#and NOT TO BRING UP ANCIENT ROME AGAIN—

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

I know a lot of ppl felt that a premise as dark as The Hunger Games being geared toward tweens and teens was a terrible idea. but I think it was really good that I saw it as young as I did, bc The Capitol gave me a fantastic lens through which to view Hollywood and the extravagances of the elite, as I came of age at the precise time social media began exporting those extravagances into every home in America.

[missadangel]

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

V. Confessio

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Chapter Summary:  Which was tougher: dragging your fake husband -from ancient time- to go shopping or getting him to wear those outfits? Now that's a real head-scratcher…You and Marcus are getting closer... Chapter W. Count and warnings: 10k; confession of feelings, KISSING, injury, mention about death, romantic comedy, falling in love, fluffy, lying (a lot), mention about smuggling, sharing a room, mention about reincarnation, praising kink.. authors note: The reincarnation mentioned here is based on ancient Roman beliefs, and more information will be provided in future episodes. Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist

chapter theme...

“It happened again,” Marcus muttered, pushing himself up from the cold, hard floor, his eyes wide with disbelief as he took in his surroundings. For him, it came as a shock, but for you, it was a wave of relief and joy to return. Neither of you anticipated returning in this way—indeed, Marcus hadn’t expected to return at all.

But wait, was that anger flickering in his eyes?

He stood up, brushing off his armor as he ran his hands over its surface, searching for the marks left by arrows that had once pierced him. The weight of reality that he had died and then risen again hung heavy in the air. Suddenly, thoughts of his soldiers and Julius flooded back, and he turned his gaze towards the fading rift, its brilliant light dimming with each passing moment.

“Marcus,” you called, stepping closer to him. “Are you all right?”

“I need to leave.”

You blinked in disbelief, your heart racing as you stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Are you out of your mind? You know better than I do what just happened! You can’t go back there!”

He remained fixated on the rift. “Julius, my soldiers, Rome...” Then he turned to face you, fury burning in his eyes. “Why did you bring me here?”

You frowned, anger bubbling up within you. “Are you serious? I saved your life!”

“No, you didn’t. I was already dead.”

You let out a sharp laugh, incredulous. “And what do you think will happen when you go back? They’ll kill you again. Is that what you want?”

His determination was evident as he stared at the rift, completely ignoring you.

You grasped his arm firmly. “You promised me.”

Finally, he looked at you. “I kept my promise. You came back.”

“I meant the other promise.”

He held your gaze for a heavy moment before responding, his voice softening. “I couldn’t keep it. Forgive me. But you need to understand, even if going back means facing death once more, I have to do it.”

“Why? Just for Julius? You don’t want to stay here with me?”

“I don’t belong here, Rosa,” he said, his voice firm yet tinged with sadness.

You tightened your grip on his hand, feeling a mix of surprise and urgency. “You don’t belong there anymore, either. The soldiers saw you die; everyone will think you’re dead. Look, that world is perilous, filled with death and danger. Sure, this place isn’t perfect, but at least no one is trying to shoot you with arrows or stab you with swords. Marcus, it’s your time—I get that—but in that world, you’re walking into death every single day. It’s safer here. Please, stay.”

You thought desperately, you might not have a family or a lover waiting for you there, but you have me here.

Stay with me.

He gently pushed your hand away, shaking his head. “I must fulfill my duty as a general—for Rome,” he stated, turning resolutely back to the rift. But just as he was about to reach it, the rift suddenly vanished, swallowed by the night. Marcus froze, shock etching his features.

“Oops,” you said, stifling a laugh. Part of you felt like he deserved it; why had he insisted on returning, knowing his fate?

Anger flickered in his eyes as he turned to you.

“M-maybe this is for the b-best,” you stammered, softly trying to calm him down. “Should I promise to find a way to get you back there like you did for me? Nah, I don't think so.”

He frowned, recognizing the sarcasm in your tone, yet suddenly his expression shifted to concern. “Rosa,” he murmured, studying your face.

“Wh-what?” you asked, confused about what was happening. Then you felt warmth trickling down your lip to your chin and instinctively touched it.

Blood stained your finger.

Was your nose bleeding?

“Whoa—what the hell?”

Just then, you felt dizzy and stumbled, but Marcus rushed to your side, wrapping his arms around you. “Are you well?” One arm held you close while his other hand caressed your cheek.

“Yeah, I guess,” you murmured, reaching for your bag with your free hand. He anticipated your move, opening your bag and handing it to you with hurried efficiency. You took a tissue and pressed it against your nose, applying pressure until the flow finally started to subside.

And then Marcus’s worry consumed him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the rift had closed and he was once again trapped in 2025. “Rosa, what is wrong? Are you sick?”

“No, it’s just a silly nosebleed,” you reassured him. “I get them sometimes when I’m stressed. Actually, I'm surprised this hasn’t happened sooner, given everything I’ve been through.”

That’s when it hit you. Usually, this place buzzed with tourists—especially next to the Pantheon—but now, it felt eerily silent. Then you thought of Lizzie. How long had you been away? Did time move differently while you were gone? “Marcus, something’s wrong.”

“Tell me what you need. We should find a medicus. I can take you there.” 

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s not the case,” you insisted, stuffing the tissue up your nose. “It’s this place. Last time, it was a movie set, but now it’s deserted when it should be filled with people.”

Your eyes widened as you noticed yellow police tape up ahead that read ‘POLICE DO NOT CROSS.’

“Look, something has happened here. The cops have cordoned off the area.”

“What does that mean?”

“Either a crime has happened here, or something terrible has unfolded. They put up these warnings to keep people away, and here we are, right in the middle of it all,” you replied, your eyes scanning the eerie surroundings.

As you continued walking, you recalled that there should have been a parking lot ahead with your car parked there. You should have headed straight to it. It felt strange that there was no one around, but finding your sister was your top priority. You longed to see her, to hug her tight, maybe even cry with her for hours. Approaching the parking lot, you suddenly spotted police officers ahead and quickly ducked down, signaling Marcus to do the same. “Shit.”

“Are those 'police'?” he whispered.

“Cops, yeah, but fortunately, there are only two of them,” you said, scanning the area. Thankfully, the yellow lines didn’t extend into the parking lot. You crept forward cautiously. “Alright, we’re going to get to my car quietly.”

“Your car? How you are certain that your car is located there?

“Remember, before you returned to your time and dragged me with you, I parked there.” You pulled the key from your bag. “See?” you explained, showing him before pressing the button to unlock the doors. The car beeped, and the yellow signal lights flashed. You couldn’t help but jump for joy. “Oh, baby!” you exclaimed, running toward the car. You placed your hands on the hood and sighed deeply. “I missed you so much, girl.”

Marcus chuckled. “Girl?”

“Yes, my dear Giulietta.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s the brand name,” you said. “Never mind, just get in.”

While Marcus fumbled with the door, someone suddenly shouted, “Hey, you two! Stay where you are!”

It was the cops.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath.

It turned out you had to go to the police station before heading home. Five days earlier, there had been an explosion near the Pantheon—a terrorist attack, the police informed you once you arrived. When they came to take off your strange and bloody clothes, convincing them of your innocence proved to be a real challenge.

The officers were skeptical of your story, given you were in a crime scene, and that ultimately led to both of you being detained in a cell. You and Marcus were separated since the men’s and women’s cells were adjacent but distinct. Straining against the bars, you tried to glimpse into the next cell, but visibility was limited.

“Marcus! Are you there? Are you okay?”

“I’m here, Rosa. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I never thought my return would be like this,” you sighed.

Marcus sighed too, recalling the last time he was in a similar situation. "These police men resemble the Praetorian Guards, both share similar duties."

“You could say that,” you said with a shaky laugh.

Later, as you exchanged awkward glances with the other women in the cell—thanks to your blood-soaked ancient Roman attire—you heard a familiar voice.

It was your sister.

“Lizzie!” you shouted, rushing to the bars.

“Rose!” she exclaimed, sprinting toward your cell.

The police officer unlocked the cell and allowed you out. “You’re free, ma’am.”

You joyfully embraced Lizzie, holding her tightly. Tears of happiness streamed down your face as you said, “Oh, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” she said, her eyes welling up as well. You both stepped back to take in each other’s faces, and you kissed her cheeks affectionately. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I thought the same. Where in God’s name have you been?”

“I'll tell you everything, but Lizzie, how did you even know I was at the police station?”

“The missing person ads we put out for you. The cops called to tell me you—the missing person—had been found.”

"Did you just say ‘we'?"

That's when you noticed her standing behind your sister.

Your aunt, Victoria.

You hadn't spoken to her in years, yet she rushed over to embrace you and touched your sister Lizzie's shoulder. "Elizabeth called me the day after you went missing. We've been searching for you for weeks."

"Weeks?"

"It's been almost twenty days now." 

It seemed that time didn't move differently. That was a relief, but your sister's desperation to reach out to your aunt made you feel sad.

"Where have you been? What happened? And what in the world are you wearing?" Lizzie asked, her eyes wide.

"Uh, well, I..." Just then, you remembered Marcus. When you turned to look at him, you found he was watching you too. You glanced at the police officer beside you. "Isn't he getting released?"

"No, ma'am. There's no identification for the gentleman, nor any information regarding his Italian nationality. His account is also inconsistent; there's no way we can let him go."

"Isn't he the same guy from last time?" Lizzie murmured. "Were you with him the entire time?"

You shot her a warning look. "I'll explain everything later. You wait outside; I need to speak to the commissioner."

Unfortunately, the commissioner was not easily swayed. You had to weave a web of lies about what you were doing at the crime scene, surprising even yourself—you could win an Oscar for that performance. Still, nothing was enough to get Marcus released. It all came down to his lack of identification; he needed citizenship to get out.

Now that you were back, it felt like the situation has reversed.

As you prepared to leave the station, guilt flooded over you while making your way toward Marcus' cell. "Marcus, I’m really sorry you have to spend the night here. You need ID. I wish I could ask the Prime Minister of Italy for your citizenship, just as you asked your emperor for mine back then," you joked.

“I understand that it is difficult for you to manage that,” he said, smiling.

“Very much so,” you confessed. Birth certificates, residency papers—all of it was a headache. In that moment, one solution came to mind, though it was illegal and certainly punishable. "Look, just hang in there. I'll find a way to get you out of here tomorrow. It’ll be tough, but it's possible."

“I trust you, Rosa,” he remarked with an even broader smile.

That smile.

You'd face any consequence for that smile.

What on earth?

You are standing right in front of the cell now; get a grip girl, you told yourself.

Reluctantly, you left him there and walked out of the station with your aunt and sister.

Back home, they bombarded you with questions, but your mind was elsewhere—on Marcus. He was stuck in that cell tonight, surrounded by strangers in an unwelcoming place and another time.

Poor guy.

As much as you were relieved to finally sleep in your own bed after what felt like ages, thoughts of Marcus consumed your mind that morning.

"What? You've been on a movie set on some island all this time?" 

"And you couldn't call because your phone ended up in the sea?" 

"You didn't even have a chance to call on a landline because there was no settlement or radio tower on the island?" 

At breakfast, it felt as if you were being filled with questions instead of food.

“I couldn't call anyone all this time because I had temporary memory loss from a head injury, but nothing serious really,” you carried on, weaving your web of lies. It seemed like it would never end. 

"Jesus! Are you okay now?" Your aunt asked, worry etched on her face.

"Did you have a CT scan? An MRI?" Lizzie asked.

"Yes, yes, everything is fine, don't worry. Look, I'm fine, really. But I need to get Marcus out of the police station. I've gotta go—like, now."

"What's going on between you and him?" Lizzie asked again, narrowing her eyes skeptically. 

“Can I answer all that later? I promise I’ll give you all the details,” you replied, kissing her goodbye before hurrying out the door. 

You fabricated a story for your aunt and sister, telling them that your ID and clothes were in your lost suitcase during the flight, so they assumed you were heading to the airport. Instead, you made your way to his agency to meet Andre, a man known for forging documents for films and capable of creating fake IDs. However, there was a problem—Marcus didn’t have any photos. Andre suggested another acquaintance, a hacker and mastermind in document manipulation, who was careful to avoid crossing legal lines. His home resembled something out of a crime thriller, filled with computers and equipment that simmered with potential mischief. Thankfully, he was a professional, and within mere hours, he crafted the document you needed—a convincing fake ID that could serve its purpose. "Here you go, beautiful. The document you wanted."

"Thank you so much," you said, genuine relief flooding through you.

"Just a word of caution: this will only buy you some time with the police. They won’t let him do anything without proper identification."

You're right. Can you assist me later if I come back for a legitimate ID? I need that ASAP." you asked, attempting to sound innocent.

The man was clearly charmed by your soft voice. "Sure, but sweetheart, it comes at a cost."

“What do you mean?”

"It'll cost you a small fortune."

"Oh, I see." 

You headed to the police station with the temporary document in hand, thinking about the figure he mentioned—thousands of euros for a fake ID. The counterfeit document you were holding had already cost you a few hundred euros from the bank, but it had proven effective. They released Marcus, but only after he promised to present his real ID within a few days. They then reduced the timeframe to three days, given that he had previously signed a similar document.

Damn.

Yet, a sigh of relief escaped you as you stepped out of the police station. “Oh, thank goodness that’s sorted.” 

"Thank you, Rosa. You’ve once again rescued me,” He smiled, his expression thankful. 

You exchanged smiles, but you noticed everyone on the sidewalk was casting strange looks your way. "Marcus, we need to change your outfit. You look odd in that... miniskirt," you stifled a laugh.

He frowned. "It's called a tunica," he said defensively. 

"I'm sorry, but in this day and age, with this outfit, you appear to be a man in a skirt, at least to everyone else."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Can you please not use that word?"

"Alright, alright, I’ll stick with tunica. But you can't walk around like this while you're here. We need to get you something else, Mr. General," you joked, touching his shoulder. "It’s time for you to cover your legs," you teased him.

"Do men must cover their legs here?" 

"Well, they usually wear pants, but some choose shorts," you explained catching his glare. "Look at that guy wearing shorts," you pointed at a tourist snapping pictures nearby. 

Marcus sighed again. "Well, I guess you're right. It’s hard to endure the stares and laughter of others, especially with the disrespect aimed at me, particularly from women."

"I can’t really blame them, though; your thighs are... pretty impressive," you remarked, stealing a glance at his strong, muscular legs and letting out a small sigh.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you think so, Rosa?"

You quickly looked away, "Not at all. I was just messing with you."

He let out a laugh, but then suddenly grabbed his calf, wincing in pain. 

"What happened?" 

"My wound seems to be getting worse. I need to have it wrapped with some new cloth."

"Oh, right. The police didn't even take you to the hospital because you didn’t have ID, did they? Let me see." 

The gash on his calf was deep, making you feel dizzy at the sight. "Marcus, we have to go to the hospital right now. But first, let’s buy you some new clothes. Come on." With that, you took his hand and led him toward the nearest clothing store.

If there was anything more difficult than explaining to Marcus what was happening in the clothing store, it was trying to convince him to wear those clothes—especially the underwear. Fortunately, thanks to the lifeless mannequins and the pictures of models, plus his own intelligence, he quickly grasped what you were saying.

The only issue was that he didn’t like it at all.

In the men’s section, while waiting for him to emerge from the fitting room, the other male customers glanced over at you with puzzled looks. Usually, it was a woman trying on clothes while a man waited outside, but this situation felt completely different.

“Marcus?” you gently knocked on the fitting room door. “Are you dressed?”

At that moment, the door swung open, and Marcus stepped out. You were taken aback as you took in his appearance. You had picked out clothes one by one, handing them to him to try on, but you could never have anticipated how good they would look on him. He wore black jeans, a dark blue shirt, and white sneakers with the laces tied awkwardly. If it weren’t for the scar on his face, you might have mistaken him for someone else entirely. But there it was, that stern expression; it was undoubtedly him.

“These clothes are a bit strange,” he grumbled. “These pants are too tight.”

“No, they’re not; they’re your size and fit perfectly,” you said, reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt, which looked a little odd rolled up. “Come here.”

Marcus focused on the smile on your face as you tidied his shirt. Despite his discomfort with the new clothes, he enjoyed seeing you happy. He even entertained the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could fit into this new life with you. It was hard for him, just as it was for you to adapt to his time. However, he believed it was worth the effort if it meant seeing your smile every day.

“Come on, take a look at yourself in the mirror,” you said, taking his arm.

When he first gazed into the mirror, he was startled to see such a large reflection showing every detail so clearly.

How could you blame him?

His brow furrowed as he examined the shirt and pants, feeling the buttons and inspecting the neat seams. Then he smiled back at your reflection. “It will require some time to adjust to this attire.”

"You'll manage, General," you said, patting his back.

While you paid for the new clothes with your credit card, he continued to look around in awe. He could hardly imagine how much more there was to take in and discover in this world.

Marcus picked up all the shopping bags as you left the store together, carefully balancing his armor and the clothes he had changed out of in the oversized bag you had requested. You were surprised by how easily he carried everything. Well, he was a man wielding a sword, after all—those strong arms, muscles, biceps.

Damn it.

Your mind wandered in that direction again.

But you couldn’t help it; he looked incredibly attractive in those clothes.

Women still turned to look at him on the street, but this time it was with admiration, not ridicule.

Just what you needed.

After strolling for a bit longer, you noticed an ice cream shop up ahead. “Marcus, are you ready for your first ice cream?”

He raised an eyebrow, then studied the sign and the people enjoying their ice-creams outside. “You sit here, I’ll grab us both some,” you said, pointing to a nearby bench. He complied, setting the bags on the floor and watching you from a distance as you stood in line. When you returned with two ice cream cones, you handed him one. “I didn’t know what kind of fruit you like, so since it’s your first time, I asked for plain milk ice cream. Give it a try, Mr. General.”

Marcus held the cone gingerly. You sat beside him and demonstrated how to eat it by sticking out your tongue to lick the ice cream, he chuckled at your expression.

“This is sweet and cold,” he murmured after tasting his first scoop.

“Yes, that’s what ice cream is. So, do you like it?”

He nodded with a smile.

You saw a bloodstain on his thigh that messed up his new pants. “Oh no, Marcus, how could we forget this? Get up—we need to go to the hospital,” you said, tugging him gently. “Let’s drop the bags in the trunk of the car first; I parked over there.”

“Not like that, pull it tight,” you instructed Marcus as he fumbled with the seat belt. Sighing, you reached over to help him, he turned his head so quickly that your lips nearly brushed against each other. Unfazed, you secured his seat belt and gripped the steering wheel. “You have no idea how much I missed driving my baby,” you said with a cheerful grin.

“Baby... You say that word so often. What does it mean?” he asked, his expression a mix of curiosity and confusion.

You were taken aback and paused at the red light to give him your full attention. “Well, it means 'young child.' We also use that word for things we love or care about. It’s a cute way to refer to someone you cherish. I'm not exactly sure where the term originates, but that’s how we typically use it.”

He nodded, recalling something. “When we were in the shop, a woman called a man ‘baby,’” he said, as if it were an offense.

You chuckled. “That’s how lovers or couples speak to each other, you know? It’s like saying ‘my love’ but in a cute way. You Romans say—”

“Amor meus,” he said, looking at you with a penetrating gaze. “Mel malum, mea vita, mea lux..."

The way he spoke those words was so sweet, like music to your ears. You swallowed hard as you locked eyes with him. “Yeah, it sounds way cooler when you say it in your language, I guess,” you murmured, your gaze drifting to his lips.

Out of nowhere, a horn honked, snapping you back to reality. The driver behind you was getting impatient, waiting for you to hit the gas. The light was green, and you were just sitting there.

“Mi aeterne amor,” Marcus murmured to himself with a smile.

“Wait, what did you say?” you shifted into gear, eager to reach the hospital just around the corner.

“Nothing,” he said softly.

“Anyway, here we are.”

Even though dealing with the hospital hassle without proper ID was a pain, you managed to get through using a fake document you got yesterday. You stayed right by Marcus when they took him to the emergency room. He was looking around, eyes wide, soaking in all the hospital details while you filled him in on everything. Before long, a tall, stunning blonde woman walked into the triage area, looking more like an actress playing a doctor on a TV show. She shot a bright smile at Marcus, “Could you roll down your pants?” while slipping on her gloves. Then she turned to you, and for some reason, her gaze made you uneasy. “You’ll need to step outside, please.”

You felt a rush of indignation. “He’s my husband,” you said firmly.

The woman seemed displeased with your tone. “Alright, then help your husband,” she said.

“Of course I will,” you shot back, assisting Marcus.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, struggling to contain his amusement at your reaction. The doctor checked out his wound. “It’s pretty deep, but luckily it missed any arteries, thanks to your strong muscles, of course,” she said with a grin.

Marcus frowned.

For the first time, you were kinda grateful for his caveman vibe.

You tried not to giggle.

Take that bitch.

Then she told the nurse to clean it up and stitch it, and just like that, she was gone.

“What the heck? Is she a doctor or a model?” you whispered.

Marcus chuckled. “I never seen a woman healer before.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, is that something you find intriguing, Mr. General?”

He seemed taken aback by your sudden shift in tone. “I didn’t say—”

All men are the same.

It seems that even ancient ones find blondes more appealing.

"Her hair isn’t even real, it’s all dyed, you know? And she had so much makeup on, it looked like she just fell into a bucket of it or something."

“Why would that matter to me? And why are you suddenly angry?”

“I’m not!” you snapped, surprising even yourself as heads turned in your direction.

Oops.

What just happened?

What's wrong with me, you thought, feeling embarrassed.

You cleared your throat. “Let’s get going if you're ready,” you said, taking his arm and urging him to leave the damn hospital.

“We really need to get rid of that thing, you know?” You gestured towards the bag Marcus was carrying, filled to the brim with his old—or perhaps ancient—clothes as you both climbed the stairs to your apartment in the building. Without even looking at it, he already grasped what you meant. "Your bag is quite significant to you, isn’t it? I distinctly recall how reluctant you were to part with it while..."

“It’s not the same thing you know. Let’s at least get rid of your armor or something. You can keep your little knife if you want.”

“Pugio is a type of dagger, not a knife.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” you replied, opening the door to your apartment.

Your aunt was still staying with you, which made you a bit uncomfortable, but you felt grateful for her support of Lizzie while you were away. You ordered pizza for dinner from the restaurant downstairs, and Marcus seemed to enjoy the ‘cheese and tomato dough’ for the first time.

“So, did you meet on the movie set?” your aunt asked, glancing at Marcus.

Oh, right. It was normal for her to have questions when you came home with a man.

“Yes, I told you. Marcus is one of the extras.”

"I asked him, not you," she muttered.  

"And I was just answering for him," you shot back.

“What’s going on between you two? It’s not just a friendship, is it?”

“Aunt Victoria,” you warned, shooting her a glare. “Marcus is here for a few days because his family lives far away,” you said, hoping your tone sounded convincing. “And he’s just my friend.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows, looking at you with a gaze that you couldn't quite comprehend.

“So, the only reason you’re together is to shoot the new movie?”

“Yes, of course we’ll start shooting soon,” you replied nervously, taking a sip of your coke.

You had technically been fired from your last job—it wasn’t your fault you were kidnapped—but how could they have known? You needed to call the head costume designer as soon as possible and plead for your job back. Otherwise, you weren’t sure how you’d untangle the web of lies you had spun.

When you got up to clear the plates, Marcus followed you. He had been quiet since your arrival, and while he appreciated you answering all the questions for him, there was something that seemed to trouble him.

“Rosa?”

“Hmm?” you replied, focused on the plates in the sink.

“Are you well?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve lied so many times my head hurts.”

“You seem pretty skilled at this,” he said with a smirk, crossing his arms as he glanced at you. “At the hospital, you referred to me as your husband. Now, though, you’re telling your aunt and sister that I’m 'just' a friend.”

You stared at him, trying to understand the implication of his tone. “What was I supposed to say? That we’re married?”

His expression fell. “Is it so bad to be married to me?”

Did he hurt?

Suddenly, a glass shattered voice came, breaking the moment. Lizzie stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, her eyes wide with shock as the glass slipped from her hand. “Did you marry him?”

Unfortunately, she was loud enough that your aunt sprang up from the table, running to you. “What? What did you say?”

“Crap,” you muttered under your breath.

After cleaning up the glass shards, your aunt sat you down on the couch as if conducting a police interrogation, bombarding you with questions once more.

“So that’s why you disappeared? You got married in secret? How could you do that? As if the last time wasn’t tragic enough. You didn’t even tell your family, me. Do you hate me that much, Rose?”

“I can’t say I love you very much,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

“Rose!” Lizzie interjected. “Aunt Victoria was there for me while you were gone, -busy with marrying apparently-. She covered Dad’s hospital bills and the rent.”

“Lizzie, honey, I get it, but I can’t forget what she did to my mother in the past okay?”

“Don’t change the subject,” your aunt shot back, jabbing a finger at you. “Why did you marry him? How did it happen so fast? Did you get married in a church? Tell me everything right now.”

“It’s entirely my fault,” Marcus said. “I am the one to blame, Lady Victoria. I implore you not to unleash your frustrations on Rose because of my actions."

She looked at him in surprise, taken aback by his respectful tone and demeanor.

“Marcus,” you said, squeezing his hand gently. “I’ll handle this.” You turned to your aunt. “I know this is all very sudden, but I’m not a little girl anymore. I’ve told you everything already. I love Marcus; he’s the one, and that’s why I married him.”

Marcus smiled, your aunt frowned. You then took Lizzie’s hands and crouched down beside her. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart—for disappearing, for leaving you alone, for marrying without telling you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Lizzie leaned down and hugged you tightly. “It’s okay, you silly. That’s just how your life goes; you’ve always been a bit messy. But please, don’t ever disappear like that again.”

“Okay, I promise,” you said as you hugged her back.

“Then, um, Victoria, you’ll be heading home, right? After all, there’ll be three of us in this apartment now.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes at you. “You ungrateful girl. Are you kicking me out now?”

“A little,” you replied, grinning sweetly.

Lizzie walked over to you, saying, “Rose, she should at least stay the night.”

“Come on, don’t act like she’s out there homeless on the street. Remember, our aunt's husband is an Italian billionaire, and they live in a mansion.”

“But in Milan,” she shot back, clearly frustrated. “Plus, it’s late. How am I supposed to get a plane ticket at this hour? I can go tomorrow if you really want me to leave so badly.” She sighed heavily as she sank onto the couch. “I can’t believe it’s been years since we last saw each other, and look at how you’ve chosen to greet me. First, you vanished without a word, and now you show up married—to someone much older, whom we barely know, along with his family who is a complete mystery to us.” 

“I know him and his family, so there’s really no need for you to pry,” you said, ignoring the disapproving look she gave you. “Okay, that’s enough for tonight; it’s getting late,” you said, standing up. “Since we don’t have another room, Victoria, you can sleep in my room—”

“Oh no, Rose, I’ll take the couch. You’re a married woman now, and it’s only right you share your room with your husband,” she said, stealing a glance at Marcus out of the corner of her eye.

Oh great.

After you made up the couch with sheets and pillows for Victoria, Lizzie headed to her room. Now it was just you and Marcus. As you entered your room, you both exchanged awkward smiles. "Well, this is my room,” you said hesitantly, giving him a quick tour since it was his first time there.

Marcus’s eyes immediately fell on the small photographs pinned to the clipboard above your desk—sweet snapshots of you and Lizzie as kids, alongside your mom and dad. A smile spread across his face as he saw your younger self.

After all, he had known you from another time and another life since you were a child. You might look and speak different, but, you were her, and he knew that.

“Well, my room isn’t as big as yours, but I hope you like it, Mr. General,” you said with a laugh. That's when you noticed the piles of your underwears on the small armchair—something you had embraced longingly the day before. In a panic, you rushed over to stuff them into the drawer, but they got stuck and wouldn’t close. “Sorry it’s a bit messy. We don’t have slaves to pick up after us,” you added with a hint of sarcasm, forcing the drawer shut.

"Thank you for welcoming me into your room, Rosa. I also want to say I'm sorry for putting you in a tough situation with your aunt."

His apology caught you off guard—it was the first time he had ever said that to you. “Well, it’s good you recognize your mistake,” you said. “But what’s done is done. No need to dwell on it. You probably don't know, but there is a saying: 'Everything happens for a reason.'"

He smiled at this. “Possibly.” There definitely was a reason for all of this, but why now, after so many years? What had drawn you back to him? He pondered these questions, wondering if you would ever remember him. Was the woman standing in front of him just a familiar face, or were you truly the same person, body and soul? He hesitated to stir up painful memories, preferring you to find your own way back to them. He didn’t want to relive that hurt—the kind that pushed him into darkness every time he thought about it, the source of his deep-seated anger.

“Marcus? Earth to Marcus.”

