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ienjoywritingfilth · 4 months ago

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teach me, general

hi: i wrote this because general acacius is still making me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, about the language, about a n y t h i n g this is just a debauched excuse to think of this man naked and fucking.

You've been promised to another man to save Rome, but you have no desire to become his wife. Marcus Acacius has been assigned to ensure you do not flee before your wedding. Things happen.

trope: enemies to lovers

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , Marcus tries to be good but we like him bad, AU as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, allusions (are what whores do for money or candy) to other sex, , i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

"I will not play nursemaid to a spoiled child."

Marcus sweeps the scroll from the desk angrily, standing and stalking to the window, his cape fluttering behind him.

Commander Cassius, an older man and one of The emperor's most trusted advisors stands in the corner, his gnarled hands folded in front of him.

"She has not been a child for quite some time, General Acacius," the commander replies, a smirk crossing his lined mouth.

Marcus only makes a scoffing noise at that, refusing to turn around and give the older man the respect he thinks he deserves.

"She is desperate." the commander adds, walking in Marcus direction. "She is to be wed tomorrow."

"The city talks of nothing else."

Marcus is sick to death with talk of your marriage to a neighbouring royal family. The marriage means bountiful coin and harvest for Rome. It's a step towards unification and the future.

But for the last several months it's all he's heard of between battles. The dress, the food, the entertainment. It's all so grating to hear about when he throws himself into daily combats.

"She has made her feelings on the matter quite clear," the commander says with a gentle exhalation. "There is concern she will flee in the night."

"Why?"

"She has no desire to marry. No interest in continuing the bloodline."

There are rumors of course. That the Prince you've been promised to is dim, that he drinks too much, that he has an eye only for men. It's no wonder you don't look forward to such a union.

"She says she will study at the universities instead," Cassius chuckles. "A silly fantasy. She is a woman after all."

Marcus is quiet with contemplation. He'd just returned from battle days ago. He was still weary, his patience thin. The poor reception home from his family adds to his bitter mood.

"But she is wise beyond her years," the commander says. "She has managed escape more than once, as you well know. It was you yourself who retrieved her the night of her eighteenth birthday in the olive grove was it not?"

Marcus rolls his eyes recalling how you screamed and punched his armour as he dragged you down from the branches, throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed until your voice was hoarse as he carried you home that evening, shouting obscenities in his ear the entire way.

All because you'd wanted a chance to see the Gladiators. You'd begged your parents and they'd been quite clear that it was no place for you. You'd snuck out anyway, caught by Marcus before you could even get to the Coliseum.

When he does not reply the older commander stepped forward, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You have your orders from the Emperor."

Marcus shrugs off the older man's touch, his dark eyes sharp.

"And why must it be me?'

'"Because, General Acacius, you are the one man that cannot be fooled by her."

The slave is at the door when Marcus knocks at your bedroom. Their face is covered; their stance cowered when they open the door widely.

"General Acacius," the quiet voice observes eyes on the ground. Marcus is grim-faced, entering into the room.

"I have been instructed by the Emperor to keep watch tonight."

"I see," the woman nods, her face still tilted respectfully to the floor. "I was just about to fetch her dinner."

Marcus steps further into the lavish room with its bright, white walls and smooth marble floors.

"Where is she?"

"She is in her bed," the slave replies bowing even more lowly.

Marcus' dark eyes move to the bed, seeing the sleeping figure's chest rise and fall through the gauzy curtains that hang on all sides.

"The sun is not yet set."

"She is overcome. Her wishes for the marriage to be called off have been ignored."

Marcus nods, watching as the slave goes to move past him. Her feet slap the floor slowly, everything in her body suggesting an unhurried dedication to her position.

She brushes Marcus' sleeve and he sniffs the air, a familiar scent wafting over him. Roses.

Without warning his large hand darts out, grabbing the slave by the arm and dragging her back into the room before she can leave. The door is slammed shut, her exit blocked.

"General-"

Marcus says nothing; he simply rips the veil from the woman's face, shaking his head in frustration as your uncovered visage stares unblinking back at him.

He watches as you sneer, your irritation clear.

"How did you know?"

"Rosewater," he replies in a husky murmur. "No slave could afford to bathe in such luxury."

You pull your elbow from his grasp, furious at being caught. You call out to the girl in your bed.

"Amilius you are released."

A taller woman a haggard face and wild hair rolls out of the bed. She is clearly a slave but wears an embroidered toga meant for royalty.

"You will still be paid," you assure her as she approaches you both, her eyes on the floor. You retrieve the pouch of clattering coin from your locked cabinet, placing its heavy bundle into her shocked hands.

"It is too much."

"Not at all," you insist. "I thank you for trying. You may keep the clothing as well."

"You are most welcome."

The smile the two of you exchange is sweet and Marcus is furious at the sight of it. How dare you think up this scheme and how dare this slave go along with it?

"You are bold," he says, stepping towards her. "To defy the word of your Emperor and not expect retaliation."

"She did it only to defend me," you break in, stepping between Marcus and the girl. "To give me a chance at escape."

"Treason," Marcus snarls, his eyes still on the girl behind you. "You will be put on trial."

Amilius shrinks back, her eyes wide. The thought of punishment like this never occurred to her. She simply follows what you tell her, as she always has.

"I will say I drugged her," you shoot back. "I will be put on trial. I will be sentenced to death. I choose that. Anything is better than a marriage to that self important caenum!"

Your chest heaves with untapped anger. Marcus knows that this is true. You are just stubborn enough to choose death but it would mean only calamity for Rome.

"Leave us."

Amilius nods and shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. You watch as Marcus locks it before coming back to you.

"So they sent the General," you say with a laugh as you remove the slave’s cloak you were wearing. You drop it into a chair before looking at him. "How fearsome a creature I must be if the strongest General in the army is sent to watch me."

"Fearsome I think not. An annoyance to be sure."

You roll your eyes, going to the table that holds the wine and other spirits. Several chalices are there, empty and ready to be filled.

"Some wine, General?"

Marcus shakes his head. He would never drink when on such a job. He doesn't trust you. You shrug, pouring two glasses anyway.

Marcus is surveying your room, quietly taking in all the personal touches. He notices you position your writing desk to the east, to enjoy the midday sun. Your bed is soft and layered with furs to keep away the chill.

You walk back over to him, holding out the larger chalice to your guest.

"Here."

You watch as Marcus takes both chalices in hand, swapping the one you poured for him with yours. You go to deny him this but he's already taken a deep pull from his glass, smiling at you when you make no move to do the same.

"None for you?"

You try to keep your voice even, not wishing to show your hand.

"I find my thirst rather quenched."

"Is that so? Or is it that I caught onto your pathetic ploy to drug my wine?" Marcus smirks, taking a deep sip.

You say nothing; you bite the inside of your cheek instead. Marcus digs the blade in a little deeper.

"The vial made a rather obvious noise when it hit the rim of the chalice."

You bite so harshly you draw blood.

Its hours later and the fire has been cracking for the better part of the evening since the sun went down.

Marcus sits on an ornate chair before the fire, his body stoic and broad and strangely intimidating despite his continued silence. He has the chair facing you, not letting you out of his sight for even a moment.

You sit at your writing desk, hunched over parchment as you write hurriedly. The scratch of the stylus is the only sound in the bedroom.

Marcus exhales slowly, irritated at needing to be here at all. Knowing his luck, he'll also be forced to be at the royal wedding as well.

You stand and take a stretch, cracking your back as you arch your spine. The flowing fabric drifts over your body pooling at your feet. Marcus takes note of your head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn't remember your profile being this striking. He muses it is one that should be etched onto roman coins, remembered by those to come forever after.

You walk over to him with a tired look in your eyes.

"It is late," you tell Marcus.

Marcus doesn't reply. He simply sits there, waiting for you to tire of whatever game you've begun.

"I thank you for the fire, General."

"You are most welcome."

He isn't expecting you to walk behind him pretending to stoke the fire. And he can only blame his lack of focus on his extreme lack of sleep. He'd managed none during battle and at home it seemed he was more than a little restless.

He feels your hand slide the dagger from his hip, realizing too late. You go streaming across the room, your eyes wild when he races after you.

"Impudice fur!"

"I have stolen nothing," you shoot back at the insult.

The two of you circle what another in the room like your own miniaturized version of the Gladiator pit.

"You have stolen years off my life," Marcus growls. "You have turned my hair silver."

You look at the dark hair threaded with grey in parts.

"You have done that yourself, General, thanks to your love of bloodshed and the battlefield."

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Only a stulte would think my strategy anything other than necessary."

"If you insist," you say rolling your eyes, clearly disbelieving.

"Return the weapon."

Marcus is strong, he is quick and you will have to submit to him. There is little else to do, aside from throwing yourself out the window behind you. The thought of that horrible childish man being your husband makes you seriously consider it.

You can't help it, thoughts of being his wife, of being tethered to such a man disgusts you. You would more readily marry Marcus Acacius if you had to. At least the man had honour and dignity.

And then all at once the answer is clear to you. You drop the knife onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you spin and throw yourself towards the large open window.

Your feet slap against the stone floor as you fling yourself towards the open air. The realization that before you die you will know what it is to fly.

Marcus is on you almost immediately, grabbing you around the middle before you can tumble to outside. He yanks you back, tackling your unwilling body to the ground. He pins your hands to the ground. You attempt to wrench from his grip, squirming under him.

"Stop these foolish games."

"It is no game," you shout. "It is my life! I will choose if I live or die!"

All at once Marcus is very aware that you are not the child he once saw in the halls or at events. The child and then teenager he found so grating with her questions that he took to ignoring her.

"Still yourself."

You wriggle in his grip like a worm. As you do your hips graze his cock and he's shocked to find a stab of arousal hit him.

It's as if for the first time he sees that you've become a woman. A beautiful one at that, all soft curves and kissable mouth. He stares at the damp plump of your lips and realizes that he's growing hard under his toga.

He throws himself off of you, hunched over until he gets to the window. You're rubbing your wrists, completely unaware of what happened as you stand, glaring at him.

"It is what is fated," Marcus barks at you.

"How easy for you to say!" You scoff disgusted. "Tomorrow I will be the wife of a childish boor who would rather chase cock than spend a moment with me. Rome will be safe for a time, yes, but at the cost of my entire being. And you, General Acacius, will go on living your life free of restraint."

"I come with my own shackles, believe me."

"And what is that? Too much coin for wine? Too many prostrating followers who blindly obey you?"

"A wife who married me for my title. Two stepsons with the combined intelligence of a pomegranate seed.” Marcus shakes his head. "You act as if everyone may rule their destiny but true freedom is granted to only the few."

He can see the fight leave your body.

But he knows you’re still upset. He moves over to your desk, needing a break from your smoldering glare. The parchment you were working on earlier sits there, writing unfinished. Marcus takes a scroll in hand, squinting down at it.

"What are these?"

You rush over, your face red as you rip the scroll from his hands.

"Nothing!"

Seeing your weakness Marcus holds it up out of reach, a childish grin on his face as you leap up, trying to grasp them. But it's no use, he's taller, stronger and you fall back, defeated.

“Tell me and I will return it to you.”

"They are poems," you mutter exasperatedly, feeling shy.

"Your own?"

"Yes."

"I wonder what about," Marcus says and he reaches into the desk to find several more scrolls. "What dress to wear to the market? How best to complain about having everything?"

Marcus takes them in hand, a sneer evident in his face as you reach for them again.

“You promised!”

“As you promised your fidelity to the prince.”

“My father promised him. I promised him nothing.”

Marcus lets out a small huff before turning his back to you. You can see him unrolling the scroll, beginning to read. You watch him, feeling both furious and anxious. These are some of your innermost thoughts that he’s reading.

There is a long bout of silence. You watch his broad shoulders sag, his hand flipping the page over and continuing to read. He does this through several sheets until you can't stand it anymore.

"Give it here!"

You pause with your hand on his elbow. He's solemn, but that's not what shocks you. It's the tears that he wipes quickly away with his free hand.

"Are you---"

"No."

You step backwards, your hands falling to your sides. You have known the general since you were a child of thirteen. Over ten years you have been in his company and only now have you seen him lose his composure.

As a child you were convinced he didn't feel true emotions. He was always this tall, impressively stoic figure. You never spoke to him outside of your father's company. You only heard everyone talk of his skills on the battlefield, of his keen mind. The only time he truly emoted in front of you was when he ripped you from the warm embrace of the olive tree, forcing you back to your boring life. Hissing at you that you were ungrateful for all you'd been given.

"This is very beautiful," he admits in a voice dragged over sand. "The way you describe death is very," he searches for the word. "Vivid."

"Thank you," you reply dumbstruck.

You've never received praise for you writing outside your friends. So to receive it in the form of your current enemy is more than a little shocking. Marcus has no allegiance to you, in fact, his response is so genuine because you know he's fighting against his inner desire to chastise or condemn.

Seeing this hulk of a man with tears still damp along his waterline has you softening everywhere. He's looking at the pages and then back at you.

"Have you any others?"

"Yes," you nod.

"All on the same theme?"

"A variety."

"May I see?"

You walk to your writing table, pulling out the parchment you hide from prying eyes and pass them into his outstretched hands. You wait with your lower lip lodged under your top teeth, your fingers twisting together. You don't know why but you crave to know what he's thinking.

You don't need to wait very long.

"It is clear there are limitations to your skills."

He has the familiar arrogant expression on his face as he says this. You bristle sharply at his words and he notices.

"You write of death, you write of jealousy, you write of fear,"' he says. "All of these you compose with obvious talent, with a voice I feel here."

He taps the centre of his chest before he holds up some of the pages you laboured on.

"But these? The poems of love, of desire? They feel false."

You take a moment to digest what he's saying. He's treating you like an equal, as if you're someone who can take the criticism. It propels you to explain instead of running away in embarrassment.

"People want poetry to transcend them, to deliver them somewhere beautiful. How else to do that other than with poems on such topics?"

He holds up the pages.

"It clearly does not come naturally."

"It is a challenge at times."

"You write of loss with such acuity," Marcus explains. "Why then do you describe the action between a man and woman so stiffly?"

"I have experience with loss."

Marcus stares at you, surprised.

As the daughter of the emperor he'd just assumed you'd have your fair share of romances. You're a beautiful woman and if you were anyone else but the Emperor's daughter he might have pursued you himself.

You feel his gaze trained on you and you walk to the fire. The flames reflect in your eyes as Marcus continues to watch you. You swallow your embarrassment and look over your shoulder at him.

"Will you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What I am to expect on my wedding night."

Marcus lets the scroll fall from his hand onto the stone floor. At the sound of its contact he shakes himself, retrieving them and placing them on your desk.

"You have not known the touch of a man?"

With cheeks stained in embarrassment you shake your head.

"I have not. The life of the privileged daughter isn't one that allows for entanglements," you sigh. "I fear for what awaits me."

Marcus thinks of your future husband, a man who doesn't want any part of you. You'll wither on the vine, ripened and juicy and waiting.

What a waste.

"I cannot," Marcus says. "I am simply here to ensure you do not flee."

"Perhaps I will not flee if I know what is to occur."

Marcus sighs and strides towards you. You watch as he pulls over one of the chairs you had at the window, placing it across from the chair you sit in before the fire.

"You will be wed; there will be the wedding celebration with most of Rome at your unity. Then he will take you to his chamber."

You lick your suddenly dry lips.

"I am no fool. I know what the day’s events will be, General. I want to know what happens in consummation."

Marcus inhales deeply. He can feel himself growing stiff. You are a delectable thing, forbidden in so many ways. He itches to touch your skin and taste your cunt.

"He will, he will press his mouth to yours."

"Show me."

"No."

"Please," you beg, coming to stand closer to him. "Once I know what is to come I will feel more able to conquer this fear I feel."

Marcus debates this as he stares at you. And it's his cock that does the thinking for him when he steps closer to you.

Marcus sighs heavily through his aquiline nose. You hold your breath as he grips the back of your neck, like you're a bothersome kitten. Holding you there he lowers his face to yours, grazing your lips with his.

You coo gently at the sensation, your nipples hardening as he wraps his arms around you. He's so broad, so muscular, you feel so vulnerable and yet safe in his arms.

You cling to him, body immediately wrapping around his, pressing so tightly to him that you feel everything. Your hips roll against his and you shudder pleasantly when you feel his breathing hitch.

"More," you beg. Marcus groans, his large hands coming to cup and knead your breasts as his tongue invades your mouth.

He's murdered men, he's plotted army overtaking, and he’s attacked the unarmed, but touching and kissing the virgin daughter of the emperor? This is the most corrupt thing he's ever done.

And you're so desperate for him, no hesitation in any part of you. You just allow him to plunder your body, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck and then the barely concealed valley of your breasts.

His hands move around your body, pressing and caressing and skimming until they land at your backside. You kiss him fervently, feeling his palms tug you against his hard cock.

You whimper, eyes rolling back as the two of you grind against one another. It feels so sinfully good to do such a thing.

"That is enough," Marcus says stiffly, pulling back from you when you make that sound. He looks at your swollen lips and dazed expression.

"Please, show me everything," you whisper. "Teach me."

Marcus has a fairly good idea that your wedding night is going to be brief and awful. The least he could do is give you some pleasure before you're thrust into a lifetime of timid touches and non-existent intimacy.

Just once, a sinful voice whispers. Fuck her just once to see how it feels.

"I cannot."

You feel insecurity wind its way around your ribs before tugging brutally. Its clear Marcus does not find you handsome enough to tempt him or he still sees you as a child. In humiliation you turn from him and take a seat before the fire once more. Your shoulder sag as you gaze down at your clasped fingers on your lap.

You hear Marcus sigh from the window before you sense his approach. He comes to sit in the chair opposite you, his gaze so serious.

"It would be wrong."

"But I desire it."

"It would be dishonourable."

"Please," you beg him again, finally raising your head. "My entire life you have been there for me, coming to my aid. And now I turn to you for the final time, General. Please help me."

"I cannot do it."

"But why?" You demand now, knowing that your patience is wearing thin. "Give me one true reason."

He lifts his muscular frame out of the chair, crossing until he gets to you. You gaze up the length of him, not flinching when he drops to his knees between your parted thighs.

Marcus tilts forward until his body nears yours, his hands on either side of your chair arms. His body is so warm, so broad. You fight the urge to touch his chest as his swollen mouth brushes your ear.

"Because if I were to start, it would take the entirety of the Emperor's army to stop."

You blink slowly, your eyes trailing over his face and body. Your entire body is fizzy, like lightning is coursing through your veins instead of blood.

"I would pull you apart," Marcus hums against your skin. "I would draw noises from you that you cannot begin to imagine. I would have you shaking and begging for more and I would continue."

You can't breathe.

“I would fill you with my seed, marking your womb as mine. I would do it over and over until I was spent, only to do it all again at dawn."

Marcus groans softly, his dark eyes scanning down your toga to the swell of your breasts.

"And even then I would not be able to cease," Marcus says as he squeezes your breasts through your toga. "I would train your mouth, your cunt, every hole you possess in the ways of pleasure. All would be mine, nothing left for another."

You stare at him, unblinking.

"And so you see why I must refrain," he finishes huskily. "Why I cannot give you what you believe you desire."

When did he go from the scowling general to a real man with such a filthy mouth? You’re quivering all over, desperate for him to be even closer. Your eyes drop to his full mouth, aching to feel it again.

"What if that is what I crave? What if I have no desire for you to cease?"

Your fingers go to his, pulling one hand under your toga, leading him up between your silken thighs. Marcus allows it, eyes on you but his hand inching towards your centre.

"You do not know what you ask."

"Show me, Marcus," you whisper, your mouth nearing his. "Make me yours if only for tonight."

Your lips slot between his, kissing with uncertainty as your hands go to the buttons at his shoulder. His fingers are slowly teasing your entrance as he stares at you.

You arch as his thumb begins to circle your clit, his long fingers starting to nudge your liquid heat.

Marcus knows that every inch of you he touches is another year in the pit if he's discovered. You are the most forbidden fruit in Rome. Yet he continues to slide two fingers to the knuckle into your core, curling them as you cry out for him.

At the sharp sound of your cry he withdraws his fingers, glossy with slick. He stands, needing to clear his head. He feels your confused gaze on his back.

"I cannot defile you before your wedding," he explains. "Your chastity is of the utmost importance."

"The slaves tell me of ways to circumvent such an issue," you tell him as the cape he wears falls to the ground.

He watches you untie his toga, urging it from his body until he stands there in nothing but his gladiator sandals.

He is truly a sight to behold. Golden, muscled, captivating in the same way blood along knuckles shine in sunlight. You take your time to walk around him, admiring the tight taut of his ass, the breadth of his wide shoulders littered with scars and the curls that tease the bottom of his neck.

You save his front for last, taking your time to watch the trail of hair move from his navel downward.

His cock is hard, thick and heavy. It weeps at the tip, already so eager. It hangs there; too large for you to imagine entering you as you reach out and touch it. He hisses at the first point of contact.

He watches as you carefully touch him, marvelling at the iron of his cock until the silk of his skin. You trace the vein on the underside, trailing it from the base to just below the mushroom head.

You slide down to your knees, fascinated. Amilius has spoken to you of men when you’ve asked. She has been married and has a child. You know a bit of what men like but only in theory. You lift your eyes up to see Marcus staring down at you with a heated gaze. Your hands go to his thighs, gently resting there.

You grin before leaning forward and placing the sweetest peck to the tip of his manhood.

Marcus growls softly in the back of his throat. His eyes close briefly before opening, looking darker than before. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, gripping it by the base and pulling it towards you.

You part your lips, ready to take him on your tongue and are surprised when instead he drags the tip along your bottom lip, leaving a trail off pre-cum there. You lick the remnants, curious at the salty taste. He watches you with increasing interest.

"Irrumabo," Marcus murmurs, his cock tapping against the full of your bottom lip. "Yes?"

You nod, opening your jaw. Marcus smiles, thumb tracing the curve of your mouth.

"Not tonight," Marcus says as he shakes his head, bringing you to a gentle stand. "Tonight is your pleasure."

He tugs the gown from your body, letting the silk pool on the ground beside you. You shiver under his gaze, noticing his length which twitches.

Marcus feels his breath leave him as your nude body is bared to him. You look so innocent there, waiting for him, gazing nervously at him through your lashes.

"Goddess," Marcus hisses, his hands coming to cup your breasts. "I am a condemned man for even looking at you."

He lowers his head eagerly, nipping and licking your nipples as you cling to him, urging him to take more as you arch your spine.

"Marcus, please more," you moan.

Unceremoniously he pushes you back to sit in your chair, your legs splayed in surprise. He drops to his knees, moving your legs to hook over his wide shoulders. You allow this, your body limp and eager to be posed by his strong arms and hands.

He looks up to see you panting, staring down the length of your body at his face between your legs. Without breaking eye contact Marcus dips forward and licks a stripe up the centre of your sex.

Your eyes immediately shut as pleasure ripples through you. His wide hands grip your creamy thighs, holding them in place as he continues to probe his tongue deeper into your channel.

Your hands grope the air around you fruitlessly. You don't know what to do with them. Marcus notices and he takes your wrists between his grips, forcing them to card through his hair.

He goes back to sucking your clit and you feel your hips buck. Your fingers dig into his skull, holding the curls and you understand why he placed them there.

"Harder," he tells you sharply as he peppers your inner thighs with sweet kisses. You tug harder on his curls and he groans softly in approval.

You make a shuddering noise of pleasure and it dies in your throat as he pulls back from you. His eyes are stormy as he looks up the length of you to give you a disapproving shake of his head.

"Silence, cherub. We do not need the guards coming to investigate your shrieks."

You nod breathlessly, clapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. The sounds are muffled against your palm as he brings his hands to slide under your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth as he consumes you, groaning into your cunt when you cum.

"Marcus!"

"Quiet," he reminds you between licks.

As you sit there in the chair he brings you to a second steady orgasm, revelling in the muffled yips you make when you begin to writhe against his face, coating him in your essence. When your shuddering ends Marcus slowly withdraws his tongue from your cunt, gazing up at you with a dazed look.

"My husband will do this to me?" You pant; your body shiny with perspiration. "It was so pleasant. I felt the sun within my body."

Marcus remains on his knees, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He gives you a pitying look, knowing full well that your husband to be likely won't see you past your wedding night.

The thought enrages him as he sits there, cheek against your thigh as you give him that hopeful expression.

"No," Marcus finally admits. "I believe his actions will be more perfunctory."

You frown.

"How? Show me."

"You ask too much."

"Yes, I do," you admit with no hesitation or embarrassment.

Marcus gives you a calculating look before standing. You sigh, waiting for him to leave when he crouches down beside your chair, sliding his hands behind your back and under your knees and hoists you into his arms.

"I will give you what you desire," he tells you gently. "I can deny you nothing."

"You have denied me much over the years," you remind him with mirth. "When I tried to see the Gladiators fight and you pulled me from that olive tree?"

"And I never heard the end of it. Imagine denying this request? You'd have me hanged."

You give a shy giggle before lacing your fingers behind his neck, your mouth finding his with ease as he carries you to the bed.

The two of you lay in the twisted blankets of the bed, bodies gleaming with sweat. Marcus did exactly as he promised. For hours he took you apart, forcing you to come on his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You took him at every turn, eyes shut and your mouth covered by his palm or his lips.

And now that the dreamy haze bleeds into reality you find yourself frowning. Marcus, with his arms holding your body to his notices immediately.

"What troubles you?"

“Tomorrow I will be another man's wife," you say with tears in your eyes. "Rome will be saved for a time but at what cost? I'll never feel pleasure like this again. I'll never have you in my bed again."

Marcus feels a pull behind his ribs, and he leans forward to kiss you gently. You respond, your tears damp on his cheeks.

"Your lessons will continue," Marcus promises, kissing behind your ear. "I will make sure of it."

"My husband--"

"Will be thankful when you are with child," Marcus tells you in a hush, his hand curving over your stomach. "My child."

Your eyes are luminous.

"After your wedding night he will not come to your chambers," he promises. "But I will. I will drink the nectar between your legs and I will spill myself down your throat. I will have you everywhere and when we pass in public although there are no words to be uttered you will know I think only of you. That I am yours and you are mine."

He wipes away your tears with his large thumbs before pulling your mouth to his. You fall asleep in his arms, the sensation of his body there to protect you through the night.

Marcus stirs the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window; it's cheerful and bright as the sun that hangs high in the sky.

It feels right that your wedding day should be beautiful when you yourself are so exquisite.

Marcus feels his cock hardening immediately at memories of last night. Of the sounds you made and the way you felt. He looks forward to a life with you, even if it must be in secret. You are something special, something like freedom.

He cracks open his eye to take in your sleeping face, but your side of the bed is empty. A scroll is there beside him in the empty bed instead, his name written. With a panic in his heart he unrolls it, finding a lock of your hair tied with a ribbon inside. He takes it, pressing his lips against it as he reads the words from your hand.

Carissamus General. I know that as you read this you will think me a villain, but I promise that my words were true and my body forever yours. Please understand why I could not possibly allow another to touch me. Freedom is for those who take it. I leave you a piece of me in exchange for the piece of you I will carry in my heart. I owe you everything and perhaps in the next life we will have the future you dream of. Until then I wish you the same joy and pleasure you gave me. With all my love, and all that I am.

Marcus reads the beautiful words over and over. They spin around his skull as he dresses, pulling on his toga and cloak. But instead of anger in his expression he smiles serenely.

He's always enjoys a good chase.

#marcus acacius aesthetic #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #gladiator2 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #smut #pedro pascal smut

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lovelookspretty · 2 months ago

Text

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: y/n lowkey being difficult because she doesnt want to lie to her best friend, DREW TRYING HIS BEST

prev next

authors note: okay she was a little UGHcore but i just needed a rocky start before things got cute n theyll be communicating soon. guys i promise theyll get better n y/n also wont feel so guilty as time goes on !!!!!

you gaze up at the home through the window of the car. drew is driving beside you, insisting you begin the plan by arriving together to the address leila forwarded to everyone.

“it’s . . . i didn’t think it would look like this,” you say aloud, and drew turns down the volume of the radio after he parks the car out front.

the house is big, surrounded by a few others down the road that look similar to it. the first floor seems like a basement area because the stairs at the front of the house lead all the way up to the second floor and continue two more, standing at four in total.

it’s just a few miles away from town that you and drew were able to drive by and take a look at on the way there. the area is beautiful. no wonder why leila’s mom and her boyfriend stay there.

the front door is open and you spot leila’s head peeking out of the doorway just on time. she disappears for a moment before she’s leaving the house to hurry down the stairs, probably to greet you both. you’re already unbuckling your seatbelt and getting out of the car to meet her halfway.

“isn’t it amazing? was it a safe drive from los angeles?” leila asks as you quickly greet her with a hug, before you walk her over to drew’s car. he’s opened the trunk and back doors to retrieve your things. “two weeks here will be nice, huh?”

“oh absolutely,” you agree with her, and you grab your purse from the backseat and drew’s backpack, then shut the door. “is everyone else here?”

“yeah, they just got here an hour ago—gia brought her boyfriend, roman. he’s a little shady but they’re kinda cute. libby’s here too, ooh, and oscar, theo’s childhood friend,” leila says and you can just hear the excitement in her voice that makes you smile.

you hold one of the straps of drew’s backpack and hold it up for him to take it while leila keeps talking. you watch as he eyes it for a moment before looking at you, as if he’s wondering why you don’t want to take it.

the thought doesn’t even cross your mind but it’s fine. he takes his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, then continues to grab the handle of his suitcase and carry it out of the trunk, then yours.

you stand there and wait for him to hand you something to carry but he just keeps his backpack on both shoulders, shuts the trunk, locks the car, and then grasps both suitcase’s handles with either of his hands, ready to head up. there’s a faint smile on his face when he faces you and leila.

“you’re taking them?” you ask, referring to both of your things so you can just bring your purse to the house.

he nods like it’s nothing, “yeah, i got it.”

leila can’t help but awe at you two. “you guys are so adorable. theo and i missed having you both around,” she says as she turns around and heads to the home.

at her words, you peer over your shoulder and send drew a knowing look, but there’s a slight twinge of guilt in both of your expressions that you have to shrug off.

you and drew stand side-by-side as you confront the home, watching as leila walks up the steps and is immediately approached by theo, who hands her a drink.

they share a kiss, and right past them you can just barely spot a few figures that must be the rest of the group. they’re shouting and laughing with one another, leaving you to look at drew again.

he gives you a nudge. “professionals, remember?” he’s referring back to your initial conversation about the plan just two weeks ago.

something about all of this just makes your stomach turn, but you nod. “professionals,” you repeat, and then look at the house again, then you take your step.

you’re carefully settling down on the bed leila’s given you and drew. it’s in a separate room right next to where she and theo will be sleeping. and of course, there’s just one bed.

“i can take the couch tonight if you want,” drew offers as he sets both of your belongings on the side, but he’s talking about sleeping on the small couch on the opposite side of the room to the bed, just against the window.

“it’s just sleeping in a bed, star, it’s nothing we haven’t done before,” you tell him with a shake of your head, and drew’s shoulders drop ever so slightly at the sound of his old nickname, the one that once rolled off your tongue so effortlessly. now, it feels like a small peace offering, a reminder of when things were simpler.

he gives it a few moments to make sure you’re okay with it, before he nods. “okay,” he says.

you check the time on your phone. it’s already eleven in the morning and leila said she wanted to go swimming in the afternoon. you have a whole beach ahead of the house but she insists on using the pool in the back. theo even suggested earlier that he and oscar can grill some lunch.

“i should get ready,” you say as you stand and toss your phone on the bed, then approach your suitcase. there’s a knock at the door and you know it’s leila. “i’ll be out soon, sorry!” you tell her, hoping you’re loud enough for her to hear you from all the music they’re playing out there.

you glance up at drew when you see he’s just standing there. “what are you gonna be doing?” you ask him, then rifle around your clothes for a bikini.

he scratches the back of his head as he settles on the couch, and he shrugs, “might join theo and oscar since they’ve been down there already.”

you only nod as you find a matching set that you’ll decide to wear today. drew is looking around the room, even outside where the views are like paintings on a canvas.

“this place is so nice,” he says, a little too casually, like he’s trying to ease the awkwardness. “lei’s mom really knows how to live it up.”

you don’t respond right away, focusing on your makeup bag that you need to retrieve something in. it’s not that you don’t hear him, you just . . . don’t feel like talking. when you finally do, your voice comes out flatter than intended. “yeah. it’s a nice place.”

tension lingers heavy in the air. you hear drew shift on the couch, probably sensing your mood, but he continues. “kinda reminds me of that trip we took up the coast. remember that little inn with the—”

“i don’t really want to talk about that right now,” you cut him off, your tone sharper than you mean it to be. you don’t look at him, you just reapply your perfume as if it’s the most important task in the world.

there’s a pause, and you can feel drew’s gaze on you. “right,” he says quietly, “sorry.”

you exhale, trying to shake off the tension building in your chest. you know it’s not his fault—not entirely. this whole thing was a bad idea from the start, but you agreed. you’re here. and now, you’re stuck with him, in this room, pretending like everything’s fine when it’s the furthest thing from it.

“i . . . didn’t mean to snap,” you say, softer this time. “it’s just, i’m still not completely okay with all of this.”

drew leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “i get that. but we’ve already talked about it. we agreed to do this, and now we’re here. you know that it’s too late to back out.”

you close your suitcase with more force than necessary, finally looking up at him. “yeah, but it wasn’t my idea to lie to my best friend, drew.”

his jaw clenches for a second, and you can see the faint flicker of hurt in his eyes, but he doesn’t lash out. he just nods, “i know it wasn’t. but you’re here. you agreed.”

you purse your lips, frustration building. “yeah. because you asked me to. not because i wanted to.”

he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. “i didn’t want to drag you into this if you were gonna be miserable the whole time.”

“i’m not miserable,” you snap, but the lie feels heavy as it leaves your lips. you avoid his gaze, the weight of everything sitting on your shoulders. “i just don’t want to pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.”

he’s quiet for a moment, the silence thick between you two. “i’m trying, y/n,” drew says finally, his voice low, almost pleading. “i’m trying to make this less . . . awkward, but it feels like no matter what i say, it’s wrong.”

you just fold your arms, staring at the floor. “maybe that’s because it’s not just about this trip. it’s about everything that happened before.”

drew’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t argue. “i know. i just thought that maybe this could be a chance for us to be around each other again. figure things out.”

you raise your eyebrows. “figure what out? there’s nothing left to figure out. we’re not together. and pretending like we are just feels wrong.”

he’s silent for a long moment, staring at you like he’s trying to find the right words but can’t. eventually, he just stands, moving over to the window. “if you want out, y/n, you can tell them the truth. i’m not gonna stop you.”

you swallow hard, not knowing what to say to that. of course, he’s not wrong—you could end this charade whenever you want. but something keeps you from doing it. maybe it’s the fear of letting everyone down. maybe it’s the guilt of seeing leila so happy, thinking everything’s fine between you and drew.

or maybe it’s something deeper—something you’re not ready to admit to yourself yet.

“i’m not gonna ruin leila and theo’s plan,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. “i’m sticking to ours.”

you’ve collected your swim suit and a pair of shorts and head for the bathroom. before you close the door behind you, you hear drew’s quiet voice, more resigned than angry now.

“i’m trying, y/n. i wish you’d let me.”

you’ve joined leila downstairs, as she’s planned on preparing other food for todays lunch in the kitchen, so libby, gia, and roman are already there enjoying themselves. they’re mainly just talking, not doing much other than that. leila’s already set everything up for you and her to work on for the next half hour or so.

you greet libby and gia with a small wave, having already said hello to them when you first got there. libby is a publicist in hollywood who met leila while she was filming some indie movie earlier in her career. she was brought in to manage leila’s pr during a press tour and boom—immediate friends.

gia and roman came sometime after. all you know is that leila met gia at a party like you and leila. gia’s incredible in fashion and helped leila with some of her carpet looks. roman’s just this alternative musician who she started dating this year. cute, but a little weird, like leila said.

“so, you and drew starkey?” roman asks as he pops a grape in his mouth, eyeing you. “i thought outerbanks didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“you thought that, and a lot of people still do,” you tell him. leila’s showing you her plan on what to cook while you watch. “he and i like to keep it private.”

“more like a complete secret,” he says, in which gia has to smack his arm to tell him to stop talking. “what? nobody knows.”

“some relationships work better that way,” you say.

