#commodus/reader

[darknessisafriend]

I was wondering if you could write one with Joaquin's characters about how would they react to getting neck smooches from their S/O I hope you are well in these crazy times 💓

It's finally here! I finally got time to write! I hope you will enjoy anon, @galos-writing helped me a bit with Abbe ;)

Commodus:

Commodus is always a man on his guard. So, naturally his neck wouldn’t be an easy part to reach, even for his lover. 

The truth is also that his neck is very sensitive. Commodus is secretly very ticklish, and his sister and mother used to tickle his neck as they played together before bed. No one had been touching his neck in years. 

The first time you tried to, you joined Commodus in his study. He was working late at night as usual, but you missed him dearly lately. You wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek first. “My love…it is getting late...” you whispered, hoping it was obvious you needed him to warm your bed up and cool your body down. 

“I have important work to do, Y/N. I have to stay a little longer.” He replied, his eyes focused on whatever he was scribbling. As always, he would work so hard, from early in the morning to late at night, more than anyone else. Thankfully you were there to make sure he would take a break and not kill himself at the service of his People. 

You pouted at first at his answer and then grinned, leaning closer to his ear “His Highness won’t regret it...” you purred in his ear, nibbling his ear lobe, kissing his jaw and then daring a plant a kiss in his neck, right on his calmly pulsing jugular.

He froze at first, not expecting a kiss there, used to a feeling of coldness due to his armor. Your lips felt soft and warm, the opposite of a cold and hard blade he could have expected.

His skin had goosebumps and he looked down, pondering how to react, if he should let down his defense like he did so many times with you before. He made his quill lightly roll between his thumb and index as he thought. The kiss had been surprising, and yet it felt nice but too quick. “Y/N, can you do that again?” he quietly asked. 

You smiled in relief, you had been holding your breath the whole time, fearing it might have triggered him badly. Surprisingly it didn’t, probably because he had a lot more trust in you than he would think. 

This time, you would place your kiss slowly, your lips tracing kisses along his jugular where you felt his pulse had increased frantically, his skin warm and soft, with a strong scent of cinnamon myrrh, his favorite and prestigious perfume. It was intoxicating, just like the rest of his being. 

This time you would feel him relax under your kisses, his eyes almost closing entirely, his quill escaping his fingers that had become weak. His posture would remain high and yet his neck tilted to give you more space as one of your hands caressed his strong chest. “If my Emperor is willing to join our bed…I shall give him plenty of those...” 

“How dare you try to imp….” But Commodus wouldn’t manage to finish his sentence that a moan escaped his lips as you sucked his skin on a particularly sensitive spot. “Run…if I catch you before you get in bed, I will be the one ravaging your body.” He said, making you giggle, he knew you were fast, and he wouldn’t manage to catch you. What he wouldn’t do to make it seem like he had control while he entirely gave it up willingly the moment he fell for you.

Arthur/Joker:

Arthur adores your neck smooches, he is ticklish too but loves it anyway, probably due to his childish spirit.

You had first tried during a tickle battle actually, both of you laughing as you threw pillows at each other and tickled each other. You ended up straddling Arthur beneath you (or rather he loved to let you win). You blocked his arms and placed your lips in his neck to tickle him, something your mom used to do. 

Arthur would let out a squeal, a loud and boyish noise before laughing heartily, a happy laugh. He was fully relaxed, and he had discovered something new about himself. You would lift your head and smile at him, giving him a tender kiss on the lips. 

“Can I try?” he would ask eagerly, his eyes shining with fondness, his fingers delicately caressing your fingers. “Of course. But on one condition…I won’t go easy on you.” You teased him, challenging him to another play of pillow. And slowly a grin would form on his face, a confident one, that you knew from Joker “Don’t complain what comes afterwards darling.” He would purr. 

One thing you had noticed is that Joker had much more raw strength than Arthur, the madness sometimes gave inhuman strength. And you would be able to resist for long, Joker would be quick, naughty and sly; managing to win rapidly. You would gasp as he sent a last pillow hit that was a little too strong, making you lose your balance to fall off the bed.

But thankfully he would catch you in his arms, throwing his body first so he would take the hit and not you. He would laugh with a big smile, not reacting at all under the pain. “Told you I’d win.” He would say, already filling your neck in kisses, making you squirm as you started to giggle. 

His hand would instantly start to roam your body, Joker was more sexual than Arthur and winning you over a battle was even more exciting to his eyes. Even as he would make love to you afterwards, he would keep on filling your neck in kisses, making you laugh in that moment of intimacy. Arthur was still in there after all.

Bruno Weiss:

Bruno is a grumpy man and he doesn’t like to show himself vulnerable, only when drunk or very tired he does truly reveal himself.

His attitude does change after a while, once the trust builds up.

The first time you did it, was to tease him. He was annoyed by paperwork, keeping on muttering to himself while smoking his cigarette. “Is paying taxes such a headache?” you would ask in a chuckle, making him crush his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m not working hard to have our money taken away from us.” he would mutter.

“Y/N” he would protest as you sat on his lap. The thing was that he was very weak for you and when you were so close to him, he wouldn’t be able to focus, and he would hate his inability to do so. 

You would grin, you just had to do one thing for him to snap. “You just have to pay darling, or should I do it?” you retorted and quickly smooched his neck before running off, chased by an angry Bruno who would soon calm down under your sweet caresses. 

After this episode, a kiss on the neck would become a soothing gesture for Bruno, one more reminder that he didn’t have to keep his defenses in front of you, that he could be vulnerable. It would be a reminder you would always be there, that you wouldn’t abandon him like everyone else did.

Charlie:

The first time you kissed Charlie in the neck, it didn’t go well, he had the worst reaction you could have expected from him.

You were sitting by the fire with a few companions and his brother. In a moment  of tenderness you would have sat behind him to hug him, placing a kiss on his cheek then neck. However, would quickly tense up, ignoring the soft smile of his brother at the scene. “What the fuck are you doing!?” Charlie would exclaim, instantly leaving your embrace “I’m not some kind of fag!” he would storm angrily to smoke a cigarette. Everyone would turn their eyes away from you in embarrassment except Ellie, patting your shoulder reassuringly “You know he didn’t mean it.”

And indeed, despite hurting, you knew Charlie was keeping a rough mask in front of everybody and you had brushed it off without thinking.

You would leave him alone for some time to process his gesture. He would be silent, feeling awkward after his outburst, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“I’m sorry Charlie. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad” you would apologize sincerely. You knew he had a rough past and he was the little brother always acting tough to protect the ones he loved, it had cost him half of his sanity. 

“I don’t trust everyone here. I don’t want them to think…” he sighed, throwing his cigarette on the ground and crushing it with the heel of his boot.

You would approach him, wanting to hug him from behind but as you reached out your hand you wouldn’t dare to touch him.

I know. You don’t have to explain yourself. I won’t do it again.” you would offer softly, doing your best to accommodate your struggling lover.

“What are they doing? Are they looking?” he would ask after a moment of silence. You would look back “No, they went to sleep. Ellie is kissing his…scarf.” you replied, an intimate gesture his brother didn’t fear to show.

