#The Glory of the Empress | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sansaorgana · 14 days ago

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— MOTHER'S LOVE

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — After arriving on Giedi Prime to marry Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, you find out the secret his family was hiding from you – he has a daughter. You quickly realise he has no idea about fatherhood but you step up to take care of the little girl.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — OH MY GOOOOD Anyone still remember me and my fics?! 🤣 This one is a bit different because it includes Feyd as a single dad lmao However, it's not super fluffy either. They're Harkonnens, after all, and the Reader is not exactly a good person either. 🙈 I googled some canon info on Dune Wiki but I didn't follow the events 1:1 (as usual).

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, Feyd's traumatic past mentioned, Feyd being a kinda neglecting father (he cares in his own way and don't worry, there is no actual abuse), Lady Margot is 💀 and it was no accident, Reader is power hungry and greedy (and she adapts to the Harkonnens quickly)

WORD COUNT — 7, 290

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

MOTHER'S LOVE

You didn’t have many expectations before arriving on Giedi Prime. You knew that your husband-to-be was a brutal man but you were old enough to be aware of the fact that most men were this way. You were quite excited in a way because you knew what your union would bring and what your union would eventually make you – an Empress.

Your father had been a close friend of the Emperor and he had been helping him to prevent the war with the Harkonnens who were holding too much power and resources for their own good. However, after a few incidents in which the Emperor had chosen not to show your father proper respect – your father had drastically changed the side of the conflict. He was a wealthy and powerful man as well and connecting your family with the Harkonnens was granting them to win the upcoming war with the Imperial forces quite easily. It was a matter of time when it would happen.

You were supposed to marry Baron Harkonnen’s nephew and heir, which would make you an Empress one day. It was a vicious union; born out of greed for power instead of any love or affection. In fact, you hadn’t even met Feyd-Rautha personally but you had heard rumours about him.

As it had been mentioned – you knew he was brutal. But you also knew all men were. Your own father had turned his back on the Emperor so suddenly and treacherously, after centuries of the families working together. Had it not been brutal as well? Brutality came in many different shapes and forms.

Your father’s wealth and army were helpful but not significant enough for him to dictate any conditions. For his help, the Harkonnens had offered only one important thing – you becoming the future Empress. However, all the glory would be theirs and your father would remain nothing but a close friend, expanding his wealth freely. You often wondered how much the Emperor must have had disrespected your father for him to choose the Harkonnens to be his new overlords. However, you did not complain.

You wanted to be the Empress.

But in order to become her, you had to survive the Harkonnens and Giedi Prime first.

You were greeted with all the honours on this unfriendly, deathly planet. However, your husband was not a part of the greeting committee. Neither was his uncle, whose health was decreasing lately. Many suspected he would die soon, which would make you a Baroness much quicker than expected, however you were not sure about your future husband’s approach towards your union. If he wasn’t so keen on marrying you, he could change his mind the moment he no longer had to listen to his uncle. That was why you hoped to get married before Baron Harkonnen would die – to secure your position on Giedi Prime as Feyd-Rautha’s lawful wife.

People who greeted you on Giedi Prime were mostly servants of different ranks. You could distinguish them by robes but they all looked very similar if not identical. They were sickly pale, some of them had pitch-black eyes and they were all bald. The servants of the lowest rank looked like clones and you suspected that was what they truly were indeed. They had their necks marked with tattoos indicating their low status.

Servants of higher ranks looked more proper – their clothes were nice, their facial features were more natural and they actually talked to you, meanwhile the low rank servants remained silent and avoided your gaze.

You were taken to your new chambers inside the huge and black fortress in the heart of the planet. You were given a whole wing and a huge bedroom that had not been occupied in decades – ever since Baron Harkonnen’s mother had died.

“Won’t I be quite lonely here?” You asked a male servant who was showing you around. You didn’t like him already because something about his creepy smile and observing eyes was sending shivers down your spine.

“What do you mean, my Lady?” He tilted his bald head slightly and blinked a few times as if he was a robot experiencing a glitch in his system.

“The whole wing of the fortress is all for me?”

“Well, you have guards and servants here, my Lady,” he pointed out.

“They are not… equal companions, are they?” You explained, trying not to sound too cruel. But servants on Giedi Prime probably found your statement to be extremely gentle. They were used to much worse treatment from their masters.

“You are not the only inhabitant of this part of the fortress, my Lady,” the man told you, a little nervously.

You furrowed your brows.

“Care to explain?” You tried to hide your insecurity by looking around the room and pretending to admire the black furniture.

“Countess Marie has her room nearby,” the servant explained and you smiled slightly when you found out there was, after all, some female Harkonnen around who would perhaps be a friend to you.

Your first thought was that she was Count Rabban’s wife – your future husband’s sister-in-law.

“Oh! There is some countess?” You asked, excitedly. “How old is she?”

“She…” the servant took a deep breath in. “She is six, my Lady.”

“Six?” You asked, your smile dropping as your heart froze inside your chest. “She’s… She’s a child?”

Many awful things you had heard of the Harkonnens but child-brides had never been any part of those stories.

The servant must have immediately realised what you were thinking.

“Oh! No, no, my Lady, she is not a wife…!” He assured you. “She is… Family,” he explained, mysteriously. “Either way, I shall leave you now to rest after long and exhausting travel. I will send a maid for you later to bring you dinner and keep you company, my Lady,” the servant nodded and left the room as the rest of the servants left behind him. The guards stayed behind the heavy doors to make sure you were safe… and to make sure you were no danger either.

You took a deep breath in as you looked around. Everything seemed to be so big and scary on this planet but you promised yourself that you would survive and adapt to it and you didn’t plan on changing that.

After dinner, when your maid left you to sleep, you sneaked out of the bedroom to walk around a little and to explore more of the fortress. You promised the confused guards you’d be back soon enough but you also asked them to search for you if you wouldn’t come back in a long time since there was a big chance of you getting lost. They agreed to it and you walked away, very proud of yourself.

As you were walking down the dark and empty corridor, after a short while you felt somebody’s presence around you. A pair of eyes following you around, which made you swallow thickly. Your heart pounded fast but as you looked behind you, no one seemed to be there. You thought it was your brain playing tricks on you in this unfriendly environment and you tried to remember that the Harkonnens were your new family and they would not hurt you.

Gathering the courage again, you calmed down and continued your walk when – suddenly and out of the darkness – you heard a giggle.

A childish, girly giggle with a hint of malice despite its innocent sound. You froze, widened your eyes and looked around.

“I’ve imagined you differently,” a girly voice announced and when your ears found the source of it, you turned around to face it.

The girl turned on the orb of light she was holding. But it was not in front of you – it was behind you. You turned around once more and she chuckled, visibly proud of herself for playing tricks on you.

She had to be Countess Marie the servant had mentioned earlier – she was around six years old and she surely had Harkonnen blood in her. Her eyes were bright blue and her skin was snow-white. However, she was not bald – she had long and blond hair, which was braided. Her clothes were black and she had a small dagger attached to her hip.

“Countess Marie, I assume,” you extended your hand towards her in a friendly manner. “I am (Y/N) of the House (Y/L/N),” you introduced yourself.

“I know who you are,” Marie shrugged her arms and allowed the orb of light to float around her freely now as she took the dagger out and began to play with it.

It made you feel uneasy as you retreated your hand which she hadn’t shaken. She wouldn’t actually hurt you, would she?

“O-oh, yeah?” You asked. “Well, that’s nice… You see, I had no idea about you until a few hours ago,” you cracked a smile.

“I’m not significant. I’m a bastard,” the girl shrugged her arms again. “And I promised not to bother you but I was curious,” she admitted.

“Promised not to bother me?” You were surprised. “Honey, who did you promise such a thing and why?”

Honey, you had called her – despite her demeanour, she was still a little girl and it was difficult to see her as anything else.

She didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, she ignored that.

“I promised my daddy and grandpa not to bother you,” she explained.

“Oh, I see,” you nodded, assuming that she treated the Baron as her grandfather. “Are you Count Rabban’s daughter?” You decided to ask more openly now.

She widened her eyes at your question.

“No-o,” she shook her head and hid her dagger. “I’m a Harkonnen,” she told you, proudly.

You began to understand the situation and you couldn’t help but grow angry – how could they hide this fact from you?!

“Well, darling, either way, it is late already and you should be in bed,” you extended your hand towards her again but she took a step back. You retreated your hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s simply not a good time for little girls to be outside their bedrooms.”

“Daddy says I can go to bed at any time I want as long as I am up early for my training,” she explained and then she looked down. “Or… Are you changing the rules now?”

“I am not changing any rules between you and your daddy, it is not my right to do so,” you explained, softly. “However, I would sleep better knowing that you are safe in your bed,” you said.

“What do you care?” Countess Marie asked.

“How could I not, angel? Come on, let’s go to bed,” you nodded your head and she eventually agreed although she also rolled her eyes.

She showed you where her chambers were and you watched her walk past her guards and back into her room. After that, you went back to your bedroom as well but you couldn’t sleep at night.

How could they hide from you that your husband had a daughter?

You demanded to see your husband-to-be after breakfast, although you were advised against by many servants. Mornings were for Feyd-Rautha’s combat training and he should not be interrupted.

However, you could not wait for the meeting. You demanded to be taken to him and the guards had to follow your command although you could see they were not happy about it.

You rushed behind them through the corridors full of servants and Harkonnen noblemen that were turning their heads to take a better look at you. They were curious about you because you were a foreigner, a daughter of the infamous and treacherous Lord but you also stood out with your normal looks that seemed to be exotic on Giedi Prime.

When you arrived at the training grounds, you crossed the nearly magical border between the interior and exterior. Now, you were exposed to the radioactive sunlight, which caused the world around you to be black and white. You knew that the fortress was shielded from the deathly amount of radiation but it was not making anything outside colourful.

The very first sound that greeted you was an animalistic roar coming out of a warrior’s throat. He was standing in the middle of the courtyard with a dagger in his hand as a muscular slave-warrior in front of him kneeled down and fell over after his own throat had been sliced open. The victorious warrior raised his hand to show off the bloody knife and a smaller, clean knife raised behind him. You squinted your eyes and spotted Countess Marie cheering and mimicking the man in the middle.

“That is Feyd-Rautha, my Lady,” the servant whispered to you.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your future husband looked terrifying, especially in black-and-white. His eyes were snake-like, his head was bald and his body was very muscular yet flexible. He spotted you and after a while of hesitation, he walked towards you quite angrily, which caused all the servants to take a few steps back but you stayed in your position, refusing to show fear so openly.

The closer he was, the more handsome you were realising he seemed to be. It was nearly unnatural for a Harkonnen to be so attractive but here he stood – right in front of you. Young, healthy, strong and attractive in a mysterious and fascinating way. He was a perfect warrior – of that you were sure.

But would he be a perfect Emperor?

“Why are you interrupting my training?” He asked. His voice surprised you – it sounded very deep and unsettling.

“I couldn’t wait to meet you,” you answered.

“You are interrupting my training,” he pointed out.

“Surely, you can take a little break to meet your future wife?” You cracked a smile.

Feyd-Rautha seemed to be confused. Finally, his little girl emerged from behind him with a big grin on her face.

“Daddy, don’t be so grim! Lady (Y/N) is nice!” She announced and you breathed out of relief. For some reason, this little menace seemed to like you already.

“Oh, yeah?” Feyd-Rautha tilted his head at you and smirked. “Well, nice little things don’t last long on Giedi Prime, haven’t I told you?”

“Your daughter seems to be doing well, na-baron,” you dared to say and he squinted his eyes.

“I don’t raise her to be nice. And you should not bother with her at all anyway,” he explained and sighed a little. “Nevermind, you have interrupted my training already. Let’s go and talk somewhere,” he pointed at the doors leading back inside the fortress.

“Can I go with you?” Countess Marie asked.

“No,” Feyd-Rautha told her. “You go back to your room and attend your classes.”

“But–”

Feyd didn’t bother to listen to that, though. He walked past his daughter.

“How about you coming to my chambers after your classes and we’ll get to know each other better then?” You asked the girl with a smile.

“I can’t visit other people alone in their chambers except for my daddy,” she widened her eyes. “He doesn’t allow that. It’s dangerous,” she added and you furrowed your brows.

He seemed not to care much about this little girl but then, when it came to certain aspects, he was nearly overprotective.

“I will talk to him and if he still doesn’t allow it, we’ll invite some servants as well, how about that?” You asked her and she nodded with a smile.

You reached out to caress her face but she flinched, so you took a step back again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s fine but he doesn’t allow strangers to touch me,” she explained. “Unless they’re servants who help me change clothes and all that – unless it’s necessary, you see.”

“I see,” you nodded. “Well, see you later, Marie.”

“See you later, Lady (Y/N).”

After that, you hurried back inside the fortress to enter it through the same doors your husband-to-be had entered a few moments earlier. In fact, they were still open because Feyd was holding them for you with an annoyed expression.

“Sorry,” you smiled awkwardly at him when you finally were both inside the fortress. Here, where colours were visible, he didn’t seem to gain much more colours himself. His skin seemed to be a bit less white and his eyes were the same shade as Marie’s but that was it. He was still mostly black-and-white.

“You don’t have to befriend her,” Feyd-Rautha announced. “She is a bastard,” he explained. “If we don’t produce any heirs, she might become my na-baroness but I don’t think this will happen. Noblemen here wouldn’t accept a female leader anyway,” he shrugged his arms.

“How can you say that?” You asked him. “Let me be clear, I do not know much of you or your history but I do not accept the way you treat your daughter or me. Why is she not significant? Why was her existence hidden from me? Are women only objects here? Pawns? I am aware we hold less power on Giedi Prime but I was not told that women have no rights here,” you crossed your arms.

“Do not be daft,” Feyd-Rautha rolled his eyes and leaned on the black marble pillar inside the hall. “After my seventeenth birthday a Bene Gesserit witch used me to manipulate the bloodlines. It is an accident I barely remember,” Feyd-Rautha said. “I don’t like being out of control and at that moment I had none. She became pregnant with my child and wanted to raise Marie as another Bene Gesserit witch. Some sisters of that order are more loyal to the Harkonnens than their convent – that’s how I found out about my daughter. I killed her mother and her husband. I wanted to kill the girl, too, but I took her in to raise her as a warrior instead. After all, she’s my blood,” he shrugged his arms.

Both him and Marie tended to shrug their arms a lot – showing off how little they cared about literally everything. It was quite… adorable.

“You changed your mind because she is your child,” you pointed out, pretending not to be moved by the story. In fact, it terrified you that he admitted so openly to murder the mother of his child, although you were aware of the rumour that he had killed his own mother.

It would be very easy for him to kill you off, too, eventually…

“She is,” Feyd-Rautha nodded. “Us, Harkonnens, we have different ways of raising children than you, that’s it.”

“I don’t want to interfere or change your ways,” you explained. “But I refuse to pretend she doesn’t exist. As you said, she is a bastard and a girl, therefore she is no threat to me or any children I will bear,” you announced and he raised his eyebrows as if he was a little surprised and impressed.

As usual – he shrugged his arms.

“Can I spend time with her alone? Can I touch her?” You asked, more carefully now. “I feel like this child is not being hugged enough.”

“Harkonnens don’t hug,” Feyd growled.

“I just don’t understand why–”

“You can,” he interrupted you. “As my future wife, you can but the rule exists for a reason. It is to protect her and I don’t want you to extend the exception to other people as well.”

“Protect her from what?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

“My uncle,” he answered and a long silence occurred.

“I see…” You took a deep breath in. “I… Well, it was nice to meet you, finally,” you admitted. “I must go now, the wedding takes place in a week from now and I have lots of preparations.”

“Don’t lock your bedroom doors in the evening,” he whispered and you raised your eyebrow at him. “I’ll claim you tonight,” he said casually.

“E-excuse me?” You asked.

“You heard me well, pet,” he smirked.

“The wedding takes place in a–”

“The fuck do I care about the wedding? You’re mine now,” Feyd shrugged his arms and walked away, leaving you scared and confused.

What if he claims you and then throws you away, accusing you of being spoiled and unfit for marriage? That would be a disaster.

Marie came to your chambers in the afternoon and you watched her go through your things with a smile on your lips. Perhaps it was a little rude of her to be so nosy but you were simply glad there was at least one ally in this fortress that you had. And, for some reason, despite her odd nature, you found her rather amusing and adorable.

“I’m glad your father allowed us to spend time together,” you said.

“Yes, it is now only you and him I am allowed to be alone with,” she pointed out. “It’s as if you were my mummy,” she said and your smile dropped when you remembered what he did to hers.

Did she know about it?

“My mother’s dead, you know?” She asked. “She was a bad person and daddy had to kill her.”

“I… I know,” you admitted. “Don’t you miss her?”

“I don’t remember her,” Marie shrugged her arms. “And she was a bad person. Bad people shouldn’t live,” she explained.

“Who defines bad, Marie?” You asked, curiously. After all, it was an odd thing to hear such a thing coming from a Harkonnen.

“Daddy does,” she nearly rolled her eyes, as if you were asking silly questions. “What is that?” She pointed at a white veil you had brought with yourself from your homeplanet.

“It’s for the wedding,” you explained.

“They’re going to laugh at you,” Marie chuckled. “Brides don’t wear such things here.”

“Oh? And what do they wear?” You asked.

“Different types of veils but not this… Whatever that is. And the colour is awful as well,” she pointed out.

“It’s lace, Marie. And it’s white,” you explained, patiently.

“White is a colour for servants,” she said and threw the veil away as you realised that, in fact, most white clothes you had seen on Giedi Prime were on the backs of servants.

“I don’t want people to laugh at me,” you admitted. “Will you help me?”

“Sure, I can. You’re going to be an Empress one day, you can’t look ridiculous!” Marie exclaimed and you chuckled. “What? You think I’m funny?” She asked.

“No, darling, I think you’re quite adorable,” you admitted and opened your arms.

She hesitantly approached you and you hugged her but she remained stiff as if she didn’t know what was happening. Perhaps Feyd was right and the Harkonnens didn’t hug.

“Why are you calling me these things?” She asked and you furrowed your brows. “Honey, darling, angel… I don’t understand,” Marie said.

“That’s how we address children where I am from,” you explained. “They’re nice things to say.”

“But I am not nice,” Marie protested and winced a little.

“Yes, you are, darling,” you assured her. “You’re a very nice little girl. A strong warrior, too, I am sure. But these two don’t have to contradict each other.”

“I would have to ask daddy about that,” Marie sighed and went back to looking through your things.

You watched her with a smile although there was a sense of dread rising with each given moment as well since you could feel the time passing and inevitably bringing you closer to the nighttime.

Feyd-Rautha was incredibly precise. In fact, a week later, on the day of your wedding ceremony, you were already carrying his son – the unnaturally advanced Harkonnen technology was able to confirm that on the night before.

You were both shocked and impressed by that and also by the fact Feyd was announcing that to everyone already during the wedding ceremonies and all those noble Harkonnens were cheering proudly instead of accusing you of infamy and adultery.

You wore red for that day – and so did little Marie. You were holding her hand by the wedding table and she was telling you funny facts about the scary Harkonnen noblemen surrounding you, which made you feel less intimidated by them. It was obvious to everyone that she had grown attached to you very quickly and everyone wondered why but you didn’t need to be a genius to know. You were coming from a planet where children were being treated well, like children instead of small adults being trained, and you knew they needed attention and affection to feel safe and loved. You were giving Marie all the things no one had ever been giving to her.

Whatever Feyd was thinking of that you had no idea. He was mostly excited about his son and heir you were pregnant with. As a husband he was treating you in a similar way he treated his daughter – he was rather indifferent but showed that he cared at times.

Oddly, you weren’t scared of him – you could sense that he was treating you like a business partner in a sense. After all, the two of you would rule the whole empire together one day. You had to work it out somehow.

During your wedding party, he left you for a while for a meeting with his uncle and a strange Bene Gesserit woman that came from an outer world. You thought she was a usual wedding guest but apparently she also visited to deal with some business here and you tried to hide the fact that it annoyed you how you were left out of this meeting.

“What do you think this might be about?” You asked Marie.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged her arms. “I’m technically a Bene Gesserit, too, you know?”

“But you’re not being trained, are you?”

“No, daddy doesn’t allow that. They’re bad people,” she shrugged her arms. “Can we eat more cake?”

“Absolutely!” You smiled widely.

Two weeks later you were in Marie’s chambers, reading history books to her. Bored in the fortress and not being given any real duties because of your blessed state, you replaced half of Marie’s tutors and you were teaching her yourself whatever you were able to.

She seemed to be quite distracted on that day, though. She was lazily playing with her dagger and looking out of the window as you were reading to her about other planets.

“How do colours look like outside Giedi Prime?” She asked suddenly. “I mean, outside. If I were on a different planet,” she explained.

“You don’t remember?” You asked and put the book down. Marie shook her head. “Well, it’s very colourful. Depends on a planet, of course, some are mostly green, some mostly yellow, some mostly blue. Some have lots of forests, some have lots of water and some have lots of sand.”

“Why?”

“It depends on temperatures and minerals that can be found on those planets. When our ancestors were colonising the universe, they were shaping the planets to inhabit them but there were limits within each of them. For example, you cannot make Giedi Prime look like Arrakis because of how different their suns are,” you explained. “Why are you asking, darling? Would you like to go and see a different planet? I might convince your daddy to let us leave to my homeplanet after the baby is born. Would you like to go with me?”

Marie shrugged her arms and looked away again.

“Will my brother look more like you or my daddy?” She asked.

“I certainly hope he will be a mix of both. Like you are a mix, are you not, honey? You have beautiful hair,” you smiled at her and caressed the blonde braid.

“I hope he has hair, too,” Marie smiled but her eyes remained sad. “Do you think he would like me?”

“Would? I’m sure he will adore you, Marie!” You caressed her cheek and her lower lip trembled. “What is it?”

“They haven’t told you,” she sniffled and you shook your head, feeling your heart sink deeper into your chest. “That Bene Gesserit lady who came when you married my daddy… She was here for me. They will take me soon with them and train me at their convent.”

“But you said your daddy didn’t want that,” you gasped.

“Well, now he has you and the baby,” she shrugged her arms but it was obvious that she cared.

She cared very much.

“Marie, I won’t let them take you away,” you cupped her face and looked deep into her bright eyes, so identical to her father’s. Yet so different – they weren’t so cold and empty like his.

Now, they were scared.

“How?” She asked, sadly. “You have no real power here,” she reminded you and it felt like a slap that even a child could see the truth about your position.

Usually, you were only seeing Feyd in the evenings inside the chambers you were now sharing with him as his wife. He hadn’t particularly asked for it but you had just moved in there and he hadn’t said anything negative about it.

You were sitting up in your bed when he entered and took a look at you before starting to take off his gear.

“How’s my son?” He asked.

“Is that all you care about?” You asked, angrily. Your unusual answer surprised him, so he turned his head around with furrowed brows.

“What else should I care about?” He inquired.

“You have a daughter as well,” you reminded him and he sighed, looking away again and going back to undressing himself. “I know the way she was conceived was far from ideal but it is not her fault.”

“I have told you not to bother yourself with her,” he mumbled out.

“What?!” You jumped out of the bed and crossed your arms. “If the child I’m carrying was a girl, would you treat her the same?”

“It would be different,” Feyd rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want Marie to spend time with you because my uncle said she could ruin our union. Apparently, he wasn’t wrong but in the opposite way. She’s not ruining our union because you hate her. She’s ruining it because you started to think you’re her mother,” Feyd growled angrily. “But she has no mother.”

“Because you killed her!” You were growing frustrated with his logic. “And now you’re sending her away! You said you hated Bene Gesserit witches! You told Marie that they were bad people and now you’re sending her away to them!”

“Has she told you?” Feyd was annoyed by that as he stepped out of his gear, wearing nothing but his underwear now. He never bothered with wearing pyjamas to bed, so he just passed you by and laid on the bed with a relaxed sigh, as if you were not in the middle of an argument.

The funny fact about him was that he couldn’t really argue – he wasn’t used to people disagreeing with him. Not people who were of lower status than him at least. And, as his wife, you unfortunately had a lower status because you were a woman.

“I don’t want Marie to go. She has to stay,” you stood above him with your arms still crossed.

“I am her father, the decision is mine. I didn’t want to send her there but they came here, they explained they needed her. She’s a part of their program. If we don’t listen to them, Bene Gesserit might turn their backs on us and we need their support if we’re going to take over the imperial throne,” Feyd explained and reached his hand out to touch your belly a little. “The medic said you shouldn’t get too emotional in your state, so calm down.”

But him telling you to calm down had an opposite effect, obviously.

“She’s not a part of a program!” You slapped his hand away, watching his eyes darken with anger. “She’s a child, Feyd! And fuck those Bene Gesserit witches! Fuck them, we don’t need them!”

“We need a religious institution to control the masses,” Feyd’s jaw clenched.

“Then we’ll create our own religion to replace theirs. We’ll turn people against them. I don’t want to be an Empress of an Empire I don’t have full control of. The Bene Gesserit are too dangerous and too independent.”

“Not if Marie becomes their Reverend Mother one day,” Feyd smirked.

Oh, so they already had a plan. The Baron must have come up with it. Men loved to plan out women’s whole lives like that.

“If I was her, I wouldn’t help us even a bit. I would hate us for sending me away,” you spat out, angrily.

“Such a vengeful little thing, just like your father, hm? Treacherous little snake, you would turn your back on everyone just for the sake of it,” Feyd moved up and now his face was so close to yours that your noses were nearly brushing each other.

“And you’re any different?” You asked but you answered before he could. “Yes, you are. You are different because I could never be so indifferent towards my own child. She loves you, how can you not see that? She calls you daddy, she mimics you, she wants to be like you. She trains with you, she cheers when you’re in the arena, she’s so proud of you. She believes every single fucking thing you say to her and some of those are malicious lies. Do you even realise how lucky you are to have her in your life?” You asked and kept looking at him with anger.

Feyd went silent, though, and you could see his facial features softened a little.

“It is not something I’ve been trained for,” he admitted.

“What?”

“Being a father,” he admitted. “I’ve been trained to kill and endure pain. To rule and obey my uncle. That is all I know. I always assumed that my future wife would raise my children. I don’t know how to do that.”

And in that moment you pitied him but you knew he would hate your pity, so you tried not to show it.

“I know,” you reached out to cup his face and he flinched just like Marie had flinched in the beginning. However, he allowed you to touch him and you cracked a smile while caressing his cheeks softly. “I know, darling, but I am here now and I can be a mother to her. I want to be a mother to her. If you send her away now, I will never forgive you. And neither will she,” you whispered.

“Some things I cannot control. They demand her to go with them,” he swallowed thickly, looking up at you with mesmerised eyes. You enjoyed that feeling.

“They demand? They demand you? You’re Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You can tell them to go fuck themselves. If you don’t, that will mean that you won’t be able to protect our children either. I thought I married a strong man who would lead a whole universe one day. A ruthless leader, no compromise,” you caressed his cheeks some more, knowing perfectly well that you were manipulating him in the process.

“You’re different than I’ve expected,” Feyd confessed, his lips now brushing yours in a way that was making you feel tingly.

“I’ve heard that before,” you smiled and leaned in to finally close the gap between you two with a passionate kiss. You hoped he would listen to you.

Only time would tell.

You were with Marie in the courtyard when you saw the mysterious ship arrive and land nearby the fortress. You recognised it immediately – it belonged to the Bene Gesserit order.

Marie looked up at you with big, scared eyes. She could be a bold little girl with a dagger attached to her hip but in times like this she was just a terrified and lonely little baby. You didn’t want her to feel this way. Not now and not ever.

“I won’t let them take you,” you mouthed out but she looked down, unsurely.

You held her hand and squeezed it tightly to walk her back inside and go to her room but on your way you were stopped by a servant telling you that Countess Marie was expected in the great hall where Baron Harkonnen resided.

You nodded at the servant and changed your route to go to the place where they were expecting Marie. However, you wouldn’t leave her alone there. No, you would go with her and try to defend her as much as you could.

The room was huge, dark and nearly empty. The Baron was floating above everyone maliciously, connected to all sorts of machines and devices that were increasing in size with each given day. Speaking of his days – they were surely counted. Both you and Feyd couldn’t wait for the one when he would simply die.

Feyd was there as well, with his hands crossed behind his back. He looked nervous when you and Marie arrived as some old Bene Gesserit woman was standing there and staring at the little girl.

“There she is, Marie Fenring, Margot’s daughter,” the Bene Gesserit greeted her and Marie clinged to the black skirt of your dress.

“She’s a Harkonnen,” Feyd pointed out.

“Such a shame your wife is carrying a son. Your combination was unexpected and unplanned in our program but it certainly is interesting,” the woman continued. “Such varieties can enrich our system.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, rudely, as you put your hand on Marie’s shoulder.

“Forgive the young ones,” Baron Harkonnen coughed as he mumbled out. “My nephew and his wife need a lesson or two about manners,” he tried to laugh. “Of course, you can take the little one with you. Let’s get it over with.”

“No, she cannot. I do not allow that,” you took a step ahead to hide Marie behind you.