“yeah, maybe take a page out of their book and do the same,” libby tells roman, and you see leila smiling at her friends as she works on dicing the vegetables. “there’s a few photos of you two out on the internet. i mean gia, baby, if i were you, i’d keep it a secret. roman’s so blah.”

he shakes his head at her and it makes you smile this time. libby catches it and grins, giving you a nod as she peels her orange.

after eating lunch and playing around in the water for hours, you all finally settle at the firepit, minus gia and roman who insisted they needed to sleep earlier because of their flight in today.

you’re leaning back against the seat, sitting next to leila who’s wrapped up in her blanket. the boys and libby are talking on their own about whatever. you don’t know. you just see drew smiling and constantly leaning forward and laughing, in which you tell him every time to be careful in case he gets too close to the fire.

your focus wavers when you feel his hand casually rest on your thigh. it’s not possessive, but there’s a weight to it. you immediately stiffen, your body instinctively tensing at the sudden contact.

your gaze flicks to his hand, then up to his face. he’s not even looking at you, continuing his conversation, acting as though the gesture is completely natural. it’s all part of the act, you remind yourself. he’s only doing it to make sure no one suspects anything. you know you can’t react—any sign of discomfort would raise questions you don’t want to answer—but it pulls you out of the moment with leila.

you force a small, tight smile and try to refocus, nodding along to whatever leila is saying.

“how have you and drew been?” she asks you, and you suddenly feel that guilt creeping up on you at that moment. that’s a terrible question.

you blink twice, considering your words before speaking, “we’re good, really good. it’s gonna be a little hard when drew leaves to film soon, but you know how it goes.”

she hums. “that’s how theo said he felt like when i was away for white lotus,” she says gently, understanding where you’re coming from.

you smile, but the weight of your lie settles deep in your chest. it’s a weird feeling, pretending to be something you're not, especially when leila’s eyes are so kind, so trusting. you know she means well, but there’s just so much guilt.

leila tilts her head and leans it on the back of the couch, watching you. “it’s tough, isn’t it? balancing everything—work, life, love. theo and i had such a hard time with it at first.”

you nod, keeping your hands busy by fiddling to avoid looking at her. “yeah, it is. i mean, it’s always been a challenge with our schedules.”

leila’s brows furrows slightly. “you two have always seemed like you handle it so well, though. what’s your secret?”

your heart races a little, and you force a chuckle. “i guess we’ve just gotten used to it.”

the words feel hollow, and you wonder if she can sense it. it’s not a complete lie—you and drew had gotten used to it all, but that was before everything fell apart. before the distance between you became more than just physical.

leila catches your eye again, her voice softer. “you two have always been so private. it’s kinda nice, though. you don’t have to deal with all the drama the rest of us go through with the media and stuff.”

you force a laugh, and you can just feel the warmth radiating off your body. “yeah, it has its perks.”

you can’t even look at her. your gaze keeps getting drawn to the fire that leila can just sense the awkwardness, tilting her head a little, and you can see the faintest trace of concern in her expression.

“you okay, y/n? you seem . . . i don’t know. tired?”

“i’m fine,” you say, a little too quickly. you clear your throat, trying to keep your voice steady as you continue. “it’s just . . .” you pause, checking that the others aren’t listening before leaning in to speak quietly, “drew and i, we’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. work and everything. i think it’s just catching up with us.”

leila nods, sympathy in her eyes. “i get it. it’s hard when you don’t get enough time together.” she pauses, looking like she’s considering her next words. “but hey, at least you’re here now. a couple of weeks without any distractions, right? this could be good for you two.”

leila’s gaze shifts to the others where drew is still laughing with theo, libby, and oscar. her voice softens again, and she leans closer to you this time. “it’s just nice to see you both here. i don’t think i’ve even seen him since that last time we all hung out a year ago. it’s been a while.”

your heart drops because she’s right—the last time she saw drew was when you were still together, a year ago.

leila just smiles, “well i’m glad you’re both here. theo and i were saying how we miss having you two around more often. it’s gonna be so fun, just like old times.”

you nod, the guilt wrapping itself tighter around your chest, making it hard to breathe to your own best friend. you manage to force another smile, but it feels brittle, like it could shatter at any second.

just then, drew catches your eye as you and leila continue your conversation. his grin falters for just a second when he sees you, like he knows what’s on your mind. and for a brief moment, you wonder if this whole charade is even worth it.

“yeah . . . just like old times.”

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld

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floatyflowers · 2 months ago

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Yandere First Husband Emperor Geta x Wife Reader Empress Lovestruck/Heartbroken x Yandere Second Husband Emperor Caracalla.

(I was so happy when I saw your requests were open! You're my favorite creator, I love all your works 🤭) (I love all things historical and I really fell in love with the trailer for Gladiator II and I'm looking forward to its release)

You are the wife of two emperors.

That's right, you are the wife of the emperor Geta and his brother, emperor Caracalla.

How did that happen?

Well, at first, you got married to Geta before the death of emperor Septimius Severus, but after his death, the two brothers are to share the empire.

And Caracalla had his eyes on you and wished to become your second husband, ignoring the Roman traditions.

You and their mother, Julia Domna, objected to this insane idea.

Julia Domna objected because it would be a scandal.

While you objected, because you are in love with your husband Geta and don't want to be with another man especially if that man is Caracalla.

However, your husband, Geta, agreed.

So, you got wed to Caracalla despite being already one month pregnant.

Your husband already knows, and also informed Caracalla.

"The child shall be mine"

Geta wanted to argue that he is the biological father but Caracalla shut him down.

"We both share the empire, and your wife, there is nothing wrong in sharing the baby too"

Realising the insanity of the situation, you decided to escape this madness, feeling heartbroken at how Geta is going along with all of that as if it is normal.

Your escape plan failed horribly, and you found yourself facing a betrayed looking Geta.

You stare at Geta in fear as he steps towards you slowly.

"Why have you betrayed me? when I was only trying to be the best husband for you."

"I love you from all my heart, but I cannot keep quiet anymore, I do not love Caracalla-"

Suddenly, you feel a hand grabbing your neck from behind, tightening its hold on it.

"Now now, brother, there is no need to stress our dear wife especially since she is pregnant with our child."

Your guts twist with disgust at the possessive pronoun 'our' used to state your relationship with the two emperors.

"But she needs to be punished" Geta argues angrily.

Caracalla walks up from behind you to stand beside his younger brother.

His eyes scans up your shaking body with a devious smirk.

"There are a lot of interesting ways to punish her without violence and she will be doing her duty as our wife at the same time"

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #geta x reader #Caracalla x reader #gladiator 2 #yandere historical characters #ancient history

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nightingale-prompts · 8 hours ago

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You are not Special- DC X DP Prompt

Interdimensional God-like beings are not known for their patience, however it looked like they had gotten lucky.

This being that had been summoned against its will to their universe was actually quite calm. They sat back on a makeshift throne made by the cultists that had brought them here. Its body was the form of a young man draped in silk. He paid little mind to the cult bowing and scraping at his feet as he absentmindedly examined his nails for anything under them. They were as pristine as his marble-like form.

"You know cults get a bad reputation in these modern times." He said not looking up at the heroes who had invaded his sanctuary intent on sealing him away. "Not without cause of course. But not every cult is evil. As oxymoronic as that sounds. But it used to mean a group of people devoted to their god of choice, no different than any other religion except they lived solely to dedicate their lives to it. No tricks or schemes, just beliefs. None of that sacrifice or blood here though. I like cleanliness and a good batch of dessert for my alters."

"We aren't here to give your offerings." Batman said simply.

The teen stretched lazily and shrugged.

"You are free to just pray, take a rest, eat, or do whatever you want."

"You don't belong here. You must return to your own realm." Superman said fimly but cordially.

The cultists panicked as they looked between their god and the heroes. Some had disdain etched on their faces others had sadness.

"Don't belong? I do what I want. Who are you people to tell ME what to do? Do you own this planet? This universe?" The god challenged.

"We are the protectors of this planet. Surely you understand that we can't let you stay here using humans like servants." Superman retorted.

Constantine had a bad feeling about what came next as he got between everyone to speak.

"Sorry, forgive him. We don't want to offend. It's just that our universe has had enough beings like you causing issues in the past. We are a bit exhausted because every major event seems to hit our planet. We are a bit defensive."

The teens's lip curled.

"Do you think you are the only planet with such woes? How conceited. What you believe that your little planet is so special that it is the only one subject to the powers of beings you can't control? As we speak there a thousands of beings influencing this world that have a bigger effect than what I'm currently doing. Are you tired of being the playthings of the universe? Bah! The universe doesn't care one bit what goes on on this little planet over the billions of planets in this universe. You are no more special than a bit of algae on a frozen world." The teen sneered.

"But that doesn't change the fact that we would like one less threat to deal with," Batman said as Constantine tried to shut him up. "Even if you do not care about humans, we care what you can do to us."

"A good point but I never said I didn't care. I'm actually fond of humans but no more fond of them than any other lifeforms. There are billions of aliens in this universe alone. But not one is special because all life is special. Not one is better. But any damage I could possibly do to you could easily be done by the many unseen gods of this realm. These beings have built this world from those that actively created it, ignore it, and those that don't even realize it exists. Could you believe that your own creator doesn't know you are there? It's actually very common."

"You're dodging the question and talking in circles. We just want you to leave." Batman sighed irritably.

"You keep telling me to leave. I have just arrived but I've also always been here. Is this how you greet me?" The teen crossed his arms.

"Are you a god of this world?" Wonder Woman stepped forward this time. "You dress like that of a Roman god."

"Do you like it? I got it from Rome a few thousand years ago."

Well, he never failed to turn something into a compliment, that's for sure.

"But that's a complicated question. If you're asking if I made your universe then, no. If your asking if it exists because of me then, yes. It exists because I do. It's my nature. So I'm not a god. I'm a law of nature." The boy leaned back and kicked his feet childishly.

"You look like a kid." Clark blurted.

"Well... you're right. But you didn't have to point it out." He pouted.

"I mean, you just look...like a person. Not a force of nature." Clark quickly corrected.

"I look like what you can perceive me as. Can't ask a two-dimensional creature to understand three dimensions. Think of me as an anthropomorphic personification of a concept." The teen stood up finally and walked around his bowing worshippers.

"And what are you?" Batman said stiffly as the boy reached him.

"I am the Void. The absence of force or untethered space and infinite possibilities. A place of raw unprocessed energy. So if I exist then a tethered space with one string of possibilities exists. Think string theory." The boy laughed.

"Wait, I know what you are. You're an Ancient, an Endless. I thought I'd get a break from your lot after Morphosis." Constantine said.

The group turned to Constantine in surprise, not surprised that he knew what the kid was but that he had done this before.

"Look, kid. Your lot don't show themselves often. Especially not in front of so many people. You'd usually lay low among mortals." Constantine said suspicious of the young Endless. "Do the others know you are playing around?"

The teen presses his lips together. He glares like someone has ruined his game.

"Should I try summoning them and ask." Constantine smirked, he knew he found his in.

"You wouldn't." He frowned.

"I would." Constantine said "Unless you want to go home on your own."

The boy tried to protest but a portal opened on its own and a hand reached out grabbing the boy by the ear.

"What are you doing in the mortal realm this time?! I told you to focus on fixing the timelines not playing god like a child!" The voice boomed.

"But Clockwork-" The teen whined as he was dragged through the portal "I was just pulling a prank. I swear!"

The boy's voice was muffled and distant as he got to the other side. Then the prtal closed and it was over.

The room went silent.

"He was right. There is nothing special about any life form over another. But that also means he is no different than a human child and held to the same standards." Constantine said lighting a cigarette before leaving the ruins. "You can handle the rest right?"

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #justice league #batman #superman #wonder woman #john constantine #bruce wayne #clark kent #diana prince #dp clockwork #clockwork

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trashmouth-richie · 4 months ago

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dulcis ut rosa { sweet as a rose 🥀}

part 1 1/2– dulex (the gnat🥀) pt ii: vitiosus + deliciosus

pt iii: frangere me 🥀pt iv: ad caelum vel infernum, tecum sum

emperor Geta x female servant reader || word count: 4.4k || smidge of caracalla x reader

summary: brought to Palatine Hill as a gift from your village to the new Emperors— Caracalla claims you as his own, but Geta has his own plans for you when the moon crests into the sky.

tw: anal, p in v, rough inexperienced sex, oral m receiving, use of the word whore, caracalla is a whiny bitch, geta is fuckboy of the era. i googled a majority of the historical events, timelines, roman names for things, and latin translation— if it’s wrong, oh well. bad at feelings! geta, insane! crybaby! caracalla. idk geta is an unhinged mother fucker but what if he wasn’t so bad?

It had been months and many cycles of the moon ago when you were sent as a token of goodwill, a gift to the new Emperors in exchange for peace for the small village you resided in.

Other Virgines and yourself were taken in the dark ebony of twilight, shackled side by side into the wobbly wagon driven by the village's strongest oxen. You didn’t dare object, instead you held your chin high, awaiting fate as the cart swayed this way and that, heart racing and blood pulsing as your journey to the Palatine Hill began.

Some nights were still spent awake, remembering the crippling fear in your chest as you watched women from your village being gifted to generals as their personal servants.

Some were given to soldiers as a sense of “release.” No better than a common whore being passed from soldier to soldier, fitting their needs. The others were pillaged and picked like grapes from a cluster— and finally you had stood alone, defiance pooling in your eyes, pushing back traitorous tears.

Emperors Geta and Caracalla sat on ruby and gold twin thrones, identical in size and power. The tension between them was palpable— so thick you could reach out and stroke its ugly head. Where Caracalla’s grin was full of mischief, Geta had a snarl curled on his upper lip.

You should have known then. The difference between them.

From where you stood, Geta’s dark eyes looked empty. Every so often they twitched as he spun the rings adorned on his left hand. His eyes rolled when his older brother giggled as the gifts from whatever poor village gave away their ripe, untouched women.

Bare toes standing on the marble floor— unable to even grab shoes before you were heaved into the cart— you felt a heat from dark eyes that you were certain would drive someone mad if they dared look back. Like the boiling flames from hell itself were simmering in the coal of his irises.

Caracalla jumped up, stepping forward from his throne, a wicked sense of evilness piercing from the iciness of his stare. His golden tooth caught the sun’s rays and you nearly vomited as he strode forward, eyeing you like a meal.

A feminine laugh bubbled from his throat, he clasped his hands together, bangles clanking in a sick harmony, a childlike grin spread on his pale face, “she’ll do.”

You remember the first night in his chambers. Caracalla himself was bathed in ivory, same as the stone walls that were covered with flowing draperies. Although it was meant to be beautiful, the air felt choked, tight in your chest as you tried like hell to calm your frazzled nerves.

The same giggle you heard in the throne room all morning now reverberated off the walls. He sat on a chaise lounge in only his dressing robes, sweat dampening his temples, that same damning stare as he slid his tongue over that disgusting gold tooth. Was he nervous? Drunk?

You had thought an emperor of his caliber would be used to this sort of thing. Maybe not.

You had been cleaned by the palace servants, hair untangled and dirt scrubbed from under your nails. Hints of jasmine and honey perfumed from your gown as you tiptoed toward him. You watched as beads of sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped at them hastily.

“Sit.”

The singular word seemed to give him trouble, as if he had never been in the presence of a woman before.

He was clumsy, unthreading your gown with clammy hands, dragging across your skin like a damp sponge. Your skin crawled under his touch.

His lips were stained with wine, thin and shriveled as he pecked at your skin. When you reached for him, hurrying this task along, he recoiled from your hand, shaking his head, a pained expression on his face as he held your wrist in a death grip.

His eyes squinted shut and he screamed for you to leave. “Out!” “Get out!” Chalices and gold cutlery were tossed in your direction as you sprang for the door.

Throwing open the heavy wood and running smack into the bare chest of the other Emperor. Emperor Geta.

Although younger, he was taller than Caracalla. His chest was more broad, shoulders stretched tight with muscles. The same death-like stare on his face as he shoved you from him, having you stumble onto the stones into a wall. The cords of his neck strained as he took in your appearance.

He didn’t soften his features as you peered up at him with a fear stricken expression. He snarled, flaring his nostrils at the pathetic look of you, practically in rags.

“Ah, and what do we have here? My brother’s whore in tears outside his chamber door. Can’t say I'm the least bit surprised.” He leaned into you, his eyes burning into your skin as he ripped the last of your gown to the floor, leaving you naked before him.

“Tasteful thing, aren't you?” he gloated, pinching your bare nipple between his thumb and forefinger, laughing when you yelped in surprise and tried to cover your decency.

He crowded into you, pushing your further down the hall way until you reached a dead end, his groin pressed into your middle.

“Pathetic.” he sneered, enunciating every syllable the word held. “Every single one of you.” His voice slithered like a snake against your ear, his breathing was forced, almost erratic and strained like he was holding himself back from bashing your skull into the wall.

“Brought in here like some glorious stuffed hog on a spicket, trying to impress the Emperors so your village would be overlooked..” he clicked his tongue and grabbed the nape of your neck, his mouth only an inch from your own, “I don’t miss anything. Even though my sniffling brother may, I do not.”

“Emperor, please.”

“Do not speak!” he shouted loud enough to wake the entire palace, the veins in his neck stood at attention, throbbing, “a whore will never open her mouth to me unless asked, or you are given something to fill it— understood?”

You nodded feebly, a single tear trickling down your cheek. Geta placed the tip of his tongue to your skin catching the salty wetness, “if you can not please my brother, you will please me… otherwise what good are you here?”

He shoved you to your knees, bits of sand biting into your skin as you hit the ground with a thud. His eyes were ablaze as he pulled out his cock. Veiny and impossibly thick, you’d never imagined one to be so large.

Geta stroked himself, already hard and velvet beneath his palm, “open for your Emperor,” he demanded, the same snarl on his lip you noticed earlier today.

You did as you were told, tongue out mouth agape waiting for him to slide against your mouth. Forcing himself inside, he filled it full until the pink head slithered into your throat, his groans vibrating through your bones.

He rocked his hips into your face, panting and groaning some more as you gagged on his length— spit dripping down your bare chest and down his sack.

He spoke nonsense to himself as you tried to breathe, squinting out tears from your eyes as you peered up at him. “The virgin mouth is fuck, yes, too good… impossibly sweet, untouched by another man, fuck, never get enough.”

His large fist gripped your hair, pulling at the root as he bludgeoned himself further into you, fucking your head into the wall surely to leave a bruise or knock you unconscious, he wouldn’t care either way.

“Stupid sniffling Caracalla,” he choked out between thrusts, “incompetent bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a whore if one fell on his cock,” he laughed and scrubbed at his face, reaching with his free hand to press the column of your throat, feeling himself deep beneath his thumb, “lucky for you, I do.”

He came then, loud and shaky, holding you to him until your nose was tickled by his patch of dark pubic hair. He pulled out, leaving a pearl against his slit to rub against your mouth.

“You might belong to Caracalla, but you will bow to me, and you… my sweet rosa, I have plans for you.”

And that was how it started, how every night you would meet with Caracalla only to be summoned by Geta in the corridor upon your dismissal. Spilling secrets of his brother before pleasuring him with your mouth.

In the light of day, you were ignored by him as you catered to Caracalla’s beck and call, and you often wondered if Geta had another servant he preferred during the sunlight hours.

You were a midnight affair, a servant to one Emperor, a secret to the other. Caracalla was a strange man. Your time with him mostly was spent with him whining about the day's woes.

How hard it was to be an emperor, the many expectations he had, the palace wasn’t large enough, his brother was too mean. Night by night his paranoia spread like wildfire, and he became gaunt, refusing to eat thinking Geta poisoned his food, his cheeks began to hallow.

During all those nights he never once gave in to his own sexual temptations, he laid his head in your lap like an infant, whimpering and sniveling. One particular warm night you were sitting on his bed as you did every night before, listening to him sob about his mother and how he felt her attention was elsewhere.

It took a single second of you being unresponsive for his switch to flip. Caracalla raged, flipping over furniture, ripping his draperies from the walls and pulling at his own hair. You were terrified, scared of him for the first time since the night you came to the palace.

Caracalla bound your wrists above your head, and took force between your legs as you silently let him, disassociating from the entire situation, as he kissed a bruise to your collarbone, and scratched your thighs with his bitten fingernails. His inexperience was evident in his approach, in the way his hips held no rhythm, in the way he screeched like a midnight owl when he was close to release.

He repeated the same thing over and over until he spilled against your stomach, a plea to either himself or to the Gods above, I am worthy.

You shook violently, not with pleasure but with fear. You had thought of spitting in his face, but realized death would be your only future if you were to humiliate him during this catastrophic performance of what he would assume to be lust.

Caracalla finished with a sweaty brow, laying down to fall asleep like a babe, an arm wrapped around your middle. A gaudy rouge colored his pale cheeks as drool slipped from his lips.

You felt sick, defiled and disgusting.

You’d rather be fucked by thirty men at once than have to endure that pathetic, cry baby fit from Caracalla. Gently placing his arm on the pillow, you fled.

Missing your village, your family, the man who you were supposed to marry someday, your tears clouded your vision down the winding corridors of the palace. You would have fought to stay behind, should have pleaded to the men that you could be useful to them. This whore’s life isn’t what you had bargained for, death would be swifter— easier than this.

The sweet scent of the balneum made you take a detour to the right, and you sobbed upon seeing the moonlight glint across the soft bathing water.

Desperate to scrub his filth from your skin, the water was barely warm but you couldn’t care less as you sunk deep into the marble stone basin. Scrubbing your skin with anything your fingers could get ahold of. The jasmine soaps the servants washed you with the first time was tucked into its cradle and you slathered until your skin shined like an apparition.

Tears dropped from the apples of your cheeks hitting the massive pool like a rainstorm over the ocean. Caracalla was a coward, a nuisance to Rome, to the Gods themselves. You damned his name as you scrubbed and lathered, repeating feverishly.

For how long Geta stood in the doorway, you weren’t sure. You weren’t where you should have been, and he was irate upon your absolute disrespect of his time. He wanted to shout, plunge his way into the water and drag you out by your hair, bring you to the coliseum and make everyone watch your death against whatever animal he saw fit.

You broke his rules, his laws, his heart raced with anger at the sight of you casually washing yourself. Nobody in the palace bathed in the moonlight, and when he heard commotion from the tepidarium room, he stomped towards it to find whoever the culprit was idiotic enough to disobey. He was alarmed to find you in there. Frantic, shooken up, no doubt from the hands of his flaccid brother.

“The lamb strayed away from the flock, I see.” his voice was like a snake, cool and calm but dripping with acidity that could kill at any given time. Jumping at his voice you nearly shrieked at his sudden appearance.

“The moon has passed the mountains, yet you do not seek me out? Instead I find you here, helping yourself to the royal bathing quarters, as if you deserve such luxuries.”

Your voice trembled, as you climbed from the water, “I wanted… I needed to be clean.”

His eyebrows twisted inward, confusion riddling his features until he stepped further into the room and noticed the marks across your skin. Caracalla’s mark. The marks of an hungry, untrained runt, trying to prove himself to the litter.

Geta’s face boiled with sadistic rage as his eyes scanned down your body, the scratches of an novice beast unable to pleasure a whore. Bruises from a limp man who deserved a knife to his throat.

“Come.” he demanded, not waiting for you to follow as his stalked from the room, tossing a long cloth behind him to your awaiting hands.

—

Water trickled behind you and down the length of your body as you padded on bare feet to catch up with Geta.

This part of the palace was foreign to you, a set of stairs leading to a dark tower that you didn’t know existed, and then you realized why. He was leading you up to his chambers.

Geta and Caracalla lived on opposite ends of the palace, their hatred splitting them apart as far as it could allow.

He thrust open a concealed door and stomped down a few stone stairs leading into his chamber.

It was decorated in hues of deep ruby and scarlets, black linens flanked his walls. His bed was massive, alluring in the dark majesty of its presence. A single candle flickered beside his bed, casting shadows in the deep night.

His hooded eyes seemed to strike with a ripple of psychotic light when he came back to the doorway to pull you inside by your wrist.

Sitting on a lavish wooden chair he leans back, spreading his legs wide, reaching for a wine filled chalice downing it in one gulp, his eyes never leaving you.

“Let me make myself clear,” he stated, “I do not care what Caracalla does in his chambers I never have nor will I now.”

Geta wiped at his chin and set down the glass, his finger rounding the rim, “You came here knowing what your life would hold as an Emperor’s servant or a soldier’s fuck sack. The little amount of freedom you were once born with has vanished, and what a pity that must be…but quite honestly,” he gleamed leaning forward his face warmed by the light, casting shadows of evil on his brows, “I am not a savior to the fucked raw whores of this palace who weep after fulfilling their master’s needs.”

Your eyes casted downward at the patterned marble floor. “I told you the night we met that if you aren’t pleasing my brother or myself, you have no purpose here, did I not?”

Your head shook up and down, knowing every word he said was true.

“I will grant you gratitude where it is due by saying that you have done everything I have asked of you, sharing my brother’s secrets, using your mouth to fill my needs— it is all very pleasing…”

For the first time you look into Geta’s eyes, the shadows inside flicker with the candle light, and you are drawn to them like a moth.

“… however, I find myself enraged thinking of that shriveled weasel dick not taking you to bed in a proper manner. It is not my style to fuck like a lover would—I use women to my needs and that’s it.”

He rubs his jaw, as if the stubble was itching him, suddenly stopping to look at you dead in the eyes as his narrowed to slits, “but you, are a gnat. An annoyance I can not seem to get rid of, and I can’t decide if you are a woman version of the plague or something else…” His eyes glimmer for a second before he shakes his head to clear his mind, “Get on the bed.”

“Emperor?”

His voice boomed as he slammed down his cup, “do not make me say it twice, I find myself to be quite angry when I have to repeat my words.” His throat pulsed in wrath, and his knuckles turned white from his fists being clenched.

You do as you're told, gingerly making your way to the enormous frame and mattress, sitting rigidly. Geta undresses himself, standing bare before you, that glorious length springing freely.

“The difference between Caracalla and myself, is I know how to use my God bless-ed cock to pleasure a woman, and I’m damn good at it.”

He’s on you in a flash, his breath sweet from the wine he had consumed. His body was solid on top of yours, pale skin never exposed to the sun. Enormous shoulders dressed in muscles that were hidden with robes daily. He sniffs loud, taking in your scent you feel his body shiver above you.

His teeth nip at your earlobe, piercing through the flesh releasing a trail of hot blood onto your neck. It’s swiftly lapped away by his tongue, a low groan following as he tastes you.

“If your blood is this sweet I would hate to know how you taste between your legs.”

You squirm beneath him as he bites your lip the same way, his canines piercing your plushy flesh and he moves his mouth over the bites, enjoying the iron-like taste. A flood of wetness rushes to your core and you suddenly feel hot everywhere… something Geta doesn’t miss.

“My brother’s whore is quick to becoming wet.” he says with a chuckle, sweeping his fingers between your folds, his rings collecting your arousal on his knuckles before he pulls them into his mouth, “mmmm leave it to Caracalla to fuck a bitch when she’s drier than a well.”

His mouth assaults your neck. Sweeping circling as he groans into you, his cock rutting against your sex as you pull him further into you, a hand coiled in his golden hair, yanking slightly, a traitorous moan escaping his lips.

Your hips widen to try to sneak the tip of him into your cunt but he only laughs at your attempt.

“Look how desperate you are, pathetic thing… so eager to be filled by a man who knows how to fuck.” He groans when your nails scratch down his back, and he licks his lip to not get too carried away.

That pitiful excuse for a human couldn’t satisfy his own hand, let alone a whore who begs to be brutalized.” You moan his name when he skims blunt nails around the peaks of your nipples, running his palms along your rib cage.

“You're teasing me, Emperor, te necessito.”

The snarl that seems to be a permanent fixture on his face curls on his lip, “begging is a good start, we both know how good you are on your knees, but I like the pity showing in your eyes, as if I’m your God.”

With that final word and title, Geta thrust himself into you, shredding your walls with each delicious inch of his cock buried inside of you. All breath is expunged from your lungs as you stare into the devil’s eyes, a chokehold to your own.

“Ora pro me, Deus meus, pray for me God,” he grunted as he pistoned back into your heat. Your screams filled his chambers, the tower shaking with seduction as he matched your shouts with grunts and moans of his own.

He pawed at your tits, squeezing and claiming every inch of skin he could get his hands on. Your thighs were wrapped around his waist, your hips circling to meet his rhythms. A large hand wrapped tight around your throat, and you licked your lips letting a grin spread against them.

Geta was leaned forward just enough for you to put a hand against his own throat, squeezing as tightly as you could. He wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t expecting someone to match his own sadistic fantasies.. let alone a commoner from a village he didn’t care to know the name of.

His eyes embellished like a dark jewel in a burning hell before he snarled and backhanded your cheek. He had never been more turned on, practically fucking you stupid as the welts from his rings raised on your skin.

“Puella pulchra, pretty girl,” Geta whispered into your ear after flipping you over, his cock wedged between your ass cheeks. “Mea es, mea es, you’re mine; no one else’s.”

His rings bit at your sides as he positioned your ass upwards, leaving his dental records in each cheek before slapping them hard in unison, mocking your yelp as he dribbled spit where he needed it to be.

With no warning he entered your other hole at a bruising pace. You saw black when Geta bottomed out and you swore you were near passing out from the stretch of his giant cock stuffed tight inside of you.

Your pussy throbbed to his commands as he pulled you by your neck with one hand, so your back was leaned against his chest. Thick fingers slotted themselves in the heat of your core until his rings were nestled against your clit. “How dare you let Caracalla have at you first, this cunt is too sweet, too sinful to not be mine.”

Babbling along to everything he said you simply screamed yes over and over, as your head lolled back on his shoulder. You came so hot and bound tight that it flooded his fingers and spread down your legs as he kept pounding inside of you.

“Oh fuck,” Geta grunted, shoving your forward to gain leverage on your hips as he pistoned into you a final time. A great yell breached his throat as his seed flooded your ass, filling it full and spilling over both himself and you, down to the laundered sheets.

You collapsed onto his bed, legs shaking and quaking struggling to catch your breath. Geta fell onto his back beside you, his skin glistening with sweat, his release coated thickly on his softening cock and pasted into the curly hair.

“Dulcis ut rosa,” he murmured with his eyes closed, licking his lips to savor your taste once more.

Tumbling on shaky knees, you lift yourself up just enough to eye his length, wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking off his spend and yourself from him. Moaning as you devoured him.

He hissed at the contact, reaching out to stroke your cheek with his thumb “you’ve made a fool of me, you wicked thing, I’m nothing but a fool.”

When you were finished, Geta laid in silence beside you. His thumb strumming along his torso his eyes wide staring into the ceiling, deep in thought.

Noticing a decanter of wine you asked if he’d like another glass. “No,” he said, still staring upward, unable to look at you. “I’m tired, leave me now.”

Removing yourself from the bed you find the dressing robe he was wearing when he found you in the bath and slipped it over your shoulders.

Leaving his chambers left you feeling rotten.

It was strange how he looked at you during and after, he was talented just as he said he was, and you knew you’d never forget the night the other Emperor bed you in his sheets. For tomorrow was another day, back to Caracalla and his blubbering whines of the hardships of royalty.

Geta lie awake for hours. Eventually seeking refuge on his balcony staring into the pale ivory moon, silently asking the Gods for answers he himself didn’t know. He had bedded hundreds of women. Every shape, size and color. But you. The little gnat. You had been buzzing in his ears every night since you had gotten to Palatine Hill.

Since the day he laid his eyes on you and scoffed to try to denounce his admiration, Geta silently wished death on Caracalla when he claimed you as his own. His original plan was to spoil the apple from the inside out, use you as a spy to gain information about his deranged brother— but it became more to him, you became more. But why?

The God’s didn’t have the answers tonight, just like they hadn’t the night before, or every dawn since the night you showed up here. Guilt struck him like a bolt from Jupiter’s mighty hand and he pushed it down with the remaining wine he had stashed beside his bed.

The facaded mask he wore these days almost slipped off tonight when you lay beside him. How he wanted to reach out and touch your skin while you laid in euphoric bliss. And he shut you out to avoid something he couldn’t risk. He didn’t know how to love a woman, his love was for war and power, blood and gold— still the gnat buzzed, unrelentless.

Laying in the sex sodden sheets, he knew what his dream would be of tonight. It hadn’t changed in the months of you arriving here: Caracalla dead by his hand, and you, the gnat, sweet as a rose…his empress.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

latin translation:

virgines— virgins

dulcis ut rosa— sweet as a rose

balneum— bathing room

te necessito— i need you

ora pro me deus meus— pray for me my God

puella pulchra— pretty girl

mea es— you’re mine

tagging some moots: @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @etherealxwitch

#joseph quinn #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #emperor geta x reader smut #geta #emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #geta smut #emperor geta smut #emperor geta fanfic #geta fanfic #gladiator ii

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bijouxcarys · 5 months ago

Text

Just Your Tribal Chief (Roman Reigns x fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Description: In the chaotic world of WWE, where titles and egos clash, the Women's World Champion faces a new kind of challenge: her own boyfriend, Roman Reigns...

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, angst, slight daddy kink, dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex (m recieving), semi-public sex, voyeurism, lil bit of choking, Tribal Chief-mode...

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: @trippinsorrows (literally don't know who else to tag so if you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, let me know!)

Her face was hard as stone as she followed her boyfriend, struggling to keep pace with his towering strides. Despite her own formidable strength—she wasn’t the undisputed WWE Women’s World Champion for nothing—his height advantage was undeniable.

She had earned her title through relentless dedication, ever since she started training at fifteen. She had bulldozed through her opponents, male and female, during her NXT days and earned her place on both RAW and Smackdown. Being assigned as a Free Agent in the 2023 draft by Hunter had been the culmination of years of sacrifice.

That’s when the chaos began.

Interviews, talk show appearances, high-stakes matches—nothing could deter her from her goal. Her ultimate triumph came at Wrestlemania 39 when she vanquished the one and only Charlotte Flair. It took her long enough to comprehend that she had in fact defeated the daughter of the man she’d sat and watched hours of as a kid. But it happened.

Life was perfect; she was the champion, her boyfriend retained every time. Pure bliss, right?

No.

Just… no.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Y/N spat, slamming the door behind her as they entered his locker room. His. Of course, his.

“Me?” Joe laughed, running a hand over his face as he paced the length of the room. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Yeah, you. You’ve been bitching all day, Joe!” She crossed her arms, her eyes ablaze.

“Oh, I’m Joe now,” he jabbed a finger into his chest, halting his stride. “Out there, I’m Roman Reigns, undisputed champion—but in here, I’m fuckin’ Joe.”

Y/N was baffled. Joe hated being referred to by his ring name when they were alone; he despised being treated like a superstar off the clock. So what was this?

“Last time I checked, your name was Joe,” she huffed.

“And the last time I checked, my girlfriend didn’t let men leer at her like she’s a whole ass meal on a plate.”

She laughed bitterly, amused by his newfound insecurity. She had never seen this side of him before. They had joked about it, but it had always been about his magnetic presence and how women practically swooned around him.

“Aw, are you jealous?” she taunted, leaning forward. “Is that what this is about? Does my success fracture your delicate little ego?”

She wasn’t about to let anyone, especially a man, undermine her. Not even when it was hers.

“You get off on this, huh?” Joe’s brows narrowed as he stepped closer. “You get off on antagonising me all the damn time!”

“Antagonising you? I was doing a fucking interview, you insecure prick! What am I supposed to say—oh, sorry, I can’t talk today, my Tribal Chief is a little fragile, let me come back once his dick is intact again!”

“Oh, my dick be stayin’ intact, babygirl, you know that better than anyone.”

“Don’t fucking detract, Joseph.”

“I’ll stop detracting once you admit that… guy out there was gunnin’ for your number. My boy’s eyes couldn’t even stay focused!”

As they argued, they closed the distance between them, Y/N’s neck craning to meet Joe’s intense gaze. She couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him riled up, though she knew this wasn’t genuine anger. She recognised angry Joe, and this wasn’t him.

This was angry Roman.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N chuckled, her nose inches from his. Joe’s lips curled into a sneer before he straightened, taking a deep breath.

“Joe–”

“I’m not gon’ tell you again, Y/N…” he began, his voice measured, before he lowered his head, his eyes locking with hers, darker and more menacing. “When we in these four walls. This arena. Hell, when we at work…” He loomed over her, metaphorically trapping her, though she was free to leave if she chose to.

“I’m Roman Reigns. Ain’t no Joe here. Do you see Joe in this room right now, baby?”

She bit back a grin, revelling in the tension. Damn, she was fucked up, but she loved it.

Before she could respond, his large hand encircled her neck, holding her in place.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding.

Her irritation melted into a dull ache low in her abdomen, her thighs clenching involuntarily. She exhaled shakily, struggling to maintain her composure.

“No…”

The whisper conveyed everything he needed to know.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on her neck. “Now, are you gon’ make it up to me, or are we gon’ keep fighting?”

Y/N swallowed hard, the air between them electric. “Make it up to you?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes, testing him.

He didn’t reply with words. Instead, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing down on hers with a fervour that sent shivers along every inch of exposed skin on her body. The kiss was demanding, urgent, reflecting the tension that had been simmering all day.

His hands travelled down to her waist, gripping her possessively as she responded with equal passion, her fingers tangling in his hair, just below where it was all neatly held together in a characteristic man bun. They stumbled backward until her back hit the wall, pinning her in place with his weight. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her with dark, smouldering eyes.

“You know exactly what to do, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that weakened her knees. “Show me just how sorry you are.”