Pulled back to reality, he realized you were calling him. Even for a brief moment, the weight of his thoughts had distracted him.

“Are you okay? How’s your wound?” you asked, glancing down at his calf, though he was still fully dressed.

“I’m well, feeling tired a bit. The police station was noisy, and those people were asking all sorts of strange questions.”

“Right, and you didn’t even get a shower, did you?”

“A shower?” he echoed, confused.

“I meant a bath. Come with me,” you said, motioning for him to follow. You opened the door to the small en-suite bathroom in your room and invited him inside. Though it wasn’t spacious, it had everything—a shower, a sink, a bathroom cabinet, and a spot for hanging a bathrobe. “I know it’s not as large as your big-ass balneum, but you can use it for your needs and to shower if you stay here with me.”

Maybe one day we can take a shower together, you thought, nervously biting your lower lip at the idea.

Marcus looked around with intrigue, his expression a mix of astonishment as he eyed the shower.

Oh poor baby.

You giggled and opened the shower door, picking up the shower head to demonstrate. “See? This is where the water comes out,” you said, turning on the faucet.

He crossed his arms. “That… is a remarkable invention.”

“Yes, it is. And this is shampoo, mine, but you can use it. Go ahead and take your first shower.”

“Alright,” he said, irritated as he began unbuttoning his shirt, cursing the buttons.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” you said, laughing softly.

When he finally managed to unbutton all the buttons, he hesitated, glancing at you meaningfully before realizing you were just standing there, staring. “Oh, sorry, I’ll give you some privacy,” you said, turning to leave the bathroom, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

You closed the door and leaned back against it, taking a deep breath. “God, I was practically staring at him; well done, Rose,” you muttered to yourself, still grappling with the fact that there was an incredibly attractive man in your bathroom, taking a shower. Sure, he wasn't from this time, and maybe he wasn’t even officially yours, but the reality was undeniable. Your heart raced as you slipped into your nightgown. It wasn't too short and didn't show much cleavage—comfortable, just how you liked it for sleeping. But it felt weird—this was the first time you were sharing your space, a place you never even let your sister into, with a guy. And not just any guy, but a ridiculously handsome one.

Damn hormones.

You slapped yourself to regain your senses.

You opened your laptop, one of the few things you had missed, and fired off an email to the head costume designer. You also remembered you needed to buy a new phone tomorrow. Just then, the bathroom door slowly opened, and you froze, closing your laptop. Marcus stepped out, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, revealing his stunning physique.

Oh, great.

Shit.

He was even more breathtaking than you had imagined. Instinctively, you covered your face with your hands. “Marcus, you’re taking this marriage thing a bit too far.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, pulling out a t-shirt and long sweatpants that you had bought for him from bags. “Is this what I'm supposed to wear, Rosa?”

Peeking through your fingers, you nodded. “Yes, yes, those.”

“Why are you hiding your face? Do you think I'm ugly, awful?” he quipped, glancing at the scars on his shoulder and chest.

What a ridiculous thought, what an absurd conclusion.

You lowered your hands. “Don’t be silly, Marcus,” you said as you stepped closer. You swallowed hard, taking stock of his shoulder, his chest, those amazing muscles. “It would be a sin to call you ugly, a grave sin, truly unforgivable,” you added, almost as if you were speaking to his muscles rather than him.

He chuckled, reaching a hand toward you, gently lifting your chin to close your dropped jaw.

You only realized your mouth had been agape in astonishment when he shut it for you.

Fucking embarrassing.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, turning back toward the bathroom to get dressed.

By the time he returned, you had composed yourself a bit, but the real tension was just around the corner.

Where was Marcus going to sleep?

“I can rest here,” he said, gesturing toward your cramped little chair.

“No way. You’ll wake up with a stiff neck if you sleep there. Look, you gave me your bed back then, so it's my turn now,” you insisted, pulling back the covers. “It’s a double bed—maybe not the widest, but I think we’ll both fit just fine.” Your voice cracked slightly.

Gently, Marcus touched your shoulder, sensing your unease. “Rosa, that’s  not necessary. You should rest in your bed," he glanced down and continued, "I can manage on the floor.”

“Floor? But your back will hurt.”

He smiled. “Did I ever tell you about the places I slept during the war?”

You recalled his stories and smiled. “Alright, but let’s at least put a duvet down on the floor for you.” You retrieved a thick duvet from the bottom of your wardrobe and laid it out.

“Thank you, Rosa,” Marcus said with a warm smile as he sank into the duvet and sheets you had prepared for him.

You got into your own bed, glancing over at him. He didn't seem very comfortable, but he appeared content nonetheless.

Not entirely sure why, but perhaps it was the comfort of having your room—and bed—back after so long that made you sleep so well. The first thing you did upon waking was look out at your room's sunlit window, not a small ancient Rome window. Then, of course, there was Marcus. He was still asleep, his eyes closed. Sunlight streamed through the small window, illuminating part of his face, highlighting his eyelashes and tousled hair.

You slid to the edge of the bed and let out a sigh of admiration as you watched him. Here, lying peacefully and quietly, he looked nothing like the fierce, fearless Roman soldier.

Surprisingly, you found yourself wishing he could stay here with you as your “fake husband” forever.

Fake husband.

Could he ever become your real husband someday?

Would he ever open his heart to you?

And most importantly, would he want to stay with you?

Maybe he’d want to leave.

After all, why would he want to stay? It’s not like he had feelings for you or anything.

That couldn’t have been what he meant by being soft with you, could it?

You pushed those thoughts aside as you sat up in bed. Carefully avoiding waking him, you slipped out of bed and quietly exited the room.

When Marcus woke up, he realized that even though he was sleeping on the floor, he felt surprisingly comfortable. It was odd, but he actually liked it. As he noticed that you weren’t in bed, he got up, picked up the duvet and sheets you had laid out for him, and draped it over the bed. This unfamiliar room, with its strange furniture and atmosphere, was something he was still adjusting to. However, he found himself feeling oddly happy; it didn’t bother him as it once had.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he truly belonged somewhere else. Gazing at the pictures on the wall, he wondered if he could truly stay here for good. It seemed daunting, but perhaps it was possible. To never wield a sword again, to never see Julius or Rome or the villa where he had been born and raised—those thoughts weighed on him. What would his life be without them?

What was his role in this new life?

He could easily be your husband in the Rome he knew, standing by your side and protecting you as a general. But here, in this unfamiliar place, he felt like a total stranger—just an ordinary man without responsibilities. How would he make his way through this new world when even casual conversations seemed awkward and foreign to him?

The sounds from outside the room broke him from his thoughts, he opened the door and stepped out. Although it was a bit strange to know he was staying in a much smaller space—a cozy apartment—with three women, he felt happy.

When you saw him, a smile lit up your face as you welcomed him to the table you had so thoughtfully set. “Marcus, sit opposite Lizzie while I get the pancakes,” you said cheerfully, heading to the kitchen.

Lizzie and Victoria exchanged glances as he settled in.

“I hope you have a strong stomach, Marcus,” Lizzie teased with a giggle.

Victoria chimed in with a laugh, "He’s a strong man, I can tell, and patient too—especially for putting up with Rose."

Marcus frowned, not quite catching the underlying joke.

Yet, he understood when you brought the pancakes to the table and took his first bite. Everyone at the table shared awkward glances, except for you, as they chewed silently.

Then you looked at them, and your face fell when you realized they were chewing very slowly definitely not with appetite.

Suddenly, Lizzie jumped up. “I’m going to be late for school,” she said, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek. “See you later.”

“Hey, you haven’t finished your breakfast,” you called out, but she was already out the door, not listening.

You turned to Marcus and Victoria. “Is it that bad?”

Victoria swallowed hard. “Honey, I’m sorry, but lying is a sin, and you're just not good at it. Maybe you should stick to other chores than cooking,” she said, gulping down her orange juice to wash away the unpalatable taste.

You looked at Marcus, “Do you really think these pancakes are bad?”

He shook his head. “No, I think they’re delicious,” He took another bite, hiding his true feelings to spare your feelings, and you beamed with joy.

“Ohhh, love,” Victoria murmured.

When you took a bite yourself, nausea hit, and you quickly spat it into a napkin. “Marcus, stop eating that! It’s a disaster.”

“It’s alright, Rosa,” he replied gently.

“He’s really in love with you, my dear,” Victoria giggled.

Marcus smirked, and you looked away, blushing. Victoria sighed, watching you both. “It’s lovely to see you with someone who truly loves you. I wish your father could see this.”

“I wish,” you responded quietly. Then you clapped your hands. “Marcus, forget the pancakes. I’ll take you out for breakfast. We need to swing by the set anyway, right, baby?” you said, giving him a playful wink.

Surprised, he nodded. “Fine, whatever you want... baby.” He said his first 'baby' word so sweetly that your eyes locked for a moment, nearly forgetting your aunt's presence.

“Oh, that brings back memories from when my husband and I were newlyweds,” she said with a dreamy sigh.

Then Marcus got up and went to find his new shoes, struggling with the laces.

“When are you leaving?” you asked at her as you standing up too.

She rolled his eyes. “Sweet Jesus, this girl. I have an 8 PM flight; are you happy now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Don’t think you can dodge it,” she said playfully, tilting her head at you while you grabbed your purse from the coat hanger.

“What do you mean?”

“I expect you two to visit me in Milan as soon as possible,” she said, looking at you both.

“Sure, we’ll see,” you murmured as you took Marcus's hand, and together you left the apartment.

Your aunt quietly whispered to herself after you departed, "How am I going to explain her real parents at this point? Even though you aren't my biological niece, I truly love you, Rose. I just hope you won't come to resent me even more when you find out the truth.”

You could have asked your aunt for a little money to cover what the man referred to as a small fortune for Marcus' ID card, but you hadn't borrowed from her until now. You weren’t about to start asking her for help at this point. So, the two ancient coins from the pouch that Marcus handed you on your wedding night, filled with denarii, would have to do. It looked like Roman denarii were very valuable in your time.

You were oficially an artifact smuggler now, just perfect.

“Here you are, Mr. General.” You handed Marcus his newly printed ID card with a smile. “Congratulations, you’re officially an Italian citizen now.”

Marcus took the card and studied it intently. “So this shiny little thing with my picture is an official document of citizenship?” he muttered, somewhat incredulously.

You chuckled. "Yes, that's exactly it. And you look incredibly handsome in this photo—seriously, check it out. You’re really photogenic."

“It’s truly remarkable how swiftly my likeness has been captured,” he said, still in awe.

You opened the car door and glanced back at him. "It's called a camera. I'll explain later, I promise, but we need to buy a phone for both of us. Come on, jump in."

When Marcus stepped into the mall for the first time, he seemed overwhelmed. It was as crowded as the Colosseum but far more colorful and vibrant. People hustled about, focused on shopping and wandering, and it felt like a massive, bustling market—yet not quite the same.

Noticing his nervousness, you realized just how much you had underestimated his situation. You remembered how it felt the first time you visited the Circus Maximus, but Marcus’s experience must be far more daunting—after all, he was a Roman soldier who had time-traveled to this modern world.

You took his hand firmly, and he looked down at your clasped fingers, then back to you. You smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’m right here with you. Let’s go.”

You showed Marcus around the tech store, he marveled at the various gadgets while you browsed for a new phone. When it came time to pay, he discovered a nearby boy engrossed in a game on a console. Fascinated, Marcus picked up a joystick, but when he pressed the wrong button, he inadvertently became 2nd player to the game. The boy invited him to race together, and, of course, they dove right in. “Oh man, you suck!” the boy laughed.

That hardly seemed fair.

You walked over and took the joystick from Marcus. “It’s easy to beat someone who’s never played before, don't you think kiddo?”

“Okay, if you think you can do better, auntie.”

You blinked at him, taken aback. "Auntie?"

“Or should I call you Grandma?” he laughed.

“You little—” You lunged towards him, but Marcus caught your arm.

"Easy, Rosa."

"You're right; he's just a kid. Let’s get out of here."

"What, scared? 'Cause you're a chicken?” He mimicked chicken sounds.

You rolled your eyes. "This kid is killing me. I better teach him a lesson. Hold my bag, Marcus." You handed him your handbag and approached the boy, grabbing the joystick again. "Let’s see what you’ve got, you little shrimp.”

The two of you began to play, and Marcus enjoyed watching as onlookers gathered to see the race. In the end, you won and boy got frustrated. "Now you can go cry to your mama, kiddo," you teased.

But suddenly, you froze as the boy spotted his mother in the distance. He started filling her in on everything, even throwing in some lies. She was a large woman with an unfriendly expression.

You took a step back. “Marcus, on the count of three, we’re making a run for it.”

“Why?”

"One, two..." The woman was closing in, and then she noticed you. "Three! Go!"

You started running, pulling him along, though it felt like he effortlessly let you lead. Marcus smiled as you sprinted past the shops. Compared to the threats of his time, this felt almost comical to him.

You even had to navigate one of the escalators backward, and once outside the mall, you leaned against the wall, catching your breath and laughing. "That was close."

“Rosa, you are truly unique,” he said, still chuckling.

“What do you mean? Didn’t you see her? She was towering over us—at least 6' tall! If she caught me…” You shuddered at the thought.

“Do you believe I would allow that to occur? Have you forgotten who I am?”

You grinned. “My husband?”

"I intended to say General of Rome, but you're right. As your husband, it is my responsibility to protect you from any danger. You are my wife."

As your breathing steadied, you realized how much you liked the word “wife.”

“Are all children from your time like this? They seem very disrespectful.”

You sighed. “Oh, they’re worse, believe me.”

In the evening, after you sent your aunt off to catch her flight, you all flopped down on the couch. Lizzie was sitting across from you, watching with a grin while you helped Marcus figure out how to use his brand-new phone—his first one ever.

"So, Marcus, how old are you?"

Suddenly, you both turned to look at Lizzie, surprised by her abrupt question.

“Lizzie—” you scolded her gently.

“I mean, why haven’t you had a phone all these years? It’s really weird.”

“It’s not weird, it’s a choice. Marcus and his family have just preferred to live like the Amish for all this time,” you lied, one of your many fabrications.

“I think there’s more to it than that, but you won’t spill the beans,” Lizzie said, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Okay, want to know the truth?” you said seriously, locking eyes with her. “Marcus is a Roman soldier who traveled through time thousands of years to get to the present day.”

Marcus blinked in surprise before turning to Lizzie, who stood up and rolled her eyes at you. “Fine, don’t tell me. But just so you know, that’s scientifically impossible. If you had read my books or watched the shows I do, you’d see how absurd this sounds.” With that, she turned and walked out of the living room.

“If only you knew the truth,” you muttered to yourself.

"Your sister is tough to persuade, unlike my brother Julius."

"That’s because she’s extremely scientific. Trust me, she’s hard to convince of anything. She’s the smartest person I know."

Suddenly, you heard someone calling your name from outside. There was only one person who would do that.

“Damn it.”

You went to the window, opened it, and peeked out just as Lizzie stepped into the living room. “He’s here.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” you said, slamming the window shut in frustration.

Marcus stood up as well. "Rosa?"

“You stay put,” you instructed, heading for the door. “I’ll take care of him and be right back.”

Lizzie glanced at Marcus after you walked out. “Don’t worry; she’s done this before.”

“But who is that man?”

“Nicolo. Rose’s ex-fiancé.”

Even though he didn’t know the word “fiancé,” Marcus grasped the situation immediately.

“Nicolo, what the fuck are you doing here again?” you shouted as you stepped outside.

Nicolo was, as usual, drunk. Years had passed since your breakup, yet he still showed up in front of your apartment building from time to time. Everyone in the building was familiar with him now— from the restaurant downstairs to your landlady After all, he made quite a scene each time he appeared.

“Rose,” he slurred with a silly grin. “I miss you gorgeous. Let’s talk,” he said, reaching for your hand, but you pulled away.

“Cut it out! Stop bothering me. Just go now, leave!"

The residents were watching from their windows, as if they were watching tv show.

“Isn’t that the guy again?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“I think she’s about to kick him to the curb again.”

“Oh great, now I’m embarrassing myself in front of the neighbors because of you,” you snapped.

“I won’t give up until you come back to me. I’ll burn this apartment down!” he shouted at the onlookers.

They cursed at him angrily.

“What did he say?” someone asked.

“Someone call the police!” yelled another voice.

He grabbed your arm tightly once more.

“Let go of my arm!” you barked.

“Rose, please, forgive me. I can’t breathe without you,” he said, his eyes pleading, though they clearly lacked sincerity.

“I'll choke you so you'll never breathe!” you barked, then you sighed. “Nicolo, just get out of my life already! You left me at the altar, and we broke up, end of story.” As you turned to leave, he stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“Come on, Rose. If you won’t come along on your own, I’ll just have to drag you with me, you know I will,” he said, sounding pretty desperate.

“Let go of me, you jerk!” you yelled, trying to wriggle out of his hold.

“Rosa!”

Marcus's voice thundered as he rushed toward you, seizing Nicolo's wrist and pushing him away. Physically, Nicolo was no match for Marcus—being shorter and thinner—yet he took his chance. “Who the fuck are you? How dare you shove me?” Nicolo retaliated with a punch, but instead of backing down, Marcus caught his fist effortlessly.

The cracking sound of Nicolo’s fingers echoed as Marcus held on tight, causing him to yelp in pain. “I’m her husband,” Marcus declared through gritted teeth and shoved him again.

Nicolo was shocked, but his pain was so intense that he focused solely on that. “You fucking lunatic! You broke my damn fingers!” he groaned, clutching his injured hand in agony.

Your mouth fell open in shock.

You weren't alone; all the residents of the apartment building and bystanders on the street were watching in awe.

As Nicolo stumbled away, nursing his hand and grumbling angrily, Marcus turned to you and gently brushed your cheek. “Are you well, Rosa?”

You nodded. “Y-yes, t-thank you, I guess.”

Suddenly, applause erupted from onlookers. Great, now everyone knows you’re married.

“Someone had to put him in his place,” a voice called out.

“That bastard got what was coming to him,” another chimed in.

“Good job, Marcus!” praised a lady from the ground floor.

You couldn’t help but giggle. "Looks like you’ve got fans just like you did back in -your- Rome, Mr. General." Clapping your hands, you teased, "Acacius, Acacius, Acacius—general of Rome," mimicking the cheers of his citizens.

He chuckled at your playful imitation. “I suppose it’s not so bad being here after all.”

As you made your way back to the apartment, you found yourself deep in conversation with the landlady about marriage-related matters. Fortunately, she was supportive and even expressed her appreciation for how Marcus got Nicolo—apparently she was really impressed when Marcus broke that bastards fingers.

In the end, Marcus emerged as the hero of the building.

Clearly, heroism ran in his veins—no kidding.

“Oh, what a night,” you muttered as you flopped down onto your bed. "The idiot never knows when to quit. But maybe now he will, thinking I'm married and that my husband broke his fingers. Truth be told, I've always wanted to break his fingers. It must be hurt."

Marcus closed the door behind him and turned towards you. "He hurt you more by breaking your heart, Rosa. He should be grateful I didn’t break every bone in his body.”

You knew he wasn’t just saying that; he would absolutely follow through if pushed.  

Yes he would.

He was remarkable.

You felt an undeniable pull toward him, especially with his protective nature.

But how did this happen.

Why him, when you’d always shunned violent, rude men?

Why this man?

Why him, especially when he didn’t even belong to your time? You sighed and gazed at his face. Yes, he was older, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes telling that story, and the silver streaks in his hair along with the scar on his cheek hinted at a life of battles fought. But none of that was unappealing to you; it was downright beautiful.

Something had changed.

Maybe it was love.

What you thought you felt before, the fleeting feeling you had for Nicolo, was nothing compared to this.

You could feel the difference.

Deep in your heart.

You wondered if he felt it too.

He must have—there was something different about the way he looked at you now.

Does he love you as well?

You had spent the whole night contemplating it. You propped yourself up in bed and cast a glance at Marcus.

Your heart nearly skipped a beat when you realized he was awake, the soft glow of the dim light highlighting his features as he watched you intently. Embarrassed, you turned away, a rush of heat creeping up your neck. But after a moment, you summoned the courage, faced him again, and stepped forward. He stared at you in surprise as he sat up.

“Rosa? What’s wrong?”

Sitting beside him, you bit your lip nervously, feeling the weight of your next words. “Marcus, you really see me now, don’t you? I’m not the kind of person who can keep my thoughts locked up inside. I tend to talk too much, but I can't find peace until I share what I’m feeling.”

He nodded, his intense gaze never leaving yours.

“That’s why I need to say this,” you pressed on, meeting his eyes with unwavering determination. “I think I’m in love with you.” You swallowed hard, a flutter of anticipation gripping your stomach as you awaited his reaction.

A soft, tender smile spread across his face, deepening the lines around his eyes as he cupped your face in his calloused hands.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart racing as you held his gaze.

What would happen next?

“Rosa...” he whispered, his warm breath a gentle caress against your skin. Then, with an affectionate smile, he brushed his fingers through your hair, his eyes drinking in every detail of your face.

“Look, I know your heart still belongs to her,” you rushed to explain, feeling a surge of words spill from you. “You don’t have to answer me right away. I understand if I sound insane—I truly don’t know how all this happened—but I couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer, and—”

Before you could finish, he closed the distance between you, silencing your words with a kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

His lips were warm, and he's soft, so soft with you when you kissed him back.

To your surprise, he was tender with you, delicate, almost chaste.

But, damn, he was a good kisser.

Any hesitance any suspicions you had left crumbled and melted into him. You could fight against harsh, against mean or rough. But you had no defense against kindness.

You laid cautious trembling hands on his chest, cream cotton over warm skin, muscle, bone; his heartbeat is wild under your palms, hand unsteady on your neck, and there was the truth under his shell of cool, composed. He was as swept up -- stirred up -- by this as you are.

You arched your back like a bow to fold yourself into him, wanted to push closer, crack him open and taste that hidden inside. You wanted to drink him in.

He groaned against you, broke the kiss away with a wet sound, hot breath on your cheek. “Rosa," he said, panting, grabbing your shoulders, looking into your eyes.

"You need to know something-“ he said, stopping you.

Consumed by lust, “Later, please,” you said, catching his lips, catching the words and swallowing them. Tangled your fingers in his hair, and opened your mouth under his, pushed inside.

It was never like this with Nicolo, ever.

Nothing chaste or delicate now. Blood rushes through your whole body, scorching shuddering wave from the top of your head to your feet. 

He held you back once more, struggling against the wave of desire surging between you as your fingers tugged at his soft T-shirt. He could feel the tension building; if you ventured further, he'd lose all sense of restraint.

You were pushing him to his limits.

Gently, he took your hands in his, pressing a tender kiss against each palm before locking eyes with you. “Rosa, please listen to me.”

“Don’t you want me?” you asked, the weight of disappointment heavy in your voice.

“Don’t be absurd. Believe me, there’s nothing I want more at this moment. However, there’s something you need to understand,” he said, touching your cheek softly.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips.

In such a special moment, what else could possibly matter?

“Rosa, you were right. My heart belongs to her.”

You furrowed your brows, caught off guard.

Was he really rejecting you?

Suddenly, tears began to well in your eyes.

He brushed his fingers gently against your cheek. “But she is you, and you are her. The woman my heart belongs to is you, Rosa.”

“Wait, what does that mean? I’m completely lost,” you muttered.

In that instant, he uttered the words you’d never anticipated.

“I can’t claim to fully understand either. At first, I noticed a few uncanny similarities and brushed them off as mere coincidence. But then I stumbled upon that photograph, and it struck me how your features mirror hers so closely. When I lost her, the sorrow felt insurmountable—I prayed with all my heart to reunite with her in another life. Now, reflecting on everything, I think the reason I’m here, and perhaps why you’ve come to my time, is intertwined with this truth. I’ve been mulling over it endlessly. You can decipher that parchment, Sol Invictus; you can see the symbols—everything connects. Rosa, I believe you are her reincarnation. You are my Rhea.”

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️ Your thoughts are important to me, so please share them with me.

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[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Pairing: Modern!Marcus Acacius x Curvy!f!reader Rating: +18, MDNI, NSFW Words count: 7135 Summary: Moving to Rome for work brings you to meet an unexpected next door neighbor. Tags: AU, modern setting, smut, neighbor!Marcus, curvy reader, 69, squirting, a lot of praise (Marcus is stunned by your curvy body, as he should!), use of a sex toy, Marcus is a gentleman but quite freaky in the bedroom (and I love that for him 😌), reader takes no shit, she is explicitly described as curvy but no mention of skin tone or hair, she understands Italian, use of Italian (translation in brackets) , Marcus can speak Italian, unprotected p in v and I didn't mention protection (this is not reality and no one gets pregnant in my fics, please do better IRL and use protection), cream pie, Marcus has a huge cock (of course, I mean, have you seen him?) nipple play, swearing, pet names, dirty talk, mention of a lot Italian things, a lot of self indulgent stuff, no mention of age, they're both grown up adults anyway (30 something in my head), let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: Written for @mushgloomz PPCU Smut Writing Challenge 2025, Kia assigned me this prompt that I loved very much, I'm sorry that it took me so long to write this but here we are. I hope it's decent, I haven't published something in ages and I'm very nervous to share this 🥺 - Thanks so much to @aurorawritestoescape for being my precious beta, your help is such a comfort to me ❤️ (Any mistake is still on me!!! English is not my first language- Italian is) - Thanks to the lovely @thedilfdiaries for reading through this and always being such a sweetie pie 🥰 - Thanks to @baronessvonglitter that made the mood board that you can see at the end for me. My idea has changed over time but she did a beautiful job and I absolutely wanted to share it anyway. Love you all so much 🥹 As always, comments and reblog are appreciated, I really hope you'll like it!

Masterlist

Rome wakes up outside your window to an indistinct hubbub, vans unloading goods, horns, people walking to the metro stop. 

Rome is noisy, elegantly antique, a placid lady stretched out on a territory that extends more and more in a swarm of alleys, neighborhoods, suburbs, open-air works of art that arise in the midst of traffic, cars that move like in a crazy pinball machine. 

Rome is made of contrasts. 

Piss in the alleys and luxury buildings. 

Garbage trucks creaking on the cobblestones and unesco heritage sites.

Rome is chaos and wonder, a place where ancient and modern collide and coexist a few steps away from each other. 

When you decided to study cultural heritage restoration, it was at the top of your list of places you wanted to visit.

You roll over in bed as a timid ray of sunlight hits you, you hide your face in the pillow, basking in its comfort for a few minutes, before getting up and heading to the kitchen. 

You take out the moka pot that your Italian colleague gave you a few days after you arrived here. “You’re staying here for a while, you’ll see that you need it” he told you. And you did.

You needed it like oxygen now. 

The moka sputters on the stove like a symphony that promises to bring you back to life.

You pour some of it into a little cup and a few moments later the hot drink slides down your throat, reawakening your numb synapses.

After a quick breakfast and a shower you leave the house, ready to dive into this bustling hive you now call home.

_________________

It's late in the evening when you get home and while you're rummaging in your bag looking for your keys, your neighbor comes out onto the landing with a woman.

A very attractive woman, actually. Curly hair, gorgeous eyes and a booty that can stop traffic. 

He says “Buonasera” (good evening) in a low voice before disappearing down the stairs with her.

You roll your eyes as you enter the house, wondering if he'll ever ask you out again. 

Marcus lives right next door to you and your history with him has been messy since day one. 

__________________

You arrived with a huge suitcase and literally  bumped into him as you were trying to drag the goddamn thing up the few steps, leading to the entrance of the building.

He grunted, held you up for a split second in a strong grip to try to prevent you from falling down ruinously and helped you carry your suitcase to the elevator. 

You immediately noticed his strong forearms peeking out from his rolled-up shirt sleeves as he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you standing.

You fancied him right away, he was handsome beyond measure.

Tall, attractive man, sporting the most gorgeous brown eyes you’d ever seen, salt and pepper curls so luscious all you wanted was to tangle your fingers through them and a body to die for, muscular in all the right places, strong neck and broad shoulders. He made your mouth water. 

And he was kind, always had been. 

He exuded a sense of security and the way he carried himself with so much confidence was extremely charming.

He asked you out about two weeks later. You thought you had a nice evening; he took you to see the Colosseum, smiled at you while you babbled on about everything you knew about it, amazed at the sight of the monument you had wanted to see all your life, and too nervous around him to just keep quiet. 

You had dinner together, talked a lot, and laughed. Everything was perfect until you got home. 

______________

You move down the hallway barefoot testing the coolness of the tiles under your feet and you head to your bedroom. 

The sun is still high even though it’s seven in the evening, which puts you in a good mood, it feels like the day hasn’t been lost yet. 

You jump in the shower to wash away the smell of the restoration products that still linger in your nostrils.

As you rub yourself thoroughly with coconut body wash, you think back to the fact that Marcus didn't kiss you that night.