“Can you do it again?” he would ask in a mutter, you would hear his voice on the edge like a great effort he would make to let down his barriers and he would not repeat himself, fearing.

Joe:

The neck would be a triggering part for Joe, always has been as a soldier. This was part he would have to protect often during the war. But you wouldn’t be aware of this specific trigger point. 

One day, as he would be reading, you wouldn’t pay attention and would come to hug him from behind, you were light footed so he tensed up at first. But when it instantly followed with a kiss on the neck, something cool applying to his skin, triggered a past trauma. 

He would gasp and under the flash push you away strongly, making you fall heavily on the ground, pretty much hitting your head at the same time. “Joe what…” you would manage to say, blinking a few times the stars in your eyes. You would find him curled up in a corner, his arms wrapped around his head and neck as an attempt to protect himself.

Your eyes would widen at the sight, understanding he had been severely triggered. In fact, you now remembered reading some articles about it, how strangling and throat slitting was attempted on some factions of soldiers by the enemy and it was surely what had triggered him.

“Joe it’s me. I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you.” you would apologize on the verge of tears from the state he was in.

After that it would take a while for him to calm down, he would be closed into silence, feeling guilty of his own reactions to a simple kiss. But you would work things out as always, taking baby steps in trying to eliminate that trigger, his service dog helping as well, nuzzling his truffle in his neck while cuddling.

You would make sure to eliminate the effect of surprise during that gesture, coming to stand in front of him, caressing his chest and slowly tying your arms around his neck, asking for permission to kiss his neck. And it would work out well after many months of trial. You wouldn’t do it much tho cause you didn’t want to push this too fast, besides you loved kissing his lips, chest and arms much better.

With time Joe would grow to like it as well, it was much nicer to open his neck to a loving kiss rather than a cold blade. 

Max California:

- Max California loves neck kisses. He is a very physical lover so when he is with you he is rather clingly, and especially loves PDA, he is a possessive lover but not in a toxic way, he would simply be very proud of you. 

-  Very early in your relationship you would have gone onto neck kisses, at the shop as you assisted you would often lean against him hugging you from behind, placing lazy kisses from time to time as you both await clients to pick their next dirty products. Your neck was constantly filled with hickeys so the clients wouldn’t bother you. 

- However, Max himself was often subject to passion from clients and strangers, men and women desiring the dark punk boy working in a sex shop wearing a crop top. That would make you terribly annoyed and you knew an efficient way to mark your territory. Just do the same!

-  As you had gone to refill a shelf of porn magazines, you would decide to surprise him. Instead of going to insert yourself between his arms, you would hug him from behind as he chatted with a female client, filling his neck in small smooches, looking at the client in the eyes. Without surprise she would understand the message and leave promptly.

- Max would grin and turn his head to meet your eyes “Do you think she had any chance with me?” he would ask, making you blush and bite his neck in protest, making him chuckle. “But keep going, I like it.” He would add, his hand coming to caress your cheek before focusing on work again. 

-You would retain a happy squeal, muffling it against his skin before kissing it. Max wouldn’t be too sensitive on the neck so at first, he wouldn’t get aroused. He would simply be very happy of your attention, that you took the lead. He was a feminist after all so he would encourage such things in public and also loved to be under your control. 

-One day, after a weekend apart Max would even surprise you with a tattoo, red lips modeled on the lipstick you often left in his neck. He would wear a proud grin on his face. “What’d you think?” he asked, very pleased with himself and to show he was a marked territory already.

- “I think I still need to add a little bit more purple to it, you know, to make it livelier.” You grinned back, opening your arms and wrapping them around his neck as you would passionately make out.

Abbe:

As the composed and religious man of God he is, the Abbé has never experienced an intimate touch from no one. 

This has given him incredible awkwardness when he started feeling carnal desires for you besides romantic feelings, his religious trauma and brainwash made him believe he was a sinner and regret his own nature of man. Your love for him made you feel bad for his condition, so of course you tried to help him.

You already knew he would go crazy in the worst way possible if you had taken the lead without psychologically telling him, so you planned to slowly introduce him to physical affection. So you invited him for tea to ‘innocently chitchat’.

During the talk, he seemed still pretty nervous about the topic, but less than usual. It felt like a good sign for you, but you didn’t expect his next request.

The Abbé was actively avoiding your gaze as he parted his lips to speak, his cheeks turned a bright red. “Might I… dare to kiss you?” He asked in almost a whisper, making you blush and then scoff; his excessive politeness was adorable to you. You nodded, and approached, ready for a quick peck. You didn’t expect him to grab your shoulders and capture your lips for a goofy yet extremely heated kiss. 

You could hear him let out little noises already despite you weren’t touching him either. So, when the kiss was over, you smirked, licking your lips, delighted by that kiss, and leaned closer, brushing your lips against his neck. You could hear a gasp escape his lips, which lowkey turned you on. 

So you started by giving his neck a first soft kiss, noticing his chest moving up and down faster and his heartbeat louder. He swallowed down, trying to reluctantly pull back, it was obvious he was loving those kisses yet he thought it was wrong. “Y/N…”, he whimpered, letting out soft moans for every kiss you gave him. Every moan of his was one more shiver of excitement running through your spine. 

You suddenly felt your clothes being grabbed by his fists, his noises became a bit louder and his hips were starting to slightly jerk forward. Unfortunately that thick pitch black cassock was leaving no room for imagination, but you knew underneath he was fighting against a massive boner.

Suddenly, after you gently nibbled a spot on his throat, he let out a high pitched whimper, obviously choking other noises in his throat and trembling a bit, his mouth was agape. You stepped back, thinking you hurt him, but after some seconds, he was heavily painting and squeezing his legs together: he came just with your neck kisses. 

You would have lied if you said you weren’t proud of yourself. Especially after he looked at you dead in the eye and said: “There’s no turning back after this, right…?”. He seemed defeated, yet somehow relieved when you shook your head, hopeful to get further with him. Finally.

Merill

Merill is a lover of PDA and of neck kisses as well. Which means that naturally he would give them to you.

He is a protective man and possessive. In public he would especially love to stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist to place a tender kiss on your neck.

Naturally you would return the favor. Merill wouldn't be surprised or taken aback, he would let you do and even lean into your touch.

For Merill, neck smooches would represent letting himself get vulnerable willingly for the one he loves.

It was something he was proud of. Merill was known across town for his strong character, his stubbornness, and impulsivity. And many thought that he wasn’t an easy man to handle, that despite attracting many girls with his look, when they got to know him they would run away. 

It wasn’t the truth actually, ladies loved how he knew what he wanted and his passion, his love for his family. And you were the lucky one, the only one he ever allowed neck kisses from, encouraging you to mark him with hickeys, show who he belonged to. 

You would especially enjoy tickling him with your lips during a baseball match, distracting him when he was getting too agitated by the bad talent of some. It would work wonderfully, to the point he would melt in your touch, his attention drifting away more and more from the match to focus on you. During the final match you would end up making out and more in the lockers room where no one would come to find you.

Tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @galos-writing @sparklygardenerlove

[angelseraphines]

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ gladiator masterlist. ੈ♡˳

╰┈➤ marcus acacius, lucius, commodus, emperor geta, maximus

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ marcus acacius. ੈ♡˳

tba.