“You know I don’t need permission, na-baroness,” the Bene Gesserit smirked. “Don’t make me use The Voice on you when you’re in such a blessed state,” she added with irony.

“If you do that, I’ll kill you,” Feyd barked at her. “If you touch my wife or my daughter, you’re dead,” he threatened.

“Calm down, boy!” His uncle scolded him.

“I am far too important and powerful to be scared of you. Do you think you can kill off a Bene Gesserit sister like me with no consequences?” She laughed at him as she raised her eyebrow cockily.

“That is exactly what I can do as your Emperor,” he tilted his head.

“You’re not one yet, are you? And you won’t be one without our help,” the woman was growing angry but her frustration was aimed at your husband instead of you now.

“We don’t need your help,” you moved closer to Feyd and Marie reached out her little hand towards her daddy. He didn’t hold it, so she clung to his suit with it as she was holding onto your skirt with the other. “My husband and I do not need help from anyone and the days of your sisterhood are being counted just as much as the Baron’s or the Emperor’s. Nobody is going to tell us what we can or have to do. The new order is coming and it’s coming soon,” you stated.

“Such insolence! My Baron, have you heard that?!” The Bene Gesserit looked behind her to look at your husband’s uncle but he was coughing uncontrollably and the servants were already helping him to float out of the room.

She realised that Baron Harkonnen wasn’t in power anymore. You straightened your back when she laid her eyes back at you.

“You do not have friends amongst the Harkonnens anymore,” Feyd said, calmly.

“Unless you cooperate,” you added with a smile.

“Cooperate how?” She asked.

“Let’s start with not taking our daughter away,” you said without thinking and then you felt your cheeks heating up when you realised you had called Marie your daughter.

You hoped it wouldn't make the little Countess or her father angry.

“I see,” the Bene Gesserit woman nodded and clasped her hands. “You’ve adapted quickly. Not many people believed you would survive here but I was one of the few who knew your father’s true nature. We knew that if you were at least half a viper he is, you would adapt here very well.”

“Oh, thank you,” you gave her a fake, charming smile.

“I know that some of my sisters are more loyal to the Harkonnens than our cause,” the woman revealed with a mysterious smile as if she was threatening you with controversial secrets.

“I suggest befriending them then,” you nodded with a smile. “ Quickly, if I were you.”

She left after that, clearly uncomfortable. You could see how she was itching to use The Voice on you but she had to be terrified of Feyd’s threats.

When the heavy doors closed behind her, you felt Marie’s hold onto your skirt loosening. You looked down and realised that Feyd was holding her hand after all – you had no idea when he had begun squeezing it but it warmed your heart.

“Thank you…” Marie’s lower lip trembled.

“Harkonnens don’t cry,” Feyd scolded her.

“Yes, they do,” you crouched down and hugged little Marie. She wrapped her arms around you and you caressed her hair. “Little Harkonnen girls can do whatever they want,” you added and patted her back.

“As long as it’s something father and mother allow,” Feyd added and you cracked a smile. He seemed to be fine with you becoming Marie’s mother.

“Yes, as long as mummy and daddy approve,” you moved away a bit and fixed Marie’s hair.

“Will you really be my mummy?” Marie asked with eyes full of tears.

“Of course, honey. My sweet angel, my darling,” you kissed her cheeks.

“What if I become a bad person like my real mother?” She asked and you went silent for a while. You didn’t know what to say to that.

“You won’t,” Feyd put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re not her,” he assured her and she smiled.

A maid interrupted you all as she was looking for Marie because her tutor had been waiting for her. So, you wiped your girl’s cheeks from tears and sent her away with the maid so she could attend her class.

“What if she finds out the truth one day?” You asked Feyd.

“What truth?” He squinted his eyes.

“That her mother wasn’t exactly evil. That you didn’t have to kill her, it was just the fact that your ego was hurt so much because you had been used like thousands of noble men before you,” you teased and caressed your belly to remind him of your pregnancy in case he would get angry.

“Oh, please,” Feyd laughed, though. He approached you and stood so close that his nose brushed with yours. He liked to show you affection like this, you had realised that lately. Rubbing your nose with his carefully as if he was an animal sniffing the scent of his mate. He was an animal in many ways, after all. But you would domesticate him, of that you were sure.

Just like his daughter, he just needed a little attention and affection.

“She won’t mind,” he assured you. “She’s going to be my daughter raised by you. Brutality and treachery won’t make her flinch,” he added proudly and you chuckled before caressing his cheeks gently.

“Why should they?” You whispered and kissed him lovingly.

You were sure now that by his side you could feel safe and he would protect you and your family even if it was someone as powerful as the Bene Gesserit to threaten you.

MASTERLIST

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction

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nicksolemnlyswears · 2 months ago

Text

CAPABLE HANDS

summary: marcus acacius is tired of his hands only bringing pain and destruction

pairing: marcus acacius x wife!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: i don’t think there’s any warning on this one guys. i kept it very pg-13. there’s like one mention of sex but blink and you’ll miss it.

a/n: hello everybody!! so my great friend kiwi ( @yxtkiwiyxt ), aka the biggest javi fan ever, created the 'never have i ever' challenge for the pedro pascal fandom way back in january and i decided to give it a little try. it's such a fun challenge, so if you're a fan of pedro pascal's characters hop on over to her blog and you'll be fed for a while.

in true nikki fashion, i'm very late but she thankfully extended it.

as you can probably tell i got marcus acacius because that man is just straight out of my fantasies and my prompt was 'never have i ever built something with my own hands'.

this came to me so fast. the moment she gave me the prompt i just knew! that being said it did take me like one month too long to finish it (again bad nikki habits).

my sincerest apologies empress kiwi 🥺 hopefully this is to your liking.

enjoy 🤍

His hands were made for war—for fighting, for holding a sword and not letting go until his arms felt like lead and the enemy was taken care of.

They're full of callouses and wounds that'll never heal. Scars that remind him of the person he is. General Marcus Acacius.

Despite the current leadership, he loved serving Rome. He was indebted to Rome. It is his home, and it forever will be.

He was proud of his achievements. He's come farther than he ever imagined, yet as the years go by, he can't help but feel that seed of guilt in the root of his stomach sprout bigger with each passing battle.

There comes a point where he cannot justify the cruelty and viciousness with which they fight.

They tear families apart, kill brave men defending their own homes, burn villages to the ground, and loot in the name of Rome.

For what?

More power, more riches, more glory—all while the country grows impoverished and hunger takes its claim on those less fortunate.

He yearns to return to glorious Rome. Beautiful Rome with marble pillars and vivid sceneries. The place where his lovely wife, you, waits for him after each conquest.

General Acacius yearns to forget.

You're the one who reminds him his hands are capable of more. They are gentle when he holds you. When he grabs onto your hips until you're spilling over him.

They're the ones you hold as you stroll in the gardens. Or when you insist on heading to the market despite your status.

They are soft, patient, encouraging.

His hands that tuck your hair behind your ear when a rebellious curly strand tickles your face.

And yet he always falls into that deep despair. Nights when he can't sleep, thinking of all the damage he's done to innocent people. He did it willingly at one point, chasing that infamous glory where Gladiator games would be held in his honor upon returning to battle.

Now, that glory mocks him. It's a mirage in the desert. Beautiful from afar but bitter up close.

He's selfish. Marcus Acacius could stop, but it would mean his death. He can deal with death, but he will not be the cause of yours.

So, as he untangles himself from your arms, Marcus goes outside to sit and watch over the city, vigilant. He remembers the market and the artisans building beautiful things with their hands—hands calloused and scarred from their skill, not weapons and death.

They say life mimics art.

He wishes to use his hands for more than striking. He wants to see his hands as more capable like you do.

His greatest skill, besides being a swordsman, is being observant. What makes General Acacius great is the way he's able to analyze a situation and strike at the weakest point. The next time you drag him to the market, he watches over the artisans, the tools they use, and their creations.

"Is anything the matter, husband?" You ask, grasping his arm. You don't miss the way he stares at the knife in the artisan's hand, and you worry.

Your husband doesn't like it much when you come to the market. He doesn't believe it to be entirely safe for a woman of your standing. Still, your beloved Marcus spoils you and lets you come. Accompanied by him, of course, and guards when he is not able to join you.

His focus shifts from the skillful shaping of the block of wood to you. He softly smiles, pressing his hand upon yours. "Are you ready?"

You nod with a smile, chattering about the fresh fruit you picked and the pastries you'll ask the cooks to bake for you. Woefully unaware of your husband's purchases.

That same night, when the same old nightmare wakes him, Marcus untangles himself from your limbs and sneaks away to a bench in the gardens. Under the stars, he looks at the block of wood in his left hand and the sculpting knife in his right.

As the knife starts to chip away at the wood, the more he distracts his mind from his duty as a General. In a way, he turns mindless, focusing on the rough edges and the splinters, successfully filling his hands with new creative wounds.

At first, you're blissfully unaware since Marcus always returns to your side before you wake. Then, wooden figures start being placed by your bedside, with rough initials scratched on the bottom.

Your dear husband never cared to mention his new hobby or the fact he was gifting you his work. It was unspoken. You cherish each one of his small sculptures, saving them and leaving them on display.

With each one, he only got better and better. Pride swelled on your chest as you witnessed his artistry grow.

It is refreshing to see him work through his worry with art instead of violence. You, more than anyone, know what ails him when he returns home fresh with new wounds.

There is no war raging around him, yet it remains in his mind. The Gladiator games do not entertain him as they do the rest of the Romans. He's forced to sit and watch the strongest prisoners fight all over again, killing what remains of his conquests.

His reluctance to go to the markets fades away. Marcus Acacius joins you a bit too eagerly, looking for a moment to observe the artisans and the skills they implement.

You take your time, inspecting each fruit and vegetable you have in your hands. Simply to give him more time.

The more he joins you, the more they notice him watching. A quiet, old artisan going as far as beckoning Marcus to come closer and ask the questions on the tip of his tongue.

"Are you ready?" You ask when there is no more to do, joining his side.

"If you are done, yes," he says aloof, leaving coin to the artisan who taught him a few things.

You smile, resisting the urge to giggle. Your big, strong husband avoids talking about what he finds enjoyable.

Warriors are not often seen as artists.

One night, you wake and find him missing from the bed. His spot is cold and empty; he's been gone a while. Unable to sleep, knowing he is awake, you search for him, a shawl wrapped around your shoulders to avoid the chill of the night.

A torch is lit in the garden, and you follow it like a moth to a flame. That's where your husband sits on a bench, knife in hand, and wood scrapings littering the trimmed grass.

"I was wondering where you found the time," you say, shuffling closer and sitting beside him. Shoulders brushing comfortably.

Marcus' head turns towards you, red dusting his tanned cheeks. "I can't sleep," he admits.

"Is it the nightmares?"

He nods, carving smaller details onto the wood, giving it a recognizable shape. His hands have new calluses from gripping the wood and the knife's differently shaped handle.

"You've become quite the woodcarver," you say, changing the subject he does not like talking about.

You won't push him. He has enough in his mind. You're thankful he's not like the other Generals who find distractions at the brothels.

"I've got a long way to go," he responds, turning the wood figure in his hands to assess it.

"Not tonight, though," you tell him, placing your hand over his. "You must join me in bed. It's far too cold without you."

Marcus Acacius softly smiles at you, nodding before placing the wooden figure and knife down. "Whatever my lady wife says."

This small habit of leaving the bed in the middle of the night does not cease. His hands itch to do something, to create, and he listens.

In the end, you're happy if he's happy. You let him be, sometimes dragging him back to bed when you need him most.

At times, you join him, curling next to him, eyes drooping but refusing to leave him. The movement of his hard muscles lulls you to sleep as he works at shaping the pieces of wood.

"There are far more comfortable places to rest, my wife," Marcus says, the low timbre of his voice rousing you from the sleep that threatens to take you under.

"The best place to be is by my husband's side," you sigh, getting more comfortable and ignoring his request. "If you wish me abed, you have to be there."

The time comes when the emperor twins become restless and order him to conquer in their stead. It is time to sully his hands once more with the blood of warriors protecting their home.

With one last wooden figure placed beside your bed and a kiss on your head, he leaves fearfully, wondering if this would be the one time he won't return.

You clutch the figure day in and day out, afraid if you let it out of your sight, bad news will arrive. You press your lips against the smooth surface when you miss him most, bringing it to your chest as if you could feel him close by the simple action.

In his absence, you learn you have been blessed by the gods and are expecting a child. More than ever, do you wish for your husband's safe return.

Many months after his departure, news of the battalion's return spread across Rome in a matter of hours. Your lady-in-waiting heard it from the servants who had gone to the market earlier in the day.

"My lady, your General has returned," she whispers excitedly, helping you get ready for the day.

"Are you sure?" You gasp, clutching your rounded belly in anticipation. Many months have gone by, and you did not think he'd make it for the birth.

The fact that no soldiers come to your door is reassuring. Your husband may be injured but not dead, and that is enough.

"He's been sighted joining the Emperors."

He comes like a breeze in the night, quiet and stealthy. With no need of unnecessary fanfare, he only wished to see you.

Marcus Acacius needed your reassurance once more. That his hands were not to be stained permanently.

He finds you by the fountain, looking as beautiful as ever. Hair curled and loose, front strands pulled back but with that stubborn fringe that refused to be held back. Such a reflection of your being.

A cloak hung around your shoulders, hiding your most precious treasure unbeknownst to him.

"My lady," he calls out, standing a few feet from you.

You look up from the pond of swimming fish, eyes round with surprise and excitement. "Marcus Acacius," you gasp.

He's back home. New scars, healed and unhealed, litter his tanned skin. His hair longer, pushed away from his eyes. He is safe, and he is sound.

You stand to approach him and greet him properly. Your feet drive you forward, and the movement pushes the cloak back, exposing your round belly.

He's always been so observant. It would be hard to miss.

Your arms curl around his neck, bringing him into an embrace. You thank the gods above for his safe return.

Acacius is frozen as his mind catches up with what he's seen. Such a reaction would get him killed in battle. You cup his face while pulling back, "Husband?" The tickle from the scruff on his cheeks is a comfort.

He's not in battle. Marcus is home with you.

His palms softly come to your belly. He's gentle, extremely so. "You're with child?"

"Yes," you say breathlessly, awaiting his reaction.

"You're carrying our child?" His voice is thick with emotion. Unshed tears fill his eyes as Marcus kneels on the ground, palms feeling the soft kick of his unborn child.

He only ever wished to have children with you so they'd take after their mother. It's been in the back of both of your minds, but his role as a General often took precedence.

"I only found out once you left," you confess, placing your hands over his. "Are you happy?"

"This is the happiest I've ever been," he says, standing to finally place his lips upon yours. There's a grunt in the back of his throat as he pulls you close or as close as your belly would permit. "You've made me the happiest man in the world, my wife."

General Marcus Acacius has a new purpose in life. He is becoming a father of a baby boy or baby girl. Nonetheless, he wishes to leave war far behind.

He needs to be in Rome to watch them grow and become noble people. He does not want to leave for months or years at a time, and he does not want them to see him in deep despair when he returns from such physical and mental battles.

Whenever he returns from war, the nightmares become more vivid, keeping him awake. His hands itch to create and to distract his busy brain.

This time, it is no exception.

Untangling himself from your tight hold, Marcus Acacius walks to the gardens. Picking up his woodcarving tools along the way. His hands itch for a new project, and what better project than building his child's crib.

sorry it wasn't very romancy, i really focused on general marcus acacius inner turmoil, don't we love a troubled man?

#fanfiction #nicksolemnlyswears #gladiator ii fanfiction #gladiator ii #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #gladiator fanfiction #general acacius x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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averagewriter-inthedark · 3 months ago

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The Cost of Honor ⚔️ | Gladiator II Imagine

My Masterlists

Characters & Pairings: Emperor Geta x Empress!reader (romantic), Marcus Acacius x daughter!reader (platonic), Emperor Caracalla x Empress!reader (platonic)

Content Warnings: light angst, fluff, slight NSFW/allusions to sex but nothing explicit, love at first sight??, mentions of pregnancy, violence, and death, soft!Geta who only loves his wife & ooc!Geta, historical refences and mythology (not completely accurate to the timeline) | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 9.2k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: When General Marcus Acacius gave the hand of his only daughter to Emperor Geta in exchange for glory his once ambitious self desired, he expected her vexation towards him and their relationship to be forever altered. But what Acacius had not planned for was the wicked emperor and his bride to overcome their odds and prove to Acacius what the cost of honor truly meant.

note: I have watched Gladiator II every damn day this week. I need help. And I hope you like this.

dilectus meus = "my beloved," in Latin

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” = "Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia." traditional roman wedding vow.

--------------------------------------------------

The moment the ships were spotted approaching the coastline, the bells of the city rang and echoed against every wall, igniting celebration amongst its people who took to the streets and cheered for their impending arrival. A symbol of victory for the Roman army, led by the esteemed General Marcus Acacius, over the conquering of Numidia. Men, women, and children of all social class lined the pavement to get a glimpse of Acacius, the spitting image of a God in his regal attire, in his chariot on his way to the grand palace, passing the beauty of the Colosseum which served as a reminder to the people of how far men go for freedom.

“We love you Acacius!” Shouted from each side, the sound rivaling the drums. Acacius’ hand waved to the crowd with a tight smile on his face. If he could skip the festivity and retire to his home he would. The long months of travel and war had taken a toll, and Acacius grew tiresome of it all. Conquering lands on behalf of the emperors. All while they bathed in their riches. Driving Rome further into a depression where the corruption runs so deep it is nearly impenetrable.

But while Acacius wanted nothing more than to relieve himself of his duty, his loyalty to the emperors and Rome was immeasurable, all because of young ambitions he came to regret.

As the chariot approached the stairs leading to the palace, three golden figures emerged gaining more cheers from the crowd. Sunlight reflected off the beautiful golden laurels on their heads. Resembling the likes of the Gods they worshiped, the three stride forward, passing members of the Senate and Praetorian guards, until stopping a few feet away from the top step.

“Acacius!” “Acacius!” “Acacius!”

Acacius ascended the stairs to the rose petals dropped by children. When the three came to his view, his tight smile turned to a small, but genuine one as his eyes connected with the figure in the middle. He received a small one in return, but it was guarded. Not at all warm or inviting.

No, the last he got one of those was a lifetime ago.

Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, Acacius approached the three and came to a still in front of them, raising a closed fist over his heart. “Emperor Geta,” he greeted the man to his right, bowing slightly before turning to the man on his left, “Emperor Caracalla.” Heart skipping, Acacius’ focus shifted forward to the last figure. Her own laurels glistened beneath the veil she wore. Acacius’ tone became soft as the words left his lips, “Empress Y/n.”

Marcella Acacia Y/n. Beloved and only daughter of General Marcus Acacius, step daughter of former Empress Lucilla, and the treasured wife of Emperor Geta.

Adored by the people, feared by the Senate, she was viewed as the Mother of Rome. A vessel sent by the Gods, Y/n held power and influence like no other. The type that made Senators flock to her side. The type that made gladiators fight beyond their limit in the arena in hope to gain mercy should the Empress grant them her favor. The type of power that made the people of Rome forget about the tyranny due to her status as their beloved general's daughter.

The type of power that had even the emperor's themselves turn to her for council.

“General Acacius,” Geta replied in acknowledgment, earning Acacius attention.

“I have taken Numidia in your names. That your dominion may eclipse that of every emperor that came before.”

“Crown him with laurels, sister,” Caracalla tilted his head to the side. The servant approached from behind holding the pillow to present to her.

Y/n stepped forward, taking the golden headpiece from the pillow it rested on and raised it over her fathers head. Their eyes met briefly before Acacius’ traveled down to bow, allowing his daughter to place the heavy crown on his head. When she did, cheers erupted from the crowd, followed by the Senates’ applause.

“Acacius!” “Acacius!” “Acacius!”

“Well done, father,” her whisper reached his ears over the noise. Acacius straightened, small smile returning as gave a curt nod.

“Your praise is most beholden for, my Empress.” His hand encased hers, bringing to his lips to gently kiss. When he let go, he noticed the alert stare from the men behind Y/n. Watching him like a hawk about to feast on its prey.

Y/n clasped her hands in front of her, returning to her husband's side who then motioned for them to begin walking indoors. Acacius led them down the steps into the foyer, the cheers from outside dimming and the four gathered in a close circle to converse while everyone else migrated to different corners. Guards positioned on every column, and servants hustling to keep everything in order.

Geta grabbed two goblets of wine from a table, “In honor of your conquest,” he handed one to Acacius and the other to his wife. “There will be games in the Colosseum,” he and Caracalla grabbed their own goblets from a servant.

Acacius did not appear pleased by the announcement, “I require no games in my honor.” His eyes flickered between the three as he spoke, “Serving the Senate and the people of Rome is honor enough for me.” He went to click his goblet against theirs, but Geta drew his away before he could.

“You are too modest, Acacius,” he told him, guarded amusement in his eyes. “Does not suit a general as accomplished as yourself.” It was then he tapped the goblets together, Y/n following before raising it to her lips to taste the sweet liquid inside.

“The glory is yours not mine,” Acacius insisted, “I only ask for some respite from war,” he paused, noticing the way his daughter’s eyebrow raised, her gaze shifting to Geta’s as though she knew Acacius' request was unwelcomed. “To spend time with my wife.”

“Your wife,” Caracalla repeated with a sniff, while Geta moved behind him to place his goblet down and brandish a sword from one of the guards. The emperor stepped closer to Acacius, “Remember the privileges we have granted her? Where is she now to ignore such an occasion?”

“There are victories yet still to come,” Geta surveyed the weapon as he returned to his wife’s side. It shined under the light, waiting to taste blood before being sheathed. “Persia,” it clicked against Acacius’ armor as Geta tapped it on his shoulder. “India.” He tapped the other shoulder, leaving the blade level with Acacius’ neck. “Both must be conquered.”

Y/n, who had yet to speak, watched her father. Anyone else would be trembling with fear at the sight of their loved one with a sword to their neck, but the empress remained poised. No flicker of panic in her eyes. Hands holding the goblet steady. She awaited his answer, observing the way he managed to uphold composure despite the lingering threat pointed at him.

“Rome has so many subjects,” he finally said, not breaking eye contact. “She must feed them.” Then, as though he never believed Geta would follow through with harming him, Acacius lifted his hand and brushed the blade off his shoulder.

“They can eat war,” Caracalla belted with a chuckle. Beside him Y/n’s expression mirrored her husbands. Stoic and dissatisfied.

The sword hitting the ground echoed as Geta launched it away and fell into the pond with a loud splash.

“Your triumphs,” Geta emphasized with a hardened tone. “Will be celebrated,” right hand raised, he presented it to Acacius, “as attribute to the greatness of the Roman people.”

The snarl Acacius held back was not missed by his daughter, who clenched her jaw as he took her husband's hand to kiss his ring. When he pulled away, the empress finally spoke.

“Husband, brother,” she addressed while keeping her focus on Acacius, “might I have a word alone with my father.”

Geta and Caracalla shared a look, both contemplating the request as the tension from the last five minutes had yet to cease. The former appeared reluctant, peering at his wife before nodding to Caracalla. The twin retreated instantly, but not before bidding a glance to the general in warning. Geta leaned down, his hand coming to Y/n’s hip while whispering something into her ear Acacius unfortunately could not hear. “Call for me shall you need to, dilectus meus.” His lips then traveled to her cheekbone, pressing a kiss and Acacius missed how Geta’s hand brushed over her stomach with fondness as he pulled away, leaving the two alone.

“You’d be wise to withhold implications of refusal to a direct order next time you bring victory to Rome, father.” Acacius’ heart skipped, a wave of nerves suddenly filling him at the tone he received from his daughter.

His Empress he should say. After all, he’s the one who put her in that position. The young girl he raised who cried at the sight of a wounded animal or hid under the table when his comrades visited had vanished. In her place was a woman who held the highest position one could have in Rome.

“Forgive me,” he placed his goblet on the table beside him. His thirst quenched. “I meant no offense. My travels have rendered me famished, and the thought of leaving the city so soon after returning is disheartening.”

“I understand,” she mused, placing her own goblet beside his. She assessed him once more before speaking, “The emperors are too occupied with their excitement over the expansion of the empire to consider your words as an objection to their plan for further conquest. Not to mention their eagerness for the games ahead.” She tilts her chin up to add, “I would not worry for any possible repercussions.”

Acacius cleared his throat, moving his arms behind him as he straightened his back. To have Y/n speak to him as a ruler would to her subjects was still unnerving despite the many years since she ordained the title. “That is comforting to hear.”

The soft murmurs of conversations around them filled the space. Geta spoke with Senators huddled by the feast table, while Caracalla occupied himself with his beloved pet monkey, Dondus. With the two distracted, Y/n took advantage and motioned to the hallway leading away from the foyer. “Walk with me.”

Departing, Y/n and Acacius strolled the halls of the palace. Away from prying eyes and ears, allowing them to speak more freely than they were afforded in a place consumed with ambitious men in power.

“The emperor's desire your presence in the palace during the course of these games. We’ve prepared your chambers and hope they are to your liking.”

Acacius withheld a sigh, not liking the idea of residing in the palace despite Y/n being close. He wished to return home, to spend what little time he had left in Rome with Lucilla. And while Y/n didn’t exactly order him to stay, her words left no room for objection.

“That is a generous offer. I am grateful for your hospitality.” He pauses to take in the scenery of the gardens. Several statues, mostly the Gods but one of each of the rulers. Hundreds of flowers lining the bushes. Poppies, daisies, lilies, and roses. Orange, white, pink, and red. Acacius recognized them as Y/n’s favorite, specifically the orange poppies which were rare to come by in Rome.

In fact, the only place in the city where they bloomed was the royal gardens. Now considered the symbol of the Empress.

“Might I inquire, my Empress,” He watched her pluck a poppy, bringing it to her nose. Her expression briefly shifted to one of delight. “When will I be permitted a visit to my wife? I have missed her, just as much as I have missed you, and wish to ensure she was taken care of during my time away.”

Y/n did not meet his eye as she replied, focused on the flower in her hand, “You’d be pleased to know Lady Lucilla was well provided for these last few months, General.” Calling him general instead of father stung, but Acacius did not let it show. Y/n led him to a bench overlooking the pond. “In fact, the emperors proposed a benignant offer the last time she visited the palace.”

Acacius stiffened, dread consuming him at this revelation. Having his wife at the palace when he was away at war always worried Acacius. For he was unable to intervene when senators or the emperors attempted to manipulate Lucilla. As an influential member of Rome’s elite, the daughter of emperor Marcus Aurelius, Lucilla was both feared and adored. Much like the reputation Y/n herself was beginning to garner. Of course, Acacius was confident in his wife and knew she could take care of herself.

But even with his daughter as empress, Acacius felt unease at the ‘what ifs’. One word, one action, could crumble the world around them.

Acacius licked his lips, inhaling before finally saying, “May I know this proposal?”

Y/n told the truth, not a speckle of hesitance. Lucilla would have told him anyway, so why beat around the bush. “The emperors’ wish for her to adopt them.” She did not have to look at her father directly to know his face was coated with shock. And maybe fear.

“Adopt them?”

“As her sons,” she confirmed, plucking another poppy to inspect. “Geta reminded her that during her fathers time, an emperor who lacked a son would adopt another as his heir. As you know the emperors’ mother and father died long ago,” Y/n peered at him over the flowers, watching his reaction. “And though they’d never admit it aloud, they desire the affection one is given by a maternal figure. They view Lucilla as the closest thing.”

In the years they’d been married Y/n learned all there was about her husband and his brother. The dark years during their father’s reign. Their worries for the empire. Geta’s suspicions of the Senate. Their love for theater and bloodshed in the Colosseum. And of course, the loneliness that came from being deprived of a parents’ love.

Time had been her greatest adversary when breaking through the concrete walls Geta had built around him. What she feared would be a heartless marriage, bloomed into one of friendship followed by genuine, passionate, union between the two. Late nights cuddled in bed, exchanging words of comfort. Gifts for any occasion. Staying by each other’s side no matter the situation. Y/n was his pillar of hope, and he was hers. Therefore when it came to the deep feelings Geta stored away, the type an emperor would rather suffer in silence than show his subjects, the only person he shared them with was Y/n.

Acacius had been the most surprised by the ruler's relationship, thinking back ten years prior to the moment he announced the betrothal to his daughter. She was five and ten years of age, Geta two years older. Acacius was an ambitious man, full of fire and rage. Wishing to climb the ranks and earn his place as the top general in Rome’s army after many years of being second to the current one at the time.

At the time the young twins had recently come to power upon the death of their father. The other generals were hesitant to take more lands. Believing the quality of the empire should be their priority. Taking his chance, Acacius, ignoring Lucilla’s headed warnings, promised to continue conquering on behalf of the emperors if one were to take his daughter as their empress.

Neither wished for marriage. The senate knew that. Acacius knew that. The whole damn city was well aware the twins enjoyed the many pleasures they were afforded being emperors and did not desire marriage and children. But they needed Acacius. Needed him to extend their empire to embed their names in the history books.