He said goodnight and headed away, muttering that he'd like to see you again. Two months had passed since then.

No other invitation followed the first.

Sitting on the bed in your bathrobe, you curse yourself for thinking about him. 

When you first decided to move here, you considered the amazing food, landscape, art history, the fact that you would have come up against a not so pleasant language barrier. 

You hadn't thought about the fact that you might meet someone. 

Well, you did, but certainly not someone like Marcus.

And now you’re quite sure he won’t ask you out again because of the nice lady you’ve seen with him. 

Fuck. 

Your stomach rumbles noisily.

You go to the kitchen and open the fridge only to find it empty. 

There is a sad parmesan crust looking at you from the shelf in the center which makes you think you’re failing Italian cuisine big time.

You go back to the room and call Francesca, one of your colleagues.

She answers you after a few seconds and you hear noises in the background, it sounds like she's somewhere public.

You ask what she’s doing and whine about having nothing to eat and she simply replies  “metti il tuo bel culo su un taxi e fatti portare a Campo dei Fiori, ci penso io a te” (Get your nice ass in a taxi and go to Campo dei Fiori, I'll take care of you). 

You join her and her friends at a restaurant with outdoor tables and enjoy a pleasant evening filled with laughter, jokes, insights into Roman cuisine, an exquisite cacio e pepe and way too much wine.

Definitely a mistake. When you drink too much, your tongue moves faster than your brain, and before you know it, you find yourself talking about your attractive neighbor.

Francesca obviously encourages you to ask him out yourself. “Che ti frega?! Fallo. Non hai niente da perdere! Se davvero ha una relazione con quella ragazza ti dirà di no” (What’s stopping you?! Go for it! You've got nothing to lose! If he really has a relationship with that girl he’ll tell you ‘no’.)

“Unless he’s a piece of shit,” you try to say but it doesn’t feel like you have any power over her enthusiasm. 

She’s always like that, cheering you up, joking around, while she does the most important and delicate restoration work on a painting, keeping her hand super firm, having your back and helping you out every time she can. 

You have to admit that she's not entirely wrong.

Marcus told you he was an actor. 

He was mostly focused on theater, but he had been offered a role in an Italian series set in Ancient Rome, the pay was good and the script was interesting.

The end of his marriage and not having to provide for any children had given him the final push to change his life. 

Who knew how many women were pursuing him, gorgeous actresses who had the opportunity to film scenes with him all day long.

He had undoubtedly found someone else he liked better, which was why he no longer paid attention to you.

You are mulling it over in your head the whole way home, barely listening to the taxi driver who keeps talking to you.

Francesca wouldn't listen to reason, and her friends agreed with her. At least you would have cleared up your doubts once and for all and been able to move on.

You undress, remove your makeup, and as you’re putting on the oversized T-shirt you wear to sleep, you wonder if he's already home. It's quite late. Sitting on the bed, applying your hand cream, you strain your ears to hear any noise coming from his house. 

You hear nothing. 

You fall into a deep sleep, still a little tipsy from the wine, hugging your pillow. 

____________________________

Two nights later, when you return home, you head to the mailboxes in the lobby to check if a package you ordered has arrived.

The boxes are all lined up against the wall, and packages are usually left in a larger niche to the side of them.

You're rummaging through the boxes looking for yours when you hear steps on the marble floor and a voice behind you.

“You won't find it in there.”

You turn around in surprise and see Marcus standing there with a smirk on his face.

“How do you know?”

“This morning when I was leaving, I ran into a delivery guy, and he asked me about you because he needed a signature for the delivery. So I signed it for you. I have your package.”

You're stunned. The neighbor you have a crush on signed for your new wand.

You didn't even ask for anonymous delivery so that no one would know what was inside. 

Your relatives are not here, so you didn’t need to care, right? 

Wrong.

“You couldn't have left it in the mailbox?”

“Actually, yes, but I decided to bring it inside for privacy,” he chuckles.

“I don't think that's any of your business,” you stare at him, raising your eyebrow.

Damn, this guy is unbelievable. He hasn’t paid you any attention for two months and then suddenly decides he cares about your reputation?

“Sorry, I just didn't want Mrs. Rossi to see it. She's the worst gossip in the neighborhood.”

Marcus shrugs his shoulders with an innocent smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, okay. Can you give it to me now, or do you think I have to get down on my knees and beg you?”

“Well…It doesn't seem like a bad idea.”

Again, he’s all smirks and lustful looks, but when it comes to facts? Nothing to register.

You never know if he's being cheeky on purpose or if that's just how he was designed, and he doesn't even realize it.

This man seems to have been created to make you yearn as long as you remain on Italian land and beyond.

You roll your eyes, “Oh my God, can’t you just give me the damn box and cut this bullshit, please?”

“Okay,” he grinned. “After you” and he gestures at the elevator.

You make the whole ride with your heart beating like a drum in your chest and your head so light you could swear you’re about to lose your sanity.

Growing up in a thick body made you used to people giving unrequited advice and pitiful comments, you learned to shake them off your shoulders.

However, the fact that he unexpectedly gleaned such a private part of you has made you feel vulnerable and you do feel nervous around him.

Besides he hasn’t made it clear what he wants yet and he looks like the most seraphic person while doing it. 

Once you are in front of his door he enters his apartment and you wait on the landing, fidgeting with your keys, breathing deeply, trying to regain your control.

“Here you go” he says, handing you your box. 

Fucking finally.

“Well…have fun I guess” he adds while you’re opening your door. 

You turn around, decide you’re done with this infinite teasing that leads to nothing and finally find the gut to speak.

“Just so I know, do you want to continue this charade forever?”

Marcus remains speechless for a moment. He wasn’t expecting that from you and you’re glad. 

“What charade?” He seems confused and a certain irritation starts building in your core.

“Oh, I don’t know, what about us going on a date and then you never asking me out again? And look, I would be fine with that, but what about today? Why did you even care to sign for me? And why are you all of a sudden so worried about my reputation among the old ladies in this damn building? I don’t know any of them, plus I doubt they’re remotely familiar with the internet and what this box contains…so what’s your motive? You want to be noticed? You want to ask me out again?” You say it all in one breath, while his mouth unconsciously parts and his eyes widen.

“Fuck, you have an attitude..Yeah, I mean…no, I would love to go on another date with you.” He babbles and your pride is growing strong.

“Ok, Friday at 8. Knock on my door,” you grant, mastering your most unfazed tone.

“I will,” he croaks, before watching you close your door after giving him a wink.

You’ve done it.

You secured another date.

All thanks to your new wand.

You will definitely put this bad boy to good use tonight. 

____________

By the end of the week you’re so worked up you’re counting the hours to your date.

Work helps you to dissociate from the horny little monster that lives inside you, restoration requires you to be focused, you certainly can’t screw up the Caravaggio you’re working on.

It's one of the finest work of art you've ever seen and you’re so proud that they trust your abilities enough to assign it to you.

You love Caravaggio.

Repairing those signs of aging in the painting makes you feel secure, in control of the situation and, by extension, of your life. 

Francesca is another great help. She hasn't stopped cheering you up, telling you that if he hasn't jumped on you yet, it's only a matter of time. She distracts you with her chatter about a guy she's dating, a new restaurant she discovered, and a beautiful sweater she bought at a bargain price at the flea market in Porta di Roma. 

You love her duality, the way she approaches restoration with such care and delicacy, in contrast to her exuberant, chaotic, and boisterous personality. 

You are grateful that she is here for you. 

Friday evening arrives tragically slowly, yet filled with so many expectations.

You haven't seen Marcus all week, there have only been a few messages saying that production was running late and he had been forced to stay on set longer than expected. 

“Anyway, at 8 o'clock on Friday, when you hear a knock at the door, it'll be me.” 

And you replied, “I can’t wait”.

Fortunately, Marcus is a man who keeps his promises. 

When you open the door, you are delighted by his broad shoulders enveloped in a nice jean jacket and a white t-shirt underneath, filling the doorway. His smile spreads beneath his perfectly trimmed mustache, lighting up his face. 

“Well…look at you. Beautiful,” he whispers, and it sounds like honey to your ears. 

He looks down at you with amazement, observing the body that took you a lifetime to love, making you feel as if the wide hips and your soft belly are your greatest assets and not something you need to hide. 

You’re glad you dared to put a silky dress on, that is hugging your curves just right, shiny material enlightening your skin and making you feel like a mermaid. 

Embracing your body took you years but it’s the best thing you’ve done besides curating your education. 

_____________

You’re walking down the street side by side along the Tiber as it flows gently in its bed like a placid, sleepy snake and you feel like a magnet he can't escape. 

His searching eyes look at you, studying your face as if trying to read your mind.

“Where are we going? Will you tell me this time?” 

He smirks, “Okay. We've already been to a fancy restaurant, so I thought it was time for a real Roman experience. Do you think you're ready?”

“Sure,” you nod, “I love authenticity.”

“Well, then you'll love where I'm taking you.”

When you arrive, Francesca's words ring loud and clear in your head: 

“If the restaurant looks like it's been there for a hundred years, you can be sure you'll eat the best Italian food of your life.” 

Now you understand exactly what she meant. The tavern you have entered has a faded sign and is furnished with straw chairs, wooden tables, and antique display cabinets. The furniture is simple, solid, and functional, just like it used to be.

No waiters in uniforms, just a big man in a wrinkled, grease-stained apron who welcomes Marcus as if he were his son, patting him heavily on the shoulder and saying, 

“Oh Marcus, bentornato! Ti dò il solito tavolo?” (Oh, Marcus, welcome back! Shall I give you your usual table?).

“Sì, grazie Vittorio” (Yes, Vittorio, thank you).

You sit at a small table in a corner, surrounded by other people talking loudly and pouring wine into glasses, in front of plates containing the most generous portions of pasta you have ever seen. 

The walls are decorated with paintings in the Arte Povera style, everyday objects such as funnels and old tools, next to your table there’s something that looks like a wooden cart wheel.

Scattered around are old black and white photos, signed. 

Marcus watches you as you look around curiously. 

“Does the waiter know you?”

“I've been here often with the rest of the crew. You know that girl you saw last week? She’s my scene partner and she’s Vittorio’s nephew.”

“Oh, I see.”

In a way, he brought you to a place where he feels most comfortable, and you find that adorable.

But then you wonder about her. Is she more than a scene partner? Has he ever kissed her? 

Her uncle didn't say anything strange to Marcus, you understand Italian well enough to be sure. That's assuming he knows, which he may not.

You feel a little stupid for asking him out without making sure she wasn't his girlfriend, but after all, you're here now, you're just having dinner, and there's no harm done. You're still on a friend territory, even if it's the last place you want to be.

“Do you like it?“ he asks almost shyly.

“Of course I do” you exclaim, “it's awesome! My colleague took me to similar places here in Trastevere, but this one is truly one of a kind.”

The buzz bounces off the walls like a swarm of crazy bees. You can't hear a single thought in your head, but it's all too much fun. Especially the way the big man takes your orders, commenting on your beauty, winking at Marcus, laughing cheerfully as he encourages you to speak Italian. He's loud and friendly, like the rest of the place around him.

He returns after a few minutes with a carafe of house wine and a basket of warm, fragrant bread that fills your nostrils in the most delicious way.

You and Marcus laugh a lot, chat about your week, and finish your pasta dishes quickly. You're not drunk, but you definitely feel intoxicated by him.

When he looks at you with those brown eyes, you feel like you're swimming in them, like in a lustful, sweet chocolate fountain.

“Who are all these people?” you ask, trying to shake yourself out of your stupor, gesturing at the photos hanging on the walls.

“Famous Italian actors, mostly. That's Marcello Mastroianni, have you ever seen La Dolce Vita?”

“I'm afraid not. Is that bad?”

“I forgive you. It just means that one day you'll have to watch it with me.”

His voice is low and confident and reaches you clearly despite the noise. Too clearly, even, the warmth in your chest intensifies.

His hand moves slightly over the table like he was about to take yours when you are interrupted by Vittorio bringing the bill, and Marcus insists on paying despite your protests.

____________________

You walk across a bridge over the Tiber, gazing at Marcus’ face illuminated by the streetlights.

You’re longing to feel his hand on you, so bad that you can’t even concentrate on what he’s saying right now, you just keep nodding mindlessly until you decide to let out what's been boiling inside you for a week.

The air is cool, and Marcus offers you his jacket.

You put it on and find yourself surrounded by the warmth of his body that still lingers on the fabric.

“So, do you think we should keep seeing each other?” you prod.

“Of course. Why not? Aren't you having a great time with me?” 

He's so confident that you almost feel bad objecting, “Well, I do, but...”

“But what?”

“What about the other girl? Vittorio’s nephew?” you say, mindlessly crossing your arms around your body, shrugging in the cool air, with a slight undertone of resentment that you weren’t supposed to leave out.

He laughs so hard, as if you had just said something absolutely ridiculous, gets in front of you and gently takes your chin in his hand making you look at him. 

“Hey. I am not in a relationship with her. I’m not her type.”

“And why is that?” you ask suspiciously, waiting.

Marcus leans toward you and whispers in your ear, “She likes girls.”

The realization hits you hard.

He exhales sharply and then his dimple is there, on his cheek, as he sweetly smiles at you. 

“Well, anyway, you didn't kiss me that night, and I know I hesitated on purpose at my door. And you didn't do it tonight either.”

“I was just trying to be respectful,” he simply retorts.

“Or maybe… you don’t like me that way.”

Marcus laughs again, a hearty, slightly hoarse laugh. 

“I like you a lot. Your smile, your voice, your personality, your attitude and your gorgeous body. I like everything about you” He takes your hands, makes you stretch your arms out along your sides, and moves closer.

“Okay then, good guy, go ahead and prove it,” you challenge him, raising an eyebrow.

He wraps his arms around your waist, and pulls you toward him. 

And there, in the middle of the bridge, with people walking and admiring Rome at night all around you, he kisses you.

And it’s a kiss you’ll surely never forget. It's hot and intense, his tongue pushes to get in, eagerly licks inside your mouth, searches for yours.

His hands slowly slide on your hips, while you wrap yours around his neck and cock your head to give him easier access.

You don't know how long it takes before you pull away, but you're out of breath. “Hey, that wasn't a nice guy kiss,” you whisper against his lips.

“I can do even better if you let me,” he tempts you.

“Take me home, then.”

_____________________________

As soon as you arrive, Marcus is all over you.

He kisses your neck, while you’re looking for your keys, hugging you from behind, his breath heavy on your skin.

As soon as you close the door, he takes the keys from your hands and throws them onto the cabinet in the hallway, followed immediately by your bag.

He pins you against the wall, taking your lips again, playing with your tongue.

Your hands run along the expanse of his chest, itching to touch his hot skin underneath.

He goes back down to your pulse point, whispering, “You smell so good,” leaving a trail of kisses along your neck, while his hands wander over your body, caressing everything they can.

 “Are you still convinced I don't like you?“ his voice is husky and hoarse.

“Mmm, I might need more proof, you know, just to be sure,” you joke, getting rid of his jean jacket.

His arms encircle your waist, his hands slide to your hips, then to your butt, wringing there.

You whine in his mouth. 

Marcus breaks away and asks you, “Where's your bedroom?”

“End of the hallway,” you breathe.

He takes you by the hand and drags you toward the room while you giggle at his eagerness.

He stops in front of your bed, taking your face in his hands and whispering, 

“You're so beautiful. I was such an idiot for not letting you know how much I like you sooner. Let me make it up to you.”

He pulls off your dress, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you covered only by your red lace lingerie.

You shiver for a moment, almost naked in front of him, before meeting his gaze again, which admires you like a painting.

He kisses you as your hands wrap around his still clothed broad shoulders, and his hand slides down your side, over your hipbone, slowly to the edge of your panties.

“I like this color on you, the contrast with your skin, so soft and sweet.” 

You're spellbound. By him, by his deep, husky voice, by the way his hands move over you, lingering on every curve, as if they had to memorize every inch of your body.

He brings his hand to your face again, his knuckles slide down your cheek, his thumb gently brushing your mouth and you open it, wrapping your lips around it and gently sucking the tip, while his other hand is on your soft hip, clinging, squeezing, filled with your flesh.

You look intently into his eyes as you softly warm his thumb between your lips.

Marcus smirks and groans, “you’re so good.”

He works his way into your panties, his warm touch making you gasp as he slithers further and further down.

His fingers brush against your folds, just grazing them, trapped in your panties.

“Mh, you’re wet, baby” he whispers in your ear.

“Yeah, I am”

“I think we can do better than this, don’t you think?”

“Show me,” you challenge him, already worked up just by his voice.

He could make you come just by his goddamn voice whispering tantalizingly in your ears.

“Sit on the bed for me,” he orders.

You sit down, crossing your legs, running a hand over your bedspread.

He takes off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and you are stunned. 

His chest is even broader than it appears when he is dressed. Small freckles are scattered across his lightly tanned skin, some lost among the few hairs on his chest near his dark pink nipples, on his slightly soft belly, on the line of hair below his navel. 

He looks like a Greek statue. A work of Michelangelo.

The most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

He unbuttons his jeans, never taking his eyes off you. He hasn’t touched you yet, but a warmth begins to spread from the pit of your stomach. 

When he steps out of his jeans and your gaze drinks in his hips, so narrow in comparison to his shoulders, his strong, toned thighs and his tight boxers that definitely cover something big, he smiles mischievously, teasing you, “Do you like what you see?”

You bite your lower lip, unable to take your eyes off him, and whisper, “Definitely.”

“That toy you bought, where is it?” 

“In my nightstand drawer, why?” 

He doesn’t answer, he opens the drawer and pulls out your new wand.

He swings it between his fingers, a coy smile on his face

“Cute. Does it work?”

You feel your face heat up as you silently nod.

He approaches you, caresses your back, reaching your bra and expertly unhooking it with just one hand, then throwing it into a corner.

He gently lays you down on the bed and climbs on top of you.

He is kneeling over you, not touching you yet, his thighs on either side of your hips, the wand lying on the sheets next to him.

“God, you're beautiful,” he says, looking down at you, lingering on your lips, your breasts, your hard nipples, your panties that barely cover your sex.

He leans over you, stretching out his legs.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, devouring you, while his hand flies to your breast and starts kneading it. 

His body is warm, gently pressing you down, making you sink slightly into the mattress. He takes your nipple between his fingers, twisting and pinching it while sucking the delicate skin of your neck.

His erection begins to press against your panties, and you can clearly feel the dampness despite the two layers of fabric still separating you.

Marcus pushes one knee between your thighs, silently asking you to spread them wider. He lifts his leg and his knee goes straight to your clit, applying gentle pressure that makes you see stars.

You moan, instinctively rocking your hips to search for more friction. 

You cling to his back, your nails digging slightly into his skin, leaving small crescents.

Marcus grunts, his mouth lowers to your chest, licks your skin, while his hand cups your breast and after a moment his tongue arrives exactly where you want it, without you even asking. This guy knows what he's doing, even better than you could have hoped, and he loves your body in an insatiable way, judging by the way his hands squeeze and caress you and the way his mouth closes over your nipple, wrapping it with his lips, then sucking.

Your hand sinks into his soft curls, you moan and hold him close to your breast. “Don't stop.” 

“I won't, sweetheart. Your tits are incredible, I could do this for hours.”

His tongue slides gently over your hard nub, flicking it. 

He takes the wand with his other hand, the quiet buzz of the toy gets closer and closer until you feel it vibrating on your nipple on the lower setting.

It’s insane. 

The combined action of the sex toy and his mouth is almost too much to bear.

You’re soaked, babbling, your back tense like a violin string. 

He turns off the wand after a few seconds, making you moan at the loss.

“So you thought I didn't like you? You thought I didn't want every inch of this body? Baby, my mission tonight is to get that idea out of your head.” He whispers against your breast, moving the air over your nipple, a breath that makes you arch your back again.

Three big fingers move over your panties, caressing you through the fabric, which is now so wet that it's practically useless.

He teases you, brushing your clit, lingering on the slit of your folds with his fingertips, poking into your hole.

“More” you whine. “Please”

Your eyes, half-closed and clouded with desire, are reflected in his chestnut brown, deep and expressive ones.

They are intense and magnetic, adorned with small wrinkles, which you trace with your fingertips, descending down his cheek, feeling every curve of his face, until they cling to his strong jaw, and your thumb pulls his lower lip, revealing his pearly white teeth. His mouth curves into a smile as he hears you beg again, “Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg, baby” he mutters.

Your thighs are still tight around his leg, you're still absent-mindedly rocking your hips against his hand, dripping through the fabric.

He removes his hand and brings it to his mouth, closing his eyes as he slides his fingers between his lips, over his tongue, tasting your juices. He opens his eyes and a look of lust shines through them. “Delicious. I need more.”

He moves to pull down your panties, caressing your legs down to your ankles.

He squeezes your lacy underwear in his fist, smells them, spreads them out, his tongue sticking out to lick the wet spot right in the middle.

And then he looks at your pussy, exposed, begging, crying for him.

He licks his lips before asking,

“Can you do something for me, sweetheart?”

You nod insistently.

“Use your words, pretty girl, I know you can.”

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, whatever.”

He smirks, brushing your ankle. “Okay, then sit on my face. I need to eat you out.”

You glance at his powerful erection in his pants and your little horny monster takes over your brain, pushing you to say, “Um... I think I have a better idea.”

He squints at you “Oh, really? Tell me what's in that pretty head of yours.”

His fingers run over your legs as he waits. You sigh, feeling your cheeks burn with excitement. “Well, we could...you could eat me while I eat you.”

He looks at you pleasantly surprised. “Oh. You're dirtier than I thought, I like that.”

You giggle nervously. “Maybe I am.”

“Mmm, I think you are. So you want this cock in your sweet mouth, huh? All right, princess, as you wish,” he grants, running a hand over his scruff. 

The moment you take off his boxers is when you stop giggling and start thinking that maybe you overestimated your abilities. 

It's big. Thick, already fully hard in front of your eyes, small drops of pre-cum glisten on the tip, a long pulsating vein runs over it. It's a huge cock. 

Probably the biggest you've ever seen.

Your mind decides that it doesn't matter whether it fits in your mouth or not, it was decided for you, it's like an out-of-body experience where you hear yourself murmuring 

“Fuck, please. I want it.”

You move instinctively as he lies down on the bed and urges you, “Come sit on top of me, princess.” You turn your back to him, straddling him, slowly lowering yourself onto his cock. He grabs your hips, sliding you onto his chest, leaving a wet trail on his skin, the friction further stimulating your throbbing clit.

You cling to his legs, moaning. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, come here, show me that beautiful dripping pussy.”

His fingers sink into your flesh, pushing you down, and suddenly an intrusive thought strikes you.

“Am I weighing you down?”

Marcus laughs heartily, sending a vibration through your entire body and straight to your clit.

"Babe, are you kidding? I was made for someone like you.”

Marcus tightens his grip even more and pulls you toward him until his mouth slams against your pussy.

He licks a long stripe starting from the bottom and moving up to your clitoris, sinking his tongue between your folds.

“And you taste so good, you have no idea, it’s the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.”

Your cheek is resting against his cock as you’re trying to catch all the air you can, his hair tickling your chin as you feel it throbbing against your skin.

You take it in one hand, barely able to wrap your fingers around it, and lower your lips onto its tip, while Marcus's tongue continues to move across your slit, from side to side, deliberately avoiding your clit and stimulating everything around it. You're so wet that another touch on your bundle of nerves could send you over the edge.

You're trying to hold yourself back with all your strength because you really want his cock in your mouth. It's too tempting not to try. And Marcus is praising you so much that you want to give him something back at any cost.

You lower your mouth onto the tip, immediately tasting its bitter, slightly musky flavor, feeling a new wave of pleasure trickle out of your pussy.

It's thick and overwhelming between your lips, slapping against the inside of your cheek as you try to wrap your mouth around it as much as you can.

Marcus groans into your folds, his tongue thrusting deeper, nudging at your entrance.

“Take your time, you’re doing good. I know it’s too big for you to take it all in your mouth so fast.”

You let him out with a lewd pop.

“No, it’s okay, I want it, Marcus. I want it so bad”

You lower yourself again, sliding down even further, relaxing your jaw as much as you can to take him all the way down your throat, cupping one of his balls with one hand and gently squeezing.

“Jesus, babe, you’re fucking incredible,” he grunts.

You suppress a gag, holding it there, caressing the rest with your hand wrapped around the base. It's heavy on your tongue, you can distinctly feel its vein tickling your cheek, its taste spreading and clouding your mind.

Marcus parts your folds with two fingers, his tongue relentlessly drinking from you, every drop of pleasure dripping out, his mustache, soaked in your juices, pleasantly tingles your skin.

You focus on the tip, swirling your tongue around it, closing your lips over it and sucking.

Your hand moves up and down its length, its velvety skin thin beneath your touch, the room silent except for the sounds of your mouths exploring each other's most intimate parts.

Marcus' lips close around your clit as he starts to suck gently, while two fingers slide over your folds to wet them, and when you moan against his cock, he enters you.

He slowly stretches you, sinking into your wetness little by little, until another wave of pleasure trickles down to his wrist. The vibrations of your moans are getting the better of him as you glide your tongue over his length, from the base to the top, swirling it again and again on the tip and letting it fall back on the underside. Then, and only then, when he feels you so close to the edge that you could explode at any moment he curves his fingers, reaching that special spot that makes you see stars.

He turns on the wand  again and moves it over your clit, his fingers curling just right, tapping the spot where you most need them.

He alternates the wand with his mouth, eagerly sucking your nub between his lips.

“You like that, huh? Yes, baby, you’re so good. Come for me, pretty, show me this beautiful pussy gushing for me. Let her writhe in my mouth, I want everything, baby, every drop of this goddess nectar.”

The wand’s buzz stops.

And so, you burst.

An unquenchable fire spreads through your body, up to your chest, you can't breathe and you feel every inch of yourself trembling on Marcus' hot, sweaty body. Your nipples rub against his stomach as you convulse and moan. 

You feel pressure in your lower belly, a sensation you've never felt before, and a gush of pleasure sprays from your center straight into Marcus' face. He doesn't pull back, instead he’s moaning in surprise, and continues to lick, taste, and suck every inch of your pussy like a man starved.

You don't have time to feel self-conscious as you hear Marcus' voice calling your attention. “Honey, come here, I need to feel you on my cock.”

You're overstimulated, exhausted, yet you can't say no to him. Not when he asks you with that hoarse, deep, incredibly sensual voice. “I need to see you bouncing on my cock.”

You turn around, straddling him again, his face a plea for more pleasure, his chin, mustache, and beard glistening with your juices.

His eyes are even darker, thirsty, ravaged by lust.

He grabs your hips again, pulling you down onto his cock, and you take it in one hand, guiding it towards your entrance. It enters slowly, even though you've never been so wet, inch by inch. You lower yourself slightly onto him, resting your hands on the sides of the mattress, and Marcus wastes no time, one hand flying to your breast, pinching your nipple. When you finally manage to take him all inside you, a moan escapes from the back of your throat, so rough that it doesn't even sound like your voice.

“Fuck, I’ve never felt so full.”

“I know, baby, you’re doing so good for me, taking my cock so well. ”

He kneads at your tit, his mouth agape, while you are balancing on the verge of delirium.

He feels huge inside of you, you don't even know how it fitted but it's still the most delicious pain you've ever experienced.

You carefully begin to move your hips as soon as the pain eases up while Marcus continues to praise you, “Yeah, honey, just like that, you’re perfect for me.”

His grip is solid on your hip, his gorgeous curls scattered around your pillow, you put your hands on his chest which is rising and falling in long, deep breaths.

“I know you can give me another one, right? Come on, baby, rock these gorgeous hips for me, sink into me, come on. ”

It’s just incoherent babbling at this point but it’s hot nonetheless, and you do as he asks, arching your body a little more, moving harder, reaching this special spot again.

With every kiss of his tip against it you moan deeper and rougher, groping his chest with all you have, your fingers mindlessly brushing over his nipples.

With every clench of your pussy his eyes turn more blown and glossy, his voice just a hoarse rasp mixed with the squelching sounds of his stiff cock slamming into you.

You won’t stop.

You can’t stop.

No matter how aching you are already, no matter how exhausted you feel, Marcus’ voice is there praising and urging you— “more baby, come on, I know you’re close, I can feel it.”

With your last shred of strength you clench even harder on his cock, and a moment later a hot long streak of cum is filling you to the brim. 

Marcus lets out a deep ‘fuck’, arching his back, gripping onto the sheets underneath him, thrusting into you a couple more times before collapsing on the mattress.

You lie down on top of him, gasping for breath, taking his lips in a long, desperate kiss before burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing against his sweaty skin.

“Jesus, fuck,” you whimper. 

