat.

You look at the man over your shoulder. He has not moved from his spot some feet behind you. His back still faces you, though you notice his hands are balled into trembling fists.

Even if it were true — even if Geta really planned to let you go without a knight slitting your throat — it would mean little without Marcus. You would not know where to go without him. You would not be able to live with yourself if you left him here, not knowing what Geta planned for him. You would be away from the city, yes, but it would not be freedom.

Your instinctual will for survival is replaced by the primal need to keep Marcus alive.

To do that, you must reach for the bloodied hand of death.

You turn away from your lover — away from the opened cage door and the promise of freedom — and rush to the heartbroken Emperor. You clutch his cotton robe in your fists and tug at the gold trim to pull him closer. You meet him in the middle, entwining your mouth with his.

You kiss him. Hard. With enough ardor to snatch the breath from his lungs. His pink lips part for yours, almost instinctually so, and you swipe your tongue over the rough pad of his own. He tastes of sleep and honey and very distantly of wine. He gets heavy against you as he falls into your kiss. His hands cling to the skirt of your nightgown until his fists start to shake.

You pull away only when he’s melted for you all over again, when the red-hot anger has ebbed from his milky white body. A thin string of saliva keeps you connected until it splits against your chins.

“I know… I know you are hurt, Your Majesty,” you speak in slow murmurs, and through uneven breaths. Your fearful eyes dart over his face and find him utterly kissbitten — mouth swollen, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. “And I know that it is difficult to forget pain. But I’ve found it’s harder to remember happiness. Glory.”

Each word from your mouth is stamped with intention.

You speak of glory only with the hopes that he might remember his many useless wars, all of which Marcus has won for him without complaint. There would be no Empire to rule without the Great General Acacius, who dares not to sneak a glance at the two of you over his shoulder. He, instead, keeps his heavied gaze on the torch hanging by the door. The flame sears his vision until he can see you dancing within it.

“We have no scar to show from sweetness, do we?” you quaver with a forced smile, cupping Geta’s burning cheeks between both your hands. You swipe your thumb over a fat tear clinging to his cheekbone. “How can we allow ourselves to be blinded by anger when there is still so much love?”

Geta snivels and rests his forehead against yours. His long lashes flutter against his glowing cheeks.

“I wept for you,” the Emperor confesses quietly, words weighed down by tears. “I had come to believe that… If I wanted something badly enough, the sheer strength of my desire would make it mine. I see now that it was foolish—”

“Perhaps it is true,” you whisper to him, breaths entwining and kissing both your cheeks. If he notices your voice shaking, you hope he confuses it with desire and not with fear. “Perhaps that is why I’m standing here now. Because I am yours…”

A moment of silence lulls over the blue hour. The quiet feels deafening in the large throne room, quelled only by the sound of heavy breathing. Yours hitches in your throat when Geta parts wordlessly from you. He sniffles once, then exhales hard through his mouth.

Your gaze remains fixed on his face in an unwavering stare as you try to gauge his reaction. His features are emotionless, but his heavy-lidded eyes flit back and forth between yours — as though he, too, were trying to measure your sincerity.

Your fate, in that split second, teeters on a knife’s edge. You hold your breath and wait for him to raise his hand. Not to hit you, maybe, but to sic his guards upon you like dogs — either to drag you into a cell or to be kind enough to kill you on the spot.

Geta lifts his palms only to cradle your jaw between them. His long fingers wrap around your neck like he intends to choke you there. He drags your mouth back to his instead. Your noses smush together with the intensity of his touch. It’s all teeth and tongue and spit. Desire and anger and grief. A billion things he licks into your mouth.

The weight of his hunger smothers you. Consumes you. He could kill you this way, if he wanted. There is little difference, you’ve found, between a bite and a kiss. It only matters how deep he buries his teeth into you.

Your chin shines with his spit when he parts from you. Geta’s chest heaves with labored breaths, flushed and swelling with proud. He hasn’t yet let go of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your thrumming pulse against his fingers.

“Show me, then,” he pants. “That you’re mine… Prove it to me.”

The Emperor goes to step back from you. Your hands dart for his wrists, holding him there when he threatens to pull them away. Geta’s eyes widen in shock.

“Don’t make him watch,” you plead in a delicate whisper.

His wide, chocolate eyes flit over your shoulder. He seems to forget about Marcus’ presence until that very moment. He looks back to you, at the plea swimming in your eyes, and nods once in response.

“Take him,” he calls to the knights lurking in the darkness.

Their heavy armor clinks together as they comply without complaint. They lead Marcus to the door with their hands on the hilts of their swords. You watch him leave from over your shoulder, in the very corner of your eye. You hope he understands, but you wouldn’t blame him if you didn’t. You find it hard to forgive yourself even now.

Marcus always said that people find out who they truly are during times of war. Maybe this is who you are. Maybe you cannot kiss the devil without taking some of his sin.

The door closes with a heavy thud across the room.

The weight of being alone with the Emperor washes heavily over you. Like drops of ice-cold rain. Like warm, melted honey.

Geta peers at you with a similar uncertainty. Head bowed slightly, wide eyes glittering from beneath his lashes. You do what you have always done — take care of this man the way he’s asked you to, placate his anger with your body. Giving yourself away is as natural as breathing most days.

“Sit down, Your Majesty,” you urge in a gentle whisper.

The Emperor listens as obediently as his knights.

The sound of his sandals padding along the cobbles fills the suffocating quiet. He descends upon his throne like he was made for it, spreading his legs before him and propping his arms along the golden rests. He looks like a painting upon his seat of power, bathed in the deep blue of an early morning. An angel dragged to hell.