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ lucius. ੈ♡˳

tba.

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ commodus. ੈ♡˳

tba.

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ emperor geta. ੈ♡˳

tba.

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ maximus. ੈ♡˳

tba.

[profeyandere]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐒 ─── ☾ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴘʜᴏᴇɴɪx ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[five-miles-over]

Joaquin Phoenix Characters Masterlist

updated 08 November 2023

Multiple Character Headcanons and Listicles

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters as University Students

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters as Cupcakes

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters - Sleepover Headcanons

• If Joaquin Phoenix Characters Went on Dates

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters as Comfort Foods

• Holiday Gift Ideas for Joaquin Phoenix Characters

• Commodus, Abbé, and Joe as Parents 

Abbé de Coulmier from Quills

• The World’s a Broken Bone: The Abbé comforts the reader - a nurse at Charenton - when they have a severe migraine.

• Let Me Save You: A crossover with Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak

• The Ballad of Mona Lisa: The reader confesses to the Abbé about fantasies that they have been experiencing lately. (Smut)

• Abbé de Coulmier x Light Academia (aesthetic board)

Arthur Fleck from Joker

• Yandere Arthur Fleck Headcanons

• Arthur Fleck and Joker Jealousy Headcanons

• NSFW Headcanons

• Yandere!Arthur and Yandere!Joker Dealing With Rejection in Public

• Joker and Cruella de Ville Crossover Headcanons

• Arthur Fleck x 50s Retrocore

Bruno Weiss from The Immigrant

• Bruno Weiss x Roaring 20s (Aesthetic Board)

Clay Bidwell from Clay Pigeons

• Misery Loves Company: Clay meets the reader at a bar and the two of them have a much-needed break from their troubles.

• Hey Good Lookin’: Clay loves it when his girlfriend sits on his lap and asks him for a kiss (fluff)

Emperor Commodus from Gladiator

• Imagine Teaching Commodus to Slow Dance

• The Courtesan: The reader is a dancer that catches the eye of Emperor Commodus at a party

• ‘Till I Hear You Sing: A song-based fic based on “Til I Hear You Sing” from Love Never Dies

• What I Did For Love: Continuation from ‘Til I Hear You Sing’. A song-fic based on “What I Did for Love” from A Chorus Line

• New Girl: A high school AU of the movie Gladiator. The reader has recently moved to Rome and is now a new student at the Roman Educational Institute

• Paparazzi (Hollywood!Commodus x Reader): Another Gladiator AU in which the reader has a chance encounter in Rome with Commodus, a world-famous actor hounded by paparazzi.

• All Love Can Be: Prince Commodus meets the reader through their fathers working together, and eventually decides to ask for her hand.

• Handsome: The reader gets a little drunk while spending time with Commodus, and turns a bit childish and dorky.

• The Festivals of Saturn: Commodus’s first Saturnalia as a young sixteen-year-old co-emperor.

• Lay All Your Love on Me: Commodus falls unconditionally and irrevocably in love with a confident young woman along the seashores of Lanuvium

• Lose Me In the Sight of You: All you wished for was the blessing of Lady Juno that you would find a good husband, yet little did you know that a certain Emperor has grown passionately and hopelessly obsessed with you. (TW: Yandere)

• Emperor Commodus x Vampire Aesthetic

• Commodus’s Outfits as Chocolates

• Similarities Between Chuck Bass from “Gossip Girl” and Commodus from “Gladiator”

SERIES: ALONE WITH YOU INSIDE MY MIND (COMMODUS X READER) - ON HIATUS

The young prince (and soon to be Emperor of Rome) Commodus falls in love with you, the daughter of a nobleman, and nothing will stand in the way of his obsession.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

SERIES: AFTERMATH (COMMODUS X OC) - ON HIATUS

A sequel to the events of the film Gladiator, in which Emperor Commodus survives the duel with Maximus

• Chapter 1: The Impossible Dream

• Chapter 2: Proud of Your Boy

• Chapter 3: The Point of No Return

• Chapter 4: Look Down

• Chapter 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky

• Chapter 6: These Palace Walls

• Chapter 7: Wait For It

• Chapter 8: Something There

• Chapter 9: Be Prepared

• Chapter 10: Twisted Every Way

• Chapter 11: All I Ask of You 

• Chapter 12: History Has Its Eyes on You

Max California from 8 MM

• Max California x Dark Academia

• Max California Proposing to You (Headcanons)

Ray Elwood from Buffalo Soldiers

• Ray Elwood Taking You Out on a Date Would Include...

Willie Gutierrez from The Yards

• Blackout: The reader is Willie Gutierrez’s new neighbor, and the two of them accidentally meet during a power outage

• The Light Blinking at the End of the Tunnel: The reader offers some much-needed comfort to Willie after finding out about his dark past.

[creativestorylove]

After endless waiting...

I have been noticing you since we were kids. I always watched you from afar, and sometimes, rarely, you looked back at me and waved friendly until your hand was put down hastily as you and your mum walked by.

I've seen you playing in the garden, always alone but in a very creative way. At some point, you started to craft your own toys, your own fight enemies. You showed great talent, but your parents had no encouraging words for you. I saw how frustrated you were, practicing all day long just to prove that you were worthy.

As a young teenager, you've kept training several fighting styles, but you had to do it in the late evening because you had to study all day long. Your father started to train you for being his heir, so you finally were seen in a way. I always hid behind a corner or a column, stealing me away from my chores, just to be near you. When you noticed me though, your reaction was way less than in your childhood. You flashed a slight smile, but then your face grew cold. The early precautions of your parents were working.

As we grew older, being in our late teenage years, your reactions got more from time to time. We both got more brave, knowing we had something for each other, though we hadn't exchanged a word. When no one was looking, you smiled at me, almost cracking up in some chuckling, when I tried to wave walking by and just ran into another person. When your father noticed weird noises of you not paying attention to him, you came back to the topics that were discussed without struggle. You had your mimic trained so well over the last few years because our interest in each other grew more, and we both craved those little glimpses of each other.

Now, a few years later, you came back from a long trip being the new Ceasar. I was looking forward to seeing you again after months of absence. I felt my heart racing as I noticed you walking up to me through the halls. But you weren't alone. You were followed by almost the whole senate, so I knew, I couldn't look at you and greet you back. You slowed down, still seriously talking to them but you brushed the back of your hand against mine as you walked by.

I will always remember this airy, wavering touch of yours, inhaling your fresh scent and going back to the lingering sensation on my hand that faded too quickly. I knew that this sparked the fire inside of me and you, like to matches being lit. Now, my desire to be near you was growing stronger every minute since.

Really late in the night, my feet carried me through the palace, like I hadn't control over them. Nobody was awake anymore, but you. I knew where I would find you. Too many times, we had tried to meet up there - in your private rooms, where the gap between my status and yours would mean nothing.

With thousands of mixed feelings, I entered without knocking and closed the door behind me carefully. There wasn't any light from torches or the fireplace. Just the blue moonlight was shining through the open windows and revealing your dark figure, waiting for me.