Marcus wraps his arms around your middle, gently cradling you against his body. 

He’s still inside you as your pussy slowly relaxes and he covers your shoulders with kisses.

As he pulls out and you lay beside him, snuggling against his body, one leg loosely resting over his, you feel a trickle of his seed dripping from your slit and running along your inner thigh.

As soon as you regain some clarity, you press your forehead against his sighing, 

“God, probably the best fuck of my life.” 

Marcus laughs and kisses your lips softly.

“I hope it's the first of many, princess.”

You giggle, kissing him again and again until you fall asleep in his arms.

It’s morning when you wake up. 

For a moment, you don't understand where the warmth you feel is coming from. You blink a couple of times to focus your blurred vision and then you see him. Marcus is next to you, one arm still holding you tight, lying on his stomach, his head resting on the pillow as he sleeps peacefully.

He’s still here, disheveled and naked, the most precious gift you found in Rome. 

Adriana's gorgeous mood board:

Absolutely Np tag for some people that showed interest when I shared snippets in my Wip Wednesday: @iamladyp @milla-frenchy @whocaresstillthelouvre @arcanefox207 @cas-readsandwrites @604to647 @probablyreadinsmut @thundermartini @sizzlingcloudmentality Usual tag list: @harriedandharassed @almostempty @pedrostories (feel free to ignore and let me know if you want to be removed, I'll do it right away)

Thanks for reading!

[cuppajoel]

Rating: E 18+ only MDNI | Pairing: modern-day! Marcus Acacius x fem!reader Word count: 1.8k CW: modern day!Marcus Acacius, light brat-tamer vibes but not really, mostly just smut, v fingering (hey! Bring back fingering!!), one (1) p slap, p pronouns, Marcus likes roleplaying?, slight anal play, Marcus spits on ittt, grinding, he calls her my lady, legal age gap, no physical description of reader apart from she has a vagina and some pubic hair?

Summary: You start being a brat about how Marcus is old and he shows you why you should respect your elders.

a/n: hey! This is the first one shot from my “Where my Lore Started” series. This is an age gap fic based on the relationship between Monica and Richard from the TV show Friends. (See here & here for my inspo) If you’d like to take part in this wee prompt/ challenge pls do and tag me so I can see where your lore started!

graphics: @saradika-graphics

tysm to @iknowisoundcrazy for beta-ing this. This is my first fic back after like 5 months and I am real nervous to start posting again and you were so kind and encouraging! <3

Read on A03 | Fic challenge | Main Masterlist

“How’d you get this one?” you trail your finger back and forth across his collarbone, your head resting on his chest, the thump thump thump of his heartbeat soothing your relaxed body. 

He exhales softly, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at the healed, raised skin. “Ummm…” His chest rumbles. You can tell he’s nearly sleeping but wants to answer your questions, just because you are the one asking them. “That one was when I broke my collarbone after jumping off the peer… the water was more shallow than first expected.” He kisses your head, his worn hand trailing up and down your arm. 

“Ouch…” you chuckle on an exhale, nuzzling your face into the patch of greying hair across his chest. You let your fingers trail circles around his bare upper half, noting which spots are more sensitive and which make him twitch. “You go peer diving a lot? I guess there wasn’t much else to do in Ancient Rome…” you shift, glancing up to his face with a smirk of defiance, and begin to brace for the consequence of your teasing comment. 

His eyes are still closed, the greying curls crossing over themselves around his ears. A steady, soft chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Let me tell you something about Ancient Rome…” he starts muttering into your hair, the hand that was soothing your arm stopping on your hip, his grip pulsing. “You see in Ancient Rome, people at my old age would be seen as knowledgeable… respected…” Marcus rolls off his back, flipping you both so that his weight and size hovers over your own. 

“I would probably be in a position of power…” He grabs your wrist and lays it above you, pinning it to the pillow. “A position of authority- a politician… a general, maybe.” He grabs the other wrist, repeating his actions and holding them together in one of his giant hands with ease. You watch as his breath becomes heavier, his pupils dilating so that his brown eyes somehow seem darker. Your breathing deepens, chest heaving up and down. You clear your throat, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

“And yooooou…” he draws back, his eyes raking down your naked form, stopping at your now stiff nipples, down to his hardening cock which rests against your stomach, and then back up to your face. “…you would be my lady, waiting for me to get home each night…” He pumps his hips slowly, the sensitive pink crown of his dick dragging across your belly button. 

”And when I get home…” he releases your wrists, dragging his blunt fingernails down your forearms, down each of your shoulders and palms you heavy breasts in his hands. He stops there for a moment, feeling the weight of them before pushing them together, fitting his head snuggly between them. “You would have ached for me. You would’ve felt so empty without my mouth and cock… and I would be famished after a hard day saving the empire.”

He flattens his tongue, dragging it slowly across your right nipple before sucking and then tugging with his teeth, only to switch and repeat the action on your left. You open yourself up, pushing your breasts further into him, causing him to exhale with a chuckle. 

Using his teeth he forges a path down your sternum to the softness of your stomach, his fingertips continuing to caress your ribs, hips and pelvis, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So being the kind and considerate person that you are…” he presses a kiss to the curls of hair on the mound of your pussy. “…my lady would feed me…” 

He draws his cheeks together, gathering the saliva in his mouth before spitting directly on your clit, using his middle finger to spread it around in deep, deliberate circles. Your body tenses, all feeling and concentration now pulled to your swollen bud. Your breathing deepens, as you stretch your arms further above your head, savouring this feeling.

“Marc-“

He stops, moving his fingers away from the spot where you need him the most, causing your brows to knit and a pathetic whine to fall from you. You crane your neck forward to meet his arrogant expression. You stick out your bottom lip, hoping to appeal to his charitable side. “Nuh, uh, uh, my lady… I’m the general. Let me hear you say it.” 

“Please, baby…”

Smack. A tight, sudden, sting rings through your wet cunt, sending waves of warmth through your legs and hips as Marcus smacks your pussy.

“Who am I?” He demands with a deep rasp in his voice.  He cocks his head to the side, his eyes twinkling sadistically, as he tries, and fails, to hide a chuckle. Asshole.

“General, please…” you exhale, raising your hips to try and meet his mouth which hovers just above you. 

“Please, what, my lady? Hmmm?” He wears a shit-eatting grin. “You need to tell me what you need. You need to feed your general. I’m starving.” He places the pad of his thumb on your now pulsing clit, not moving it, just placing an even pressure. His fore and middle fingers circling your entrance but not entering. They hover and torture. 

You open your eyes and shift, placing your hands on the bed behind you and pushing yourself up onto your elbows. You steady your gaze to meet the eyes of the man who’s enjoying this way too much. “General, I need you to eat me like I’m your last meal, please…” 

Without a word, Marcus begins moving the pad of his thumb, side to side like a joysick. He spreads his spit all around your clit as he groups his first three fingers together and pushes them inside you. You moan from your chest, your elbows buckling from under you, your head and neck crashing into the plush pillows below.

Marcus’ thrusts are steady, not fast and not slow- almost painfully regular but they’re deep; every time he enters, he curls his fingers to reach that spot inside of you that makes your bellybutton tingle. Still holding your gaze, Marcus lowers himself so that his face hovers above your aching core. “Ohhhh she’s so pretty.” He places a wet, opened-mouthed kiss on your clit, suckling it into his mouth. 

As he pulls away, he pulls at your clit with his mouth, swirling his tongue in short, lazy circles. You plant your feet on the bed, pushing off to lift your hips, trying to follow his mouth. 

With his free hand, Marcus grips you hip, pushing you back down to the bed. The three fingers inside of you still, him flexing them slightly which brings a deep, hot burn, making your stomach flip. With a whine, you stop wriggling, knowing you’ll get what you need if you follow your general’s rules. 

With deliberate slowness, Marcus withdraws his fingers from you, the sounds created signalling how unbelievably wet you are for this man. One at a time he sucks your wetness from his digits, eye-contact unwavering. 

He hums, eyes fluttering and smile growing before scooching himself down the bed. He lays flat on his stomach, adjusting your legs so that they hook over his shoulders, and drags you by your hips closer to his mouth. “You get so fucking wet for me, my lady… you’ve made such a mess already.”  His hot breath coats you, right where you need his mouth, causing you to writhe. 

Marcus flattens his tongue and licks up one side of your outer pussy and down the other side. Using the grip of your hips as leverage, he pushes his face further into you. His nose brushes your clit as his tongue circles the opening of your cunt. He holds it tense, pushing and pulling it in and out of you. 

You try gripping onto the sheets by your sides to keep grounded. Don’t cum yet, don’t cum yet. It’s so good that you can feel yourself clenching around his tongue. Shifting, Marcus holds your clit in between his lips and licks using the tip of his tongue. You gasp, your hands releasing the sheets and grabbing two handfuls of his hair, pushing against him more as your orgasm comes to its peak. As you clench, you roll your hips against his face. He again finds your fluttering opening, enjoying the fruits of his labour.

The earth feels like it’s stopped and like it’s moving too fast at the same time. You lift your neck to see the artist at work just as he lifts his gaze too. He gives you a wink and you feel him smile against you before returning to his feast. “Shit Marc- general…” His eyes lock to yours, dark and still full of amusement. “I don’t know if I can keep going…” you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling so that you might have a moment to recover. 

His brows furrow as he gives a simple shake of his head. “I’m still hungry… one more at least my lady.” He returns licking and sucking at your clit and you tug harshly on his locks to which he quickens his pace.

Looking past him to his tight, round, ass you can see his narrow hips shifting up and down as he grinds his cock against the bed. You feel his thick, grouped fingers push slowly into you again. They’re quick and move at the same speed as his hips. 

Marcus shifts, one of your legs falling from his broad shoulders as he uses the strength of his full arm to fuck his fingers into you. 

“Yes, General Marcus…” you almost laugh, the heel of the foot around his shoulder digging into his back.  This seems to inspire the general. Using his pinky finger, he slowly strokes the tight muscle of your asshole, causing you only to keen further into him. 

Faster and faster, Marcus thrusts his fingers deep into you whilst lightly teasing your ass. You can feel his thrusts on the mattress below you, his rhythm becoming more choppy. As if you weren’t already floating, he again sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth and your ears begin to ring. Your hips raise and you push your man further into your pussy as you fall further and further into bliss. 

Marcus continues to suck as you come down from your high. Then shifting, he straddles one of your legs as he strokes his swollen, weeping shaft slowly as he cums all over your spent pussy. He wets his lower lips with his tongue when he comes, savouring your taste as he brings himself to the brink.

You shift up onto your elbows once again, looking down at the mess he’s made. You now wear your own shit-eating grin that rivals the one staring back at you. You cock your head to the side and shrug softly. “Not bad for an old guy…” you let yourself fall backwards again, ready for another lesson in respecting authority.

[profeyandere]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐒 ─── ☾ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴘʜᴏᴇɴɪx ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[taylorswiftstyle]

Chiefs vs Bills | Kansas City, MO | January 26, 2025

Louis Vuitton 'Monogram Jacquard Knit Jacket' - $5,000.00 Louis Vuitton 'LV Spark Beanie' - $550.00 Steven Battelle 'Ancient Coin Necklace' - price varies Louis Vuitton 'Trunk Chain Wallet' - $2,850.00 Louis Vuitton 'Le Damier de Louis Vuitton Small Ring' - $3,950.00 Louis Vuitton 'Le Damier de Louis Vuitton Medium Bracelet' - $18,500.00 Cartier 'Panthère de Cartier Medium Watch Diamond' - $32,200.00 Louis Vuitton 'LV Medallion Gloves' - $495.00 Calzedonia '50 Denier Tights in Dark Red' - $15.00 Louis Vuitton 'Star Trail Ankle Boot' - $1,760.00

More monogram. Taylor appeared at the AFC Championship game wearing a literal head to toe look (mostly) by Louis Vuitton. Proving that sometimes it does have to be Louis V up in KC.

What I Learned From Those Two Years: Prior to the game I had wondered if last year’s championship outfit might be a playbook (pun intended) for today’s look - knowing that comparisons were bound to happen. I can see the similarities year over year in the oversized top, pleated mini skirt, tights, and boots combination. On the skirt, I’ve been told this is not the same skirt as last year, with thanks to the LV team for the confirmation, and is a slightly older one within the LV catalogue. However, it feels like a close enough of a callback to make the choice seem intentional. Perhaps a way of nodding to superstitions in sport with repeating “lucky” items to bring forth an optimal outcome. Whatever the reason, let’s say that it worked because the Chiefs defeated the Bills 32-29 and are - once again - headed to the Super Bowl.   

When We First Met (Gala): But even without the other LV elements of this look, I clocked these boots right away. Why? Because Taylor has a pair of Star Trail boots that she has worn on two other occasions. The first was the night before the 2016 Met Gala. The second was while out to dinner with Travis in October 2023. After a lot of staring, I can confirm this pair of ‘Star Trails’ are an updated version - discernible by the slightly different finish and the cap toe detail being absent. One of Taylor’s style pillars has always been repetition, so I’ll give half points here given it’s a style we know she has in her closet and has repeated in the past. I can imagine this fresh pair from a later collection was meant to coordinate with the rest of the recent LV pulls. 

Louis V up in KC: When it came to accessories, Louis Vuitton jewelry and bag felt like natural fits. However, knowing that Taylor has a LV watch in her collection that would have coordinated well with her head to toe (literal) branded ensemble feels noteworthy to me. The accessory that felt like it had the most story behind it was her necklace. Taylor has worn a number of vintage coin necklaces recently, including at a few Chiefs games. What immediately came to my mind was her 2024 season opener outfit which was also styled with a vintage, ancient bronze coin necklace. I imagine that something about it feels like embodying a fighting / warrior mindset to fit in with the “go fight win” of sports and the Gladiator ethos. Or else perhaps even a chic reference to a game day coin toss. I spoke with the designer, Steven, who confirmed that the face depicted on the coin, struck in 109-108BC during the Roman Republic, is the goddess Roma. Steven said, “[Roma] was believed to watch over the city’s citizens and protect them from harm, as well as being a fierce defender of Rome in war.” Steven said the necklace took approximately 1.5 days to create by Balinese goldsmith artisans with traditional handmaking techniqes. “The pendant was designed to highlight the coin and accent it in a classical manner,” he said. From an intentional styling perspective, there’s a lot of thought that goes into creating a cohesive and consistent storyline where every look “speaks” to one another to create a progression, but is distinct enough to stand as its own moment. Small callbacks like this (and the skirt - more on that later) demonstrate that thought well. I look forward to doing a full breakdown of this season’s looks (particularly in comparison to 2023-24’s season) when the final whistle blows. This artist uses real ancient coins in their work so every single piece is unique and different. Pictured above is what appears, to my eye, to be a close match to Taylor’s. 

Photo by Jamie Squire via Getty Images

[juletheghoul]

Hi, thanks for continuously expanding the story of The General. I like reading it. :) I'm just wondering if you might feel like writing kind of like sci/fi time travel troupe where a woman (willfull and stubborn) from the present gets transported back to ancient Rome and meets Marcus Acacius. How would their dynamics be?

Obsessed with this, genuinely—I started a little something 👀

Not sure if I’ll continue it or make it into something big but I loved the idea of them not even understanding one another.

Hope you enjoy! 💕

(Not beta’d, barely proofread)

—

Warnings; threat of violence, language, shifting POV, plenty of historical inaccuracies I’m sure lol

Pairing; Marcus Acacius x Modern F!reader (time travel shenanigans)

Word count; 1.4k

-

The sigh doesn’t fix anything, but it helps with the frustration. So you let out another one, deeper than the original while you gather your wits. This was Rome, a massive city with millions of tourists trekking through it just like you, surely if they could do it without getting hopelessly lost, you could too.

The ruins were a maze, incredibly easy to get mixed up and turned around in. It was just a matter of retracing your steps and rejoining your group. Easy peasy.

With renewed optimism, you follow the sounds of people ringing through the remnants of the temple, or bathhouse, or gladiatorial training rooms… where the fuck even am I again?

You backtrack through the doorway, turning left into what must have been an antichamber, or dormitory? The mosaic under your feet isn’t familiar and a sense of dread creeps along your spine, should you have turned right? There’s a giant arch in the distance, one you distinctly don’t remember walking through. It doesn’t look as aged as the rest of the structure, most likely preserved when the site was excavated.

Walking through the arch fills you with a foreboding dread, like being dunked in ice water. It leaves you dazed, stumbling into the light of the sun almost drunk. An open door all but manifests and it’s with a relief so great it almost pulls tears from your eyes that you finally exit the building and step into the open air. You cannot help but laugh at yourself, embarrassed by your reaction, by the silly fear of getting lost.

The sun is hotter than you remembered it being when you left the hotel that morning and all at once the desire to explore and take in the culture all but evaporated. Resigned to abandon the tour, you decide to make your way back to the hotel. The new goal, the new prize for the day is a shower and an ungodly amount of pasta.

The road is nowhere to be found. The tourists have disappeared, and have been replaced with what looked to be actors. A fresh horror spreads through your veins, the exit you came out of must have led somewhere you were definitely not supposed to be.

-

He’d been called forth to deal with a strange situation. A woman had somehow infiltrated his camp. He frowned at the news, scoffing at the sentinel who’d brought it to him.

“A woman? Solitary? One woman snuck passed you and made her way into my camp?” He all but sneered at the soldier, anger pulsing in his head to learn that his guards were not as observant as he would have thought, as he trained them to be.

“General, by the Gods, we did not see her. One moment there was no one and then the next she was there, like some apparition.” He seems rattled, Acacius didn’t blame him. A lapse in protection meant death and dishonour. It meant his army was not in the shape it should be. Rome was not safe, not protected.

“Well, what has she to say for herself? What explanation did she provide for her miraculous presence here?”

“We do not know, we cannot understand her.”

He sighs. Anger bleeds into his tone when he orders her brought to him, dismissing the useless soldier in the process.

When they bring her to him, he frowns. Her robes confuse him, the fabric almost painted in the strangest shades, some he’s never even seen. She clutches at a bag, at a strange jar and although her voice is clearly agitated and angry, he cannot understand the words she speaks. Her face is painted, eyes darkened with some sort of kohl, lips shiny with oil and for a moment he thinks she might be one of the women who sold herself.

“Peace, woman.” He puts his hands up and speaks slowly, “I need to know where you come from, and why you are here. What is it you seek?” She twists her face in confusion, anger colouring her voice more still. She screams at him in more words he doesn’t understand until the soldiers that had brought her approach to no doubt silence her. At the sound of their footsteps her eyes widen with what he knows is genuine fear.

“Don’t.” He commands them, and they stop in their tracks. “Leave her with me. Go about your business, and tighten up the borders of this camp.” He sends them away with daggers in his voice.

“But General-what if she attacks?” They hesitate for a moment.

“I can handle her. Go.” They leave, her eyes follow them before turning back to him. She speaks again but he shakes his head.

“What am I to do with you then, hm?”

-

If you had known that you’d land in some insane fucking ancient Roman reenactment, you would have stayed in the hotel.

The older man is really into his role, some high and mighty soldier or general on a power trip or God fucking knows what, holds you in his tent. You try to explain to him calmly and then not so calmly that this is a mistake, that you didn’t mean to crash their party and that you just want to make it back to the hotel. He frowns, and shakes his head with confusion. He responds in his own language, what you imagine is Latin and the frustration floods you once more.

“If you cannot help me, I will leave. I’ll just go back through the stupid building and see if I can catch up with my tour group. If they haven’t already left, God if I missed my shuttle I will lose my fucking mind.” With a sigh you clutch at your bag and turn towards the entrance. You don’t make it three steps before he grabs at your arm, holding you in place with what sounds like a stern warning.

“Listen, I appreciate the realism and everything here, but let go, I need to leave.” You try to shake out of his grip but it’s iron, his big hand tightens enough to hurt.

“You’re hurting me, let me go!” With a growing fear, you try harder until he pulls a knife from a hidden pocket and presses it to your throat. He points to the entrance, to you, and then presses the tip to your neck once more.

You cannot understand his words, but the warning is crystal clear. If you leave, he will kill you.

“Intellego?” You can infer what he must mean, and so you nod. He returns the gesture and puts the knife away. He moves about the tent while you stand there, arms aching from clutching at your things, body trembling with fear and adrenaline at his threat of violence. He continues speaking, his deep, clear voice filling the space while he moves things around and gestures to a giant scroll.

Stuck like a fly in honey, you watch him pointing and talking, half listening while you try to formulate an escape route.

He comes close with a huff, pulling you gently towards his table.

It looks like a map, but it’s not like any map you’ve ever seen.

“What the fuck am I meant to be looking at here?”

He continues speaking, pointing at the map, and then gesturing outside. He points again, at a different spot and then to himself.

“Oh.. okay you’re from here?” He nods, then he takes your hand and puts it on the map, repeating his words and you can assume he’s asking you to point out where you come from.

“Dude I don’t know, this map is wild as hell and about a thousand years out of date from the looks of it.” You move your hand away but he persists, a bulldog with a bone. He takes your hand and puts it on the map, then taps your chest, asking his question once more.

“I’m not on this map!” You tap your chest, and then to the edge of the map, “I’m not here, we’re not on the map yet. Understand?” You gesture again, pointing to an empty edge, and point to yourself.

The look on his face is almost funny, he’s either really committed to his role, or this is the weirdest fucking dream you’ve ever had.

He’s quiet after that, ruminating, studying you with a critical eye and after the day you’ve had you don’t have the patience. You sit in one of the chairs, resigned to endure the ride until you find an opportunity to get off, and away as quickly as you can.

-

Tag list; @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name

[lionlena]

Even if you fall apart... (Marcus Acacius x wife!reader)

I'm back! (For a moment)

Marcus Acacius pulled me out of the hole of the abyss and the lack of desire to write.

Summary: Marcus returns from war and has a PTSD attack. (Yes, I know it's ancient Rome and there was no such term back then, but I'm sure that even in ancient times many soldiers had to deal with the emotional consequences of war)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, soft!Marcus, mention of miscarriage, mention of blood, and death of a side character

*I've established canon that Marcus loves dogs…

Even if you fall apart…

You hated it when Marcus wasn't home. You hated the emperor's greed and his wars. You and Marcus had been married for three years, but you didn't see him often because of the constant wars. The first time he had to leave you right after your wedding night and you felt devastated. But when he returned, he proved to you what a caring and loving husband he was. When he left you for the second time, you were pregnant. But when he came back, he had to face your sadness after losing your child and then he proved to you what a supportive and compassionate husband he was. When he left you for the third time, he promised you that it would be the last time, but when he came back, you could easily see the sadness and tiredness in him. And you knew that the emperor would send him to the battlefield again, so you understood that despite how much you hated Marcus' absence, you had to focus on the good times.

You tried that this time too, but you saw that Marcus had returned as someone else. More tired, more sad. Even his warm smile didn't reach his eyes. You knew that he had lost his loyal friend in the battle, and you tried to show him support.

Knowing how much he loves dogs you decided to bring home a new puppy and it seemed to cheer him up as he watched the playful pup run around the floors.

"He's really fast," he remarked one evening as the pup chased a firefly. "I'll need him on the hunt…"

"He's untamed." You muttered and took the glass of wine from Marcus.

"Like my lady."

You snorted in mock outrage and rolled your eyes, earning a quiet chuckle from him that warmed your heart. It seemed like everything was going in the right direction. But suddenly, in his crazy play, the puppy knocked over the table, from which the vase fell. You saw the exact moment Marcus' face changed. He flinched at the sound of the bang and dropped his wine glass, which shocked him even more. His eyes widened and his face contorted in pain. The wine flowing on the floor resembled blood.

"Marcus… Honey?"

"NO!"

His scream shocked you. You had never seen him like this. You caught the puppy in your arms and immediately pushed him into the arms of the maid who was standing nearby.

"Leave us alone!" You growled.

You usually tried to treat your servants with respect, but that wasn't important at that moment. You saw her curious gaze and you were sure that something bad was happening with Marcus and you didn't want anyone else to witness it.

When you were alone, you ran up to Marcus and grabbed him by the arms:

"Should I call a medic and…"

You didn't finish your sentence because Marcus screamed and pushed you away with such force that you fell to the floor. You didn't know what was happening. Your husband would never, ever intentionally do any harm to you. You saw him retreat to the wall, pressing his back against it. You had the impression that he was terrified. Only Marcus was never afraid. He wasn't stupid or reckless, but he wasn't timid either. He was a Roman general who rushed into battle without batting an eyelid. And yet you could clearly see the state he was in.

You slowly got up from the floor and looked at him sadly. It hurt you that he was suffering.

"Marcus… my dearest…"

You saw Marcus put his hand on his chest and try to catch his breath. This time you approached him slowly like a wounded animal.

"Honey, it's me… Y/n… I'll come closer… try to breathe…"

You took a step forward.

"Breathe… I'm here…"

You tried your best to keep your voice steady and calm. Even though you were trembling inside.

"Can I come closer?"

You saw a small change in him. He blinked and took a deep breath, then nodded.

You were so close you could touch him, but you held back, feeling that he had to decide about it.

"Can I help you somehow?"

In response, he extended his hand towards you. You immediately took it. Your small and delicate hand contrasted with his large, strong, and calloused one. You felt him squeeze you tightly.

"Y/n…"

"I'm here, honey. I'm here all the time."

You saw him sigh with relief, and then he slowly slid down the wall to the floor, pulling you with him. You knelt next to him and placed your free hand over his heart. You stayed silent for a few moments. You watched as your husband's breathing returned to normal. Finally, you asked quietly:

"What was that?"

Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at you with sadness and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry… I don't know… I'm so ashamed…"

You turned towards him and took his face in your hands.

"No, no… Don't blame yourself or apologize. What happened was in no way your fault and it won't make me respect you any less."

Marcus took a shaky breath and covered your small hands with his large ones.

"It was like a nightmare… Like a memory and a dream in one… I… I was there again… I heard the crash of the ships falling apart…" He closed his eyes and whispered: "I felt fear… fear that I would fall apart…"

You looked at him sympathetically, your thumbs rubbing his stubbled cheeks.

"Even if you fall apart, I will pick you up."

Marcus looked at you with love and devotion. He couldn't hold back anymore and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair.

"You are a blessing from the gods."

You stroked his hair tenderly.

"No… You are my blessing…"

And you meant those words. Because you knew that among Roman husbands, domineering, demanding, and strict, yours was an exception.

You hugged him tightly and kissed his temple. You felt Marcus relax and that was the most important thing to you at that moment. Although deep inside you felt your own fear. Fear for Marcus, for another war expedition. And you silently prayed to the gods to surround him with care and not let him fall apart when you were not around.

Permanentny tag list: @harriedandharassed

[the-mandawhor1an]

Searching for the stars pt.2 | Marcus Acacius x f!Reader

Summary: You come to terms with the fact that somehow, a Roman general ended up on your worksite. You and Marcus develop a plan to get him back home, or at least to reunite him with his wife.

Words: 7.4k

Tags: Time travel; wet puppy Marcus; Reader is a little horny; alcohol consumption; a hint of infidelity; talk about grief and loss; death during childbirth; angst; heartbreak; religious imagery; no use of y/n;

(further tags omitted to not spoil the outcome)

Speech in italics indicates that Latin is being spoken.

Notes: Well well, part two is finally here. I hope you enjoy it as much as the first one. Marcus is back and he's here to stay (or not, he wants to go home to wifey, after all)

Comments etc. are appreciated, thank you to @rivnedell for beta-ing this for me.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The next morning came way too quickly for your liking, even if you stayed on your mattress way past your usual time. The night had been very short and sleeping practically next to some stranger made your sleep anything but restful. It seemed you weren’t the only one dealing with the sobering realization that yesterday hadn’t been a weird dream. 

General Acacius sighed in disappointment when he awoke on the couch. How he felt any kind of rested was beyond you, he had been tossing and turning and whispering his wife’s name all night, waking you up ever so often. To your luck, you could deal with little sleep as long as you would get some caffeine into your system. 

Feeling miserable and Acacius frankly looking miserable, you had decided to bring him to your apartment. He deserved to freshen up a little and you craved the sweet salvation from this tiredness with the help of some coffee. Your guest was respectful and you had no doubts he would not do anything stupid in your little flat. After all, you could pretend like you had weapons all over your place. A remote, a laser pointer, anything. 

Despite all the concerns for your safety, there was more you had to deal with. For example, you had to introduce him to a few concepts that were absolutely new to him, like the private bathroom you had. While in theory, what a toilet and a shower was, he would know, the way your accommodations worked was vastly different from the ones in his time. The toilet was relatively easy to explain, despite a little awkward exchange about the toilet brush that was in fact just for cleaning the bowl and not … the body. 