After weeks of deliberation, mostly the twins arguing over who would sacrifice their freedom of bachelorhood, a letter with the royal seal was sent to the Acacius household. Announcing Emperor Geta’s intent to take the hand of Marcella Acacia. Under the condition they were to wed a week following her eighteenth nameday.

“How could you?!” Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she sobbed. The opened letter laid on the table where she, Acacius, and Lucilla sat. The young girl pushed off her chair to stand, fury in her eyes, “How could you let this happen?”

“Y/n,” Lucilla reached out to grab her hand but was brushed away.

“Do you believe me to be some broodmare you may sell at the highest bidder?”

“Daughter, you must understand--.”

“What I understand is you have let your greed consume you!” His eyes widened, shocked by her outburst. Y/n didn’t let it stump her, continuing to scream and Lucilla quickly dismissed the servants. “Do not sit there and lie to me about your intentions.”

Acacius stood from his own chair, face hard as he looked down at her, but controlled himself, “You are angry, therefore I will allow this spectacle from you--.”

“Acacius,” Lucilla warned, heartbroken for her step-daughter.

“What my intentions were or are is not of your concern. The matter is said and done,” he steps closer, voice lowering. Y/n continued to silently cry, sniffing as she held her head up to him. While his heart strained at the sight, Acacius did not show it, “We all have a duty, whether we like it or not, Y/n.”

“This was not my duty until you made it so!”

“Enough!” His scream broke through the air, causing the two women to flinch at the volume. “You will marry Emperor Geta and you will become Empress of Rome! Start acting like one.”

Y/n shook her head, throat tightening as a sob threatened to release. “They have not been emperors an entire year,” her voice cracked, chest pounding as the anxiety within her rose. “And already there are whispers of their cruelty.”

“What have I told you about listening to tasteless gossip?” But Acacius heard the stories as well. Word spread of the twins' thirst for blood and savagery. Their rough pleasures with concubines, sending slaves to the Colosseum to fight for mere enjoyment. It was despicable.

And now his innocent, loving daughter was to become the wife to one of them. All by his doing.

Y/n glared, scoffing in disbelief, “It is said Emperor Caracalla impregnated one of his concubines--.”

“A rumor.”

“--and that he ordered her to be executed!” She seethed.

Acacius rubbed a hand over his face before holding it up, promptly ending the conversation, “Emperor Geta has graciously granted you three years to prepare for your role.” Y/n let out a sound of anguish, turning away from her father to cry freely into her hands. “You will remain here, your mother will guide you, and I expect you to listen. I do not want to hear any more objections or indignity. Do you understand?” When Y/n did not reply, Acacius repeated more firmly, “Do you understand?”

Breath catching in her throat, the girl slowly faced Acacius with glistening eyes. She swallowed, mouth dry from crying that when she spoke her voice was hoarse. “I understand, father.”

For the next three years under the guidance of Lucilla, Y/n was prepped to become Geta’s wife. Really it was preparation for her responsibilities as Empress. Geta was a private person so they were at a loss when it came to knowing things he liked and disliked. She wondered if he’d call upon her to meet in person before the wedding. But he never did.

Acacius was promoted and served the emperors as expected by continuing the expansion of the empire. Gaining glory where he became adored by the people. It made Y/n angry. It made her resentful of her father. But she withheld her tongue. Doing what was expected of her.

When the day arrived, as planned a week after her eighteenth nameday, Y/n was brought to the palace alongside her parents, the Senate, and Rome’s elite members of nobility. The citizens gathered at the gates, lining the pathways to get a glimpse of their new Empress in full celebration as the city bells rang. Y/n rode in a golden horse drawn chariot with her father, Lucilla and General Darius behind them. The train of her white dress and veil flowed against the wind. She waved to the crowd, but thankfully they could not see her grim expression that was covered by the veil.

Trumpets and drums sounded as the chariot approached the steps to the palace. The walk up was all but a blur. Y/n gripped Acacius’ arm, letting him lead her into the foyer where everyone awaited. The veil obscured her vision, but she made out the silhouette at the end of the altar.

Geta.

As regal as ever. The spitting image of Jupiter. Or Mars. Or Pluto. Depending on how one saw it.

Y/n’s pounded at a rate she’d never experienced before. So hard against her chest she swore her ribs were beginning to ache. Her palms were sweaty, and the veil began to stick to her forehead from the precipitation that gathered. Squeezing her eyes, she focused on her breathing. Leaning on Acacius as she kept up with pace. The trumpets and drums were replaced by the light melody of a harp.

“May the Gods watch over me,” she mentally prayed, the distance between her and Geta closing in. “And grant me the strength in this moment.”

The two came to a stop, Acacius bringing her hand to lips before handing it to the emperor. Y/n’s jaw clenched, eyes still closed as she felt Geta bring her forward so they were directly in front of the officiant. The traditional wedding versus belted from his lips, calling upon the Gods to grant their favor for the union between their vessel Emperor Geta, and his chosen bride. Proclaiming their marriage to be a symbol of unity, a beacon of hope to Rome and her loyal subjects.

When no one voiced objections, the exchanging of the vows and rings followed. Geta went first as per standard. Plucking the golden band with his sigil from the pillow, and repeating the words of the officiant as he placed it on Y/n’s finger. Squinting her eyes and not glancing at Geta just yet, Y/n picked up the golden band reserved for him with a trembling hand and took his in hers.

“My Lady, repeat after me,” the officiant addressed her. “Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.”

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” the vow sealed the promise of consent. Making her his wife both legally and under the eyes of the Gods. ‘Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.’

It was then time for Geta to crown Y/n with laurels, bestowing the title of Empress of the Roman Empire, and secure the marriage with a kiss. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut again when she felt his hands move to grasp her veil. Praying her knees wouldn’t buckle and send her tumbling to the floor. The fabric kissed her cheeks as it lifted, revealing her face to Geta for the first time ever. She felt him fold the veil past her hairline, fingers brushing against her temples as his hands drew back. Sending heat down her spine.

Only when she heard Geta clear his throat did Y/n open her eyes, locking on a pair of dazzling brown ones resembling melted chocolate. So striking it made her still.

He was beautiful. Captivating. His beauty was spoken of during the course of their betrothal by guests at her home, but no words compared to the sight of him before her. The man deserved to have statues and portraits of him throughout the empire. Bewitching every man and woman to cross his path.

Y/n gulped, the action noticeable by how Geta’s eyes drifted down. As their eyes locked once more, they held the stare for what seemed like forever. For Y/n, she experienced a feeling she couldn’t describe. It wasn’t butterflies, it wasn’t her mind telling her to run. It was calm. Like when the ocean became stagnant after a powerful storm. As though all the anxiety she battled leading up to this moment was vanishing. There was still an underlying concern, but staring into Geta’s eyes, she saw something in them she believed was understanding. Sympathetic.

“Ahem,” the officiant drew their attention back, Geta’s soft expression replaced by annoyance, making Y/n stunned by the sudden shift. The officiant seemed so as well by how he stammered out, “the ah--the laurels, my Emperor.”

The laurels. Laid on a purple pillow made entirely of pure gold. A symbol of her title.

Geta’s hands seize the crown, lifting it up and making a show of it to the guests before hovering it over Y/n’s heads. At first her gaze remained on the floor, but, with a sudden urge of confidence, Y/n met his eyes. And just like the first time, everything around them blurred. Leaving them as the only two in the world. Gods how she wished she knew what he was thinking. If he was undergoing the same feeling as her.

Geta’s movements were slow. Placing the headpiece on Y/n with accurate precision it took her breath away. The veil and her hair beneath it. Once satisfied with his work, Geta’s hands slid down, brushing her cheeks on its journey until he cupped her chin and drew her to him as he leaned down.

Y/n inhaled, heart stuttering as she leaned into his touch, meeting his lips in a tender kiss. Their noses grazed, making her eyes flutter shut. Seeing it as it was her first kiss, Y/n kept still and allowed Geta to take the lead. It was a simple press of mouth to mouth, but enough to create heat in every cell in her body; she felt like a volcano preparing to erupt.

Lasting only mere seconds, the two pulled away at the explosion of cheers. The walls of the foyer echoing with the applause and the blessed words from the guests. Y/n, however, did not turn to face them, her focus completely on Geta. Who in turn, only had eyes for her.

At the feast table, Y/n sat in between Geta and her father. On the opposite side of Geta was his brother, beside him Lucilla. Not having an appetite, despite the array of foods presented to her, Y/n snacked on a bowl of pomegranate seeds. Mindlessly at first, but then as she brought another seed to her lips she paused. Pulling it away to examine it, her mind wandered to the tale of Proserpina and Pluto.

The beloved Goddess taken by the God of the Underworld to become his Queen. And how the consuming of pomegranate seeds sealed her fate.

How ironic.

Swallowing thickly, Y/n shook the thought away and resumed eating. The sweetness hit her taste buds and she chased it with the bitter wine.

By the time the feast ended Y/n’s face hurt by the amount of fake smiling she did towards senators and their wives. Genuine ones were reserved for the servants, albeit small ones. And whenever she and Geta happened to lock eyes her expression was rather tight, but managed to convey a sense of comprehension.

Saying goodbye to her parents proved difficult. Y/n wanted to avoid it all together but it was inevitable. No longer was she under their care and protection. Her place was beside Geta, ruling Rome and all she owned. If she desired a visit with her parents they’d have to come to the palace, or she’d have to get her husband’s permission to go to them.

Lucilla hugged her close, pressing a tender kiss to her temple while whispering, “All will be well, my darling girl. The Gods will protect you, and I promise to visit frequently. Write to me as often as you please.” Y/n’s bottom lip quivered, but she kept herself together.

“Thank you,” she murmured with a sniff. “For everything.” Lucilla had been in Y/n’s life since she was nine years old when she married Acacius following the death of her brother Commodus at the hands of the mighty gladiator Maximus. Her own mother died of fever two years after her birth, and Lucilla raised Y/n as her own.

Pulling away from the hug, Lucilla bowed in respect, beaming softly at her daughter, “My Empress.” Water pooled in her eyes, Y/n tilting her chin down before watching Lucilla depart down the steps to wait for Acacius. When he came forward, a lone tear finally spilled from Y/n’s eyes. Cascading down her cheek until meeting her jaw where it fell and hit the floor.

Acacius’ expression was one of anguish. Guilt. A Y/n swore she saw regret. But whatever regrets her father had did not matter. He signed her fate three years prior, and now he was reaping what he sowed.

“My Empress,” He bowed. Y/n inhaled sharply, straightening as she stared at him.

“Father.”

“This is where I leave you, but rest assured I will visit as soon as I can. I am off to Hispania and should return in time for Saturnalia.”

“Then I bid you good fortune on your journey,” Y/n clasped her hands in front of her, twiddling with the rings on her fingers. “And may the Gods protect you for what you may face ahead.”

For a moment they just stood there. Staring at each other. Unsure of what to say next as the relationship between them was forever altered. At one point in time Y/n adored Acacius. She prided herself on being the daughter of an esteemed general. Favored by the people and those in power. She remembered the relief when he’d return home from battle. The excitement of opening gifts he’d brought her. The late nights spent hearing his tales.

“Daughter,” Acacius began, licking his lips as he tried to say the words he’d been thinking about all night. “I--.” Y/n cut him off with a raised hand.

“Please, I do not wish to hear excuses, apologies, or affirmations. As you told me when this was arranged, what is done, is done. I’d rather we’d leave on a civil note, than attempt to reconcile any misforgivings we have toward each other.” Pausing Y/n contemplated her next words, but knew if she never said them it would plague her mind for eternity. “All I have left to say is this, you pride yourself on your honor. You gained so much in your service to Rome, and now you’ve acquired more by your now status as father to her Empress.” Acacius swallowed thickly, Y/n exhaling as she studied him with an unreadable expression. “While part of me understands why you went the lengths you did to achieve such honor, I require time before I can find myself forgiving you.”

This is what Acacius was afraid of. That Y/n still held bitterness for his actions. His shoulders dropped in defeat, “I understand.” It pained him to say it, but knew better than to defend himself. “ I…hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day, daughter.”

“I do as well,” she agreed softly, “But this is the cost of honor, General.”

Hearing her call him ‘general’, and not ‘father’, felt like a blade to the chest. Acacius wanted to pry the word from her vocabulary and never have her utter it again. It lacked the warmth and love calling him ‘father’ had. General was what his subordinates called him. It was what senators called him. Not his daughter.

He was about to reply when a guard approached, drawing their attention. “Emperor Geta has departed, my Empress. He sends a message; he will accompany you in your chambers momentarily.” It took every ounce of her not to physically recoil. Nodding firmly as she thanked the guard who then bowed and took his leave.

Stepping forward, Y/n offered her hands to Acacius, “Take care of yourself and Lucilla, father. May the Gods watch over you in these coming months.” He took them, bringing them up to kiss her knuckles then leaning to kiss the middle of her forehead. Just below the laurels.

“Goodbye, daughter.”

As Acacius descended the steps to the awaiting chariot, Y/n watched from the top. Letting the tears fall freely when her hand fell back to her side after waving goodbye to her parents. She didn’t care that there were guards posted on the side. Nor did she care of the onlooking citizens watching from afar.

Releasing the emotions, out in the open, was the most liberating feeling she had all week.

“Your majesty,” a servant assigned to Y/n gently called out, “It is time to ready you for bed.”

Wiping her cheeks, Y/n let out a shaky breath before responding, “Yes of course.” Turning to face the servant, Y/n put on a brave face and followed them to her private chambers. Preparing herself with each step for what was in store for her.

Sitting on the ottoman at the end of the bed, finally alone, Y/n leaned her elbow on the mattress, knees bent to tuck her legs so she was leaning against the bed at an angle, and closed her eyes as her hand met her forehead. She was out of her wedding dress, now donning a silk nightgown beneath a flowy robe and the many pins removed from her hair. The air was cool thanks to the open doors leading to the balcony, causing goosebumps along her arms. Geta would arrive shortly, therefore Y/n took advantage of the minute of peace. Knowing what awaited her once he did.

The reality of her new world hit her like a ram. She was no longer just Y/n, the childhood nickname given by her father. She was Empress Marcella Acacia Y/n, wife to Geta and future mother of Rome's heir.

She’d have to sit in Senate hearings, attend games in the Colosseum--which would begin in two days time to celebrate the royal marriage. Her honeymoon would be spent watching men fight to the death for her favor during the day, and in bed performing her duty to Rome. Providing an heir.

“By Fortuna if you hear me,” she prayed aloud, “I call to you for guidance and grant me your favor as I navigate this marriage and the position you and the Gods have blessed me with. Please,” she pleaded with a slight crack in her voice, “if love does not come from this union, at least afford us the sentiment of friendship. At most respect.”

The sudden gush of wind hitting her made Y/n believe for a moment Fortuna had heard her. Sending it as a sign. That she was listening, and she would do her best to watch over the empress. It brought solace.

A moment later her peace was interrupted by the booming sound of the chamber doors opening. Sighing, she remained in her position, but shifted her head so it laid on her palm. Opening eyes, she saw Geta emerge from around the privacy screen that separated the bedroom from the rest of the chamber. He too was out of his grand attire. Sporting a red and gold robe tied at the waist and slippers on his feet.

“Hello,” she greeted, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure what exactly to call him. He hadn’t granted her use of his name. Emperor was the formal and likely appropriate title, and husband felt odd.

Geta approached slowly, expression neutral which made it hard for Y/n to figure out what he was thinking. He gave a curt nod, “Empress.”

The title made her shudder, shifting on the ottoman to make space for him. “Forgive me for asking, but how would you like me to address you? In private and in public.” The look of surprise was evident on his face, not expecting her to ask such a question. He sat on the ottoman beside her, leaving a bit of distance between them.

“The proper way to address me in front of others would be my title,” He said affirmably, “Husband would also be appropriate--both in private and about.” Licking his lips, his voice takes a softer approach. “But when it is only us, you may call me by my given name.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered, sitting up a tad straighter. Honestly she hadn’t expected him to allow such a thing. Calling someone by their given name was personal. Intimate. It signified respect.

“Then I must ask you to call me Y/n,” she told him with a small smile.

“Y/n,” He tested her name on his lips.

They sat there for a moment. Basking in the quietness the night afforded. However neither could deny the awkward tension in the air.

“I ah,” Y/n swallowed, face heating up as she tried to look anywhere but his eyes. Fearing she’d fall deep into something she’d be unable to pull herself from. “Might I inquire something of you before we…,” she trailed off, not wanting to say, ‘consummate this marriage.’ “Just for tonight, if you allow me.”

Geta thought for a moment, bringing a hand up to rub his chin. He knew she was stalling, and frankly he was fine with putting off the act for another hour or until the Senate came knocking at the door to see proof. “What is it?”

“I know not to expect much from this marriage.” She swore there was a flicker of surprise hit his face, but she brushed it off. “We have a duty to perform in the eyes of the people, I accept that,” Y/n was cautious with her words. Wanting to avoid any offense that may anger Geta. She heard the rumors of his temper. She did not want to be on the receiving end of it. Ever. “But, if it is possible, I’d like for us to form a basis of friendship?” Now there truly was surprise written all over him. It worried her.

“Well,” He mumbled, stroking his jaw before letting his hand fall back to his lap. “I cannot guarantee that…friendship,” saying it felt odd, “will be up to your satisfaction.” The way her mouth turned down caused his stomach to turn, quickly adding, “But, I can at least promise to do my best.” Her smile returned, and Geta mentally sighed in relief.

“That is all I ask.”

The conversation turned into the two asking questions. Simple ones, but it felt natural. Both genuinely interested in their answers and taking time to process before asking the next. Geta learned Y/n enjoyed reading poetry, she discovered his knack for collecting. She told him her favorite foods, and he told her how he prefers the color red over others.

“What’s your favorite flower?” She asked, placing the goblet of wine he had poured her on the end table after taking a sip.

“I don’t have one,” He glanced away with a frown, taking a sip from his own goblet. “I suppose lilies if I had to choose. The palace gardens are full of them.” Pausing to think before nodding as though satisfied with his answer, he turned to Y/n. “What is yours?”

A tiny smile curled on her lips, “Poppies. Orange poppies.” The answer surprised him.

“Orange poppies?” he repeated with furrowed brows. They were not native to Rome. In fact it was believed the flower grew thousands of miles away from the city. “Those are rare.”

“Likely why I am fascinated by them. My father,” she cleared her throat, feeling a sudden wave of emotion, the memory surfacing. “On one of his expeditions he came across a field of orange poppies--told me it reminded him of the sky when the sun begins to set.” She thought of the nights spent standing on her balcony to watch the beautiful color shine down on the city. It was her happy place. “He brought several home as a gift.”

The fondness in her expression sent an unfamiliar warmth in Geta’s chest. So soft and gentle. She looked like a vision of Venus, so beautiful it made his breath hitch. Leaning back against the mattress, Geta swallowed another gulp of wine, “Do you still have them?” At her head shake he felt disappointment.

“No,” she hummed with a sad smile. “They did however last a long time before wilting. I then pressed them with books to frame on my wall.” She made a mental note to send word to Lucilla to pack the item for her the next time she visited. “To be honest it surprised me they lasted the journey.”

“Where did your father find them?”

Her brows pinch, deep in thought. Geta couldn’t help but think how adorable it was. The way her brows furrowed as her mouth shifted. It was like he could see her mind working to bring her an answer. Pulling into the depths of her memory.

Eventually she shrugs, offering an apologetic frown, “I believe somewhere between Gaul and Germania. Unfortunately I cannot place the exact name or location.”

“That’s alright,” Geta replies, finishing off his wine and discarding the goblet on the end table closest to him. An idea popped in his head, and he made sure to follow through with it in the morning.

Before long there was a knock at the chamber door. “Come in,” Geta called, annoyed at being disturbed. Nerves tickled Y/n’s stomach when a guard emerged, a little astonished to see the two sitting together still in their night robes.

“Apologies, Emperor,” he bowed to Geta, then to Y/n. “Empress. The Senate wishes to confirm the consummation.” The rulers noted how the guards’ focus drifted to the untouched bed. Indicating they had not performed the act. Y/n gulped.

Geta on the other hand waved dismissively, “Inform them they will have their confirmation. When I deem it so.”

“Yes, Emperor,” the guard quickly bowed and departed to avoid being berated. The second he was out of their sight Y/n snatched her goblet and downed the rest of her wine. She was going to need it.

“Well,” she exhaled, wiping at her mouth, missing Geta’s lingering stare of the action. “We should get to it then.” The goblet hit the table with a *clink* Y/n turning to face the man fully and willing herself to calm down. Remembering Lucilla, and even some servants, advice of the marriage act. She’d experience pain and discomfort. Men were the ones who got pleasure, for women they had to endure.

It sounded like a nightmare.

Standing up, Y/n removed her robe leaving her in the sheer night dress, placing it on the ottoman under Geta’s watchful eye. Her body began to tremble, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she brought her fingers to the straps, but was suddenly stopped. “Wait,” Geta, still sitting, placed a hand on her arm. Perplexed, Y/n’s hands froze, turning to Geta to find him tense. “You do not have to remove it.”

“I do not understand….”

“You are uncomfortable,” He stated, making her cheeks heat up. It was the truth, how could she deny it? It was written all over her. Shuffling on her feet like she was preparing to run the hell out of there.

Standing up, Geta moved her hands back down to her side, before placing his on her shoulders. There was something about his expression, along with his gentle touch, that made Y/n’s heart beat faster. Warmth pooling in her stomach as Geta’s eyes flickered to her lips and back to her own. “It will do us no favors if you are not relaxed. It’ll make it far more painful for you,” his tone turned serious, “and I do not wish for that.”

It stunned Y/n to hear Geta be so concerned for her comfort. As though he wanted her to share the pleasures sex had on an individual. She truly was at a loss for words. “I--how?” was all she could say.

Instead of replying, Geta’s fingers trailed down the length of her arms until they met her waist, making her gasp when he lifted her up. Her hands went to his neck to hold steady while he maneuvered them so she was sitting on the edge of the bed and propped her feet on the ottoman, Geta kneeling on the furniture between her legs so they were level.

A warm hand cupped her jaw, bringing her face close to stare deeply into her eyes. “For this to be good for the both of us, I shall need you to trust me.” His nose brushed against hers, hot breath fanning her mouth. “Do you trust me?”

If this wasn’t the sign Fortuna heard her prayers, then Y/n did not know what it was. Here was the man she dreaded for years about. The one who craved bloodshed and war. Who was not afraid to send a man to his death for mundane offenses. Who was not shy about obscene acts with concubines in public. Here he was kneeling before her for consent to the marriage act, taking her feelings into consideration, instead of forcing her to endure it without any care.

After what seemed like forever, brought out of her thoughts by Geta’s finger moving to trace her cheekbone, Y/n whispered, “I trust you.”

He closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against hers so soft it made her head spin. Y/n responded with the same tenderness, gasping when his mouth went to her chin. Then her jaw, then along her neck.

“Lay down for me, my Empress.”

Y/n must have been a favorite among Fortuna. At least that’s what she seemed to believe. As the weeks, months, and eventual years went by, Y/n’s marriage to Geta surprised her every day with the newfound friendship they formed. It was like their match had not been a political arrangement fueled by ambition. Geta was irrevocably devoted to Y/n. Showing not so much in words but with actions.

He filled the library with every literary work. Had the kitchens prepare her favorite meals. Showered her in the lavish silks and gems. There were freshly picked roses or lilies from the gardens on her nightstand every morning. And though they did not share a bedchamber every night, Geta would sit on the balcony of hers at the end of the day where they would have tea and converse. Y/n listened to his vents about the Senate, and complaints of his brother. He’d open up about his frustration with their lack of popularity, to which Y/n offered advice on how to win the people's favor.

There was companionship between the two. Bringing comfort to the otherwise stressful environment being rulers had. And though neither voiced it, they knew there was something blossoming with how they’d light up whenever the other entered a room. The lingering gazes. The brushing of one's hand as they passed. Kisses to the knuckles at Senate meetings and adjusting clothing when it’s out of place. Then there was the tiny detail Geta had dismissed his concubines. Something Y/n had no knowledge of until three months of being married.

Eight months into their first year of marriage, Geta unveiled the project he’d been planning since their wedding night. It had taken months, longer than what he anticipated, but then again he had to send men to Gaul and Germania, find the flowers and bring them back so they may plant the seeds in their gardens to grow them. The journey itself took over five months, then eight more weeks for the poppies to bloom.

“Geta,” Y/n murmured in awe of the hundreds of beautiful orange poppies covering the entire garden grounds. Matching the sky above as the sun began to set on the horizon to end the day. It was exactly like how her father told her when he saw the field all those years ago. Plucking one closest to her, she brought it up to inhale, sighing in content at the familiar scent she had missed. “How did you…?”

“I sent an expedition to Gaul and Germania,” He explained, taking a seat on the bench by the fountain. She joined him, clutching the poppy as though it were a lifeline while gaping at the man with utter adoration. Their closeness spread heat between the two, and Geta cleared his throat before speaking again, “Thought you might enjoy having your favorite flower steps away rather than miles.”

Her heart soared, so much so it made her eyes water. “I do not--I do not know how to even begin expressing my gratitude for this gift.” Peering at the poppy she traced one of the petals, the smoothness glided along her fingertip. “This is absolutely perfect, Geta. I cannot thank you enough.”

“You are welcome,” he replied sheepishly, tugging at the fabric of his toga around his neck. Suddenly feeling hot despite the cool breeze. He froze when Y/n skidded closer to him on the bench, making their thighs touch. Time stopped with only the gentle sound of the fountain and birds flying above reminding them where they were. His eyes never left her figure as she leaned forward into his space. Y/n secured the poppy on the lapel of Geta’s toga so it was tucked between the fabric and his golden shoulder plates. The orange color contrasted with the white and gold. Come to think of it, the flower matched his hair. And Y/n wondered if it was a sign from the Gods that the color of her favorite flower would remind her of her husband’s hair and vice versa.

Adjusting it as best she could so it would stay, Y/n tapped the petals a final time before retracting her hands. However when she went to place them in her lap they were caught by Geta, his mouth colliding with hers in a kiss full of passion. “Hmmph!!” Catching her off guard it made her gasp, allowing Geta to slide his tongue past her lips and deepen the kiss. Her palms went to his cheeks, bringing him closer as his arms went to her waist. Hauling Y/n into his lap to press their chests together.

“Never did I believe the Gods would permit me the privilege of receiving genuine, raw love,” Geta pulled away from the kiss, his eyes still closed and tone dropping an octave with reverence. “Nor did I believe I’d be capable of giving it to someone. For all my life I was deprived of love, save for the piece reserved for my brother.” His eyes fluttered, peering up at Y/n as his hand glided along her back affectionately and it brought goosebumps on her arms. Her breath hitched at the way he was looking at her.

“I--,” he gulped the saliva that had piled in the back of his throat. “You have bewitched me, Y/n. Beyond anything I could have imagined. You consume my every thought--when I sleep you fill my dreams,” Once the confession left his lips Geta could not stop, cupping the back of Y/n’s neck to hold her close to him. All the emotion that had been building up for months finally released like a dam. “Since you have come into my life I cannot see a future where you are not in it. You are my anchor for when I feel lost at sea,” Inhaling Geta finished with, “These last eight months I have grown to love you, Y/n. And I hope you have come to feel the same.”

There it was. The four letter word that held so much power. The one that if anyone had asked Y/n four years ago when she was first betrothed to the emperor that she’d hear him declare it in the palace gardens surrounded by her favorite flower, she’d have told them they were mad.

He waited for her reply, growing wearing with each second that passed. It was the most vulnerable Geta had ever been, and he felt he might vomit if Y/n didn’t say anything. The fear of rejection plaguing his mind.

That fear diminished when Y/n brought him into a kiss that took his breath away, much like he did to her. His arms tightened around her, not letting an inch separate them as he met her kiss feverishly. The one on their wedding day may have signified their union, this one represented their undying love for each other. A beacon of hope for their future.

“I love you, Geta,” her mouth caressed his with every syllable. Pressing soft pecks each time they met, he shuddered beneath her touch. “I think I have for some time, but was too afraid to say anything when I had said on our wedding night I did not expect anything out of this marriage. And I’d be lying if I said I was not fearful of the kind of man rumors painted you to be. But I was wrong,” she brushed a strand of his flaming hair away to hold his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “You have enchanted the very depths of my soul.” She kissed him once, “Ubi tu Gaius,” she kissed him twice. “Ego Gaia.”

They sat there, on the bench overlooking the fountain pongs, tangled in each other's arms within a field of poppies as the sun departed and allowed the night to take claim of the sky. Between kisses they sighed and breathed each other’s air. And at times they simply stared into the other’s eyes. Neither needed words to vocalize the emotions pouring out of them.

And when Geta took his wife to bed that night, he sent word to the servants to move his things into hers when morning arrived. For they would not be needing separate chambers anymore. When the day ended the emperor would remain with his empress. Having tea on the terrace before he’d lift her up and carry her to their bed. Where he’d worship her for hours with only the Gods to bear witness and repeat the action the next morning.