Want a second part? What do you think about it?

@darknessisafriend

@satlun

@kaffeina23 (do you want to be added to the taglist?)

[rosesloveletters]

midnight rain.

pairing: Commodus x Fem. Reader

word count: 3,777

warnings: toxic/unhealthy relationship dynamics(?) and mentions of specific gender roles (I don’t know how else to describe it)

summary: A retelling of the ‘frightful dream’ scene . . . Your husband Commodus requests some time alone while he reads scrolls from the senate. When night comes and he still has not sent for you, you take matters into your own hands; you find him fast asleep, but never at peace. // Reader stumbles upon her husband Commodus who’s been crying and offers him comfort. 

author’s note: I never thought I’d write for Commodus again and I am so pleased that inspiration struck! A few things before reading: I am not trying to promote toxic masculinity or the idea that men shouldn’t cry or express emotion, but at the time, it would have been viewed as a weakness especially from someone of Commodus’ social standing. I wanted to delve into his mind a little and write a softer side to him that he surely has, but that we did not see too much of onscreen. His descent into madness intrigues me and I wanted to explore that in this fic somewhat. All seriousness aside, I just want to hold Commodus while he cries and writing this allowed me to do so, at least, in some form. If you read this fic, I hope you enjoy it. 

Edited. 

The emperor was midnight rain.

Winds rich with humidity blew through the open palace halls, carrying the pungent scent of fresh herbs, smoke from guttering torches and the heavy rains yet to come. Storms were brewing on the horizon and while the people of Rome slept, unbeknown to them, there too was a cacophonous melody playing inside of their Caesar’s tired mind.

It was far too late for you to be wandering the palace alone, but Commodus had bid you leave; he was to spend the twilight hours poring over scrolls from the Senate, as his father was apt to do in the past. The young emperor sought not to follow in his father’s footsteps, but be that as it may, some things cannot be helped.

You had busied yourself in the gardens earlier, when the light still stretched across the sky and plunged the Roman landscape in a vibrant orange glow that slowly faded until the wispy clouds high above your head twisted into a mesmerizing purple-pink majesty. You found solace amongst the flowers, watching idly as little bees busily buzzed from bloom to bloom.

When the light died and you still had not been sent for by the emperor, you took leave of the gardens and reentered the palace through the open doors.

Inside, you made yourself comfortable in the library for a few hours to delve into a book or two, devouring the words on each page like your mind was starved of food for thought.

Immersed in another world were you and did not pay mind to the bustling which took place beyond your imaginings.

Servants passed through the halls, completing their evening duties, lighting torches for ease of sight as the night set in, cleaning the already spotless floors, checking and rechecking stock to be certain there was enough of everything… Even the ghastly praetorians and their looming, statuesque figures faded while you were so captivated by ink on a page.  

As the pitch black of midnight bled in through the outer walls of the fortress, the hustle and bustle of evening had dissipated considerably and the only prevailing sounds were those of the whispering winds through silk curtains billowing in the minor disturbance or a barely imperceptible clink or grate of armor as a praetorian moved from his post.

Still, no word from your emperor.

That fact disturbed you, though you knew he was safe. The palace would have been thrust into chaos had anything been amiss, yet it still gnawed at you that this was highly unusual.

Commodus was protective to a fault and rarely let you out of his sight for any length of time, but he had been pulled in many a direction for the duration of the week at hand and you had to find entertainment where you could. The Senate and the people of Rome needed him now; you could wait.

When Commodus became emperor, everything changed like midnight.

You put your book back in its place on the shelf and quietly crept from your sanctuary. Your guards, stationed at the door, fell into step behind you and trailed you down the hall like phantoms of night. It felt silly to be so cautious inside the palace, but it was Commodus’ orders; what was the use in listening to him if he was just going to forget about you?

Turning, you dismissed them and, with a shared, confused expression between the two of them, they branched off and left down a side hall.

It appeared that you were finally alone, but such was never the case in Commodus’ domain.

You forged ahead beneath the watchful gaze of praetorians you knew were there, but you could not see them. They were there for your protection, to diligently guard the palace and the emperor, but their strict stoicism and the serious air about them made you nervous. The unwavering loyalty between emperor and his personal guard was strengthened by one man’s resolve, though your Commodus had been plunged into manic paranoia until it became oppressive.

Your footsteps carried, heightened by the fact that there were no other movements or sounds coming from elsewhere to blend with yours.

You took yourself straight to Commodus’ chambers.

There were two guards posted at the doors that were still shut tight. All was as it had been when you left, except these guards were fresh and bright eyed, having replaced the two that had been there before.

You approached them and bid they let you enter, “I request that you allow me access to the emperor’s chambers,” you said.

“Caesar has requested that he not be bothered,” one of them spoke, unconvinced to let you pass despite your connection to the emperor.

“I can assure you that, should Caesar be displeased by my admittance, it will not fall upon your shoulders.”

They seemed uncertain, but soon relented, stood aside and allowed you to enter.

You did not want to disturb him and you did your best to keep any sound of your entrance to a minimum as you slid through the doorway and into the vast room.

The cold floors were contrasted by the wet winds that blew in from the open terrace. Night was well under way and you were worn, though your walk from the library to your emperor’s chambers had accelerated your heartrate considerably. It would be nice to relax with him, alone, if he had found himself at a proper stopping place with his scrolls.

Upon initial inspection, the room looked relatively unchanged. The desk was still covered with open scrolls, parchment and ink. His quill rested idly by and, though all appeared well within your initial inspection, the only thing out of the ordinary was that the emperor was missing from his workspace.

You cast a look over your shoulder, noting the miniature scale of the colosseum was unchanged, and your searching gaze landed on the bed. Commodus was curled in on himself tightly, his back to you, as he snoozed lightly on the plush mattress.

You smiled to yourself, reasoning that he must’ve gotten so absorbed in his work that he’d not realized the time, grown exhausted and retired for the night before he could send for you.

Odd as that may have been, it was plausible. Commodus had never been known to have forgotten you before, but things were different now. He made a conscious effort to please the Senate and that meant spending extra time revisiting scrolls, passing legislation and participating in, as well as negotiating, Rome’s politics with the dry old men your emperor had once been so critical of.

Commodus rarely slept, at least, undisturbed sleep was near impossible for him to achieve. Perhaps the scrolls kept him from thinking of it, you thought, and that was why he had been able to visit the land of dreams, but you were relieved that he had finally found peace.

Your fingers skimmed one of the jade marble pillars as you shifted about the room, uncertain of how you should bridge this gap. Torchlight streamed in from the carved stone latticework, coating half of the room in a spectacle of oddly shaped shafts of light, including the curtains which framed the imperial bed.

To avoid the embarrassment of awakening him, you swiftly removed your sandals so that the noise of you walking would not echo. You shivered as the chill of the marble floor penetrated your skin and sank deep within you – a pleasant reprieve from the humid air.

However, when the wind blew in through the open terrace particularly hard, you drew your yellow stola in closer about your shoulders. You noticed that Commodus’ own garb had been removed – his cape and armor lay on a table not far from the colosseum model – and he slept in just his tunic.