With the shower, it was a different story. Hot water, cold water, playing with the handle to find the sweet spot and also… soap. In ancient Rome he would have been used to rubbing scented oils on his skin to get all of the grime off, and now it was scented soap. You apologized for only having floral shower gels, but then again, lavender and rose were at least scents he was used to. It was probably easier on his nose than any kind of soap for men would be. What did “active sport” or “cool ice” even smell like? 

You handed him a towel and clothes you still had lying around from your ex, hoping they would fit, and then let him deal with the bathroom himself. 

Seemingly, your little lesson in modern hygiene was enough, as he came out of the bathroom half an hour later, in your ex’s clothes. You’ve just finished making a simple breakfast, scrambled eggs and some bread, when he came over to you. The clothes fit. The dark t-shirt was a little tight, maybe too tight, as you could see the curve of his pecs so perfectly. Also, the grey sweat pants fit snugly and you did your best to not look to avoid blushing. 

Coffee was ready and you filled some in your favorite mug, processing the sight of his wet curls for a second. “What’s this?” he asked and pointed at the mug. “Coffee,” you explained, he repeated the word and you nodded. “We drink it in the morning to wake up. And during the rest of the day because we’re addicted.” A second mug was placed on the counter, filled with a little and you handed it over to him. The mug suddenly looked tiny in his hands when he held it up to his face and sniffed. Of course, the scent of hot coffee wasn’t necessarily pleasant when one had never smelled it. When he took a sip, his face obscured and you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “It tastes disgusting,” he complained. 

“Try mine,” you offered and handed your mug, which was about 50/50 mixed with milk and a little sugar. He took another sip and while it looked like he didn’t enjoy that one either, his face wasn’t contorted as much. “It’s better.” You pulled milk from the fridge and offered him some sugar. In the end his coffee looked to be 80 percent milk and a lot of sugar, but he drank it, so what did it matter. 

“Sit down,” you ordered him to sit at the table and set down two plates with the egg and bread. It was probably something that was easier for him to stomach than any other food you could’ve offered. “Eggs and bread?” he asked and you nodded. “The coffee is enough of a adventure for you right now. And the clothes.” “They’re so tight.” “My last partner practically lived in these,” you explained with a shrug. “Where is he? Did he die?”

“No, he just left. We had a lot of arguments and he didn’t want to stay.” Before it would go cold, you started eating your egg. It wasn’t a lot, but enough to give you a bit of energy to think about what to do today. That was, if Marcus was done with his interview. “Why did you fight?” “My work. It was important to me and he thought it was cute at first, but he realised it was my priority and he didn’t want that.”

Marcus nodded and took a sip of his ‘anything but coffee’. It felt weirdly domestic to sit here and eat with him, especially so because he was so relaxed about all of this. Sure, conversing in Latin was weird, but it wasn’t like you were forced to speak a lot of Italian around here either way. It wasn’t too far off. 

“I saw the wall. When did your obsession start?” When was the last time someone was actually interested in something you did? You took another sip of coffee and then you told him in short. How you’ve been obsessed with Rome ever since you could remember. In the beginning it just seemed you never outgrow the ancient Egypt and Rome phase every child had at one point. One of your earliest dream jobs has been archeology. Every weekend you were at museums, every family trip had to be planned around to see the exhibitions there. Once old enough, you worked in the local museum, mostly administrative work but it helped you with getting into contact with other scholars. Also, you could spend your breaks in the exhibitions and just daydream a little. When it came to getting a degree, you studied classical Latin and archeology. 

During your first year of university, they found a bust of him. It was only halfway there, it missed the face, but judging by the armor they could tell it must’ve been a general or a high-ranking officer in the Roman military. A copy of said bust had been in your museum for a while and you were mesmerized by it. It was a little later, midway into your studies, when they stumbled upon the name Acacius so often that they were pretty much certain ‘the General’ was Acacius. You became so obsessed with him, a general that history had almost forgotten, and you wanted to be part of the group that would unveil the mystery about him. Your professors were so exhausted with your antics by the time you had your degree, but this incessant interest is what made you land the job as an archeologist in the end. 

“Why me?” he asked when you were done with your little story, and you shrugged. “You fascinated me. In the beginning it was the mystery around you and your life, also the prestige one would earn from finding more out about you. And then more was found, especially your obsession with starlight, it just… caught me.”  He nodded. “It was our little inside joke because of her name.” “I know… I know. It developed into an obsession, the modern times are so boring compared to the Roman Empire. But… look how far I’ve made it. I found your villa.” “and me” A mischievous yet so attractive grin crept up to his lips and there wasn’t much you could do, you had to mirror it. “That came as a surprise.” “How much of the house have you found? What about the rest of the estate?” 

You got up to get yourself some water. “We’re still on the lookout, why?” His eyebrows twitched and head dipped down. “I had a dream about my wife…” and as soon as these words left his lips, you were reminded that Marcus wasn’t just a handsome stranger you had met yesterday and had breakfast with right now. He was a grieving husband who was stuck in a different time. “She called out for me and told me she was waiting.” “Did she tell you where?” “Where she was laid to rest” 

You fell silent for a bit. While you had daydreamed about meeting Marcus before, this was real. It felt weird to just have him sit at your table, in your ex’s clothes, talking to you like you were coworkers. You wanted to help him reunite with his wife, but also – you didn’t want him to go. There was the man you had been reading about for such a long time that it ruined your relationship, and there were so many questions he could answer now. You left your home to be part of this excavation. And yet you didn’t know … 

“We have no documentation where she was buried. Also, most of the cemeteries didn’t survive all of this time.” Guilt washed over you. Here you were, one of the most knowledgeable people on Acacius’s life, but you didn’t know where they kept Astra’s remains. “She was buried where I proposed to her. There was a very old tree on my estate. We would go there and look at the stars.” 

“Damn,” came out of you, unable to stop it. Marcus was like straight out of fiction, it seemed. A hopeless romantic. It really made your heart flutter. “Pardon?” “My apologies. It will just be very hard to find a tree that hasn’t been there in over a thousand years. With buildings we might find documentation, but trees? I doubt any map we can find would have accurate plant placement.” 

Again, his face contorted as if you had just declined his marriage proposal. “I’m sorry, I just miss her so much.” It stung. You barely knew him but his pain was palpable. With a sigh you walked over to your table and leaned in, stretched out your arm and raised your pinkie in front of his view. “Do what I do.” He did and you hooked his pinkie with yours. “I promise I will do everything in my power to help you find her. Your pain must be bad. I can’t imagine what it must feel like but your face tells me enough.” He flexed his pinkie just a bit and dear God, that man was strong. “It’s unbearable at times. I’d rather be dead sometimes.” Strong, and intense, it seemed. 

The pinkies unhooked and you took the dirty dishes to put them into the sink. Marcus wasn’t done with the topic, however. Your promise to help was one thing, but he had something on his mind. “Can’t I help you?” He could, very easily. “You’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t think about this myself. If there is anyone that would know about the layout of your estate, it would be you.” “How can I help there?” “We will get drawings of the ruins, and if you’re behaving, we can go back to your villa and look at it. But I need you to be quiet, don’t talk unless we’re alone.” 

He nodded and got up. Just as he stretched, the shirt that was a little too tight on him slipped upwards, exposing some of his sun kissed skin. “Can I get different clothes before we go?” As much as I want to say no and stare at you for a little longer… “Can I leave you here unattended for a little?” “You can, I will behave.” “Promise?” He offered his pinkie and grinned. That’s all you needed for confirmation and you left for the shops. You had to guess his size, but judging by your ex’s stuff almost fitting, you knew enough, probably. One size up and you should be fine. Most importantly you got him some underwear because… the sweatpants weren’t hiding anything and you would unfortunately need to focus on work around him. You found some loose-fitting jeans and some natural fiber shirts. They were anything but cheap, but you were a little concerned with how well his skin would handle synthetic fibers, let alone all the detergents and softeners fabrics had in them. Thinking about it, it was a little lucky that he didn’t have any reaction to the soap you had offered him. Socks and some sneakers, and you were off on your way back. 

After your return, he changed into a new set of clothes and you prayed that his poor, unpolluted skin could handle what it was exposed to, as there was no time to wash the clothes before he wore them, first. The rest of his clothes landed in the wash, though. His shirt, silky and almost black, had a little too many buttons and you helped him close them. You took the opportunity of being so close to him to give him a little pep talk. “Just stay close to me, okay? I don’t want you wandering around my workplace unattended.” Acacius was so close you could feel his breath on your skin. It made you a little nervous, especially because you could smell your shower gel on him, and he was closely watching you fumble with the buttons. “I’ll stay close,” he grumbled, just loud enough that you can hear it. After all, why speak louder when you were right opposite of him? Your eyes wandered upwards and found his, and it felt like your heart sank right into your panties. His lips were curled into a one-sided smirk and it took everything from you to not squeak. 

One less awkward walk down to the office later, you found the layouts you had of the villa and placed them on the largest table you had in your little container-office. Marcus leaned over the table, causing you to bite your lower lip for just a moment. His butt looked so good in these jeans. “This is what we have found so far,” you explained and tried to detach your eyes from his backside before he would catch you staring at him. With a few steps you were next to him, leaning over the table just like he was. Your head turned to him. “Please don’t tell me we’re completely wrong,” you added. You felt a little anxious because he looked at it for so long. “No it’s… close enough,” he mumbled. Close enough? 

Before you could ask for clarification, his fingers traveled across the gigantic sheet of paper. “It was a short walk from the villa in this direction.” His fingers soon left the paper and you took another plan. It was a further zoomed out satellite image of the area and the rough walls of the villa sketched in. 

Acacius gave it a look, his finger traveled the same path over and over again, but as soon as he came close to the buildings that were there now, he seemed confused. “This is harder. Everything looks so different and it’s so small.” “It’s okay,” you reassured him and placed a hand on his shoulder “You don’t have to know right away. We can go down to the ruins, maybe it helps to just be there.” 

And you were there all day. You were sometimes even arguing with Marcus until you remembered it had been his house and his opinion was more valuable than any of your educated guesstimations. And upon further inspection, some of the walls actually looked to be younger, meaning the villa had been used after his disappearance and partially rebuilt. 

Philippe had observed you and Marcus all day, ending the shift with way too many notes about the villa. Changes that were to be made in the floor plan. If they could find evidence to claim these changes on rather than someone’s opinion. At least they could justify parts of these changes just by the walls being significantly newer and this would also probably mean there was more funding you could get for this excavation. 

This evening you and the general went back to your apartment. He was very adamant that you should sleep in the comfort of your bed, and your couch was a lot more comfortable for him as well. Despite your reservations at first, you brought some wine and two glasses over to the couch, where Marcus patiently waited for you. “I know it’s probably not the outcome you had wished for for today, but we’re making good progress. I brought some wine, assuming it’s something you’re used to drinking. It might be a little strong. We can water it down if it is. You did good today and I wanted to celebrate it a little.” You filled the glasses with the wine, handing one of the glasses over to him “Thank you,” he nodded and took a sip of the wine. You took your glass and did the same. Marcus had opened the uppermost buttons on the black shirt and you had changed into a cami top and sweatpants, lazily lounging on your couch. 

“Do you think we can find her?” “I’m sure. I can’t tell you how long it will take, but we will. How’s the wine?” He took another sip and nodded approvingly. “I like it. It’s very sweet.” “Just be careful, it might be a little strong for you.” Again, he smirked, this time just a little less cheeky. “I can handle it.” You believed him.   

“So, tell me about her,” you said as you leaned back into the corner of your couch, one arm on the arm rest, the other holding the wine glass on your thigh. Hearing about Astra made you curious. Acacius really loved her, you were sure of it, and you wanted to know what made her so special to him. It was heartwarming to hear about other relationships, after all. That was, until you remembered that he had lost her. 

“She was beautiful,” he mused. “I returned from war and it was like any other day. I was out in the city and she bumped into me at the market. She apologized profusely and our eyes met. She was so gorgeous it took my breath away.” He looked over to you. The candles on the coffee table reflected in his eyes. “She must’ve thought the same,” stumbled out of your lips, causing him to laugh. At least you hadn’t said you agreed with her observation, because this was awkward enough. You had another sip of the wine. The awkwardness flew over his head, or he didn’t want to make you feel any kind of uncomfortable. He just continued. 

“I turned into the biggest idiot in her presence, I didn’t know how to carry myself. Handling legions came second nature to me after being in the military for so long. But being around her… I felt like a child, careless and a little adventurous at times. I took every opportunity to talk to her until she showed up at my villa one evening.” He emptied his glass and helped himself with some more. 

You were hooked and asked “why was she at your villa?” His smile became wider and he sat back “It had been two or three days since I had last seen her, it was a busy week. She came over because she wanted to talk to me. We went to my garden and looked at the stars and talked. It became late and I didn’t want her to walk back home alone. I offered to bring her.” It sounded so romantic and you were a little jealous. Would anyone ever talk about how they met you in such a loving manner? “And she refused?” “She kissed me and asked if she could stay.”   

Judging by his grin, the outcome wasn’t hard to guess. “And she stayed…” “Yes, she did.” You could only imagine what he was thinking about when he grinned like this. You cleared your throat and emptied your wine glass, set it down on the table. Was he aware of what this was doing to you? You were both on your couch, you were drinking – he had his damn chest out and practically openly talked about sex. It was hard to shake off the image of him in the grey sweatpants. It was like you could almost see everything. 

“What about your … partner? How did you meet?” Marcus asked you, possibly out of courtesy. He wasn’t really interested in your love life, was he? “I don’t think it’s interesting. We’re separated anyway. I don’t miss him.” Short and sweet, and such a diplomatic answer. Of course you missed your ex from time to time, but he never understood your passion. Incompatible, that’s what you were. “Is it normal to not be married in your time?” With a shrug you responded “it’s… not unusual. We get married later in life, a lot never marry.” 

Marcus' reaction was expectedly negative. “Sounds lonely.” But you could reassure him “It’s not.” It really wasn’t. You had friends for your social interactions, and on desperate evenings, you had Tinder to remind you that most modern men were absolutely not worth the effort. Marcus seemed to be particularly interested in the latter part, as his next question struck you by surprise. “When is the last time you’ve been with a man?” You gulped and stuttered “I… uh… I can take care of myself.” Which technically wasn’t a lie, but you would rather die than teach him about toys right now. “Sure you can,” he took another sip and cocked an eyebrow. You motherfu… Was he flirting with you? 

Quick, say something before it gets awkward again!! “I’m surprised that it doesn't bother you. Isn’t modesty one of the female virtues in your time?” He nodded, but shrugged shortly thereafter. “It was. But this isn’t my time. Do you want more wine?” His hand pointed towards your wine glass and despite knowing you shouldn’t, you agreed to another glass. Acacius reached for the bottle and leaned over when filling your glass with wine. You could see his heart beat on the vein on his neck, pulsing in the candle light. There was nothing you could do, you stared at him, so handsome in the dim light of the small flame. And so close to you. As if he had heard your thoughts, he turned his head to you, an eyebrow raised. You didn’t move, but neither did he. 

Suddenly, the tension in the air was thick and you could make out his heavy but suppressed breathing. You watched as he leaned over, coming closer to you. One of his hands landed on the back rest, the other on the hand rest next to you, meaning you were caged against the corner on the couch. It felt like time was running slower when he leaned in and before you could react in any way, you felt his lips, kissing you ever so gently. Your hand was in his hair in an instant, pulling him in, tasting the wine on his lips. Reluctantly, he retreated just a moment later, and that’s when it also fully hit you: Marcus had kissed you. 

All you could ask him was “why did you kiss me just now?” because it didn’t make sense in your mind. He had just told you about his wife and suddenly he was practically pinning you against your couch and kissed you. “It must be the wine,” he explained in a murmur. “My apologies.” After you had taken a breath, you shook your head. “It’s nothing. I told you the wine is strong. Don’t worry.” Still, you took the wine glass and held onto it for dear life. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to forget he’s married and just give into the urge and kiss him again. To feel the heat of his skin on yours, the ripple of his muscles and the sweet growl of his voice when he moaned your name. Stop it! You softly smiled at him despite your very dirty thoughts and tried to make the situation just a little less uncomfortable for the both of you. “The couch is yours, you don’t have to kiss me for it.” A sigh of relief escaped his lips. “Thank you.”

Acacius stared into the wine and swished it around, as if he expected there to be some kind of wisdom in the dark red liquid. “Do you think we can find her?” he asked. Maybe he wanted to remind himself that he was on the search for his wife. “I’m sure we will find her. All we need to do is trust in your memories. And we will need to be patient.” You meant it. You were adamant about keeping your promise, even if it took a while. The general was welcome to stay with you. It wasn’t like you weren’t majorly benefitting from his support. “Thank you again for helping me and stopping your work for it.” “We’re not stopping. You’re helping me immensely, your life is my work.” You chewed on your lip for a moment. How long had he been missing his wife now? How long did it take him to kiss a stranger? “How long has it been since she passed?” “In my time?” You nodded. Marcus sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. “A week. She went into labor. I was getting ready to be a father, to hold my child in my arms and suddenly I was a widower, left with nothing but my grief.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you expressed your condolences. It made sense why he had been so distraught when he showed up here. The wounds were fresh. “It was a girl and she was as beautiful as her mother,” he said as a pained smile showed up on his face. “I still don’t understand what wrong I did for the gods to punish me like this. What did I do for them to take away everything I held dear.” Tears welled up in his eyes and sparkled in the candle light. If only he hadn’t kissed you, because now you hesitated placing your hand on him to soothe express your empathy. What were you supposed to say? No one believed in the old gods for the most part, but then again, science was definitely not able to explain why he ended up here, 1800 years into the future. 

You’ve been in thought for a second so you didn’t see him lean forward and cover his eyes with a hand. Only the single sob that came out pulled you back to reality. You put your wine back on the table, leaned in, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Fuck, he’s warm. “I’m sorry. I know there’s not much I can do to soothe your pain, but I’m here for you. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose both your spouse and child but it must feel like you’re dying yourself.” That was definitely making it worse, as his sobs came out in full now. You sighed, swallowed the awkwardness and hugged him from the side. A moment later he put his glass on the table and turned to hug you back. With his face buried in your hair, you let him cry, only stroking his back. “We will find her,” you softly whispered against his head while he still was holding onto you. 

Whether it was the soft touches, your words or the hug itself, you felt his breath become more and more regular. No sobs shook you any more. All you could feel was his heart beat and his warm breath against your scalp. Somewhere in between breaths you could’ve sworn he had whispered something into your hair. You stayed like this until he decided to let go first. Your fingers were in his hair again, giving his scalp a soft massage as he looked back into your eyes. At least you had found the right words to say while you held him. “I don’t care how long it takes. I might need to find creative justifications for why our research is taking a different turn, but we will reunite you with your wife. And your little girl. I promise.”  

After this outbreak of raw emotions, you both decided to pour the rest of the wine down the drain and go to sleep; separately. You felt a little conflicted because it seemed like your presence was soothing to him but it also made him feel guilty, as if it pained him to be around you. And you couldn’t help feeling drawn to him. You’ve sacrificed so much for your research and you were so fascinated by him. Acacius seemed so soft, so loving and gentle deep down. Sure, you projected a lot onto him, imagining him to be the perfect man to his wife. How often had you wondered if you would ever find someone that would love you like he loved his wife?

And then you met him, he fell right before your feet. To be fair, your first meeting had been a little explosive but Marcus was so understanding and frankly… he had taken your breath away as soon as you had met his eyes with yours; it felt a little just like he explained reacting to first seeing Astra – but you didn’t feel like an idiot in his presence, just a little awkward from time to time. 

The next days you spent basically remaking all of the sketches of the villa layout. It was a lot of work, but you had a good feeling that this would help Marcus estimate the distances better. He was your only hope with finding the location of the tree, after all. Then again, without him you wouldn’t be in this trouble at all. 

You didn’t mind. Marcus and you grew closer, working all day on the site, sitting in the office on occasion going over some of the other things you found, only to go home with him, falling asleep in your separate beds to do it all again the next day. You became good friends, you found a routine. Marcus was invaluable to your research and in return for his help you offered what you could. A bed, a bath, lazy sundays on the couch, and an occasional hug when his grief overcame him. 

It wasn’t a lot you could offer, but it seemed to do the trick. The bad nights were rare and you would start seeing a different side of him altogether. Marcus was an intense person, no one could deny that, but he was warm and gentle, even goofy, and sometimes even a little protective when he felt you were uncomfortable. Whenever he was approached by women, which happened more times than you had expected, you helped out. It didn’t take long for him to learn some basic words in Italian and also some in English. He was a smart man, after all, and despite this not being his time, he adapted fast. 

He grew to like black coffee. That was of all things the biggest surprise. The face he had made when he first tried it convinced you he was more of a cappuccino type of guy, but on some mornings you stepped out of the shower and coffee was already waiting for you, your roommate humming to himself while looking out of the kitchen window. 

It didn’t register at first, but for a while it felt like Astra was completely forgotten. You and Marcus worked alongside one another like he was just another coworker that just so happened to live with you. Nothing further than the kiss had happened between you two, it wasn’t like you were actively trying to make him forget about his wife. Rather he would listen to your theories, trying to connect stories of other Romans that lived at the same time. And he would deliver the hottest gossip no one today would know about. 

Today, however, was a different day. “Maybe we should stay home,” you sighed as you watched the rain drops collect on the kitchen window. You were having breakfast, Marcus sat opposite of you in the same dark, silky shirt, the top button undone. “It’s just water, we should get over there soon,” he responded with a shrug. He was right, but still, part of you wanted to just stay in bed today. Was it the rain? Were you a little under the weather? You’ve never been sensitive to changes in this way. 

Something was off with him today, but not in a bad way. There was a pep in his step, so to say, an enthusiasm to work you had not seen in him. At first he was frustrated, nervous, then joyful whenever you could cross off one task of the sheer never ending list. But today, it was like he had just won the lottery. He was all smiles and giddy about the same old work. 

“We should try to find it, I think,” he said as soon as you entered the office. He went straight for the coffee machine while you draped the newest revision of the villa’s layout onto the table. He laid down on the couch and recounted his steps, while you tried to mark the way down on your map. It didn’t have to be 100 percent accurate, but if you had a rough idea of what area to search, you could just go there and see if you could find Astra. 

Did you ever think about how absurd this was? Absolutely, but Marcus was here and very real, why was it so unbelievable that his wife would be here somewhere? 

You spent all day going back and forth with him, until you decided right around sunset that it was probably for the best if he got to actually walk from his villa to wherever he expected Astra to be. “I’ll keep my eyes closed,” he explained when you stood at the ruins, the warm rain pattering onto his shoulders, slowly soaking him and you. You took his hand and nodded. “I will make sure you won’t run into anything.” Marcus raised your hands in front of his face and kissed the back of your hand, never breaking eye contact. As beautiful as the thought was to reunite him with his wife, you knew you would miss this. Miss him. He was by no means romantically involved with you, but his whole presence, who he was and how he was with you… 

It would leave you a little empty and lost. 

“Are you nervous?” you asked him as he started walking. As he had his eyes closed, you could sneak in a few glances. He was so handsome and the joy that radiated from his face made him even more attractive. If only he’d be smiling for you. “Do you think this is it?” he asked, opening his eyes just a slit to look over to you. Of course, you averted your gaze and scanned the environment, making sure he wouldn’t run into anything. “I have a good feeling about this,” you confirmed and nodded. It was a lie. You had a bad feeling about this and that’s what probably meant this was it. He was about to leave. 

If this meant you would go your separate ways soon, you’d better make the most of the time you still had. One question about today burned in your mind. “Why today? What is so special about it? You’ve been so enthusiastic about it since we left the apartment” “The rain.” “The rain?” You both stopped for a second. By now you were almost drenched, but with the heat during the day, this almost felt refreshing rather than uncomfortable. And no one could deny that wet hair made him look even better. You should really stop thinking about him like this. 

“She appeared in my dreams again. She said we would reunite when rain fell from the stars.” His explanation sounded convincing enough, but then again “you never told me you had dreamt about her again.” Your voice actually sounded a little accusatory. Marcus just shrugged “I … must’ve forgotten. It wasn’t like it had rained before today so – it wasn’t important.” 

Huh, not important. You swallowed your pride and you continued on. “Do you think the stars might be crying?” He sounded confused when he replied “why would I think that?” “Well,” you began, “the poem, think of it as a sequel. You might have proposed to her on a clear night, but maybe they’re crying because they’re saying farewell to their sisters again.” “How did you know it was a clear night?” “Stars aren’t visible behind clouds” 

Marcus stopped abruptly and looked at you again. His curls dropped forward, droplets of rain running along the salt and pepper strands and falling onto your face. Did he know how handsome he was, even by today’s standards? Despite all the scars? His thumb gently stroked your hand and a smile crept up to his lips. “You’re such a smart woman. It’s a shame no one appreciates that. Thank you for everything,” he mused. His words touched you, he was one of the few people whose compliments felt genuine. “Thank you, general. I’m so curious to meet her,” you responded, squeezing his hand ever so softly. Only a few more minutes and you could stop lying, to him and to yourself. “I can’t wait to hold her in my arms again.” Ouch. 

You kept walking and after a few close calls with tripping hazards, he stopped for the final time. “This should be it,” he said and opened his eyes. You were in a small alley, behind a house it seemed. “No trees here,” you said softly. Not like you had expected anything else. If there had been a tree in Rome that was this old, you would’ve heard about it.  

Marcus let go of your hand and walked towards a small shrine on one of the walls that had gathered his attention. You stared at your now empty hand. It felt a little cold now that he had let go. “What does it say?” he asked, pointing at a little sign by the shrine, and you followed him to a statue of virgin Mary with baby Jesus. The imagery must have been a little painful to see for him. 

You read the small inscription. “It’s a shrine of the virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, the… son of the Christian God.” You heard him mutter something, probably disappointment, or confusion why a virgin was a mother. “It says here they found the remains of a woman and a child when this house was built, so they put the shrine here.” you turned to look at him. “This must be it. We found her.” 

And as much as it hurt you to know that Marcus would leave, the joy you saw in his eyes soothed your pain a little. After all, your friend had lost so much more than you would lose after he would be with his wife again. They could continue their life and you wondered what this meant for the present, for your time. Would history change? 

Would he forget you for the sake of never letting anyone know where he had been?

You both heard steps coming down the alley. Marcus didn’t dare move and neither did you. As much as you wanted him to be happy, what about you? Could you be selfish for a second? He would leave you behind, separated from him by so much time. It wasn’t like there was much that held him here, besides the one friend he made. 

The woman that came around the corner was definitely not his wife. It was an older lady under an umbrella, taking an evening walk or maybe going home, carrying a small bag. You and her exchanged pleasantries, distracting you for a moment. 

“Astra, where are you?” he asked, as soon as his gaze was back on him, you saw the pain in his face. He ran his fingers through his hair. How you would’ve loved to do the same. “Astra!” he called out into the night and you flinched, startled by the sudden volume. “Astra!” he called again. 

You heard some residents complain about the noise. You blinked a few times and afterwards looked at him, “Marcus,” you softly addressed him. “I don’t understand it. She said she’d be here, but there’s just me and … you.” He turned to look at you and disappointment left for confusion, one eyebrow raised. What?

“Are you crying?” You couldn’t feel the tears on your already wet face but you nodded, certain your eyes were tearing up because you would lose him. With a few steps Marcus was opposite of you, cupping your face with one hand and wiping your cheek. “Why are you crying?” “Happy tears” His head tilted to the side. “I can tell when you’re lying,” he grumbled. Marcus came a little closer, chest to chest with you, and his second hand joined in to cup your face. “Tell me.” How were you supposed to let this go without tears?  

“I’m happy for you, or… I thought I was, but I –” he leaned in and shut you up by kissing you. You leaned in but at the same time you muttered out a “stop” in between kisses. He growled “no” and kept going. “Marcus,” you tried to get him to stop again, this time successfully, allowing you to take a breath.

“I thought we were over this,” you tried to accuse him of something, but it fell on deaf ears this time around. “You’re smart. Connect the dots.” His voice was so silky and you absolutely wanted to hate him for being so hot when you should be mad at him. “You’re kissing me here when your wife is about to show up any second to leave with you!” 

“Carissima,” he stroked your cheeks. “It’s just us here. I should have known from the beginning when I first saw you.” “What?” “It’s you. It’s always been you. You have her wit, her heart… and her eyes.” He gave you a once-over, never stopping stroking your cheeks. “But the rain–” “As you so cleverly pointed out: Stars aren’t visible then it rains.”

And then it partially clicked. “The poem…” “Your eyes are the stars, and your tears are the rain.” Marcus leaned in and placed a kiss onto your forehead before he continued. “I was meant to stumble before your feet and fall in love with you all over again. And I fell hard.” “But you were so persistent to find her today,” you intercepted. Of course, you were a little overwhelmed with what was going on. Was he really implying you were some kind of reincarnation of Astra? He shook his head. “I was waiting for a sign that I was right.” 