Acacius returned home in time for Saturnalia just as promised, arriving at the palace for the celebrations with Lucilla in hand, both excited to see their daughter for the first time since the wedding. But when they came face to face with the empress, Acacius saw first hand the fruit that bore from the seed of his ambition. Y/n and Geta were no mere strangers, they were not emperor and empress. They were husband and wife. He knew then that any loyalty reserved for him perished. Her allegiance was for the man feeding her pomegranate seeds and kissing away droplets of wine that may have fallen from her lips.

Thinking back to the last words Y/n spoke to him, Acacius realized then what truly was the cost of honor.

#Spotify #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x y/n #emperor geta #emperor geta fanfic #empress!reader #emperor geta x female reader #gladiator imagine #gladiator 2 imagine #gladiator fanfiction #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn

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capricho42 · 3 months ago

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The Fair Sex

#fanvideo #dorama #humor #forward forever #my heroic husband #legend of fei #jade dynasty #empress ki #qing qing zi jin #the song of glory #once upon a time in lingjian mountain #hwarang #battle through the heavens #douluo continent #l.o.r.d. critical world #the advisors alliance #zhaoyao #story of yanxi palace

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absurdthirst · 8 months ago

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The Future of Rome {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.6k

Warnings: Mentions of orgies, whores, cuckolding, voyeurism, oral sex (male and female receiving), cream pie, breeding, mentions of feeding kink, vaginal sex, pregnancy, betrayal, conspiracy, murder

Comments: When Caracalla is unable to father a child on you, his empress, he enlists General Marcus Acacius to be his proxy between your thighs. Needing his general's seed in his efforts to father the next ruler of Rome.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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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.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you watch as your husband, Emperor Caracalla of Rome, paces in the large room, screaming and shouting like an overgrown child. At times, it feels like that is what he is, a child. A man child who controls the largest empire in the world, alongside his brother Geta. The two of them engaged in squabbles that would have all of the citizens of Rome demanding new leadership if they knew of them. “You must carry a child!” He hisses, turning and glaring at you as if you are at fault for the monthly flow of blood that comes between your thighs like clockwork. “How have you not been bred yet? I fill you nearly every week.” His eyes narrow and he stops his stride to turn towards you. “Are you doing something? Taking some tonic to prevent a child from growing?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Of course I would not.” You tell him. “It is my duty to provide you with an heir. Before Geta.” You know your husband wishes to best his brother by having a child before he does. “You are still fucking your concubines.” You remind him. “None of them have fallen pregnant with your bastard. Perhaps your seed is bad.” You could be risking his wrath by telling him what no hippocrates would, but he has never sired one bastard and he indulges in orgies and women all the time. You have no love for the husband you had been forced to marry by your father in return for Rome not destroying your homelands.

Caracalla’s eyes grow wide and he hisses, striding over to you and you brace yourself as he hits you across the face with the back of his hand. You gasp and he looms over you, “you dare to insult me like that, uxor? I am divine. Ordained by the gods and you are? Some whore daughter of a King who wilted under the glory of the Roman army. You are fortunate I chose you to be Empress. An honor I bestow upon you and you have the gall to question my seed.” He rants but he knows you could be true. He longs to have an heir before his brother and even if he fucks you every day, you still bleed. He has never fathered a bastard. You cup your cheek, keeping your head down and he sighs, “we must seek a solution.” He declares, frowning as he considers his options to ensure he beats his brother to the heir.

You bite your lip to keep from crying, knowing that tears would only incense the man you are married to even more. Caracalla does not like to see you cry, even if he is cruel and cutting. When he punishes you for any perceived slight. Tears are a sign of weakness in his eyes and he will not have you shed them in his presence. “What solution would you have?” You know he cannot seek out a healer, the risk of rumor would be too great. Any kind of whisper about this would make its way back to Geta.

He paces in front of the balcony, the linens flowing in the breeze. “I need an heir who will be strong, a fighter. I need a boy. I need you to give birth to the next heir. We need to ensure that you get pregnant as soon as possible.” He murmurs, speaking his mind and he finally turns to you. “We need to have someone else get you pregnant. We need - General Marcis Acacius.” He declares, eyes wide.

You frown, trying to recall what the man looks like. He has been away from Rome for nearly two years, since just after you had married Caracalla. “He looks nothing like you.” You point out.

“I don’t need him to look like me. I need a boy and he’s a strong fighter. He will give our child the characteristics he needs to lead Rome and her army.” He declares, “you will fuck him when he returns.” He orders and you swallow harshly, knowing you will struggle to have relations with a man that isn’t your husband but you have no choice but to do as he demands.

“I will gift you to him to fuck.” He continues on, a wild and honestly frightening smile splitting his face. “It will be an honor, for fighting so valiantly for Rome.” He isn’t talking to you, but rather plotting out what will happen. You can’t quite recall what Marcus Acacius looks like, but you hope that he will be quick to cum like Caracalla, or at least his seed will take root quickly.

****

Marcus looks up at the marbled entrance as he arrives at the palace to meet the Emperors and tell them about his success in person. He’s sent messengers but he must tell them of his accomplishments rather than be allowed to return to his home to relax. He sighs as he adjusts the white and gold tunic and armor that suffocates him. It’s for display, not ideal for battle, and he knows the Emperors will have a feast planned soon after his report and he’s expected to be on display. He scratches his cheek as he is escorted through the halls until he arrives in the grand hall where the Emperors are waiting. He strides to stand before them and bows his head, “Rome is in your hands.” He vows, “we have conquered Africa.” He announces, “for you and for Rome.”

Dressed in snowy white silk and gold, you are sitting off to the side, ignored by your husband and brother as they had waited for the general’s approach. You had heard the crowds outside the palace, the roars echoing dimly and you sat up slightly from the chaise when the doors had opened. Finding a much different man than you had expected walking confidently towards them. He’s older than you remembered, but his gray hair is still pleasant as it mixes with his darker locks. He’s handsome, not the sharp nosed beauty of your fair husband, but darker, broader. His nose is curved and his eyes are the color of night from where you sit. You want to see them up close. He’s large, larger than Caracalla and you wonder if you are the whore some have whispered you must be, for you want to see what this man would be like inside you.

Caracalla cannot let his brother know his plan. No one can know. Geta greets Marcus who bows his head and his dark eyes flick over to you for a moment. When you arrived at the palace you were reluctant to marry Caracalla. He remembers hearing the rumors of your attempts to escape, and the way Caracalla treats you from guards that he served with. He clenches his jaw, standing up straight and the Emperors sing his praises so he offers them polite smiles. He’s sick of war. He’s tired of fighting an endless battle for more land when the Roman Empire is struggling. People cannot eat. Men are dying. It’s an endless grab for power and the Emperors are not fighting for it themselves. “Tonight, we feast in your honor.” Geta declares, clapping Marcus on the back and he follows the Emperors to the head table where he will sit while the court and the senate celebrate his success.

When his eyes land on yours, a shiver races through your body. This is a man who has seen death. Dealt out harsh punishments and narrowly survived. He’s much more rugged, raw. So different from your spoiled and foppish husband. He should be a leader for Rome, rather than a man who has never seen war. You are ignored, so you undrape yourself from your seat and slowly stroll into the hall to join the festivities.

Marcus notices you as you sit down beside your husband and he’s taken back by how beautiful you are but he also sees the sadness in your eyes. The lifeless stare across the room tells him you’re lonely while your husband guzzles wine and cheers for the victory he played no physical part in. He does as is expected, eating and drinking his fill but he thinks about the starvation he witnessed, the poverty that the empire has caused from taxing too much and forcing more war on its people. “We shall acquire whores to pleasure you, General.” Geta insists, “you will be serviced until you feel rewarded for your victory for Rome.” The court cheers and Caracalla then leans in towards you, “return to your room. I want you ready to take the general.” He commands, whispering in your ear.

You don’t sigh, nodding and leaning in to kiss his cheek for show before you stand up and walk out of the room without looking back. Knowing the Emperor, he will want you nude and wearing some of the jewels that had been sent back to Rome as tribute. You have already been bathed and perfumed by your servants in anticipation of your husband fucking you tonight, but Caracalla always demands privacy in the wing of the palace you live in. His oddity will work in his favor for concealing who is planting his seed in your belly tonight.

Marcus is ready to head home when Caracalla whispers in his ear, “I wish to speak privately.” Marcus frowns as he pulls back to look into the manic eyes of the emperor and he knows he can never deny him. He nods and stands with the emperor. He bows to Geta even though the other emperor is busy with his tongue down a whore’s throat as the festivities begin. Caracalla dismisses his guards with a wave of his hand and he guides Marcus through the halls until he enters his private chambers. Marcus is anxious, wondering if the emperor is going to kill him even though the idea is laughable. He’s been a man of luxury. Only carrying a sword for show and never for battle. The emperor still doesn’t speak as he strides over to the doors and he opens them to display you on the bed naked and draped in jewels, a nervous look on your face. “What is the meaning of this?” Marcus demands, confused and wanting to leave to retire to his villa. Not to play games.

“I tried to imagine what kind of reward a man of your talents would enjoy.” Caracalla hums as he smirks victoriously. You are a gorgeous creature and he knows that the man will have no problem mounting you. “Whores are too boring, they have had too many men, been soiled by their pleasures.” He takes Marcus’s shoulders and turns him back towards you and the bed. “But an Empress’s cunt? She’s only had one other cock. She’s practically pure and it’s tight.” He chuckles. “My brother gives you a common whore to fuck, I give you a royal cunt.” Again, it’s a competition between the brothers and he’s determined to best Geta.

Marcus’s eyes widen at the Emperor’s offer and he looks over at you. His cock twitches under his tunic at the way you’re on display for him, but he wonders if this is some kind of test from the emperor. He swallows harshly and looks back at Caracalla. “You honor me but I am - I am satisfied with whores. I do not want to sully the empress with my - with my body. She is divine and deserves to be fucked by a man like you, a man chosen by the gods.”

You lift a brow, wondering what the Emperor will say to that. Would he admit that he has been unsuccessful in breeding you? That there is something wrong with him? Or will he blame it on you? There is no telling with Caracalla. You shift to your knees, spread apart on the bed so he can get a good look at your body.

Marcus’s cock twitches again, hardening as your breasts bounce and he swallows harshly, averting his eyes once again. “I don’t - I don’t understand.” Marcus admits, knowing that only the emperor can fuck the empress to get her with child. “I want you to fuck my uxor and I want to watch.” Caracalla confesses, “and I want you to spill your seed inside of her.”

His eyes slide over your body again and you can see the way his cock is starting to lift the fabric of his tunic. Your nipples are hardening because you are enticing this war-hardened general. “The emperor is very generous.” You tell Marcus, sliding a hand up to cup one tit. “He has never been one to share and yet he wishes to honor his general.” You don’t mention why he would want such a thing. “Do you not like cunt?” You ask, wondering if he might prefer the boys in the bath houses. You have heard rumors of some senators who often prefer the company of men than their wives. Perhaps the general is one of them.

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I- I do. It’s just -” He looks at Caracalla, “you’re the empress and I cannot - the heir cannot be from anyone but the emperor.” Marcus reasons and Caracalla reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, “you have to understand, General, I am asking you to fill up my wife. We have been unsuccessful in our venture to have an heir and I must beat my brother to it. I wish for you to spill your seed inside my empress…regardless of the consequences.” He declares and Marcus’s eyes widen slightly as he understands what is being asked of him.

You can see that Marcus Acacius is not a foolish man, he understands the danger he has found himself in. He cannot deny the Emperor, and he could never speak of it. “Maritus.” You murmur softly, bringing his attention back to you. “Tell the general what kind of son you wish to have.”

Caracalla senses Marcus’s panic and he smirks, “I want a warrior son. Someone who will be strong and fight for Rome, to protect our line.” He says even though he knows the child would not be his blood. “The name. My name must continue through him. I want a gladiator and you possess those traits. I wish for my son to have them. Do you wish to fill my beautiful wife with your seed and produce the next heir to the Roman Empire?” He asks even though he knows no one says no to the emperor.

You can see that Marcus is torn. He can’t say no, just like you could not run away from him when he had decided to take you as his empress. “He is handsome.” You coo. “Strong. He will put a son you will be proud of in my belly.” You tell your husband. “While enjoying himself by having an empress spread her thighs for him.”

Marcus knows he can’t refuse. He must fuck you and you’re a beautiful woman but he prays to the gods that the emperor doesn’t change his mind and punish you or him after the act is complete. “As my emperor wishes.” He nods and Caracalla claps, “excellent. My uxor will strip you. I wish to watch the act.” He says, spinning to make his way to the chair in the corner. Marcus is shocked that the man wants to watch but he doesn’t deny him, knowing that could be his head. He nods and walks over to the bed, waiting for your move.

Sliding off the bed, you stand straight, unashamed of your nudity. You might have only had Caracalla as a lover, but he often wanted you nude to just gaze upon you while you were together. You reach for the golden laurel on his head and remove it gently. “Tonight we will see if your prowess in battle is matched by your vigor in bed.” You smile at him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t change his mind. “If your cock truly is as big as your sword.” You giggle. “Some of the women you have fucked talk.”

Marcus’s cock is hardening with your words and your touch. You are one of the most beautiful women in the empire, if not the most, and Marcus is not immune to your beauty. You set his laurel down and Caracalla takes his place in the corner of the room. He flusters at his reputation and wonders what you will think of him. If he lives up to the rumors.

You try to forget your husband is watching, concentrating on the man in front of you. The gold wrist cuffs come off and you wonder if he would prefer the unadorned look. Rather than being weighed down by the ostentatious trappings of his role. You know you would rather live simply. “Relax, General.” You hum quietly. “The emperor has taught me how to please him. Hopefully I will please you as well.”

Marcus is nervous, anxious, and every emotion a man can be when he’s being used for his seed and watched as he pleasures the wife of one of the most powerful men in the empire. He keeps his hands by his sides until you reach for the hem of his tunic. He’s ashamedly hard, unable to be anything but when you are in front of him. You smell delicious and he knows he’d be diving into your cunt if you came to his home without your status and stature.

Biting your lip, you lift the tunic to reveal his hard cock and you moan softly. “Step back, let me look.” Caracalla demands and you turn to the side to show the emperor his cock. “He is very well endowed.” Your husband smirks. “Good. I would hate for my son to have a less than impressive cock.” He is very proud of his own, even if he is not as thick as Marcus. You reach down and brush your finger over the length as you pull the tunic over his head.

He hisses when your fingers brush his length and you smirk, tossing his tunic aside. Caracalla often indulges in men when he is in the throes of an orgy and he is impressed by the general. His shoulders are broad and muscular. Strong arms. Tapered waist and a full head of hair, albeit graying, even in his ripe age. This is the man who could sire him a son who would be legendary in Rome. “Kiss him.” Caracalla demands, wanting to be in control even if it is not his seed securing his lineage.

You lick your lips, leaning in and press your lips to the slightly chapped ones of the general. You sense his hesitation, knowing that he is unsure of the motives behind this. Instead of pulling back, you press your breasts against his chest, feeling the light hairs covering his skin tickle you.

His fingers flex and Caracalla chuckles, “you can touch her, General.” There’s the permission Marcus needs. His hands slide along your back, pulling you even closer and one hand slides up your body to cup your cheek, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue finds yours and you squeak, unused to such aggressive kissing. Caracalla likes softer especially when he’s wanting the opposite of his lovers or orgies.

Your husband hums, reaching for his wine with one hand and reaching down to squeeze his cock with the other. If it would not potentially ruin the chances of you conceiving a child, he would join you. See how Marcus kisses. Instead, he takes pleasure in knowing that the most powerful general in his army is following his orders even off the battlefield.

Marcus groans into your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass while he grips the back of your neck. He’s relieved that he sought the company of a whore before arriving back in Rome. He would embarrass himself if he were pent up. He loves the way your fingers tangle in his hair and he is glad to see the empress is not shy about taking what she wants.

The emperor very rarely lets you do what you wish, so this is a new experience for you and you are greedy for it. “Get on your knees.” The order comes from behind you and makes you pull away. Aware that Caracalla will still try to dictate the way you are fucked. “Let the general see you on your knees before him and feel your mouth around his cock.”

Marcus inhales sharply as he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. His sandals are still on his feet while his cock throbs from arousal. Your eyes are sultry as you look up at him, looking like Venus herself. He swallows and hisses softly when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

You squeeze him gently, feeling him throb in your hand and you roll back the foreskin. You have pleasured your husband like this countless times and he claims you are good at it, so hopefully you don’t disappoint the general. Leaning forward, you press your tongue flat against the tip and then curl it around the head as you take him into your mouth. The general has bathed, so he tastes clean and musky.

His fingers flex by his side as you take him into your mouth. He groans quietly but Caracalla shakes his head, "I want to hear how my empress is making you feel." He demands and Marcus nods, groaning louder when you take him deeper into your mouth. "Fuck." He curses, his hand finding your cheek as he looks down at you.

You hum at his rough praise, feeling the way his hips slightly rock, like he wants to take control and fuck your mouth. Taking him deeper, you moan when the first spurt of his salty seed hits your tongue, a little treat to tell you he is enjoying it.

His eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the feel of your mouth around his cock. He can tell you’re not as experienced as the whores he has had but you are enthusiastic and he fucking loves that. “Open your eyes, Acacius.” Caracalla orders, wanting to see the pleasure on the man’s face.

You take him deep right as he opens his eyes and they widen in shock as he chokes out a sound that goes straight to your cunt. Pleased that you can make a man as strong and fierce as the general choke on his own breath. You start to bob your head quickly, wanting to hear more and to see his face screw up in pleasure.

Marcus groans, his chin resting on his chest as he watches you take his cock. “Fuck.” He grunts as your hands rest on his thighs as you take his cock in your mouth. His stomach clenches and he moans, shaking his head. “I am - I’m going to- shit. Stop.” He pleads, his cock twitching in your mouth.

You are surprised that he is already about to cum, but maybe he has been without the pleasure of a woman for too long. You pull off his cock, panting yourself as you wipe your chin. Your cunt is dripping and you are eager to see if his cock scrubs against your walls the way you hope he does. Despite your initial reservations about having sex with someone else, you now find yourself looking forward to fucking this man

He is shocked how quickly you worked him up but perhaps it’s because this is not a whore he’s paid for. You are the most coveted woman in the empire, a prize to your husband, and you’re on your knees for him. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. He looks worked up and the emperor smirks, “you need to spill inside her. Uxor, lay down on the bed and spread your legs for the general. Let him see how wet you get sucking a cock.”

You shift to your feet and turn around. Your eyes slide to your husband and you see that he is turned on, his own cock tenting his tunic. Laying down, you spread your legs. Bending your knees you run your hands down to spread the lips of your sex for him to see. “Soaked.” You moan softly.

Marcus’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your wet cunt. You’re dripping and he loves it. He reaches down to squeeze his cock as he shuffles closer. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. “You can fuck her, Acacius. You have the emperor’s blessing. Fill her with your seed and create the next emperor of Rome.” He demands and Marcus shifts to kneel on the bed. His free hand slides up your thigh until he’s pushing two thick digits into your dripping cunt.

Your eyes flutter closed on a loud moan, feeling the way his fingers stretch you out. His hands are rough, the skin scraping so deliciously inside you and making your legs shift and shake around his hips. This man will be so different from the only other man you have had sex with, you know that instinctively and for a split second, you pray to the gods that it will take more than one time for him to successfully fill you with his seed.

He pumps his fingers, loving how wet you are around them, and he groans when you squeeze his digits. He wants you to cum like this. His thumb against your clit, he curls his fingers while your emperor watches you. His fingers squeeze his cock through his tunic while Marcus strokes his cock with his fist.

Your body responds to the sure, deep pumps of his fingers into your cunt. “Gods.” You whimper, watching as his dark, intense eyes watch his fingers move inside you. Completely focused on making you feel blissful before he mounts you. You won’t say that your husband hasn’t pleasured you, but it’s always been a byproduct of his own, rather than his complete goal. “It feels so good. His fingers are magical.”

Caracalla smirks as he watches your back arch and you moan as Marcus pumps his fingers into you. The room is filled with a squelch as you take what he gives you. “That’s it, Empress.” He coos, pressing his thumb harder against your clit.

You pant out your first name. “Call me by my name when you are inside me.” You order breathlessly, wanting to hear him say your name. Turning your head, you look to your husband behind you, seeing that he is actually enjoying watching you like this. You know he has attended many orgies and probably watched many people have sex, but his eyes are alight with glee, watching this general touch you.

Marcus watches you as you take his fingers and groans at the way you are fluttering around his digits. He says your name as a demand, wanting you to fall apart for him before he fucks you full of his seed. Caracalla watches and smirks, his cock now pulled out so he can slowly jerk himself at the sight in front of him.

Whimpering quietly, your body starts to react. Toes curling and thighs shaking as your cunt clenches down around his thick fingers. “Marcus!” Your gasp of his name is loud, almost surprised as the intense pleasure rips through you, his fingers pressing against something wonderful inside you.

He groans, cock twitching in his hand as you soak his digits and Caracalla chuckles, “she loves your fingers, General.” Marcus smirks and works you through it, pulling his fingers out after you start to whine. “You want me to fuck you, Empress?” He asks, smirking as he jerks his cock against your pelvis.

You moan, nodding as you try to roll your hips down. He looks confident now, like the general you know he must be on the battlefield. “I do, General. Fuck me full.”

He nods, shifting to position his cock at your entrance, swiping it through your folds as he groans softly when he notches himself at your entrance and starts to push inside you with a soft groan of your name. You’re so tight and hot, his eyes flutter closed at the way you feel around him.

He’s thick. Thicker than Caracalla, stretching you more than his fingers did and pulling a long, wanton moan from your chest. You are taking another man. Having his cock inside you and you hear your husband groan as he watches. He sounds almost envious, but you can only care about the way Marcus fills you right now. “Fuck.” You whine when his hips are flush and his cock is pushed deep and kissing your womb. “Your cock is made by the gods.” You praise breathlessly.

Marcus looks down at you, his chest heaving at the way you are taking his cock and he shifts to his forearms so he can hover over you. Your legs lift to wrap around his hips and his face hovers near yours. “You’re so tight.” He hisses and Caracalla smirks, “I told you. She’s like a virgin.” He declares as he squeezes his cock in his hand, working himself as Marcus starts to move inside you.

That first thrust is a sharp snap of his hips. Making you scream and your nails dig into his biceps. Marcus freezes, fearing that he had made an error, but your thighs tighten. “More, move general.” You demand, wanting to see if he can make you scream like that again.

He loves the way you command him, reminding him of your status. He relaxes now that he knows he didn’t hurt you and he rocks his hips, pushing deep into you. “Empress. Scream for me.” He growls, leaning in to kiss your neck since he doesn’t know if kissing is permissible. His hips rock forward as he pushes against your cervix.

You moan softly, knowing that he will make you scream if he moves like this inside you. “Kiss him.” Caracalla orders, giving permission and you quickly turn your head to press your lips to Marcus's as his head comes up. He rocks into you steadily, your fingers tracing over the scars on his back and side as he fucks you. Mapping the wars that he has fought and the times he has survived to experience this moment. “So deep.” You whimper.

He is lost in the feel of your hot cunt around his cock. Your body takes everything he gives you. His hips slap against your ass and he shifts his weight onto one arm so he can grab your thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach as he sinks impossibly deeper into you. His tongue sliding against yours to swallow your moan.

You don’t even think about Caracalla, although you hear the sound of him stroking his cock. Too taken by the way that Marcus fucks you. He’s rougher, harder than your husband and his pace makes your walls flutter around his cock every time he drills into you. It’s so wicked, forbidden and the people of Rome would be horrified if they knew that their Empress was being fucked like a common whore, but you love it.

He groans into your mouth as you grip his shoulders and he rocks harder into you, wanting to feel you cum around him. His hand slides up your thigh until he’s rubbing your clit. He may have had many whores but he’s always prided himself on ensuring they were pleasured too. “Empress.” He groans against your chin, “want you to cum for me.”

You whine into his mouth when he comes back to kiss you. Rocking up against his fingers as you try to get as close as possible to him. One hand slides down to his ass, feeling it flex as he pumps into you. “Yes. Yes.” You chant, eyes closed in bliss.

Marcus grunts as he grinds into you, his fingers rubbing your clit faster as he wants you to cum for him. He kisses along your neck and Caracalla is invisible to him as he focuses completely on you. “Cum for me.” He demands and you cry into his mouth as you fall apart for him.

It’s good, better than any pleasure Caracalla has ever given you but you can never admit that. Your body trembles under his as your walls spasm around him. Making him groan as you gasp out his name. “Marcus!” You feel how you soak his cock and the sounds it makes as he fucks you through it.

He loves the way you squeeze him and he hisses your name, rocking into you. He knows he should hold off, make you fall apart again but he is wound up by the circumstances. “Fill her up, Acacius.” Caracalla demands and Marcus buries his face in your neck as he thrusts a half dozen more times until he’s pushing deep and filling you up with hot spurts of cum.

The hot splash of his seed makes you whine, eyes closed as you feel him ride out his pleasure, cock pulsing inside you. He doesn’t pull out of you immediately and you enjoy his weight on top of you. He is heavier, broader than your husband and you like feeling like you are at his mercy. The sweat slick skin of his back slides under your fingers and you stroke it and you sigh in bliss.

Marcus shifts to take his weight off you and he swallows harshly. He hasn’t cum that hard since he was with his wife. He kisses your neck without Caracalla seeing it and your emperor stands, cock in his hand, to stand at the foot of the bed. “Pull out of her. I want to see your seed drip out of her.” He demands and Marcus shifts to pull out of you. He lays beside you and Caracalla stands there, eyes dark as he takes in the sight of your dripping cunt.

You can’t really tell what your husband is thinking, his eyes wide and slightly manic. He’s not upset, that much you can tell. “What do you think, maritus?” You ask softly.

He smirks, jerking his cock as he kneels on the bed. “I want to cover you in my seed.” He says as he watches you while you lay on the bed, chest heaving.

You don’t dare look over at Marcus, keeping your eyes on your husband as he starts to buck into his hand. You can tell he’s already close from the groans. “Cover me.” You urge him, spreading your thighs wider. “Coat me and we will pray to the gods that they will give you a strong child.”

Caracalla doesn’t hesitate as he starts to cover you. Hot drops of his seed hitting your skin and covering your cunt that is still creamy from Marcus’s cum. “That’s it. It’s - our warrior.” He groans as he works himself empty of every drop while Marcus relaxes beside you.

You reach down and swipe your fingers through his seed and bring it up to your mouth. He loves when you taste him and he finally milks the last drops out of his cock as you moan softly, licking your digits clean.

Caracalla smirks, “perfect. Fucking perfect. You will be with child before we know it.” He says as he looks over at Marcus, “I want you here to fill her up every day until she’s with child.” He demands, “you will remain here in our quarters. No one will question you because we have no guards inside.”

You are surprised by the Emperor’s order, but you don’t question it. “Will you be present every time, or do you want him to fill me as often as possible?” You ask, looking over at the general to see what he thinks.

Marcus knows he cannot say no. He nods and shifts to sit up on the bed. “I shall do as my emperor desires.” He promises and Caracalla smirks, “you’ll fill her up every single day until it takes.” He demands and Marcus bows his head. “I will let you two decide the times. I cannot afford to spend too much time here and I don’t want people to get suspicious.”

“Of course, maritus.” You shift to your knees and press your lips to your husband’s briefly and he huffs before pushing you back down to the bed. “You must lay there.” He tells you. “Lift your hips so his seed isn’t wasted.”

Marcus reaches for his tunic, suddenly feeling awkward as he redresses while you lay down and keep your hips tilted. He possibly just got the empress pregnant and no one can ever know. The senate would have him killed for his treason, Geta certainly would. Caracalla tucks himself away and strides over to clap Marcus on the back. “I’ll show you to your rooms and we will have your things brought to the palace.” Marcus nods, letting the emperor guide him through the halls until he’s in an ornate room. “You have one job now, General. Fuck my uxor and fill her until it takes.” Caracalla says, his eyes a little manic. Marcus nods and watches the emperor leave. He looks around and sighs, wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

You lay with your hips for an hour. Bored and replaying your encounter with Marcus as Caracalla’s cum dries on your skin. He’s a better lover than your husband and you are ashamed of it, but you are looking forward to having him in your bed again.

Marcus looks around the room, unsure of what to do or say as he comes to the realization that his dream of enjoying time alone in his villa is long gone. He’s under the thumb of the emperor now and he must do as he says otherwise he will face execution.

****

The next afternoon, you find Marcus on the balcony, appearing deep in thought. “I am not disturbing you, am I General?” You ask softly, waiting by the pillar for him to acknowledge you. You wonder what he thinks about this, about being commanded to fill you with his child.

Marcus turns to look at you, reminded of how beautiful you are as the sun shines on your face. “Good day, Empress. You’re not disturbing me.” He promises, “are you well?” He asks, wanting to make sure he hasn’t harmed you.

“I am.” You smile as you walk out onto the balcony and look at the gardens below. “Sore, in a very good way.” You assure him, glancing over at him before looking back out at the neatly manicured hedges and plants. “I hope that you do not feed trapped here.” You murmur softly. “I am sure you are used to doing what you wish when you wish it.”