Her breath hitched, heart racing as she nodded, her fingers already working to unbutton his pants. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but it only heightened the intensity of the moment.

She sank to her knees, a willing captive to his dominance. Joe chuckled, pleased with her compliance.

“Even when we arguin’, you still so desperate for this dick,” he taunted as she tugged down his pants and briefs. She didn’t have to look up to know he was smirking—that signature smirk that always had her pulse quicken.

“Well, sometimes it’s the only way to get you to shut up,” Y/N retorted, unabashedly cheeky as she stroked him with a deliberate slowness, savouring his reaction.

“Babygirl, that mouth of yours better get to work before I do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Instead of following through immediately, she paused, her hands resting on her thighs. Eyes wide and provocative as she looked up at him innocently.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, narrowing his gaze. Her innocent facade only fuelled his frustration.

She simply shrugged, maintaining her coy demeanour.

A slow, understanding smirk spread across his face. “Oh, you wanna play that today, huh?” His voice was low, almost a growl, filled with a predatory hunger.

Y/N licked her lips slowly, teasingly, her eyes glued onto his. “Maybe I do,” she murmured with a slight husk.

Joe’s smirk turned into a wicked grin. “A’ight then, babygirl, let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back slightly, not enough to hurt her, but enough to assert his dominance. Y/N’s heart raced, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. She loved when he took control, loved the raw, primal intensity that radiated from him in moments like this.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

She complied, her wide eyes locking with his. The room seemed to shrink around them, the outside world fading away as their focus narrowed to just the two of them. They didn’t even care that someone could walk in at any moment.

“You know what I want, don’t you?” Even though his tone was softer, it still carried a growl in its undercurrent.

“Yes…”

“Then stop playin’ games and show me.”

With that, he released her hair, his hand moving to the back of her neck, guiding her forward. She didn’t need any more encouragement. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his length, her other hand resting on his thigh for balance, and took the bulbous head between her lips. Slowly. Just enough to savour the taste of him.

Joe let out a low groan, his eyes closing for a moment as he felt the warmth of her tongue circling the sensitive skin. “That’s it, babygirl,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly. “Just like that…”

She worked him with a deliberate slowness, swirling and teasing around him—torturing him with every movement. She traced the tip of her tongue along the bulging vein that stood out prominent along the underside of his cock, applying pressure at the correct places. Just that alone caused a light throb against her, his breathing to grow heavier, more ragged with each passing second.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled with a strained cadence. “You gon’ make me lose my damn mind.”

Her response was a soft hum, the vibration shooting right through him. She loved having this effect on him, loved knowing she could drive him to the edge with just her mouth. Increasing the pace slightly, she took him deeper, her fingertips digging into his thigh for further leverage.

Joe’s hand slid from her neck to her jaw, guiding her movements, dark eyes surveying her every move. “That’s it, baby, take it all…” he encouraged lowly. “Show me how much you want this dick.”

It was inevitable that his gravelly words made her moan around him. Made her core tighten around nothing. Throat relaxing, she forced more of him into her mouth, pushing herself to her limits. Eyes watering from the effort.

“Fuck,” Joe hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”

She pulled back slightly, gasping for breath as she ran her hand along his length, coating the entirety with residue spit. Before he could even process it, he was back in her mouth, and her warm palm was skillfully lowering to pay attention to his full balls. A steady massage. The combination was almost too much for him to handle.

“Shit, Y/N,” he groaned. “You keep that up, and I ain’t gon’ last much longer.”

Y/N pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his throbbing cock. She looked up at him with a hint of arrogant pride. “Maybe that’s the point,” she teased breathlessly.

“Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?”

She nodded, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Maybe.”

He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up to her feet and pressing her back against the wall. “We’ll see how clever you are when I’m done with you,” he growled, his lips smashing against hers in a bruising kiss.

She whimpered into his mouth, hands flying to his broad shoulders as she clung to him. His punishing assault had her arching into him, her body pressing against him in a desperate attempt for any friction. She even went as far as to roughly tug at his bun, clumsily pulling the hair tie from his head and letting it snap around her wrist for the time being. The way his hair framed his face when down and free had her yearning. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

Rough, calloused hands played with her, yet failed to relieve any of the growing arousal below her waist. He squeezed at every curve he could grasp, a non-verbal worship of the woman in his arms, despite his harsh demeanour.

“You want this, babygirl?” he murmured against her lips, dragging her across the room with him. “You want me to fuck you? Here? With everyone walkin’ around outside?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she felt the back of her legs hit the couch. “Please, Joe.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling back to look at her. “Sorry, who?”

“Roman,” she corrected herself quickly, voice shaky. “Please, Roman…”

“Good girl.” Even though, in essence, he praised her, one could not miss the slight condescension woven between the words. A condescension that intensified as he guided her back until she let her weight fall onto the plush, cushiony surface behind her. With one hand propping himself up, his other traced light circles along her bare leg, slowly creeping further up until it disappeared under the skirt that started it all. The short, form-fitting skirt she chose to wear that day for her interviews. The one that showed off the shapely contours of her body—toned legs and all.

He hadn’t even gotten beneath the thin material of her underwear and he could already feel the dampness collecting on the fabric. “Damn, so wet for me already.”

She whimpered, bucking her hips against his hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she begged weakly.

Narrowing his eyes down at her, he gauged her reaction, every contortion in her face, as his fingers gingerly slid beneath her panties, barely grazing her weeping folds. That alone caused Y/N to let out a breathy moan, her head falling back against the couch as the small grant of relief encompassed her.

“You like that, huh?” he taunted, allowing the tip of his middle finger to apply the slightest pressure, scarcely touching her sensitive nub. “You like it when Daddy touches you like this?”

“Yeah…” She furrowed her brows at the sensation of Joe’s fingers dragging downwards, teasing around her entrance. He lowered his head down to hers, pressing a light kiss to her forehead before he pushed forward, allowing a single finger to slide into her with ease.

It seemed almost immediate that she clenched around him, the bare minimum sending her into utter bliss.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned with a smirk, lips moving to brush against her ear. “I can’t wait to dick you down, babygirl. Feel all this,” he added his ring finger without warning, steadily stretching her in preparation, “around me.”

Y/N was trembling with need, her body threatening to take her pleasure by grinding into him, but she refrained, knowing the outcome was always a prize in the face of anticipation.

“Please, Roman,” she sighed, moving her head to look up into his eyes. “Please.”

He continued to taunt her, pulling his fingers from her pussy, only to lift them up to his mouth to suck them clean. “It’s a damn shame you ain’t gettin’ no head right now when you taste so good, baby.”

She wanted so badly to cuss him out, to stop this whole thing and make him suffer further. But she knew better. This was all part of the game, and they both loved every second of it.

“Ass up, babygirl,” he smoothly demanded, leaving no room for argument as he nodded his head to the side.

Like clockwork, she obeyed, flipping herself onto her hands and knees, finding a place on the couch arm to prop herself up. Back arched, she presented herself to him. For him to use at his disposal. One look ahead and she was caught by the sight of their own reflection in a full-length mirror. Their eyes met, and a smug little smirk appeared on his face as he braced himself on the couch behind her with one knee propped up.

“Ready, baby?” he asked, tracing the pre-cum soaked head of his cock along her folds, shimmying the tight fit of her skirt up and over her ass so he had the perfect vantage point.

“Always ready—please,” she whimpered, teeth clamping down onto her lower lip. “Please, Roman, fuck me.”

It was almost brutal, the swift motion that allowed him to sink into her tight hole. She tightened around him within seconds, the burning stretch taking over her entire being for a moment. His thickness stung her, impaled her. Claimed her.

His face strained with his stubborn attempts at refraining himself from going to town on her pussy, his hand momentarily leaving her ass to tug his shirt off. Now she had the glorious sight of not only her needy body bent over for him, but also the perfectly sculpted structure of this Godlike human’s body.

Whilst he started out slow, giving her the benefit of letting her adjust, it wasn’t long before he’d fallen into a brutal pace, hands grabbing at her hips as skin collided and sweat beaded up all over both of them.

“Mm, that pussy singin’ for me, baby, y’hear that?” he chuckled airily, leaning back to watch as her core hungrily swallowed his thick dick, the glisten of his shaft when he withdrew, just to slam it back in. The noises were lewd, and entirely theirs.

Y/N could barely think, her body consumed by sheer ecstasy, all provided for by him. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her, building a steadfast pressure as she hung onto the couch for dear life. Her body jolted forward each time his hips collided with hers, a groan reverberating in her chest when he swung particularly hard.

“Can’t even speak, I’m fuckin’ you so good…”

As much as she hated to hand him a perfectly stroked ego on a fucking platter, she couldn’t argue with that very simple fact.

“H-harder,” she managed to squeak out.

Always happy to destroy her, he lifted his leg to plant his Jordans-clad foot on the couch, allowing him to build up momentum as he obliged, his thrusts becoming animalistic. She reached back to grab at one of his hands, pulling it lower and guiding it towards her clit.

“Needy lil’ girl,” he chastised, but happily circled her swollen clit with a rhythm that matched the ferocity of his thrusts. Glancing up at the mirror, the sight sent him into overdrive; her mouth dropped open, her face flushed and makeup smudging around her eyes. “Look at you, babygirl… how fuckin’ beautiful you are takin’ this dick.”

She let out a moan, starting to viciously bounce back against his dick, a fiery look in her eyes as she, too, watched their reflection putting on a picture perfect show curated for an audience of two.

“That’s it, mama… Goddamn, you takin’ me so well.” Joe’s body careened over hers, shadowing her entire form with his. His lips were ghosting beside her ear as he roughly purred, “Remind me to make you sit on my face when we get home.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, body rippling as his large arm circled her neck, holding her against him as he went to town on her cunt. Her head fell back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as she felt her climax barreling closer.

“Nuh-uh, baby, open those eyes,” he mumbled into her ear. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I nut in this pussy.”

With a strained whine, she obeyed, forcing herself to open her eyes and look ahead of her.

“Good girl… fuck, Y/N.”

“Oh my God…” she groaned.

“Ain’t no God here, babygirl,” he started, tightening his arm around her neck. “Just your Tribal Chief.”

That did it for her, she arched painfully, pussy fluttering around his shaft. “Roman… I’m gonna cum—fuck, yess, keep going…”

“Yeah? You gon’ give me that nut, huh?” He nodded at her, his hair falling around them as he pressed his lips into her neck, dragging his long tongue over her salty skin, teeth baring down on her as he felt her clench so tightly around him. “Gon’ cum on Daddy’s dick like a good lil’ slut?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, please–”

“Ain’t nobody make you feel this good ‘cept me, baby. You got that?” he said through clenched teeth, pummelling his hips into hers. When she only responded with a shaky whimper, he yanked her against him. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes! Nobody can fuck me like you, Daddy, only you!”

“Damn right… go on, aulelei, cum for me.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Without further effort, she let out an elongated whine, high-pitched and unbothered by the very public location. Convulsing, writhing, ears buzzing, she released harshly on his cock, squeezing him so intensely, she could see the effects of it on his face in the mirror.

“Goddamn, that pussy cummin’ so hard,” he breathed with a low chuckle. “You want this nut, baby? You want it?”

Garnering the last of her energy, she nodded fervently.

“Tell me. Tell me you want it.”

“I-I want it…”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to cum inside me.”

“You want who to cum inside you?”

“You!”

“And who am I?”

The sensitivity was too much, and her hips jerked, the aftershocks stunning her pussy as Joe chased his high like a cheetah with its prey.

“I said,” he ripped his hand away from her clit, landing a sharp sting of a slap to the side of her ass in the position they were in. “Who. Am. I?” He emphasised each word with a jolting thrust.

“Roman Reigns! Fuck, you’re Roman Reigns…”

“That’s right… You gon’ get this Tribal Chief nut, and you gon’ take it.”

“Yes, please, please give me it all…”

“A’ight, baby.” His movements became erratic as he soon found his release, practically roaring as he hit his zenith, spilling into her in hot ropes.

All Y/N could do was stay in his grasp, her weight completely limp in his arms as she allowed him to empty his frustrations deep inside her. She already knew she’d be feeling it seeping out later into the day, but that’s what she loved so much about it; the hidden reminder that she was his, and nobody could come close.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, breathing heavily against each other. Eventually, with a huff, Joe pulled out, shoving himself back in his pants and turning her over to face him. His tepid fingers stroked over her hair as he gazed down at her, eyes softening.

“You okay, babygirl?”

“Mhm,” Y/N nodded, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “More than okay,” she hummed, leaning into his touch.

Unlike last time, the kiss he planted on her lips was a stark contrast to his roughness. “Good,” he whispered against her.

“Are you actually upset with me? Y’know… about the interview stuff?” she asked quietly.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Not in the slightest… I’m proud of you,” he let her know earnestly, lightly grazing his lips over her nose. “And I love you.”

Y/N grinned, almost giddily. “I love you too.”

“Dammit, Uce, again?!”

Both Joe and Y/N snapped their attention to the locker room door, where a flabbergasted Jey stood with a take out bag from Waffle House in his hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Joe smirked. “I asked the twins to get us some food,” he casually told her.

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open a bit. “You’re such a dick.”

#roman reigns #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #wwe #wwe fanfiction

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geralt-of-baevia · 4 months ago

Text

Look What You Made Me Do

pairing: General Marcus Acacius x OFC (Hebe Seneca)

rating:explicit MDNI 18+

word count: 7.1k (it's a big one!)

summary: Hebe finds out her husband owes General Acacius a debt he can't pay, so the General takes her for an evening as payment instead.

warnings/tags: cuckhold, dom/sub, breathe play/choking, breast play, facial slap (nothing too harsh though), vaginal fingering, male receiving oral, big dick Marcus Acacius, female receiving oral, save a horse ride a general, ejaculating ON her, soft Marcus Acacius

a/n: alright, I saw that goddamn trailer, and this idea instantly popped into my head. i am waaaay too excited for gladiator II this fall. I've never written anything like this *ahem this filthy ahem* but I'm proud of it! There will more than likely be a part two as well!

oh and also, i TRIED my damnedest to write this from second person and I just couldn't do it. :P

I was awoken from my midmorning nap from banging on the front door. I threw my robe on myself and rushed out towards the noise. Once in the hallway, I saw two Roman guards standing at our door, more lined in perfect symmetry behind them. They stood tall and proud, their stature unwavering. My husband stood before them, looking small next to their towering figures. “Are you Octavius Seneca?” one of the soldiers asked. My husband nodded. “I am. What is this about?” The two soldiers each took a step outward. To my surprise, General Marcus Acacius walked out from behind them. He walked forward until he was almost nose to nose with my husband.

“I am done waiting Octavius,” he said, his tone stern and strong. I watched as my husband began to practically shake with fear. “G-General, I don’t have the money-” “I don’t want to hear it!” the General shouted.

My husband owed Acaicus money? I watched in horror he grabbed my husband by the collar, pulling him closer.

“You have had more than enough time to repay your debts, Octavius. Now, you will pay with more than just coin,” he growled menacingly. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized the danger my husband was in. I couldn't stand by and watch him be harmed. Summoning all the courage within me, I stepped forward. “Please, General Acacius, there must be another way to settle this debt,” I implored, my voice quivering but determined. The General's steely gaze turned towards me, and for a moment, I feared his wrath would be directed at me instead. But then, to my surprise, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“And who might you be?” he asked, his tone softening ever so slightly.

“I am Hebe Seneca, wife of Octavius,” I stated, trying to keep my ground.

“Hebe?” he implored. He dropped my husband’s tunic and began to slowly stalk towards me. “Hebe was said to be Zeus and Hera’s most beautiful daughter.”

Once he finally made his way over to me, he stood before me, just close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin.

“You bear a fitting name, for you possess a beauty that rivals that of the goddess herself,” he remarked, his voice low and filled with an unexpected tenderness. "A woman of such beauty should not be tainted by the dealings of men like your husband."

I couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down my spine at his words, a mixture of fear and something else I dared not identify. General Acacius had a reputation for being ruthless, but in this moment, there was a glint of something else in his eyes.

"General, please," I began, not daring to look away from his piercing gaze. "There must be a way to resolve this without any violence."

He seemed to consider my words for a moment, his jaw clenched in contemplation. Finally, he straightened up and turned to face my husband, who looked bewildered by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "Octavius Seneca," General Acacius spoke with authority. "You will repay your debts, but not with coin." My husband's eyes widened in confusion, but before he could respond, the General continued, “your debts will be repaid after I lay with your wife.” The room fell silent, the weight of the General's proposition hanging heavily in the air. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to comprehend the severity of what he was suggesting. My husband's expression twisted in a mixture of shock and outrage, his fists clenching at his sides. A sense of thrill coursed through me, my mind buzzing with what he was proposing exactly. My head spun with excitement as I struggled to comprehend the seductive danger in his words. The General's gaze bore into mine, a mix of dominant need and alluring charm that sent shivers down my spine.

We were faced with a decision: either my husband's death, or submitting me to the general's desires. As my husband's property, I knew he would not spare his life for the sake of my pride and dignity.

“Y-Yes! Yes!” my husband shouted from behind Acacius. He turned around to look at him as he finished. “I agree! You may lay with my wife. Anything to preserve my life.”

My heart began to beat rapidly in my chest, the room beginning to spin. I fell to the couch, sitting and steadying myself as the full realization of what was to happen sunk in.

“Good,” General Acacius’ voice boomed out, “it is settled.”

My husband stood in front of me, looking as if he had aged a hundred years in the span of a few moments. My mind was still reeling. I could see the fear in his eyes, the regret that he had ever gotten himself into such a situation.

I knew I would never forgive him for this.

But there was also something in the air, a sense of danger, arousal, and desperation. A feeling that intoxicated me, even if it was terrifying. I bit down on my lip, trying to bring myself to focus on the situation at hand.

The General, on the other hand, seemed to have regained his composure. He seemed almost pleased with himself, like he had accomplished something he had wanted to do for a long time. I couldn't help but wonder what his motivations were, what he saw in me that made him feel this way.

My husband stood anxiously, waiting for the General to say something or perhaps give directions. General Acacius walked over to me again, this time standing closer to me.

“We shall see if you possess Hebe’s mercy and forgiveness, too,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“Yes General,” I replied, looking up at him. As our eyes met and locked, I couldn't help but feel a strange, electrifying connection. It was as if a current flowed between us, one that I couldn't resist.

General Acacius leaned down, his face close to mine, scenting the air around me as if trying to capture a memory. He whispered in my ear, "Tomorrow night, at the Temple of Aphrodite, with your husband. I will claim what is rightfully mine."

I felt a shiver run through me at his words, and I nodded slowly. The agreement was made, the deal was struck. General Acacius and his soldiers left, and I was left to process what had just transpired.

My husband sat across from me, silent and defeated, as I contemplated the gravity of the situation. What had once been a life of the domestic mundane, now seemed to be teetering on the edge of danger, lust, and a contract that threatened to change everything I knew.

As the sun went down, the streets of Rome were abuzz with people going about their daily routines. Octavius and I sat in silence on our couch, contemplating the deal we had made. The weight of our agreement weighed heavily on us as we each processed the gravity of the situation.

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of fear and arousal. I knew that tomorrow night, I would be with General Acacius.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to be with him. Would he be gentle or rough? What would his touch feel like in comparison to my husband’s, the only touch I’ve ever known.

As I lay there, thoughts and images flooded my mind. I saw us entwined, our bodies moving in perfect harmony, the General's strong, muscular arms holding me close. I could feel his lips on mine, his breath warm and sensual as he whispered filthy things in my ear. I could feel his body pressing against mine, the heat of his skin against my own, our hearts pounding in sync.

I was taken aback by the urge of desire I was now feeling, it taking place of the fear I had before. I could feel the wetness between my legs, the aching need for release. I wanted to feel his touch, to be claimed by the General.

I bit down on my lip, trying to will the thoughts out of my head. I shouldn’t be looking forward to this.

The next day, I woke up early, feeling a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. I knew that tonight was the night I would meet the General at the Temple. I spent the day filling my time with anything I could until the sun began to set, signaling it was time to leave.

I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of excitement, my body still betraying my mind. As I dressed I could feel my husband’s eyes on me, but I was too distracted to care. My thoughts were only consumed by that of General Acacius.

Soon after we left and headed in the direction of the temple. I kept my palla down over my face, too ashamed and nervous for anyone to see me walking to my inevitability. No one who passed me and my husband knew what we were doing, nor did they care. But I couldn’t help but feel judgemental eyes on me nonetheless.

Once we arrived to the temple, we entered quietly. I took my hood off of my head, laying it back atop my long scarlet hair. The temple was dimly lit, and the air was thick with anticipation. I could hear the soft whispers of the few other patrons, their breaths catching in their throats as if they sensed the impending encounter.

As we entered the small sanctuary, I saw the General at the other side of the room in front of the altar. Standing tall and proud, his eyes glinting with desire. He was a sight to behold, his muscles rippling beneath his tunic. He was a man of power and command, and the attention he drew to himself, even in an empty room, was undeniable.

My husband stayed by my side, standing quietly as he watched the General's every move. He was a mere shadow compared to the General's commanding presence, his anxiety and fear palpable.

The General's eyes met mine, and his gaze was intense, almost threatening. It was as if he was looking deep into my soul, seeing things that no one else could. For the briefest moment, I was afraid of what he might discover, how I wanted what was about to happen. How I wanted to see what he could do, what he would make me feel.

As we approached him, the General held out his hand, and I tentatively took it. His touch was firm and strong, his grip unyielding. It sent a shiver down my spine, a feeling of both dread and excitement.

“Now, just laying with you is not all that will be happening tonight,” he stated. He pulled lightly on my hand, leading me towards the altar. My heart began to pound in my chest, wondering what he had in store for us. He walked me up to the altar, before effortlessly picking me up by the waist and sitting me down on it. I watched as he then brought over a chair and sat it down a mere few feet away, facing me.

“Come Octavius, take a seat,” the General called, his voice now booming and commandeering. My husband’s eyes widened as he slowly made his way over, walking up the steps to the altar cautiously. As he sat down in the chair, the General picked up rope from the floor and quickly began tying him to it.

He bound his hands and feet tightly, making sure there was no chance of escape. Octavius' face was a mix of fear and confusion, but the General didn't seem to pay much heed to his emotions. He simply looked at me, his eyes burning into mine, as if daring me to back out of the deal we had made.

As I sat there, frozen in place, I felt a strange sense of liberation. General Acacius had taken control, and there was no going back now. I could feel the excitement building inside me, mixed with an inexplicable sense of power.

"Now, my pet," he said, his voice low and seductive, "Tonight, you will be mine. You will submit to me, and you will enjoy it."

I bit down on my lip, trying to resist the desire that was bubbling up inside me. But the more he spoke, the more I found myself leaning towards him, desperate for his touch. I looked into his dark and intense eyes, nodding in agreement.

He promptly began to unfasten my tunic, my heart now threatening to beat out of my chest. I had never been with anyone besides my husband, and now, here I was, about to be intimate with another man. But the need for this experience, for this control and desire, was building within me, making me more eager with every passing second.

The General's strong, capable hands moved with a practiced ease, sliding over my skin as he removed the garment. I felt a shiver run through me as he exposed my breasts, their sensitivity heightened by anticipation.

His eyes flashed as he took them in before reaching forward and grabbing them greedily. I let out a stifled moan as he continued, a newfound arousal building within me. I had never felt this way before – so powerless, yet so aroused.

He reached up with a hand and wrapped his thick fingers around my neck, applying just enough pressure to make me feel completely under his control. I whimpered, my body shivering under his touch. The more he controlled me, the more I seemed to crave his dominance.

He leaned in, his hot breath washing over me as he whispered, "You are mine, and there is nothing you can do to change that."

I nodded as best I could, looking at him through pleading, submissive eyes. He released my neck before giving my cheek a hearty slap, my skin stinging in the aftermath. His eyes pierced into mine, and I could see the raw hunger and desire in his gaze. With one quick motion, he pulled me towards him, my mouth now open to his.

Our tongues met, and I allowed myself to be swept away by the passion that now consumed us. I wrapped my legs around his middle, holding him close, our bodies now fully entwined. I could feel his erection through his tunic, hard and ready for me. My own desire surged within me, and my hands grabbed at him anywhere I could. He reached around and grabbed a fistful of my curly hair, pulling me away from him.

He took a step back, and began to undress, undoing his belt first and letting it fall to the floor. My eyes never left him as he peeled off his robes, his massive erection springing free. It was imposing, a sight I had never seen before. It was even larger and more impressive than I had imagined. My cunt throbbed at the thought of what was to come.

“Now, a rule,” he started, closing the space between us again, "you will address me as 'General'.” His voice was rough and commanding. I took a moment to catch my breath before responding.

“Yes, General.”

I watched with capacious eyes as his fingers trailed down my chest, over my stomach, and then slid between my legs. I gasped, my body tense with anticipation, but I spread my legs out wider for him. His fingers brushed against my wetness, making my whole body tremble.

"You are so wet for me already, my pet," he growled, his voice low and seductive. He moved close, his lips brushing my ear. “And to think I thought you were going to hate this. But don’t worry, my minx, your little secret is safe with me. I won’t tell your husband how much you’re going to enjoy this.”

My husband. Somehow I had been so enraptured by General Acacius that I had completely forgotten about my husband sitting tied up behind him.

“Is all understood?” he asked, pulling back to look me deep in the eyes once more. I nodded, chewing at my bottom lip.

Without further warning, he reached down and grabbed my hips roughly, pulling me against his erection. I gasped, my body responding to him. His hand moved lower, thumb brushing against my wet folds as he spoke.

“Tonight, we will explore every single inch of each other's bodies. No part will be left untouched.” I shuddered, my heart pounding with anticipation.

The General's hand continued to roam my body, taking his time to explore every curve and slope. As his fingers drifted further south, they dipped between my legs again, teasing me on the outside but avoiding the sensitive area that craved his touch. I whimpered, yearning for him to touch me where I desired most.

"And you will beg for it," he said with a wicked smile. "But first, we must ensure that your husband is comfortable. He has done me a great service in escorting you here."

With that, he turned his attention to Octavius, who was still securely tied to the chair. I was left open and exposed, wanting more. General Acacius walked over, his large, muscular frame imposing and dominant. He reached down and grabbed one of the ropes tying Octavius's hands. He pulled it tighter and yanked it towards him, causing Octavius's wrists to pop painfully. Octavius whimpered in submission.

His other hand cupped Octavius's chin and lifted his head up to face him. His eyes were fierce and dominating. "Understand this, Octavius, I will claim her, and she will crave no man other than me after this. You will always pale in comparison to me. You have done good on keeping your word to me, now it is time for you to watch and learn the proper way to please your wife."

Octavius nodded, tears in his eyes. I should be terrified. I shouldn’t want this.

General Acaicus stalked back over to me, his cock still standing tall and to attention. He climbed onto the altar, settling down behind me. I could feel his erection pressing into the small of my back as he got closer, the heat of his body threatening to envelop me and swallow me up.

He reached his hands around me and grabbed again at my breasts, massaging them. I couldn’t help but lean back against him, closing my eyes, letting him enwrap me completely.

“I knew you were a lucky man Octavius, but I didn’t realize just how lucky you were,” General Acacius stated to my husband. I opened my eyes and looked at Octavius, his jaw slack as he watched the General grope me. I tried my best to play off that I wasn’t enjoying it, but I knew I was doing a terrible job.

His hands trailed down my body, resting on my thighs and spreading my legs out even wider. I felt completely exposed, and the thought of my husband watching me like this sent a strange mix of embarrassment and arousal coursing through me.

“Keep your eyes on your wife, Octavius," he ordered loudly, and my husband obeyed, his eyes never leaving me as General Acacius began to explore my body.

His fingers brushed against my folds once more, teasing me, building up the anticipation. I whimpered, desperate for more. Every inch of my body was screaming for him, and I did my best to keep it contained.

"Are you ready to be claimed?" the General asked, his voice low and seductive, "Are you ready to give yourself to me completely?"

I nodded, my heart pounding with desire. I wanted him inside me, wanted to feel him take control of my body.

"Then beg me," he demanded.

I bit my lip, trying to find the words. "P-please, General, claim me. Make me yours."

"Dear wife," Octavius whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. I could see the pain in his eyes of having to watch. But I was his to lose, and General Acacius was taking me.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against me, teasing me, brought me back from my thoughts and I whimpered in need. My breath caught in my throat as he finally touched me, sliding two fingers inside my wet folds. I cried out, his immense fingers filling me up. His free hand reached up to my throat, his digits wrapping around my neck once more. As he tightened his grip, my pussy tightened around his fingers. He chuckled softly.

He spoke quietly, his breath tickling my ear. "Looks like someone enjoys a little rough handling."

"Yes, General," I moaned, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

He drove his fingers deeper, hitting a spot that made me arch my back, my eyes rolling back in pleasure. His hand tightened around my throat, and I gasped for air, his fingers continuing to work their magic inside me. My thoughts were a jumbled mess of desire and fear, my body trembling with anticipation.

"You will belong to me alone, Hebe," the General growled, his voice thick with lust. "And no man will ever touch you as I will."

I nodded, my heart pounding with desire and a hint of fear at the thought of Octavius hearing our intimate, hushed conversation. How would he feel knowing his wife was a whore?

General Acacius pulled out his fingers, leaving my pussy damp and throbbing, my knees weak. I wanted him, needed him. I turned my head and watched as he got down from the altar, making his way back over to me.

Without a word, he grabbed a fistful of the back of my hair, pulling me down to join him on the floor. As my bare feet hit the cool marble, I continued down onto my knees before him. I looked up at him through my eyelashes as he let go of my hair. He grabbed the base of his cock, taking half a step closer and holding himself up to my lips.

“Suck,” he commanded, his voice low and full of power. I hesitated for only a split second before opening my mouth and closing my lips around the head of his cock. As I took him in more, I began sucking and licking, savoring the salty taste of his skin.

His hands went to the back of my head, guiding my movements, and I obeyed, taking him deeper into my mouth with each thrust. General Acacius groaned with pleasure, his hips swaying gently with my movements.

I continued to suck and lick him, my tongue tracing the veins and the head of his cock. He silently guided me, telling me what to do, how to please him. I was now his, and I would do anything to make him feel good.

"That's it, Hebe, take me in," he moaned, his eyes locked with mine. I could see the desire and possession shining in his gaze. As my head bobbed back and forth, something took over him like a fervor. He moved his hands to either side of my head, firmly holding me still as he began to fuck into my mouth.

I couldn’t help but choke a little as he started thrusting, the force of his hips driving his cock deeper and deeper into my throat. I coughed and spluttered, trying to catch my breath while he continued his violent assault on my mouth and throat.

“Look at how well your wife takes my cock, Octavius. I would say you taught her well, but I know you didn’t.”

His eyes never left me, and he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I looked up at him through tear filled eyes as he choked me with his enormous cock, Octavius watching helplessly. I could tell he was intensely jealous and I knew it was exactly what General Acacius wanted. To make me his and create a divide between us.

This was better than any amount of coin to him.

He pulled back out of me, but quickly captured my jaw in his strong hand.

“Stick out your tongue,” he told me. I did as I was told and stuck my tongue out, not knowing what he was planning. He tightened his grip on my jaw and spit into my mouth, saliva dripping down his chin, his eyes never leaving me.

“Good girl.”

My pussy was throbbing with want, dripping down onto my thighs.

General Acacius smirked as he heard the disdain in Octavius' groan, knowing full well that he had won.

I closed my eyes as he began to fuck into my mouth again, and took a deep breath as I tried to stop choking. I wanted him to dominate me, to take me completely, to own me.

He finally stopped, pulling his cock out free from my mouth, a trail of saliva and precum dripping down my chin. I gasped for air, trying to fill my lungs while I had the chance. I looked up, still on my knees before him, my eyes pleading.

He smirked down at me, his eyes glinting with satisfaction and possession. He took a step back, giving me a moment to catch my breath. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. As I sat there, trying to regain my composure, I felt the cool marble beneath me, my knees trembling. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions - excitement, fear, desire, and, most importantly, a feeling of being truly and utterly owned.

He had taken me, owned me in a way that no man had ever done before, not even my husband.

General Acacius reached down, grabbing the back of my hair again. Before I could react, he pulled me up to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, and I stumbled slightly, but he kept a firm grip on me. He led me over to right in front of Octavius. He had one more trick up his sleeve, and he intended to ensure Octavius knew that he was in complete control.

He pushed me down onto the cold marble floor, my legs splayed wide apart, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His gaze burned into Octavius, daring him to say anything as he got to his knees and began to position himself between my legs.

My husband gulped, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. He knew that he could do nothing but watch as his wife was taken by the General in a way he never could. I felt as he dipped his fingers into my cunt, collecting wetness on his fingers before holding them up.

“Do you see this? Do you see how wet your wife is for me? She’s never been this wet for you before, has she?” he asked Octavius, emphasizing his slick covered fingers.

I looked up just in time for my husband to shake his head. The General tsked at him, giving him a look full of disappointment.

“And after this, she never will,” he stated simply. My mouth fell slack as I watched him suck his fingers clean of my juices, moaning around his digits as his eyes closed and face screwed up. He pulled them out with a pop.

“Here I was about to claim you before fulfilling my responsibilities towards you. You taste much too good for me to pass up that.”

I looked at him confused. He grabbed the same fistful of my hair and brought me back to my feet. My heart sank a little into my stomach as he brought me over to Octavius and forced me down to sit on his lap. I watched in aroused shock as he spread my legs out, hooking my knees on my husband’s tied up fists.

The General got down on his knees before us.

"You're going to watch," he growled, his tone unyielding. "You're going to watch as I take your wife, right here in this temple, in front of Aphrodite herself. You're going to swallow your pride and accept the fact that you're no longer a man, but a mere pawn in my game."

Octavius' eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and humiliation, but he made no attempt to fight back or protest. He simply watched as General Acacius moved his face closer to my throbbing, desperate pussy.

He leaned in and swiped his tongue up my slit. It was like nothing else I had felt before, and I couldn’t help but cry out at the contact. I looked down at the General, his eyes meeting mine. He searched them for a moment before finding his answer.

“…your husband has never done this before…has he?” he inquired. My eyes widened and I shook my head no. The General tsked again, shaking his head before changing his steely gaze to my husband.

“You see, Octavius, your wife has been denied the touch of a true master, and it’s time she knows the pleasures that she has been missing out on all these years."

My heart skipped a beat as I felt his tongue begin to explore my folds, his touch sending waves of pleasure surging through me. I could feel my husband’s discomfort and jealousy, but I was too caught up in the sensation of the General's expert tongue to care. As he continued to lap away at my cunt, I couldn’t help but feel that I was becoming more and more his, being dominated by him in ways I never imagined possible.

I couldn’t help but cling to my husband, moaning as the General began to suck on my clit.

“Tell him how much you’re enjoying this, how your husband could never make you feel this way, or I’ll stop.”

I looked down at him just in time to watch him slap my wet pussy. I whimpered in response, but my pussy began to throb again.

“Your tongue feels so good,” I said, quietly.

“Louder.”

“I love the feeling of your tongue in my cunt,” I stated loudly. He smirked and began licking between my folds again, it aching and begging for release.

“God, you make me feel so fucking good General,” I started, speaking between moans, “My husband could never make me feel this good. His mouth could never compare to yours.”

As his tongue circled around my clit, all I could do was cry out in pleasure. My fingers instinctively reached down and tangled in his curly hair, giving me leverage to move against his face. I wasn't sure if this was breaking any rules, but my body couldn't resist its primal urges.

General Acacius hummed a low sound of praise, his eyes never leaving my face as he continued to lap at my delicate folds. I felt a surge of arousal in that moment, knowing that I was pleasing him, that I was experiencing an intensity I had never known before. My husband sat silent and still beneath me, his eyes wide with a mixture of jealousy and orgasmic envy.

The General's fingers slipped back inside me, stretching and teasing me as if he was preparing me for his entrance. His fingers were big and skilled, moving in and out of me with a rhythm that sent shivers down my spine. I moaned loudly, my voice echoing through the temple.

He smirked up at me, his eyes burning with lust and possession. “Do you want me to pleasure you, to make you reach the peak of ecstasy like never before?”

"Yes!" I practically sobbed, my hips bucking of their own accord. The feeling of his fingers inside me, teasing and stretching, was intoxicating.

General Acacius nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Then you must obey me."

I could feel my orgasm building, the waves of pleasure crashing over me like a tidal wave. "I will obey," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He pulled his fingers out of me without any warning, making me whimper loudly in protest. "Tell me, does your husband have any control over you now?"

"No," I panted, my hips still writhing in need. "You do."

“That’s what I thought.”

Hastily General Acacius lifted me up from my seat on my husband’s lap, bringing me back over to the altar where we had started this precarious ordeal. He helped me get up onto the cold marble slab, my body trembling with a mixture of arousal and nerves. My husband looked on, a mixture of anger and lust simmering in his eyes.

I watched as the General laid down and pulled me on top of him, positioning me to straddle his thick thighs.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. “Now, show your husband what he has lost.”