You raised your head to see him smiling at you. “Please tell me you feel the same.” It’s a little hard to process it all, but all you wanted was to give in, so you nodded. You had fallen for him a while ago, ever since you had seen the brown eyes for the first time. To confirm your gesture, Marcus kissed you again, one hand in the back of your neck, pulling you in even closer. Your fingers were in his hair, tangling in the wet curls. “Now it’s happy tears,” you whispered when he leaned in once more, forehead against forehead. He smiled warmly and gave you another peck on the lips.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked. Not that the rain wasn’t pleasant, but you stood here in a random alleyway when you had an apartment close.  “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” You offered with a grin. “I would love to. I love you.” “I love you too.”  

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter XV - Beneventum

Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. But you both have taken vows that make sure your paths may never cross. Until they do.

Aka a fix-it fanfic where Acacius survives the Colosseum.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 45k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, Oral Sex (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight Breeding Kink, Semi-Public Sex, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist // Ko-Fi

notes: look who it is! hiii! sorry this chapter is a tad late, im afraid the rise of f*cism in my country and my current ear infection are to blame. oh, if i only had a strong roman general with big big forearms to save me … ♡

centurion - high-ranking army official

Chapter XV - Beneventum

You don’t plan to do it. You really don’t.

But when you have dressed and adjusted your veil in front of the small mirror that sits in the corner of the room and step down into the atrium, Acacius is nowhere to be seen. Instead, a servant greets you at the bottom of the stairs. “My lady Vestal, I have prepared a light meal for you if you would like some food?”

“Is there drink too?” You enquire gently and at the woman's nod, you follow her back to the dining room you remember from last night. “Has the General already taken his food?”

She generously pours you a cup of what looks like some kind of juice and shakes her head, smiling like the mere idea is a silly one to entertain. “Oh no, the General was up before dawn and rode off to see his soldiers. He should be down by the fields. Would you like me to have a message sent to him? It is not very far.”

“No,” you respond a bit too quickly. You hope to cover the slight blush that creeps onto your cheeks with your cup by bringing it to your mouth and drinking. The juice tastes of oranges along with other fruits and you nod in approval, giving the woman a faint smile before continuing. “I know the General is a very busy man. I was merely wondering whether or not to save him any of this.”

The woman seems to swallow the ruse because she laughs at that, once again shaking her head. “Oh no, my dear, this is all for you. But I promise you, when he returns, I will offer him the same and more. Neither of you shall go hungry in our house.”

“You are very kind.” You smile. Your appetite and your mood have exponentially increased at the unexpected news of Acacius’s absence. You busy yourself with your food, tasting a bit of everything that is offered up in front of you. But your mind is already out the front door. Because you really didn't plan to do it. But if Acacius is providing you with a perfect opportunity to slip through the bars of your cage, you will not be so stupid as to ask for his permission.

Stomach filled with bread and drink, you rush back upstairs to gather your coins and a coat. The sun makes the weather seem slightly less bleak, but the cold is still all around you and you aren’t sure how long you will be. You make it out of the villa and through the gardens without an issue. It is only when you reach the entrance gate that separates the grounds from the town that you run into a problem. A problem in the form of two guards that turn toward you as you step outside, their eyes flying over your form.

“My lady, may we help you?” The one to your right asks politely and you do your best to not let your anxiety show, even as your heart begins to beat faster and you absent-mindedly smooth down invisible wrinkles in your stola.

“I wish to head into town,” you say as if it is the most normal request in the world and step forward just to have the man on the left do the same, putting himself right into your path. But you can see the insecurity in his step, the wish to perform well in front of such high guests. And no one wishes to upset a priestess.

“There is not much to see in this town. I am sure Sir Orbilius would prefer to have you stay within the grounds.” He must be able to see that you are not in agreement because he adds; “A walk around the gardens this time of the day is quite beautiful.”

You stay quiet for a few moments, pondering your options. It will surely be a few hours until Acacius returns, possibly even nightfall. If you manage to be back by then, you doubt the soldiers would find it worthy to report of you ever leaving. Your eyes fly past the man in front of you, onto the streets behind him and the roofs further down the hill. And suddenly, an idea strikes you.

“I am sure the gardens are lovely. However, they will not serve for my duty. It is the Temple I aspire to visit.” You nod gracefully, gesturing toward the tallest of the buildings behind the soldier. He sends the other man a quick glance, swallowing nervously.

“Maybe you should wait for the General to return then, I am certain he would appreciate…”

You don’t even let him finish his attempt at keeping you inside the cage, your voice soft as satin as you step forward. “I can tell you are a loyal soldier. I thank you for keeping the people of Beneventum and the Roman lands safe. But you should learn to trust in the gods as I do.”

It is something no Roman citizen could argue with. And indeed, you can watch as the man sheds his resistance like a coat that has gotten too heavy and steps to the side, bowing his head as he lets you pass. “Of course, my lady. Forgive me my foolishness.”

You finally pass the gate but you don't respond to his request. Because it has just occured to you that you are exactly like Acacius, exactly like the man you are trying so hard to despise. That you are using your precious gods the way he did when he asked for your company for this trip.

You’re more than content to quickly put distance between yourself and the villa, like its mere presence makes you foul. A golden cage with lavish food to eat and gardens to roam and nothing, not a single truth around. It is the one lesson you have understood early in your life through your position in the Empire. A cage, no matter how comfortable and no matter how large, is still not freedom. No matter how good an imitation it is of the very thing it forbids.

For a few moments, you consider actually stopping by the temple and allowing yourself a moment of calm. You could say a few prayers, some of them the same ones you whisper to Vesta every night, of forgiveness and obedience and admitting your shortcomings in the recent months. But the sun is still out and with every step further into the heart of Beneventum, you feel lighter. Men, women and children fill the streets, running their errands or heading from one place to another, vendors push their carts and loudly praising their fresh ingredients to whoever will listen. There is no guard with you, neither Acacius nor any other man, despite being so far from Rome. And despite a sliver of fear that remains at that thought, you realize it feels good.

And then you suddenly hear them. Hooves that click on the stone pavement in a rhythm so strict it can only mean one thing: Soldiers.

You rush to the side, scrambling to hide behind one of the wooden carts loaden with vegetables and fruits, pretending to inspect some apples in detail. Through the red and green stacks, you watch anxiously as several soldiers ride past and you let out a small breath of relief when you can't spot Acacius among them. However, you do recognize one of the centurions that usually rides next to the General and you involuntarily hold your breath, wondering whether or not you should head back before any of them can report of your absence.

“Oh, yes, yes, we just had these delivered yesterday, still as fresh as they are in the fall–” The vendor behind whose cart you’re currently hiding has turned toward you and is animatedly gesturing toward the apples you are standing in front of. When he comes face to face with you, you can see the same reaction that Lady Orbilius had at your arrival. “Oh my, it is you! They spoke of a Vestal coming to our town but I did not believe it–” He stares at you for a few moments, like you are some precious piece of gold behind glass, made purely to be admired. Then, before you can think of a proper response, he reaches for a slightly worn bag and picks several of the fruits to place inside, paying extra attention to the apples. “Here, take this for your travels, please.”

You nod, glancing over your shoulder to check whether or not the soldiers are still there but they are nowhere to be seen. Slowly, you shake off the brief faint you felt. “Let me give you some gold at the very least.”

The man insists that the food is a present time and time again until you decide that it is a lost cause to keep arguing and after once again expressing your gratitude, you move on, secretly wondering if you may be able to slip a golden coin or two into his cart on your way back.

A group of children giggle as they follow you down the busy street, occasionally hiding behind tables or columns when you turn around. It warms your heart to see them playing out in the open, not hidden away in expensive villas or worse–send to work on the fields when their small bodies will barely allow them to carry a bag of flour.

Both the temple and the soldiers are forgotten when you reach the line of shops you passed in your carriage the day before; one display more beautiful than the other.

After days of staring out at a grey landscape, at trees with no leaves and fields with nothing to bloom on them, seeing fabrics in all colors you could imagine, some impossibly mixed, feels like spring has come early. You let your hands run over the linen and peek into several of the small stores, occasionally stopping to chat with the owners or folks who notice your veil and ask for a moment of your time. Some pose questions about the gods, others ask for your blessing or prayer, one man even falls to his knees and begins to weep.

You’ve never considered how distance would make people perceive you so differently, how to them you and your veil belong to a world they usually just hear about, to Rome with all its imposing temples and politics and the colosseum.

You find your way to a corner shop that carries beautifully woven scarves and jewelry of all kinds, a slight mist hanging in the air that reminds you of the smell of stone pines in the summer. The way the clothes are arranged feels a bit like Aquila’s shop back home and you feel a sense of comfort settling over you at the thought that some things are the same, no matter where in the Empire you are.

A woman, no older than thirty, beckons you inside, treading lightly beside you as you let your eyes wander over the displays. “These are beautiful,” you hum quietly when your eyes land on a set of earrings and a matching bracelet, both made from a light gold with green stones worked into them.

“You have a good eye,” the woman compliments, reaching for the gold bracelet and holding it up to the light for you. Her gaze briefly passes over your veil and a genuine smile decorates her face. “Though I am sure these stones are nothing compared to the kind you can buy in Rome.”

“No,” you mutter. “These are more beautiful than those in Rome. They’re …” You struggle to find the right word. “More natural. The fine lines in this one– I have not seen anything like this before. Like it was brought straight from the mines.”

A small laugh escapes the woman and she nods again. “I told you you have a good eye. These were made by the blacksmith in town. He purchases stones and metals from the merchants when they pass through town and creates fine jewelry for us to sell. Nowhere else would he have so many options.” A small glint sneaks into her eyes. “Many high ranking men pass through Beneventum and stay for a night or two. It is usually about a week before their return to Rome that they remember they need to bring their wives something.”

“So the men's forgetfulness keeps you in business?” You ask with a small laughter and she sends you a clandestine look.

“That and their bad conscience.” It doesn’t seem like a big deal to her, an off-hand mention of the fact that many of the noble and proper men find no fault in keeping more than one lover, especially during long and straining journeys. You nod distantly, your eyes fixing on the green stones as you silently wonder if Acacius does the same. You’ve been retiring early and despite your tents usually being erected near each other, it would not have been impossible for the General to have a woman or two enter his tent for … evening entertainment.

Clearly, that is what he hoped to get from you too. And you gave yourself so willingly, actually believing that he could be interested in anything beyond your forbidden body. The thought makes your stomach feel funny.

“My lady?” The woman asks, her laughter having died away, the smile now replaced with a frown. “Are you not feeling well?”

***

“General?”

Acacius lets out a small groan at the voice of another soldier entering the tent, letting his head hang down in defeat. He is towering above the table, both arms leaning onto the wooden surface that is almost entirely covered in maps and lists. He arrived to meet with his centurions at the break of dawn, secretly hoping to put an early end to their planning and head back up to the villa before sunset. But of course, things are more complicated than they would need to be. Caracalla and Geta have sent orders after him, some that clash with his initial ones and he could just barely contain his annoyance at the Emperor's non-existent decision-making.

“What now?” He groans quietly, closing his eyes for a short moment, sending a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening to just let his day end so he can go back to you, maybe even have another walk in the garden. He felt you tremble below his touch last night, saw the way the fabric hugged your curves and he already knows that the only thing he regrets more than starting this whole thing with you is ending it. He just wants–

“Forgive the disturbance, my General but Sir Orbilius wishes to send word. The Vestal has gone.”

His eyes shoot open and in one quick motion, he has straightened himself and turned toward the soldier who looks slightly alarmed at the sudden movement. “What?” He demands, his voice rough and full of impatience.

“The- The Vestal–” The young man chokes out and before he can repeat himself in full, Acacius has shoved himself past him and out of the entrance of the tent. He knows that he is being unprofessional, that while your safety has priority for the Roman Empire, he needs to appear calm and collected, the same way he always does.

But he can’t. Visions flash in front of his eyes. You could have been taken. He checked the perimeter every night when you were sleeping in the tents. Why the hell did he not think to check that of the house as well?

“The temple–” The young soldier is panting when he reaches Acacius swinging himself onto his horse.

“What? What temple?” He inquires, settling into the saddle as several of his Centurions do the same around him.

“The soldiers at the gates, they said she talked about visiting the temple,” he yaps out. The sentence is barely finished when Acacius spurs his white stallion on, the horse immediately falling into a gallop, rushing past soldiers that raise their heads and their gazes that follow him with growing confusion.

“I will check the town,” he calls over his shoulder, the other men riding behind him. “You close down the main roads in and out of the city. I want no one to pass through the gates while we are looking for her.” His men shout back in agreement and begin to split up, though none of them are quite as rushed as Acacius himself. He almost runs over some of the people passing through the main street, including an older man pushing his half-empty cart of fruits. Acacius doesnt even register the curses send his way, all his senses instead trained to spot even just a hint of you. Every moment, he half expects you to emerge from the crowd or to meet your eyes down one of the streets that lead off the main road, to see you struggling against men or monsters or both.

“Gods–” He whispers, half cursing them out for allowing this and half begging them to bring you back safe. His heart is racing when he jumps off his horse in front of the temple, not caring in the slightest that he is creating a scene. He pushes the large front doors open, stepping inside and letting his eyes fly through the room. Those who were praying a moment ago have turned around at the noises of his arrival and the crowd outside and he briefly passes every face with his eyes. You have to be here. You have to.

But you’re not. Which can only mean that something has happened. That you either never left the villa willingly or that something went wrong after you did, that someone has been biding their time and just waiting to strike at the right moment. A you presented them with a glorious opportunity.

He turns on his heel, marching through the crowd, his face hard like stone. Trying not to betray the way he feels inside.

The shops. You spoke of the shops last night. He is not going to stop looking for you until he has either found you well and alive or– he forces himself not to entertain the alternative. So he may as well start in the center of town.

His senses are still dialled up to eleven, ignoring the whispers and stares that he is attracting by marching through the middle of the street, his gaze passing through each of the storefronts. When he passes one that is decorated with colorful scarves and fabrics, he pauses. Voices drift to him from inside and through the entryway of the house he can spot what he has been looking for.

“Are you out of your mind?!” He half-yells as he storms into the small shop, the woman who was next to you a moment ago immediately stumbling back, her eyes widening at the sight of the General.

He watches your gaze change too and he can’t decide what upsets him more. The look on your face before you see him, so casual and nonchalant like you are just on a comfortable trip without a care in the world– or the one after you see him. Your eyebrows immediately knitting together, your lower lip pushed out ever so slightly in a way that makes it look like you want to cry.

“I was just…” You start but he shakes his head and to his own surprise, the noise he lets out almost sounds like a growl.

“We are going back.” He orders, not sparing the other woman one glance, his eyes only fixed on you. Like you’ll disappear the second he blinks. “Now,” Acacius adds impatiently and you nod obediently, handing back whatever you’d been holding and stepping over to him. His hand hovers above your waist for a few moments and he wants to grab you, wants to wrap himself so tightly around you that you’ll have no choice but to stay with him. But he has to remind himself that you are still in public. And despite the obvious anger at your choices, he cannot be seen touching a Vestal like that.

***

It feels like he has a grip on you without needing his hands. Acacius’s mere presence radiates the anger you see reflected in his face, his breathing heavy and his eyes dark.

You know you messed up. You half expect him to call for a carriage, to place you inside and send you straight back to Rome. That you’ve finally pushed him far enough for him to push back. You almost wish he would.

But he doesn’t. He steers both of you up the hill, ignoring the looks of the townsfolk and soldiers alike. He gives a nod to the guards at the gate when you pass them and you keep your head down, like you are a prisoner being led past a jury that has already settled on a verdict.

“Your guard will stay with you at all times,” Acacius mutters as you tread up the path to the villa. “No more sneaking off or going out– Nothing.” He leads you all the way upstairs to your room, holding the door open for you and– to your surprise– following you inside. You hear the wooden door close behind him and step toward the small window, waiting for him to speak.

He still sounds like he’s out of breath and you can hear him shift on his feet. “Do you even realize what kind of danger you put yourself in?”

The sigh slips past your lips before you can stop it and you shake your head, turning to face him. He’s all squared shoulders and crossed arms, his teeth grinding in anger. At least you believe it to be anger.

You have a list of things that you could argue with; that it was daylight, that Beneventum is a safe town, that you didn’t venture down any dark allies, that you were careful. But you already know they will do nothing to lessen Acacius’s upset. “Just let me be.”

Somehow, that also seems to be the wrong thing to say because he scoffs in disbelief, stepping closer to you, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Do you know what people would do to you? To a Vestal they have all to themselves, that has no defense with her?”

“Oh, let’s see–” You start, raising a brow as you too step closer, bringing you into reach of each other. “What would they do?” Your eyes fixate his. You’re certain you’ll see anger flash red in them in a moment. “That’s right, they would touch me, is that it? Not like you ever would, right?”

The anger never comes. Instead, Acacius’s eyelids flutter and he steps back, his entire body deflating like he’s been struck.

You immediately want to take it back. But you’re tired and frustrated and he is just so, so impossible and you don’t understand him.

“Get some sleep. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning,” Acacius chokes out, his eyes not meeting yours. Then, he turns and rushes out of the room.

You spend the rest of the evening wondering if you merely imagined the slight tremble in his hands.

notes: okay okay i know a lot of fighting but hear me out … things are happening. acacius realizing how easily he is terrified by dulcissima being in (supposed) trouble is not just really fun to write but also something that may be an important realization for him. just saying. see you very soon ♡

[popcornforone]

ARE YOU NOT EDUCATED?!

A Mr Ben Fan Fic (with some surprises)

At the time of writing this after creating & editing a first draft of this fic, it’s just gone past midnight into Monday 24th March. The last week we were spoilt for Pedro content & when we get our man looking that good for so many days it’s hard to stop the creative juices going. So yesterday after I posted something on Saturday which took off, I decided to write a fic about it, & well once again Mr Ben is our suffering man for this.

Synopsis:- after the release of Gladiator 2 it’s all the kids at school can talk about so Ben asks you to come & sit in on one of his enthusiastic classes

Word count:- 8200

Warnings:-DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! Oral sex 69, size mentioned, lots of innuendo, swearing, colleagues to lovers, unrequited love, age gap, alluding to more sex, teasing, fantasy’s, role play.

Thanks as always for stopping by & having a read peoples. It’s always really appreciated that you read these. Yea I know I was meant to slow down with the fics but I just can’t stop writing at the moment.

Monday second period, your free lesson, no kids, no interruptions, time to play catch up. You were halfway through grading a stack of essays when a familiar, slightly exasperated voice broke your concentration.

“Please tell me you’re free third period on Wednesday.” You glanced up from your desk to see Mr. Ben standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame with the world-weary look of a man who had just fought a long & exhausting battle except, instead of a battlefield, it was probably the high school hallway. His dark curls were slightly disheveled, & he was gripping his flask probably filled with strong coffee like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Uh…” You hesitated, already sensing whatever he was about to ask would be a lot. “Why?”

He sighed & stepped fully into the room, rubbing a hand down his face. “I need another teacher to monitor my lesson because my students have lost their minds. Every single one of them has apparently watched Gladiator 2 this weekend at the cinema, which, by the way, they are not old enough to see they are underage, & now they’re convinced they’re living in ancient Rome.”

You bite back a laugh. “Oh no.” You hadn’t had this issue yet, maybe your students knew to not bring it up with you. Where as they all see Ben as a much more fun teacher who would have probably seen the film this weekend. He had, you’d actually gone with him & a couple of other friends as a large group to see it. You did sit next to Ben & share popcorn with him while you fawned over Paul & Pedro on the big screen.

“Oh yes,” he said, dropping dramatically into the chair across from your desk. “I tried to start a lesson on the fall of the Republic, thinking it would at least make them read, & one of them actually stood up and shouted, ‘The Senate is corrupt!’”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh. “That’s… impressive?”

“It’s insufferable.” He gestured vaguely, looking at you like he was already regretting every life choice that had led him here. “They keep calling me ‘General,’ they refuse to sit unless it’s in some kind of weird, dramatic gladiator pose, & one kid actually tried to fight another kid with a ruler because he said he ‘had to earn his freedom.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. “Okay, yeah. That’s a disaster.”

“Exactly!” He pointed at you like you finally got it. “So now I need backup. Someone to keep them from forming an actual underground fighting ring while I try to salvage my lesson.” He tilted his head slightly, giving you an exaggerated pleading look. “Please? For the good of the Republic?” Those eyes love to be big & pleading. So brown. So smouldering.

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “Fine. I’ll help.”

Ben let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank you. You are a true ally to Rome.” He winked.

You smirked. “Just promise me you’re not going to encourage them.” There was a pause. A very suspicious pause.

“…Define ‘encourage.’”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Ben.”

He stood there with a sheepish look, already backing toward the door. “See you Wednesday!” With his coffee in hand he made his exit, leaving you with the distinct feeling that whatever was about to happen in his classroom later this week was going to be absolutely unhinged.

You weren’t trying to look nice today. Not exactly. It’s just that… well, if you were going to spend a whole period sitting in the back of Ben’s classroom, watching him flail through whatever chaos his students had planned, there was no harm in making sure you looked presentable. So what if you spent an extra few minutes on your hair? Or picked a shirt that you knew looked good on you? That was just… professionalism. Totally normal. Absolutely not because of the way Mr. Ben somehow managed to make a button-down & rolled-up sleeves look ridiculously attractive every single day.

Nope. Not at all.

By the time third period rolled around, you were a nervous ball of energy for lots of reasons. You were already seated at the back of his classroom, casually checking your phone as you waited for him to arrive. The desks were empty for now, but you could practically feel the energy that was about to hit. Those kids were going to walk in like they were entering the Colosseum, & you were just here to keep them from actually killing each other & help Ben out in anyway you could.

Then, the door opened. In walked Ben. In a tunic!

Not just any tunic, a white Roman-style tunic with a fitted waist, draped fabric, & a damn leather strap slung over one shoulder like he’d just stepped off the set of the movie. Like he was actually Pedro Pascal.

Your brain short-circuited. He was still wearing his usual work shoes, & he had a coffee in one hand, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on an ancient battlefield instead of a public high school classroom. Your fingers tightened around your phone as you stared, way too hard, at the ridiculous yet unfairly good-looking sight in front of you. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach.

Ben, completely oblivious to the effect he was having, blew out a breath & ran a hand through his dark curls. “Okay, before you say anything, just know that I tried to resist.”

You blinked, mouth slightly open. “Resist… what, exactly?”

He motioned vaguely at himself. “This. The whole… outfit.” Your brain was still buffering. “But then,” he continued, sighing dramatically, “I realized that if I don’t lean into it, they’re just going to push harder. So, I figured, fine. Let’s embrace the chaos. If they want a gladiator, I’ll give them a gladiator.”

Oh, you were so in trouble. You’ve had a thing for Ben for a while but this was now unlocking a fantasy you didn’t know you had. The white tunic, the knees on display, his hair all messy. It was going to make you a hot mess especially if he was going to use his strict teacher voice at the kids, that always made something brew inside your loins.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay even. “Uh-huh. & you think this is going to help?” Ben shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee like he wasn’t currently dressed like every history nerd’s fantasy.

“Honestly? I have no idea. But if we’re going down, we’re going down in style.”

You nodded slowly, crossing your legs to keep yourself from fidgeting. “Right. Totally. Very… strategic of you.”

He shot you a grin. “Glad you think so. You ready?”

Absolutely not. But before you could respond, the first wave of students started trickling in, & as soon as they saw him, all hell broke loose.

“GENERAL BENEDICTUS HAS ARRIVED!” One of them screeched, the madness began.

Ben barely had time to set his coffee down before the classroom erupted into full-blown hysteria.

“GENERAL BENEDICTUS HAS ARRIVED! Roma! Roma! Roma!”

Half the class immediately slammed their fists over their hearts in some kind of dramatic salute, while the other half started chanting. Ben sighed, rubbing his temples like a man who had seen too much.

“Guys, we talked about this. No cult-like behavior before noon.”

You, meanwhile, were still recovering from the sheer visual impact of him in that tunic, so you barely managed to stifle a laugh. A group of students suddenly realised you were there. Your little chuckle instantly recognisable. A few whispers started going around.

“Miss is in awe of your presence, General,” one of them announced solemnly.

You immediately choked on air. “That is not what’s happening, I’m merely here to observe” not that any child really paid attention to that statement. Neither did Ben, the absolute menace, he grinned as he addressed you staying in character.

“You hear that? You’re in awe.”

You shot him a sharp look, refusing to acknowledge the warmth creeping up your neck. “I’m in awe of how you still have a job.” That only made him laugh as he reached for his glasses, sliding them on in one smooth motion before ruffling his curls, because apparently, he needed to make this harder for you. Those thick frames make you feel so unnecessary. You swore he did it just to be annoying. Or worse, just to test you. Because now, with the slightly messy hair & those glasses slipping down his nose, he looked less like a ridiculous history teacher playing dress-up & more like some unfairly attractive historian who had just come back from excavating Pompeii. It was too much. You needed help. You needed divine intervention. You needed to not think about attractive mr ben is normally let alone right now.

But instead, you’ve got a classroom of unruly students, whispering like this was some kind of romance subplot in their imaginary Roman drama.

One kid leaned over to another and muttered, “The Empress is struggling to contain her feelings.”

Ben clapped his hands together. “Alright, that’s enough. Everyone focus, it’s time to learn.” Damn that strict voice made the heat rise even more.

Silence. Blank stares. One kid yawned. Another pulled out their phone. Ben sighed. “Oh, so now you’re quiet?”

One of the students shrugged. “It’s just, you know… we were expecting something a little more…” He gestured vaguely. “Inspirational.”

Ben arched an eyebrow. “You want inspiration?”

“Yeah! Like, something that moves us. Like Maximus or Lucius did.”

A slow, devious smirk crept across Ben’s face. without warning, he turned, swept his arm dramatically across the room & launched into a deep, commanding voice:

“What we do in life… echoes in eternity.”

You are trying so hard to play a poker face but it’s failing. This is not good for your own imagination.

The class lost their minds. Gasps. Cheering. Someone actually stood up & yelled, “HONOUR TO GENERAL BENEDICTUS!”

You? You just sat there, gripping your chair so tightly your knuckles went white, because of course the one time you had to monitor his class was the day he decided to be the most attractive man on Earth. Ben had no idea of the effect he was having on you.

The classroom was buzzing. The students were practically vibrating with excitement, fully buying into whatever delusions of grandeur General Benedictus had inflicted upon them. Ben, clearly thriving on the attention, paced at the front of the room like he was about to lead an army into battle. You, meanwhile, were still trying to recover from that damn what we do in life echoes in eternity moment. You were not recovering well.

“Alright, soldiers of Rome,” Ben called out, clapping his hands together. “Since you all think you’re gladiators now, let’s see if you’ve actually learned anything.”

Once again Silence. The students, so loud just a second ago, suddenly looked anywhere but at him, textbook signs of kids who definitely didn’t do the assigned reading. Ben let out a long, dramatic sigh. Then, with a slow turn & a sharp flick of his wrist, he pointed straight at them.

“ARE YOU NOT EDUCATED?”

The students erupted in laughter. Someone pounded their desk. Another kid actually fell out of their chair. This was the most chaotic & most engaged you had ever seen a class.

But You on the inside, You were so done.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your fingers to your temples. Ben just smirked. Smirked! Like he knew exactly what he was doing & was loving every second of it. If he wanted to be that dramatic, then he’d better start actually teaching something.

“So,” he continued, rolling his shoulders back. Such big broad shoulders that you had tried to rest your head on in the cinema when this outfit was on the screen almost dropping hints to him that he could be your general “Let’s try this again. Who can tell me what the phrase strength & honor meant in the context of Roman military culture?”

Silence. More averted gazes. You sighed. Classic kids.

Ben, still ever the optimist, scanned the room, waiting for someone to answer. When no one did, he huffed & turned toward you.

“My lady?”

Your brain crashed.

Like, full system shutdown. Because first of all… my lady?!

Second of all, he had said it so smoothly, like it was the most normal thing in the world, like it wasn’t a one-way ticket to your complete& total flustered demise. Like he had been Acacius trying to seduce his wife in the film. Heat flooded your face instantly. You were absolutely sure, that you had just turned the exact shade of a ripe tomato.

“W-what?” you croaked, barely processing the question.

Ben raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at your sudden inability to function. “Strength & honor. What did it mean?”

Oh. Right. The actual lesson. You’d completely forgotten this was actually happening.

You cleared your throat, trying to will yourself back to sanity. “Uh, it was a motto used by Roman soldiers. It represented their loyalty to Rome & their personal code of ethics, courage, discipline, self-sacrifice.”

Ben grinned, snapping his fingers. “Exactly! See? At least someone did the reading.”