Marcus looks down at the olive trees and sighs, his hands wringing together. “You and I both know we have no choice but to follow the orders of the Emperor. I did not imagine returning from war to engage in the breeding of the empress. You are a beautiful woman and if you were not the uxor of Caracalla, I would be thanking the gods for letting me be in your bed, but the circumstances are…unusual. As long as you have need of me, I’m at your service.” He assures you, “it is not a task to fuck you but I worry for the day the emperor changes his mind.”

“Caracalla cannot have anyone know about his bad seed.” You murmur quietly. “Especially not Geta. He will not change his mind, but…..” you look around and lower your voice. “I do not trust that he might get rid of you once I have given birth to a son.”

Marcus turns to look at you again, “I would not be surprised but I’d rather have that issue several moons from now instead of being killed for not following orders. It will not be a hard task to put a child in you but you must tell me if you do not wish to take me.” He insists, “I do not want to fuck an unwilling woman.”

You snort, turning to look out at the gardens so he doesn’t see your embarrassment. “He would have my tongue cut out for admitting this, but you are better.” You admit softly. “I spent an hour with my hips tilted towards the gods, replaying what you had just done to me, imagining it happening again and again.”

Marcus turns to look at you, eyebrows raised, and he cannot deny that his cock twitches while his chest puffs with pride. “Is that so? Do you wish for us to…repeat the event soon to ensure the next emperor of Rome? I must admit that I have had many women, most of them whores, but no one has made me cum as hard as you did.”

That makes you straighten, pleased by the notion that you can bring this general to his knees. Making his core quiver in pleasure despite your lack of experience with partners. You bite your lip and turn towards him. “Perhaps we should retire and make sure that we have enough energy for our next session?” You ask, your fingers sliding along the smooth marble edge of the balcony to touch his hand. “The emperor was most insistent that you fill me often. I believe that we should obey his orders.”

Marcus smirks, seeing the eager look in your eyes, and he leans closer. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the emperor. Shall we convene in your quarters or mine?” He asks, his eyes dropping down to your lips. You’re forbidden to everyone except Caracalla and now…him. It’s intoxicating especially when you tell him he’s better. Even if it’s just to float his ego.

“Yours.” You decide, wondering if it will be acceptable to him. “Unless you need to leave again as soon as it’s done?” You ask, hoping that he would not want you to leave. You spend a lot of time by yourself and you are curious to hear about his campaigns and the places he has seen.

He glances back over the gardens, “I am here to fulfill an order from the emperor and I wish to do it to the best of my ability. Let us retire to my quarters and you are welcome to remain as long as you please.” He promises and he wants to speak to you about your former kingdom, your father, and the army who took you from your home to deliver you to the Emperor.

Nodding, you feel that same odd sense of giddiness that had overcome you last night. A forbiddenness that has been temporarily allowed, even ordained by the gods. A taste of normalcy, where you can pretend that you are not an Empress. Nothing but a woman that this handsome, virile man wants. “Call me by my name.” You ask, almost as a plea.��

His eyes meet yours and he licks his lips as he says your name. He loves the smile you give him in return and his hand brushes yours, “lead the way, empress.” He demands, saying your name again when you narrow your eyes at him.

“Do you prefer to be called by your rank or your name?” You ask softly, turning away from the balcony and walking back inside with him towards his chamber.

“You can call me by my name.” He says, following you as you walk through the hallway to his newly assigned quarters. It’s more than anything he’s ever had before. Even in his beautiful villa. He follows you inside and shuts the door behind you, “you are exquisite.” He declares when you turn to look at him.

“Do you claim those words for every whore you fuck?” You ask curiously, tilting your head as you smile at him, showing him that you are teasing. “Or do you save that for the special ones?”

Marcus shakes his head, “there’s usually no words when I have a whore in my quarters. I like to speak with my actions. Not my words.” He confesses, stepping over to you. He reaches up to cup your cheeks, “you truly are Venus herself.” He murmurs, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours.

“You are handsome.” You admit breathlessly. “Strong, fierce. Like Apollo.” Your hands run up the soft white tunic he is wearing. “I thought so last night when you were inside me. Riding me hard and yet-“ your lips brush against his. “Your lips were tender.”

His cock twitches at the soft contact of your lips and he can’t help it. He grabs the back of your neck and drags you closer to him, tilting his head so he can press his lips to yours. You’re so soft against him, pliable as his other hand grips your waist.

He’s so dominant, in control. You can tell this is a man who is used to being in charge, taking what he needs to take. You don’t resist, pressing yourself against his hard body, letting the kiss deepen as you open your mouth and let out a soft moan.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans you relinquish power to him. You’re so eager to please. He wants to taste you though, all of you. His mouth pulls away from yours so he can kiss along your jaw down to your neck, and he starts walking you backwards towards his bed.

You let him guide you, willing to do whatever he wants. Although it’s easy to see that he wants your dress off when his fingers reach for the ornate pin on your shoulder that keeps the material up. You wonder if it will be different this time since Caracalla isn’t watching.

He pulls on the pin and your robes fall to the marbled floor, exposing you to the cool breeze and he pushes you back onto the bed, loving the way your tits bounce as you fall backwards. He wants to taste you so he grabs your waist, lifting you higher up the bed, and he pushes your thighs apart, wasting no time before he dives in to slide his tongue through your folds.

You gasp in surprise, eyes widening as you lurch up. It’s not that you’ve never had this kind of attention, but that it’s rare. Caracalla prefers to have your mouth on him. Your fingers tangle into his hair and you moan loudly when he flicks his tongue over your clit.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal. His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart so he can slide his tongue against your clit. “Fuck.” He curses when he pulls back for a moment, spreading you with his thumbs so he can suck your clit into his mouth.

You whine his name, closing your eyes. “Marcus.” Your hips roll up until he throws one arm over your waist to pin you down. Holding you in place while he does wonderful things to your cunt with his tongue.

He laps at your cunt, wanting to hear you fall apart for him. There’s no rush for this. Caracalla isn’t watching and you are alone with the general. He approaches your cunt like a battlefield, using the best method to make you fall apart for him. He laps at your clit, his fingers digging into your thigh as he pushes it towards your stomach with a groan.

You pull your thighs back like he wants, reaching down and holding them so he can lick as deep as he wants into you. Moaning out his name again as he continues to feast on your cunt like a man who has been given his last meal besides an execution.

He groans into your flesh, loving the way you open yourself up for him, and he slides his tongue as deep as he can go, loving the tang of your arousal and the way you moan his name.

He groans in your flesh, vibrating it deep into your core and it makes you clench around his tongue. Pushing your hips down against his face, you want to grind into it. To ride his tongue. You’ve heard of such things, witnessed some of the orgies when you had been spying on your husband’s parties after you had been sent off to bed. “Marcus, oh fuck. I- it’s so good.”

He loves hearing your cry of pleasure and his nose presses against your clit. His hand on your hips slides up to squeeze your breast, wanting you to cry out his name again. At this moment, he doesn’t care about anyone hearing your cries even though the Emperor wants this to be your dirty secret. He groans and pinches your nipple, wanting you to fall apart again.

You shiver, your legs tremble as you climb closer to your peak. Feeling your body start to buck again as he pinches your nipple again. “Cum for me and I’ll fuck you.” He rasps out, pulling away from your cunt long enough to order you to cum before he dives back into it. Throwing you over the edge with another swipe of his tongue, your cunt starts to gush in pleasure as you clench around nothing.

He laps up every drop you offer. Like elixir, he greedily sucks at your folds and your clit, working you through your orgasm as his fingers grip your body to keep you in place until you push his head away, overstimulated. He’s aching, hard and pressing into the bed.

“Gods.” You pant, pushing to your elbows and looking down at him. “You are good at that.” You reach down and grab his shoulder to drag him up. “Kiss me.” You beg, not caring that your juices are on his mouth. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

He cannot deny you anything. Shifting onto his knees, his cock tenting his tunic as he leans down to press his lips to yours. He shifts his weight to push against you and he hisses when you reach for the hem of his tunic to pull it over his head, breaking the kiss.

“You are gorgeous.” You whisper, reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. “Do you like to fuck away the heat of battle when you come back to your tent?” You ask curiously. “Do you prefer a softer touch then to counteract the violence of earlier?”

He groans, looking down at your soft hand around his cock, “it depends. Mostly it’s rough, fuck away the adrenaline.” He says and leans in to kiss along your jaw as he holds his weight over you. “Gods, you are - let me inside you.” He pleads, needing to feel your hot cunt again.

You spread your thighs wider, lifting a leg to hook onto the side of his hip. “Fuck me.” You order him, surprised that he had even asked permission.

You release his cock and he grips himself, pumping his length a few times, squeezing as he positions himself at your dripping entrance. He slowly pushes into you, wanting to feel how hot and wet you are as he gives you inch after inch of his cock.

It’s slower than last night. As if he is savoring every inch as he pushes inside you. You don’t rush him, enjoying the way his cock scrubs against your walls slowly, breaking you open and making your cunt fit him inside. Holding onto his shoulders, you encourage him with your sounds, moaning in pleasure and caressing his skin as he pauses halfway inside you.

He surges forward to press his lips to yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he pushes the rest of the way inside you. His cock twitches once he presses against your cervix, groaning at how you’re gripping him. His hand caresses your side as he slides his hand up to your breast.

His grip on your flesh is possessive, sure. Taking more liberties now that your husband is not directing his movements. “I’m yours now.” You murmur softly in encouragement. “Touch me. Explore me. Use me how you want.”

He knows you’re not his, can never be his, but you are in this moment, and he’s greedy. He groans, kissing along your neck, and he ducks his head down to take your nipple into his mouth. He bites down, sucking on the hardened nub, and he loves how you cry out at his touch.

You love your breasts being played with. Caracalla has a feeding obsession, wishing that you produced milk, but hopefully soon you will be able to. You wonder if Marcus would want to taste milk from your breasts.

He groans at the way your hand tangles in his hair and he starts to move inside you. “Fuck. You feel so good.” He murmurs against your sternum, turning his head to take your other nipple into his mouth.

You whimper his name, letting him rock you closer to pleasure as he suckles at your breast. “Fuck, you- I can’t describe it.” You admit breathlessly. “You are like a god.”

He chuckles, his breath washing over you, and he grabs your thigh, “you’re a goddess. Fucking - fuck. You’re Venus. I am merely here to worship you.” He declares, his voice is raspy.

It’s intimate, so intimate that it makes your eyes wet with yearning. He feels like he is speaking to your soul, even if it is just the moment. You aren’t used to such soft words and you turn your head to press kisses to his broad shoulder, not wanting him to see you choked up.

He shouldn’t feel like this, like this is right where he should be. You belong to Caracalla and he should still mourn his wife, but the way you take his cock has him groaning your name into your neck as he tries to conceal the way you’re making him feel.

Your body responds to him so easily, making every roll of his hips push you higher. The pants and moans grow steadier every time he pushes deep and the inhale of anticipation when he draws back. The rhythm is one that neither one of you questions, each pushing towards pleasure together. “Fuck.”

He wants you to cum for him, needs to hear and feel it. He grabs your other thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach so you are folded over. He groans your name, kissing along your jaw to press his lips to yours. He slides his tongue into your mouth and drops his hips to grind his pelvis against yours.

Your moan is sealed into your mouth with his lips, or maybe it’s absorbed by him. All you know is that your nails dig into his shoulders as he works himself deep into your cunt. Pressing harder and harder with every roll of his hips. “Oh gods!”

Your cry into his mouth makes him smile against your chin, rocking into you a little faster as you clamp down on his cock. His pelvis and balls are soaked with your release and he hisses when you squeeze him like a vice. “Fuck.” He grunts, eyes closing as he works you through it. He pulls out when you relax beneath him and he rolls over, your body on top of his. “Ride me, empress. I want you to take another wave of pleasure from my body.” He demands, smacking your ass.

Eyes wide, you sit up, your hands on his chest. “I’ve never- never been in charge before.” You admit, even though you would love to do such a thing. “I- help me?” You ask, grinding down on his length and wanting him inside you again.

He suppresses his chuckle at your wide, uncertain eyes, but he loves how you look on top of him and the fact that you haven’t done this before. He reaches down to grip his cock, telling you to lift up. You shift to lift up and he positions his cock so you can sink back down onto him. “Rock your hips.” He commands, wanting to help you ride him.

He feels different from this angle. Bigger. His cock pressing against different parts of your walls and you gasp in pleasure when you roll back down on him. “Gods.” Your eyes close and you lean back, enjoying the way his cock stretches you this way. “You feel even bigger. Like you are right here.” Your hand covers your stomach. “You are in my womb.”

“I will be. I will fill you until it takes.” He promises, his hands gripping your hips. He helps you start to rock and you moan, your mouth falling open and he loves the way your tits bounce as you start to get a rhythm together.

It’s so different, being in charge. If you slow down or grind down harder, Marcus groans and twitches inside you. Like he’s enjoying you using him. Your body moves eagerly, loving the sounds he makes as he digs his fingers into your hips. “Gods, your cock is made for my cunt.”

“That’s it, empress. Take what you want from me. Use me.” He demands, his hand slapping your ass while the other grips your waist. He watches you take your pleasure and he loves the way your chest heaves when you get the angle just right.

You squeal when he slaps your ass again, clenching down around him. He is so commanding, even when he is under you and yet he lets you control him. If you pulled off his cock right now, you know he would let you. It’s freedom, and you’re breathless when you collapse onto his chest to press your lips to his.

He groans, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to keep you close, his tongue sliding against yours. He loves the way you rock back onto him and he wants you to make yourself cum. He needs you to cum again for him.

You lean into the kiss. Continuing to work yourself on his cock. Whining softly when your cunt starts to pulse until you are locking down around him with a cry into his mouth.

He groans when you cum for him again, soaking him, and he wraps his arms around you. He hisses your name and starts to thrust up into you. He can’t hold off any longer as he works himself towards your orgasm. He pushes deep into you, his cock twitching inside you as he starts to paint your walls with his cum.

You turn and press kisses to his jawline and moans softly. “That feels so good.” You murmur, resting your head against his shoulder and feel him riding out his high.

He pants as he closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He’s never felt like this before. Like his soul is leaving his body. He caresses your spine, fingers lazily trailing along your skin as he breathes you in.

“Can I stay like this?” You ask softly, content to lay just like you are if he will let you. You reason that having his cock still stuffed inside you is even better than tilting your hips up. “Am I too heavy?”

He shakes his head, “no, not too heavy. You can stay like this.” He says softly, closing his eyes as he enjoys the weight of you on top of him. He feels tired, his eyes still closed as his cock softens inside you.

You don’t realize you fell asleep until you wake up. Still on top of him with his arms secured around you. Holding you in place as he breathes softly underneath you. He’s still sleeping, making you softly turn your head up and watch him. He’s beautiful when he sleeps and you hope that the child you have looks like him.

Marcus wakes up when he feels your stare and he offers you a soft smile, “wore me out.” His chuckles vibrate through you and he sighs, glancing over at the balcony to see the sun is setting. “The Emperor will be wanting your presence.” He says softly, “we must clean up and I’ll leave you to your peace.”

“The emperor is attending a feast tonight.” You hum, knowing that you should probably keep your distance from the general when you are not letting him fill you. “I will be presented and then expected to leave before the festivities begin.” You snort. “There will be an orgy.”

Marcus snorts, “I never understood the appeal.” He confesses, “I like connection. Even with the whores I bedded, I felt connected to them even if only for the night.” He admits before he bites his lip, “do you like your life here or do you miss your home?”

“I miss home.” You want to hope that he will not tell the emperor. He doesn’t like when you admit somewhere else might be better than Rome. “I don’t have many people who will talk to me. Or spend time with me. I’m lonely.” You sigh. “Only to be seen and to bear the emperor's children.” Your father had sent you to marry the younger brother in order to preserve peace for your realm.

Marcus sighs, “I’m sure you do. I miss my village. When I was a boy, my father was killed in war and my mother struggled to survive, to feed us. As soon as I was able, I left to join the army. I wanted to send coin back to my mother but by the time I returned home, she was dead.” He murmurs, brow furrowed because he hasn’t thought about this for so long. “I threw myself into the fight until I met my wife. She was the daughter of a noble and I never imagined I’d be able to ask for her hand, so I fought hard to rise in the ranks until I could ask her father for his blessing. When we married, I was so happy, and she became with child. Then the day of our son’s birth…she died. So did he.” He’s lost in the agony of the memory, swallowing harshly as he tightens his grip on you.

You sigh softly and reach up to caress his cheek. Even though their deaths weren’t recent, you can see the despair on his face. “My prayers to the gods that they are peaceful together in death.” You murmur softly. “You gave yourself to the army and to Rome after that.” You know what it feels like to have nothing to live for, you feel like a prisoner with a decorative chain around your neck. Leaning in, you press your lips to his in a kiss meant to comfort.

He sighs into the kiss, cupping your cheek as he kisses you softly. “And now I give myself to her Empress.” He murmurs, “I shall fetch us some wine.” He says and you nod, shifting off him and he moves off the bed so he can get you a cup of wine.

He moves easily in his own skin, unashamed by his nudity and the body he possesses. He is not as firm as he might have been in his youth, but there is a leanness to him still that makes the broadness of his shoulders and bulk of his muscles incredibly appealing. There is a strength in his frame that Caracalla could never possess. “Do you mind?” You ask softly. “Knowing that your child will be claimed by Rome?”

He pours the wine as he contemplates his answer, “I have no choice. Even if it is not my wish, I cannot say no. As for the child…I am a general. I will die in battle and I would wish for my child to be taken care of. I know this child will be taken care of to the fullest extent.” He confesses, “I can die in peace.”

It’s wise, pragmatic even, but you still feel a sudden wave of sadness thinking about this man falling in battle. “Then I must learn all I can about you.” You murmur softly, smiling when he walks back over and hands the cup to you. “So I can tell him stories about a man that he should admire.”

Marcus offers you a soft smile, appreciating you wanting to tell your child about him. “He can never know that Caracalla is not his father.” Marcus reminds you, “he must be the rightful heir. But if you wish to tell him about your friend, I am willing to share myself with you.” He offers, “but you must tell me more about his mother,”

“That sounds fair.” You smile and take a sip of the wine as you lounge in his bed, completely nude. This is the most relaxed you have been since you have been sent to Rome and you know it is because of him, “I will tell you everything.” You promise.

****

Marcus groans as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him again as sweat glistens on his skin. He grunts, jaw clenched as he rocks into you from behind, his hips hitting your ass so the only noise in the room is slapping skin. He's been fucking you for two months now, spending nearly every night in your bed. Caracalla has entertained himself with his whores and orgies, leaving Marcus to make you scream his name every night.

You collapse down to your elbows, face on the cool sheets as he fucks you through the spasms of pleasure. “Amor, cum for me.” You beg, losing yourself to the moment and slipping up. Calling him an endearment you have kept inside you for weeks now. You spend all day, everyday with Marcus. Falling in love with the general and wishing that you were free to be with him. You feel as if he cares for you, but that just might be the sex that he enjoys.

Your words send him over the edge and he pushes deep as he cums, painting your walls for the umpteenth time. You missed your bleed last month but no one announced a pregnancy, wanting to be sure that you are with child. Marcus is reluctant to have it declared, knowing that his duty will be done and he will be sent away back to his villa, away from you. You are unlike any woman he's ever known. Strong, smart, beautiful, and you are lonely. He senses how isolated you are so he has spent a lot of time with you, discussing his battles, your battles - different in their methods but no less weary - and he has fallen for you. You are not his though, you belong to Caracalla and if he even dared to think about you being his, he would be killed.

Whining in pleasure as he fills you, your legs slide out from under you. Bringing you down to the bed and knowing that he will follow you. You love how close the two of you are, how he loves to touch you and keep touching you. You catch your breath and start to giggle softly, feeling him twitch when your walls clench around him in the aftershocks. “I love how you feel inside me.” You hum, lazy now that your body has been used and satisfied equally.

Marcus follows you, keeping his weight off of you just in case you are with child, and he kisses along your back. “You take me so well.” He murmurs, resting his forehead on your lower neck as he hovers over you. “Do you think…do you think you are with child?”

“I should not say this, but I hope I am not.” You sigh softly. “I have become accustomed to you in my bed and between my thighs. I do not want to give such a pleasure up.”

Marcus pulls out of you and shifts to lay down beside you, “perhaps…perhaps we can continue this. Ask the Emperor if he will allow us to copulate until the babe is born. He may allow us to continue in each other’s company, saying it’s to ensure the baby’s health.” He ponders, reaching out to cup your cheek, “I do not wish to give you up just yet.”

“I do not want to give you up either.” You confess softly, leaning into his touch. “You have become important to me. I….care for you.” It’s dangerous to admit, but you have to tell him that much at least. “I will ask the emperor to continue spending time with you.” You promise.

Marcus knows the request could be easily denied but he wants to continue spending time with you. He nods, shifting to pull you into his chest, burying his nose in your neck. He's gotten lazy, not wanting to train when he could be spending time with you.

****

“Congratulations, empress.” The Hippocrates you had called to the suite beams at you as he packs away his tools and tinctures. “The emperor will be pleased and the empire will drink to the health of your child.” You cover your womb protectively and wonder how Caracalla will take the news. Even though he had demanded this, he could always have a different view now that it is done. “Thank you.”

Caracalla is beaming when you tell him the news, pleased that his plan has worked and he can tell his brother that his child will be the next in line. “If it’s a son.” Geta hums and Caracalla nods, “it will be. A strong boy.” He celebrates by holding a party and you are alone, needing “to rest and protect the baby” in your quarters when Marcus enters, his brow furrowed. “What is the occasion for the orgy?” He asks, not having heard the news yet as he was training with his men all day.

When Marcus comes in, you rush over to him, flinging yourself into his arms and pressing your lips to his. Now truly able to celebrate the baby since his father has come home. “I am carrying your child.” You whisper softly, “your child. Not Caracalla’s.” You bite your lip and reach down to cover your womb. “I do not feel as if this child is his. It belongs to the man I love.”

Marcus’s eyes widen at the news and he pulls back to look down at your hand on your stomach. “Our child.” He murmurs in awe, unable to believe it’s happened despite him spending every night in your bed. He grabs the back of your neck, dragging you to his lips, and he pulls back after several moments to declare “I love you.”

You close your eyes in relief, letting out a small sob. “I love you too, Marcus.” You whisper softly. “In another life, we would be together.” You hate that you are the empress, that you are Caracalla’s wife and not his. “I wish we could change our fate.”

Marcus nods, “me too.” He cups your cheeks and sighs, “I love you, amor.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead, “for now, let us enjoy our time together before I am sent away. Let me worship the mother of my child.” He declares, shifting to kneel down in front of you.

“I will talk to the emperor.” You hadn’t had a chance to talk with him in private before he was rushing off to plan a feast and orgy to celebrate ‘his’ virility. Reaching down, you run your fingers through his dark curls and pray to the gods your babe has those same locks.

Marcus lifts your tunic, exposing your body to his hungry gaze, and he leans in to kiss your lower stomach as you bunch your tunic up under your breasts. His hands caress the back of your legs as he kisses down to your mound, burying his nose in the curls at the apex of your thighs. “Want to taste you.” He murmurs against your skin, shifting so he can slide his tongue through your folds.

Marcus is very talented with his tongue. He has proven that over the past months and you moan in pleasure. He lifts a leg onto his shoulder and you feel so exposed. Like a god being serviced by a mere mortal. He makes everything good. “Marcus.” You pant, closing your eyes briefly before you look down at him on his knees. Wanting to memorize this moment in fear that you might not have it again.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal, sliding his tongue through your folds and lapping at your clit like he’s worshiping Venus. He wants to savor every second of being with you before he’s sent away. It could be any second Caracalla decides his job is complete and sends him back to his villa.

His hands hold you in place, keeping you upright while he takes his time to lick through your folds and making you moan his name loudly.

He squeezes your ass just as the doors open and Caracalla strides in, dressed in his robes and taking a moment from the party. “Ah, Acacius. You are taking care of the Empress. Well done on ensuring I have an heir.” Caracalla watches as Marcus doesn’t stop, his tongue lapping at you. “I heard that fucking during pregnancy ensures a boy. I want a son. You will remain here in the palace to make sure I have an heir.” He declares, his cock twitching at the way you moan and Marcus sucks on your clit.

Your eyes find your husband, his face filled with pride and lust. “Yes.” You agree quickly, since it’s exactly what you want. “You need a son, my emperor.” You moan. “He will keep filling me, making sure you get what you need. A strong son.” You bite your lip. “He has served his emperor well and will continue to do so.”

Marcus loves your praise, continuing to ignore Caracalla’s presence as he works you towards your orgasm. He wants to be greedy, to have you like this for as long as he can before he has to leave you. “Keep pleasuring her, Acacius.” Caracalla orders and spins in his heel, wanting to enjoy his evening at the party celebrating his heir. “Keep her cumming.” He shouts back before he shuts the door and leaves you and Marcus together.

You push his head away as soon as the door slams shut and you drop to your knees. Needing to kiss Marcus now that you know that he’s not going to be sent away.

Marcus whines into your mouth in protest but he can't deny you. He cups your cheek and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his other hand grabs your ass to pull you against him, his cock hard under his tunic.

You kiss deeply, thoroughly. Panting into his mouth and gasping for air when you break apart. “I love you.” You moan. “I need you inside me. Here, now.”

He grabs your thighs, lifting you so you are hovering over him as he kneels on the floor. "Take my cock and put me inside you." He demands, holding your weight over his body.

You fumble with his tunic, reaching underneath and pumping his cock before you line him up with your cunt. Moaning when he slowly lowers you down on him. “Fuck, amor.” You whimper, feeling him like it’s the first time all over again. You feel like you’re more sensitive but it just might be from the emotional turmoil.

Marcus inhales deeply when you sink down on him, engulfing him in your wet, hot cunt. "Fuck." He pants against your jaw as you grip his shoulders when he's fully inside you. "I love you." He murmurs against your skin, wanting you to know how he feels.

Your arms are around his shoulders, fingers tangling into his hair as he holds you up in his thighs. “I love you.” You promise him, knowing that even if your body belongs to Caracalla, your heart belongs to him. “You are my one love. Forever.”

“Fuck. I love you. Never thought - never imagined I could ever feel like this again. Fuck, I want you to - to take all of me and cum again.” He demands, starting to work you on his cock.

You moan in agreement, letting him take charge and control your pleasure. He’s so good at it. There’s only been a handful of times you’ve not cum on his cock and that was only because he was so worked up he came too quickly. However he had made sure he had pleasured you with his fingers and tongue afterwards.

He rocks you on his cock, wanting you to soak his cock again, and he grips your thighs. “Fuck, te amo, amor.” He rasps, leaning in to press his lips to your neck, tasting the sweat and salt of your skin.

Your eyes water and you wish for a split second that Caracalla was dead and you could celebrate your love. Holding him close, your walls are already trembling around his cock as he rocks up into you. “Yes.” You moan, loving when he uses his mother’s tongue.

He is lost in the feel of you, his cock twitching inside you as he rocks into you. He imagines for a brief moment, a life where he can be with you. A life together with your child. It's not possible though. The Emperor would have him killed, could still have him killed, and it's a dangerous game that Marcus has gotten involved in.

Your toes push off on marble floors, helping you bounce on his cock and you could stay just like this with him forever. You want to stay like this. “I love you. You are my love, my amor.” You moan in his ear. “I would be Marcus Acacius’s wife.”

Your words are treason but they make his cock twitch inside you, closer to his orgasm. He groans your name, pressing his lips to yours as he rocks a little faster, needing to feel you clamp down on his cock. “You’d be mine. I’d die for you.” He promises, “mine. Mine. Mine.” He growls against your lips.

You both are vowing things to each other that would have you both killed, but you don’t care. His next thrust pushes you over the edge and you cry out into his mouth as your walls soak him in hot waves of your pleasure.

His hand finds your ass, rocking you as you shudder through your orgasm, and he groans, thrusting a few more times before he falls apart. “Fuck. Fuck. Empress.” He pants, cock throbbing as he paints your walls, his hands squeezing you closer to him.

You cling to him, both relieved that he is going to stay beside you for the foreseeable future and desperate to never have him leave you at all. “You are perfect.” You kiss his neck gently, stroking his back over his tunic that he couldn’t be bothered to take off. Both of you are still dressed, but the moment had been perfect regardless.

He snorts, knowing he’s not perfect, but he wants you and he is going to protect you and the baby until his last breath. Caracalla wants him to stay and that is the best thing he can wish for right now. “Let’s get you cleaned up and settled. You need to rest for the baby.” He reminds you and helps you shift off his cock.

Grinning, you look down at him as he climbs to his feet. “You are going to be overprotective from now on?” You ask, already aware of the answer. He will be protective, he will take care of you. You are already in love with the baby in your belly and you feel like he is the same way.

****

"Fuck, amor." Marcus groans as you rock on top of him. Your bump pressing against his stomach as he rests his back on the wall while you ride his cock. Your knees dig into the bed beneath and his hands cup your sensitive breasts. He's been in your bedchamber for the past six months and he falls more in love with you with each passing day. It will surely kill him to leave you when he is ordered to return to war, but he will go. You can never be his. Caracalla will never permit a divorce and he will be killed for treason. He must go after the babe is born.