It puzzled you that he lay on top of the linens and your brow creased in thought.

Tentatively, you approached the bed, careful to remember to step up onto the raised platform; the thought of tripping and unceremoniously toppling onto the emperor of Rome as he slept was not a pleasant one, but the thought still made you smile. If something of that nature were to happen, it might make Commodus shriek in terrible fright and send the guards at the door into a frenzy, but once he realized it was only you, there would have been no repercussions, only gentle laughter as he pulled you into the bed beside him.

You had fallen in love with the young Roman prince, before he had become emperor, three summers ago when the heat of late August was not the only thing which left you feeling breathless.

There was nothing he would not have done for you then and that was still the same now, even if everything else was different.

You remembered fondly how he had courted you, eventually asking for your hand in marriage and how you had eagerly accepted. You were wed the summer before this; little did you know those few months would be the last time that things would ever be so simple.

You sank onto the bed and the mattress dipped beneath your weight.

Commodus murmured softly and folded in on himself a bit more, instinctively protective of his vulnerability. It pained you to witness his paranoia, even while he slept. The ever-present thought that at any given moment someone might burst through the door and try to hurt him kept him from ever letting his guard down completely. That, among other things, kept him awake most nights.

The torches and oil lamps still burned bright; the fuel had been replenished earlier by some servants while Commodus was busy with his scrolls. Your heart ached for the young man who never slept in the pitch black of night; he was afraid of the dark and maybe that was why he never would look in the mirror either, because that same darkness lived in him, too.

You were compelled to reach out and touch him, then, gently stroking your hand along the curve of his face and as you did, you gasped in surprise, almost drawing your hand away; his warm cheek was damp with tears.

It had not been long since the emperor had fallen asleep, cried himself to sleep, you painfully reminded yourself.

Why had he not sent for you?

Resisting the urge to wake him, you shifted your weight as you settled in behind him and draped an arm over him. Soon, the solid press of his back against your front eased your nerves and you carefully and deliberately reached up and combed your fingers through his dark hair. He cooed softly in his sleep, sniffling a little as he relaxed beneath your touch. The tension flooded out of his shoulders while you held him like this. Even in his sleep, he could sense that the comfort was yours, brought to him by his cherished wife who loved him more than his own father ever had.

His father.

Commodus had tried to be the son that the great Marcus Aurelius had wanted. He had tried to make his father proud, but nothing he had done was good enough and, what was worse, he did not know why. Why did his father not love him? Commodus did not know the reason, but in the end, it was clear: Marcus Aurelius had longed for a different son.

Since then, Commodus had tried to squeeze love from various sources but it never satisfied him.

Not until he met you.

“My love…” you whispered to him, careful to lift him gently out of his dreams, “please awaken and talk to me.”

Commodus moaned and for a moment you were not sure if he had heard you until he responded with a full-bodied stretch and the rustling of fabric met your ears as he turned to glance at you over his shoulder.

His eyes were green like freshly sliced limes and just as bittersweet; they were red-rimmed and tired, lined with dark circles that alluded to the many nights he had suffered through without sleep.

He said nothing, but turned over until he was able to wrap his arms snugly around your shoulders. He remained that way for a time, clinging to you while his body adjusted to wakefulness after the impromptu nap.

His heavy eyelids fluttered and his head dropped to your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” the apology was whispered into your skin and you almost did not hear him.

When he looked up at you with an almost childlike expression on his face, you cupped his cheek in the palm of your hand and stroked across it with the pad of your thumb, “Commodus,” you started, “is everything alright, my love?”

He craned his neck and kissed your palm, “it is,” he said, “now that you are here.”

Your hand fell away and reached for his, sliding your fingers into the spaces between his own thicker digits. He squeezed you tight, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he looked away again, “I meant to send for you, but I was in such a state…”

He did not need to tell you more. He had been crying, that much was confirmed by the drying tear tracks upon his smooth cheeks and the redness in his eyes. Commodus’ emotions were often left unchecked; he felt so viscerally, violently and brutally and the tears would come, whether they were born out of pure sadness, or frustration and rage.

It was one thing to express emotion, but it was another entirely to witness it from the emperor of Rome.

The only time he could fall apart was when he was by himself.

He was supposed to be a fearless hero but instead he cried more than some women did and that was unacceptable.

At least, it had been for the stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, who had once grown tired of his son’s outbursts. Commodus doubted it would be any different now. The palace was his own, but this new life was not.

He did not want his servants or his guards to see him crying while asking after you; that was not an image he wished to paint for them.

While he waited for the tears to subside, he had relaxed on the bed until he succumbed to his exhaustion.

“That is alright,” you assured him, “I was reading in the library for a time because I thought you were still at work.”

“No,” he responded, the dulcet tones of his honeyed voice was indicative of sleep, the vestiges of which still clung to him like ivy on stone, “I finished with that some time ago. These senators demand more from me each passing day that I have no choice but to work as I do now, just like my father had done.”

That sentiment hit some nerve within him and was certainly the source of these tears and what had brought them forth, “Commodus,” you repeated his name but the sound of it did not reach him.

He was looking through you, unsettling as that was, he was prone to it. Often did you wonder what he heard and saw in these moments that were lost to the wind and rain. These elements were, too, present within the emperor who was waning into crescent, tearstains glittering like stars on his cheeks – this man was made of midnights and he was hauntingly beautiful.

Only, when the darkness had overtaken him, he did not reemerge anew.

You tenderly kissed his forehead; his skin was warm against your lips. He drew you closer through the barely imperceptible inhale as his nose rested at your collarbone and you tilted your head back, allowing him to find comfort where it was needed.

He had dropped your hand in favor of holding you while his full lips pressed bruising kisses against the bare column of your neck. Your fingers found his hair again, giving it a gentle tug of affection that made him groan appreciatively.

He lifted his head and leaned close, his sweet breath fanning across your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes flickered in the lamplight as he looked at you, “do you know what my father said once?”

You languidly chased his lips with your own, but he eluded your desires, resolving to let you capture and conquer him in his own time, when he was ready.

“I don’t,” you replied, “won’t you tell me?”

“He said that it’s a dream…a frightful dream, life is.”

You looked into Commodus’ eyes, but he was somewhere else. You did not have the courage to speak up until he asked you, “do you think that’s true?”

You hesitated, momentarily assessing how best to respond.

“Sometimes it is,” you settled on a half-hearted agreement for now and his shoulders slumped into you as though out of some sort of relief.

“And I have only you to share it with…” Commodus’ eyes brimmed with tears and he bit back a sob, “but I have no proper time with you now. It is all like some great nightmare!”

Your arms encircled him comfortingly and you rubbed his back to soothe him, understanding that his tender state was in part the fault of his father who had failed him as a child, but also because Commodus was just so tired. In his fitful sleep, it was difficult to reach him, but even more when he was awake because he could not escape his nightmares even during the day.

There was a slowly burning madness inside of him and soon it would boil over.

But, not tonight.

“Shh, Commodus.”

You held him close while he cried, shoulders shaking with the force of each painful sob that carried and reverberated off the palace walls and made it seem all the louder.

You pulled him in against you, your bodies flush to one another and you could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest.