As if in a trance, I slowly moved up so that I could lower myself onto his hard cock, feeling the resistance as I stretched to accommodate his girth. I cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

The room seemed to warp around us, time itself seeming to slow, as if the very air itself was witnessing our union. I could feel every vein, every ridge of General Acacius's cock as it filled me completely.

The General's hand slipped under my neck, supporting it as he thrust into me, causing me to gasp and cry out again. "That's it, take me, show him what he's missing."

My eyes met Octavius', his expression full of awe and desire. The General's eyes never left mine, guiding me, urging me on.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he moaned, his fingers digging into my neck as he began to move. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through me, combined with a hint of pain that only added to the intensity. I arched my back, raising my chest to meet the General's lips, his tongue flicking against my nipple.

I could feel my orgasm building once more, the tension rising, as General Acacius continued to fuck me mercilessly. The rhythm was relentless, and I knew my husband could see the looks of ecstasy and submission on my face.

"That's right," General Acacius hissed, his voice growing hoarse as our passion consumed him. "You belong to me now. Your body, your desire, they all belong to me."

"Yes," I moaned, my voice strained. "Yes, I am yours."

The General's eyes flashed with satisfaction as he increased his pace, slamming into me with more force now. I cried out, my body shaking as the orgasm I had been craving finally washed over me. My hips bucked wildly, my nails digging into the General's shoulders as I screamed in pleasure.

Instead of stopping, my orgasm only egged him on more. The room became filled only with the sounds of our bodies moving together, the wet slap of skin against skin, and my cries. Before I had time to fully come down from my orgasm, I began crawling towards another.

"Yes, that's it," the General groaned, “come around my cock again.”

With just a simple command from him, my body complied without hesitation, the intensity of my second orgasm almost blinding me. The world shifted, and I knew, in that moment, that I had become someone else; someone now enslaved to General Acacius, completely unable to resist his touch.

The General's thrusts grew more urgent, and I could feel his cock pulsating inside me, each contraction sending me further into his grasp. My husband, unable to take it anymore, fought against his restrains to no avail, his anger and frustration consuming him.

"Stop!" he roared, "She's mine, you don't get to take her like this!"

General Acacius laughed darkly, his eyes never leaving mine as he pulled me off his cock, and setting me back down on his thighs. My body was limp from the ecstasy, my mind foggy from the rush of emotions.

"You see, Octavius," the General began as he addressed my husband, "I have been triumphant tonight. You have lost your wife to me, body and soul. The power dynamics have shifted, and I am now the one who rules over her."

My husband seethed, but his words were trapped in his throat. He knew that he had lost, and there was no turning back now.

As for me, my mind and body were still reeling from the intense experience. I felt less like a wife or a lover and more like General Acacius's possession, an object to be used and pleasured at his discretion. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

General Acacius looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and desire. He helped me down off of the altar, guiding me over to my husband.

Willingly this time, I got down on my knees in front of General Acacius, much to Octavius’s dismay.

"Now, my dear Hebe, we must make sure your husband sees that I claim you properly,” he said, looking down at me, his jaw slack with lust.

I sat back on my heels looking up at my new master with wide eyes. His words sent shock waves down my spine, as I realized the implications of what he had just said. He wanted to assert his dominance over me, in front of my own husband.

"Yes, General," I replied softly, my voice trembling as I sought his approval. He smiled down at me, and then turned to Octavius, who glared at us from his restraints.

I watched with wild eyes as he wrapped a hand around his pulsating cock and began to stroke it. I breathed out a moan as I watched, anticipating what was to come.

"Will you release on me, General?" I asked, nibbling on my lower lip. His eyebrows lifted in shock, his expression transforming into one of pleasure. He nodded in response, apparently unable to get the words past his lips.

His pace on his cock sped up, eyes transfixed on me. I reached down and grabbed my breasts. I began to play with them as I looked back up at him, his face completely transfixed with lust.

"Yes, Hebe," General Acacius breathed, his voice thick and insistent. "You. Are. Mine."

With this declaration, he burst, releasing his seed all over my chest and face. The sheer volume of it was incredible, and it glistened in the dim temple light.

I couldn't help but feel a thrill of arousal as I watched the General's release. I felt a strange sense of triumph, too. I was the one who had made him lose control, who had made him submit to his own desires.

"Untie him," the General commanded, his voice holding a hint of dominance that I found incredibly erotic.

Without hesitation I went over to my husband and tugged at his restraints, my muscles weak and sore. Once my husband was freed he glared at General Acacius, a mixture of anger and desire in his eyes. "You can't do this to me," he said, his voice shaking with rage.

The General simply smiled. "Oh, but I can. And I did."

I watched as he beckoned my husband closer, and he slowly approached, his face a mixture of shock and betrayal. He beckoned me over with his other hand, his expression softer towards me. Once over to them, General Acacius reached out and grabbed the back of Octavius's neck, pulling his face close into mine.

"Kiss her," he ordered, his voice deep and commanding. I was still covered in his seed, my lips included.

Octavius hesitated for a moment, his face a perfect picture of conflict. But then he leaned in and reluctantly pressed his lips against mine, his tongue probing deeply and swirling the seedy taste of General Acacius around my mouth. I could sense the betrayal in his kiss. And as he continued to kiss me, I couldn't help but despise it. All I wanted was the General's kiss, craving it with every fiber of my being.

"Control yourself," the General warned. "Show her who the real man is, and prove to her that you are worthy of her respect."

Octavius released me and turned toward General Acacius, his eyes blazing with determination. "You have no idea what you've done," he growled. "But this ends now."

He turned on his heel and bolted for the door we had entered through, leaving me with General Acacius naked and used.

The General watched my husband leave, his expression dark and intense. "You did the right thing," he said softly, "but now it's time to get cleaned up."

I looked down at myself, still covered in his release, feeling slightly embarrassed and vulnerable. I tried to wipe it off, but it was too much for me to handle alone. That's when the General stepped forward, his eyes soft and gentle now.

"Let me help you," he offered, his voice filled with tenderness.

I nodded, feeling both grateful and aroused by his willingness to care for me in this intimate way. He carefully scooped up some water from one of the basins nearby and began washing me, his hands gentle and steady.

As he cleaned me, I couldn't help but feel closer to him than before. It was a strange sensation, given the intensity of our passions and the taboo nature of our position.

Gently he helped me put my tunic back on, wrapping my palla around me skillfully. Once I was dressed, he captured my face in his hands. His eyes bore deep into mine, his face gentle and caring. I would have never expected this side of him, but I was completely enamored by it.

"You did well, Hebe," he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. "You are a true conqueror in your own right."

I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his praise, and a tinge of sadness at the thought of leaving his side.

"What's next?" I asked, a hint of trepidation in my voice.

General Acacius smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief and desire.

“Whatever we want, Hebe,” he told me, “I promise you this: You are mine now, and I will protect you at all costs."

#marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x female reader #pedro pascal #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator ii #gladiator fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories

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kingkat12 · 1 month ago

Text

roman's girl (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, oral sex, major fluff, public sexual activites, Roman is a tit guy what can i say

summary: after Roman finally confesses his feelings, will it be enough to subside your longing for the past? coming face to face with Letha might uncover the truth...

word count: 10,586 (my oh my)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8

a/n: i want to thank you all once again for the love y'all have given this series, it's absolutely mind-blowing😭 sorry for the wait, I LOVE YOU, and i hope you'll enjoy this chapter!!<33

This was certainly not how I had expected this night to go-- the turn of events truly hit me as Roman sat on the edge of my bed, hair still wet from the shower.

I couldn't believe he was my boyfriend. I couldn't believe it at all.

On top of everything, he looked gorgeous as always, especially in the moonlight. After he had gotten drenched from the rain, I had given him his sweater back and lent him the only pair of sweatpants I knew would fit him-- I had finally found a use for the pair I had bought the wrong size of at a sale.

Roman's green eyes followed me as I moved a few things around my desk. "You seem nervous," he said, a teasing tone about him. "Or are you just upset you couldn't hop into the shower with me?"

Huffing, I did my best not to laugh; I couldn't let him have this one. "My parents are still trying to wrap their heads around me having a boy over, so I think I'd give them a heart attack if they caught us showering together,"

Roman bit his lip, visibly amused. "I still can't believe I'm the first one," he said, tapping his fingers against my duvet. "You sure you haven't had any other guys in here? You can be honest."

"I am being honest," I leaned my back against the wall, watching him from afar. I was afraid that I'd jump him if I got any closer-- he was ridiculously hot with his fresh-out-of-the-shower look. "I haven't had anyone else up here. Ever. Why is that so hard to believe?"

Roman shrugged; "Cause you're cute?"

I didn't blink, staring back at him with a dumbfounded expression. He said it so nonchalantly, as though I hadn't been fighting for him to tell me his feelings for weeks. Now, it was easy. Easy. With a shy smile, I stepped away from the wall. "Really, now?"

Roman's signature smirk returned as he guided me between his legs, his hands kneading my waist as he looked up at me with his big, wanting eyes. "I'm just glad we're talking again," he murmured, his fingers slowly dipping beneath the edge of my t-shirt. "I've missed your snark."

It was impossible not to smile-- I brought my hands to his face, letting my thumbs brush over his eyebrows; "And I've missed you,"

Roman hummed, his eyes practically sparkling as his fingers continued to ghost over my skin in trying motions. "How badly?"

"Badly," My hands went up into his hair, watching as he keened against my touch. "You and your green eyes."

"My eyes?" It was clear that Roman struggled not to be visibly flustered-- instead, he opted to lift my t-shirt, leaning forward to press an endearing kiss against my tummy. Every touch, every kiss made me feel beyond adored. "What about them?" He pulled away, smirk still apparent. "You think they're pretty or something?"

"You know very well,"

"What? I know nothing,"

"Roman," Laughing, I leaned down to press my lips against his damp hair. "I don't need to spell it out for you."

He shrugged, his fingers rubbing circles into my sides. "Actually, I think you do. Especially after how you tortured me with spelling shit out for you this week,"

Truly, he had a point. I just hated that he was right. "That's different, Rome, that was a completely separate thing!--"

"Oh, just tell me my eyes are pretty, get on with it!"

Taken aback, I watched as Roman did his best to suppress a knowing grin, biting down on his lip as he stared up at me through his brows. Even now, he was painfully handsome-- I nearly melted into my hardwood floors. "Well, now I definitely won't,"

Groaning, Roman seemed to take that as a challenge; in a swift motion, he wrapped his arms around me and tackled me onto the bed. I let out a high-pitched squeak, completely caught off-guard; "You can't just!--"

"Tell me," Roman hooked his arms around my legs after getting in between them, yanking me towards him as he now hovered above me. I could only giggle at the sight of his plotting eyes, realizing my new boyfriend reminded me of the puppy I used to babysit in middle school-- eager to play.

I had to catch my breath after being manhandled like that; "What happened to your manners?"

"Manners?" he echoed, clearly holding back a fit of laughter. "What manners? I was raised in the forest with the wolves, don't you know?"

For fuck's sake-- I nearly lost face. "You can't just toss me around and demand to be praised!"

Roman hummed, the mischievous shimmer in his eyes only growing more bright. "Actually, I think I can toss you around as I please," He leaned down, pressing a wet kiss to my neck. "Or are you planning on fighting me, baby?"

I knew I was done for now. With the nickname, and all. "I could if I wanted to," I was aware that the shake in my voice didn't sound very convincing, and it eventually became glaringly obvious that I shouldn't have said that. I could tell with how Roman smiled against my neck, and the way his arms snaked around me in a tight hold; "I'd like to see you try."

No, no, no-- I wasn't about to have a playfight with a man standing tall at 6'4. There was no way in hell. "Well, I wouldn't want to hurt your ego when you ultimately lose," I mumbled, wrapping my arms around him. "Let's take it when you've had time to prepare."

That was the last straw for Roman, who finally burst out laughing; I followed shortly after. He propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at me with amusement sparkling in his green eyes; "That's very considerate of you," he said, gently nudging my nose with his. "But this means I can toss you around for tonight, then."

I was about to protest, but I suddenly felt tongue-tied-- something about the idea of being moved around like I weighed nothing, like I was his to boss around, did something to me. Something I couldn't put my finger on. "I, uh... Well-- My parents are next door,"

It dawned on Roman that I was right, and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth with the realization. "Damn it," he mumbled, humming as he leaned down to kiss me.

I sighed against his lips, the usual satisfaction coursing through my veins-- nothing could ever top this. Subconsciously, I wrapped my legs around him, wanting to pull him as close to me as possible. However, it seemed Roman had other plans; he disconnected our sweet kiss, shortly pressing one more against the corner of my mouth before propping himself up again. "But... you can stay quiet, right?"

My eyes widened just slightly-- I wasn't too keen on showing how nervous I was to hear that. "Depends," I breathed, reaching forward to tuck a few strands of his brown hair away from his forehead. "If you're talking about going all the way, I don't think that's the best idea with my parents on the other side of the wall--"

"No, no," Roman quickly interrupted my ramble, shaking his head. "Just a little... something. To celebrate."

My heart rate quickened as I felt my pulse rise; that could mean literally anything.

"Don't look so scared," Roman purred, pressing a short kiss to my lips-- it was embarrassing how little it took for me to unravel. "I'm not going to bite. I'm almost certain."

"What?" Almost?

Roman only chuckled, his hands now trailing up beneath my shirt again, ghosting over my skin with the touch of a feather. The softness of his fingers nearly left me shuddering, my lips parting at the sensation as I writhed just slightly-- I had to look away from his proud look, realizing my shirt was now bunched up right under my bra, leaving me exposed.

"I hope that being your boyfriend comes with some perks," Roman said, placing his palms against my waist to see how small I was compared to his hands. "Maybe you won't be so shy to let me touch you."

I could only blush-- he wasn't wrong. I still wasn't used to it. I wasn't sure how many times I had swatted his hands away, not yet allowing him to take all the liberties he wanted seeing as we weren't official. But now... everything had changed. Now that I knew where I had him, it felt easier to allow myself the pleasure.

Roman leaned down to kiss up my abdomen, leaving a wet mark behind every touch of his lips against my skin. I held my breath, reaching forward to bury my hands in his hair, feeling my heartbeat pulsing all the way through the tips of my fingers as I grew nervous. I had no idea what plans he had in mind, and whether I wanted him to stop or not.

"I'm surprised you haven't been more aggressive about it," I breathed, finally looking down to meet his wanting, green eyes. "I always expected you to be. You always seemed like the type."

Roman hummed, his fingers tracing the edge of my bra. "I have been, with others," he said, matter-of-factly. "Mostly because I knew they'd let me. Some girls are easy, in that sense."

I couldn't even hold my grimace-- I reached for his hands, holding him back from going any further. "You don't hear yourself, do you?" Propping myself up on my elbows, I tried to scour the thoughts behind his deep eyes, but to no avail. I didn't even care to adjust my t-shirt before I answered him; "It speaks volumes about your view of women."

"My view?" Roman bit his lip, holding back his amusement. "I love women. Where on earth would I be without women?"

I had to hold myself back from kicking him. "I don't think I want to hear this--"

"But most of all, I love girls like you," Leaning down to kiss my shoulder, Roman slid his hands down my thighs and to my knees that were creased over his legs. "But funnily enough, there aren't any girls like you. You're like a singular, vexing entity... and you've got me. You've really got me." His kisses trailed up to my collarbones, and I tilted my head to give him easier access-- I hated how little restraint I had around him, even when he said the most asshole-y things possible.

"You've got me. All of me," Roman murmured, managing to lay me back down on the bed, disarming me in an instant. It was impossible not to let my heart swell at his words, and it only got worse as he continued; "I've never had anyone fight for me like you do. Never met someone worth the challenge. So excuse me for not being aggressively inappropriate with you."

I was so stunned, that I simply stared up at him like a dazzled fool as he slowly pried off my shirt. "Well, you-- you have been inappropriate,"

"Oh, I'm not denying that," Roman's knowing smirk was on display as he wried his shirt off, now crawling back on top of me. I hummed, unable to hold back the sigh that escaped me as I felt his weight back on me, skin to skin. My hands went back up in his hair, making sure it wouldn't hide his beautiful eyes before pulling him in for an open, loving kiss.

There was a certain heat to it that I wasn't used to-- it was perhaps the finality of our union that allowed us to get lost in it. Either that, or Roman didn't care to hold back anymore. I hadn't noticed he was hard until he pressed further up against the apex of my thighs; my breath hitched against our kiss, my grip in his soon-to-be dry hair tightening as the friction between my legs gave me the relief I didn't know I needed.

Roman's lips were always breathtakingly plush against mine, his tongue gently moving in motions that kept me on the brink of clenching my legs around him-- I always felt out of breath after every kiss, especially when we were tangled up like this for longer than what we could be in public. My heart swelled as it beat at his, and I was unable to hold back the hitch of my breath which escaped me as he sunk his teeth into my bottom lip.

Roman pulled away long enough to speak; "So can you?"

I would've answered him quicker, had it not been for the fact that he wouldn't let me detach from the kiss that ensued. Humming, I had to give his hair a harder tug, feeling him sigh in a wave of satisfaction before finally allowing me to disconnect our kiss. "Can I what?" I tried, hoping to catch my breath.

"Keep quiet," Roman nudged my nose with his as his big, green eyes found mine.

"I don't even know what it is that you're planning to do!--"

"You've gotta promise," he said, placing a short kiss against my rambling lips. "I don't want any problems with your parents. It's sort of nice to meet the only people in this town who don't think I'm a scoundrel."

I had to laugh-- it was true. They certainly had no idea about the reputation my new boyfriend had. "Okay, I promise! But what are you--"

I was yanked forward on the bed for the second time tonight; Roman heard a green light, and that was enough for him. I yelped, immediately clasping my hand over my mouth as his eager kisses trailed down my body, his hands now slowly inching toward my zipper.

It all happened so fast-- I nearly bit down on my hand to suppress my nervous trail of noises as Roman discarded my pants with ease. He was almost methodical, planting soft, warm kisses along the inside of my thigh as his fingers trailed up to grab at my waist. He kissed his way up to my center before passing over it, leaving me heaving for air out of sheer excitement-- he now descended over to my other thigh, his green eyes darkening as he looked up to catch my reaction to his teases.

The breath in my chest was a rapid circle, but it caught in my throat as I watched Roman smirk against my skin, taking in the sight of me coming apart as he spoke; "Hold on... Is this turning you on or something?"

I was two seconds away from kicking him. Genuinely. "You're awful," I breathed, burying my face in my hands.

"Really? I usually get quite raving reviews," Roman laughed against my thigh, sinking his teeth into my skin to evoke a noise. That seemed to work-- I let out a squeak before propping myself up on my elbows again, staring down at him with narrowed eyes; "You're already making a mess out of me, do you need to make fun of me too?"

Roman chuckled, pressing an apologetic kiss where he had previously bit me. "Not making fun of you," he murmured, his hold around my waist allowing him to move me even closer to him with a swift motion. Now, his breath was falling hot and heavy right above my clothed sex. "Just trying to get you to talk."

"Talk?" I echoed, watching Roman hook his fingers around my underwear-- I couldn't watch this. I laid back down on the bed with a shaky breath, squirming beneath his grip.

Roman hummed; "Yeah," He licked a wet stripe up the crease of my thigh, slowly, along the hem of my panties, which left me shivering. "We both know how much you're going to enjoy this, anyway. You might as well come out and say it."

He certainly knew how to build anticipation-- his words had nearly distracted me from the moment he dragged my underwear to the side, now leaning forward to press a kiss against my clit. I gasped, once again clasping a hand over my mouth; this was a sensation I could get used to. "Roman--"

As much as he wanted me to talk, I couldn't. Not when he swept his tongue through the wetness of my slit, not when that action had me bucking my hips up against him, not when it all left me breathless. Roman's big, strong hands grabbed me, pinning me down as he laved his tongue up along my cunt with slow, meticulous motions.

This feeling was so foreign-- I really had no idea how to deal with it. I felt my breath catch in my chest, my back arching slightly off the bed as I fought the urge to tremble against him. Even worse, was the fight against making any noise that could give away what we were doing in here. I let out a broken, quiet moan as I reached for Roman's hair, running my fingers through it in a desperate attempt to seek some comfort from the storm of feelings raving through me.

Roman sighed against me, his grip on my hips tightening as he pressed a few gentle, almost sweet, kisses against my clit, which immediately had my breath hitching rather loudly. His eyes returned to watch me, narrowing as a signal; keep it down.

Everything about it made me blush-- I buried my face in my hands, feeling them tremble against my skin. It felt as though my veins were on fire as I fought to keep my breath steady, and I was about to grab a pillow and stuff my face in it before I heard a knock at the door.

My eyes sprung open, immediately reaching down to pull Roman away from me as I panicked. However, my new boyfriend had other plans-- his fingers dug into my flesh, eyes boring into mine with burning embers of challenge as he laved his tongue against my clit with repeating firm licks. Something told me this was beyond exciting to him, and it only made my hips buck up against his mouth. No, no--

Another knock; "Sweetie, we're going to bed! Don't stay up too late, alright?"

"I-- Okay!" I hoped they couldn't hear that I was panting, back arched off the bed as Roman nearly made me see stars.

"Do you need anything in there?"

No, no, no-- what was that even supposed to mean? Something told me my parents were nervous about me having a boy over. I could feel Roman smile against me, clearly amused, as I fought the urge to moan; "N-No, we're good!"

A huge part of me wanted to kill him for putting me through this, but the other part of me was too occupied with the familiar building feeling in my body. When I was sure my parents had stepped away, I reached down to give his hair a proper tug to get his attention; "Rome, you can't just-- you can't do that, are you insane?"

I would later regret saying that-- immediately, actually. With a rather evil look about him, Roman propped himself up on his elbows, staring back at me with a look of dark victory. I whimpered at the loss of contact, squirming in his hold. "You should've seen your face," he purred, suppressing a laugh. "You looked like you were going to cum out of fear."

Honestly, I had no idea what that even meant. Not the faintest, whatsoever. But all my plans of asking him or telling him off were thrown out the window the second I realized his mouth was covered in what I could only guess was me. I watched my slick around his lips glisten as the moonlight shone across his face-- that was certainly a sight I never imagined I'd ever see, and one I wish I could frame and pull up for special occasions.

Roman's eyes lit up, quickly catching onto what had gotten me so dumbstruck. In a show of power, he slowly slid his tongue along his plush lips with a low hum, which in turn nearly made me gasp. A dark laugh followed, a dangerous smirk on display as he spoke the words that would later haunt my dreams; "You taste divine,"

My grip around his hair loosened, feeling as though my breath was slowly seeping out of my lungs with no control whatsoever. It hit me how badly I wanted his mouth back on me again, how much I wanted him to drive me over the edge to get that sense of relief I craved so, so-- "Well... There's more where that came from,"

Roman's lips quirked into a surprised smile, tilting his head to the side as he watched me with a look I could only describe as pride. "Shit, you're learning," he said, a hint of a laugh apparent in his voice.

"That's my girl."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Being Roman's girl was certainly not something I ever thought I'd be. I had imagined it, sure, played with the idea in my head, but with the premonition that I would never truly know what that entailed-- I certainly didn't think this would be it.

I should've known Roman wouldn't let this night end.

"Was it truly torture?" I asked, my legs dangling off my roof about an hour later. "The whole ordeal where I wanted you to tell me you liked me."

Roman sat beside me, having insisted that he couldn't sleep without getting a proper hit of nicotine after his stressful day. He exhaled a particularly large ring of smoke, shrugging as though that would lift the weight off his next words; "Felt like it,"

"Why?"

"Dumb question,"

"Just answer it!"

Roman sighed, eyes fixating on the way I dangled my legs. He reached forward with his free hand, grabbing my hips and adjusting me further back on the roof. "You're going to fall off the roof like that," he mumbled, taking another drag. "Try not to die on me, hm?"

I was getting fed up with the way he was evading my question-- I sent him a look, shoulders slumping. "Rome,"

"What? I need you alive," He held out his cigarette in front of me when he was done, and I grimaced as I took it into my hand. He continued with a knowing smirk; "If you fall off the roof, people are going to think I pushed you. Think how my reputation would suffer."

I rolled my eyes; I was definitely not getting anywhere with this question tonight. "Perhaps," I watched the cigarette rest between my fingers as I held it out in front of me-- I still hadn't learned how to smoke, let alone found the will to. "But I bet you could buy your way out of prison, so I don't think you'd suffer much."

"Don't be ridiculous. If you were gone, I'd be suffering all the time," Once more, it was clear that he hadn't yet registered the weight of his words as he longingly stared at his cigarette. "Are you going to have a drag or not?"

I slowly turned to him, blinking twice. "You did not just say that,"

"What? I've waited for a cigarette break all day!--"

"Not that!" This was getting rather frustrating. I huffed, going back to dangling my legs over the edge of the roof. "That you would suffer all the time if I was gone?"

Roman shrugged, gaze now shifting to stare out on the lawn in front of us; "Of course I would. It would be this week, just all over again for eternity,"

"So, just to hear you say it again, it was torture?"

A groan-- "Yeah... It was," His big, green eyes trailed back to me once more, something unfamiliar swimming in them. "I guess you're the first girl I've ever cared for, so imagine my horror when you made it seem like you didn't care about me back."

I was sure this would break my heart all over again. My lips parted in shock, still not used to the fact that Roman was being open with me after all this time. "I never... I never thought you'd doubt that," I had to clear my throat, no longer meeting his eyes. "After how I've been acting around you."

"Acting like what?"

"Like a fool,"

Amused, Roman reached forward and brought the cigarette back between his fingers before he shifted closer to me. "Honestly? I thought it was cute," He noticed my aversion, nudging me gently before taking a drag. "I think it was the fact that you had no idea what you were doing that drew me in. And your scared little face."

I rolled my eyes, nudging him back. "Now that was torture too! The whole part where you were threatening to tell Letha we fucked in that closet during seven minutes of heaven! You should be glad I didn't succumb to a heart attack,"

"Oh, yeah... that," Roman finished his cigarette, stumping it on the hard materials of the roof. "To put it briefly, I didn't know how else to approach you. You both hated my guts and wanted to inhale me."

"Inhale you?!"

With a hearty laugh, Roman wrapped a protective arm around me, leaning down to press a playful kiss against my ear before whispering; "I might just let you if you stay nice,"

I didn't expect my cheeks to burn the way they did-- I was dead sure I was bright red, and I buried my face in his chest to hide it. Roman, still laughing at my embarrassment, kissed the top of my head as he pulled me even closer. "Oh, poor you, am I being mean?"

Huffing, I pouted against his chest; "Yes,"

"Too much for you for one night?"

"... No,"

I didn't need to see him to know Roman was smirking, that mischievous shimmer probably apparent in his eyes. "Good," he murmured. "Because I want to mention one more thing before we go back inside and try not to wake your parents again."

Oh God-- I gathered the courage to look up at him, watching the way his hair lay in soft waves over his forehead. Something told me I should savour the moment before he opened his mouth once more, and I straightened up, watching him follow my every move with intrigue.

I placed a hesitant, delicate kiss against Roman's plush lips, feeling him sigh. I couldn't quite pinpoint why I was still nervous to initiate, why I still wondered if I was doing it all wrong, but I had a feeling I would always be. Especially when it came to Roman. The guy I had wanted for ages, who was currently sitting on my roof, kissing me back.

It hit me that it would probably never dawn on me fully-- how could it?

Roman smiled against my lips, our breaths practically becoming one as we pulled away. I kissed him once more, shortly, before reaching forward to bring his hands into mine. "You were saying?"

His eyes, full of affection, watched as I flipped his hands and traced circles around his palms. "Just... the whole ordeal felt like shit, but that the most painful thing was to see you trying to flirt with that Daniel guy,"

"What?" My brows drew together, puzzled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Roman chuckled, sighing at the feeling of my soft touch. "It's just obvious that you don't know what you're doing,"

"That's nonsense, I do!"

"Nope,"

"I know how to flirt!"

He shook his head rather matter-of-factly; "Nope,"

This was outrageous-- My movements came to a halt, my eyes narrowing as they met his. "Well, I got you somehow, didn't I?"

"Because I let you," Roman intertwined out fingers, the sight of his smirk nearly becoming unbearable. Why did he have to be so handsome, even whilst making fun of me? "Because I wanted to kiss you so bad, it became my every waking thought. But had it not been for that, I'm not so sure."

I gasped, fighting his grip around my hands; I had never wanted to hit him more than now, despite his confession. "Stop it, I can flirt!"

Roman hummed, sending me a look that told me he wasn't sold. "If I remember correctly, your exact words that first time were could you kiss me, then? I've had a really shitty night," He laughed at the memory, squeezing my hands. "Now, what do you say you try again?"

I was sure I was going to melt into the roof and end up as a blob of goo on my lawn. This was horrifying. My cheeks flushed again, feeling myself get more and more flustered. "Set the scene, then,"

Roman leaned forward, pressing a kiss against my forehead-- it almost felt like a push of encouragement. He pulled away, his thumbs stroking over the healing cuts on the back of my hands. "Okay... Imagine we're back in that closet, and you so desperately want to kiss me again--"

"Rome!--"

"Desperately," he whispered, eyes burning with intrigue and challenge as they bore into mine. "So what do you do?"

I held my breath, watching the amused smirk on display across his plush, pink lips. "What do you mean?"

Roman bit down on his bottom lip, trying not to laugh in my face. "Fine, let's do a different approach. I'll teach you how, instead," His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unwavering. "The key to flirting is to say exactly what's on your mind, along with having a decent enough buildup. Do you catch my drift?"

"... Sure?"

"I'll give you an example," Roman let go of my hands, almost as though to reset the scene. He ran his fingers through his hair, the corners of his mouth curving up into his classic charming smile as his eyes remained sincere. "The first part is simple. Just keep your eyes on me."

Simple was an understatement-- my heart beat harder with every breath, unable to let my mind rest while looking at the show of beauty before me, carved by the Gods. Everything about Roman was simply perfect, and I was afraid I'd turn into stone if I stared at him too long. Despite that, I adhered; I gave in to a nod, unable to dim my growing smile.

"Then..." Roman's fingers ghosted up along the side of my arm, so light it almost tickled. I shivered, my skin reacting to the subtle contact. His fingers trailed down to my hand, and he gently intertwined them with mine, touching me as though I was made of glass-- everything about it made me feel like I was on fire. "Touch. Very, very simple, but very effective. As you see, your breath is already unsteady."

Fuck. I gulped, giving in to a nervous, soft giggle as my gaze started flickering. "Well, you certainly know what you're doing--"

"Eyes on me,"

A very simple oh escaped me, immediately focusing back on Roman despite how ridiculously nervous I was.

He, on the other hand, seemed beyond amused at this point; "And then you say what you want. It's all very simple," Roman toyed with my fingers, running his up along the short length of mine, and the intimacy of it nearly had my breath hitching. After going from not talking at all to this, my brain wasn't as used to his antics anymore-- I so desperately hoped I wouldn't swoon and roll off the roof.

"And that is...?"

Roman shifted, his lips now hovering inches above mine; the tension was thicker than ever, swallowing me whole. The playfulness of his smirk faded, his eyes rounding out as he realized the weight of his words before finally saying them; "I want you to kiss me just like you did a few minutes ago... Kiss me like you could possibly love me,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I never thought that being Roman's girl would bring me such peace. We had been together for a week now, and it felt like the best week of my life; a big part of me was sure it actually was.

My fall-out with Letha started to feel worth it-- if she couldn't accept that I was happy with Roman despite him being her cousin, then that was her loss. Why shouldn't friends be happy for each other?

Because honestly, I couldn't remember the last time I had been this happy. Especially now that I was sitting in the passenger seat of Roman's car on a lazy Sunday, the wind blowing through my hair as he bickered with Peter about the songs playing on the stereo. I could only laugh, a bright smile on my face as I kicked back, adjusting my sunglasses as the bright rays of the day shone down on us.

"This song sucks," Roman grumbled, clearly regretting giving his best friend Bluetooth access to the stereo. "Since when were you so into Britney Spears? Do you have nothing else you can play?"

Splaying out in the backseat, practically lying down, Peter crossed his arms behind his head as he chuckled; "Maybe I like that you don't like it? And you're a psycho if you don't enjoy this one, it's hit me baby one more time! Put some respect on the name,"

"Dude, you sound like a thirteen-year-old girl,"

"A thirteen-year-old with taste, at least!"

I couldn't help but laugh-- the one thing I had learned about Roman, was that the gang of boys he usually hung out with had nothing on his friendship with Peter. Something about the way they were annoying each other showed me all I needed to know. My gaze went back and forth between them, grinning from ear to ear. I could get used to this.

Roman rolled his eyes, switching lanes with ease. He was damn handsome behind the steering wheel, tapping his fingers along with the rhythm of the tune despite being vocal about his disdain-- the upturn of his nose, the way he quietly chewed his gum with no care in the world, everything about the sight of him and his styled brown hair made me feel beyond lucky to have his attention, even for a moment. So, when he placed his hand on my thigh, I had to bite down on my lip and look away; it was all too exhilarating.

"Could I pick the next song?" I asked, turning to Peter. I noticed he had already closed his eyes, basking in the sun as he nodded and handed me his phone.

Something told me Roman was relieved to be saved from Britney Spears-- he squeezed my thigh twice, making me giggle as I scrolled through Peter's playlist. When I finally found the perfect song, I tried to hide my smile in the palm of my hand as I held back any signs of my brewing laughter.

The second the new song sounded through the stereo, it became impossible to hold back my evil joy as Roman let out the loudest groan I'd ever heard from him; "For fuck's sake!"

I succumbed to my laugh, hearing Peter roaring from the backseat at my song of choice. I turned to him, accepting his high-five. There was no way in hell I'd give anything up for the look on Roman's face right now— the way he rolled his eyes, sending me a quick, sharp glare; "Traitor,"

"I like Britney!" I tapped my fingers against the hand he had on my thigh, humming along to the music. "And oops, I did it again is a classic!"

Roman shook his head; "The both of you are awful,"

"We're not!" Peter protested, sitting up in his seat. "We just have superior music taste. And also, when are you going to pull over?"

"Never. Pee your pants, dipshit,"

"Yeah? I will hold your girlfriend hostage and key your car if you don't find a gas station in five minutes,"

Groaning once more, Roman rolled his eyes and switched lanes, ready to get off the highway. "You keep her out of this," He glanced at me, the spark in his green eyes unmistakable, before meeting Peter's gaze in the rearview mirror. "And you better stay away from my fucking car, I just got it repainted!"

Oh, it was impossible not to smile. Impossible. Even despite the two of them getting on my nerves, I couldn't deny that Roman was making up for my lack of friends by surrounding me with people. I wasn't sure whether he meant to or not, if it was subconscious, but I felt taken care of, even in odd company.

Roman cared for me. He was taking care of me.

... In his own weird way, of course.

When we finally arrived at the nearest gas station, Roman's car still intact and I not held hostage, it didn't take long before Peter jumped out of the back and headed inside, giving us a moment alone.

I watched Roman fix his hair in the car mirror, and I wasn't sure whether he realized he was still humming hit me baby one more time. With a bright smile on my face, I reached out for his hand, giving it a short squeeze to get his attention. "I'm gonna run inside and get some water, do you want anything? Juice, a soda?"

My breath nearly got knocked out of me as Roman's eyes met mine, the green in his eyes more intense now than ever as the sun laid itself in soft strokes over his face. "Maybe a beer?"

"Rome, you're driving!"

"Oh, cry me a river," Roman leaned over to press a short, soft kiss against my lips. "Get me a cola or something, then."

I hummed, a faint blush apparent on my cheeks. Why did every kiss, every touch, get me so giddy? Still, I tried to keep my composure-- "Could you at least say please?"

Shaking his head, Roman reached for his wallet; "Nope. But I'll pay,"

"Just say it nicely, that's all I ask of you!"

He handed me his card, sending me a look which said don't argue. "You know the code,"

"I-- Ugh, just say it!"

"What do I get for it?"

Calculated fucker. "Fine, I'll blow you later!"

He grinned-- "There you go," Roman took my hand into his, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. Something told me he was simply hiding his look of victory. "Please get me a coke, and get yourself anything you'd like. Alright?"

"Alright," Despite my mind racing from the fact that I didn't know how to do what I had just promised him, I leaned over and gave Roman a sweet kiss on his cheek before I got out of the car. As I made my way to the gas station, I turned around just at the right time-- I caught the moment he tried to wipe the smile off his face with no success, clearly flustered as he failed to keep his composure.

It felt as though my hair was burning after being in the heat for this long, and I was happy to escape the sun when I entered the building. The cold breeze of the air-conditioner hit me, making me sigh in relief as I strolled along the endless aisles, looking for the perfect treat for the rest of my drive.

My head was still buzzing from the rush of being with Roman like this. The way he smiled at me, the way he leaned one arm out the window as he drove his red Jaguar down the highway-- it was perfectly picturesque. So as I reached for a chocolate bar with a wide grin on my face, I didn't expect it to get wiped away within the drop of a second.