Caracalla hadn’t spent more than an hour a week with you, carousing and spending every night having an orgy. He claims he is excited for his child, but he only brings you out to brag about his soon to be born son before he leaves you in Marcus’s care. You are scared, because you know how precarious a position you are in. But you can only survive.

"That's it. Take what you want from me. It's yours. I'm yours." He vows, his dark eyes watching you as you bounce on his cock. Your belly is round and heavy with his child. It's something he never imagined having again after he lost his wife. He's addicted to you and he doesn't know how he's going to leave after the baby is born.

“Marcus.” You moan, leaning back and knowing that he will make sure you are comfortable and safe. “My general, my warrior.” You have been thinking about something dangerous, but you can’t think about it when he’s deep inside you. “I love you.”

He caresses your hips, leaning in to take a sensitive nipple between his lips, and he suckles lightly. He has gotten too comfortable being away from the battles the Emperors send him into, but right now, he doesn’t want to die like that. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you at this moment, no one else but you and him. His hand slides across your hip to find your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves to push you over the edge.

Carrying his baby has made you so sensitive to his touch that it only takes a few strokes of his thumb before you cry out. Your body shaking and your hips grinding down while your cunt locks down around his cock and your juices coat him.

He hisses your name as you clamp down around him, his eyes fluttering shut for a few moments as he lets you ride your high, until he’s squeezing your hips and thrusting up into you.

“Cum for me.” You beg softly, burying your face into the side of his neck so you can breathe him in. “I want to feel you inside me. Carry you with me even more.”

He groans, rocking up into you with a hiss as he gets closer to his orgasm. “Fuck. Gonna - fuck. Shit. Empress.” He moans your name as he pushes deep inside your pulsing cunt and he falls apart, painting your walls with his seed as he clenches his eyes shut.

You hum quietly, stroking his neck as he catches his breath. Feeling the baby move slightly and biting your lip. “We need to use your favor in the Senate.” You lean close and whisper the treasonous words into his ear. “Stage a coup. Revolt.” You pull back and look into his eyes seriously. “Kill the emperors.”

Marcus inhales sharply, his head turning so he can look into your eyes to see if you are testing him or if you’re serious. When he sees your eyes, he knows you’re serious and he swallows harshly, “it won’t be easy. Trying to convince the senate without the emperors finding out.” He admits quietly, “and they could find out and kill me.”

“Set the meetings.” You had thought long and hard about it. “I will convince them, I will do the talking. If our plot is found out, Caracalla could not immediately put me to death. Geta would discover the child is not truly his and he will never allow that.” You caress his cheek. “I wish to have you installed to rule as proctor for ‘his’ child.” You know the senate could never find out that the child isn’t Caracalla’s but no one but you and Marcus know this truth besides your husband.

Marcus caresses your spine, knowing that you could risk everything you’ve created, your life, your child, it’s all on the line. “Amor…” He murmurs and you cup his cheek, “I will never be allowed to be my own person. I will never be allowed to love you freely unless you do this.” You tell him and he nods, swallowing harshly, “I’ll get it organized.” He promises, “we will see it done.”

“Thank you, my love.” You lean in and press your lips to his. “I fear for our child raised under Caracalla’s direction.” Even if you are the mother, the fact that the baby would be proclaimed the emperor’s heir would mean he would be guided by your childish and evil husband. “I want him to grow up to be like his father.”

Marcus caresses your cheek, knowing there is no choice. If he looks back, he knows that he had to make this choice at some point. He never truly wanted to let you or his child go. The next morning, he dresses for court and decides to start with the hardest senator to convince, Brutus. A man who struggled to watch the Emperors rule but had loyalty to Rome. Marcus approaches him under the guise of talk of war, and Brutus nods, wandering off into a quiet corner of the senate to speak. “I fear we cannot speak in these quarters. Come to my villa, we can speak freely.” Marcus says and Brutus nods, unaware that you will be meeting with the men.

You pace, nervous about what you should say, would say. This is the most dangerous undertaking you have ever attempted. Not even trying to run away from your fate was as dangerous as this. You are trying to change your fate. The senators could be allies, or they could stab you in the back.

Brutus enters the room with Marcus, his head held high but his eyes widen when he sees the Empress standing there, her bump protruding beneath her tunic. “Empress.” He greets you, bowing his head.

“Brutus.” You greet him cautiously, but with a gracious smile on your face as you rub the swell of your stomach, bringing his eyes down to the baby. You will leverage the child in your womb. For your freedom, and perhaps Rome’s as well. “I trust you are well?” You ask kindly. “Please sit. The wine has been especially good lately.” It’s been watered down for your use, but you nod to Marcus to pour the senator a cup. “I hope you do not mind the subterfuge, I needed to speak with you and did not wish to summon you myself.”

Marcus pours the cup of wine and hands it to Brutus who nods, thanking Marcus, before his attention turns back to you. "I trust you are well, that the future Emperor is well?" He asks, and you nod in response, "he is lively. Due any day now." You declare and Marcus clears his throat, "the heir is the reason why we called you here.”

You wait for Brutus to turn back to you curiously, setting his cup down. You take a deep breath and caress your stomach. “It is no secret that unrest in Rome is at an all time high.” You murmur softly. “People are starving and while General Acacious has not been sent off on another expensive and bloody campaign, he will be soon.” You pause and sigh. “I fear for the future of Rome, of my son’s legacy that he will inherit.”

Brutus looks at Marcus who stands there, spine straight and steely eyed as your treasonous words are aired. Brutus could go tell the Emperors and you would be killed as soon as the babe is born, Marcus would be hanged the next day. However, Brutus doesn't run off. He nods, setting his cup down, "it is true that the empire is on a precipice. It could be the fall of Rome or her glory continues. The Emperors are driven by lust and greed. Their actions are selfish and make the lowest Roman anxious for change. We will fall if we allow the Emperors to continue down this path."

“There is another solution.” You suggest, rubbing your stomach again. “In my belly lies the next emperor of Rome. Ready to be guided by wise and cautious men.” Your eyes slide over to Marcus briefly. “Men who know the true cost of war and would be able to teach our emperor those lessons without it harming Rome’s people.” You look back at Brutus. “Men such as our senators, you, nurturing a leader that will take Rome to an even greater height.”

Brutus frowns, looking over at Marcus, knowing that the man who will assist in raising the young Emperor will be him. "And how would we remove our problem?" Brutus asks, eyebrows raised.

"I say we speak to the senators...establish a coup. My husband and brother-in-law would never see it coming." You say and Brutus takes a gulp of his wine before he says, "I will start speaking to the senators tomorrow."

“I hope that we can count on your discretion.” You add, pushing out of your seat and moving over to the senator. “We are on the cusp of change.” You murmur softly. “If it is the ruin of Rome or the brightness of her future, I leave that to your hands.”

Brutus nods, "if this gets out, it will be death for us all. We won't risk it." The senator promises and he looks over at Marcus, "you shall be the one who the senate turns to?" He asks and Marcus nods, making Brutus smile. "very well. I will do what needs to be done."

You nod to the senator when he leaves, Marcus walking out with him and you start to pace. Wondering if you have just signed your death papers or if you will be successful.

****

The senate is abuzz with chatter until Caracalla and Geta enter the chamber. The senators stand straighter and Marcus stands there, dressed in his official robes with the golden laurel wreath shining. He looks regal and the Emperors slosh wine across the marble floor as they greet the senators with wide grins. Brutus looks over at his fellow senators, his hand resting on his dagger. "Emperors." He greets them, walking towards them, and his eyes meet Marcus's for a moment. "The senate and I have been in discussions about the future of Rome." He declares and Geta hums, "and what a wonderful future it will be."

Marcus sighs, "we aren't so sure. Romans are starving, you tax them more and more every day to fund your wars and your lavish lifestyle." Marcus declares and Caracalla spins around, his eyes narrowed at the accusations, "you dare to spit these treasonous words?" He demands and Marcus shakes his head, "you are draining Rome dry. Her empire will be no more." He says louder and the senators nod while Brutus steps forward, "your leadership has driven Rome to the edge and we want to save our empire before it falls." Brutus declares and he steps up behind Geta while Marcus moves towards Caracalla. It happens in a flash, the daggers pulled out and embedded in the lower backs of the Emperors who cry out, cups of wine falling to the floor. The other senators rush forward, daggers in their hands as they each take a turn stabbing the emperors until blood runs along the marbled floors.

Your cry from your chamber is loud and pained, servants rushing and whispering through the halls. The Hippocrates has been summoned and the labor seems to be quick. The new heir to the throne of Rome is insistent on being born today. It takes your mind off of your worries. Your waters had broken almost as soon as Marcus had left to join the senators. You know that they had planned to kill your husband and his brother today, but the pains had taken over all thoughts so you had not been able to fret over the hours as they passed.

Blood covers the floor of the senate as Caracalla and Geta lay dead, blood pouring from their mouths. It turns out they betrayed a lot of senators, made promises they couldn’t keep. The senators didn’t take a lot of convincing to remove them from power. “It is done.” Brutus declares, “a new emperor shall be born any moment but we need someone in the interim. An emperor who will represent us, save Rome and her people from ruin. I nominate General Marcus Acacius.” Brutus declares and Marcus’s eyes widen. He didn’t expect to be nominated, feeling that Brutus would want to take control. “I second that nomination.” Drusus announces and one by one, the senate declares Marcus to be the next emperor. The General is speechless, knowing he could easily be taken down like Caracalla and Geta, but this means he gets to have you. “I accept. I will serve as Emperor for all, we will make Rome prosperous and safe.” He promises as a servant rushes in to announce, “the empress is in labor.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he rushes from the senate, running through the marbled halls in his mission to get to you. He doesn’t care that men shouldn’t be in the birthing room as he pushes through and stumbles to your bedside. “Amor. I’m here, I’m here.” He promises, blood still on his hands as he reaches for yours.

“Is it done?” You gasp out, scared for a brief moment that Marcus had been injured, but he would not have been able to come to your side if the plot had been foiled. “It is.” He murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. You don’t even care that the servants can see, that the rumors will spread across Rome of your relationship with the General. He ignores the Hippocrates’s complaints about him being there as another pain rips through you and you scream, fingers crushing his own hand until the pain passes and you are panting for air. Your child is safe. Boy or girl, they will be free of your husband’s influence. “We need-” you gasp. “A ruler until the baby is older.”

"The senate has voted. They have chosen me to be Emperor until the child is old enough." He confesses, "I did not want to become Emperor but I want to save Rome and her people from destitution." He admits just as another pain causes you to grip his hand.

Your hiss is low and almost animalistic, the pains feeling like you are being ripped in two, but you know that it is natural. Surprised that the senate had voted for Marcus, you can’t help but be pleased by that outcome. It would ensure that you do not have to be apart. He will have a large role in raising your child together. “The babe is coming.” The Hippocrates tells you from between your legs, frowning at Marcus as he looks down to see the head. “You must push, empress. As hard as you can.”

Marcus is suddenly taken back to the moment when his wife was laboring and after the silence that lingered in the air when the boy was born sleeping, he remembers his wife's cry of agony until she started convulsing. His grip on your hand tightens as his heart pounds, terrified that he is going to lose you in the same way.

Gritting your teeth, nodding as you sit up and start to scream as you bear down as hard as you can. Sweat is pouring off of you and for a moment, you want to give up and tell them that you cannot do it. The pressure on your hand makes you look up. Seeing the horror on Marcus’s face, you know that he is scared for you. For the baby. Closing your eyes, you push again, feeling the pressure suddenly release and hearing the Hippocrates exclaim happily, “a boy!”

Marcus is shaking when he hears the babe cry out and he knows he's alive. He looks at you, wanting to see if you are okay as the hippocrates cradles the crying baby who has a mop of black hair.

You hear the hushed whispers, but you don’t care. You don’t care if all of Rome knows that the baby that will one day be Emperor is Marcus’s. The Hippocrates cleans the baby up while the servants start to massage your stomach, making you wince in pain but it’s all forgotten when the babe is placed into your arms. Making you cry happy tears as you kiss his head softly.

Marcus stares down at the babe in your arms, his cries echoing in the room, and Marcus falls instantly in love. His son. He will never allow harm to come to the boy, and he will claim him as his. He is Emperor now, he can do as he wishes in regards to his personal life. He wishes to marry you and claim the child as his. “I love you.” Marcus declares, uncaring of anyone else in the room, and he leans in to kiss the forehead of the crying baby. “My son.” He whispers, wanting him to know how much he already adores him.

You beam as you look at Marcus and your son. The future is far brighter now that your love has done the impossible. He and the senate have toppled the emperors and restored order without needless bloodshed. “I love you too.” You promise, leaning forward and kissing him boldly. “Both of us do, my emperor.”

****

Marcus wraps his arm around your waist, the golden laurel on his head matches yours as you stand on the balcony. “Do you, Maximis Acacius, vow to dedicate your life to the Roman Empire and her people?” Brutus asks, his hair now greying like Marcus’s. “I do.” Maximus vows, his head nodding. Marcus is proud of his son who he has trained to be the emperor. He claimed him as his son after he was sworn in as emperor and the empire celebrated having a new emperor with a son to take over. Since that day, you and Marcus have had 3 more children who stand beside you, proud of their brother who is taking his rightful place.

You look out over the crowd, a smile on your face bright and proud. You have been incredibly lucky, Marcus has been a wonderful emperor. Rome has flourished under his care and now he willingly turns the reins over to Maximus like he had planned when he was born. “I love you.” You murmur as the crowd roars in celebration of the new emperor.

Marcus turns to look at you, older but no less beautiful. You are his world - you and the children. He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, “I love you.” He promises, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. His entire world has changed thanks to Caracalla’s mad idea to have another man conceive the heir to Rome. In the end, Marcus is the one who won with his son as emperor and the empress as his uxor.

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius imagine #gladiator 2

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ill-kidnap-all-the-stars · 2 months ago

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Azula

[ image description: a digital drawing of Azula from Avatar: the Last Airbender in my style. She is a light-skinned woman with gold eyes and black hair, the top part tied in a top knot. She is wearing a red cheongsam dress with a wide skirt, a dark red/brown sash and a matching shawl around her arms. Her upper cheongsam has gold hibiscus embroidery, while her sash has gold phoenix embroidery. Whisps of blue fire are coming from her fingers. She is standing in front of a brown Fire Nation sign ]

prints ✨ commissions

I honestly feel like this Azula might be close to my magnum opus 🔥 influences and inspiration under the cut, but the usual warning that it's nigh impossible to condense thousands of years and miles worth of culture into one post so there is 100% nuance and detail missing. Also, I tried my best with the Chinese, but I honestly don't speak a lick of it so I put my faith in strangers on the internet :/ anyway, enjoy:

A Bit of Background:

The Fire Nation is visually and geographically inspired by volcanic islands such as Iceland, Hawaii and Polynesian islands, while the culture of the Fire Nation is primarily inspired by East, South and Southeast Asia, as well as sun-worshipping cultures (such as the Ancient Egyptians and Mesoamericans). For example:

the Confucian concept of ‘filial piety’ (孝顺 or ‘xiao shun’) is central to the Fire Nation too;

the agni kai is a form of honour duel commonly seen in warrior societies of South Asia, and literally translates as ‘Duel of Fire’ or ‘Fire Quarrel’;

the Fire Nation propaganda justifying the war is reminiscent of the Japanese Empire during the Second World War;

the architecture draws on that of Ancient Egypt, different Chinese dynasties, and historic Southeast Asian kingdoms;

the food typically resembles the Sichuan food, particularly in the spiciness and quantities of meat.

Fire Nation Clothing:

The clothing of the Fire Nation draws from many East and Southeast Asian clothing. For example, the armour the military wears has influences from traditional Thai armour, the shoulder pieces the Royal Family wears come from Burmese court wear, the school uniforms are inspired by traditional Thai clothing, and the Royal Family's top knot appear to come from Qin Dynasty China.

The Royal Court are often seen wearing changshan, a traditional clothing of the Han Chinese, although that is not the only influence. For example, Azula's skirt comes from the wraparound trousers worn in Laos, Cambodia and Thailand, while Ty Lee and Toph's jewellery comes from the Thai mongkut.

My Design:

While Azula (and, in fact, many other Fire Nation characters) originally had a distinctly Japanese-influenced design, I decided to roll with the overarching Chinese aesthetic that she and the Royal Court ended up with. I think it's well-established that Azula's obsession with perfection extends to her appearance, not just her bending, so I decided to draw her as the perfect Fire Nation princess.

My starting point was the Chinese phoenix (鳳凰 or ‘fenghuang’), which symbolises, among other things, feminine beauty and good fortune, and is traditionally associated with the Empress in Imperial China. In addition, the phoenix and the dragon are often seen as representative of the yin and yang, the two complimentary and opposing forces in Chinese philosophy, and I think the two nicely symbolise Azula and Zuko's contentious relationship. I also embellished her dress with hibiscus flowers, as they symbolise glory, grandeur and fame, which I believe Azula desires greatly.

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lylian333 · 9 days ago

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Emperor x reader (x general)

The art does not belong to me I found it on pintrest again,the art belongs to this artist, go check him out

warning: bro may be yandere/toxic, reader ignore red flags (like how I avoid addmath) , angst , glory , kinda expected twist... , more maybe trmatazing shits, this is more on ancient Chinese theme, 3rd person pov, trust the process, suicidal, heavily chinese theme as hell I repeat again(my english been getting worst)

Both of you were born on the same day inside the palace. The difference is that you were born in your mother's small chamber. She was just one of the servants to a concubine, a lowly status. The consort was kind enough to send a doctor to help her give birth to you, while the consort went to witness the empress's birth.

She gave birth to a healthy prince. on the other hand, your mother died from labour, and you were born unhealthily; you could barely even breathe within a few hours.

But luckily, your mother's mistress, the consort Xin Qi she served, decided to adopt you. For a reason, out of pure pity, that her favorite maid who had served her since she entered that palace, her truly trusted friend, somehow caught the attention of that emperor at one of the meetings, and one thing led to another...

The first time you both met was when you were 6 years old at the palace garden, you were feeding the fish in the pond when he accidently ran into you, causing you to fall into the pond.

You struggle to breathe while the water feels like it's trying to drag you down, and this sense causes the boy to panic and scream for help.

Luckily, one of the servants is brave enough to jump into the pond to save you. You were immediately sent back to your chamber to rest while the doctors were on their way.

But some odd reasons the boy decided to stay by your side, watching as your maid carried you, rushing back to your chamber.He couldn't describe the gut feeling for the first time he felt worry??I mean, he shouldn't really be since it's just a random girl in the garden who knows who she belongs to, even if she were one of the concubines' daughters, he wouldn't have any consequences. I mean, after all, he was quite literally spoiled rotten; he didn't even have to dress himself or feed himself as all his servants would be there any moment he needed.

Before his birth, the emperor even said to himself if his dear empress gave birth to a prince, an heir, it would be the next king. That's what you heard from your maid; she even warned you if you met him, you must greet him and agree on anything he proposes, you mustn't protest to him, and blah blah blah, what a brat you think to yourself.

Back to reality, you felt the thick blanket on top of your body while he held your hand from the side. You side-eye him, giving him a confused and weird look.

"You push me-you blind-"

Before you could finish, you were shut by a hand across your mouth.

"Watch your mouth (y/n), his majesty is the crown prince. Forgive him, my majesty, she's just not used to a stranger being here hehe...."she then laughed awkwardly.

But he suddenly grabs your hand and apologizes

"I'm sorry i didn't mean to gege sorry gege muchen can take care of you-"

Yeah, the first interaction wasn't the best. You expected him to be more of a brat and rude but nope for some reason, he was...kind to you I mean he would sneak good treats and foods for you, would play with you, tell you what he learns and even teach you some, unlike the consort who only taught you how to become a proper and likeable lady.

But it's still weird for you that he would only treat you nicely, and it was obvious like he loved petting your head which you of course slap his hand away or hugged. People who walked by, especially those who witnessed that would stare and gossip afterward.

But he can't help it the first time he met he thinks it was the look of love he thinks that you were definitely the one which he confess to you once but you told him that your both to young to even understand the meaning but he just keep believing himself that yep she's the one to my heart and just blind by love.

But back then you didn't take him seriously, I mean come on, you guys were parents to a bunch of rabbits in the palace garden. You do enjoy spending time with him, you couldn't help but feel warm around him as if he's the sun to your moon.

Both of you decide to plant an apricot tree in the palace garden near the pond where you both first met and all , as a cute reminder not only that you can't wait for it to fully gown so that when it blossom you both could enjoy the view under the tree.

But of course, the gossips within the court spread the rumors soon to the whole palace, and the empress found out about it. She then restricted Muchen from seeing you, claiming that you will give no benefit for the palace not only that you're just one of the lowly maid kids that the emperor decide to play with your just a bad influence and distractions for him by telling his servents to keep an eye on him if he was caught hanging out with you. you'll be the one who receives a physical punishment, and he just has to write a whole book of poem.

Does it seem unfair, yes, but the empress doesn't care. She'll never dare to hurt her son; she baby him too much. she also bans you from going out of your chamber for a month. When you heard the new,s you were aboutly horrified.

Now both of you were in a bad situation . he doesn't wish for you to get hurt, especially because of him no never, he would never he rather let the actions be taken upon on him than you. You're just a like a glass lotus so gorgeous and fragile can be broken with one touch or a rude comment.

He did try to send you letters by tying it up on his pet parrot but soon it was found out and you were punished to be beaten by a wooden stick for 20 times.

You swear your limbs were almost broken at the end of it and you had to take a few months just so it could heal back to normal. When muchen heard about this, is was horrified and begged his servants to send you more doctors and others, etcetera that could help you heal faster and in a painless way.

With that in hand, he never dares to interfere with you anymore he fear that he could bring danger and harm to you, which is true.So those how the years went by...

Both of you have grown into adults now and he was now the newly ascending emperor to his father's throne after his death. Many concubines were buried with him to serve him in the next life which will always be your worst nightmare and horrible fact you know about them.But at least you won't of them, right??

Let's see. Since he's now the emperor, he gets to have access around the palace , and without a doubt, he came to find you on the same day of the coronation.

When he went near your chamber, he heard giggles. That's odd she rarely giggles unless it's from me hmmm, maybe she just grew up now and changed he pushed open the door.

The first thing his eyes landed on was a man.

A MAN in your chamber? Who is he? What is he doing with you in your CHAMBER???

But he couldn't help but glare at you as well, you gown so much now even gorgeous than before so lively, but why? Did that guy make you feel that way??

With his presence in your chamber, both you and your secret lover bow and greet him."Greeting, my lord, what brings you here...?" you ask

"Who's that with you, (y/n)?"

"I'm Jun Jian, one of the soldiers, my lord."

Muchen just hums back, replying before pulling you into his arms, and tells Jun Jian to go. while he spends the afternoon, claiming he just wanted to catch up you believe in him I mean come on, before he was emperor, he already had 4 wives, what's stopping him from having you. You just thought he actually wanted to catch and that he cares about you

of course, there he went and left shutting the door behind him. Not going to lie, you didn't dare to meet his Muchen eyes, was it from shame, fear? You can't figure it out right.Or was it because he caught you in the act with your lover?

Both of you weren't official but you hoped it was if only he wasn't so busy with his duty, but that's what makes you feel attractive by him. He's so hardworking and dedicated, you can't help but fall for that. he would occasionally give you presents, it may not be gold, fine silk ,and other luxury, but you knew he tried he try spending time with you if he wasn't in the battlefield.

But Muchen took advantage of Jun Jian's being a soldier and set him at the front of the battle. From then on, when you heard that from Jun Jia, you were concerned. The fact that the rate of his dying was not risky enough to make you pray every day that he would survive, but now that he is at the front, the rate has skyrocketed. But now you can't do much but pray for the best.

After a few months , there were news that happened within the day

one that could shock you , like meeting a death penalty

and one that could make you feel grateful for god and everything you belive and put faith in.

The good news is that Jun Jian was promoted to become a general of the military .

The bad news is Muchen force you to marry him. it wasn't even an arranged marriage is just one of his nucai who came to your chamber randomly at night and told you the news, this Sunday, you'll have your wedding with the emperor. You were dumbfounded and speechless, you stood there silently for a full minute staring at the nucai .

You wanted to hit him and let your frustration out . but you can't he's just delivery the message not only that you were nobody in the palace your status leave could possible be worst then him , is just the fact you had a personal maid that the pervious consort Xin Qi , your adopted mother have gift for you a week before the emperor die and she was buried along side with him

You hated that rule ever since you heard about it , It's ridiculous how the emperor could decide whether his wives should be buried with him and decide that death would be the same day as his. Even if you love one of the wives, would you choose them to suffer to not continue their lives without yo,u and if they refuse to obey the order,r and drink the poison, they will be tied up and be buried alive. With consort xin qi death adding on to it , this makes your hatred burn even more.

Yes, it's your turn. You enjoy your life in the palace filled with luxury if you are favored by the emperor, but what about the other? He doesn't care; they still have the same sentence. unless he did wrote their name in the emperor's well, then they'll become a nun for the emperor for their whole life after on.

In that week you barely got enough sleep, stressing out about everything you even had a nightmare about it.even seem some of your hair had turn white while staring into the mirror, eyes so dark like inside a well during midnight so dark and quiet could even hear the sound of a needle dropping.

On the day of the wedding, you were dressed in heavy golds and many layers of robes . The pins that were on your hair make you think you even tilt a little to the side, your whole body may follow the direction with it. Last, you were then covered by a red veil that cover your face, while at least this could hide your frowning expression from him for the day.

Then the worst part has arrived, the night. people left both of you at your now new better/spaces chamber. Let's just say that he has been waiting for it , and held you close tightly, leaving bruises like an animal in heat at its mating session. He threw your clothes across the room and one by one took of your pins, letting your hair fall off slowly.

He then ripped of your dudou and tied your hands above your head so that you wouldn't fight him. That night, you weren't screaming for pleasure but from pain and for help, help that could help you escape from this burning he'll experiment . If only Jun Jian were here to protect you...

After a few months, you had been promoted to empress, but you were still unhappy, and you found out you were pregnant. how? Why even question when Muchen came into your chamber every night since the marriage started. In the morning, you start puking hard lying there feeling dizzy while your maid tries helping you out, patting your forehead with a cloth and patting your back, about to pass out. When the doctors came to examine your hand, they told you you were pregnant.

Around that time, Jun Jian came back from the military and found out you were now married to the new emperor MuChen, bro went mad and crashed out trash your previous chamber, which is still filled with your stuff. The news that you're pregnant was spread around the palaces, which makes him even more despise you, it's like adding fuel to the fire. He thought you both were serious. Why would you do that to him, knowing that it could hurt him? Maybe it's he's fault for taking it too long and not taking action to make you his, was it his fault?

When you hear jun jian had came back from war you wanted to visit him, not caring it will have other rumors nor other shits. When you came to his counter and found him lying in his bed in the afternoon, you called out to him

"Jun Jian, your back oh how I miss you-"

"(y/n)?I thought you abandoned me, I thought you hated me."

"What!I would never, dear, you knew it."

"Then why? Why did you go and marry him, not me? Was it my fault??"

You tried explaining it to him, but before you could start off, he broke out crying, your heart sank and you went over to try to comfort him. You feel bad that you couldn't defend your love for him, you hated that you had to rely on him, and you feel useless. But now he needed you, but you couldn't do much but comfort him.

Out of the blue, he slammed his lips against your lips. You allow him, you even kiss him back. Both of you knew it was wrong, but it feels right.

Until he ruined it again, Mu Chen came in. You think it's one of your maids who told him where you're heading to, accompanied by the arrival of Jun Jian back here.

But Jun Jian placed you behind him and took out his sword, wanting to kill him for ruining his love for both of you as for justice.MuChen just looked at you both and laughed before calling his other guards to drag him down.

He struggles during the process and slashes some guards during it. The science horrifies you , you don't know if you should help him or stop him what if later one of the gruads accidently kills him, who knows you just sit there on the cold wooden floor witnessing the science in front of you.

After a while, Jun Jian had probably killed 4 guards but was unfortely held down onto the floor and, Muchen told them to put him in jail and strip him from his title as a general. he then came over you even walking above the dead body, just to walk right in front of you.

"Why do you hate me, (y/n) . I tried everything to capture your heart, but you just won't give me a chance? Tell me what he has that I don't, hm?i know I missed out on many years, but that doesn't mean we still can't be together. Still remember the tree that we both planted, we both promised each other right, lotus?"

You don't know what to say, did you do both of them dirty ??? Was it your fault, but but he-then? You were frightened and confused, and he could read it through your expression like reading a book. he then shook his head and chuckled, "Has a cat got your tongue, dear? Don't worry, I told servants to take great care of it. Let us walk there, dear."

You both took a silent walk to the palace garden, it has changed lots since you last came. After the previous ban, you were both from seeing each other, you rarely came to the palace garden, afraid you'll meet him there. Other servants would also enjoy their time there so they're probably snitching without a doubt, just so the empress could notice them,or just to see you both suffer.