Commodus scrounged for love in every aspect of his life, searching for fulfillment in dealings with his guards, the people of Rome and occasionally even the senate. He desired love himself, but he also wanted to be the provider of love to his people because if they respected him then perhaps, they might love him, too.

It was you who gave him what he needed, only, it seemed that it was not enough.

He had an empire to run, scrolls to read, legislation to propose and citizens to care for; Commodus was meant to be an emperor first and a husband, second.

His sobs grew quieter and more restrained, changing from full-bodied cries to soft whimpers. Your cheek rested against the crown of his head, your hand still rubbing his back as you held tight to him.

Many times had you found yourself in this position, but few of them were like this.

The tearful emperor would have been perceived as weak by anyone who might have seen him like this, but not you. You knew what he was capable of, even if no one else did. The moon might only reflect the sun’s light back upon the shadowed earth, but there were things one could only dream of that lurked in the darkness that not even the light of day could brighten. There, too, were demons veiled by the emperor’s dark side and once in a blue moon they were revealed by the light.

He was quiet now, but he breathed deeply, dragging in oxygen harshly through his nose while his cheek rested gently against your chest. He could listen to your heartbeat in this position and his lips bore a marginal smile.

“You know I love you,” Commodus whispered to you in that unassuming, hushed tone his voice took on when he was calm.

His lips found purchase on your neck again and you released a pleased sighed, “and I love you, too.”

The storm had passed.

The drought had been the worst, but the rain was over and the clouds had begun to part; Commodus was returning to himself, and after the downpour, you both would flourish again.

When he was overwhelmed, Commodus had to purge the emotions that consumed him.

“Shall we ready ourselves for bed, darling?” you posed the question as not to disrupt him; he seemed comforted by your closeness, satiated and remedied now that you were in his presence once more.

You felt him nod once, “I think that would be for the best,” he agreed, lifting his head when the sound of rain suddenly flooded into the room.

Beyond your chambers, the sky opened and rain came down from the heavens like you had anticipated might happen into the night. The gods were crying with the emperor, watering the lands of rich, fertile soil for the flowers, plants and food that would grow here.

Commodus smiled wistfully as he gazed out to watch the droplets fall to earth, “What did you mean?” he asked.

The sudden question perplexed you.

“Meant what, darling?”

“That life is a frightful dream, only sometimes,” he clarified, “implying that it is not so all of the time.”

He had turned to look at you and your heart skipped a beat. Your lover’s eyes held their usual mischievous brightness that enchanted you, sparkling like springtime and full of icy vitality. His full lips parted as he waited for your response and you had to steel your imagination against kissing him instead.

Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck that had grown long enough to curl a little, “well,” you began and felt him press even closer, if that were possible, as he hung on your every word, “life does often feel like a dream to me, but not always an unpleasant one.”

“Yes,” he appeared childlike as he agreed with you, “I suppose that for all of the unpleasantness, there are still good things.”

“Like you,” you said, “us.”

Commodus expelled a brief, lighthearted chuckle, “you are right about us, my love.”

That is a good thing. We are a good thing.

You heard the admission in his voice, he did not need to say it because you felt it. It was there, in all that he did. You were enough for Commodus and you always would be, even on days when he was pulled in different directions that did not lead to you; he would always come home.

The love was present in the way he held you, kissed you, made time for you, loved you.

Yes, Commodus loved you.

He always had.

[sunny-writes-flowers]

“Pieces of broken glass.” Summary: "Commodus had a long day and he longed for nothing more than a bath and a particular young servant."  

Rating:  E(+18)

Statut: One Shot  

Relationship(s): Commodus x fem!Reader  

Warning(s): Angst; Explicit description of smut; Emperor/servant relationship; description of female and male bodies.

Commodus had had a long day of meetings and negotiations with his advisors. He was tired and frustrated by their constant bickering and conflicting opinions. As he returned to his chambers, he longed for nothing more than to relax and unwind.  

The warm glow of candles flickering against the marble walls, welcomed him. He was still wearing his royal garments, a deep red tunic embroidered with gold thread, and a heavy fur cloak draped over his shoulders. The first thing Commodus did when he enters his room, was to order his servants to fill the large, marble bathtub, with steaming hot water. He watched as they carefully poured vases of water into the marble tub, adding oils and herbs to make the water fragrant and soothing. 

With a flick of his wrist, he signaled to his personal servant, who hurried forward and began to undo the buttons of his tunic. The emperor stood still as the servant worked, revealing the rippling muscles of his chest and arms, savoring the cool air on his skin. 

Once his tunic had been removed, the servant helped him slip out of his sandals, and then his undergarment, leaving him standing there, naked. Commodus shivered as the servant quickly draped a red bathrobe over his shoulders. Proudly, he entered the bathroom, undressing his red bathrobe, showing his servants his muscular butt cheeks. 

Commodus stepped over to the large marble bathtub, already filled to the brim with steaming hot water. He lowered himself into the water slowly, letting out a contented sigh as the heat seeped into his bones. The warm water enveloped him in its comforting embrace. The steam from the water rose around him, fogging the mirrors and walls. The air was filled with the sound of the water lapping against his strong legs, as he moves. 

He leaned back against the cool marble, letting out a contented sigh as the heat seeped into his muscles. He closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissolve. The water scented with fragrant oils. Commodus felt relaxed as he breathes the sweet aroma. 

As Commodus relaxed in the warm water, his body was revealed in all its glory. Tall, muscular man with broad shoulders and a chiseled chest, his skin bronzed by the sun of Rome Coliseum. His arms were powerful, with veins visible beneath the surface, evidence of his strength and prowess as a soldier. His abdomen was strong and well-defined, with the outline of his abdominal muscles visible even when relaxed. 

As he leaned back against the edge of the marble, his legs stretched out in front of him, the muscles in his thighs and calves were taut and defined. The water lapped against his skin, accentuating the curves and contours of his body. A thick trace of dark hair ran down from his navel to his crotch. His sex swayed delicately in the eddies of the water. 

Despite his physical strength, there was a vulnerability in his demeanor as he soaked in the water, his eyes closed, lost in thought. He was a man burdened by his insecurity and fears, and the simple pleasure of a hot bath was a brief respite from the stress of his rule. 

Commodus heard the soft footsteps of a servant approaching. He opened his green eyes to see her. A young girl who had been catching his eye lately. She was standing hesitantly with a vase full of water in her arms. 

Commodus smiled at her and gestured for her to come closer, confirming her name. “You may approach.” he said, his voice low and commanding. 

The servant stepped forward, her eyes flickering up to meet his before quickly looking away. “Is there anything I can do for you, your majesty?” her voice trembling slightly. 

Commodus grinned wickedly. “ Actually, there is something you can do for me. I require a massage to ease the tension in my muscles,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.   

Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement at the thought of touching the emperor’s body. The young lady nodded her head obediently, and reached for a glass bottle full of oil, pouring a liberal amount into her small hands.   

As she began to work the oil into his skin, starting with his shoulders and working her way down his arms, she couldn’t help but notice how strong and muscular he was. She had heard whispers among the other servants, about his prowess as a soldier, but seeing him up close like this was almost overwhelming. 