On the other side of the aisle, a familiar pair of green eyes stared right back at me with a fright I hadn't seen in them before. Letha seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for me to speak, but instead, I froze with my hand still lingering on the chocolate-- we both stood still for so long, I was afraid the heat of my palm would melt the bar.

Letha's gaze moved from mine and down to my hands; I watched her eyes round out at the sight of the cuts on the back of my hands, the ones caused by her new best friend Jasmine. "Your hands," she breathed, clearly taken aback. I remembered overhearing Letha's conversation with Roman, where it had been unveiled that she had no idea I had been injured at all. Suddenly, all I could remember was the hurt in her voice as she continued; "I didn't think they would be so... gosh, I hoped Roman was exaggerating."

In the midst of my shock, I snapped out of it as a wave of anger washed over me. I was standing face to face with the girl who had made my life a living hell at school, and I no longer felt anything else than pure resentment. In a flash of confidence, I grabbed the chocolate bar and walked off without saying a word, not feeling the need to respond.

I should've known that wouldn't be the end-- "Hey, wait!" Letha followed on the other side of the aisle, her worried eyes never leaving me. "We need to talk, I can't do this anymore!"

As I reached the end of the candy aisle, our lanes intertwined. Groaning, I turned on my heel and started my march toward the beverages, hoping to shake her off. "I can spare you the hassle and tell you I have about three visible hickeys. Kindly throw up outside," In an attempt to keep calm, I started scouring the selection of drinks.

Letha quickly caught up to me, putting her hand over mine as I reached for the door to the beverages. "I don't care," she tried, eyes more sincere than ever. "I want you to know how sorry I am about you getting hurt. I never wanted it to go this far."

In an act of defiance, I wried my hand out of hers. "Fuck you," I sneered, forcing the fridge door open. "Sure, I got physically hurt, but I've been hurting for more than a month without you giving as much as a shit about it!" Reaching for a cola and a bottle of water, I turned to meet Letha's gaze. "Instead of shutting me out, you could've listened to me like you promised to when I told you about everything with Roman. Instead, you isolated me, made me a target, and now you expect me to want to talk to you?"

Letha's eyes were swimming in tears at this point, freezing to her spot. "I never wanted this for any of us! I'm so sorry!" She did her best to collect herself, but her voice was on the brink of breaking; "I never wanted to lose you in all of this, I miss my best friend! Do you not miss me too?"

I was ready to turn around and leave, but I stopped in my tracks. What?

... She missed me? And she was apologizing?

Just as I was about to answer, I felt a familiar presence come up behind me. Judging by the sound of the heavy boots, I pieced together that it was Peter. "Letha?" He seemed caught off guard by her presence, but his hands still reached for the items I was holding, indicating that we should get going.

Something about this was off-- my eyes darted back and forth between them, watching Letha's pupils dilate in what I could only guess was shock; what else could it be? "Peter? What are you--"

"Road trip," he said, tone stern as he cut her off. Peter grabbed my shoulders, now ushering me out of the way and towards the cashier.

I became a rambling mess, uttering a few incohesive words as I looked back at Letha. What had just happened? Peter's grip on my shoulders was the only thing stabilizing me as I somehow managed to pay and get out of the gas station. He opened the door to the passenger seat, sitting me down as he rolled his eyes at the sight of his best friend fixing his hair in the rearview mirror.

My guess was that I looked shell-shocked, because Roman immediately looked quite concerned as he exchanged a look with Peter. He reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Are you having a heat stroke? Why do you look so fried?"

Peter answered for me, plopping himself down in the back seat; "Letha," he mumbled, putting on his seatbelt. "She was in there. Didn't catch the convo, but your girls seemed to be going at each other's throats."

With a groan, Roman ran his hand down to grab mine, intertwining our fingers. "What did she say?" he asked me, giving my digits a small squeeze.

I shook my head; "Nothing. Let's just get out of here,"

I didn't want to tell him how hard it hit me to hear that Letha missed me and that she was finally apologizing. That it was churning my heart, grinding all the molecules of my anger down into a single river of sadness. What made everything worse, was the look on Roman's face; something told me that he knew, and that he most certainly didn't want to get into a push-and-pull situation with Letha. Who would win in that situation?

I was relieved when he finally started the car-- I hoped not to think about this for the remainder of the day.

... Was there actually hope for reconciliaton? I wasn't sure whether I was ready for that or not, but it was still killing me.

Killing me.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After dropping Peter off at his place, Roman parked somewhere along my dimly lit street as the moonlight shone down on us, not yet wanting me to leave. He glanced over at me, watching me picking at my nails in nervous habit as my mind raced; even after a long day of fun, I couldn't forget my encounter with Letha. The look in her eyes, the fact that she wanted to finally bury the hatchet-- no, it was impossible to shake that.

Roman shifted, not giving away his true feelings about the ordeal as he scanned the way I shut down. It was clear that he was thinking rather hard about what to say next, clearly not wanting to say the wrong thing. However, something told me he was annoyed as he spoke; "Is it not enough for you?"

My brows drew together in confusion, meeting his gaze. "What are you talking about?"

Roman shrugged; "Us. This,"

"What?" I sat up in my seat, eyes widening. This was certainly not a conversation I thought we would be having a week into our relationship. "I'm confused--"

"If you're so easily swayed by Letha, it can't be enough. Right?" Roman's gaze hardened, and it didn't take long before I recognized this was a pattern-- the second he felt his position was threatened, he simply got angry. "I'm trying not to be pushy about sex, I'm being open about my feelings or whatever, but you want to run right back to her!"

I blinked twice, baffled. "I'm not sure I want to, but what does it matter to you?--"

"You really think she'd be okay with us being together if you become friends again?" Roman's grip on the steering wheel tightened as his jaw clenched, clearly bothered by his next thoughts; "She'd make you choose."

My heart hurt-- I didn't expect him to make such conclusions. Still, I gathered my thoughts, realizing I was witnessing one of his fits of panic that he didn't know how to put into words; "Okay, you know what? You taught me a little something a week ago, and now I'm going to see if it works. Look at me, please,"

Roman didn't budge; instead, his grip around the steering wheel tightened, and I saw he was holding his breath.

"Rome?"

A hum.

"Look at me,"

Reluctantly, he finally did. His chest rose and fell in sharp moves, clearly trying to collect himself and his impending outburst of anger. Like this, Roman was more handsome than ever-- something about how dark he got weirdly made my head buzz.

Still, I knew I had two more steps to go; I reached out to brush the strand of hair lying over his forehead, stroking my fingers through his dark locks in an attempt to bring him back down to earth. Roman's jaw remained clenched as he met my eyes, still not letting his guard down despite his pupils widening at the sight of me.

I ran my hand down his face, stroking my thumb across his cheek as I watched him keen against my palm. It seemed to be calming him down, and I let out a long sigh of relief to see it working.

Now, to the last part-- "Then I just have to say what I want, right?"

Roman seemed to catch onto what I was doing as he gave in to a small nod. The usual shimmer in his eyes returned, intrigue brewing in his green gaze; "That's how it usually goes, yeah,"

I did my best not to laugh-- something about the way he held his breath, waiting for my next words, was so ridiculously cute. Roman Godfrey, the man of the hour, the menace, my hallway crush for as long as I could remember, was nervous. A puddle of anxiety in my hands.

And he had no idea.

"You think I went through all this shit just to throw you away?" My fingers gently trailed over his softening face, watching his every move. The weight of my next words was something I felt leave my chest the second I finally spelled them out; "You've got me, Roman. All of me. Nothing Letha ever does or says will change that, and she knows that. You have nothing to be nervous about, seriously."

What ensued caught me off guard like never before-- I didn't expect Roman to lean forward and kiss me the way he did, with passion that nearly took my breath away. The usual warmth swelled in my chest as his plush lips pressed against mine, and a mix of the night air and his touch made me shiver beneath the moonlight. It started out light; his hand trailed up from my neck, twisting into the nape of my neck, bringing me closer with a burning need I didn't see in him very often.

Then it hit me that I hadn't ever put much thought into how hard it was to make out in a car. However, Roman was a man of many solutions-- I let in a shaky breath as our lips disconnected, but it was quickly knocked out again when his arms wrapped around me and lifted me out of my seat. I let out a loud squeak, instinctively clinging onto Roman as he somehow managed to sit me on top of him in the driver's seat, laughing against the kiss he pulled me into.

My heart was racing, arms still draped around him in a protective hold as he pushed back the steering wheel as much as he could, downright giggling against my lips. I had never kissed someone while having a laughing fit, but as I joined in on Roman's, I realized how much of a high it was.

"Your face," he laughed in between playful nips, hands trailing down to grab my waist.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him away and get a proper look at him as he grinned up at me. Had it been up to me, I would've frozen this moment and kept it tucked away in my freezer, knowing it would never melt away there. Roman's eyes were illuminated by a nearby lamp, the orange hues mixing in with his green, making them a yellow-y brown; almost the same colour as his hair which was soft to the touch today, and not gelled up like usual. The way he looked at me with joy, the ultimate show of affection, nearly made me gelatin in his arms.

Oh, and the laugh-- the fucking laugh. The gorgeous, deep laugh, which would definitely etch itself into my mind, ready to be replayed on bad days.

I got my hands out of his hair, cupping his face as I cocked a brow; "Yeah, what about my face?"

Roman sighed, his signature smirk on display. I expected him to say something either dirty or stupid like the usual, but instead, he opted to take my breath away once more with the following-- he went quiet, eyes rounding out as he took the time to scan my every feature, every movement, as though I was a beautiful, rare diamond; "It's gorgeous,"

My lips parted, staring back at him with a dumbfounded expression. I was ready to say something, pull myself together, until I realized I didn't have to anymore-- Roman was my boyfriend.

Roman was my boyfriend.

I didn't have to pull myself together. I could go absolutely mad, if I wanted to.

... And somehow, I found myself wanting to drive myself to complete and utter madness.

I had no idea what came over me when I placed my hands on each side of his face, slowly driving them up into his hair as I pressed my lips against him in an open, desperate kiss. Roman hummed (was that a moan?), his hands trailing down into my back pockets as he pressed me further up against him, none of us giving a damn about the fact that we were parked on a street and that anyone could walk by at any moment despite how deserted the neighborhood was so late at night.

It took a turn as Roman sunk his teeth into my bottom lip, eliciting a small whimper. The fingers I had in his hair tightened around his dark locks as a need for friction built between my legs, and when Roman drew my hips forward to meet his, I didn't fight-- instead, I was quite sure I moaned.

My cheeks burned with the realization, but I didn't have much time to think about it. I was drawn further into a state of arousal as he got his hands out of my pockets, his big hands grabbing my ass properly as his hips bucked up to meet mine through our clothes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-- my brain was in such a state of overdrive, I didn't think twice before lightly sucking down on the tip of Roman's tongue, feeling him let out a shaky breath against me.

The gentle breeze of the night poked at my clouded mind, reminding me of where we were, that I had a curfew to get to. I disconnected our lips, hearing Roman sigh; "We shouldn't," I tried, shifting as I pulled my jacket over my shoulder-- it was in this moment that I realized that he was hard. My heart fluttered with delight as I realized I could feel his cock swell with growing interest, feel him keen against me, separated by just a few layers-- my eyes widened, meeting his. Something told me it was a little too late to back down now.

Roman hummed, his breathing slowing down as he grinned up at me; "Yeah, you might be right... But why do the right thing when you can do the fun thing?" His fingers reached for my jacket, almost taking it off again. When my skin was exposed once more, he leaned forward, gently pressing his lips against my collarbones.

I was going to push him away, remind him of our surroundings-- but as I felt Roman swipe his tongue along my skin with every kiss, I couldn't. Every touch, every kiss, made the buzzing in my mind louder.

My breath hitched, fingers running back up into his hair as his kisses trailed further down my skin. It felt as though my hands were on fire, arousal burning through my veins as my heart thumped loudly in my chest. I wanted him so bad, I didn't think twice before I rolled my hips down against his hard cock, hearing Roman let out a grunt before he finally took the liberties to force a repetition of my actions with his hands on my ass.

This was bad; so, so bad. I knew I was done for when I shifted, the pressure against my clit only dulling my mind further. The slight tremble that appeared in my knees made me reach for the seat, no longer feeling steady; "Rome," I tried, feeling my desperation grow as his hungry kisses trailed down my shirt.

"Shh... Just a little more," Roman's hands pressed against my back, pulling me flush against him. I nearly let out a whine as I realized he was dangerously close to the hem of my bra, and I had to take a quick look around the area to make sure no one was seeing this. "Roman--"

"You have no idea how long I've thought about having you like this," he said, voice low as his hands slowly moved up my body. "You were always so against the idea of fucking in my car... Makes me want to show you how good it could be."

I felt my face redden, burning with a mix of shock and intrigue. In fact, I was so out of it that I barely registered the moment Roman's hand reached for my bra, pulling one cup to the side to grab a handful of my chest--

Squeaking in shock, I didn't have time to push him off before he leaned forward, licking a wet stripe up my hardening bud. My face was practically on fire, squirming in his grip as a shaky moan escaped my lips.

"You're so pretty," he breathed, eyes meeting mine to keep my gaze locked on him as he placed an open-mouthed kiss against my breast. My breath hitched, not yet used to this feeling-- it felt as though I was getting electrocuted all the way down to my clit with every flick of his tongue.

This was definitely the most risky thing I had ever done in my life. I never thought I would be doing anything like this on an open street and that I wouldn't be fighting it. Nonetheless, I let out a broken moan as my hands went up into his hair, my fingers twisting further into Roman's dark locks as his lips wrapped around me once more, sucking me in between his lips.

As the tremble in my legs worsened, I pulled him away from me, watching as his half-lidded green eyes shimmered with lust. "Christ," I breathed, quickly pulling my top back into place. "I'm no better than your cheerleader whores, at this point."

Roman clearly didn't expect me to say that, laughing as his hands now rested on my hips. "I haven't even done anything yet," he cooed, tracing circles into my jeans. "But actually, this reminds me there was one thing you told me you'd do..."

My eyes widened as he reached forward to clasp his fingers around my wrists. Of all the things I thought he'd do, this was certainly not it-- I felt my breath hitch once more as Roman pressed my trembling hands against his clothed, hard cock.

Oh God. "Not here!" I tried, hoping to slow down the beating of my heart. "I can't-- Fuck, Rome, I wouldn't even know what to do!"

Roman bit his lip, mostly to not laugh right in my face. The amusement in his eyes told me all I needed to know; "You think I haven't taken that into account? I know you haven't done this before,"

"And you're still up for it...?"

Roman's eyes widened, looking rather bewildered. "Are you kidding me? I'd be up for it during a fucking terrorist attack, believe me,"

That was not an image I wanted to have in my head. Oh, Roman and his antics-- "Shut up," I mumbled, feeling myself grow more anxious. Anyone could walk by right now, and my parents were definitely wondering where on earth I was.

"You shut up,"

I gasped, my eyes narrowing at the sight of Roman's grin; "Hah! Make me,"

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "You might moan a little, though."

I was tempted to freeze up until a reflex I didn't know I had kicked in-- shifting, I put my hand on his thigh to support myself as the one he had put over his hard-on reached for his zipper. "Don't fuck with me, Godfrey. I might just retaliate,"

I watched all the air in Roman's lungs seep out through his mouth as his green eyes burned into mine, a look of surprise streaking across his face which quickly morphed into intrigue. "Shit," he breathed. "I've broken you already, haven't I? Who are you, and what have you done to my girl?"

I couldn't help but smile-- this was something I could certainly get used to. "Breaking me is going to take a lot more, don't you worry,"

"Really, now?" Shifting, Roman's face was mere inches away from mine. The night air flowed through his hair in a soft breeze, his parted lips looking more enticing than ever-- I longed for them to be kiss-swollen once more. He gently nudged his nose against mine, hovering to drag out the tension as I held my breath in anticipation for his next words; "I'm dying to put that to the test... Can't wait to see you all pretty and broken, whimpering while I fuck you."

I hadn't been so flustered in my life-- I struggled to catch my breath, succumbing to a nervous laugh. Roman was so damn intense, I didn't know how to recover. To put the cherry on top, I had subconsciously tightened my grip around his clothed hard-on, and I heard him let out a shaky breath against me.

I couldn't look at Roman for too long-- I was afraid I'd melt. The green in his eyes swallowed me, drawing me in, enticing me to say yes, but I knew I couldn't. Not right now, at least. Instead, I forced myself to remember that we were on an open street once again, and that I really needed to get home soon.

It was too early for all of that, anyway.

"Oh, you and your dirty mouth," I breathed, leaning forward to press a short kiss against his keening lips. My hands lifted off him, resting at his shoulders. "For someone that insists they're not pushy about sex, you sure talk a lot about it."

Roman sighed, catching onto the fact that I was ready to leave. "I said I'm trying. But I'm open to the possibility that I might be failing," His grip on my hips tightened, pulling me closer with a pout. "Don't leave just yet. Stay."

If it had been up to me, I would've stayed in this moment forever. "My parents are going to kill me," I said, pressing another kiss against his lips, feeling him smile against me. "We have school tomorrow, anyway--"

"Stay," Roman's arms wrapped around me in a strong hold, engulfing me in his seductive cologne. "Just kiss me a little more, and I might consider letting you go in about three hours or so."

I rolled my eyes, giggling against him. "Come on, you're not making it easy for me here!--"

"Exactly,"

"Rome, I--" As my phone rang in my jacket on the passenger seat, I let out a sigh of relief; "Okay, that's definitely my parents calling. I'm about to be grilled like a turkey at Thanksgiving, thank you very much!"

Roman huffed as I placed a kiss against his forehead, letting go of me with a disappointed snort before he leaned over, handing me my phone.

I did my best not to get too swept up in his puppy eyes, knowing I was two seconds away from staying in the car with him all night. However, I knew it would definitely not end well for my sanity. So as I turned my phone around, ready to answer my parents and start explaining why I was so late, I froze when I saw who the actual caller was.

Roman's demeanour immediately changed-- something told me he already knew. Still, he asked; "Who is it?"

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck fuck!

"... It's Letha,"

(a/n: if you've come this far, thank you so so much!!! here's PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 7, PART 8 if you want to check them out!!<3333)

just tagging a few people that seemed interested!!<3:

@mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @corawithfanfiction @vladsgirlxx

@iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt

@lafemme-nk @namiusedbubble @useyourwandbro @strmborns @literally-lani

@virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard #angst #toxic relationship #highschool!au #vampire x you #peter rumancek #hemlock grove fanfiction #bruhhh letha is killing me here #i'm doing this to myself tho #letha godfrey

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stylesispunk · 26 days ago

Text

"Shadows of the love under the laurel"

Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Summary: In the shadows of the Roman Empire, you, a devoted servant, discover love with the honorable General Marcus Acacius. You both navigate the treacherous current of social expectations when a looming marriage comes to risk everything.

w.c: 13k.

warnings: themes of slavery and servitude, forbidden love, mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood, angst, fluff, poorly written smut, no proofreading.

a/n: I don't know what to write in here, but this one was a request by @negrita2345 i hope I did it justice and I hope you all enjoy it and share your thoughts with me because I really love to read your comments and thoughts. They make my day, so thank you in advance! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌 happy reading 💌✨

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The sound of the iron gate clanged shut behind you, a cold finality to another day of servitude. You knew that sound well, it was the only sound you had known since you were born, clamoring as a death knell, just reminder of your place in the world. You didn’t even own your freedom, yet you belonged to everyone who had put their hands on your skin or had thrown daggers at you. As a servant, your life was nothing but an endless circle of command shouted from faces that never bothered to learn your name. They simply called you “girl.”

In your twenty-three years, you had learned to endure the sting of insults, the cruel hands that shoved you from one task to another, and the stares that stripped all your dignity. Respect was something that didn’t exist for someone like you, born in the shadows of Rome’s grandeur. You were a property, a tool to serve, to scrub, to clean, and to remain unseen.

And today was no different. You had been sold again.

The place you now found yourself in was the biggest you’d seen. The walls were taller than the marble floors polished to a gleaming white that made your hesitant to step across them. A legion of other servants moved like silent specters, each one avoiding you gaze as you were ushered through the grand halls. It was as though no one acknowledged the arrival of new blood. In their world, new servants were as replaceable as the jugs of wine they carried.

As you moved through the villa, you hear whispers-murmurs of the man who ruled this place. General Marcus Acacius, a name that belonged to a man who had gained respect and admiration. He was no ordinary master, it seemed. He was a warrior, a man who had earned his position through conquest and battle. A man who stood close to the Emperor himself.

Your stomach knotted at the thought. Men of power, you had learned, were often the cruelest. The more they gained, the more they needed to remind those beneath them how little they mattered. You could only hope that Marcus would be indifferent—that he would not notice you at all.

“Girl, this way.”

A sharp voice broke your thoughts. One of the older housekeepers, her face lined with age and wear, beckoned you down a side corridor. It was darker here, the sunlight from the Roman skies barely reaching the shadowed walls. The keeper’s voice softened as you walked.

“You’ll serve General Acacious directly,” she said. “He’s… not like the others.”

You glanced up, surprised by the odd tone in her voice. You weren’t sure if the keeper meant it as a warning or a reassurance, but you nodded nonetheless, keeping your eyes lowered. You approached a set of heavy doors, carved with intricate symbols and flanked by tall, stoic guards. The keeper gestured toward them.

“The general is inside. Speak only when spoken to. He does not tolerate foolishness.”

With a final nod, the keeper disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone. You stood for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. There was no telling what awaited you on the other side of those doors. You swallowed hard, brushing a strand of dark hair from your face before you stepped forward.

The guards opened the doors without a word, and you found yourself in a large, open room filled with the smell of burning incense and leather. It was dimly lit, the sunlight creeping through narrow windows high above, casting long shadows on the ground. Your gaze lifted, and then you saw him.

Marcus.

General Marcus Acacius stood by a table, bent over a map with a furrowed brow. His armor was still strapped across his broad shoulders, and the crimson cloak draped over his back gave him the appearance of a man who had just come from battle. He was taller than you had imagined, his presence commanding without a single word. His dark hair was cropped close, and his sharp features bore the marks of someone who had lived a life of discipline and war.

For a long moment, he did not acknowledge your presence. You stood still, your heart pounding as you waited for his command, for the words that would decide the course of your life here.

Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was something in his gaze that startled you, not precisely cruelty, but something else. Something you couldn't quite name.

"You are the new servant?" His voice was low, measured. He didn’t shout like the others.

"Yes, General," you replied softly, lowering your eyes to the floor as was expected.

He watched you for a moment longer, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, almost burning. It was as though he was seeing something in you that others had never cared to look for.

"Good," he said at last, turning back to his maps. "You will serve me directly. Be quick. Be silent. That is all."

His words were not cruel, nor were they kind. They were simple, matter-of-fact. You let out a quiet breath, your heart still pounding in your chest. You turned to leave, but something held you in place, a curiosity that stirred within you, a question you did not dare ask aloud.

What kind of man was General Marcus Acacious?

As you left the room, the weight of your life as a servant settled back onto your shoulders, but there was something different now, something you had not expected. It was faint, a flicker of warmth in the cold corridors of your mind.

In the days that followed, you learned what it meant to serve Marcus Acacius. His world was orderly, precise, and unyielding. He expected his servants to move with quiet efficiency, anticipating his needs before he voiced them. There was no room for error, but unlike you previous masters, there was also no room for cruelty. Mistakes were met with silence, not blows. It was a strange sort of mercy, one that left you both relieved and on edge.

You were tasked with attending to the general’s quarters, a task that placed you in close proximity to him every day. You polished his armor, prepared his baths, and ensured that the scrolls and maps he studied late into the night were neatly arranged. He rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was brief and to the point. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he noticed you in a way no one else had.

It was in the quiet moments between orders that you caught fleeting glimpses of the man behind the title.

One afternoon, as you were cleaning his quarters, you heard a faint groan of pain. Startled, you looked up to see Marcus standing by the window, his hand gripping his side. His face was tight with discomfort, though he said nothing.

You hesitated, unsure if you should speak. “General… are you hurt?”

His eyes flicked toward you, the sharpness in them softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought he might ignore your question, but then he spoke.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice strained. “An old wound. It… flares up from time to time.”

He didn’t offer more, and you knew better than to pry. Yet, something in his tone—a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before made you want to help.

Without thinking, you set aside your cleaning cloth and moved toward him. “I could bring you something… some herbs. For the pain.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised by your boldness. “You know of such things?”

“My mother… she was a healer,” Your replied quietly, your eyes downcast. “Before…” You trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The silence filled in the gaps—before you were taken, before you became a servant.

He watched you for a long moment, as if weighing your words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Bring it.”

You hurried to the kitchens, your heart pounding. It was the first time Marcus had allowed you to do anything beyond your usual duties. As you gathered the herbs your mother had once shown you, the ones that could ease any pain and swelling, you thought of the strange connection you had felt in that moment. It wasn’t just your desire to help him. It was something deeper, something unspoken that passed between them.

When you returned to his quarters, Marcus was seated at the edge of his bed, the tension in his shoulders evident. You approached cautiously, mixing the herbs into a small vial of oil, then holding it out to him.

“You need to apply it to the wound,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “It should ease the pain.”

Marcus took the vial from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His touch was warm, surprising you. Your eyes met, and in that fleeting second, you felt an unfamiliar flutter in your chest—a burn you quickly buried.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. It was a small word, but coming from a man like Marcus, it carried weight.

You bowed your head, stepping back as he stood and moved to apply the oil himself. You returned to your work, quietly cleaning the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You had never thought much of men, especially men of power. To you, they were all the same: cruel, indifferent, obsessed with their own glory. Yet, Marcus was different. He was distant, yes, and bound by duty, but he was also… something else. There was a complexity to him, a quiet pain that you couldn’t quite understand.

As the days passed, you found yourself watching him more closely. You noticed the way he carried the weight of command, his posture rigid, his eyes always alert. He was a man constantly at war, not just with the enemies of Rome, but with himself. You saw it in the way he would stare out the window late into the night, lost in thought, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his sword as though preparing for a battle that had not yet come.

And then, one evening, everything changed.

It was late, the rest of the household quiet, and you were tidying the general’s quarters as he sat by the hearth, reviewing maps of distant lands. The flicker of firelight cast shadows on his face, making him appear both weary and resolute. You were just about to leave when he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Tell me,”He said, following by the use of your name for the first time. “How did you come to be here? In this life?”

Your breath caught. No one had ever asked you that before. No one had ever cared to. You hesitated, unsure if you should answer, but the look in his eyes was not one of command. It was curiosity. Genuine, quiet curiosity.

“I was born into it,” you replied softly. “My mother… she was a healer in a small village outside of the city. But when the soldiers came, they took us. I was just a child then. I don’t remember much before it.”

Marcus’s gaze lingered on you; his expression unreadable. “And your mother?”

“She didn’t survive long after that. She grew sick, and no one would help her.”

There was a long silence after that, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. You stood there, your hands clasped in front of you, waiting for him to dismiss you. But he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, a sound so faint you might have missed it had you not been standing so close.

“Life in Rome is rarely kind,” he said, his voice distant. “Even for those who believe themselves fortunate.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You simply stood there, watching as the general seemed to wrestle with thoughts he could not or would not speak aloud. Finally, he shook his head, as if clearing his mind, and looked at you once more.

“You may go,” he said, his tone once again that of a man in command. But there was a softness to it now, something that hadn’t been there before.

You bowed and left the room, your heart pounding. As you walked down the dark corridors of the villa, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you, that the lines separating servant and master had blurred, if only for a moment.

Weeks passed, and Your role in Marcus’s household became routine, yet far from ordinary. You had served many masters before, but none like him. There was a strange rhythm to your interactions now, a wordless understanding that passed between you in brief glances and moments too fleeting for anyone else to notice. Marcus was still the general, the powerful, untouchable figure, but there were cracks in his armor that only you seemed to see.

The changes were small at first. A few words exchanged at the end of the day, a subtle shift in the way his eyes lingered on you when you thought he wasn’t looking. It was during one such moment, late in the evening, that your quiet bond deepened.

You were clearing away the remains of his evening meal, the room lit only by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. Marcus sat at his desk, writing a letter, his brow furrowed in concentration. You moved silently, careful not to disturb him. But as you turned to leave, your hand brushed the corner of the table, knocking over a small cup.

The sound echoed in the stillness.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You had been so careful, always careful. You froze, waiting for the rebuke, the sharp words you had heard from other masters a hundred times before.

But instead of anger, Marcus’s voice came, calm and even. “It’s alright. Leave it.”

You paused, your fingers trembling as you stooped to pick up the cup, determined not to disobey. But as you did, Marcus spoke again, his tone softer this time.

“Do you always expect punishment so quickly?”

You straightened slowly, unsure how to answer. “It’s what happens when mistakes are made, General,” you replied quietly, your eyes still downcast.

Marcus stood, his towering frame casting long shadows in the flickering lamplight. He approached you slowly, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

“Not here,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to fear that here.”

His words, though simple, carried a weight that you weren’t prepared for. For a moment, you dared to look up at him, meeting his eyes. There was something in his gaze—a gentleness that you had never expected to find in a man like him. It made your chest tighten, and you quickly dropped your gaze again.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what kind of men you served before, Mea Columba, but cruelty… it does not make a man stronger. It only makes him feared.”

He was quiet for a long time after that, standing just a breath away from you. You could feel the heat of his presence, the nearness of him unsettling but not unpleasant. You could sense the tension in the air, something unspoken hanging between you like a thread stretched too tight.

“You deserve better than that,” he said finally, his voice almost too soft for you to hear.

Your heart raced, your thoughts a tangled mess. How could he say such a thing? You were nothing more than a servant, a slave, how could someone like him believe you deserved anything at all? But in his words, you heard the truth of what he felt, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with something dangerously close to hope.

Before you could reply, before you could make sense of the moment, the door creaked open, and a soldier entered the room, interrupting them. Marcus immediately stepped back, his expression shifting into the impassive mask of the general once more.

“General Acacius,” the soldier said, bowing. “The emperor has requested your presence tomorrow. Urgent matters to discuss.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Very well. Inform the Emperor I’ll be there.”

The soldier bowed again and left the room, leaving you and Marcus standing in the silence. The air between you had changed, something fragile, something delicate had passed between you, but neither dared acknowledge it.

“You may go” Marcus said, his voice once again composed, though you could sense the tension beneath it. “Get some rest.”

You bowed quickly and left the room; you heart still pounding in your chest. As you walked back through the dim corridors, you replayed his words in your mind

“You deserve better”

and wondered how dangerous it was to believe them.

You hadn’t expected him to say your name, less to hear a name with such affection from him It startled you, but in a way that made you feel seen, in a way that sent warmth through you despite the cool evening air.

“It’s all I’ve known,” you whispered, barely able to speak the words.

Days passed in a quiet blur, and the memory of that evening lingered between you, heavy and unspoken. Marcus was the same outwardly, maintaining his stoic demeanor in front of his soldiers, the senators, and his household. Yet, when he looked at you, when your eyes met across the room during your brief encounters, you could feel the shift in him, the way his guarded exterior faltered for just a moment.

It was in these fleeting moments that you began to understand the gravity of what was growing between you. You had never been close to a man before, not like this. Your world had always been one of shadows, of quiet obedience. But now, Marcus’s presence lingered in your thoughts, his words echoing in the stillness of your nights.

"You deserve better."

You couldn’t stop hearing it. And it frightened you. How could someone like him, someone with power, command, and the loyalty of an empire, care about someone like you, a servant who had spent her life in the background? The idea felt dangerous, as though it could upend everything you knew, yet it was there, undeniable.

The tension between you simmered, growing with each passing day. You never spoke of that moment again, but it hovered between you, thickening the air whenever you were alone.

One afternoon, you were attending to the general’s chambers when he returned earlier than expected from the training grounds. His tunic was damp with sweat, the edges of his dark hair clinging to his forehead, and a fresh bruise marked his arm.

He entered the room quietly, not saying a word at first, watching as you busied yourself, you’re your work. You tried to remain calm, to focus on your duties as you had always done, but the awareness of his gaze unsettled you. Finally, Marcus broke the silence.

he said your name, almost sounding hesitant.

You turned to face him, your heart quickening at the sound of your name. He had been saying it more often lately, and each time it carried a weight that made your pulse race. “Yes, General?”

For a moment, Marcus seemed to struggle with himself, his expression hard to read. He took a step closer, the air between you humming with tension. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, though the statement felt more like a question. “Are you… well?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “I am, General. I—” You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you had been keeping your distance, afraid of what might happen if you let yourself grow any closer to him. “I’ve just been… busy with my tasks.”

His eyes searched yours, as though he could see past your words to the truth beneath them. “You don’t have to keep your distance, mea columba,” he said quietly. “Not from me.”

The words sent a shiver through you. You wanted to step back, to remind yourself of your place, but something in his gaze held you still. There was a tenderness there, a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to see in him.

“I’m only a servant,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, and he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you. “You’re more than that,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “You’re more than what this life has made you.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the depth of his words. You had spent your whole life believing that your worth was measured by your service, by how invisible you could make yourself. But Marcus… he saw you. And it terrified you as much as it filled you with warmth.

“You deserve more than this life, mea columba” Marcus continued, his hand lifting ever so slightly as if he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. “More than this… than the way others have treated you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. You couldn’t let herself believe in what he was saying. It was impossible. He was a general, bound by duty and honor to Rome. And you were, no, you had to be nothing to him. Anything else was too dangerous to even imagine.

“Please,” you said, almost pleading, “don’t say such things. I can’t…” You trailed off, your words caught in your throat.

Marcus’s eyes softened, the hard edges of his face relaxing just slightly. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we can’t… but it doesn’t change how I feel.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and real. Your heart pounded, your mind reeling from the weight of his confession. You wanted to step forward, to reach out and touch him, to tell him that you felt the same—that his kindness, his quiet strength, had stirred something in you that you had never thought possible.

But she couldn’t. The world wouldn’t allow it. He was a man of power, and you were a servant. Their lives were too different, their paths too far apart.

And yet, standing there in the quiet of the room, with only the soft flicker of candlelight between you, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the stillness.

Marcus reached up, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it brushed against your cheek. You gasped at the touch, your skin tingling under his fingertips. It was the first time he had touched you like this, softly, tenderly, as though you were something fragile and precious.

“I wish things were different,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing the curve of your jaw.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hand despite yourself. You knew you shouldn’t, knew that this moment could only lead to heartache, but you couldn’t stop herself. “So do I,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For a long moment, you stood there, suspended in the silence, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, Marcus pulled away, his hand falling to his side. The mask of the general slipped back into place, his expression once again composed, though his eyes still burned with the emotions he couldn’t voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head. “No, it’s… it’s alright.”

But it wasn’t. You both knew it.

“You should go,” Marcus said, his voice rough with regret. “We… we can’t.”

You nodded, though your heart ached. “Goodnight, General.”

You turned and left the room, your heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

The days that followed were unbearable. You tried to go about your duties as usual, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Marcus’s words, the feel of his hand against your cheek, the unspoken desire that lingered between you. It haunted you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of night when you were alone with your thoughts.

And you could see it in him, too.

Every glance you shared, every brief exchange, held a tension that had not been there before. Marcus’s eyes lingered on you longer than they should, his gaze filled with something he dared not speak aloud. You could feel the conflict within him, the struggle between his duty and what lay deep in his heart.

One afternoon, as you were preparing the general’s chambers for the evening, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. You could feel his presence, the energy in the room shifting the moment he entered.

“Columba” he said softly, his voice different from the tone he used with anyone else. There was no command in it, no expectation—just a quiet plea.

You turned to face him, your heart already racing at the sound of your nickname on his lips. He stood in the doorway, his posture rigid, yet his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with the same turmoil that had been building between you for weeks.

“General,” you said, your voice steady though your heart was anything but.

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “Marcus,” he corrected, his gaze fixed on yours. “When we’re alone, please… call me Marcus.”

The intimacy of his request made your chest tighten. You had spent your life addressing him with titles, always reminding herself of the distance between you, but now… now he was asking you to cross that distance, to meet him as something more than a servant.

“Marcus,” you repeated softly, the word feeling foreign yet familiar on your tongue.

A small smile touched his lips, but it was strained. He walked slowly toward you, his movements careful, as though he was afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. When he stopped just a step away from you, you felt the air grow thick, the unspoken emotions pressing down on you both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Marcus said, his voice low and rough with honesty. “I’ve tried… I’ve tried to bury it, to remind myself of who I am, of what’s expected of me. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice… it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You had never imagined a man like Marcus, a man of such power and command, could feel this way about you. You had always been invisible, always kept in the shadows. But with him, you felt seen. And that terrified you.

“Marcus, we can’t…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “You know we can’t. You’re a general. You serve Rome. I’m nothing more than a servant.”

“You are not nothing,” Marcus said sharply, his eyes flashing with a rare intensity. He reached out and gently grasped your wrist, his touch sending a jolt through you. “Don’t ever say that. You are everything I—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to restrain words he couldn’t say.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You could feel the heat of his hand on your skin, the warmth of his breath as he stood so close. Every instinct told you to pull away, to remind him of the impossibility of this, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t deny the pull between you, the feelings that had been growing in your heart, no matter how forbidden they were.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice fragile as your heart. “Why would you care for someone like me, when you could have anyone?”