Geta watches you with an unwavering stare as you take slow steps toward him. His brown-eyed gaze goes glassy at the sight of you, an angelic thing all dressed in white. His thighs part to welcome you between them. He tenses under your palms when they smooth over his milky white chest, past the sparse chestnut hair littered there and down to the tie of his robe.

His stomach rises and falls in heavy, uneven pants under your touch. You unknot the string with bated breath, then brush the golden trimming to his sides. He’s bare underneath it, likely from where he’d been brutally roused from his slumber. His cock is on immediate display — resting on his fuzzy thighs, half-hard and glowing red at the tip.

You descend to your knees to take care of him on instinct. His hands dart to your shoulders to stop you. “Ride me,” he commands, though it sounds more like a plea as it spills his swollen mouth.

Wordlessly, you straddle his thighs. The cotton fabric of your nightgown bunches at your hips. You spit into your palm and reach between your bodies for his cock in a single practiced motion. He feels like velvet in your fist.

Geta’s nostrils flare with a heavy exhale when your hand drags up the length of his cock. His head tips back onto his throne when your fist falls back down again. Your lips find the expanse of his long, white neck like a deep-seated compulsion. You kiss his pulse as though it were his mouth. He cradles the crown of your head and brings his lips to your ear.

“You love me,” he sighs within a moan when your thumb brushes the head of his drooling cock.

You can’t tell if it’s a command to repeat the words back to him, or an affirmation he repeats only for himself. Either way, you nod in response and line his stiff cock at your entrance. Geta’s mouth parts in a silent moan at the feeling of your silky cunt.

“I do,” you whisper just before you mount him.

There is a dull ache in your belly when he pierces you, though you’ve grown accustomed to his length with time. Your satin folds split to welcome every inch of him accordingly. Your hips rock back and forth over his supple thighs and your velvety walls pulse around him, swallowing him further inside.

Your breathy moans entwine and fill the air. You keep a white-knuckled grip on the back of the golden throne as you ride him, without break and without mercy — in spite of the burning sensation in your thighs. You tell yourself it’s to finish him quickly, though a primal part of you chases after your own pleasure.

Geta’s breaths leave his parted mouth in huffed exhales as you bounce on top of him. He mourns the sight of him disappearing in and out of your glistening pussy but fights to keep his eyes open to watch the rest of you. Your fucked-out face swirls in a mixture of concentration and pleasure as Geta lifts his hand for the collar of your gown.

He unties the dainty knot at your sternum and tugs the fabric down your chest, baring your breasts for him. His mouth waters at sight of your plush skin, moving in time with your rhythmic grinds over his lap.

A strangled moan sounds in your throat when he takes your left nipple in his mouth. You caress the back of his head, twisting your fingers in his honey hair in an effort to keep him close. He runs the rough pad of his tongue over your sensitive tit and smiles when he hears you whimpering.

“You love this,” he mutters against your chest. “You love when I fuck you. ”

You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“God—” he grunts through gritted teeth, tipping his head back when one particular grind makes him twitch inside you. His hands grip your thighs over your skirt. His fingers threaten to sear bruises onto your skin. “Your pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

You nod again.

His right hand parts from you only to come down a moment later. The dull smack of his palm against your clothed hip echoes through the throne room. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes,” you squeak with your face scrunched, trembling when your clit drags across the thatch of pubic hair at the base of Geta’s cock.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours—”

His hand lifts again. You hear the impact of his palm against your ass before you feel it, a subtle stinging you find a strange comfort in. Geta laughs in maniacal, breathy chuckles when you keen for him.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yours!” you exclaim in a feeble gasp, clutching the Emperor to your chest. You shudder on top of him when an orgasm rakes suddenly through your body. It flows quickly and without mercy, but never quite ebbs. You’re left a whimpering, weeping mess while the aftershocks of your pleasure consume you.

“It’s yours,” you squeak in nearly inaudible blubbers, pressing your kissed mouth to the shell of Geta’s ear, repeating the phrase like it’s the only one you remember. “’S your pussy… It’s yours…”

The words alone are enough to make Geta burst inside of you.

He tenses all over. His dull nails press crescent shapes into the skin of your thighs. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a guttural moan. You feel his cock jerk with your drooling confines right before he spits several loads of cum inside you. Your cunt pulses around him, instinctually milking him for every drop of liquid pleasure, and a whimper sounds in Geta’s throat.

You feel it bloom in the pit of your belly like a flower — something soft and warm and seeping. As the two of you relax against one another with wavering exhales, you feel his cum leaking out of you like drops of summer rain. It pools on his lap and drips down to the throne underneath him, tainting the gold with a mixture of your sin.

It proves a point. Marks a territory.

Geta swells with pride.

Your back slouches as you melt into his body. You hide your burning face in his neck as his feverish grip on you loosens. Geta twitches beneath you when your cunt pulsates around his softening cock. “Mm…” you hear him hum, mixed with a laugh you feel rumbling in his chest. His head tilts back as a lopsided smile tugs deliriously at his mouth.

He runs a gentle hand up and down your spine, a reminder of his being there despite your feeble efforts to dissociate your brain from your body. You can’t ignore the warmth of his touch on your tingling skin, or the way your hearts press together and beat to the same rhythm.

A distant feeling of acceptance pools in the pit of your belly along with the Emperor’s cum. Your grief is a much more discreet thing, however, and you miss Marcus like an unstitched wound that won’t stop bleeding. Like a knife lodged somewhere deep in the body.

“I think… I think I’ve found an adequate punishment for the General,” Geta pants, the crooked grin audible in his words. “Perhaps he will learn his lesson when I’ve fucked a child into you—”

You tense when the Emperor’s palm splays over your stomach.

“—Perhaps then he’ll understand that you’re mine.”

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