The students barely reacted, still caught up in the fact that their history teacher had just called you my lady.

You could feel them staring at you. Whispering. Giggling. Just to make it worse, one kid whispered, “The General & his Empress… a forbidden love.” But it was near you & loud enough that you could hear it.

You wanted to die.Ben, oblivious as ever, just sighed dramatically. “Can we please focus?”You were never going to live this down.

Ben then actually started teaching, everything still chaotic but getting calmer. A bit like the senate in Rome. You were so close to regaining control of yourself. Sure, you were still vaguely overheating from the my lady incident, but at least Ben had moved on. At least the students were somewhat engaged again.

“Alright, let’s talk about the structure of a Roman legion. Who can tell me how it was organized?” Ben asked the class. Dead silence. The students just stared at him, their newfound obsession with gladiators clearly not extending to actual military formations. Ben groaned. “Seriously? Nothing?”Still nothing.

You sighed, pushing back your chair as you stood up. “Okay, come on. You all know at least something about this.” The moment you moved to the front of the classroom, the energy shifted. You had co taught in the past but usually he was in a blue shirt & you hadn’t put as much effort into your look as you had today.

A low murmur ran through the students. Smirks. Whispering. Your stomach dropped. You had just hand-delivered them a golden opportunity to make things worse.

Ben, still completely unaware, just gestured toward you. “See? She believes in you. Show her that her faith is not misplaced.”

One of the kids leaned forward, grinning. “Ohhh, she believes in you, General.”

A chorus of ooohs swept through the room.You froze.

Ben turned to you, frowning in confusion. “Wait, what?”

More snickers. Another kid stage-whispered, “Our Empress stands beside her General at last.” You could feel your soul leaving your body. It’s hard enough to get kids to respect you at school but now, this would spread like the plague.

Ben blinked at the class, then looked back at you. Really looked at you. & after many years of being colleagues & friends finally, it happened. You saw the exact moment realization dawned on his face. The slightly widened eyes. The way his breath hitched just barely. The slow, dawning comprehension that maybe, just maybe, this was affecting you a little more than it should. Your lips parted slightly, your whole body tense, praying he wouldn’t say anything. Instead, being Ben, the hapless fool he is, made it worse. His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Oh,” he said, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “I see.”

No, you don’t see anything, shut up shut up shut up.

Before you could form a single coherent thought, he turned back to the class, hands on his hips like he was thoroughly enjoying this. “Alright, settle down,” he said, his usual easy confidence returning. “The Empress & I are here to teach, not provide entertainment.”

Laughter. Absolute chaos. Someone actually clapped. You were done. Absolutely, completely done. worst of all? Ben knew it now. You could see the amusement in his stupidly handsome face. The awareness. You were so screwed.

Eventually bell finally rang, cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. You had survived just. Ben was in his element in lots of ways. Students grabbed their things, still whispering & giggling as they filed out. One of them actually had the nerve to pause by the door, hand over their heart, & declare, “Strength & honour, General. & … best of luck with your Empress.”

Ben barely held back a laugh. “Out.” You said sternly. The kid grinned & bolted before you could put them in detention for sassiness. just like that, the classroom was empty. Except for you & him. You exhaled, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Well. That was…”

Ben leaned against his desk, smirking. “Educational?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “I was going to say insufferable. But sure. Let’s go with educational.”

He chuckled, arms folding over his chest, the fabric of that damn tunic pulling across his broad manly shoulders in a way that was deeply unfair.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head at you. “You survived.”

“Barely.” You scoffed. You turned to grab your things, determined to get out of this room before your body temperature spiked again. But then, because the universe clearly hated you, Ben spoke again.

“You know,” he mused, “for someone who came here to keep my class in order, you seemed pretty entertained.” You froze. Slowly, so slowly, you turned back to him, carefully schooling your face into neutrality.

“I was entertained,” you admitted, tilting your head. “Your theatrics were… impressive.”

Ben let out a low, amused hum. “Uh-huh.” He was looking at you now, not just with the usual casual charm, but with something… else. Something you couldn’t quite place. Before you could think too hard about it, you added, because clearly, you hadn’t suffered enough yet:

“Plus, you did look the part.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Silence. Tension that the sharpest Roman blade would find hard to cut. Ben’s eyebrows lifted slightly, that slow smirk returning like he knew exactly what you meant.

“Oh?”

Oh no. Abort. Abort! Your brain thinks but your heart is leaping with joy.

“I mean…”You waved vaguely at his tunic, grasping for literally any escape. “The outfit. It worked.” Again the wrong but right thing to say. Ben watched you, eyes flicking over your face, his smirk deepening.something had shifted. The teasing was still there, but underneath it, there was something quieter. Something sharper. Like he was actually seeing you. For the first time today, maybe for the first time ever, you weren’t sure you could handle it. Your own little crush no one knew about had been fine for you to secretly have on Ben but now you could see it his eyes… he knew.

You cleared your throat, grabbing your bag. “Anyway, I should go.” Ben was still watching you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. As you reached the door, he called out,his voice lower, softer:

“You really think I looked the part?” You didn’t dare turn around. Instead, you just threw a look over your shoulder, as casually as possible:

“Don’t let it go to your head, General.”

“Of course not…” there was a slight pause before you left & then you heard him say those two words “…my lady”

You left quickly back to your own class room, before he could see the ridiculous, completely flustered smile that had taken over your face.

You had almost recovered. Almost. How you taught period four you had no idea at all but you got through it. You were desperately trying to focus on your actual job, shoving any & all thoughts of General Benedictus out of your mind, & those rather stunning knees.

Ben was already in the teachers’ lounge when you walked in at lunch time, back in his usual teaching look, blue shirt lose tie. Not your favourite though he only wears that on parents evening.

Because the universe loved to torment you today, he was mid-conversation with another staff member, loudly recounting his lesson. You hesitated at the door, debating if you should just turn around & starve, but it was too late. You were already here. You could do this. You’d just grab your lunch, not make eye contact, & pretend like Ben hadn’t spent an entire period unknowingly ruining your life. Easy… or so you think.

You headed straight for the fridge, determined to keep your head down, however Ben’s smooth voice carried across the room. Always music to your ears.

“I mean, I knew they’d be excited about Gladiator 2,” he was saying, “but I did not expect full-scale reenactments.”

The other teacher, a geography guy from down the hall chuckled. “Yeah, I heard one of the kids say something about General Benedictus?”

Ben groaned. “Oh, that.”You stiffened, pretending to be very interested in your lunchbox. “They started calling me that the second I walked in,” Ben continued. “I figured if I didn’t lean into it, they’d only get worse.”

The other teacher laughed. “Well, they’re definitely invested. I overheard a couple of them still talking about it after class.”

Ben smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah? What were they saying?” Your heart started to race.

The geography teacher grinned, grabbing his coffee. “Something about ‘the General and his lady.’” You choked on absolutely nothing. Ben froze. You both knew by the end of the day the whole highs school would know. You are both doomed.

The other teacher frowned, looking over, not putting two & two together . “You okay?”

You cleared your throat, way too quickly. “Yeah! Fine! Totally fine!” Ben turned his head toward you so fast you were surprised he didn’t get whiplash. Slowly, his lips curled into a smirk. The menace of the man.

“Oh,” he said, voice way too entertained. “So you did hear all that.” You hated him. But you also wanted him.

Desperately trying to play it cool, you shrugged & grabbed your drink. “Hard not to, considering you’re basically broadcasting it to the entire room.”

Ben hummed, still smirking. “Huh. & here I thought you weren’t that entertained by my theatrics.”

Any bit of resolve & restrain from you was falling, crumbling like the Roman Empire.

The geography teacher, completely oblivious to the war happening between you two, just laughed. “Man, those kids are gonna be talking about this for weeks.”

Ben shot you one last look, smug, amused, interested, before turning back to him. “Yeah,” he said, lips quirking. “Something tells me this isn’t over.” You practically sprinted out of the room with your lunch. Because, judging by the way Ben had just looked at you, you had a very bad feeling he was absolutely right. There was nothing you could do to stop this plague of the general & his empress being the school gossip.

You barely managed to hold yourself together until you were out of the teachers’ lounge. The second the door swung shut behind you, you let out a sharp, frustrated breath. You didn’t know your heart could pump that hard & fast. Every nerve on edge. You stormed down the hallway, gripping your lunch like it had personally offended you. You weren’t even thinking about where you were going, just that you needed out. Away from the smirking menace that was Ben. Away from the way he’d looked at you, like he was considering something he never had before.

Your feet carried you straight to his classroom. Of course they did. It was auto pilot. On Wednesdays you & Ben always have a little catch up at lunch in his class before the afternoon lessons. You shoved the door open, dropped your lunch on a desk, & pressed your hands against the cool surface, trying to breathe. You needed a minute. Just one minute to collect yourself. To not think of that smug handsome face.

The door swung open behind you.

You knew who it was before he even spoke.

“Wow,” Ben said, voice far too amused as he leaned against the doorframe. “Didn’t realize my classroom was your personal melodrama retreat.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Oh god, just leave it for 5 minutes please”

Ben stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. You felt him approach before you even turned.

“I mean, you did run out of there pretty fast,” he continued, his tone light but aware. “Almost like you were trying to avoid something.”

You whipped around, pointing at him. “Oh, don’t you dare…”

He raised his hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m just making an observation.”

You scoffed, grabbed you lunch & went to walk past him to head to anywhere he wouldn’t be. But Ben, of course, moved with you. He turned just enough to stay in your space, his smirk deepening as he watched you try to put distance between you.

“C’mon,” he drawled, voice dangerously smooth. “Tell me the truth. You were a little entertained today.” He was close enough you could hear his voice reverberate. Sounding so soothing. Ben leaned in slightly. “Also…” His voice dropped just a bit. Just enough to really ruin you. “You did say I looked the part.”

You whirled on him, eyes flashing. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No, you don’t.” The tension was suffocating now.

Something tight & hot crackled in the space between you, heavy enough to steal your breath. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “You…” Your voice came out shakier than intended. “You are the most insufferable man I have ever met.” Ben tilted his head, studying you. His smirk faltered for just a second. His eyes flicked to your lips. that was when you knew. He wasn’t just teasing anymore. He felt more .He wanted you flustered. He wanted this tension. He wanted you.

Your breath hitched.

Ben exhaled slowly, his voice turning low—thoughtful.

“…Huh.”

You swallowed. “What?”

Ben’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip, his gaze burning now. “Just thinking,” he murmured. “Maybe the kids were onto something.”Your stomach flipped. Because suddenly, you were the one being studied. You were the one making him pause.The tension was too much.You needed to get out.

Now!

Without another word, you spun on your heel, practically running for the door. Ben didn’t stop you. But as you yanked the door open, his voice followed you, soft, teasing, and way too damn smug.

“Speak later, my lady.” You slammed the door shut behind you. Ben on the other side of the door just smiled. Feeling his own butterflies. Wondering how his heart had never felt this way about you before.

You had never been so happy to see the end of the school day. Back home, no kids, no gossip, no Ben or General Benedictus. You had done everything in your power to shake off the day. You’d taken a shower. You’d put on comfy pajamas. You’d made tea, curled up on your couch, & sworn to yourself that you weren’t going to think about him.

Yet Here you were, staring at your phone. Almost like you were manifesting it as you opened your messages, right there, was his name on your screen. New message to read.

Ben: So. About today.

You blinked.Oh, hell no.

You couldnt help it though. You were typing back before you could stop yourself.

You: No.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Ben: What do you mean, “no”???

You groaned, flopping back against your couch. Of course he was doing this. Of course he wasn’t letting it go.

Another message popped up.

Ben: C’mon, admit it. You had fun today.

You hesitated.Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between ignoring him &…well …Being honest. Because you had fun. You did. You always did with him. Even when he was an idiot. He was your friend, your idiot & you wanted him to be more than a friend. Even when he was making you want to tear your hair out. You needed him more than air especially, when he was making your stomach flip with nothing but a smirk a

& a well-placed my lady. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head before finally typing back.

You: It was tolerable.

Ben’s reply was instant.

Ben: Tolerable?? Wow. Okay. I see how it is.

You smirked, suddenly very pleased with yourself.

You: Glad we’re on the same page.

A pause. Three dots… & then

Ben: …And what page is that, exactly?

Your breath hitched. Because that… that was flirting. The menace. The smug handsome menace. You bit your lip, heart hammering as you stared at the screen, trying to figure out how to respond

…Another message.

Ben: Because personally, I think we’re on a very interesting page.

You froze.Your pulse roared.Oh.Oh. Not that he could see you getting flustered, but you felt like he could. Ben was not just teasing anymore. He was doing this on purpose. Your stomach flipped, for a split second, you considered throwing your phone across the room, changing your number & running away. But that was to irrational. Instead, you took a steadying breath &typed back, pulse racing.

You: And what kind of page would that be, General?

This time, his reply took a little longer. when it finally appeared, your entire body burned.

Ben: Wouldn’t you like to know, my lady?

Oh, you were so in trouble.

You had barely slept. Which was entirely Ben’s fault. When you did eventually get some

Sleep, your dreams were filled with him wearing that costume, smiling like the cat with all the cream & also adjusting his glasses in the sexiest way. After that conversation last night, especially the teasing, the my lady, you had spent hours replaying every little moment from yesterday, overthinking everything.

Now on Thursday you were sitting at your desk, nursing a coffee like it was the only thing keeping you alive, desperately trying to pretend like you weren’t waiting for him to show up. Because of course he was going to show up. He was Ben. Even without his information he liked to pop in each morning to see how his friend was… now the tension & unspoken words meant more than friends was very much on the cards. when the door finally opened, & he stepped inside you felt the flutter of your heart. Yeah. You were so screwed. Because Ben wasn’t just Ben today. He was smug Ben. Ben with a purpose. & this Ben, well he was wearing your favorite tie.

You froze. It wasn’t parents evening, this was a deliberate choice for you… for his empress eyes only. Ben smirked, strolling in with zero shame, his hands tucked in his pockets like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Morning,” he said casually. God that voice was so enchanting. Your eyes flicked to the tie. Then back to his way too pleased face.

“You’re wearing that on purpose,” you accused.

Ben tilted his head, all faux innocence. “Wearing what?”

You glared. “The tie.”

Ben glanced down at himself like he’d just now noticed. “Oh. Huh. I guess I am.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Well it’s still a nice tie” he shrugged at your words. “your impossible somethings you know that”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer. “You said that yesterday too. Starting to think it’s your pet name for me.”

Your face burned. Like you had been a naughty student being told off by her favourite teacher.

Before you could snap at him, he pulled something from behind his back, a coffee. Your favorite coffee. He placed it on your desk with a smirk. “Peace offering.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. “Why?”

Ben shrugged, his voice dipping into something softer,something almost sincere.

“Because I was kind of an ass yesterday, it was kinda fun though,” he admitted. “& because…” His lips twitched. “I don’t want my lady holding a grudge.”

You hated how much that stupid nickname made your stomach flip. You sighed, glancing at the coffee. “You’re so lucky I need caffeine.”

Ben chuckled. “I know.”

Yours in your mug had gone cold so because you were weak, you took a sip. It was so good. You let out a little moan, this was when Ben moved closer. Close enough that the air shifted. Close enough that you could smell him, his stupid cologne, the faint scent of coffee on his breath. Close enough that your heart stumbled, because suddenly, it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. It felt like something else. Something bigger. Something dangerous. Something desired.

You swallowed hard, setting the cup down with slightly shaky hands. “You should…”You cleared your throat your voice trembling & betraying you. “You should go before class starts.” Ben didn’t move. His gaze flicked down, to your lips, which you didn’t realise were pouting.Then back up. Slow. Intentional. & so very hot. Your breath hitched.

finally, Ben exhaled, stepping back with a knowing smirk.”See you later, my lady.”

He left you staring as he walked out, trying to comprehend its all, gripping your desk, completely ruined.

The day had been torture. Ever since Ben waltzed into your classroom that morning, smirking, wearing that tie, giving you your coffee, he’d been everywhere. Usually this is nice but after the recent developments of the last couple of days this was suddenly impossible. Walking past your door at just the right moment. Flashing you a look during lunch. Brushing just a little too close in the hallway. Every single time, it sent your brain straight into dangerously unprofessional territory. With that & kids from all year groups asking you about his infamous history lesson, You’d barely made it through the day.

Just before the final bell, you found yourself back in his classroom. Alone. The excuse had been flimsy at best, something about checking on a lesson plan, making sure tomorrow’s class was set, but the truth? You had caved. Because avoiding him clearly wasn’t working. Neither was pretending you didn’t want him just as badly as he wanted you.

You stood near his desk, fingers tapping against the edge, when the door opened behind you. You didn’t even have to turn around. You knew who it was.

Ben’s voice was low, teasing. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You let out a sharp breath, turning to face him. “You are”

“I know,” he smirked. “Impossible.” You glared, but your own eyes danced at him betraying you. Ben took another step closer. “Admit it,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You’ve been thinking about it all day.”

You swallowed. “Thinking about what?”

Ben’s gaze dropped, to your lips. Your stomach flipped.

“This,” he murmured.

His large hand cupped your face, your eyes locked, warmth filled you veins as your lips parted & then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was everything he had been holding back. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, & god, he kissed like he meant it. Like he had been dying to do this. Like he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Your fingers curled into his shirt, your body melting into him, holy hell…this hot & it was happening. After all the teasing. After all the tension. It was bloody happening.

Crash!

The door swung open. A chorus of outrageous teenage gasps filled the room.

“Ohhh my god!”

“Called it! Called it!”

“THE GENERAL & HIS LADY.”

You ripped yourself away from Ben, mortified, while he just groaned, rubbing his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. You turned to face the students, who were, at this point, losing their minds.

One of them dramatically clutched their chest. “Sir, I feel betrayed.”

Another wagged their finger at you both. “So that’s why she was in the back of the class yesterday, she wasn’t just observing; she was admiring.”

Ben let out a deep sigh. “Alright, that��s enough. You all have classes to get to” It did nothing.

One kid just grinned at you. “Miss, was the lesson that entertaining?”You wanted to die.

Ben turned to you, clearly biting back a smile. “You did say you were entertained.” You digged him in the ribs, Hard.

The kids absolutely lost it, Ben just laughed, because now, neither of you had any chance of pretending this wasn’t real. You didn’t want to. You were ecstatic Ben felt the same way as you.

Some of the kids dispersed & left the door & you saw this as your moment to leave too. You had made it maybe three steps out of Ben’s classroom before a very firm hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you right back inside.

The door now shut. Just you & your man. The kids all off to their lessons their little display they had witnessed now private.

Ben wasted no time & pressed up against the desk, staring up at a very smug, very smirking Ben. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way your entire body thrummed at the closeness.

“Running away?” he asked, voice way too amused.

You glared. “You’re insufferable.”

Ben just hummed. “& yet, here you are.”

Your pulse roared. Because he was right. You were here. & you weren’t running. Not anymore.

“I’ve always been here Ben, it’s always been you” you run your hand through his hair.

Ben studied you, his smirk softening just a bit.

“So,” he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerous, “are we going to talk about what just happened?” You swallowed hard.

“Well,” you managed, trying to sound casual, “we did just get caught making out in your classroom, so…” you face can’t hide your delight.

Ben groaned, closing his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

You grinned. “Oh, we will never be allowed to live this down.”

His eyes flicked open, burning now. “That so?”

Your stomach flipped. “Mhm.”

Ben tilted his head, watching you closely. “Y’know,” he mused, voice dropping just enough to ruin you, “I actually kept the costume.”Your breath hitched. Oh, that was dangerous information. Your lips parted slightly, your brain immediately spiraling into places it shouldn’t…

Ben noticed. He always notices even when he thought he didn’t.

His smirk deepened. “Oh, you like that, huh?”You refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But your face, the way it burned, the way your gaze flickered just slightly, betrayed you.

Ben grinned. “Wow,” he teased, “& here I thought you were all prim and proper”

“I am into roleplay,” you cut in flatly, surprising even yourself. Ben froze. You saw it, the slight stumble, the way his pupils dilated. His tongue gliding over his bottom lip.

“Ohhh,” he murmured, stepping closer—too close. “You’re going to be so much fun.” Your breath caught.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in slightly, just enough to whisper, “Isn’t that right, Benedictus ?” Ben froze solid. For the first time all day, he was the one caught off guard. His jaw tensed. His fingers twitched against your hip. His entire body stilled as something hotter, something darker, flashed in his eyes. Suddenly, you were the one in control.

Ben inhaled sharply, his gaze flicking over your face. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, my lady.”

You smirked. “Am I?”

Ben exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you just started.”Your heart pounded. Then just as he leaned in, just as you swore he was about to ruin you completely.

A knock.

You both jumped back as the door creaked open slightly.

“Uh, sir?”

You turned, only to see one of the students from earlier, barely holding back a shit-eating grin.

“We forgot our books,” they said, clearly lying, their eyes flicking between the two of you.

Ben sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

The student just smirked. “You’re welcome.” They bolted, laughing way too hard as they ran down the hall. Ben groaned. You just grinned, grabbing your bag & heading for the door. But just before you stepped out, you leaned in one last time, letting your lips brush his ear.

“Strength & honor, Benedictus .” Leaving Ben standing there, stunned, breathless, & completely ruined. This was so not over. Not by a long shot.

One thing lead to another & it was soon Friday night. You were sat on Ben sofa, an occurrence that happened from time to time as friends. It’s usually at this time in the evening you either ask for a pillow & blanket so you can crash at his or he puts the two of you in a uber so he can make sure you get back to yours safely before taking the exact same uber back to his. He was always a gentleman to his lady, he had never truly realised it until earlier in the week.

What at the start of the week had been a friendship had tonight ended up with the two of you at a nice steak house, longing glances over wine, hand strokes, moments where silence was all the was needed, & kisses tasting better then the delicious meal you had eaten. This was more than friends. You sat in the sofa trembling a little, wondering where Ben was he had been gone a while. Had he gone to bed & forgotten about you sat on his sofa?

“My lady” you hear bounce off the walls breaking the silence.

“My gen…” you don’t complete the sentence as you turn your head to his direction. The room is now filled with your laughter. There he is. Back in his Roman costume. The white glistening, the cape swishing, the hair messed up. He’s showing off his broad shoulders & Tiny waist. Those knees, oooh they made your own go weak. He look’s ridiculous & exquisite at the same time. The smirk on his face twitching. Clearly he is glad this has an impression on you.

“Tell me, if we were the general & his wife, how would I court you?” He asks. “Would I bring you flowers, would I bring you wine, would…”

“Your favourite tie, bringing me coffee & your sexy glasses is all I’ve ever needed Benedictus” you interrupt & slowly get off the sofa making your way across to him. You hesitate at first to touch him but then see the want in his eyes so your hands glide over his shoulder. You let out a deep sigh, inhaling his scent. Always arousing.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“cos your much older & way out of my league”

You say looking down stroking the soft material. He then grabs under your chin & lifts it. The eye contact intense, his words from the soul.

“I may be slow at picking up signs, but if you’d let me know much sooner, we could have been addressing this along time ago” his thumb trails over your lips. You stand on your top toes to make sure those lips connect with his. Deep, powerful & emotional, like this kiss has been built up for years, which in your head it has. His hands were caressing your neck as the kiss got steamier before one of them slid to your back & slowly started work on the zip on your dress.

“Maybe this needs to happen somewhere more grand for a general” you say, breathy already. Radiating arousal at his touch as the zip reaches your lower back.

“Only the best for my lady” he says before he scoops you up into his arms & carry’s you to the bed you have long dream or of occupying.

Ben lays you down gently on the bed, his hands never leaving your body, as if afraid this might all vanish if he let go. You reach up, fingers immediately finding the soft folds of his cape, tugging at it slowly until it slips from his shoulders & you discard it onto the floor. Your eyes trail over him, the absurdity of the costume, the way he somehow manages to make it sexy. The chest plate is next, & as you unclip it, your knuckles brush against warm skin & tense muscle beneath. Ben watches you, breath heavy, lips parted, not saying a word. His gaze is hungry. Focused. Mush like a general about to conquer what’s rightfully his.

“Tell me,” you whisper as you reach for the fabric at his waist, “did they make underwear in ancient Rome?”

Ben huffs a soft laugh, tilting your chin with his finger. “For you? I’m going historically accurate.” & sure enough, when the final layer drops, he’s gloriously, completely bare beneath.

Your breath catches. You’ve seen him before, glimpses, tight shirts, damp post gym moments, but nothing prepared you for this. He’s all power & heat & perfectly ruined restraint, & somehow, still smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You sit up, sliding your dress off your shoulders & letting it pool around your waist before you shimmy it the rest of the way down. You’re in your underwear, but not for long. Ben takes over, unclasping your bra with skillful fingers before tossing it aside. He kisses down your shoulder, your collarbone, reverent, teasing, & hot as sin.

“Now,” he says lowly, voice rough & dark against your ear. “How do you want this?” Its commanding. He’s into this.

You bite your lip, emboldened by the haze between you. “I want to taste you.”

Ben’s breath catches. His hands flex at your hips. “Yeah?” he murmurs.

You nod, grinning as you push him back onto the pillows & crawl up his body, straddling his chest for a moment, teasing, before shifting lower. At the same time, he tugs you gently forward, guiding you with that same maddening patience he always has, only this time, it’s deliciously wicked.

Before long, you’re both shifting into place, mouths hungry, bodies aligned in that perfect, obscene symmetry. You moan against him the moment he slides his tongue over you slowly, expert, so Ben. He groans, hips jerking as you take him in your mouth in return.

It’s messy, hot, overwhelming. It’s worship & ruin & everything you’ve both been holding back. He tastes like salt & skin, & you make a mental note to thank the Roman gods for whatever twist of fate led to this exact moment. Just before the edge starts to creep in, before your entire body threatens to break from the pressure of it all, Ben pulls back just long enough to murmur, breathless against your thigh:

“Still entertained, my lady?” You just moan your answer because words? Useless now… & will be for the rest of the night.

Saturday morning & Ben’s bedroom was a mess. The sheets were tangled & smelled of you. His gladiator costume was somewhere on the floor, a discarded relic of the absolute sin that had taken place. You were still breathless. Your body was boneless, melted into the mattress, your skin still buzzing from everything he’d done to you the night before & this morning. Ben, equally wrecked, lay beside you, one arm draped lazily across your stomach. Neither of you spoke. Not yet. Still in a sexual haze of lust. Because neither of you had fully recovered. But the silence wasn’t awkward. It was warm & comforting. You look at your man, watching his magnificent chest rise & fall. Noticing every drip of sweat. He’s perfect. He’s your kind of perfect.

Your fingers lazily traced along his forearm, & Ben hummed, a low, deep sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Arousing you instantly. You turned your head, finding him already watching you. Smirking. The Smug bastard.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, voice hoarse from… well… Everything.

Ben chuckled. “& impossible” he added that made you laugh “yet…” His hand slid along your waist, pulling you even closer. “Here you are.”

Your lips twitched. He wasn’t wrong. You exhaled, tilting your head just enough to kiss him, slow, lazy, thorough. Ben sighed into it, his fingers pressing into your hip, his body shifting just enough to remind you, that He wasn’t done with you yet. His erection is already starting to form again.

When you finally pulled away, he gave you that look. The one that had ruined you in the first place. The one that meant trouble.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours, “I think that was my best history lesson yet.”

You huffed a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” His fingers trailed absently along your thigh. “& you, make an excellent student.”

Clearly the role play of him coming home after a grand battle was now making him have even more of a teacher fantasy. You were only going to encourage it. You smirked. “Think I deserve extra credit?” Ben grinned, flipping you onto your back with zero effort, settling right between your legs.

“Oh, my lady,” he murmured, voice wicked & full of promise.”I think you deserve everything.”

Then he showed you exactly what he meant.

Again.

& again.

& again.

Making sure you really were entertained.

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Roman Laundry Uncovered Near the Vatican in Italy

1,700-year-old laundry tubs and tiled floors were discovered by construction workers.

Construction workers in Italy recently came across the site of an ancient laundry near the Vatican, officials say.

Italy's Ministry of Culture announced the surprising findings in a press release on June 14. The discovery was made during construction efforts at Piazza Pia, a Roman square that Italian officials are "pedestrianizing."

Pictures of the site show archaeologists uncovering ancient tiled floors several feet below ground level. Tubs, which were used to clean dirty clothes, were also found at the site.

Excavators also uncovered what appear to be ceramic shards from destroyed artifacts. Officials also discovered pits, which may have once been used as baths.

In a statement, Italian officials said that the site was likely built to be an imperial residence. The housing would have overlooked the Tiber River "in a scenic way with arcades, walks and gardens," officials described.

Between the second and third centuries, the site became a fullonica – or a laundry.