Marcus’s gaze softened, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go. He lifted your hand slowly, his thumb brushing over your palm in a gesture so gentle it made you ache. “Because you see me,” he murmured. “Not the general, not the man who leads armies or answers to the emperor. You see me.”

His words made your chest tighten painfully. You had always tried to stay invisible, to keep your head down and avoid the eyes of those who held power over you. But with Marcus, it was different. You saw the man beneath the armor, the one who carried the weight of duty and responsibility on his shoulders but longed for something more—something real.

“I can’t stop what I feel for you,” Marcus continued, his voice filled with raw honesty. “Even though I know it’s wrong, even though I know what the world would think if they knew… I can’t stop.”

You felt your resolve crumbling. You wanted to tell him that you felt the same, that his kindness, his gentleness, had woven its way into your heart. But the fear of what could come from this, the danger of their impossible love, held you back.

“I feel it too,” you admitted softly, you voice barely above a whisper. “But we have no future, Marcus. You know that. You’ll be expected to marry—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “I know I’m bound by duty. I’ve spent my whole life doing what Rome asks of me. But for once, Livia, I want something for myself.”

His words hung in the air, thick with longing and pain. Your heart ached for him, for the man who had given so much of himself to an empire that would never give him the freedom to love who he chose. And yet, even as you felt the weight of his confession, you knew the truth.

“Even if we want this,” you whispered, “Rome will never let it happen.”

Marcus’s face tightened with frustration, his hand still holding yours as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

You stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of your love pressing down on them. Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the desire to give in to the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress and the reality of the world they lived in.

Finally, Marcus spoke again, his voice heavy with resignation. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said softly. “But I know that for now… I need you here. By my side. Even if that’s all we can have.”

You swallowed hard, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. You knew he was right. Your love, if it could even be called that, would never be allowed to flourish in the light. But in the shadows, in the quiet moments you shared, it was real. And maybe, for now, that had to be enough.

You nodded, your voice barely audible as you whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Marcus’s shoulders seemed to relax, and for the briefest moment, a small, sad smile crossed his face. He gently released your hand, stepping back, the distance between you once again restored. But the bond you shared remained.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “For staying.”

It was a few days later, and the weight of your shared confession still lingered in the air. The nights had grown heavier with unspoken feelings, and each day, the tension between you and Marcus became harder to ignore. You told yourself to be content with what little time you could have by his side, though it tore at you, knowing that it would never be enough.

That evening, you were cleaning his quarters, your movements methodical, when the door creaked open behind you. You turned and saw Marcus step in, but this time he wasn’t the composed general you had grown used to. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, a dark patch of blood staining the fabric. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set in pain. He tried to stand tall, but there was no hiding the wince as he moved.

"Marcus," you gasped, forgetting all formality in the moment, rushing toward him. Your heart hammered in your chest, worry washing over you at the sight of him.

“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly, waving off your concern, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. “Just a training injury.”

You moved closer, eyes searching his. You had seen him injured before—he was a soldier, after all—but this felt different. There was a vulnerability in the way he looked at you, as though he had allowed himself to come to you in a moment of weakness.

“You should sit,” you said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Let me prepare a bath for you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, walking slowly toward the bed and sitting on its edge, his movements stiff and labored. His dark eyes followed you as you quickly went to work, preparing the bath with warm water and fragrant oils to ease his wounds and the tension in his body.

When you returned, you found Marcus removing his tunic, the fabric peeling away from the gash on his shoulder. His skin was marred with bruises, old and new, the marks of a warrior who had seen countless battles. But it was the fresh wound that made your heart ache, the sight of him in pain stirring something deep within you.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, kneeling beside him. He met your eyes, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded, allowing you to step closer. With trembling hands, you gently unfastened the remaining clasps of his armor, your fingers brushing against his skin. You tried to keep your touch professional, but each time your skin met his, a jolt of electricity shot through you.

Once he was bare to the waist, you guided him to the bath. He lowered himself into the warm water with a sigh, his muscles relaxing as the heat enveloped him. You sat on the stool beside the tub, gathering a soft cloth in your hands. You hesitated for a moment, the intimacy of what you were about to do settling heavily in your chest.

When you began to gently scrub his skin, the water rippling with each movement, Marcus closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. His breath came in slow, deep draws, and for a moment, it was as though the world outside the room no longer existed. There was just you, him, and the quiet sound of water.

Your hands moved carefully over his skin, your touch tender and cautious, tracing the contours of his shoulders, his back, the lines of his strong arms. You could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, though your own pulse raced with each moment that passed. The intimacy of the act was overwhelming, but Marcus made no move to stop you.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at his face, at the way the flickering candlelight danced across his strong jaw and the softness in his expression that he only ever showed when you were alone.

He opened his eyes after a long silence, catching your gaze. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice husky from the warmth of the bath or perhaps something more.

“I want to,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

The vulnerability in your voice, in the gesture of your care, seemed to affect him deeply. Marcus’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist in a silent gesture of thanks. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin long after he pulled away.

For a long while, you continued in silence, the only sound the gentle splashing of water as you washed away the blood, the dirt, and the exhaustion from his body. Each stroke of the cloth felt like a confession, a quiet way of telling him what you couldn’t say aloud. That you cared for him. That you wanted to protect him in whatever small way you could, even though you knew you couldn’t keep him from the dangers of the world beyond these walls.

When you reached the wound on his shoulder, you were as delicate as possible, your touch light and careful. Marcus winced slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes remained on you, dark and intense, watching every movement of your hands as though you were something precious.

“You’re always so careful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

You paused, your heart tightening at the question. How could you explain it? How could you put into words the way your heart ached for him, the way you wished to offer him comfort in a world that demanded so much of him?

“Because you’ve given me more kindness than I’ve ever known,” you whispered, barely able to say the words. “I want to give some of it back.”

Marcus’s gaze softened even more, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might say something, something that would change everything between you. But instead, he closed his eyes, leaning back into the water, his hand slipping beneath the surface and resting on the edge of the tub.

You continued to wash him in silence, your heart heavy with the knowledge that these moments, these stolen moments in the shadows, were all you would ever have. And yet, they felt so real, so profound, that you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

When the bath was finished, you helped Marcus stand, wrapping a towel around his broad shoulders. He stood before you, his body strong but weary, the weight of his duties ever present in his posture. You couldn’t help but reach out, your hand brushing lightly against the wound on his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. “Not as much as other wounds,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “Not as much as the ones I can’t show.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You understood. The wounds of battle were visible, but the wounds of the heart—the ones inflicted by duty, by honor, by a world that wouldn’t allow him to follow his desires—were far deeper.

Marcus’s hand reached out, his fingers gently curling around yours, and for a moment, he held on as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too complex to name

Marcus’s fingers curled around yours, and in that moment, the air between you seemed to shift. The world outside his chambers fell away, leaving only the two of you, standing so close, bound by an unspoken connection that had been building since the moment you first laid eyes on him. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his thumb gently brushed over the back of your hand, a simple touch that carried a weight neither of you could ignore.

His hand lingered, holding yours as if it was the only anchor he had left. His eyes were darker now, filled with emotions too complex to name—longing, conflict, something deeper that neither of you had dared to speak aloud. The space between you felt fragile, like a thread stretched too tight, and yet neither of you could pull away.

“Mea columba” he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. The way he said your name sent warmth coursing through your veins, and you felt yourself trembling beneath the intensity of his gaze.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something—anything—to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t need them. Everything was in his eyes, the way they searched yours, as though he were trying to find an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

Slowly, cautiously, Marcus took a step closer, his hand still holding yours. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the pulse in your ears deafening as the space between you closed. His breath was warm on your skin, mingling with your own as he stood so close that the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken.

He reached up with his free hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed a strand of hair from your face. The touch was so tender, so careful, that it made your heart ache. His thumb lingered on your cheek, his palm cradling the side of your face, as though he were afraid to break the moment, afraid to shatter the delicate connection you shared.

“I’ve tried to fight this,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. “I’ve tried to remind myself of what’s right, of my duty, of all the reasons why I can’t—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You already knew. You knew the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders, the impossible choice he faced between the life he was bound to and the feelings that had grown between you.

But in that moment, as you stood in the dim light of his chambers, none of it seemed to matter. It was just the two of you, and the pull between you was too strong to deny.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his name passed your lips, a quiet plea for something you both knew couldn’t be undone.

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours one last time, as if waiting for a sign, for permission to take that final, forbidden step. And then, with a soft, broken sigh, Marcus leaned in.

His lips brushed yours, so softly at first that it felt like a whisper, a question, a promise. The world seemed to still around you, the moment suspended in time as he kissed you with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His hand tightened around yours, holding you close, as though he were afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment would slip away if he loosened his grip.

And then, slowly, the kiss deepened. His lips pressed more firmly against yours, and all the emotions that had been building between you, longing, desire, love, poured into that single, desperate kiss. It was as though every unspoken word, every hidden glance, every touch that had lingered too long was finally allowed to come to life.

You kissed him back, your hand finding its way to his bare chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingers. It beat in time with yours, fast and hard, as if it, too, was caught up in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his body warm and solid against yours.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations, not the world outside these walls. There was only Marcus, his lips on yours, his hands holding you like you were something precious, something he had longed for but never thought he could have.

“I don’t know how we’ll keep this secret… but gods, I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop.”

You felt the same. You didn’t know how you would hide this, how you would keep it from the eyes of the world, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You had already crossed a line, and there was no going back.

“I don’t want to stop either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But we’ll find a way… we have to.”

Marcus’s hand slipped from your waist to your cheek once more, his fingers brushing softly against your skin. He leaned in again, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as though he were trying to hold on to the peace you had found in each other, but as soon as your eyes connected in unspoken pleas, his lips found yours again, this time his kiss screamed desire for you.

The way his right hand slipped down your arm, his touch soft but filled with purpose, sent a shiver through you. His fingers trailed along the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as his lips remained firmly attached to yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your head spin.

His body pressed against yours, strong and warm, as if he were trying to merge your very beings into one. The world around you seemed to melt away, your senses consumed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Each moment felt suspended in time, the quiet intimacy of the moment holding you both captive.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling in time with yours as the kiss grew more passionate, more desperate. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, as though he needed to feel every part of you, to confirm that this wasn’t a dream.

Your own hands, trembling with the weight of the moment, slid up his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles. You had never been this close before, never allowed yourself to imagine being this close to him. And now, here you were, pressed against him in a way that defied everything you had been told about your place in the world, everything you had believed about what you deserved.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched the fire burning in your chest. It wasn’t just desire, there was something deeper, something raw and unspoken that neither of you had been able to express until now. Every kiss, every touch, was a release of all the feelings you had kept locked away for so long.

As his lips parted from yours for just a moment, his breath hot against your skin, Marcus whispered your name again—so soft, so reverent that it felt like a prayer. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-closed, his voice thick with emotion.

“I can’t…” he whispered, his hand still resting firmly at your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “I can’t stop this.”

Neither could you. You didn’t want to. You were lost in him, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered. You could feel the conflict within him, the weight of his duties and the forbidden nature of what was blossoming between you, but none of that mattered in this moment.

His lips found yours again, this time slower, more tender, as though he were savoring every second, memorizing the feel of you in his arms. His hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer, as if he needed to feel the beat of your heart against his own. You melted into him, your own hands finding their way into his hair, threading through the dark strands as you kissed him with a longing you had kept buried for far too long.

No long after, his fingertips caressed your shoulders, slipping the strips of your dress down your arms. None of you stopped locking your gazes as you felt you dress slipping down your body. You were completely bare in front of the man who had made your heart race like never before.

You had never felt like this before, and the fire in the pit of your stomach was a new sensation for you. There was fire everywhere.

Marcus swept his eyes down your body, clearly reacting to the sight in front of him. The dim light of the moon danced across your skin. Marcus couldn’t believe it. You were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on, and under his stare he could swear God had made you just for him to find you, to find love in your eyes and in the way they looked at him now.

He placed his right hand on your neck, before trailing the path down to your neck, your breasts, your stomach as if you were the most delicate map he had ever touched in his life.

Goosebumps arise on your skin as you gasped under his touch. The way he unbraided your hair and swept it, looking at you with adoration. He wasted no time to devour your lips with his, stealing the moaning sounds out of your mouth, when his fingers slipped into your entrance. He worked his was in and out, your mouths attached, and his tongue caressed your swollen lips.

Your hands made their way to his back, his chest, his stomach. A groan came out of his throat when your fingers found his cock. Before you could even react, he carefully laid you on your back, his eyes bored into yours. Your lips were parted by the surprise of his sudden movement, and yet you looked beautiful under his stare, and you could feel beautiful too. It felt like a dream, to had found love in someone like him.

Marcus reached out and cupped your breasts. Your nipples hardened at the touch, and he duck down taking one in his mouth. You whispered his name making his cock throb at the sound of you pleading him, clearly enjoying the was your stomach trembled under his body. He then spread your legs to find the place where you needed him the most.

“Marcus” you whispered; voice weak “please.”

He grumbled and buried his entire face on your cunt. Your legs tightened in surprise, but he kept them open by draping one over his shoulder. He'd done this before, but with you, it seemed different. This time, he couldn't contain his thrill at the thought of making you pleased. He wanted you not only for this reason, but also because you cared for him and he for you, and he desired to prove thar by making love to you and waking up next to you for the rest of his life.

He continued sucking on your clit until you gasped for air. You felt hot under his tongue, and the flavor of you drove him crazy.

“You’re so beautiful mea columba” he whispered, pushing your thighs further apart and took his cock to press the head into your cunt, pushing it with pressure. You both moaned. He dropped his head to your shoulder, inhaling your exquisite scent.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice trembling at the thought. You were tight. He knew for the way your eyes looked that you never had done this before, so he tried to be as careful as he could.

“Marcus” you moaned, whimpering. He was all the way inside you. He felt embarred as how weak he seemed because of you. He tried not to come so fast, while glancing between you every second to make sure he wasn’t hurting you.

When he felt himself getting close, he tried to lift your back, holding onto your waist, his chest against yours, lips devouring each other.

“I’m in love with you, mea columba” he whispered, while pounding into you with a steady but delicate force it made you squirm.

your lips and bodies moving in perfect harmony, the rest of the world slipping away as you both gave in to the feelings you could no longer deny. The weight of the consequences lingered at the edges of your mind, but in that moment, nothing seemed as important as this. As him. As the way his hand cradled your waist, the way he kissed you like he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still resting together. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the quiet understanding that you had both crossed a line, and there was no turning back now.

Marcus’s eyes flickered open, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his emotions shining clearly in the dim light of the room. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist, a touch so gentle, yet filled with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I’m in love with you.”

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy with a truth neither of you could deny anymore. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead, the kiss soft and lingering, filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

You felt a rush of warmth flood through your body, his confession sinking deep into your chest. You had heard it in his voice before, seen it in his eyes, but hearing those words—words you never thought someone of his stature would say to you—made everything feel real. His love was dangerous, forbidden, but it was also undeniable.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, not out of sorrow, but from the overwhelming emotions that surged through you—relief, joy, and the painful knowledge that this love, as real as it was, lived in the shadows.

“I…” your voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he closed his eyes, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. “I’ve tried to fight it,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet anguish. “I’ve tried so hard to push it away, to tell myself it can’t be. But I can’t… I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You felt the trembling in his voice, the vulnerability in his words, and it mirrored the storm of feelings inside you. You had spent so long burying your own emotions, convinced that someone like Marcus could never see you as more than a servant, more than someone beneath him. But here he was, his love laid bare, his heart in your hands.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could speak, Marcus lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing the tear away with the same care he had shown you so many times before. His eyes were filled with something so raw, so real, that it made your chest ache.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words escaping you before you could stop them, but you didn’t want to stop them. They were the truth, and in this moment, you had no reason to hide.

Marcus closed his eyes again, his lips parting in a quiet, shaky breath, as though the sound of your confession had taken away the last of his restraint. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “Whatever happens, whatever comes next… I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

His words were a promise, one that felt as fragile as it was powerful. You both knew the risks, knew the world wouldn’t accept this love, but in his arms, in this stolen moment, you believed him. You believed that somehow, against all odds, you might be able to hold on to each other.

As the night deepened, the warmth of Marcus's arms around you became a cocoon of safety and comfort, unlike anything you had ever known. The intensity of your shared confessions, the raw emotions lingering between you, began to soften into a quieter, more intimate connection. His hands, once rough with battle, now caressed your skin with the gentleness of a man who had found something worth protecting, something precious.

You remained in his embrace, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed, the flickering candlelight casting soft, golden shadows across his quarters. Marcus's thumb traced slow circles against your back, his touch reassuring and grounding, as though he was afraid that letting go would make this moment slip away into a dream. His forehead still rested gently against yours, his breathing steady but deep, as if he, too, was caught in the weight of everything you had just shared.

“I never imagined feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence of the room. You weren’t sure if you were confessing to him or simply speaking aloud the truth of what was in your heart. “I never thought I’d ever know this kind of closeness, this… love.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Neither did I,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Not like this. Not with you.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. The quiet sounds of the night outside his window drifted in—a soft wind, the distant murmur of soldiers on watch, the occasional flicker of torchlight from the corridors. But none of it touched the stillness that enveloped the two of you in this space. Here, with Marcus, the world felt far away.

You felt the exhaustion from the day, from the intensity of everything, slowly creeping into your limbs. Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite the swirl of emotions still lingering in your chest, a deep weariness began to settle over you.

Marcus must have sensed it too, because his hand moved to your cheek, lifting your face gently so that your eyes met his. His expression softened, the hardness of the general gone, replaced by the tenderness of a man who cared deeply for you.

“You’re tired,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “You should rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to leave his embrace, not wanting to lose the warmth of his presence. But he only smiled, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a soothing motion. “Stay here. With me.”

It was more than just an invitation. It was a promise, a reassurance that you didn’t have to return to the cold solitude of your small, servant's quarters. Tonight, you could stay here, beside him, and find some peace in his arms.

You breathed in the scent of him, your heart finding a slow, steady rhythm against his, and in the safety of his embrace, you finally let go.

Marcus’s hand continued to stroke your hair, even as sleep pulled you under. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and sure, and it lulled you into the sweetest, most peaceful sleep you had known in years.

And just before the darkness of sleep claimed you completely, you felt him press one last kiss to your temple, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered.

And with that, you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped safely in his arms.

The days that followed were filled with an eerie calm, the quiet before the storm neither of you could ignore. You and Marcus fell into a rhythm of stolen moments—brushed hands when no one was looking, lingering glances that spoke more than words could ever say. In the dim light of dawn, in the safety of his quarters, your world shrank to just the two of you, the outside concerns held at bay for a little while longer.

But the world, especially one as ruthless as the Roman Empire, couldn’t be held back forever.

It began with hushed whispers from the servants, news of political maneuvering at the highest levels. You heard it first while fetching water from the well. Two women were gossiping, their voices low but clear enough for you to overhear.

“The Emperor’s orders,” one of them said, her tone almost gleeful. “General Acacius is to marry Lucilla, they say. It’s all but decided.”

Your stomach dropped, the bucket in your hand suddenly too heavy. You froze in place, the weight of those words sinking into you like a stone. Marcus is to marry. The Emperor’s will was absolute, and any personal desires, any feelings, would be swept away like dust in the wind.

You barely remember how you made it back to Marcus’s quarters, your mind a blur of emotions—dread, anger, helplessness. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing with the terrible reality you were trying to push away. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling, your breath shallow as if the air itself had become too heavy to breathe.

When Marcus walked in later that evening, you could see it in his face before he even spoke. The weight of duty, the burden of decisions not his own, bore down on him like a heavy cloak. His eyes, once so full of warmth when they met yours, were shadowed with the knowledge of what was to come.

You tried to speak, to find the words to ask him if it was true, but they caught in your throat. Instead, you stood in silence, waiting for him to tell you.

“They’ve ordered it,” he said quietly, his voice strained. He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, as if doing so would make it all too real. “The Emperor has arranged a marriage.”

Your heart shattered at that moment, but you willed yourself not to show it. You had always known this was a possibility—he was a man of power and status, and the empire would always demand his obedience. Still, knowing didn’t soften the blow. You felt like the air had been knocked out of your chest.

Marcus took a step closer to you, his expression pained. “I didn’t want this,” he murmured. “I don’t want her.”

He reached for you, his hand hovering just above your arm as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you. The distance between you felt insurmountable now, the shadow of his impending marriage looming over everything you had built together.

You pulled back, just enough to break the unspoken promise of his touch. “But you must,” you said, your voice trembling. “You have no choice.”

Marcus’s eyes finally met yours, and the anguish in them was more than you could bear. “I swore I would protect you, that I wouldn’t let anything take you from me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay strong even as the tears threatened to fall. “And I swore I would stay by your side, no matter what,” you whispered. “But Marcus, this… this is the world we live in…I can’t stay here just to watch you being married to a woman who is not me.”

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t pretend this marriage means anything to me. It’s politics, nothing more. You are what I want.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, the enormity of what you were facing pulling you under. “But once you’re married…” The words felt like poison on your tongue. “Once you’re bound to her…”

He shook his head fiercely, stepping closer again, this time not hesitating as he took your hands in his. His touch was warm, familiar, but it couldn’t erase the reality pressing down on both of you. “I won’t let her come between us. I won’t.”

Tears filled your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. You couldn’t stop the ache in your chest, the knowledge that your love would now have to exist in the shadows of Marcus’s new life—hidden, secret, and forbidden.

“What kind of life is that for us?” you asked, your voice breaking. “A love hidden away, always in the dark?”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with desperation. “We’ll find a way,” he insisted. “Even if the world says we can’t… we’ll find a way.”

You wanted to believe him, you wanted to hold on to the love that had grown between you, but the cold reality was seeping into every corner of your heart. This marriage wasn’t just an obstacle—it was a wall that you couldn’t break through.

You stepped away, pulling your hands free from his grasp. The distance between you felt like a chasm now, one that neither of you could cross. “I don’t know if love is enough,” you whispered, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest. “I won’t have my heart broken every day of my life just for you to see me from afar.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, each one a dagger piercing both your hearts. Marcus's face fell, the determination in his eyes flickering like a candle in the wind. He reached out once more, but hesitated, his hand hovering between you as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you.

"Mea columba, please," he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't say that. Don't give up on what we have."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, straightening your spine to muster whatever strength you had left. "I'm not giving up," you replied softly. "But I can't live a life where I'm constantly in the shadows, hiding what I feel, watching you build a life with someone else."

He shook his head vehemently. "My marriage to Lucilla will be in name only. It means nothing compared to what I feel for you."

"But it changes everything," you insisted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "She will be your wife. She will stand beside you in public, share your home, perhaps even bear your children. Where does that leave me? Sneaking around in the dark, pretending I don't exist whenever others are near?"

Marcus's expression crumpled, pain etched into every line of his face. "I would never ask you to diminish yourself like that."

"But that's exactly what this would be," you said, stepping back further to put some distance between you. "I deserve more than to be a secret, Marcus. And deep down, you know that."

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the bustling city beyond the walls—a world that seemed determined to keep you apart.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "What are you saying?"

You took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to face the truth you'd been avoiding. "I'm saying that perhaps it's time for me to leave."

His eyes widened in alarm. "Leave? No, you can't. I won't allow it."

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "You can't keep me here, not like this. Not when staying would mean watching you live a life, I can never be a part of."

Desperation flashed across his face. "I can speak to the Emperor. I can refuse the marriage. There must be a way—"

"And risk everything you've worked for? Your honor, your position?" You shook your head sadly. "You and I both know that's not possible. The Emperor's command is absolute. Defying him would only bring ruin upon you."

"I would risk it for you," he insisted, taking a bold step forward. "For us."

"And that's precisely why I can't let you do that," you replied gently. "I won't be the cause of your downfall.” You inhaled “Because you would end up despising me for it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "So, what then? We part ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?"

You felt your heart break a little more at the pain in his voice. "I don't want to forget," you said softly. "I will cherish every moment we've shared. But sometimes, love isn't enough to overcome the obstacles before us."

Marcus's shoulders sagged, defeat washing over him. "I can't accept that."

"Neither can I," you admitted, tears welling up once more. "But it's the only way we can both move forward without destroying each other."

He looked at you with a profound sadness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. "Where will you go?"

You offered a small, sad smile. "I'll find somewhere. Perhaps another household, or maybe I'll find a way to make a life for myself beyond these walls."

A tense silence settled between you. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. "When?"

You swallowed hard. "Soon. Before the marriage takes place."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to steady himself against the inevitable. "At least allow me to ensure you're safe. Let me arrange for you to be placed somewhere you'll be treated well."

You considered refusing but knew it would ease his mind. "Alright," you agreed quietly. "Thank you."

Marcus stepped closer once more, and this time you didn't pull away as he reached out to cup your face gently in his hands. "I love you," he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That will never change."

A sob escaped your lips, and you placed your hand over his. "And I love you. More than you could ever know."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the two of you stood there, memorizing every detail of each other's faces—the warmth of your breaths mingling, the softness of his touch, the sorrow in his eyes.

"Promise me something," he said softly.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll find happiness," he murmured. "That you'll live the life you deserve."

You nodded slowly. "I promise."

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if it were the last time—as indeed it might be. You clung to him, wishing you could freeze time, keep this moment suspended forever.

After what felt like both an eternity and a mere heartbeat, you pulled away, knowing that if you didn't leave now, you might never find the strength again. "Goodbye, Marcus," you whispered.

He reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a small object—a simple silver pendant engraved with a laurel wreath. "Take this," he said, pressing it into your hand. "So you'll always have a part of me with you."

You looked down at the pendant, your vision blurred by tears. "I will treasure it always."

With a final, lingering glance, you turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. As you left his chambers, the weight of your decision settled fully upon you, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. You were choosing your own path, difficult as it was.

Behind you, Marcus remained standing, watching you go until you disappeared from sight. The echo of your footsteps faded, leaving him alone with the emptiness of the room and the ache in his heart.

The days that followed were a blur. True to his word, Marcus arranged for you to be placed in the household of a kind widow on the outskirts of the city. The woman, Julia, welcomed you warmly, unaware of the depth of your connection to the general. To her, you were simply a skilled servant in need of a place, and she was grateful for the help.

Life in Julia's home was peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil of your emotions. Each day, you performed your duties diligently, but your thoughts often drifted back to Marcus—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, the intensity of his gaze as he declared his love for you.

News of his impending marriage reached you through whispers in the marketplace. The union was to be a grand affair, solidifying political alliances and elevating Marcus's standing even further. You tried to steel yourself against the pang of jealousy and sorrow that accompanied these rumors, reminding yourself that this was the path he was bound to follow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you found yourself standing on a hill overlooking the city. The distant sounds of celebration drifted up to you—the marriage ceremony was taking place. Clutching the silver pendant around your neck, you closed your eyes and whispered a silent farewell.

"May you find happiness," you murmured into the evening breeze. "And may our paths cross again in another life."

As the first stars appeared in the sky, you took a deep breath and turned away from the city. There was a whole world beyond Rome's walls, and perhaps, in time, you would find your place in it—where you could heal and maybe even find joy once more.

Weeks passed, each one heavier than the last. You had settled into Julia’s villa , trying to find peace in the simplicity of your new life. But the ache in your heart remained, the thought of Marcus and his looming marriage never far from your mind. Each night, you clutched the silver pendant he had given you, hoping it might somehow tether your heart to his, even from a distance.

It had been months since you had last seen him, and you had resigned yourself to the reality that Marcus’s life had moved on, even if yours still felt frozen in time. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

One late afternoon, as you were tending to the garden outside Julia’s villa, you heard the distant sound of horses approaching. You looked up, wiping your hands on your apron, and saw a group of soldiers in familiar Roman armor riding up the path. Your heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

When they came to a stop, your breath caught in your throat. There, dismounting from his horse, was Marcus—his eyes searching frantically until they landed on you.

Your heart raced, and before you could even process what was happening, Marcus was striding toward you, his face a mix of determination and relief.

"Marcus?" you whispered, barely able to believe your eyes.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if he had been afraid you might vanish if he let go. His warmth surrounded you, and for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope again.

"I found you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I told you we'd find a way."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, confusion clouding your thoughts. "But… your marriage? Lucilla?"

Marcus shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. "It's over. The Emperor himself annulled it."

Your breath caught in your throat. "What? How? Why?"

A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes were serious. "Lucilla… she didn’t want this marriage any more than I did. She petitioned to me, and together we spoke to the emperor. She’s in love with someone else, someone who she could never marry while bound to me." He paused, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "And the Emperor, surprisingly, agreed to release both of us."

You stared at him, stunned, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. "So, you’re free?"

He nodded. "I’m free, mea columba. I can choose my own path now. And I’ve come to ask you to walk it with me."

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of joy. "Marcus, I…" you stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions. "Is this real? Are you really here?"

He smiled then, the first genuine smile you’d seen from him in so long. "Yes, it's real. I love you. I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks. I want you by my side, not in the shadows. I want you to be with me—openly, proudly."

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Everything you had feared, all the obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable, had fallen away. And standing before you was the man you loved, offering you the life you had once thought was impossible.

You smiled through your tears, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you, Marcus," you whispered. "And yes, I’ll walk that path with you. Wherever it leads."

With that, he leaned in and kissed you, a kiss full of promise and hope, sealing the future you would share. At that moment, everything felt right. The shadows of the past no longer held power over you, and the weight of uncertainty had lifted from your shoulders.

Marcus took your hand when he finally pulled away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come," he said softly. "Let’s go. There’s a whole world waiting for us."

A few months later...

The soft morning light filtered through the open window of the villa, casting a golden glow over the room as you slowly stirred awake. The cool breeze carried the scent of wildflowers from the hills, filling the air with the promise of a new day. You lay in bed, nestled in Marcus's strong arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

For months now, you had known peace, a life far removed from the chaos and expectations of the Roman court. Marcus had retired from the military, choosing a quiet life with you in the countryside. The villa had become your sanctuary, a place where you could live freely, without the burden of secrecy or fear. No more hiding in the shadows—your love had found the light.

Gently, you shifted in Marcus’s embrace, your hand resting over your growing belly. A small, soft smile spread across your face as you felt the faint flutter of movement inside you. Marcus stirred beside you, his arms tightening around you instinctively, as though even in sleep, he wanted to protect you.

You gazed down at your hand, marveling at the life that grew within you—a symbol of the love you and Marcus had fought so hard to protect. This child, your child, was the future you had once feared might never come.

Marcus’s eyes slowly opened, and he smiled sleepily as his gaze met yours. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice deep and warm.

"Good morning," you whispered back, your hand still resting on your belly. His eyes followed the movement, and his expression softened as he reached out to place his hand gently over yours.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

"I'm well," you replied, your smile widening. "The baby’s been very active this morning."

Marcus’s face lit up, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “And he will know freedom.”

His gaze lingered on you, filled with a deep, unwavering love. "I still can’t believe this is real," he said quietly, his thumb gently brushing your hand. "After everything, we’re here—together—and soon, we’ll have a family."

You felt tears prick your eyes, not of sorrow this time, but of pure happiness. "It’s everything I never thought I could have," you admitted softly. "But now, I can’t imagine life any other way."

Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss, one that spoke of all the joy and gratitude you both felt. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment.

"I love you, Mea columba" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can say."

"And I love you," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness. "For always."

Together, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of your journey behind you and the promise of a bright future ahead. The child you carried was a testament to your love, a symbol of the life you had built together despite all the odds.

Outside, the world continued to turn, but here, in this quiet, peaceful place, you had everything you had ever dreamed of, Marcus, your love, and the family you would soon welcome into the world.

The future stretched out before you, filled with light, joy, and hope. And as the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Marcus would face them together, stronger than ever, bound by a love that had defied the impossible.

Your love had triumphed. And now, the greatest adventure of all was about to begin, the creation of a family, born out of that love.

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

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jewelsli · 22 days ago

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DC X DP X Captain Marvel/Shazam (Part 2)

Before I continue, here’s a real quick Headcannon for this, so when Danny became the ghost prince, it was a pretty big deal, but since he didn’t want to deal with all the fame stuff he made sure only the people who needed to know were informed(this includes the champion of magic and the lords or order and chaos(they don’t know exactly who he is just that there’s a new ghost prince)). Sam is the new fright knight (the old one is training her), Danielle and Dan are also royals, Tuck and jazz are helping in different areas too (tuck is a kinda judge and jazz is helping new ghosts and getting everyone some therapy). The Champion of magic and Ruler of the Infinite realms interact a lot and are two of the greatest forces in the universe, they also help each other to stop entire universes from dying(Infinite realms is the stuff between universes and the Rock of Eternity connects every universe and supplies it w/ magic), anyway with that out of the way…

here’s the next part! (Once again I am not the greatest writer so don’t expect anything to amazing)(also I mostly know about billy through fanfics and have yet to read the original comics)

(oh also Danny looks his normal age here, he lets a bit of his eldritch form leak into him so he looks older at the JL)

Danny glanced around the room that the meeting was taking place in, it was different from most of the infinite realms, in a way that it just felt more… it felt like how pop rocks taste, sweet but sharp. It was different from the spiky citrusy(or maybe metal?) feeing that most of the realms had. Clockwork had told him it was because they were in a pocket dimension between the infinite realms and some place called the Rock of Eternity(wait hadn’t marvel mentioned something like that?), so there was more magic here then usual. The sound of a door opening caught his attention and he swiftly turned to see the door opposite to the one he had come from open as a small figure stepped through.

A small figure with a very familiar aura(I can’t remember the word I want to use so whatever) stood in the doorway.

After the door closed and the harsh backlighting disappeared he could see more of the kid(who looks his age), they were wearing golden sandals with what looked like wings on the sides, a robe? Thing??? Whatever they called those back then, which was white with golden edges(think how cap’s cape looks), he also wore one of the golden leaf crown thingamajigs around his head. The kid was holding a lightning staff that was taller then they were and had a matching lighting bolt amulet. Overall they looked like some sort of Greek or Roman royal, or at least how he would imagine them.

The champion seemed to be surveying him in the same way, from his crown of black fire and ectoplasm, to his cape of stars, why yes he was extremely fashionable, thank you for noticing! He cleared his throat before holding out his hand to the kid, “Danny Phantom, prince of the Infinite Realms.” He introduced, the kids eyes widened for a moment before they reached forwards and shook his hand, he saw the Lichtenberg figures tracing along his arms, similar to his own scars from the portal, but while his were an ectoplasmic green, the other’s looked like they were inlaid with gold. “Marvel, champion of magic,” he finally introduced.

wait-

They both stared at each other for a few moments, finally the other kid spoke up. “I knew you felt different from a normal ghost!” He exclaimed with a smile, letting go of his hand as Danny paused for a moment longer. “So THATS how you knew there was a new prince!” He said with the same smile as he put the pieces together, he had thought it was strange for a random leaguer who was only supposed to be mildly magical to know. Said kid laughed as he nodded, “Nice to have another kid on the league then, assuming you aren’t actually an immortal who just looks like a kid at least.” Marvel commented. Danny was struck by inspiration and(before his brain remembered that he was supposed to be acting all princely or whatever) quickly said, “We’re just like that Spider-Man meme!!!” And thankfully didn’t have to immediately regret it when Marvel seemed to agree. A noise if someone clearing their throat startled the boys.

“I’m glad to see that you two get along with one another,” Clockwork said with a sigh of exasperation, “But in case you forgot you are here to discuss the fact that a recent use of magic by the Sorcerer Supreme In Earth M-A73 has destabilized the universe and nearby realms.” Marvel looked surprised by his appearance but by now Danny was used to it. “Yes Clockwork we know.” He said in as annoying of a polite tone as he could manage, the entity sighed and faded away, he turned to the Champion ready to discuss the problem-

“WAS THAT CRONOS?!?!” He asked… maybe Earth M-A73 could wait for a bit.

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trippinsorrows · 3 months ago

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looking through your eyes + ten

authors note: i think ya'll will be pleased with majority of this chapter. as far as the ending scene, let me know what ya'll think roman should do. i have it already planned, but i'm always so curious reading other perspectives. btw, they've been married almost four months, for context.

also, to those who want to know about the subplot of solana's bitch ass daddy plotting to kill roman....it's still a subplot. stay tuned.

passages from 'the courage to heal' do not belong to me.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: violence against women, references to csa, character briefly discussing csa, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k (no comment)

Learning to be intimate is rewarding, but it is not always comfortable. As one woman said, “I kept myself safe, but I also kept myself alone.” Becoming intimate means peeling back the layers of protection to let someone in. It means going to the place where you’re comfortable and then taking one step more. One step, not twenty.

Solana must read the passage at least half a dozen times, sitting with the words, meditating with them and doing her best to cope with the discomfort she’s experienced at various points while working her way through the book that’s brought an equal amount of questions as it has answers.