The style and pattern of the design have changed, but it's still full of flowers and life, it brings you a little warmth into your heart .he's heart warms up seeing you finally relax a little and not as tense as before.

You both then arrive under the tree, the apricot had blossoms .The flower petals fall down along with the wind while you gently caress the tree trunk, in denial that the time has passed that much. He hugs you from behind, wrapping his hand around your waist.

"Your the only thing i wanted ever since I met you (y/n) , I just hope that you could give me a chance and take my love I gave you seriously ."

"I- but I'm already in love with someone muchen"you finally confess

"But we're married (y/n), there isn't an opinion for you other than give in to my love or don't I just wanted you to understand. But since you finally confess, good girl."

"I no I'm already taken by him, my heart can only be with him."

"Fine then, since you wanted to act like a brat, alright. But you'll still be going to be mine and have my child I may not have your heart but I have you, your soul, and-"

You slap him hard on the face, breathing rapidly. There was a long 5 seconds of silence before he chuckled like always.

"Oh (y/n), you're just so naive, aren't you "he chuckled again and touching your belly before saying, "I can't wait for your belly to swell dear, that's why everyone will know who you belong to.I don't even care if it's a princess or prince, it's made from us. from the seeds I planted inside of you."

When he said the last sentence, it gave you chills and goosebumps. It was like he was always giving you the creeps.You were still curious what would happen to Jun Jian, but didn't ask since you knew he would be in a bad mood again.

After a few days during dinner you got the courage to ask him "what did you do to General Jun Jian?"

"Curious? Let's go and see then."

You hesitated for a moment before getting up and following him. Then reaches the underground jail cells, and when he stops at one of the cells. When you turn your head and see the sense in front of you, you should rather cry, puke, or pass out.

Jun Jian was tied agaisn't a wooden bed in the middle of the cell with one of his legs cut off. There was a pool of dried blood on the wooden bed as well as on the floor. The muscle and bone were cut, and you can even see every detail of it. lord heavens, how is he still alive or was it not you can't really tell if he had closed his eyes and probably fainted from excessive blood loss.

You were bombarded by many emotions that you went crazy and cried and banged the metal bars screaming for him to wake up, you can't he can't just die like that- no please, please be awake you scream out while crying out despite your throat is hurting.

He finally slowly lifted his eyes you scream harder"Jun Jian love, please, i love you- i'm sorry-"

Mu Chen then opened the door to the cell, you flew inside immediately before he could and hugged the upper body of Jun Jian, crying and repeating the word "I'm sorry"

"I love you so much, you don't deserve any of this because of me I'm so sorry, love."

Little did you know, Mu Chen was grabbing a hammer.

Before Jun Jian could even speak out, he was then bash by the hammer, the sense will forever be stuck with you and you know daam well of it. Mu Chen continues to bash his skull open harder each time

You scream at him to stop trying to push and pull him away from Jun Jian's body, but he pushes you away but accidently making you fall, hitting your head on the wall. Before you know it, your stomach was in bad pain and then you fainted.

When you woke up, you didn't have the energy to move or speak; you just stared at the ceiling and blinked at it, but your maid somehow noticed you were awake and told you that you had fainted for two days already.

You just turned your head and told her to go, she was humbled but nodded before she stood up, she told you also had lost your baby mistress, I'm sorry . You scream at him to go out again, when she left you cried out again, blaming yourself for everything if it weren't for you, Jun Jian would still be happily alive with his life , if it weren't for you Mu Chen wouldn't have gone that insane.

Why? Just because you're alive or was it because you met Mu Chen, why did he like me, why did I do to make him so- why just why you did nothing wrong, you try living your life like a normal girl and as a servant did you do something wrong??

You cry all day and night, refusing to go out of your chamber even if the emperor himself muchen your husband, came in trying to force you out of the chamber or feed you food and water, but you stop him from continuing to forcing you by threatening to kill yourself.

With that ability on hand, you realized how stupid you are, you could have just ended it all, why continue living like this, gaining and losing everything? After all, dying is better than continuing to live this burning hell.

You took the advantage of the winter session, during night with heavy snow stroam you sneak out of the chamber and palace and just ran using every last of your energy fore crashing into the heavenly thich snow that's over half your body your're not even sure where you'll at but it looks like heaven with everything white surrounding you.

When Muchen found out you went missing, he sent out half of the palace guards and soldiers to find you, and he will honor anyone that can find you alive; that person will then be promoted to a noble person and will have a wife and a bunch of coins.

But one of the guards found you near the forest frozen to death, when Emperor Muchen heard the news, he shut himself and drown himself in work, rarely visited other concubines/his other wife's chamber only yours, sleeping in your bed and sniffing your old cloth like a creep but he's can't help it.

He even threw you the most luxurious funeral there could been and force the people in the palace to cry about you and about your death as well as forcing everyone to wear black for a month. He also forbade the other concubines to wear your dresses or pins or any jewelry or gold that you own.

In his mind, he's trying to love you, but you refuse because of that stupid jun jian so he gets rid of him so that you can focus on him only but he never thought you would kill yourself rather than being with him, was he that bad to be with...? He questioned himself for many years, if the concubines dare to protest when they make out and he calls your name instead of theirs. They would be sentenced to death, he really can't get you off his mind, even at his deathbed, he still remembers you as clear as day.

He even had a statue of you in his personal chamber garden, which was made of obsidian and pearl.He spoke to you every night. Whispered secrets into your lifeless palm. He told you about the wars he no longer cared to win. About the generals he executed for daring to mention your name. He would even gift you things like a gold necklace to wear around your statue, talking to you saying how much he misses you, He would sometimes even kiss the statue when no ones is there to bother his moment with you. He once kissed it for hours until he passed out drunk at its feet.

He stopped eating for a while. Started carving your poems into his skin. He couldn’t tell dream from memory anymore.

In his will, he wrote that he wished for your coffin to be dug out and be put beside him, and no other concubines would be buried with him. Because he knew that you hated that rule the most since you made in clear to him bad then, and he only wanted you, no one else, only you to serve him or him to serve you . he doesn't care, he just needed you, only you can make him feel alive again.

i know it has been quite a while but I been trying to focus on my studies more I always end up here...anyways I hope u guys love it, like always I try on my grammar and not to repeat the same shit thanks for reading. have a great day diva~.At first I wanted(y/n) to have a female lover like that, but I'm afraid some of y'all ain't into that so yeah, I chose a general instead. Speaking of generals, I'm also writing on one and I hope that I can also publish it...hopefully.... pray for you guys, if I like if there's anything wrong just tell me alright

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iyoonjh · 2 days ago

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A Cure for Frostbite

pairing: royal!sunghoon x fem!reader – w/c: 7209

synopsis: In the hush of the imperial palace, a forbidden romance blooms between Sunghoon—the emperor’s youngest son—and Y/N, a quiet apothecary meant to live in the shadows.

What begins with stolen glances and subtle gifts deepens into something dangerous and all-consuming. Y/N knows the risk. Sunghoon does not care. When their closeness is discovered, she pulls away to protect them both—but Sunghoon, desperate and lovesick, would burn the whole kingdom for one more moment by her side.

genre: romance, longing, historical romance, inspired by the apothecary diaries, fluff? idk, this is just a short drabble

In the eastern quarter of the Imperial Palace—past the lacquered gates where the painted cranes arched their wings eternally in mid-flight, and where plum blossoms fell like memories onto pale stone—there resided a young woman of no lineage, no crest, no glory but for the clarity of her mind and the elegance with which she existed.

Her name was Y/N, though in the palace she was called nothing so intimate—merely the apothecarian, the clever one, or sometimes, in the hushed voice of women who admired and resented her in equal measure, the beauty in white. She wore no silk but her modest uniform, no gold save the sheen of oil that glossed her hands after grinding herbs for the dowagers' sleep and princes’ fevers. Still, she carried herself as if the air bowed for her passage.

She had eyes like tea under moonlight—dark, clear, reflective of depth not seen but only guessed—and a mouth that rarely smiled, though when it did, it made even the most solemn of guards avert their eyes, ashamed to have witnessed it.

Though she never meant to be seen, she was always noticed.

To the north of that same palace, behind the walls embroidered with dragons in thread spun from silver, lived the youngest son of the Emperor.

His name was Sunghoon, the frost prince. The court called him His Serene Highness, or sometimes simply the son of Winter, for he rarely spoke in public and bore himself with a distance that even snowflakes respected. He was as beautiful as a sculpture chiseled from ice and candlelight: all pale skin, raven-black hair, and long eyes that seemed to know too much.

Yet his closest friends—noble but not royal—knew another Sunghoon. Heeseung, with the mind of a scholar and laughter like wind through open fields, and Jake, ever the diplomat’s son, quick-witted and honey-tongued, both saw through the iciness. Behind the closed shoji of his chambers, Sunghoon was warmth incarnate. He laughed at Heeseung’s ridiculous poems. He argued passionately over the best blade oil. He lay on his stomach in boyish laziness while Jake debated love and loyalty like a playwright.

He was brilliant with the sword. Too brilliant. So brilliant, the Emperor forbade him from battle.

Still, sometimes—when the moon was fat and the guards were drunk with wine—Sunghoon vanished from his quarters. And when he returned, bruises bloomed like violets along his ribs. Jake sighed. Heeseung scolded. Sunghoon only smiled, one incisor peeking out as he whispered, “I’m not dead yet.”

The two might never have crossed paths—he, a constellation born to rule; she, a shadow who kept others alive—but fate has a taste for irony, and palace walls are not made to keep hearts in.

It was early winter when Sunghoon saw her for the first time. The palace was full of cold breath and firelight. The Empress Dowager had taken ill—fevered, delirious, calling for her lost sister—and the court physicians, all swollen with status and silk, debated in circles that bled into days. Decoctions failed. Prayers echoed unanswered.

Then the apothecarian was summoned.

She entered the Dowager’s chambers like a whisper. A bundle of vials at her hip. Hands scrubbed to sanctity. She did not bow to impress, nor tremble under the weight of royal eyes. She asked only for quiet and for linen steeped in white chrysanthemum.

Sunghoon was there, in the shadow of a carved screen, bored and suspicious, idly listening to the Emperor rage at useless cures. He had no interest in women of the court—they preened like birds but spoke like reeds: all rustle, no root.

But then she spoke. Calm. Certain. Clear.

“The fever is not of the lungs but of the gut. She was fed peach kernels in her wine. The poison sleeps in sweetness.”

And the world paused to listen.

Sunghoon leaned forward.

“Who is she?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

Jake, beside him, shrugged. “They say she’s from the southern provinces. No family of name. She treats the kitchen maids and concubines like they were sisters.”

Sunghoon’s gaze remained fixed.

“She’s lovely,” Heeseung noted, tilting his head. “Though you’ll find no courtship there. She is wedded to her work.”

Perhaps it should have ended there—a silent admiration, an echo of curiosity, something he could dismiss with a sparring session or a bath in the onsen.

But the gods had not designed Sunghoon’s heart for quiet.

Three days later, Y/N was tending to a minor injury in the soldier’s infirmary—a foolish boy had broken his thumb while wrestling a pig, and the shame hurt more than the swelling—when she turned and found him at the door.

She knew him by title. Knew him by face, too, for who in the palace didn’t? The frost prince himself, sculpted by the heavens, lips too red, eyes too clever.

But she did not lower her gaze.

“Your Highness,” she said with the same tone she used for burnt cooks and sobbing handmaidens. “Are you ill?”

His lips curved just slightly.

“No,” he said. “But I could be.”

She blinked. Not a blush. Not a smile. Not even a breath of amusement. Just—

“Come back when you are,” she answered, turning away.

And Sunghoon—youngest son of the Emperor, undefeated in sparring, master of every noble art—stood there, momentarily robbed of speech.

He was not used to indifference.

It was intoxicating.

In the palace, time did not move; it sighed.

The courtyards bloomed in sequence like breath drawn through the mouth of heaven—first the plum blossoms in the eastern court, then magnolias by the main veranda. In the inner palace, light slanted gently through latticed windows, dust motes dancing like polite ghosts.

And somewhere in the middle of all this—between the call of the imperial bell and the rustle of silk across polished floors—Y/N was busy being useful.

She worked like a hymn—quiet, necessary, elegant in rhythm. Her footsteps made no sound in the sick wards. Her hands moved with exactitude, her eyes alert, always measuring. When she passed, the guards straightened. The other apothecaries took note. She belonged to no noble family, had no title—but in the hush of the Emperor’s palace, her name was a soft reverence.

And still, she believed she moved unseen.

She was wrong.

It began with a fever.

Not hers.

Prince Sunghoon—third son of the Emperor, youngest of the blood, and colder than jade in winter—was brought to the southern infirmary with a low-grade fever and “mild dizziness.” A meaningless case. The other court physicians had deemed it unworthy of real concern, barely requiring an herbal rinse.

But still, the order had come directly.

“Summon her,” said the guard, voice subdued. “The apothecarian.”

So she went.

He was sitting up when she arrived, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He wore no crown, no badge of status—only a pale robe embroidered with cranes, the gold thread shimmering when the light caught it.

She bowed. “Your Highness.”

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

She raised a brow. “And what did Your Highness expect?”

He tilted his head slightly, as though studying her shape might answer the question.

“I supposed someone less… something.”

That was the first time she was summoned to tend his wounds. She diagnosed nothing unusual—likely heatstroke from overexertion. He thanked her with a polite nod, then left.

Two days later, he returned.

“A headache,” he said. “Persistent.”

She asked the routine questions: pulse, appetite, light sensitivity. Nothing of note.

“Have you been sleeping, Your Highness?”

“Not well.”

“There must be reason then.”

He looked at her for a moment too long, then said, “Restless thoughts.”

She prescribed valerian, a gentle sedative. She handed him the powder in a folded slip of paper. He held it longer than necessary, fingers brushing hers.

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured.

She pulled away. “Apologies.”

He said nothing. But when he left, he wore a ghost of a smile.

The third time, it was a cut across his palm.

Thin. Clean. Precise.

She did not look up as she began to treat it.

“Sparring?”

“A door.”

“Really?”

“A very sharp door.”

She glanced at him then, and his mouth twitched.

“You enjoy being difficult,” she said.

“I enjoy seeing you.”

A pause. Her hands stilled, breath caught between one heartbeat and the next.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Then I won’t.” A beat. “Unless you want me to.”

By the fifth visit—something about bruised ribs and “falling down”—Y/N was no longer convinced he had any true ailments at all.

Which is when she began to notice the pattern.

Every excuse was measured. A scrape on the right elbow just deep enough to require her attention. A cough that never quite returned once her tea reached his lips. He was never dramatic, never demanding. He didn’t beg for her time; he simply made her curious.

And curiosity was a dangerous thing in a place like this.

They were tucked behind the stables where no one came at this hour — too far from the scholar’s garden, too shadowed for courtiers, too ordinary for the royal sons of heaven.

But that’s what made it safe.

Jake leaned against the wooden beam, arms crossed lazily. His outer robe was half-unfastened, exposing the ivory collar of his undershirt, still damp from sword practice. Heeseung sat on an overturned water barrel, balancing a twig between his fingers like a fan. Sunghoon was the only one who remained standing, back to them, eyes on the cloudless horizon.

It had been quiet. But Jake, as usual, couldn’t let it stay that way.

“How’s your third fever this week?” he asked, voice dry.

Sunghoon didn’t turn.

“Gone,” he replied simply.

“Hmm. A miracle,” Heeseung added. “Must be that genius nurse in the infirmary. What’s her name again?”

“Y/N,” Jake supplied, the name slipping off his tongue like he’d been waiting to say it. “The one you pretend not to look at.”

Sunghoon’s shoulders rose — barely. Controlled. Still, his silence cracked the air like a blade drawn slowly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

Heeseung grinned. “You’ve had a cut, a cough, bruised ribs, and now a migraine. All in six days. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were fighting wild boars on the palace roof.”

“Or,” Jake said, pushing off the beam, circling him now, “you’re just in love with a girl who smells like camphor and violet water.”

At that, Sunghoon turned. Slowly. The sun lit one side of his face and cast the other into shadow — one eye unreadable, the other glinting like a secret.

“You think this is love?”

Heeseung shrugged. “We think it’s something. Don’t you?”

Jake gave him a meaningful look. “You show up to practice late, you disappear after council lessons, and you flinch when her name is mentioned.”

“I do not flinch.”

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung said carefully, tapping the edge of his boot against the barrel, “you’re the son of the Emperor. Not just any noble boy with a soft heart and an empty title. You don’t get to fall for someone just because she wraps your hand in silk and scolds you when you won’t rest.”

A beat passed. No one breathed.

Then Sunghoon said, very quietly:

“I know.”

And something in his voice silenced even Jake.

He wasn’t denying it anymore. Wasn’t laughing, wasn’t dodging. There was no smirk, no clever retort. Just a kind of quiet devastation, like a vase you see fall before it hits the ground — the knowledge that it’s already shattered.

“But I think about her,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “Everywhere. In court. On the practice grounds. When I try to sleep. I see her hands folding herbs, her lips when she speaks, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she thinks no one’s looking—”

“Gods,” Jake muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re doomed.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Heeseung sighed. “And what exactly is your plan? Keep faking injuries until someone catches on? What then? You’ll get her dismissed. Or worse.”

“I don’t have a plan.”

Jake leaned in, all sarcasm gone from his tone. “Then you better get one. Because this—this isn’t just a passing interest, is it?”

Sunghoon looked down at his hands. Pale, unmarked. The cut she stitched had healed already. But the memory of her touch had not. He could still feel her thumb against the bone of his wrist, soft and steady. As if he wasn’t dangerous at all.

As if he were just a boy.

“She sees me,” he said. “Not the title. Not the weight. Just me.”

“That’s what makes it dangerous,” Heeseung said gently.

Jake exhaled, long and slow, then clapped a hand to Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“Well,” he said, tone brightening with mock cheer, “if we’re going down, might as well go beautifully. Just… try not to fall off a roof next time, yeah?”

Sunghoon almost smiled.

“No promises.”

The palace was quieter in the mornings — a kind of hush that clung to the marble floors and whispered along the silk tapestries. Even the birds outside seemed to know not to sing too loud. In the East Wing, where few dared to wander without purpose, the apothecarian’s room remained still, perfumed with crushed herbs and sun-warmed parchment. Y/N had long made peace with the silence there. It filled the corners others found empty. She liked it, preferred it — until he began visiting.

At first, Prince Sunghoon had been a curiosity. Now, he was a habit. One she couldn’t afford, and yet, didn’t wish to break.

She was midway through grinding dried elderflowers into powder when his shadow slipped under the threshold — silent, and annoyingly graceful for someone so supposedly clumsy with “stairs,” “fencing accidents,” and “unexpected sword-related tripping hazards,” all of which had been excuses to find himself in her doorway these past weeks.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Y/N asked, not looking up.

“I tried.” His voice carried that unbothered lilt she hated that she loved. “But your door doesn’t make a very dramatic sound.”

She finally raised her gaze — and, as always, immediately regretted it. He wore blue today, deep like lapis, with gold stitching at the collar. He looked like a painting. Like something someone else should be allowed to look at. Not her.

“Let me guess,” she said, setting the mortar aside. “You’ve come to sprain your dignity again?”

“No.” His tone was mock-hurt. “Today, I come bearing peace offerings.”

He stepped inside and held out a bundle wrapped in deep crimson cloth. She frowned, but took it — her fingers brushing against his. A spark. Annoying. Predictable.

Inside was a tiny box carved from black walnut, the grain smooth and polished. She opened it carefully. Inside lay a pressed camellia — white, preserved perfectly in wax paper. It shouldn’t have meant anything. But her breath caught.

“You steal flowers now, Your Highness?”

“It wasn’t stealing,” he said, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. “It was a diplomatic transfer of assets. The camellias by the south pond were looking too proud. I humbled one.”

Y/N snorted despite herself. “And what makes you think I’d want this?”

“Because I noticed you keep dried petals tucked into your books,” he said, too casually. “And I thought — perhaps the apothecary who lives among crushed things might like something still whole.”

The words landed quietly between them, heavier than the flower.

Y/N turned away before he could see the heat in her face, busying herself with empty jars that needed no rearranging. “You should go,” she said, softening the words by not meaning them. “If your father finds out you’re sneaking around the herb rooms again—”

“He won’t,” Sunghoon replied, strolling deeper into the room, idly picking up a cork-stoppered vial. “No one follows me here. You’re the only one who bothers to talk to me for longer than a bow and a breath.”

She glanced at him sidelong. “That’s because I have no sense of self-preservation.”

“No,” he said, turning to face her properly. “It’s because you see me.”

Y/N froze.

There it was again — that subtle thread he always managed to pull. The one that tugged her thoughts loose, made her chest feel too full, her carefully composed indifference fray at the edges.

She recovered quickly. “You’re not very hard to see. You dress like a storm cloud at a wedding.”

He smiled. Slowly. “And you deflect like a cat cornered in sunlight.”

She looked down, trying not to. Trying not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how easily he undid her, just by standing there, just by bringing her quiet things and asking for nothing. Or pretending to.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she said after a moment. Her voice was steady, but only just. “Bringing me things. Spending time here.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” She turned to face him. “Because it means something.”

His gaze softened, the jest in him gentled. “It already means something,” he said. “The difference is—I’m not afraid of that.”

Y/N’s breath trembled before she could catch it. The truth was, she was afraid. Not of him. Of what he made her want.

The room felt too quiet then. The walls too close. She hated how much she wanted him to stay.

She didn’t stop him when he sat across from her on the low bench by the window, nor when he rested his elbow on the table, propping his chin in his palm like a boy too young to be royal, too sincere to be a prince.

“Tell me what you’re working on,” he said.

“You’ll be bored.”

“I’m already bored,” he replied. “That’s why I’m here.”

She hesitated. Then reached for a bundle of dried angelica root. “It’s a formula for headaches. Not that you nobles ever suffer from such mundane ailments.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “Palace life is a headache.”

She looked at him again, and this time, allowed herself to smile — just a little. He smiled back, like it was the only thing he needed today.

Outside, the sun crawled along the stone floor. The silence returned, not unwelcome, but newly charged — no longer an absence, but a presence.

And when he left — hours later, after they’d spoken of everything and nothing, after she’d almost, almost leaned too close — he left another camellia on her desk. This one pink.

And Y/N sat there long after the quiet reclaimed the room, staring at the flower, and wondering which would be her undoing first: the silence… or the boy who kept breaking it.

It had rained that morning— one of those patient, whispering rains that speak not to the ears but to the bones— making everything soft and grave, as though the earth itself bowed its head. The palace corridors, built of quiet and secrets, gleamed faintly with light that had not quite forgiven the clouds.

The apothecary wing, tucked in its solemn corner, held stillness like a breath. Y/N stood at her worktable, grinding valerian root with the sort of focus born only of desire to forget. She knew he would come. He always did. Before she heard him, she felt him—a shift in the air, the drop in her stomach that never warned, only reminded.

“You’re early,” she said, not lifting her gaze.

“You sound disappointed,” came his reply—low, silk-lined, already smiling.

She ground the root with more purpose. “I’m not. Only concerned. Your appearances are beginning to resemble habits.”

“I’m told habits become sins,” he mused, stepping further in. “And I do enjoy sinning, when it leads me here.”

Y/N looked up, against her better judgment. He stood with the storm still clinging to his cloak, a soft sheen to his hair, lashes damp from the air’s affection. And that face—he wore it like a mask of royalty, but his eyes betrayed him every time. Too honest. Too intent.

“Cloak off,” she muttered. “The floors are older than your lineage.”

With a theatrical sigh, Sunghoon complied. “How tragic, to be bested by floorboards.” He hung the garment neatly by the door, revealing a simpler tunic beneath—though even his simplicity was threaded with gold. A boy born of thrones pretending to be common.

She turned back to her bench, her fingers now arranging glass vials. “I should forbid you.”

He approached quietly, placing something beside her hand—a small, folded parchment. She opened it. Inside, between wax paper, lay forget-me-nots. Bruised blue, delicate as breath.

“They grow by the east garden wall,” he said. “No one ever looks. I thought of you.”

She swallowed. Her hands, traitorous things, lingered too long on the stem.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, softer than before.

Sunghoon leaned on the edge of her table. “Nothing,” he said, “you do not already give me freely.”

“That’s dangerous talk.”

“I’ve never feared danger.”

“You should.”

“I do,” he said. “But I fear you more.”

She dared glance up again. Mistake. He was too near. Too near and too beautiful and too aware. His smile did not ask—it confessed.

“Your Highness,” she said, voice barely spoken, barely hers. “This is madness.”

He tilted his head. “Then let us go mad together.”

Before she could reply, the world shifted—sharp as a blade drawn in sleep. A knock. Firm. Two strikes against the heavy door.

Her heart caught flame. Sunghoon moved faster than breath. To the back wall, where apothecaries kept their less lawful secrets, and she, without speaking, reached under the second shelf. A hidden panel. It clicked open. He vanished.

By the time she turned, her hands had already remembered calm. The High Steward’s assistant entered—neat, bloodless, and suspicious.

“Apothecarian,” he said, “the Empress’s physician requires belladonna.”

“Of course,” she replied, not smiling. “It’s ready.”

She retrieved the sealed vial. “Two drops, no more. It is a generous poison.”

He took it, then paused. “I thought I heard voices.”

She let her lashes fall. “Dried herbs whisper, when they settle. They are not polite.”

His lips twitched. He left.

She waited. Waited—until the silence returned to its rightful shape.

The panel creaked. Sunghoon stepped out, brushing cobwebs off his shoulder.

“Herbs whisper?” he said.

“Do not ever make me lie like that again.”

He looked at her—not with amusement this time, but with something gentler. Almost reverent.

“You risked yourself.”

“You would’ve done the same.”

He stepped toward her, his expression rare and unfamiliar. Stripped of wit.

“I’ll stop,” he whispered. “If you ask.”

The room stood still. Even the tinctures held their breath.

But she—she said nothing.

A quiet exhale left his lungs. He stepped closer, not touching, never touching. His eyes were dark and steady. His lips slightly parted, like he wanted to say something else — or kiss her instead.

“Next time,” he said, “I’ll bring violets.”

And yet, the next time Sunghoon came to see her, he broke his promise — and brought no violets.

Y/N no longer startled at the sound of his boots on the stone. Her breath always caught, but she no longer flinched.

Sunghoon had a manner of entering her space as if it were a secret they shared. He never announced himself loudly. He would lean a shoulder against the doorway, gloved fingers smoothing over the doorframe like it was a violin string, something to coax sound from. His voice, low and calm, carried the weight of meaning only she could hear.

"Tell me," he said once, eyes trained on the steam rising from a copper pot, "do you ever mix something too beautiful to use?"

Y/N glanced up, wary of the trick behind the question. “Sometimes,” she said. “And sometimes I make it just to see it undone.”

He smiled — one of those half-smiles that never touched his mouth, only his eyes. “Like poetry. Or politics.”

They talked. Always. Yet always around the thing.

Each word was a petal plucked and dropped, an offering, a risk. There was a strange formality between them, as if they had signed a treaty neither remembered writing, and it held — barely — by the virtue of long, drawn glances and averted eyes.

She should not have liked how often he stayed. Or how he never came without a token. Once, a thin chain of silver, smooth as river water. Another time, a piece of pale blue sea glass. “I found it on the windowsill,” he had said. “Or perhaps it was meant for you.”

He didn’t ask to stay. But he did.

Tonight, it was nearing dusk. The sky beyond the narrow slats of the window had turned pale with lilac — that sharp color of confession — and the wind scratched at the stones. Y/N moved quietly between shelves of vials and scrolls, her fingers absently arranging things that were already arranged.

She could feel him.

He had been sitting at her worktable for nearly twenty minutes, one leg crossed over the other, running his thumb along the edge of a small, leather-bound book he hadn’t opened.

“You know,” he said, his voice sudden in the silence, “if I were less restrained, I might steal a bottle or two. Something to fake my own death. Or sleep for a hundred years.”

Y/N exhaled, slow. “And what would that accomplish?”

He tilted his head. “It might buy me time.”

She turned her back to him. The scent of clove and crushed rosehips masked her disquiet.

“You already steal too much,�� she said, her voice cooler than intended. “You take my hours.”

That made him laugh — a sound like snow melting too fast.

“But you never ask me to leave.”

She turned then, the twilight catching in her lashes. “Would you, if I did?”

He looked up at her. Really looked.

“No.”

There was a beat — long, strange, reverberating.

The room pressed in with its warmth, the scent of boiling thyme, the hush of wind through stone. Outside, the palace was a thousand windows lit with a thousand lies. Inside, the air between them crackled — but softly, the way a fire does when no one is watching.

He rose, slowly, as though standing undid something inside him.

“I brought something,” he said, reaching into his coat.

Y/N’s breath hitched. The offerings always frightened her more than his gaze. A man like him — born to the edge of crowns and war councils — should not know how to choose soft things. But he did.

He placed the object in her hand. It was a ring of carved wood, shaped like a lily, the grain polished until it glowed like honey.