According to the World History Encyclopedia, launderers in ancient Rome used human and animal urine as detergent. They often collected urine – which contains ammonia – from public restrooms.

"The urine was poured into a vat with the clothing and the fullers (or their slaves) would tread on the cloth, agitating it the way a modern-day washing machine does, to remove stains and odors," the World History Encyclopedia's website reads.

"This profession continued, operating in the same way with the same cleaning agents, for hundreds of years after the fall of the Roman Empire and up into the modern age when soap replaced urine."

Romans would bring their dirty laundry to a fullonica and pay to have it cleaned. Even though citizens generally looked down on launderers for their unhygienic washing methods, launderers were paid very well.

In a statement, Archbishop Rino Fisichella said that the recent discovery of the fullonica "brought [him] back in time."

"This part of Rome will again be made visible to all, and as a citizen I can only express a sense of deep gratitude," he said. "[The laundry room] was the meeting place of the people, the people, the women of the era."

By Andrea Vacchiano.

[greenfuls-secret-chambers]

Hi everyone! Long time no see! I recently hopped on Legacy again and immediately got lost once again in the rabbit hole. After talking to a few AI bots I couldn’t help but get inspired.

So futher ado..

Let me give you a sneak peak and the first part of my new fic:

Warnings : MDNI, Smut below!

Currently at 1700 words

Aged up characters (7 years after graduation)

An Unexpected Reuinion

7 years. It had been 7 years since you had walked into Hogsmead. Graduation had seemed like only yesterday.

Walking into The Three Broom Sticks, the smell of butter beer and warm pasties hit your nose. The smell was nostalgic, bringing back a flood of memories. You couldn’t help but smile, remembering all those nights you, Ominis, and Sebastian had shared a drink together in this very place. Speaking of the two, it had been ages since you had heard from Ominis, last time you exchanged letter, he brought exciting news of a child. Him and Anne had settled down, in a cozy cottage outside of Feldcroft. Sebastian on the other hand… well you haven’t heard as much as a peep from him in 7 years. You couldn’t help but ponder on what happened to him..

Sebastian sat in a corner at the far side of the pub, sipping on his drink. It had been a long week at the Ministry. Working as a curse breaker, he barely had time for himself, he always felt so worn out and it seems he was missing more and more sleep as the days went on. Watching everyone around him, he couldn’t help but do a double take at the familiar witch who has just walked through the doors.

You had walked up to the bar, exchanging hellos with the bartender and ordered yourself a firewhiskey. Sitting down on the worn out stool, sipping your drink, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Well well well… if it isn’t the famous y/n..”

There he was, after all these years Sebastian Sallows was standing in-front of you with that shit eating grin.

“S-Sebastian! Merlin, it’s been ages!” You immediately stood up from your seat and gave him a warm hug, noticing he had bulked up since the last time you had seen him. “What have you been up to Sallow?!”

After pulling away from your welcoming embrace he smiles at you, “I could ask you the same thing y/n.” He couldn’t help but take in your figure. You’d had grown into such a beautiful young woman.

“You look good.” He said with a sly grin.

His compliment made your stomach flip. You couldn’t help the small smile that form on your face. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Trying to keep calm and collected you sat back down on the still and motioned for him to sit next to you. “So, did you end up taking that job at the Ministry as a curse breaker?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Of course I did. I couldn't resist the thrill of breaking curses and exploring ancient tombs. It suits me quite well, if I do say so myself."

He took a seat on the stool next to you. "And you? What have you been up to all these years? Still getting into trouble, I presume?"

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, “Me getting into trouble? No way! I’m pretty sure sure you were the one always in trouble, I just happened to be an innocent bystander!”

You playfully slap his arm. “I’ve been traveling around the world looking for more ancient traces of magic.”

You let out a sigh. “I’m trying to add to Miriam’s work in hopes of figuring more out.” Your take a sip of your firewhiskey.

Sebastian gives you a look of melancholy, before rubbing your shoulder. “Both of them would be proud.”

Trying to lighten the mood he takes a sip of his drink and smiles. “So where have you exactly traveled? Tell me everything!”

Your eyes can’t help but sparkle. “I recently just returned from Rome. There were some amazing traces of ancient magic.” You’re smiling like crazy, it had been a great time and the amount of research you were able to do was incredible. “Hell, I even ended up in a couple of tombs… nothing that I’m not used to because of a certain someone.” You look directly at him with a teasing smirk.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes playfully, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Rome, huh? Always thought you'd end up somewhere more... exotic." He teased. "But I shouldn't be surprised, you yourself are full of surprises."

He paused for a moment, a thought crossing his mind. "You know, I've been thinking about visiting Rome myself... maybe we could go together sometime."

You smile at him, “I’m thinking about going back next year…. And honestly there’s a few places you would be helpful as a curse breaker..”

You take a drink of the fire whiskey that had been forgotten about in the excitement.

He grins, intrigued by the idea of accompanying you. He leans back slightly, crossing his arms.

"Is that so? Well, it sounds like a plan then!" He says jokingly, but there's a hint of sincerity in his voice.

You take your last sip of your drink. Sitting the glass down with clink. “So, how’s Ominis? Last I heard him and Anne were expecting child!”

Sebastian's face lights up with excitement.

"It's amazing! Ominis and Anne are over the moon. The both of them has a knack for parenting."

He grins widely, "I can't wait to see my little niece next week. I can’t help but spoil her rotten."

You can’t help but wonder if Sebastian has settled down himself. He hasn’t mentioned a wife or children..

“So… what about you? Have you settled down yet?”

Part of you doesn’t want to know. You’d be lying if you said it wouldn’t sting a little if he has settled down.

He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Settled down? Me? Nah, I'm still too wild and free for that." He says jokingly. "I've had a few flings here and there, but nothing serious. I guess I'm just waiting for the right person to come along and tie me down."

Your can’t help but let out a laugh,”Merlin bless her, whoever she turns out to be!”

He chuckles along with you, then leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes.

"And what about you, hm? Still the infamous heartbreaker, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you wherever you go?"

Letting out a somewhat tired sigh you sheepishly respond. “It’s hard to have a relationship when I’m always traveling, it seems most men want me to settle down and take care of a home and a lot of kids… I’m just not done seeing the world ya know?”

Sebastian nods understandingly, his expression turning serious for a moment.

"I get it. You're a free spirit, always seeking adventure and excitement. It's not easy to find someone who can keep up with that. But it doesn't mean you have to give up on relationships completely."

He looks at you intently, his voice softening. "You deserve to be happy, no matter what that looks like for you."

You flash him a kind smile. “Thanks for that Sebastian..”

He smiles back, his heart warming at the sight of your smile. He gently takes your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

"No need to thank me, love. Just speaking the truth."

The Three Broom sticks starts to pick up, it seems every witch and wizard is out for a drink. The conversations of others seem to bounce off the walls of the pub. You can feel yourself getting a headache.

“Well.. I guess I’ll be on my way.. it’s getting late and I’ve been traveling all day.”

You start to think about finding an Inn or a place to stay. “I actually need to find a room while I’m in town, and I’m losing daylight.”

Sebastian notices your discomfort and the growing crowd around you. “Wait… I have an extra room at my place. You can stay there for the night."

You look at Sebastian with a shocked but appreciative smile. “Oh Seb, I couldn’t impose like that!”

He rolls his eyes playfully, squeezing your hand gently. "You're not imposing, I insist. My place is closer than any inn, and I have plenty of room. Plus, I could use the company."

You bite your lip, pondering on the offer. “Well.. if it isn’t a problem then.. okay why not.”

You throw some money on the counter to pay for the drinks as well as leave enough for a tip.

“Alright, then lead the way.”

The two of you made your way out of the pub, walking through Hogsmead. The summer night was almost blissful. A breeze moved around you as you walked and continued to share about your work and travels. Now along the outskirts of town, you were faced with a small cozy cottage. The garden looked well kept and light shone through the windows.

“You’re home is lovely Sebastian.” You felt a since of proud wash over you. It seems he has been doing well for himself.

Sebastian chuckles. “Thanks. I do my best to keep it tidy looking.”

Sebastian walks up to the door and opens it. He motions for you to enter. “Ladies first…”

As soon as you walk inside, the smell of books and leather hit your senses. It smells as warm and cozy as it looks.

“The spare bedroom is just down the hall and too the left. I imagine you’re tired so I won’t keep you.” He says softly.

Looking at him you smile. “Thank you again… I’ll see you in the morning… goodnight.”

You make your way down the hall and into the bedroom. You set your things on the floor next to the bed and softly shut the door.

You feel into the bed bed, finally taking a much needed deep breath.

What a day it’s been. Running into Sebastian wasn’t a thought in your mind. Not to mention how deviously handsome he turned out to be. He has really grown into a fine man.. with his strong arms and broad shoulders… thinking about his face and the freckles that danced across it you wondered If they continued down his chest… maybe even lower…

You couldn’t help yourself from running your hand over your breast and slowly down to your now aching core…

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Thirty

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut, fingering, sweet dirty talk, creampie, possessiveness, falling in love

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

“It’s all getting too complex, Tom.”

“Maybe. But not too much for you.”

“Yes, for me.”

“You’ve been through worse though, haven’t you?”

“Have I? I’m not sure… Nothing with higher stakes, certainly.”

“Oh, come on… You’ve moved to a foreign country and lived here on your own for years. Worked for a crazy old man with a monster in the basement —”

“That’s unfair. Ambrogio was just a bit eccentric.”

“What do you think the auctioneers will do? Even if the worst should happen and you make some grave mistake… Will they turn you into a toad? Kill you? Cast a magic spell, what, like Abracadabra?”

“Worse. They’ll laugh at me.”

“Ah.”

“A failure. Humiliated. Publicly.”

“Well, I’ll be there, and if any laugh at you I’ll Avada Kedavra them myself.”

“Saying it doesn’t kill anybody, Tom,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll bring my wand, too.”

For some reason, that’s what made her laugh. It somehow added to the quiet, her laughter in the dark. They lay beside each other on her bed, warm beneath the covers, knee to knee. What started as Tom trying to console her following her meeting with Mr. Malfoy had melted into something else.

“Oh, you had better,” she chuckled. “I am so fond of your magic wand.”

He purred when he felt her careful fingers slip around his thighs. She scratched him gently above his clothes on her way to his waistline, then slid her hand beneath to find his cock and take it in her hand. He could feel her gasp against his lips when she closed her fingers around it, thumb just above the tiny slit that beaded a little pearl of lust at the feeling of her warmth and softness. His gaze travelled from her eyes down to her lips while she slowly thrust her hand upward. The way she made the skin of his shaft shift along his cock made him groan. He swallowed back the vulnerable sounds he was tempted to make and closed his eyes, enjoying the attention, the care of her touch, and the always terrifying experience of true intimacy. Like a whisper, her fingers travelled down the full shape of his cock from the tip down the velvet body until she reached the root, then back again. From beneath the soft protective circle of skin, his tip started peeking out.

“I think my wand likes you back,” he chuckled breathlessly, head leaning back against the pillow.

Her grip tightened at the encouragement. “Would you give it to me, then?” she teased. “Just for a little bit?”

“Mmm… You wouldn’t know how to use a proper wand.”

“I would too,” she protested. “Stop laughing.”

Tom couldn’t help it. Beneath the jokes, there was something deeply sad about their playful exchange — she was just a muggle. When it didn’t gnaw at him he had to catch himself for mentioning things he should not speak about with her, innocuous topics that he would have been free to speak of with a witch… These little jokes were a way for him to make up for it.

To ask for her forgiveness without so many words he leaned forward and kissed her. She moaned against his lips and moved closer, her hand around him tightening its grip. With a shuffle, she began to pull his trousers off his hips and out of her way, and Tom moved to help her. As he was still kicking them off his feet and to the edge of the bed she held him in her hand, cupping his cock gently, feeling it harden, and with a gasp he moved to kiss her again, and again. He let his mouth linger, let her taste his every moan and sigh while he swallowed every breath of hers. With a sweet whimper, she let him go to pull her panties down beneath the sheets and then, more shakily than before, she took his cock in her soft hand once more and brought it to her mound. It was his turn to shiver and he struggled to maintain control and let her lead. Through his half-lidded gaze, he could see her blushing, breathing heavily, excited, her focus all on him.

“I want to play with you a little,” she whispered with a kittenish smile.

“If you think you can handle it…” he breathed, trying to maintain his cool.

“I think I’ve been handling it.”

He grumbled at her silly pun but purred when she rubbed his cock against herself. The soft tuft of her venus mound stuck to his wet and dripping tip, licking across it in such a teasing way he almost blushed. She used him to caress her clit, a satisfied moan bubbling in her throat when their two most sensitive parts met. He could feel her little button, so warm and hard surrounded by its hood… Tom licked away from his lips the desire to kiss it again.

“More,” he whispered, hips canting toward her in a silent plea. “More, you witch…”

“Like this?” she murmured, and he could almost taste her grin.

She rubbed him slowly, methodically almost, and brought him to her slit. Her plump lips closed around him in a kiss. Tom’s breathing grew heavy, his body on a precipice threatening to fall. He felt himself twitch and drip over her folds, the bead of lust a little offering to the beautiful body in which he found such comfort. Slowly, torturously so, she eased him deeper, canting her hips and pressing him against her where she was softest, warmest, and already dripping for him.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he muttered. His hips shifted on the bed, his whole body heating up just from her touch on that singular part of his body.

Her folds encircled him and in a cruel mimicry, she leaned forward to kiss him and drag her tongue between his lips. Tom groaned and reached to bite her but she moved away before he could, giggling. He mumbled a curse and closed his eyes, struggling against the instinct to grab her and push up into her with force.

“I want you,” he whispered, his tone dangerously close to a plea. “Want to feel you from the inside again…”

“Sometimes I think that’s the part of me you like best.”

“It’s true,” he smiled, leaning his forehead against hers while her hand kept stroking him. “Inside of you is your pretty heart, and your clever mind…”

“For such a dirty boy, you say the sweetest words,” she giggled, laying a quick peck against his cheek. “And? What else is inside of me that you like so, so much?”

Tom dipped to kiss her mouth, his hand reaching out to hold her head and pull her into a deep long melding of breath and hot flesh. Her hand almost stilled around him but he gripped it with his own and kept it moving, their fingers closing together on his cock. She covered him and he covered her and without either of them knowing whose choice it exactly was his tip reached the clenching edge of her hole. It caught on the rim and made her tremble, made her sigh into his mouth. Tom smiled and parted from her, nearly breathless. She let go of him to place her hand upon his hip and gently pressed him into her. He tightened his fist around her hair, made her gasp into his kiss as he pushed forward until the head breached her. With a moan she wrapped a leg around him, pulling herself closer until their skin stuck together.

“Tom,” she whispered, her head leaned back in his grip, neck pulled in an arc that was perfect for kissing.

He murmured with his lips along its column and his cheeks round with a smile. “You have me… Right here…”

“I know,” she whined, her fingers curling on his hip, scratching him with her dull claws. The other reached out toward him underneath the sheets, aiming blindly for his chest. “You’re always teasing. Making me suffer…”

He chuckled and thrust a little deeper, deliberately dragging it on. His tongue came out to lick her neck, tasting the sweat there and the hint of her perfume while his other hand released his cock and traced up along her body until he found her breasts.

“You love suffering,” he whispered, finger circling her nipple.

She shivered in his arms and wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper inside. Tom chuckled and obliged her and started thrusting higher, dragging his length across the bottom of her clit to make her moan. His teeth closed around her tender skin and nibbled at her breasts, painting her in blotches of red all the way down to her clavicle. His fingers played across her nipple, circling, plucking, twisting when she least expected it until it hardened in his grasp.

“You always get so wet for me,” Tom murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice. Between her plaintive moans, they could both hear the slick and sticky sounds his cock pulled out of her. “Does anyone else know what a naughty girl you are, hmm?”

“Only you do,” she smiled, her eyes closed, lips swollen, bitten bloody. It was like speaking with the dead.

“Is that so?”

His thrusts gained a slow, incessant rhythm, reaching deeper into her each time. His hand parted from her chest to hold on to her waist as he lavished her with kisses. The fingers that held her head tilted back uncoiled from her hair and slid down to support her back, to hold her bent and open to him. She moaned as his cock reached deeper into her, its length filling her from entrance to her cervix for a moment before pulling back. Her folds dragged deliciously across his length, leaving it wet and sticky before he shoved it back inside.

“You mean,” he started with a teasing tone, his lips hovering over her nipple, “that nobody else knows you,” a kiss then on the puckered tip, “like I do?”

“Nobody…” she sighed.

Tom chuckled and pulled her nub into his mouth, tugging on it in that hungry, desperate way he did, while below his thrusts turned harder, eager to reach further into her than each time before. With lewd suckles, he pulled away only to catch her nipple between his lips and nurse at it a little harshly. She yelped and stuck her nails into his skin but Tom did what he wanted.

“You’re a dirty little liar,” he purred.

“I am not.”

He found her vehemence endearing but it only made him want to poke and prod at her pride more. He twirled his tongue around her breast a few more times, surprising her with hot and heavy suckles that made her body tighten and shift in his arms, and then he turned gentle all over again. With a heave he thrust inside her once and stayed there, resting his forehead in the centre of her chest.

“Tooom,” she complained, canting her hips to beg for more.

“Shhh…”

“Please, I want it…”

“I know you do,” he whispered, grinning. “But I like feeling you like this.”

She whined but stayed still for him. The feeling of her clenching all around his cock, the thrumming of her heartbeat, the licking of her drops of wetness down his sac and the way her plush folds kissed it, choked around it… It made his flesh burn hot, his blood on fire. He pulled her even closer and wrapped his lips around her nipple then started thrusting into her harder than before. The quick motion dragged heat along her channel, made her cry out his name, nails dragging across his skin as if she clung to him on the edge of a precipice. His lips pulled her nub deeper, tongue crushing it against the roof of his mouth while his cock shoved higher, higher into her, battering against her cervix. The sheets were by now a tangled mess and the bed squeaked beneath them, but neither noticed anything other than each other. Lost in one another’s bodies, they chased pleasure together, Tom inside of her and she around his body. She clung to him as if she could have fallen and he held her close, his cock dripping precum into her, mouth slathering her breasts with kisses, a rapid pulling and pushing of flesh as if they could melt together and become one being.

“Oh fuck, please, so good —” she cried out. “I ca— I’m so close, I can’t—”

“You will,” he muttered against her skin, lips barely dropping her sweet breast out of his mouth. “Like you always do, my good girl. Cum for me.”

She whimpered at his order so confident and cold against his frantic fucking into her, and suddenly her body snapped. She curled forward, legs tightening around his, head bowing to rest against his own, and with a loud and broken cry, she felt her core convulse and clench. Tom moaned with her nipple in his mouth and pounded harder into her throughout it.

“Say you’re mine,” he whispered, peppering her skin with kisses.

“Yours,” she gasped into his messy hair, each breath pushed from her. “I’m-m y-yours…”

He purred at the sound of it and snapped his hips a little faster, more frantic and desperate as he felt his skin catch fire. She started whining, oversensitive, her softest parts abused by him, but Tom didn’t stop until he felt his pleasure rush through him. With a low cry, his arms tightened around her, his hips stuttered, and he came. He held her still, his cock shoved deep, her folds pressed against his churning sac as it twitched and pulsed with each release.

“Tom! A-aaah… T-tom, it’s…”

“I know,” he whispered, “I know, shh…”

He could feel the warmth of his seed as it travelled through his shaft, felt it pooling deep inside her, then down along his length as it seeped out. With his lips against her breast, tongue cradling her nipple, Tom sighed in delectation. Even after taking her so many times, he couldn't understand why this was so satisfying… Filling her, going as deep into her body as he could, and swallowing the sweet taste of her skin.

Tom parted from her chest still panting and gently petted her back as she recovered. Her legs were limp, her arms relaxed around him, even her head was laying lazily against the pillow as she gave out little gasps and moans. The length of her spine was sweaty and cold after the duvet fell from them, but she never seemed to notice.

“Alright?” he asked with a small smile, gazing down at her sated, sleepy face. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Mhmm…” she nodded, licking her lips. Below, he felt her clench around him one last time.

Tom growled and stayed buried inside her, greedy for her body still. Moving gently, his hand curled from her back down to her tummy, and he left it there for a few moments while he muttered the contraceptive charm.

“There there,” he cooed, with a kiss to her flushed cheek. “Sleep now…”

She was already sleeping and knew he’d be with her in her dreams as well.

[literallyjusttoa]

My top 7 Apollo exes from Ancient Greece

DISCLAIMER: Though I have done a lot of research of mythology for this, it is based off of the riordanverse version of Apollo. I won't be acknowledging any awful implications in versions of these myths, not because I don't think they're important, but because it simply isn't a part of riordanverse Apollo's characterization in the books. Also I'm not going to mention Copollo. I love Copollo like the rest of you, but sadly that is a Rick Riordan exclusive, and also technically Commodus is an ex from Ancient Rome, not Ancient Greece :3

Ok with that out of the way lets talk obscure and non-obscure Apollo relationships

7. Apollo & Thyia

This one clocks in at number 7 because I love the idea behind it, but it is the most bare bones relationship myth wise. All we really know is Thyia is a priestess of Dionysus and she and Apollo maybe had a kid once. But like, the idea of Apollo dating his brother's priest? Hilarious, A+ stuff. Also, Thyia isn't just one of Dionysus' priests, she is THE priest of Dionysus. She runs his temple in central greece, is thought to have offered the first sacrifice to him, and might have been the first Maenad? Either way this relationship must have been insane. Also she's a nymph so she's definitely still kicking out there, would love for these two to meet again.

6. Apollo & Hyacinthus

Ok ok I know what y'all are thinking. Number 6?? This is like Apollo's number 1 most tragic relationship of all time!!! And yes as an angst lover I do enjoy the pain this relationship brings our boy, but I just feel like there's not many places to go with this relationship besides what we already have. Like Apollo and Hyacinthus were kind of the perfect couple. Which, like, great for them, but it doesn't give me much space to add anything? I guess, great ship, no notes.

5. Apollo & Hypermnestra (& Oikles)

Ok, half the reason this is here is because her name is Hypermnestra. Slay. But also this is a great place to bring up my favorite little headcanon. In a lot of Apollo's relationships, there will be a child, and myths will have different versions with different fathers. Some say it's Apollo, while other's say it's whoever he dated's husband. In this case, myths disagree on whether Amphiaraus was Apollo's son or the son of Hypermnestra's husband, king Oikles (Oikles??? I love these names). The implication here is infidelity, but I disagree. No, I think every time there's confusion over who parentage it's because Apollo was dating both the woman he's said to be with and her husband, and therefore no one knows who ended up, y'know, fathering the child. Anyways Apollo dated both Hypermnestra and Oikles and you can't convince me otherwise.

4. Apollo & Branchus

I like this relationship because in my mind, I always thought it was Apollo's first. In one version of their myth, it is said that Apollo met Branchus after leaving Delos as a dolphin, which I always thought implied this was soon after he established Delphi, which was really early on. Idk something about a young Apollo accidentally revealing his godliness to this boy he really likes is just so sweet to me. And he makes Branchus into a prophet, which is so cool! These two are cutie-patooties is what I'm saying.

3. Apollo & Kyparissos

C'mon, the man died of grief because his deer died. Throughout ToA we learn that deep down Apollo is a mushy ball of emotions and compassion, and that convinced me that these two spent 75% of their relationship crying over baby animals and pretty people. I love the idea of Apollo dating someone who's honestly just as much of a loser as he is. And while it is sad that Kyparissos is another lover Apollo had to turn into a plant, I have to emphasize again that he died of heartbreak, because his pet deer died.

2. Apollo & Cyrene

Listen, these two are boss bitches and you cannot convince me otherwise. In the same way I like Kyparissos bc I feel like he and Apollo are so similar, I like Cyrene bc I feel like, in a lot of ways, these two are very different. Like, don't get me wrong, Apollo can be strong and wild when he wants to be, but Cyrene wrestles lions. I like to think the time these two spent together really helped each of them grow in their own way, which makes for a really fun and interesting relationship. Also, just like Thyia, Cyrene is sometimes referred to as a nymph, so she could still be out there!

1. Apollo & Admetus

The more I think about these two, the more I love them. Admetus meeting Apollo at his lowest and helping him through it. Apollo falling head over heels as a result and doing everything in his power to repay the man. The two of them still holding such strong affection for each other even decades after the time they had together, to the point that Apollo would mess with fate to extend Admetus' life. Apollo's life is full of turmoil, and this period of it was probably the worst, but despite that, his relationship with Admetus seems so steady. The other gods are said to be embarrassed of Apollo's love of Admetus, and I think it's because Apollo loved him in a way that went directly against the values of the gods. Apollo and Admetus' relationship was defined by service and care, filled with selfless intent and genuine love. While many gods give their lovers gifts and special favors, the idea of actually going into servitude for someone you love is as ungodly as you can get. Apollo spent time with Admetus, and he wasn't possessive of him, helping him to find a wife after their time together was through. I think this relationship is a great example of how Apollo, even in his lowest moments, is a genuine and caring person, and how that often separates him from the rest of his family. Also these two are just cute and they both love cows and they're cows in love.

[whencyclopedia]

First Crusade

The First Crusade (1095-1102) was a military campaign by western European forces to recapture the city of Jerusalem and the Holy Land from Muslim control. Conceived by Pope Urban II following an appeal from the Byzantine emperor Alexios I Komnenos, the Crusade was a success with Christian forces taking control of Jerusalem on 15 July 1099.

Around 60,000 soldiers and at least half again of non-combatants were involved in the First Crusade which set off on their quest in 1095. After campaigns in Asia Minor and the Middle East, great cities such as Nicaea and Antioch were recaptured, and then the real objective, Jerusalem itself. Many more crusades would follow, the objectives would widen, as would the field of conflict, so that even Constantinople would come under attack in subsequent campaigns.

Causes of the First Crusade

The first and most important action to spark off the fuse which would eventually burn down to the explosion of the First Crusade was the rise of the Muslim Seljuks, a Turkish tribe of the steppe. The Seljuks won significant victories in Asia Minor against Byzantine armies, notably at the Battle of Manzikert in ancient Armenia in August 1071. As a consequence, they gained control of such great cities as Edessa and Antioch and, c. 1078, the Seljuks created the Sultanate of Rum with their capital at Nicaea in Bithynia in northwest Asia Minor. By 1087 they had taken control of Jerusalem.

The Byzantine emperor Alexios I Komnenos (r. 1081-1118) realised the Seljuk expansion into the Holy Land was a chance to gain the help of western armies in his battle to control Asia Minor. Consequently, Alexios appealed to the west for soldiers in March 1095. The appeal was sent to the Pope Urban II (r. 1088-1099) who proved remarkably responsive, as did thousands of European knights.

Pope Urban II had already sent troops to help the Byzantines in 1091 against the Pecheneg steppe nomads who were invading the northern Danube area of the empire. He was again disposed to assistance for various reasons. A crusade to bring the Holy Land back under Christian control was an end in itself - what better way to protect such important sites as the tomb of Jesus Christ, the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Christians living there or visiting on pilgrimage also required protection. In addition, there were very useful additional benefits.

A crusade would increase the prestige of the papacy, as it led a combined western army, and consolidate its position in Italy itself, having experienced serious threats from the Holy Roman Emperors in the previous century which had even forced the popes to relocate away from Rome. Urban II also hoped to make himself head of a united Western (Catholic) and Eastern (Orthodox) Christian church, above the Patriarch of Constantinople. The two churches had been split since 1054 over disagreements about doctrine and liturgical practices. In case anyone was concerned, a campaign of violence could be justified by references to particular passages of the Bible and emphasising this was a fight for liberation, not attack, and that the objectives were just and righteous ones.

On 27 November 1095, Urban II called for a crusade in a speech during the Council of Clermont, France. The message, known as the Indulgence and aimed specifically at knights, was loud and clear: those who defended Christendom would be embarking on a pilgrimage, all their sins would be washed away, and their souls would reap untold rewards in the next life. Urban II then embarked on a preaching tour in France during 1095-6 to recruit crusaders, where his message was spiced up with exaggerated tales of how, at that very moment, Christian monuments were being defiled and Christian believers persecuted and tortured with impunity. Embassies and letters were dispatched to all parts of Christendom. Major churches such as those at Limoges, Angers, and Tours acted as recruitment centres, as did many rural churches and especially the monasteries. The call to “take the cross” - where people swore an oath to become a crusader and then wore a cross on their shoulder to proclaim their obligation - was an amazing success. Across Europe warriors, stirred by notions of religious fervour, personal salvation, pilgrimage, adventure and a desire for material wealth, gathered throughout 1096, ready to embark for Jerusalem. The departure date was set for 15 August of that year. Around 60,000 crusaders including some 6,000 knights would be involved in the first waves.

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