She knew right away going into this section, Healthy Intimacy, that it would most likely be the hardest chapter for her. But not even for the reasons that she initially thought, reasons that would have been the case before a certain Roman Reigns entered her life.

Every day that passes with him seems to bring about a new level of comfort, a new slice of happiness, a new type of contentment.

She enjoys talking with him and being around him. She looks forward to his meeting her at the end of work and struggles with endless worry when he doesn’t make it back home until the wee hours of the night.

His touch, whether that’s his hand on her back or both hands on her waist as he holds her against him, no longer triggers an automatic tense, uncomfortable feeling. Somewhere along the way, the need to identify his touch as ‘safe’ waned and was replaced with an automatic knowing. Like she knows that it’s okay for him to touch her, because she’s safe. Because she’s safe with him.

That, along with her continued and also growing attraction, has caused her to think more and more what it could be like to be with someone in that way. The thoughts have been fleeting, far and few over the years, typically followed up with abject horror. But lately….lately she’s been less and less scared and more and more hopeful.

Optimistic that maybe….just maybe, she could one day know what that’s like. To have that experience in a healthy and non-traumatic way with a safe person. With someone who truly desires her in said healthy way.

Someone….someone like Roman.

It’s scary and terrifying and exciting and nerve racking and moving and every other emotion to exist, but on top of all that, for the first time in her life, it’s a possibility for Solana.

And she wants to take that chance, even if doesn’t work out, even if it’s not what she thought it would be. To be able to say she at least tried, to say that she overcame her fears…it would be monumental.

It would feel like the breaking of mental and emotional chains.

And it starts today.

Closing up the book, Solana untangles her legs and marks her spot in her book. She gives Dulce a light pat on the head and walks into the bathroom. Opening up the drawer, her eyes land on the pair of scissors. Nothing fancy. Just a pair of regular scissors.

Solana takes a deep breath and grabs them.

Using one hand to let down her hair from the messy, half-effort bun, she gives her head a good shake. Once, twice, and then a third time. For a brief second, she hesitates, her father’s constant belittling returning to the surface.

“You don’t need short hair. You’ll look even fatter with it.”

Solana shuts her eyes as she thinks of all the times Roman has called her beautiful, has made her feel beautiful. The endless support from Bayley and Naomi. The borderline inappropriate comments form the twins almost every time she sees them.

It all brings an emotional smile to her face as she takes another deep breath.

One step, not twenty.

And she cuts.

________

Samantha can count on one hand in all of the years that she’s known Roman Reigns the times that he’s surprised her with a visit.

Zero.

He’s always always given her a heads up for his arrival or plans to visit, solely for the mere fact that Roman is a man who doesn’t like to wait. When he wants pussy, he wants it then and now. And she’s never been one to deny the Head of the Table anything he’s ever asked for.

So when she finds him sitting at her desk, feet propped up with an unreadable expression, it takes her off guard.

Only for a minute.

“I knew it was only a matter of time.” Samantha is quick to kick the door shut behind her, locking it right as she tosses her purse on the nearby chair. “You can’t go too long without me.” This fact alone is enough to make her cum right then and there. The fact that even with his roster of women he rotates through, she remains number one.

Roman knows where it’s at.

And him coming to her, at her job of all places, just proves it.

Eye dropping to his crotch, she licks her lips at the thought of that thick, beautiful dick in her mouth. Fuck, she’s salivating at just the thought. “You want me on my knees, daddy?”

Samantha starts to kick her shoes off when he finally breaks the silence.

“I want to know what you said to my wife.”

Samantha’s smile drops in under a millisecond. Instantly, she’s scowling. “What?”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to repeat himself, every word perfectly enunciated with his heavy, baritone voice. “What did you say to my wife, Samantha?”

This….this isn’t how she was expecting this to play out, and it shows in the sudden stuttering, “I—I don’t—”

“She came back from that bathroom upset, and I don’t like seeing her upset, so I’m only gonna ask you one more time—” Samantha nearly jumps back into the door when he suddenly bangs his fist on her wooden desk and growls, “what did you say to her!”

Stammering, she answers with a combination of fear and desperation, “I just—I told her the truth.”

It seems to be the wrong answer, as Roman looks 5x angrier. “And what the fuck is that?”

Samantha gathers herself a little better, voice more even as she answers with misplaced confidence. “That she could never please you. Not how I can.” And with foolish bravery, Samantha steps toward him. “That you’ll always come back to me.”

“You fucking bitch.”

That makes her still with her movements. He’s called her all kinds of names when they’ve fucked, and she’s loved it, loves being fucked hard and rough, his preference. But there’s something about this that she doesn’t love.

It’s because he sounds legitimately upset with her.

And that, in turn, upsets her, because he cannot seriously be upset that she said some shit to that little girl.

“Why does it matter? It’s not like she means anything to you.” Samantha has to actually laugh. In no universe can she see someone as strong and powerful as Roman caring about a girl like that. But, it’s when he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t voice some type of agreement that her confidence dwindles a bit. “R–right?” Still, nothing. And it’s with that nothing she realizes with all of the anger and shock in the world why he’s so upset.

“Oh my god. Are you serious right now? Her? You really have feelings for her?” Even saying it aloud sounds ludicrous. “What the fuck, Roman? What the hell is so great about her?”

There is absolutely nothing that girl brings to the table for her to have someone like Roman Reigns interested in her. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. What the hell is attractive about a scarred, sliced up, fat bitch?

He finally speaks, warning her in an almost menacing tone. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“That girl is weak, Roman. You can’t be the head of the Bloodline and have someone like her at your side. She doesn’t deserve it.” By now, Samantha has moved over to him, her hands planted on his chest, his eyes closed. “You need….someone strong at your side. Look at what you’ve done just by yourself. Imagine…imagine having a queen to rule with you.” She licks her lips, going in for the kill. “I can be that for you. I can give you an heir. Look at how long it’s been and still nothing, no baby. She’s broken, Roman. That bitch—”

Samantha is silenced by him jumping up from his chair as he shoves her against the wall, hand on her neck. It’s not the first time they’ve been in a similar position. She loves to be choked during sex, and he’s adept at doing just enough to get her off without her passing out.

But this time, there’s no pressure, no sexual aspect, no foreplay.

This….this is different.

Because this is the first time she’s ever actually been afraid of him.

“If you ever in your fucking life speak on her again, I’ll kill you.” Samantha’s eyes are wide, hand grasping at his. He’s still not actually applying any sort of pressure, probably more so placement to evoke a level of fear. A reminder that he could end her life in a matter of seconds if that’s what he wanted. “If you ever speak to her again, I’ll kill you. Fucking look at her, and you’re a dead bitch.”

Samantha barely has time to process his threats when he says something in Samoan and steps back, releasing her as she dubs over and gasps loudly from the shock of it all.

Seconds later, she’s on the floor, laying on her side after fucking Nia has landed her big ass foot in Samantha’s head.

Nia is looking down with a wicked smile that promises a level of pain. “You talk too fucking much.” She can’t tell if it’s directed to herself or Roman, regardless, he looks unbothered, outside of staring down at her with disgust.

Samantha has no idea where the hell that bitch came from, but her unexpected blow nearly has her seeing stars. She’s writhing on the floor, on her side, cradling her head when Nia yanks her up by her extensions.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Nia kicks her a second time, in her side, and Samantha is almost certain she heard the subsequent cracking of her rib from the impact. Tears fill her eyes. “I’ve wanted to kick your ass since we were kids.”

Helpless and feeling so confused as to how he could do this to her, Samantha sets her teary gaze onto him. She does her best to generate as many tears as she can. “Roman, please—”

“You’re fucking delusional if you really thought I would ever make you anything more than what you were to me.” Samantha sniffles, vision blurred and stomach aching from both the physical and emotional impact of his words. “Nothing.”

A sudden anger fills her, meshing with the growing physical pain. She did this. That fucking bitch has taken Roman from her, her Roman.

“You wanna know what she is to me?” He crouches down and reaches for a lock of her hair, answering just as icily as the disgusted look in his light brown eyes. “Everything you’re not.”

Samantha snarls almost, not even angry at his words as much as her mind is trying to navigate any and all ways to make that little troll pay for this. Pay for stealing her man.

But it’s as Roman is walking out, that he barks his last order to Nia. Not necessarily a necessity given the fact that he’s certain she’s dreamed exactly of how this very moment could and should go down. Granted, this is the one symbolic thing he needs to ensure takes place.

“Break her fucking jaw.”

________

Handling the Samantha situation is just one of many things to be checked off of Roman’s to-do list for today. He’s got meetings, contracts to review, spreadsheets to update, shipments to see sent off, and a million and one other things. Most of which he’s far from thrilled about but also know needs to be done, regardless if he’d rather say fuck it all just for today. For just a couple hours, even.

Delegate, perhaps. But these are things that can’t be delegated. He, as the Head of the Table, needs to put his signature on to make it official.

And he’s got his Wise Man fresh on his heel to remind him of such responsibilities.

“And if my Tribal Chief can find it in him, we should also review Nick Aldis' proposal.” Roman’s instantly scowling. He fucking hates Aldis. The bastard is smug and thinks himself more important than he is. That Roman won’t end his fucking life with one snap of his finger.

Roman is halfway listening to Paul when he walks past Alicia who stands up from her desk. “Sir—”

His dismissal is swift and brusque. “Leave me alone.”

“But—”

One murderous look, and Alicia is back in her seat. Roman briefly overhears Paul chastising his secretary for her insubordination when he opens his door and immediately realizes why Alicia was most likely trying to speak to him.

Roman sees Solo standing almost awkwardly in the corner out of his peripheral vision, but his attention is solely on the other unexpected guest.

Focused on the way her almost flesh toned dress hugs every curve that drives him fucking insane sometimes, the way she bites down on her bottom lip in that way he’s learned she does when she’s unsure of something. And he’s especially focused on her hair that’s chopped down to where it lightly grazes her shoulder.

“I tell you, good help is so hard to find—” Paul is silenced as he finally walks in and sees Solana. “Oh, it’s you.” Roman shoots him a look that would absolutely kill if it had any sort of physical impact. “I mean, Solana, what a surprise—”

Roman easily moves back to focusing on his wife who looks absolutely fucking stunning. He directs his command though to Solo and Paul. “You two, out.”

Solo doesn’t need to be told twice, but Paul seems to meander, even as Roman walks over to Solana. And it’s when Roman has his hands on Solana’s hips and the room is still not cleared, he repeats in a calm voice that’s solely because of Solana’s presence.

If not for her, he’d be screaming at his Wise Man.

“I said get out.”

Roman can practically hear the nervous gulp. “But, sir, we have work—”

Solana frowning pisses Roman off in a way he has to keep from showing. But it’s when she finally speaks and it’s an offer to leave that he really has to reel in his rage. “I can go—”

“No.” That’s the fucking last thing he wants. “Paul is leaving.”

It’s not a suggestion, not a request, not a preferred action.

It’s a fucking demand.

And his Wise Man must realize this, because he’s quickly following in line with Solo and finally leaving Roman alone with Solana who seems still unsure about her presence.

“You have work to do—”

“You really expect me to get anything done when you come in my office looking like this?” He motions to her outfit and sees the way her cheeks tinge reddish as she bites back a smile. “Not happening, sweetheart.”

“I thought it looked nice.” The bashful way she says as such, as if she’s unsure it was an accurate assessment blows his mind. She looks down at the dress as if it’s not the woman wearing said dress that has him pushing back unholy thoughts.

“It doesn’t look nice. You look nice, Solana.” Another one over of her curvy body, and he mutters, “more than nice.” He brings his hand to her hair, brushing his fingers against the ends. “You cut your hair.”

She nods, an almost look of determination in her soft expression. “It was time,” is all she says, and Roman doesn’t need to ask for clarification. This meant something to her. Cutting her hair has a deeper meaning than just wanting something new, and whatever the reason, he’s proud she found it in her to follow through.

He hates when she asks him, still unsure, “does it…does it look bad?”

He’s not sure he could ever use Solana and ‘bad’ in the same sentence. Ever. “You could never look bad.”

She smiles, clearly pleased by his compliment. Good. He likes seeing her smile.

“Come here.” Roman takes her hand and leads her over to his desk where he sits down in his chair and doesn’t think twice about guiding her onto his lap. Roman feels her tense for only a couple seconds before she relaxes against him.

“As pleasant a surprise it is to find your fine ass in my office, I know you came for a reason.”

Roman is extremely perceptive. Always has been. He’s noticed the increased comfort Solana has developed and continued to develop with him. The way her discomfort at being looked at too long or even touched in any sort of capacity has shifted into bashful smiles and an almost light in her eyes at being complimented. At someone finding her to be anything but every lie she’s ever been fed.

Her confidence is growing, slowly but surely. And he likes that shit.

So he’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep it growing.

“It’s nothing serious.” It doesn’t have to be. She could come to his office every day if that’s what she wanted. He’d have zero complaints. “I just…I was baking Sopaipillas, and I know you like them and I felt bad because I’m bringing Jimmy and Jey some—”

It’s not until that moment he sees the Tupperware container on his desk. Her thoughtfulness is so unfamiliar but very much appreciated. He chuckles as his fingers carefully tap against her hip. “Thank you, but you know if you keep feeding they asses, they gon’ keep coming over.”

She’s smiling almost, defending them to a certain extent. “They’re really not that bad.” And she’s not entirely wrong. His cousins can be entertaining at times, but beyond that, he likes seeing her comfort level with them increasing as well.

For her to be as comfortable around them as she’s become, especially with them being men, is extremely significant given her trauma.

He’s proud of her for that just as well.

Still,Roman shrugs and calmly points out. “I spend most of my day with them.” Her other hand lays on his chest as he admits, “I don’t want to come home and see them. I just want to see you.”

Solana gives an expected almost shocked expression followed up with a slight confession of her own. Her voice is soft, like she’s unsure about what she’s about to say but is going with it regardless. “That’s why I wait up for you to get home…because I want to see you too.”

He believes this to be true, but he also knows there’s something else to it. “You worry about me.”

She nods, nervously licking her lips. “I’m trying to work on it though.” She’s been working on a lot of things, a lot of difficult, most likely mentally taxing things. And as proud of her as he is, Roman also recognizes the importance of pacing oneself.

He gently grazes the back of his fingers over her cheek. “Just focus on you, alright?”

The corner of her lips lift into an almost playful grin as she asks innocently, “what if I can do both?” Roman studies her, sees and hears the playfulness. It’s unlike her, but he fucking loves it. She squeals and almost giggles against him as he brings her closer to his chest, her hand squeezing his shoulder as he remains mindful of the placement of his hand on her hip.

Growing comfort or not, he still wants to be respectful of her boundaries.

Still wants to maintain her trust.

“I got me. Always.” Her gaze is on him, softening by the second as he adds on almost quietly. “Just need you to be okay too.”

Okay is such a big word, so layered. She’s not sure she’ll ever be fully okay. Too much trauma. Never enough healing. But there may be some level of okayness she can achieve, and it does feel like that’s something that’s in progress. “I’m getting there.”

And a large part of her healing journey is largely due to the man underneath her, staring at her with almost a sense of fascination, like he’s so enraptured by her. Like he’s smitten with her. The person she once believed no one could ever want has a handsome, powerful man like Roman Reigns holding her, looking at her, wanting her.

A line from the book resurfaces to the front of her mind.

One step, not twenty.

With that as a motivating and supportive mantra, she slowly moves her hand from his shoulder to his face, his beard prickling against her skin.

“Solana…..” She’s not sure she’s ever heard him sound so pained. “Baby, you can’t touch me like this and expect me to not want to kiss you.”

The butterflies in her stomach grow exponentially. Baby. She’s not entirely certain, but she feels like he’s called her this before, that he’s referred to her as such on a different occasion. So, it’s not a mistake, not a one time thing. It’s yet another sign that there wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body when he said he wanted her.

That he wants her.

Her heart is beating a mile a minute as she pools together all of the courage in her body and again chips away another tiny section of her wall of protection. “So kiss me.”

It’s not until this moment that Solana sees Roman actually appear genuinely surprised at something. He asks, maybe as if he needs to make sure he heard correctly, but Solana would bet it’s less that and more him ensuring consent. “Are you sure?”

He’s been so good at that. Consent. And it’s meant the world to her. His patience with all of her baggage.

Nodding, she quickly remembers his preference for verbal acknowledgements. “Yes.”

Solana doesn’t really remember her kiss with Roman at their wedding. She doesn’t really remember much from the actual wedding at all, to be honest. It was….it was more traumatic than anything, which is why she does her best to keep it stored away with the other too difficult to sit on memories.

But this….this she is certain she will never forget.

There’s an almost hesitancy when his lips touch hers, a space he’s leaving open in the event that she changes her mind. She’s grateful for that, but it’s not necessary. Her ‘yes’ was as genuine as his apparent interest in her.

And when he picks this up, picks up the fact that she truly wants this, he deepens the kiss, his hand moving up to her lower back as he pulls her closer to him. Roman’s full lips are soft and warm, and the way he moves his mouth against hers is both reserved and hungry, a strange but well balanced thing only he can manage. Like only he can achieve. He kisses her with a passion that she feels is only a fraction of everything he feels toward and for her.

Solana’s hand slides to the back of his neck, her fingers brushing up and across the skin, teasing the strings of hair that refused to mold down. She’s not sure if this was the right move because he makes a sound against her mouth, an almost mixture of a moan and groan, and pulls away. The separation and her subsequent light panting makes her suddenly aware that they’d been kissing longer than she realized. That she’d gotten so plunged in the experience that time seemed a nonfactor.

Her eyes flutter close when Roman brings his lips back onto her, this time peppering kisses along her jawline. Her head tilts back, an unconscious thing that grants him full access to the nape of her neck, which he easily makes his way down to. It’s a different, pleasant sensation that has her nails scraping against him.

“Roman….”

“So fuckin’ beautiful….” He says something else, something she can’t understand because it’s said in Samoan, but it unintentionally triggers something for her. A new level of bravery, an ability to ask something that makes her insides light afire and heart rate exceed what’s probably safe and healthy. But, it’s a hill she wants to eventually be able to get up and over.

And he’s made her feel safe enough to be the one to do it with.

“Roman.” Her voice must give away her need to say something because he pulls away from her and is focused directly on her. She licks her slightly swollen lips. “I want….I want to try—”

“Whatchu mean he busy? Man, you trippin. Uce always got time for family.” Jimmy’s loud unexpected voice is enough of a disruption and mood killer that Solana quickly jumps off Roman’s lap and moves away just enough to adjust her hair and dress. “Soso!”

Solana brings herself to look at her husband’s cousin as he finally walks in the office after dismissing Alicia’s warning. The first thing she notices is the tupperware bowl in his hand and white substance on his fingers. “I hope you don’t mind. When I saw your driver, I figured you had these little sugar things in the back so I just grabbed em’ all.”

If not for the fact that Solana is still trying to settle herself, she’d point out how the other bowl was supposed to be for Jey. But that seems irrelevant at the moment.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Jimmy seems completely unbothered by Roman’s threat as he plops down on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the glass coffee table and asks with all the obliviousness in the world. “So what ya’ll doing?”

When Roman shoots up from his desk and starts toward his cousin, Solana places herself in front of him, hands on his chest. His attention is immediately down, focused once again on her.

“It’s okay. I—I’ve got training with Bay and Naomi anyway.” Swallowing her nerves and pushing back thoughts of how….how nice it felt kissing him, she quietly offers a hopefully acceptable alternative. “We can talk tonight.”

This doesn’t seem like Roman’s preference but something he can live with. “Fine.”

She knows he’s obviously annoyed at being interrupted, and she is too, to a certain extent. But, Jimmy meant no harm, and she hopes Roman can at least recognize as much. Solana says bye to Jimmy and is near the door where she sees Solo waiting for her when an idea, more an urge, becomes too prominent to push away.

She turns back around and leans up, pulling Roman down by his shoulders and kisses his cheek. He gives her a look that tells her he’d be pulling her back for more if not for her cousin, and it makes her stomach somersault all over again.

But, she doesn’t give him the opportunity, just a small smile as she walks out for good this time.

And it’s after she’s gone, the Wise Man back in the room to help minimize the chances of his Tribal Chief killing one of his cousins that Jimmy uses the distraction to pull out his phone and send a text in the group chat.

Group Chat: Operation RoSo

Jimmy: Ya’ll! Code red! Code fucking red!

Jey:?????????

Bayley: Is Solana okay?!

Naomi: ^^^^^^

Jimmy: Man, I just got to Uce office, and good thing I walked in when I did. They acting all weird and shit. Soso just ran out of here but not after telling him they’ll ‘talk’ tonight!!!!

Jey: I’m too high for this shit right now.

Naomi: Babe, how exactly is that a code red???

Jimmy: They was obviously arguing before I got here! And ‘talking’ tonight??? That ain’t nothing but part two!

Bayley: Jimmy, that seems like a bit of a stretch.

Jey: A big ass stretch. Man, leave them two alone.

Jimmy: Naw. We gotta expedite this plan. I can see the writing on the wall. If we don’t move fast, they never gon fall in love. They might even be starting to hate each other now!

Bayley: Now you’re just being dramatic.

Jey: Agreed. How I get out this chat?

Jimmy: I don’t wanna hear it! I’m the master strategist so let me do my thing!

Jimmy: Babe. You and Bayley have SoSo all done up and nice this evening. Make her think ya’ll are going out or something.

Naomi: Why?

Jimmy: Damnit woman, because I said so!

Naomi: 🫤

Naomi: I’m trying to figure out who the fuck you think you talking to. Don’t get your ass beat.

Jey: I’m muting this shit. Ya’ll not gon get me killed. Roman don’t like people in his business.

Jimmy: Just have her ready, and I’ll text you the location and the time she needs to be there.

Jimmy: We gotta save RoSo from themselves!

________

Solana misses the blow from Naomi by only a fraction of a second, but before she has time to think about it, another one is coming, forcing Solana to quickly jump to the side.

“Nice,” Naomi compliments. “Try more offensive positions though. Try to hit me.”

Solana knew that was coming, knew that Naomi would be pushing her today, as she has the last couple times. It only makes sense. Solana recognizes that she’s improving, that she has improved a lot since she started. It seems only natural that Naomi would continue to push her to further the progression of her skills.

“Don’t be afraid, Solana! Naomi can take it,” Bayley encourages from the sidelines, drinking some of her Gatorade.

Solana does her best to not get too distracted, knowing that can be quite literally fatal if this was a real situation.

Naomi lunges at her again, and Solana manages to block it with her forearm but also lifts her foot, managing to kick Naomi away.

“Nice!” It’s such a weird thing to be applauded for. “But remember to retract your foot faster next time. I could have twisted it and grounded you.”

Solana commits that to memory just as Naomi steps back and Bayley walks back over. She then compliments, “I know I said it already, but the haircut looks amazing on you.” She quickly adds in a manner that’s more telling than asking. “Just have to even some areas off.”

Solana half smiles. She expected Bayley to need to go in with actual shears to shape up some areas given the fact that Solana’s impromptu haircut was literally just her taking some regular scissors and chopping at least five inches off.

But before Solana can say anything else, she sees why Bayley ended her break to get back into the training.

It’s evident by the knife in her outstretched hand.

“This is a Benchmade Bailout. It’s a folding knife. A little bigger than what we’d like you to carry on you, but a good place to start.”

Carrying….Solana hadn’t even allowed herself to think about that part. Of course they’d want her to start keeping a knife on her once teaching her how to use one.

Naomi then advises, “we’re not gonna do any fight training with it today, but we do want you to get used to the feel and weight of it.”

Solana can feel her heartbeat increasing. She can’t remember the last time, if ever, she’s held a knife of this nature. Her left hand is against her shorts, tapping against the spandex, a continued nervous habit.

Bayley sees this and offers assurance. “It’s okay. We just want to go over the basics.”

Solana does her best to focus not on the past, but the present. The here and now. Another recommendation from her book. She also strangely remembers the countless times Roman has asserted he won’t let anything happen to her.

“I’ve got you.”

The safe feeling she has when he’s around. He’s not physically present, but the recollection of his words anchor her.

Taking a deep breath, Solana takes the knife from Bayley, its coolness taking her by surprise. She never takes her eyes off the blade.

Meanwhile, Naomi goes into basic tips and information. “Right off the bat, if you ever need to use it to defend yourself, go for the major arteries.” She then begins pointing to the various body parts as she lists them off. “The neck, stomach, chest area namely. It’s your best bet at getting someone almost entirely immobilized.”

“And this might be graphic, but don’t be afraid to go for it twice. Sometimes people can still be standing with just one hit.” Solana is grateful for the fact that Bayley is trying to be careful with her words, vague to a certain extent but clear enough so she can understand.

“If you just wanna get them away and not potentially kill them, maybe go for the hand or foot, depending on how they’ve got you pinned.”

“But by the time we finish your training, no one will get the chance to pin you.” Naomi gives a comforting smile and squeeze of her shoulder. “Not to mention Roman would never let you be in that position in the first place.”

Solana doesn’t doubt that one bit.

Bayley suddenly clears her throat, almost awkwardly.

Solana frowns, looking lost by the otherwise random in interjection. “What?”

“We’re not supposed to tell you, but Roman is taking you out to dinner tonight.” Naomi’s answer is appreciated, but it doesn’t make sense.

“He what?” Solana is confused because she literally just saw Roman this morning and came straight from his office to the Warehouse to train without him mentioning a word of this. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Bayley adds, but there’s something almost unsure about her answer. “So, I’ll take you to my salon afterwards to touch up your hair now, and then we can also figure out glam while you’re there.”

“Yes.” Naomi claps and carefully removes the knife from Solana. The knife she completely forgot she was holding. Naomi comments on that. “See? You forgot about it for a minute, didn’t you?” Solana nods. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you there.”

The encouragement means the world to Solana as she offers a quiet but meaningful, “thank you.” They’ll never know how much their support means to her.

Ever.

Bayley comes and stands beside Solana, sliding her arm around her with that infamous sly smile.”You never have to thank us for being your friends, Solana.” Words have never hit so deeply, Solana having to hold back tears. Friends. “Now let’s figure out what the slay is gonna be for tonight.”

________

The minute Solana walks into the restaurant, she realizes that something is off.

And not even in a dangerous sort of way, more so, there’s something she’s not being told sort of way.

It’s a beautiful upscale restaurant that has decor that probably costs more than some people’s mortgage payment.

But it’s barren. Not a customer in sight.

Walking up the three steps that lead to a higher level, she looks around, confused as to the fact that a restaurant that probably requires reservations six months in advance is vacant.

Digging in her small purse, she pulls out her phone to text Roman. Bayley and Naomi encouraged her to continue to play dumb, but this isn’t right.

She needs to talk to him.

“Solana?”

Her head snaps up to see Roman who also just walked up the same steps she did minutes prior.

“Roman?”

He seems surprised to see her, an unexpected expression for someone who allegedly planned this dinner. “I—I don’t know what’s going on.” He walks over to her as she explains. “I was told—”

“Probably the same thing I was told,” he finishes for her and takes in her appearance, Solana’s hands smoothing over her dress. Looking just as captivated as he’d looked at her this morning in his office, Roman ghosts the back of his hand against her cheek. “Sei uno splendore….”

She hasn’t a clue what he’s said, but something tells her it’s a compliment of some sort. Still, Solana asks with that same bashful smile that seems to always fall on her face when she’s around him, “are you gonna tell me what you just said?”

Roman winks and answers, plain and simple, “naw.”

Smiling even harder, before she can say anything else, another voice enters the conversation.

“Soso, girl, what you doing here?”

Both Solana and Roman turn to a smiling Jimmy who's wearing a poorly feigned look of surprise.

“Jimmy?” Solana is genuinely confused while Roman looks like he’s genuinely considering murdering his cousin for the second time today. “What—what are you doing here?”

Roman is completely uninterested in the why and more so on the how he’s going to end the other man. “I’m going to fucking kill him, Solana. I don’t care anymore.”

Jimmy completely ignores Roman and answers her question with an answer that makes no sense. “Ahh, you know, I was in the neighborhood.”

He gives Solana a side hug as she answers his question as well, hoping to avoid witnessing a familial crime. “Bayley and Naomi told me—”

“You know what, it don’t even matter. You here. Big Dog here.” He gestures around them. “Looks like this nice ass restaurant has been rented out by some coincidence. Might as well enjoy a nice dinner.”

Roman closes his eyes, seemingly trying to count off. “I’m literally going to snap your fucking neck if you don’t get lost. Now.”

Solana moves over to Roman just enough for him to reach and gently tug her into him. He doesn’t need to be getting this upset. She naturally lays her head against his chest, fingers grasping the sides of his shirt.

Jimmy lifts his hands in a surrender manner. “Hey. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” Solana smiles at the look she can imagine on Roman’s face at that. “Ya’ll be safe now. Soso, I’ll be at the crib in the morning for breakfast.”

“Why the fuc—”

Solana reaches up and redirects his focus onto her. “It’s okay.” Solana looks over at the table that’s beautifully decorated with a stunning centerpiece. “It’s….it’s sweet.” Her diversion also, thankfully, a long enough distraction for Jimmy to depart, leaving the two of them alone.

Her preference.

Roman’s as well, clearly.

Solana then takes in the situation, a little relieved to finally know what’s going on. It’s obvious she was set up. Roman too. But regardless of the deception, it’s deeply appreciated. Her friends going to such lengths to set up something nice like this.

Roman, calming down a bit, doesn’t necessarily disagree with her, but instead asserts, “they’re interfering, and I don’t like that shit.”

Her smile dims a bit as she offers, “we can leave—”

“No.” He shoots it down immediately, hands on her hips. “Just hate that I finally get time alone with you, and it’s because of fucking Jimmy.” Her eyes shut when he kisses her forehead and murmurs, “been thinking’ bout you all day…”

And the smile is back as she takes his hand and leads him toward the table, Roman pulling her chair out for her.

Having the restaurant entirely rented out is a luxury she’s not used to but appreciates, especially with how catered the service is as well as the fact that they don’t have to wait long for the food. Conversation flows easy between them, more Roman asking questions about how she’s doing, if she needs anything.

He’s always so attentive, and she’s so grateful for that.

Grateful for him.

It’s the same type of attentiveness that causes her to comment after the waiter comes and takes their plates, clearing the table. “You seem stressed.”

And not just because of the date setup.

He shrugs, partially dismissing but not outright denying. “Just a long day.”

It seems to be a recurring theme with him. Solana has noticed for a while now how his early days always bleed into late evenings that sometimes spill over to the next day. It doesn’t seem sustainable to her. “You have a lot of those.”

“I’m the Tribal Chief.” He says it with pride, as he should, but there’s something else there. Something she can’t outright identify. “Comes with the territory.”

And Solana recognizes as such, but as large of a man Roman is—in many different ways—he’s still just a man. “Is it ever too much?” She crosses her arms across the table, leaning forward almost. There may be no other attendees present, but there are still workers, so she’s mindful of her volume. “I mean….”

“Do I ever get exhausted?” She nods. “Sure.” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Roman does such an excellent job always wearing that mask of calm, cool, and collected. Outside of his obvious temper, he’s always so well put together. It’s something she envies, to a certain extent. “But someone’s gotta do it, and as it’s my birthright, the responsibility falls on me.”

She sits on his words, understanding where he’s coming from but also wondering just how he manages such a weight. She knows he’d headed the Bloodline for some time now, since he was 18 years old. That’s a large burden to carry at such a young age and for him to do it so long and as well as he has, it’s impressive.

He certainly lives up to his reputation.

Solana nods and does her best to ease into what she’d really like to tell him, to have him know even if he never in life takes her up on it. “You always say that I can talk to you…”

Roman doesn’t hesitate to reaffirm it too. “You can.”

She knows this. He’s….he’s made it abundantly clear that he wants to speak with her, to know what’s on her mind. “That goes both ways.” Something speedily flashes in his eyes, briefly affecting his otherwise neutral expression. “You can talk to me too.”

For a second, she regrets saying anything, regrets second guessing his abilities to handle things. The last thing she wants is to insinuate he’s somehow incapable of taking care of business. But, if he’s insulted by her offer, he doesn’t show it, just says a simple, “thank you.” She offers a small nod when he seemingly changes the subject. “How’s training?”

There’s a bit of a sting at what feels like a slight form of rejection, but she understands better than anyone that opening up can be hard, so she respects his wishes.

“Good. I….I think I like it.” It’s the truth. While initially terrified of being put into such a foreign situation, Solana has found herself growing increasingly content with this new part of her weekly routine. Training has assisted, to a great extent, in her growing confidence and surety with herself. There’s something comforting about learning how to defend herself, how to keep herself safe. “Today was a little hard though. They’re teaching me how to fight with knives. It’s…..uncomfortable, but that’s how I know I need to do it.”

If there’s anything she’s learned in the past couple months, it’s that nothing about working to overcome trauma is easy. That doesn’t, however, make it any less important.

Or beneficial.

“Not if you absolutely don’t want to.” To be fair, Roman wasn’t even informed that this was something the girls were starting with Solana. He makes a mental note to remind them that while they handle her training, the specifics of what she’s taught needs to be run by him at all times. He probably would have shot down the knife training.

Solana was literally present and witnessed her mother be stabbed to death. Solana herself was also stabbed.

That seems almost cruel to make her learn how to wield the very weapon that took so much from her.

“Wes used to use knives to hurt me.” It comes out more quiet than she intended, a natural effect of sharing something so painful. She points to a small scar on her neck, the exact date and nature of how it happened, something she’ll never forget but has little desire to elaborate on.

“And I know….I know you won’t let him hurt me anymore, but….I don’t want him to have that power over me anymore either. He knows I’m scared of them, and he’s always taken advantage of that fact. I don’t….I don’t want him to have that anymore.”

“Then he won’t,” Roman agrees. He can understand her logic, and he respects the hell out of her wanting to take back that power. He supports the hell out of it too. “Not if you don’t let him.”

She gives a sad smile, shaking her head. “As strange as it is, I think….Wes and I are both victims.” Before Roman can press her for clarification, she explains, “my father always kept his contact limited with my mom. He said she would make him weak like she made me.” Just saying it takes Solana back to countless times and occasions where her father would talk down on her mother, talk down on Solana. It’s a weighty memory. “Having my mom…having her love for the time that I did made a big difference for me. Wes never got that, so I always wonder how things could have been different if he did.”

Solana has a big heart. Pure. A mind-boggling phenomena to Roman considering everything she’s been through. “It still doesn’t make what he’s done to you right.” Kind heart or not, it’s imperative she knows there’s never a good enough reason or excuse for anyone to do what he’s done to her.

She nods, “I know.” It’s still a work in progress, Solana learning to unlearn the victim blaming she’s placed on herself for so many years. But, that much, she’s come to accept.

She never deserved any of Wes or her father's abuse.

Roman can see the way memories might be coming back to the front of her mind and moves to redirect again. “You wanted to talk to me about something earlier.”

Oh.

For a second, she wants to lie. To make up something. To come up with a story that’s hopefully believable enough for him to not poke holes through. And then another line from her book resurfaces.

Calculated risks are different—you weigh your chances and step out onto the ice only when you’re relatively sure it’s solid.

Solana is certain she’s never met a more solid person than Roman.

Scooting back in her chair, she feels his watchful gaze around her as she moves around the table and is only inches away from him when he realizes what she's doing and beats her to it, gently pulling her onto his lap. He’s always so careful around her.

Solana moves her arms around his neck as he rests one hand on her hip.

She takes a deep breath. “I was...I was working out of my book this morning, and it was the chapter on…on intimacy and—” She has to pace herself, knowing that if she doesn’t, she won’t get through the conversation. And she has to do this. She almost feels like she needs to do this. “I think I always thought I couldn’t have that because of what happened to me, but…..but I think I can.”

And this has been such a powerful and moving revelation to walk into. For so long, Solana has lived in fear and trauma, haunted by the horrific memories of her sexual assault. It’s inaccurately painted her views of what should and could be something beautiful and special with the right person. She never thought that could be possible for her though, believed that her chance had been destroyed by two sick individuals.

But if the past few months have taught her anything, it’s that there are decent people in the world. Decent men in the world. Jimmy. Jey. Solo.

Roman

She’s still very much nervous, and even talking about it has her pushing back a level of anxiety, but the desire to overcome that trauma, to be able to experience that as a woman, to not be held down by the shackles of her past, is stronger than it’s ever been before.

“And I want to try.” She licks her lips, nervously adding on and explaining as best she can, “but, I can’t do it right away. I need….I need to build up to it, and I know—that has to be frustrating for you—”

“Solana.” His interruption is quiet but firm. “We’ll go as slow as you want.” His finger is moving in slow circles on her hip, an action that provides her a strange sense of comfort. “Whatever you need is what we’ll do.”

Solana releases a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. Him agreeing isn’t something she necessarily didn’t see coming, she just didn’t realize it’d come so easy.

She almost feels it’s too good to be true.

Suddenly unsure, Solana double checks. “You’re….you’re okay with that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat with his answer. “Only if you’re sure this is what you want.”

It’s a profound statement. There’s a lot of things she’s not sure of that she’s been making herself do, regardless.