As she moved down his body, working her way over his chest and stomach, she felt her heart racing. Commodus was enjoying the sensation as much as she was. His nose smelling her hair, as he murmured in her ear “Lower”. His voice low and husky, “Work on my legs.” 

She obeyed. She entered the bath delicately, her hands gliding over his thighs and calves, rubbing out the tension in his muscles. She could feel the heat of his body. His firm hand grabs her neck tenderly, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of desire coursing through her veins. 

Commodus couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that she was weak under his touch. It made him feel powerful and desired. But at the same time, he felt a sense of liberation in this vulnerability he was showing. He could let his guard down in a way that he rarely experienced in his daily life. Feeling the tension in his muscles slowly giving way under her touch, the knots of stress unravelling one by one. He let out a small sigh of pleasure, revealing in the sensation of being cared for and tended to. 

She dipped a sponge into the water, and began to gently rub the emperor face, cleaning up all the sweat provoked by the hot water. The young servant found herself admiring his green eyes, directly looking at her, his hand still grabbing her neck. 

"Come here, girl," Commodus said, pulling her closer. With his fingers, he untied the laces of her dress, leaving her breasts exposed. The dress fluttering around her waist. 

"You're a pretty little thing," he said, reaching out to stroke her hair. "Tell me, do you find me attractive?" he asked.  

"Yes, Your Highness," she said softly. "I find you very attractive." 

Commodus had always been a man of passion, and he knew that he wanted her. The blush rising to her cheeks at the sight of the powerful emperor and her, being naked. 

He drew her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his as he kissed her deeply, his lips seeking hers in a frenzy of desire. The servant was overwhelmed by the passion she felt for the emperor, and she responded eagerly to his kisses, her heart beating faster and faster as his hands roamed over her body. Commodus took her in his arms, grabbing her thighs and putting them around his waist. He moved closer to the ledge, laying her on the white marble. Water splashed on the ground, as Commodus moved even closer to her small body. 

As he broke the kiss, Commodus pulled her wet dress from around her legs. Sensing her excitement, he looked at her deeply in the eyes. "You like this, don't you?" he said softly.   

"Yes, my lord. I... I've always admired you from afar." She replied, caressing his face. 

Commodus grinned, his eyes darkening. "Admired me, huh? Is that all?" 

"N-no... I-I... Highness, I desire you and I want to be possessed by you... " 

He murmured. "And I think you might just be what I need tonight." 

With these words, Commodus grabbed with his strong hands, the legs of the young woman and opened them widely, so that he could position himself between. Commodus moved closer to her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her body. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around his neck. Commodus took his cock in his hand, made some movement on his hard member, to make it even prouder than it already was. 

"Moan the name of your emperor, when he has taken you as you so desire." he said, approaching the divine entrance of the young woman. 

She straightened her legs a little, and with her fingers, she parted the hairs of her vulva, allowing Commodus to penetrate her unhindered. The young emperor moaned at the pressure his member was under as he entered her. She immediately moaned his name eagerly. 

A tear of happiness ran down her face. Commodus' member was thick and curved just enough to touch those most exquisite places on the body. He immediately began to take her vigorously. His movements were erratic, as the bath water flooded the marbled floor. He groaned with pleasure, whispering in the young servant's ear that she was tight and just wet as he liked. 

"Harder, highness, harder!" she pleaded to Commodus, her nails clawing at his back with such force that drops of blood ran all the way down to his butt cheeks. And he did, picking up the pace. Only the moans of the young woman and the water were audible in the air. Commodus being a silent lover, contented himself with grunting lightly and breathing hard, his breath warm against her ear. 

Her small hands had moved through his dark hair, ruffling it, as pleasure washed over her. Commodus, eyes closed, licked the girl's neck, greedily, feeling in his lower abdomen the pleasure ready to explode. 

Not holding back anymore, she knocked over the glass bottle full of oil, next to her, as she spread her legs even further. The emperor's breathing became louder and louder, his moaning became hoarser. A train of saliva dripping from his mouth, as he arched his hips. The thrust was particularly deeper and stronger than the previous ones, making her stutter in surprise, her eyes wide open. 

The bottle smashed against the marble, shattering into a thousand pieces, with the same intensity as Commodus emptied himself inside the young girl. Her arms positioned behind her back, holding herself from falling. Her head back against her shoulders, mouth wide open, as she felt Commodus' cum fill her like a fountain. 

She called his name, while he eagerly sucked on the nipple of her breast, as if to calm himself down. His large and strong hands, scarred by some injury from the sword's handling, grabbed the young servant's butt cheeks, pulling her closer to his member, as to be sure that no drop could be wasted. Commodus kisses her neck, biting her passionately, just his way of thanking her for the pleasure offered. 

He withdrew from her, his cock softening little by little. The emperor plunged back into the water, resting his head against the marble ledge. The young servant felt Commode's semen dripping from inside her as she sits in a more suitable position. And as she was about to enter the water to join him, imagining resting her head on his chest, Commodus closed his eyes. "Bring me some fruit, and the taster." he said, his tone indicating that this was an order. 

The euphoria of orgasm descended immediately. Shocked by reality, she understood that no matter what she would say, he would only see her as a servant. A few tears grew on the side of her eyes, as she grabbed her wet dress, Commodus raised his hand to catch her attention. 

"Clean up the pieces of broken glass, before you leave..." 

Note: Thanks for reading. This was particularly hard to write. Please don't forget to like and share and give me your opinion !

[winebobalattae]

Slowly might become a joaquin phoenix account i love him so much actually

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Also, how come no one writes for his character in We Own The Night. He's so hot in that movie 😵‍💫

[kfanniart]

Okay, here he is in the daylight, without the shitty evening lighting. ❤️

Instagram: @kalozifanni_art

[jokerflecker]

Do you have a masterlist somewhere?

I do, anon, what a nice ask! You can find it here: masterlist

My Ao3 url is included in this post as well. I recommend reading my story Bird of Prey on Ao3 instead of on here, since its better organized there :) Plus you'll find other works there as well, besides my Arthur/Commodus fics :)

I was having a difficult day and your ask really cheered me up, so thank you for that! Enjoy <3

[darknessisafriend]

You are my Empire Commodus x Reader

Here's a little one shot about Commodus being a sub in your relationship, smut and fluff, enjoy!

The flutes, claps and cheers filled the palace, effervescence and joy for the Calendae Ianuariae, New Year. Statues of Janus were erected in all Rome, the double face deity looking to the past and towards the year to come. You smiled, finding yourself looking towards the past…

It was about a year ago, you were exactly at the same place for New Year, having to bear with mundane whispers and gossiping of the court, but you heard everything, and people found pleasure confiding in you.  It used to be the incarnation of boredom, having to wear a smile as if you didn’t crave to go home. Today you still thanked the gods for not listening to yourself, for that night your life had changed. You had met your husband, Commodus, son of Marcus Aurelius and Emperor of the Roman Empire.

“Careful not to get lost in your memories. Someone might take advantage of it.” Said a charming masculine voice from behind you, you felt the man approach, leaning closer to your ear, making you smile “Still as beautiful as the first day I laid my eyes upon you.” He cooed, coming to stand in front of you, a glass of wine in each hand, handing one to you, Commodus, the man of your heart.