“I saw it,” he said simply, “and thought of your fingers.”

Y/N did not reply. She couldn’t. Not with her throat tightening.

Sunghoon leaned a little closer — closer than the day before. His voice dropped into something just above a hush.

“Will you ever tell me the truth?” he asked. “If I asked for something dangerous.”

She met his eyes — foolishly. It was always a mistake, but one she made again and again.

“What is it you’d ask for this time?”

He didn’t smile this time.

“Your want.”

The words were clean. Precise. Unflinching.

Y/N held her breath so tightly it hurt her ribs. She wanted to step back, to be clever, to vanish into tinctures and linens and respectable restraint. But all she could say — weak and scalding — was:

“You wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Sunghoon's mouth curved, slowly.

“No,” he said. “But I’d like the chance to try.”

And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him like a confession swallowed.

Y/N stood alone in the warm hush of her chamber, her heart knocking against the ribs that kept it captive. The ring sat in her palm, delicate and treacherous. Like him.

Like her.

She closed her fist around it.

The apothecary’s workroom lay quiet beneath the weight of late afternoon, gold and shadow laced across the stone floor in slow, flickering patterns. The air smelled of dried rosemary and orange peel, warm and crisp, as though the walls themselves had absorbed the scents and refused to let them go. Y/N was slicing valerian root with studied precision, the motion mechanical, her thoughts far from the blade. She had not seen Sunghoon in days.

And yet, it was the memory of the last time that haunted her most.

He had come empty-handed, no violets, no little token tucked behind his back or cradled in his palm. Only his voice, low and honey-warm, and his eyes — luminous, exhausted, pleading for something he hadn’t dared name. She had been laughing at some dry, clever nothing he’d said, her fingers stained green from herbs, when the door opened with a hush, not a bang — but it was worse that way. Quieter things cut deeper.

She didn’t hear them at first. Only the change in Sunghoon’s eyes — that flash of something gone cold — made her turn.

Heeseung stood just inside the threshold, expression unreadable, though a shadow of amusement danced at the edge of his mouth like a secret he hadn’t decided whether to keep. Jake lingered just behind him, eyes sweeping the room with a curious sort of slowness, like someone looking for the shape of something they already suspected.

“Didn’t know you’d taken up herbal studies, brother,” Heeseung said softly. Not biting. Not warm.

Y/N went still. Not a dramatic gasp, not a flinch — but the kind of stillness born of instinct, like a deer in tall grass.

She did not look at Sunghoon. She looked at her hands. She looked at the flask of steeped feverfew she hadn’t yet poured. She looked at the distance between her and the prince and found it suddenly, unforgivably small.

They didn’t look at her face.

That was what made her throat tighten.

They looked at the curve of her spine, at the disarray of the worktable behind her, at the ribbon coming undone from the end of her braid. Jake’s gaze caught on the worn edge of the stool where Sunghoon had been sitting. Heeseung’s gaze drifted to the windows — closed. The door — bolted before they'd arrived.

There was no accusation. Just awareness.

Sunghoon, to his credit, did not falter. His voice was the same careless silk he always used when pretending not to care.

“A tincture,” he said, lifting an empty bottle like a jest. “Terribly dramatic cough, as I’m sure you’ve both heard.”

Heeseung arched a brow, not smiling, not frowning. Just seeing.

Jake tilted his head. “And only our palace apothecary could soothe it, of course.”

There was no laughter. Only the echo of it, implied.

Y/N moved before she could think. She turned from the table — not toward them, not toward him. Just away. She gathered stray petals with trembling fingers and tucked them into the herb press, not trusting her voice, not daring to exist more loudly than the silence had allowed.

She had not looked at Sunghoon. She had not spoken. She had wrapped herself in the invisible distance that women like her were always meant to maintain in palaces like these — the veil between the bloodlines and the hands that tended them.

And now, in the dim, the world was quieter without him. But it did not feel safe. It felt like exile.

She did not go near the eastern hallways where he often walked. She passed his shadow in the garden without turning her head. She handed tinctures to court ladies with her voice like poured water, never lingering. And though no one said anything — though Heeseung and Jake made no scandal, no whisper behind fans or folded letters — she knew what the silence meant.

Sunghoon, for his part, did not relent.

She found, three days after the visit, a folded slip of paper on her table — the corner weighed down with a smooth, black riverstone. She told herself not to read it. She did.

“If you must pretend not to see me, then at least let me look. You’re in everything I notice anyway.”

Her hands had trembled the entire morning.

Then came a sprig of lavender tucked beside her mortar. A note scrawled in a lazy, boyish script: “This smells like how you speak. Calm, but with the threat of storms.”

And finally — this morning — a book.

Worn, water-stained, slipped between her ledgers. The cover, a faded brown. Inside, pressed between pages, a feather. Pale, grey-blue. His writing on the inside cover:

“I found this and thought of you. Even when you avoid me, I find you.”

She nearly wept.

But she could not go to him. She dared not. She saw the way Heeseung watched her now. The way Jake’s eyes softened with pity.

Sunghoon was the emperor’s son. She was a woman who smelled of rosemary and flame, whose hands healed but did not belong at court.

And yet—

And yet, when she heard his voice at the edge of her door one evening, whispering her name as though it was something holy, her resolve crumbled like dried petals.

“Y/N.” A whisper. “I know you’re in there.”

She did not respond. Her breath caught in her throat.

A pause.

“I think of you at night. When the palace is quiet. When the oil lamps make everything look like candlelight. I think of you every time I walk through the gardens, and I hope — I hope you’ll look at me again. I’m not asking for scandal. Just… a moment. A breath. Yours.”

Silence.

“I never cared what Heeseung or Jake thought. But I care that you won’t meet my eyes anymore.”

Her hand rested on the doorframe. Her body leaned toward him before her mind gave it permission.

“I feel,” he murmured on the other side, “as though I’ve done something terribly wrong. And yet, I’d do it again, just to hear you laugh.”

A throb in her chest.

She stayed silent. But her hand drifted to the door, fingers pressed to the wood where his voice had lingered. And he—on the other side—rested his palm in the same place.

No words.

Only that stillness.

Only that ache.

He left soon after. She heard his steps retreat, slower than usual.

But when she opened the door ten minutes later — the hall empty, the lanterns flickering soft — she found a single violet pressed to the floor.

A promise. A waiting.

And for the first time in days, she allowed herself to smile.

It was not a clean absence.

Y/N did not vanish in the elegant way of snow melting at dawn, nor in the dignified manner of a flower curling back into itself at dusk. She withdrew with a surgeon’s precision — averted eyes, shortened words, missing hours. Her distance was quiet, but brutal. A thousand tiny cuts beneath the surface.

And Sunghoon was bleeding.

He had tried to be patient. Dignified. He had tried, in the first day, to believe she was simply tired. Busy. The second, he convinced himself she was angry — justly so — and would come around. The third day, he stood at the far edge of the apothecary’s corridor like a man waiting for an execution, watching the door remain closed, listening to the echo of her not coming.

By the fourth day, he began to unravel.

There was a peculiar kind of madness that accompanied wanting someone you could not touch. He had endured the ceremony of court, the empty chatter of noblewomen, the endless scrolls of diplomatic grievances — all with her ghost pressing against his ribs. Her voice, her frown, her mouth — her mouth — all of it lived behind his eyes now. Memory had sharpened her into a weapon.

He saw her everywhere. In the slope of a wrist at dinner. In the laugh of a passing servant. In the lavender light before morning. And it was never her. Not her.

She had ruined solitude for him.

He could no longer sit in silence without imagining what she might be doing — where she stood, if she was thinking of him, if she hated him now. And worse — far worse — he feared she did not hate him at all, only feared him. Feared them.

As she should.

Because what they had — what they had almost had — was blasphemy. An apothecarian and a prince. A quiet girl with ink-stained fingers and a man raised in silk and distance.

But he had tasted the idea of her. And now everything else was ash.

He did not sleep. Not truly. When his body did surrender to exhaustion, he dreamt in fever. Of her breath against his throat. Her voice saying his name in a tone no court would dare speak it. He woke with the taste of longing like metal on his tongue.

He kept the ribbon she had dropped. Blue, frayed, unremarkable — and now the holiest thing he owned.

He would take it out at night, when the palace was still and the moon lay against the windows like a watching eye. He would hold it between his fingers and imagine the weight of her hair, the curve of her neck, the warmth of her cheek if he ever dared brush it.

His thoughts were obscene. Not for their vulgarity, but for their intimacy.

He thought of her hands — not on him — but doing ordinary things. Threading a needle. Stirring a tincture. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He thought of her voice in the morning, low and rasped with sleep, and what it might sound like laughing beside him in bed.

He thought of her in every version of a life he was forbidden to have.

It made him furious. And hopeless. And alive in a way he had never been before.

She had become a wound he did not want to heal.

And so he found himself haunting the spaces she might occupy. Not speaking, just… hoping. A glimpse. A shadow. A sigh. He would take anything.

He told himself he would not go to her again. He had already given her too many chances to break him.

But then the rain came — thick, sudden, angry — and he remembered the way she never ran from storms.

And that was all it took.

He did not think. He ran. Not for the court. Not for the family name. Not for dignity.

He ran for her. Always, always for her.

And if she did not want him — he would hear it from her lips. Not her absence. Not her silence.

Her voice.

If he was going to be destroyed by love, it would be by her hand. And he would thank her for the mercy of it.

The rain had begun sometime past dusk — first as a whisper, then a warning. The sky bruised violet and steel. The clouds sagged with a weight they could no longer bear.

And Y/N ran.

Not fast. Not foolishly. But with a resolve that burned through the marrow of her bones. She had meant to go only as far as the conservatory’s side door — meant only to clear her thoughts, to feel air that wasn’t thick with dread and guilt and his name in her chest.

But she had wandered too far.

And he had followed.

The storm cracked open overhead, not loud — not yet — but with a rolling growl like something ancient waking up.

Y/N turned only when she heard his voice, ragged against the wind.

“Y/N.”

She froze, the syllables like a thread caught at her spine. She had not heard that voice in days. She had avoided him. Faithfully. Brutally. She had turned corridors. Sent messengers in her place. Hidden behind propriety and fear and trembling silence.

And yet here he stood.

Soaked. Disheveled. Breathing as if he’d been running after something he could no longer bear to lose.

“What do you want, Sunghoon?” she asked, without turning.

“I want—” his breath caught on the storm — “I want to know what crime I committed that was worse than loving you.”

Her eyes stung. Rain or not.

“You don’t get to say that,” she said, voice low. “Not when it can ruin us both.”

“I would be ruined a thousand times over,” he said, stepping closer, “if it meant one more moment with you.”

The wind dragged his hair into his eyes. His cloak was soaked through; he hadn’t brought a hood.

“You are the Emperor’s son,” she said bitterly. “And I — I’m the girl who measures out lavender in teaspoons and brews fever tinctures for people who forget my name.”

“You think I forget your name?” His voice cracked. “You think I forget the way you speak when you’re tired, or the way you smell like chamomile even when you’re angry? You think I don’t remember every time you touched my wrist without meaning to, or the way you never look at me the same way twice?”

She turned then, water streaming down her cheeks, rain or tears — she couldn’t tell anymore.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, voice thick. “It isn’t.”

Lightning shattered the sky in the distance — silver slicing through blue.

“Do you know what it’s been like?” His voice trembled with the storm. “To be watched every moment? To have nothing of my own — not even my heart? And then to find it — you — and realize even that I cannot keep?”

Her chest ached. Her hands trembled at her sides.

“You were never supposed to come into my life,” she said. “Not like this.”

“And yet,” he said, a crooked, broken smile on his lips, “I have memorized your footsteps in the hallway. I know the exact hour the light hits your table in the morning. I carry the sound of your laugh like a prayer.”

“Stop,” she begged, voice splintering. “Please.”

He took a step forward.

“Do you want me to?”

Her silence was a wound.

The rain beat against the marble, against the ivy-covered walls, against the skin of two people too young to know how to carry love like this, and too old to pretend it didn’t matter.

“You make me want to be reckless,” he said, quietly now. “You make me hope, even when I know better. You make me believe I was made for something more than duty.”

“I’m afraid,” she admitted.

“I’m already afraid,” he replied. “Being with you wouldn’t change that. But at least I’d be afraid with you.”

She didn’t move.

And then he whispered, “Tell me to go. Look me in the eye and say you feel nothing and I will never trouble you again.”

The air hung between them like the breath before a kiss.

Her lips parted — but no lie could form.

Instead, she said: “If you stay, Sunghoon, we fall. You and I — we lose everything.”

“I’d rather fall with you than rise without you.”

And finally — finally — she closed the distance.

Rain between them. Fire within.

She touched his face, trembling. He leaned into her palm like a man starved for warmth.

Their kiss — when it came — was not soft.

It was desperate. It was furious. It was years of loneliness unraveling in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

The storm howled on.

But in that moment, neither of them heard it.

author's note: hiiiiiii! so… surprise?! I decided to write this short story because, as you can probably tell, I became obsessed with The Apothecary Diaries (I fell in love with Jinshi and my best friend—shout out to heejamas—and I haven’t been able to think about anything else).

after I finished the frog episode (if you know, you know), I dreamed of Sunghoon as the emperor’s son and I just knew I had to write something about it.

this is my first time writing a short story, but I think I managed to put everything I wanted into words! I hope you enjoy it—it's very different from what I’m used to writing, but it was necessary to remind me that I love writing and that it’s a hobby that brings me so much joy!

#enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x reader #enhypen au #enhypen fanfiction #park sunghoon #park sungho x reader #enhypen romance #enhypen fluff

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andy-15-07 · 4 months ago

Text

The Empress and the General

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 3399

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The Colosseum buzzed with the thunderous cheers of Rome’s citizens. The air was thick with anticipation, dust swirling in the golden rays of the sun. General Marcus Acacius, his polished armor gleaming, stood near the Emperor's platform. His piercing gaze scanned the roaring crowd, but his mind was steady, unyielding. He had long served Rome with unwavering loyalty, his reputation as a fierce warrior preceding him.

Today, however, his focus faltered as his eyes fell on her.

Y/N sat gracefully beside her brothers, Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla, adorned in a flowing gown of imperial purple and gold. Her presence was like a beacon amidst the chaos, her beauty striking, her demeanor regal. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement as she watched the spectacle below. Marcus felt his breath hitch—a reaction he hadn’t experienced in years.

As though sensing his gaze, Y/N turned her head, her eyes meeting his. There was a brief moment where the world seemed to pause. A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—passed between them before she looked away, her lips curving into a small smile.

Marcus swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away. He was a soldier, bound by duty. And she—she was untouchable.

Later that evening, the emperors summoned Marcus to their private chambers. The siblings were striking in their contrasting personas: Geta, the more calculating and composed ruler, and Caracalla, brash and fiery. Y/N sat quietly to the side, her expression unreadable.

"General Acacius," Geta began, his tone measured, "you have served Rome well, and we entrust you with a new responsibility."

Marcus inclined his head respectfully. "Anything for the glory of Rome, my lords."

Caracalla leaned forward, a sly grin on his lips. "Our sister, Y/N, is dear to us. As you know, the court is rife with intrigue. We require someone capable of ensuring her safety."

Marcus blinked, his composure unwavering despite the quickened pace of his heart. "You wish for me to guard her, my lord?"

"Precisely," Geta affirmed. "You will accompany her during public appearances, oversee her security, and report directly to us."

Marcus’s gaze flickered briefly to Y/N, who now watched him intently. "It will be my honor."

The following days saw Marcus in Y/N’s constant presence. Initially, their interactions were formal. She would nod politely when he escorted her, offer a soft "thank you" when he opened doors or helped her into carriages. Yet, there was a quiet curiosity in her eyes, as if she sought to understand the man behind the armor.

One afternoon, as they strolled through the imperial gardens, Y/N finally spoke.

"Do you always take your duties so seriously, General?"

Marcus glanced at her, surprised by her playful tone. "A soldier’s duty is his life, my lady."

"Surely there’s more to life than duty," she mused, plucking a flower and twirling it between her fingers.

"Not for someone like me," he replied, his voice low.

"And what is someone like you?"

Marcus hesitated. "A man who serves. Nothing more."

Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him. "I don’t believe that. You’re more than just a soldier, Marcus Acacius."

Hearing his name from her lips sent a shiver through him. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "You honor me with your words, my lady."

She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Perhaps I do."

As weeks passed, their conversations grew deeper. Y/N shared stories of her childhood, moments of joy and sorrow. Marcus, in turn, revealed fragments of his life—his rise through the ranks, his loyalty to Rome. Slowly, walls crumbled, and an undeniable connection formed between them.

One evening, as they stood on a balcony overlooking the city, Y/N spoke softly. "Do you ever dream, Marcus?"

"Dream?" he echoed.

"Yes. Of something beyond this life. Beyond duty and titles."

Marcus looked at her, the moonlight casting her features in a soft glow. "I stopped dreaming long ago."

She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "Then perhaps it’s time you start again."

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine—a life where she wasn’t the sister of emperors, where he wasn’t bound by duty. A life where they could be free.

Their growing closeness did not go unnoticed. Whispers spread through the court, and the emperors, though initially indifferent, began to question Marcus’s loyalty.

Caracalla confronted him one day, his tone sharp. "Do not mistake my trust for permission, General. My sister is not yours to covet."

Marcus stood his ground, his voice steady. "I have done nothing to dishonor her or your family, my lord."

"See that it stays that way," Caracalla warned, his eyes narrowing.

The tension only served to deepen Marcus’s resolve. He couldn’t deny his feelings for Y/N, but he also couldn’t risk her safety. Yet, Y/N, ever perceptive, sensed his inner turmoil.

One night, as they walked through the palace halls, she stopped abruptly.

"Marcus," she said, her voice firm, "do you care for me?"

He froze, his heart pounding. "My lady, I—"

"Do not lie to me," she interrupted, stepping closer. "I see it in your eyes. You feel what I feel."

Marcus exhaled shakily. "It doesn’t matter. You are—"

"Don’t say it," she pleaded. "Don’t remind me of the chains that bind us."

Her vulnerability shattered his defenses. Without thinking, he reached out, cupping her face gently. "I would give everything to be with you," he admitted, his voice raw.

"And I would do the same," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.

Their love, though forbidden, became their solace. They stole moments whenever they could—hidden glances, whispered words, fleeting touches.

But their happiness was fleeting. The emperors grew suspicious, and whispers of betrayal reached their ears.

One fateful day, Marcus was summoned to the throne room. Geta and Caracalla stood side by side, their expressions grim. Y/N stood behind them, her face pale.

"General Acacius," Geta began, "you have served Rome faithfully, but your recent actions have brought your loyalty into question."

Marcus dropped to one knee. "I have done nothing to betray Rome or your trust, my lords."

Caracalla sneered. "Do not insult our intelligence. Your feelings for our sister are no secret."

Y/N stepped forward, her voice trembling. "They are my feelings as well. Do not punish him for what is beyond his control."

Her words stunned the room into silence. Marcus looked up at her, his eyes wide.

Geta sighed, his tone heavy. "This cannot continue. For the sake of the empire, Marcus, you must leave."

Marcus was exiled, sent to the outskirts of the empire. But even distance could not sever their bond. Through letters smuggled by loyal servants, they kept their love alive, vowing to reunite one day.

Years later, as Marcus fought in a distant land, a message arrived. It bore Y/N’s handwriting, her words filled with hope and longing.

"Rome may keep us apart, but my heart is yours, always. One day, we will find our way back to each other."

And with that promise, Marcus held onto hope, determined to defy fate and reclaim the love that had changed him forever.

The quiet of the night was broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind, but Y/N felt the weight of a decision that had long been simmering in her heart. The golden glow of the imperial palace, with its looming marble columns and opulent halls, had never been more suffocating. The weight of being the sister of two emperors, of carrying the expectations and responsibilities of the empire on her shoulders, had grown unbearable. Even her love for her brothers had not been enough to silence the yearning that had lodged deep within her—a yearning for freedom, for a life not defined by power or politics, but by love and choice.

She glanced out of her window one final time, at the majestic city of Rome stretching endlessly beneath the sky. But her thoughts were not on the glory of the empire. They were on the man she had left behind, the man who had once stood beside her, not as a general or protector, but as a lover—Marcus Acacius.

It had been nearly three years since her brothers had exiled him, a decision that had torn her apart. Yet, with every letter she received from him, with every fleeting moment of longing, her resolve had only strengthened. She could not bear the thought of living without him. He had become more than a soldier to her—he was her heart, her future.

The plan was simple, though dangerous. She would leave in the dead of night, with nothing but a few personal belongings and a letter to her brothers. There was no turning back once she stepped beyond the palace walls. But as she made her preparations, a sense of peace settled over her, knowing that this was the right choice.

By the time the moon reached its zenith, Y/N had left the palace behind. The streets of Rome were deserted, the bustling life of the city hushed under the veil of darkness. Her heart raced with each step, but there was no hesitation. She was driven by a singular purpose: to find Marcus, to build a life with him, far from the reach of her brothers and their empire.

The journey was long and treacherous. She had little more than the clothes on her back, but her mind was resolute. She knew the way to the small village where Marcus had taken refuge after his exile. It was a place far removed from the influence of the empire, nestled at the edges of the Roman world, where the forests were thick and the land untamed. The journey, though, was fraught with danger. There were still whispers of Marcus’s supposed betrayal of Rome, and she knew that Roman patrols could be anywhere, hunting for her.

But her love for him was stronger than the fear that clawed at her chest. She would endure whatever hardships lay ahead, for him. For them.

Days passed before she finally arrived at the small stone house Marcus had built for them. The door swung open as soon as she knocked, revealing a man who looked nothing like the polished general she had known. His once-gilded armor had been replaced with simple tunics, and his face, once smooth and youthful, now carried the marks of exile. Yet, as their eyes met, the love in his gaze was unchanged.

"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice thick with disbelief and emotion.

She smiled, tears threatening to fall. "I had to come, Marcus. I couldn’t stay. Not without you."

He stepped forward, his arms wrapping around her as if afraid that if he let go, she would vanish into the night. The familiar weight of his arms around her brought a sense of calm that she hadn’t realized she had been missing. "You shouldn’t have, Y/N. The empire... they will come for you."

"I’m done with the empire," she said softly, pulling back to look into his eyes. "I’m done with all of it. I want to be with you."

His gaze softened, but a flicker of doubt passed through his eyes. "But what about your brothers? Your family? You’re leaving everything behind."

She took his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. "I am leaving the empire behind, Marcus. I am choosing you. I have never been happier than when I am with you. I will follow you, wherever we go."

The weight of her words hung between them, a promise that neither of them would ever break. They stood there for a long time, simply holding each other, knowing that this moment—this love—was all they needed.

In the years that followed, their life together was filled with quiet moments of happiness, but also struggles that tested them both. They built a small farm together, the land harsh but fertile, and over time, the house grew with the addition of their children.

Lucius was the first to be born, a strong-willed boy who took after his father’s fierce determination. He was quick to pick up a sword and began practicing with Marcus from the age of six. Aurelia came next, her sharp mind and quick wit making her a natural leader. Even as a child, she could take charge of any situation, and her mother often found herself marveling at the young woman she was becoming.

Cassian was a dreamer, always lost in his thoughts or in the pages of the books Y/N had secretly saved from her royal life. He wasn’t interested in swordplay or fighting; instead, he dreamed of stories and adventures. But even he had a strong will, and when the time came, he would fight for those he loved.

Junia, their youngest, was the spark that kept the family alive. With her mischievous grin and boundless energy, she reminded them all that even in the darkest times, joy could still be found.

But even as they created a life for themselves, the shadow of the empire was never far behind. Marcus had hoped to fade into obscurity, but his past as a general would always haunt him. And soon, the empire came calling once more.

The years that followed Marcus and Y/N’s decision to live outside the empire were filled with both challenges and moments of quiet happiness. As they watched their children grow, the family created a life rich in love, rooted in the simplicity of the land they had chosen to call home. It wasn’t the grandeur of Rome, nor the power of an empire that shaped their world—it was the warmth of their shared moments, the strength of their love, and the joy of raising their children together.

It was early in the morning when the first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, casting a soft glow over the land. Marcus and Y/N stood side by side in the garden, their hands intertwined as they watched their children play in the fields. The air was fresh with the scent of wildflowers, and the sound of laughter filled the space between them.

Lucius, now a young man of seventeen, raced after his younger siblings, Aurelia and Cassian, who were in pursuit of a butterfly that fluttered just beyond their reach. Junia, ever the energetic one, hopped in circles, her giggles ringing out as she watched her brothers and sister. It was moments like these that made everything worth it—these simple joys that, even in their most difficult days, filled the family with a sense of peace.

"You know," Y/N said softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of love and gratitude, "when I imagined a life with you, I never imagined this. A home filled with laughter, with children, with peace."

Marcus smiled, his eyes softening as he watched their children. "I never imagined it either. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything."

He leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You are my greatest treasure, Y/N. I never knew what it was to truly live until I had you beside me."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with love. "And you, Marcus. I never knew what it was to be truly free until I found you."

They stood there for a moment, silently watching their children. The world outside their home may have been filled with turmoil and uncertainty, but here, in this moment, they had everything they needed. A family, bound by love, and a future that stretched ahead of them, full of possibility.

Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the family gathered around a small table outside, their meal simple but filled with warmth. The fire crackled in the background, casting a soft light over their faces. The children chatted excitedly about their day—Lucius had learned how to fish, Aurelia had discovered a hidden grove of trees, and Cassian had spent hours reading the stories that Y/N had brought with her from the city.

"Father," Lucius said, his voice carrying the weight of a young man who had already learned the value of hard work, "how did you know what to do when you were in the army? How did you make those tough decisions?"

Marcus looked at his son, his heart swelling with pride. "It wasn’t always easy, Lucius. The weight of those decisions… it was heavy. But every choice I made, I made with the hope that it would protect the people I loved. And now," he added, his voice softening, "I make my decisions based on the same love, but this time, it’s for all of you."

Lucius nodded, understanding the depth of his father's words. He had learned much from Marcus—not just in skill, but in honor, duty, and love. Aurelia, ever the wise one, placed her hand on his arm.

"Father," she said, "you’ve taught us so much about what truly matters. You’ve shown us how to live, not just survive. And that is something we will carry with us forever."

Cassian, who had been listening intently, looked up from his book. "I think the best lesson you’ve taught me is that it’s okay to dream, even if the world doesn’t always understand. I used to think I had to be like everyone else, but now I know I can be true to who I am."

Marcus smiled, his heart full as he looked around at his children. He and Y/N had given them more than just survival. They had given them a home, a sense of belonging, and the freedom to be themselves.

As the evening wore on, the family sat around the fire, the sounds of nature enveloping them. Marcus reached for Y/N’s hand, squeezing it gently. "Look at them," he said quietly, his voice full of awe. "They’re so full of life, so full of love. We’ve created something beautiful, haven’t we?"

Y/N smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Yes, we have. They are our greatest creation, Marcus. Our legacy."

Aurelia, ever perceptive, leaned over to her mother. "Do you ever miss Rome, Mother? The life we left behind?"

Y/N paused for a moment, considering her daughter’s question. "Sometimes, I think about it. I think about what could have been, what we might have had. But when I look at this," she said, gesturing to the family gathered around the table, "I know we made the right choice. I have everything I need right here."

Lucius smiled at his mother’s words, his expression thoughtful. "And so do I. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything."

Marcus looked at his children, his heart swelling with love and pride. He had come so far from the man he once was—the soldier who served Rome without question. And now, he was a father, a husband, a man who had built a life worth living, a life where love was the greatest force of all.

As the stars began to twinkle above, and the sounds of the night enveloped them in a peaceful quiet, Marcus stood and held out his hand to Y/N. "Shall we, my love?"

She took his hand, standing beside him as they walked slowly into the night, their children’s laughter echoing behind them. There was no grand empire waiting for them—no throne, no titles, no power. But they had something far more precious: each other. And together, they would face whatever the future held, knowing that as long as they had each other, they would always have everything they needed.

Some time later, the family found themselves gathered in the warm glow of the fire again, the flickering light casting soft shadows across the room. Lucius had returned from his training, Aurelia had spent the day working on their garden, and Cassian, with his book in hand, had wandered out to join the family.

Marcus stood before them, a proud smile on his face. "Your mother and I were talking, and we think it’s time you all start learning about what comes after this life. What comes after the days spent in the fields and the gardens. It’s time you understand that family doesn’t just mean those we’re born to—it means those we choose to protect."

Lucius nodded, his eyes gleaming with a deep understanding of his father’s words. Aurelia set her tools aside, her mind already turning with thoughts of how she could help. Cassian, ever the thoughtful one, placed his book down gently.

Y/N glanced at Marcus, her eyes filled with love, then turned to their children. "We’ve built something strong together. But the world outside this farm won’t always be as kind. You must remember that the true power lies in love and the choices we make—what we give to one another, what we protect with all our hearts."

And as they sat together in the warmth of their small home, surrounded by the peace they had built, they knew that their greatest legacy would be the love they shared, the family they had created, and the lessons they would pass on to the generations that followed.

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