But this……

This is something she wants.

Something she maybe even needs.

Solana is careful with her answer. “I’m gonna be 29 this year, and the only sexual experience I’ve had is being raped as a child.” There’s an equal combination of emotion and conviction as she affirms, “I don’t want that to be my story anymore.”

And it won’t.

Because she won’t let it.

Not anymore.

“Then we’ll do this.” She nods, still nervous but also comforted by his support. “You know I won’t make you do anything you’re not ready for, but I also need you to be good about communicating with me.” His eyes move up and down over her, resting slightly longer on her chest, which is understandable given the revealing nature of her dress. “And you also know how attracted I am to you, to all of you, so I need you to stay clear with me on what you are and aren’t comfortable with, okay?”

It’s fair and completely understandable. Roman is still a man. A man with needs, and he strikes her as being an otherwise handsy man, so him wanting and needing to know where her red zones are is important.

“I understand.” And she’ll make an active, concerted effort to be on top of that. To practice saying no and cutting things off when she needs to. “What—what about you?” He gives her a look. “Is there….is there anything you’re not comfortable with?”

Again, he takes her in, head to toe. His tongue leaves his mouth to slowly gloss over his bottom lip. “Baby, you can do whatever you want with me.”

Her smile is bashful as she looks away. Him being so….outspoken about his attraction and desire for her is still a new thing she’s trying to navigate, but it’s not unwanted. Nor does it feel bad to have a man like him want her so badly.

Not at all.

Deciding to continue to stay on the ledge she’s already started to trail, Solana brings her hand to his chest. “So….so if I asked you to kiss me again….”

He chuckles, Solana’s eyes shutting as he brings his mouth to her jawline, “whenever,” her nails claw against his chest as he moves his lips to her nose, “however,” finally he’s teasing the corner of her mouth. “Wherever you want.”

And it’s at the exact moment their lips connect again that a phone ringing once again steals away another groundbreaking moment.

Solana can feel the irritation in his muscular body and smiles against his lips.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” She doesn’t necessarily doubt it as he kisses her cheek before pulling his phone out and answering as she lays her head in his neck. He barks out an unkind, “what?”

It doesn’t deter her as he keeps his grip on her hip, Solana enjoying the feeling of being in his arms. She’s starting to realize being this close to him makes her feel safe. His presence alone gives her that feeling, but this is something different, something almost…deeper.

She doesn’t try to listen in on his phone call, but it’s made virtually impossible not to, given the fact that she’s literally on his lap. However, that’s ended when he switches to speaking in Samoan. Still, it’s not hard to pick up on the fact that he’s growing more annoyed with every second that passes.

He then gives a heavy sigh, switching to English, “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Her stomach drops, a frown appearing that she does her best to quickly push away. She had a feeling the call would end that way.

Before he can explain to her the obvious, she lifts her head and assures, “it’s okay. I should probably get back to Dulce anyway.”

“Damn dog is so needy.” Solana smiles at the scowl on his handsome face. For someone who doesn’t care for dogs, she’s noticed he seems to interact with her puppy more and more as the days pass. He brings his hand to her chin, ensuring she keeps her gaze on him. “Don’t wait up, alright?”

It’s an expected request, one he should already know she’ll do her best to, but most likely won’t, abide by.

“I make no promises...”

________

Having such a small dog means that he or she can be in the most random of places and blend in seamlessly because of said smallness. It’s why in looking for Dulce after getting out the shower, Solana damn near searches every corner and crevice of the first and second floors of the mansion. Outside of a room that’s been locked and closed off the past two weeks, Roman not really giving her a reason why nor has she pushed.

She’d never been in it anyway.

It is, however, out of the norm though for Dulce to not be nearby. She typically likes to stay close to Solana.

Or even Roman.

So for a moment, Solana starts to get concerned. But after searching her room, the kitchen, the dining room, and even the backyard a second time, Solana is finally able to locate Dulce in the least expected place.

Roman’s room.

She didn’t even realize Dulce’s bed was still in there, still in the original spot on the side of his bed.

The side she had slept on that one night.

“Dulce, you can’t stay in here.” Solana knows Roman isn’t a huge dog person, and Dulce being in his room is probably the last thing he’ll want to see when he gets back. But it’s in reaching over to pick up her puppy that something unexpected happens.

Dulce nips at her.

Solana gasps, momentarily taken off guard. That’s the first time Dulce has done that. “Dulce, no.” Again, Solana goes for the grab only for the puppy to plant her bottom and back legs into the bed. Now Solana is just straight up confused. “What is wrong with you?”

Thinking maybe she can lure the puppy with a toy, Solana turns to leave, almost to the door when Dulce’s whimpering and the patter of her little feet stops her. Solana turns around and moves to grab her when Dulce scampers right back over to her bed, plopping her little body down.

It’s when she does that, Solana starts to catch on.

“You want to stay in here?” Dulce’s reply is a bark followed by the wag of her tail. Solana frowns. “We can’t…..this is Roman’s room.”

And yet even as the words leave her mouth, she thinks about that. Thinks about the fact that a part of working up to being intimate with Roman includes being close to him, touching him, in his bed perhaps. And though she still doesn’t remember everything from the night she got drunk, she remembers waking up in his bed and falling asleep again in the same bed with zero issues.

She felt….she felt comfortable.

She felt safe.

“We can stay for a little while.” Deep down, Solana knows Roman won’t be upset with her. If anything, he’ll be more annoyed that she didn’t listen and decided to wait up, but her laying in his bed for a few minutes won’t generate anger.

Solana puts her phone on the nightstand, making sure the ringer is still on. The likelihood of him texting or even calling her is slim to none, but still….she doesn’t want to miss it if he does.

Laying on his bed is the initial plan, but there’s a chill in his room that has her moving under the covers just to provide her that slight warmth. It’s not intended to increase her comfort and definitely not intended to lead to her falling asleep.

But that’s exactly what happens.

It’s also the last thing Roman expects to find when he makes it back home a couple hours later.

Solana asleep in his bed.

He knew she would try to stay up, knew she would end up falling asleep in trying to stay up, but he didn’t know she would end up doing all of that in his room, in his bed.

It’s unexpected but far from unwanted, a strange sense of satisfaction at seeing her sleeping so comfortably, so peacefully in his space of all places.

He’s careful in his movements around the room, gathering clothes to change into post shower. Roman doesn’t want to disturb her, to wake her up, especially since he has a good guess that she didn’t intend to end up in his bed and would be unnecessarily apologetic.

Apologetic for something he’s halfway considering asking her to make a permanent thing.

Roman manages to finish his shower without Solana so much as moving an inch. If only her damn dog was the same, because he’s barely able to open the bathroom door when Dulce is at his feet, whimpering.

Small ass dog with an even smaller ass bladder.

Before she can progress to barking, he’s got her up in his arms, guiding her out the room, down the stairs and into the backyard where she thankfully wastes zero time in doing her business. Roman is grateful, not wanting a second to pass where Solana could wake up, freak the fuck out, and leave.

He wants her to stay right where she is.

And it’s in sliding into the bed with her, moving his arm over her body and gently pulling her into him, he realizes another reason why he doesn’t want her to leave. There’s an unfamiliar almost instant peace he has at the feel of her next to him, like this is how it should be, like she should be with him.

Like she’s supposed to be with him.

But he clearly wasn’t thinking straight when he moved her, because she’s suddenly stirring in her sleep, eyes slowly blinking open.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to wake her up.

Roman’s half expecting her to freak out, to panic at being this close to him, at being in bed this close to him. But she again surprises him with a quiet murmur that’s more an acknowledgment than anything. “You’re back….” He watches as she frowns almost, an indication of worry, asking in a voice full of sleep. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He brings his hand to her cheek, recognizing that even though she’s talking, she’s very much still half-sleep. “Go back to sleep.”

Solana gives a little nod and the moment he pulls his hand away, she inches closer to him. He shifts their positions, so he’s on his back, and she’s tucked safely into his side. In what feels like seconds, she’s fast asleep.

Yeah….

A discussion about her moving into his room is definitely on the table, preferably sooner rather than later. It makes sense to him for a lot of reasons, namely the fact that she’s clearly comfortable sleeping with him in this way but also the fact that she’s expressed a desire to work up to being intimate.

Roman’s had sex in a lot of different places, but there’s no way in fucking hell he could ever have his first time with Solana be anywhere but a bed.

His bed.

He plays around with a few different ideas on how to broach the subject before sleep prevails over him too.

It’s the fastest he’s fallen asleep in years.

And he’s certain it has nothing to do with the long ass day he had but everything to do with the woman besides him.

But his sleep is short lived by the vibrating of his phone on the nightstand. Irritated at the interruption of his sleep, he’s not surprised. Roman’s always been a light sleeper.

He peers down to make sure Solana remains undisturbed in her slumber, and seeing that she’s still sleeping as peacefully as before with her body somehow more over his than he remembered, he grabs his phone.

Paul: Sorry to disturb you so late, sir, but I got the files you requested for Miller. Emailed. As we already know, he’s almost a million in the hole. Has been in debt over the past twenty years. Never in the green. The bulk of it was accumulated in 2005. 500K. Summer 2005. Strangely, in that same month, it was cut in half to 250K. Then mysteriously zeroed out in late 07.

Roman sits on the brief summary provided by his Wise Man. It doesn’t add up. He already knew Miller was in the hole. The man is a fucking idiot when it comes to finances, so him being that deeply in debt isn’t surprising, but him somehow getting rid of a quarter million debt is. The fucker isn’t smart enough to pull that off.

Roman: Who was the creditor?

Paul: Still looking into that.

Roman: Anything significant about 07’?

Paul: Not that I can see. Still digging though.

Roman doesn’t like mysteries. Can’t stand unanswered questions. They’ve always driven him fucking insane. It’s why he finds himself unable to fall back asleep, an inconvenient thing given the fact that he’ll need to be up and out of bed in a little under three hours. Still, he can’t get the dates and information out of his head.

How the fuck did a dumbass like Miller clear his ledger to that extent? It’s not unheard of. Roman could have done it. Easily. But, he’s also significantly smarter than his wife’s dumbass father.

Even more, what the hell did Miller need or have done for fucking half a million dollars?

Was he moving product? Weapons, maybe? Human trafficking? Just the thought of that last one makes Roman want to place his fist through the nearest wall.

But it’s Solana stirring on top of him that serves as the unintended trigger that helps him fill in the rest of the gaps.

He’s quick with the text to the Wise Man.

Roman: When was Solana’s mother killed?

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Answer the fucking question.

There’s a brief delay followed by those three dots and an answer.

Paul: 2005. August.

Wheels start turning as Roman begins putting the harrowing pieces together. Miller went into half a million dollar debt in August of 2005 that somehow got slashed in half at the end of the same month. The same month that Solana and her mother were attacked, and only one of them made it out alive.

Half…..

2007….

Roman does some mental math. Solana was born in 95. She’ll be 29 this year. That puts her at age 12 back in 07’.

12.

The same age she was when she was raped.

The same year the largest chunk of her father’s debt suddenly zeroed out and disappeared like it never happened in the first place.

And just like the night he found out Solana was a survivor of childhood sexual assault, the unbridled horror and disgust that filled him in knowing the truth, Roman is starting to wish he wasn’t so good at connecting the dots. That he wasn’t able to put two and two together.

Because the picture is more fucking horrifying than anything he’s encountered in some time. If ever.

Because he’s now faced with the dilemma of just how in the hell he’s supposed to tell Solana that her father is responsible for her mother’s murder but also her being raped.

Because now he’s faced with the dilemma of if he should tell her at all.

Roman closes his eyes.

Shit just got infinitely more complicated.

#roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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lovelookspretty · 2 months ago

Text

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: girl bye this whole part is just screaming n crying omg be prepared

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authors note: wanted to make a little unexpected visit at the end given his character but yk 😋 let me know if u arent on the tag list yet !! interact w me thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

long story short, the group collectively agree to postpone this dinner night because of what happened. just as you left the restroom, drew was gone and were instead met by leila who told you they were leaving to eat at the pearl some other time.

you feel terrible that they had to witness what they did, and you assume they must’ve seen you and drew talking in the hallway for them to make this decision. they know something’s wrong between you two, and you almost break on the spot. it’s like the whole plan is crashing down and you don’t know what to do, how to move forward.

you and drew travel in different cars on the way home but to end off the night, the group splits up. some dress down and head back to explore the town at night or there are others who choose to stay home, just keep a respectful distance.

you rid of your clothes and step into the shower to collect your thoughts, and it takes everything in you not to cry from frustration. the steam curls around you, the hot water beating down your back like it’s trying to wash the weight of everything away—but it doesn’t.

no amount of heat or scrubbing can erase the guilt, regret, and shame that engulf you.

when you finally step out, your skin is red from the heat, and you wipe a hand over the fogged mirror, catching a glimpse of your own tired reflection. your new clothes cling to your still-damp skin, and your hair hangs heavy and wet down your back.

when you step out of the bathroom, the cool air bites at your skin, but that’s not what makes you freeze. you see him—drew—walking toward your shared room. he’s freshly showered, his hair slightly wet, and you realize he must’ve used the bathroom across the hall that gia and roman share.

for a split second, your eyes meet, and you have to bite down on your emotions, hard, before you can speak. before you can let it all flood out.

you get to the door first, quietly letting yourself in, then leaving it open so he comes in too. the air between you feels heavy—like there are words unsaid. you can hear the faint sound of music downstairs, theo’s voice talking low, maybe to leila, but it’s distant. they must be trying to let you talk without feeling like you need to worry.

you step into the room, moving toward the dresser on your side of the room. your hand rests on top of it, gripping the edge for balance, as if the solid wood can keep you grounded. your back is to him, but you can hear him enter. he stands there for a moment, probably watching you, probably waiting for you to say something.

the silence is unbearable.

“why didn’t you just tell me?”

your voice comes out quietly, almost too low for him to hear. you don’t turn around, your eyes focused on the lamp in the corner of the room, as if looking anywhere but at him will keep you from falling apart. your hand tightens on the dresser as you wait for him to answer.

you hear him shuffle behind you, his breath catching like he didn’t expect you to speak first. “i . . . i don’t know,” he says, his voice just as quiet as yours. “i didn’t want to hurt you.”

you swallow hard, blinking rapidly as the familiar burn of tears threatens again. you know he’s trying to be honest, but that answer—it’s not enough. it doesn’t fix anything.

“you didn’t want to hurt me?” your voice wavers, and you finally turn, facing him. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you like he doesn’t know how to fix the mess he’s made. “this wasn’t even just a few days either. this has been weeks—weeks of us talking, planning, pretending . . . and the whole time, you were lying.”

as you walk over to him, he opens his mouth to respond, but you can see the guilt weighing him down, making it impossible for him to speak right away.

“not only were you lying to them,” you gesture loosely, meaning the others, everyone, “but you were lying to me.” you point to your chest as your voice cracks, weak and filled with betrayal.

his face tilts slightly to the side, and though he’s staring at you, his eyes are glossing over. you can see the weight of what he’s done finally sinking in, and it’s tearing him apart. he swallows hard, his throat tight.

“i didn’t mean to,” he whispers, his voice trembling now. “i never wanted—”

but he stops, his words catching in his throat, and you can see the tears threatening to spill. his jaw tightens as he forces himself to keep looking at you, even though it’s breaking him inside.

“no, but you did,” you tell him. “you made this decision. you created this plan when you had mila back home, drew.”

he winces at her name. you can see it. but you don’t stop.

every day, every conversation, every moment you’ve spent together, he knew. and he said nothing.

your words slow down though, and the weight of them sinks in deeper. “i had finally gotten to a point after we broke up where i felt like i was free of us,” you say, voice quieter now, but raw. “i didn’t have to worry about things like this anymore. i was finally done with us.”

drew’s lips part like he’s about to say something, but he can’t, and you don’t give him the chance. “but here i am.” you let out a short, breathless laugh, as though even you can’t believe the mess you're in. “i mean, i didn’t think agreeing to this plan was going to work out perfectly, but—”

you stop, searching for the words, your throat tight with emotion. it takes everything in you to keep from crying. you look away from him, your voice going numb, the exhaustion seeping through. “but i didn’t think i’d end up feeling like this. like none of it ever really ended.”

you stand there for a moment, letting the weight of everything hang between you two. you wipe at the corner of your eye, then shake your head slightly, more in disbelief than anything else.

“so why?” you ask, “why didn’t you just tell me? why didn’t you say something from the beginning, when we started this whole thing?"

he looks at you, his jaw clenching, but his eyes are filled with guilt. he takes a deep breath, his face turned slightly to the side like he's trying to hold himself together.

“i fell in love with you,” he says, and you scoff. oh, he’s just now fallen in love? he realizes his mistake and gets up when you start to walk away, but he grabs you by the arms, “no, no, no, y/n please, i fell in love with this life—being with you again. i didn’t want to lose that. i’m still in love with you. i always have been. i just realized it too late.”

you can’t believe him. “but you did lose it, drew.” your voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “you lost it the moment you decided to lie. you didn’t just ruin this plan, this stupid fake relationship.”

you shrug him off of you.

“i thought,” your voice cracks, “i thought telling our friends the truth would make everything worse. i was so scared they’d feel like they had to walk on eggshells around us, like it’d be awkward if they knew what happened. but you know what? i wish i’d just told them. instead of this. instead of . . . all of this.”

“and it’s not just about mila,” you say, “even when you’re supposed to be my fake boyfriend, you’re still making decisions for me. you speak for me, like you always know better, like i can’t speak for myself.” you can feel your frustration bubbling to the surface, the heat rising in your chest as you push forward. “it’s like . . . no matter what happens, you still feel like you need to control everything.”

drew’s mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to respond, but you can’t stop now. the words tumble out, each one hitting you harder than the last.

“i mean, do you know how exhausting that is?” your voice rises, and you can feel your emotions slipping, coming out faster than you can stop them. “you made up the plan, you pulled back the moment i was getting comfortable again, even our breakup was your decision.”

his expression hardens, and you can see the conflict raging behind his eyes. “i thought we agreed there wasn’t any point in keeping up something that was barely there,” he says. “we were hardly talking or communicating, y/n. i mean, trying to keep up a relationship for us that wasn’t even really there? was it . . . do you think it would’ve been better if we didn’t break up? i mean—”

“yes! yes, it was worth it! i didn’t care if we weren’t always together!” you blink, caught off guard for just a second, but the fire inside you flares back to life. “and you said there wasn’t any point; not me. we’re busy people, drew, lives like ours don’t get spent every day how these two weeks are supposed to be. you have to know that. so i’m sorry that you felt enough was enough for us but you shouldn’t have had to decide what you thought was best for both of us and make that decision on your own without telling me!”

as you speak, you notice the way his face shifts, confusion and regret flickering in his eyes.

you exhale, shutting your eyes. “trust me, i spent nights worrying about us when we were together, replaying every moment, every doubt.” your voice lowers, becoming more vulnerable, almost a whisper. “and i told myself, ‘okay, that’s normal. that’s normal maybe. so you didn’t get a fairytale relationship; grow up.’”

“but i understood that . . . no matter what, i wouldn’t have left you because i loved you,” you cry, “i stayed because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

drew’s face crumbles at your words, and his gaze drops to the floor. you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you meet his gaze again. “look, i’m not going to say anything to anyone about mila,” you say. “but you need to figure this out, how we move on from here, and whether you’re going to tell her about this plan because i’m not gonna keep doing it if she’s not comfortable with it.”

drew nods slowly. he’s quiet, visibly processing everything. “i’ll do it,” he says, almost to himself, but you nod anyway. he takes a shuddering breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally speaks. “i didn’t mean to lose you,” he says, staring at the ground. “but i did. i know that now.”

you watch him for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging between you, before you turn away. your hand reaches for the door, and this time, you don’t hesitate.

“yeah, you did,” you whisper, voice broken as you open the door and hurry through, leave him standing there alone. “you did.”

drew stands there, frozen in place as the silence settles around him. he watches when you walk away until the laughter from outside fades into a distant echo, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed, his body heavy with regret.

“—fucking—” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. he leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs, and cradles his head in his hands while tears spill from his eyes. in that moment, he’s completely alone, engulfed by the realization that he pushed away the one person who mattered most.

“i’m gonna be back, okay?” libby tells you. you’re sitting in her bed, her and leila feeling like it’s only reasonable for her to step up, and she would’ve no matter what.

“hey,” you say before she goes, your fingers reaching her arm. she halts, looking at you again as she settles back down on the edge of the bed. “thank you for letting me sleep here tonight.”

she gives you a knowing look. “there’s no need y/n. my job is to make sure you’re comfortable and okay. your job is to get under my covers and drool on my pillows ‘til morning.”

“shut up,” you murmur and consider whacking her in the face with one of said pillows, but she leans forward to give you a hug. it’s gentle at first, and you’re relieved to feel a warmth from someone at a time like this. you feel like you can stay there forever, but she pulls away to leave the room.

there’s a knock at the door that startles you a bit, and you wait anxiously for who’s behind it. they open it quietly and peek their head in—roman?

he lets himself inside with cautious steps, and before you can speak he shushes you.

“keep it down, stupid,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows at him. he takes maybe two steps forward and then stops there. “i just wanted to say sorry for not saying anything before at the peel.”

“the pearl.” you nod, your lips pursed. “thanks.”

he deadpans at you. “i don’t do this very often so i’d appreciate more than just a thanks, you kn—” he pauses to rephrase his words, and you can see the gears shift in his head. he sighs. “i fully saw that you were upset and i didn’t do anything. part of it was because i didn’t know if i should’ve but the other was that the food was just really good—”

“roman,” you try to tell him to get out, but he persists.

“no,” he tells you. he tries to search for the right words before continuing, “i’m just sorry. i don’t want to make it seem like i don’t care or that you don’t have anybody to talk to. and i’m not gonna jump the gun or be all enthusiastic the next time this happens but . . . i just won’t be quiet anymore.”

you’re taken aback by roman’s unexpected display of concern. you can’t tell if you’re imagining this. this has to be the first time you’ve probably ever known him that he’s being like this. but you nod slowly, absorbing his words. “thank you, roman,” you say softly, appreciating the effort he’s making. “it means a lot that you care.”

he shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional territory but pressing on anyway. “good,” he replies, his voice a little firmer. “because i might not always show it, but i do care. just . . . don’t think you have to go through stuff alone, alright? we’re friends, i guess, even if i don’t always act like it.”

you smile faintly, still surprised that he’s even still standing there. “i get it. i appreciate you saying something.”

“goodnight, y/n,” he says. just as he’s about to leave, he glances back, a knowing look in his eyes. “and just so you know, i get that things are complicated with starkey, but it’s pretty obvious you two aren’t really together. you don’t have to pretend around me.”

your heart skips a beat, and you feel a rush of vulnerability. how much does he really know? but before you can question him further, he’s already slipping out the door.

at the same time, libby slides past him with mugs of hot cocoa, “ew, what are you doing here?” she says to roman, avoiding him like he’s her brother. “get out of here.”

she kicks the door closed behind her, and her mood switches to a smile. “what was all that about? oh my god— did he hurt you? did he infect you?” she asks, feigning concern as she plops down next to you and handing you a mug. you take the mug and just shake your head with a grin.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @cl4uus @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy @darkreymbow @congratsloserr @skyslowalking @behindviolettwrites @allthoughtsmindfull

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authorhjk1 · 11 months ago

Note

A request for Sana's delicious tiddies please!

https://www.instagram.com/p/C0dZRXrvuyU/?igshid=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

The Roman goddess

Minatozaki Sana X Male Reader

The museum you are strolling through is called Castel Sant' Angelo. It used to be tomb for the Roman Emperor Hadrian and his family. Now, it's a very well known museum in Rome.

You admire the architecture and the sculptures standing around. The ceilings are quite high. All the walls are painted, the gorgeous colors bringing the ancient scenes to life.

You are not only here for fun though. It started around two years ago. Your career as an author. Until December two years ago, you did write, but it was more for yourself. You finally made your breakthrough with your first novel "The Roman eagle", about a lowly born Roman legionary, who rises through the ranks. You never thought this would make you big. And you didn't expect so many people wanting more. You didn't plan on it, but that one book is slowly turning into a series.

The second book came out at the end of last year. "The curse of Neptune". And now, you are working on your third. Since you didn't plan on writing a series, you have started to introduce several main characters with their own life stories.

You are now sitting on your third part. Not having a title yet, you keep wandering around the museum. You have already written quite a few pages, but the new character you want to introduce is hard to picture. It's supposed to be a woman. A woman, who is deceitful and ambitious, not caring about the ones around her. She only married her husband for his status and is now aspiring to climb the ranks. With or with out him.

You enter another room. The ceiling is high as well. The painted scenes show several different parts of day to day life from the Romans and their gods. The center of the room is reserved for a tall, almost life-size statue. Being an expert in history, especially Roman history, you can tell immediately that that's Venus. The goddess of love.

Wanting to have a closer look, you step forward. But your gaze is caught by the woman who is standing between you and the piece of art, her back turned towards you.

Her posture is flawless and you can't help but admire how straight her back looks, due to the white high heels she is wearing. The black skirt is quite long, almost reaching the floor. As you walk past her right, you see that it has a large slit in the front. Her naked leg is more than just captivating.

Glancing at the statue, you've always wondered how Venus would look like, if she was real. It feels like you might be able to paint a picture now.

The woman's white top is highlighting her chest, the fabric stretching over her tits. The turtle neck and the tied back hair make her look elegant and strict. Like a teacher or a rich man's wife.

Standing next to her, you smell her scent. Definitely flowers. Maybe roses? You were never the flower expert. Would Venus smell like this too? Roses are always considered the flowers of love. The idea doesn't seem too far fetched.

You notice that the young woman is standing quite close to the statue, holding a brochure in her hand. Usually, knowing about history isn't really a great turn on for women. But being in a museum, you might give it a try. She does have that classy look. So maybe she could be interested?

"Art and war should always be studied from a healthy distance."

You see her react. Not her face, since you are still standing two steps behind her, but the slight turn of her head. You could swear the corners of her mouth turned upwards, before she turns back towards the statue.

One step. Two steps. Her heels disrupt the silence in the otherwise empty room.

"A lot of people think that Venus and Aphrodite are the same goddess."

You were able to take a quick peek at the brochure she is holding. The people who work here should do a better job.

"But they have quite a couple of differences."

You wait a couple of moments. She doesn't say something or turns around. But she didn't run, which is at least a good start.

"While Aphrodite is the goddess of love, beauty and sex, Venus has to offer more than just that."

You walk behind the young woman, starting to feel comfortable, talking about a topic you are very familiar with.

"She actually started out as the goddess of gardens and vineyards. Before the Romans merged her with her Greek counterpart. And even then, she represents not just lust and sex. But also motherhood. You could say that she is a more loyal woman."

You glance at the woman, whom you are standing next to now. Her left side profile almost makes you stutter. She really must be a goddess.

Knowing that you might never meet someone like her ever again, you decide to shoot your shot. What's the worst that could happen? She could scream and run away. But it's only the two of you anyway.

"Which form is the one you can more easily identify with? The Roman, or the Greek one?"

You stand next to her, your shoulders almost touching. Turning your head towards her you almost whisper.

"Loyal? Or promiscuous?"

A smirk plays around the brunette's lips. She is not running yet.

But to your huge disappointment, she raises her right arm, her hand on the same hight as her chest. You are only distracted for a second, before you see the golden ring on her finger. It's decorated with a huge diamond in the center and a couple of smaller ones all around.

Of course she is married. A woman like her? Come on. You sigh internally. You should've figured.

"Promiscuous."

You were about to turn around as you hear her sweet voice. It takes you a second to realize what she says.

"I think I would be more like Aphrodite."

Is she saying you still have a shot? Even when she just showed you that she is married?

"Tell me more. I'm not sure if I can make a decision yet."

And she wants you to keep talking?

You take a deep breath, not wanting to screw this up.

"Venus has a more elevated status than Aphrodite. Her arguably most famous human son is Aeneas. The man who established Rome. A lot of emperors' wifes identified with Venus."

You see the woman tug a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

"And you are saying that the Greek form wasn't as important?"

It's the first time she actually looks at you. Her beautiful features make her look way more elegant than from the side. Her lipstick makes her look stricter than she might usually would. You can tell that she is Asian, but not from which country.

"She was important. But not in the same way as Venus. She did have her own celebrations though."

The brunette is now fully turning towards you. It takes a lot of willpower to not look at her chest. It's almost as if she could sense your struggle. She places her hands on her hips, barely leaning forward. It makes her tits look just a little bigger.

"What kind of celebration?"

Her voice has changed. Until now, she spoke quiet. Just like someone should, while visiting a museum. But she is now whispering. Just like you did before. Her captivating gaze makes you stare into her eyes.

"A big part of the celebrations were Aphrodite's priestesses. The Greeks used a suiting form of worship for the goddess of love."

You take a step closer. Your shoe grazes hers. The smell of roses becomes a little stronger.

"They slept with her priestesses. That's how they worshipped her."

The brunette is unable to hold back her chuckle.

"And you are sure you didn't just make that up?"

For a moment her cute side shines through. She looks adorable when she smiles.

"I didn't. You can look it up."

"I don't want to though. I like listening to you."

"Well..."

You are too surprised to give a good answer. And there is not much more to say about the topic anyways.

The brunette seems to have caught up on that.

"What do you think about worshiping her now?"

"What?"

Your surprised face makes her almost moan out. You looked quite confident while hitting on her. The fact that you are getting shy is a turn on for her.

"There aren't many people here. And I think we should do it in front of the statue. You know? To pay our respects."

A million reasons why you shouldn't do this rush through your head. More than enough to say no. And yet, you can't help but catch yourself, leaning forward.

Your lips meet and you can immediately feel her hands wrap around your back. The kiss turns sloppy very fast. Pure lust and want radiate from her lips.

Once she breaks away, you can see that her lipstick is a little smeared. She seems to have recognized the worry in your eyes.

"Don't worry about my husband. Didn't Aphrodite constantly cheat on hers too?"

She got a point there. She did very much so.

Her lips meet yours once again. And this time your hands start to explore her body as well.

You still can't believe you've managed to come this far. She is probably the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. She could be the human form of the goddess.

"How bad do you want my tits?"

The fact that she caught you doesn't even bother you. Your mind too focused on taking in her flawless body.

"Really bad."

Her lips meet your neck, definitely leaving a hickey there.

"Show me."

You start pulling at the white fabric, getting it out of her skirt. Your hands dive underneath as the brunette locks lips with you again.

The smoothness of her skin is intoxicating. Her tight midriff feels well toned and cared for. Your fingertips reach her bra as you continue your quest.

Her hands are not idle either. You feel one of them opening the button of your pants, while the other has taken a fistful of your shirt. It's as if she is pulling you into her. Her hand sneaks into your pants, her fingers searching for the waistband of your underwear.

At the same time, you've finally gotten rid of her bra. It slides down her clothed frame, before it falls to the ground. It's white.

Her tits feel amazing. They are just as smooth as her skin. You start to knead them, still unable to understand how you got here.

She is a goddess. How are you able to stand in some museum, while you play with her tits? A mystery you don't even want to uncover. Some things are better left unknown.

The brunette's hand has found it's way into your boxers by now. Her slim fingers dance along the length of your shaft.

A moan escapes her lips. It's one of the most beautiful sounds you've ever heard. You didn't know that a person could sound so perfect.

"That cock of yours...."

She trails off, slightly biting your lower lip.

"It feels so big."

Her words make you even harder. A normal reaction to a goddess like beauty telling you that you have a big dick. Something you thought you would never ever experience in your life.

Your hands become a little rougher as your animalistic instincts slowly take over. You never felt so uncontrollable before.

Pinching her nipples, you hope for another moan. You get one. She moans into your mouth, closing her hand around your cock.

"I want this in my mouth."

You feel her pulling away. Your hands regretfully leave her tits and her top. But when she starts to kneel down, a wave of pure happiness washes through your body.

An excited tingle rushes through every fiber of your being as you watch her pulling down your pants. Your boxers following quickly after.

A gasp escapes her mouth, when she sees your cock for the first time.

"My husband isn't even half as big."

With a big smile, her face turns into something very cute. She gives your tip a kiss.

"A cock worthy of fucking my tits."

Her words turn you on even more. Her lips slowly wrap around your tip.

It takes her a while to pick up the pace. But once the brunette is there, her blowjob is quick and effective. You remember that you are still in a museum, standing pants down in front of a statue of Venus.

You are not a very religious person. But in that moment, you pray to that goddess, thanking her for this incredible experience.

Your prayer is interrupted by the brunette's slurping sounds. Her wet blowjob has ruined her lipstick completely by now. She looks so hot with your cock in her mouth. She places both her hands flat on your hips, before starting to fuck her face onto your cock.

You can't help but let out a loud groan, your hand automatically wanders to the back of her head. You don't start to dictate the pace. But you feel her head going a little faster.

With a woman like her, it's obvious that you won't last long. Especially if said woman fucks her face with your cock. You feel your orgasm approaching. The familiar tug in your lower regions makes you groan.

The brunette seems to have felt you twitch inside her mouth. She moves away, letting your dick fall out off her lips.

"You have a very delicious cock, you know?"

Not waiting for an answer, she starts to pull up her top. It's bunched up above her breasts. You are finally able to see them now. They seem perfectly shaped. Flawless like the ones of a goddess. Not too small, but not too big either. Just perfect handfuls.

"Try not to cum so fast."

Her wink turns her into something cute for just a moment. Then, her goddess like aura is back.

You feel her soft mounds wrap around you. She presses them together, making your cock disappear between them. As soon as she seems ready, you start to thrust upwards. You see her bite her lip as your tip appears in her cleavage.

Fucking her tits feels amazing. It feels better than anything you've experienced before. There is no comparison at all. Her soft mounds feel like they are made for you. Her warmth makes you feel hot and horny.

Eventually, she starts to stick out her tongue. It touches your tip whenever you thrust upwards. The new wetness on your tip makes you remember that your orgasm is close. It also helps with sliding trough her chest.

You have to hold onto her hair again, unable to stand by yourself.

"Your cock feels so good."

You hear her sigh as she stares down at it.

She suddenly looks up, opening her mouth, while sticking her tongue out. Her spit slowly starts to drip down her tongue. You watch as she drools all over her own cleavage. Her saliva starts to coat your cock. It makes her tits feel even smoother.

The young woman let's out another moan.

"I bet you would feel so good in my pussy."

You close you eyes, imagining yourself inside of her. The thought alone, almost makes you orgasm.

"My husband is so small, I'm practically a virgin."

She continues her talking, knowing what it does to you.

"I've never felt the pleasure of someone just pounding into me. I want to feel it. I want to feel how you rearrange my guts."

You hiss out, unable to silence the pleasure that is building up in your system. Only a little longer. You only want to hold out a little longer.

"I have such a tight pussy. You would love it."

Your grip in her hair strengthens as you approach your climax.

"That's it. Cum on my tits. Make Venus proud."

You glance at the statue for just a second. It feels like the woman on her knees is the real goddess. A beauty, too much for you to handle.

"I'm gonna cum."

You grunt out, unable to hold on any longer.

"That's good, honey. Cum on my tits. Use them like a canvas."

You groan one last time.

"Give me all of it."

You explode in her cleavage. Your cum hits her throat and chin, while some coats her tits. It feels like this is the strongest orgasm you've ever had. More cum than usual leaves your body.

In the end, her tits are covered in your semen, just like she wanted. Some is dripping down her chin. You see that her hands didn't get away without some, either. A few drops of your cum stain the big diamond on her ring. She notices it as well.

You watch in awe as she starts to lick her ring clean, after letting your spent cock leave her tits.

"Wow. That's a great load."

She scoops up some of your cum with her finger.

"And it tastes good, too."

She licks it off, before looking at you.

"What do you say? Right here? Or a hotel room?"

The option to say no doesn't even enter your brain. Still afraid of getting caught, you choose the hotel.

The brunette gets off her knees. You watch her pull her top down and putting the hem back into her skirt. Slowly, your cum starts to leave wet spots on the fabric. You pick up her bra, offering it to her.

"Keep it. Maybe you are lucky and you can complete the set."

With those words still lingering in your mind, she takes your hand, leading you towards the exit.

You've never head a clear picture of Venus or Aphrodite in your mind. Now you do. It's the woman who is holding your hand, her chest covered with your cum.

The fact that she is taking you to a hotel is making you hard again.

With one last glance at the statue, you finally know how to continue your next book.

The third part "The Roman goddess" will certainly become a bestseller.

________

Thank you for the ask. I unfortunately don't have the time to write much more.

The introduction seems a little long to me. Please keep sending short requests guys, I'm trying to shorten the part where I set the scene. With limited success as you can see.

Sana in that outfit definitely deserves a proper story, which I'm unable to write at the moment. I hope you are satisfied with that. I might be able to write the follow up somewhere in the future.

Have a nice day!

#kpop #kpop smut #anon #kpop girls #ask #kpop gg #male reader #sana minatozaki #sana #twice #sana twice #sana smut #twice smut

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