“Such praises and care tonight…” you commented, happily accepting the glass and taking a sip of this round and powerful Gaul wine. Commodus looked at you in the eyes, devoted, obsessed.

“I serve to please you, my love. And Rome.” He answered in a whisper, you had recently taken the first place in his thoughts, managing to distract him from the turbulence and violence of the Senate. After all, you had one advantage…

“Then I hope that the night is only starting for us. As the roman tradition wants…let us start the year as we want it to be all year along…” you teased him with a smile he knew too well.

“And what could that be, my queen?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice as if he was craving something.  You slightly leaned forward to speak on the confidence tone.

“Kneel.” You requested; your voice only hearable by your husband. His eyelids briefly fluttered, as if he had been waiting for these words.

“How daring of you to ask this of your emperor.” He retorted on a dangerous tone, you were seeing the fierce lion again, untamable, unwilling to submit. But you knew it was a façade he pulled in front of the public and so his face softened. “But you are worth submitting too.” He whispered as he knelt after making sure no one was around, luckily you had gone to an intimate corner and on purpose. You savored as the mightiest man in the world, placed his hands on his lap as he looked at you from below, his eyes shining with devotion, love.

It was something you had understood soon enough in your marriage. Commodus craved submission, he could be the leader, the one with a speech that won’t be contested. He had a high position, yet he didn’t want power or wealth. All he desired was to serve people, his people, please the empire, please the Senate, his sister and you. You had dompted him, earned his trust, cracked the shell open to reveal a vulnerable boy seeking comfort to face the rest.  

“Good boy.” You smiled, taking a step closer to cup his chin, lifting it a bit more as you leaned forward, placing a light and slow kiss upon his lips; he closed his eyes, sighing, relief washing over him, he had been busy all night with requests from senators and nobles, now he could let go. Your fingers made their ways down his neck, feeling his quickening pulse, sliding underneath his tunic to play with a thin leather string tied around his neck, pulling on it to press his lips more against yours, hearing his fists grab the fabric of his toga.

“Take your leave. I shall excuse you to our guests and join you when it’s done.”  You ordered him as you parted from him, hearing him retain a whimper of happiness. By taking the lead you relieved him of suffering more the presence of political guests, he only had to leave and wait for your return.

Excusing the Emperor next to all his guests took as long as you expected, close to an hour. Commodus must have been on the edge waiting for you all that time, but as you made your way to the emperor’s private chambers, you found yourself remembering the first time you had attempted to tame Commodus during an intimate moment. Oh he had been furious as you resisted him and instead tried to reverse the roles. He had been confused as to whatever he was doing was bad, if he hadn’t been told about this peculiar power of wives, or if you were a danger to his position.

“I apologize if my attitude troubles you. I perhaps wrongly assumed you would enjoy this. I merely wanted to…” you had caressed his face tenderly, looking at him in the eyes with all the devotion you had for him. “I want to make you understand that you can fully trust me and let go whenever you are with me, you don’t have to pretend or be on your guards. We are past this, you know I adore you. I want to take care of you…” at his words you had witnessed a change in his eyes, in this moment of extreme vulnerability you had touched a sensitive spot.

“No one ever said that to me.” He had replied, moved, from the start he had trusted you, making you his greatest friend before asking for your hand; your words were the proof he wasn’t wrong about you. From that moment on, Commodus had surrendered to your hand, your will.

And here he was, tonight once again, as you penetrated the imperial chambers. He was waiting for you, stripped of any clothing but the leather string around his neck. He was in the same position as before, kneeling with his hands folded on his lap, his head lowered. He was shivering, both from excitement and cold. You quietly closed the door behind yourself, detailing him as he had recognized your footsteps, his breathing quickening, anticipation building, the temptation to look at you…

“Poor Commodus, you must have thought I had forgotten about you.” You cooed playfully.

“Never mistress. I trust you fully…I just worried that…” he started but was interrupted by your thumb on his lips, you were here now, and you would take care of him. You let go of his face and went to sit on the bed, facing him. “Everything has been taken care of. You did good tonight, pretending to care about their insignificant problems, they believed you, I saw it.” You praised him softly, gesturing with your fingers for him to join you.

Commodus’ eyes lit up, he went on all fours and slowly crawled to your feet. You loved to watch the muscles of his shoulders work as he did this, resembling a predator, almost. He came to brush his face against your knee, you could almost hear him purring. He exhaled happily, placing kisses on your thigh. “I will have them killed tomorrow.” He said with a grin but gasped when you grabbed his hair, pulling on them to make him look at you.

“Haven’t I taught you patience? Or have you forgotten already?” you asked, watching his pupils dilate, once again he was following his impulses too easily.

“I am sorry. I won’t kill them yet.” He muttered but knew it wasn’t enough, that he would be punished for it, after all, he had done it on purpose, he loved when you taught him a lesson. Your foot went to caress his legs, sliding between them, almost reaching his crotch but not touching it, your toes brushing against his inner thighs which squeezed in anticipation.

You clicked your tongue “Keep them open.” Your ordered, making him lick his lips. His arousal was starting to show, his nipples hardening just like his cock. You retracted your leg, and stood up, going in front of the bronze mirror. Slowly, you started to undo the pin that was holding together your tunic, letting the fabric slide off your curves, you wore nothing under for this special night. You heard him take a deep breath; you were starting to make it hard for him to control himself.

As you turned round, you met his eyes making him quickly turn his head away. You approached, a little smile playing on your lips, that boyish impatience of his had made you fall for him in the first place. You circled around him, your fingers tracing his shoulders “Patience is a virtue you can acquire…lay low, observe your enemies, watch them rip each other apart, let Pluto take them…all they want is that you act so you can make a mistake. Allow them to show who they really are, those old men haven’t much time left to live, they don’t have the time to be patient. The People will see who the traitors of Rome are.” You murmured, your tone almost playful, you enjoyed politics.

Then you moved away from him once again, Commodus could feel his skin grow cold, he craved your touch, to be buried in your reassuring embrace. He watched as you laid in bed in front of him, slowly parting your legs to give him a view on your Venus mount.

“Stay. Do not move Commodus. You will learn that with patience, you can get what you desire, and it tastes even better…” you purred, giggling as he swallowed down. When it came to lust, Commodus was full of eagerness, sometimes not even waiting to be in your private quarters but taking you in some dark corner of a corridor to slide his head under your tunic or chasing the servants out of the kitchen to roughly pound you on the table, loving as you slapped his face in fluster.

You hummed as your caressed your breast with your hands “I have missed your mouth Commodus...your poet lips dancing on my nipples…” you lightly pinched your bosom, letting out a soft moan. He adjusted himself, as if to be closer but he was already pressed against the edge of the bed, his eyes greedily following your fingers, how much he craved that breast. He watched your breathing quicken under excitement, his cock throbbing against his belly.

His eyes trailed down your body, to your glistening entrance, so ready to be tasted, filled. Your hand briefly shielded your pussy from his gaze, hearing a strangled whimper from the Emperor, how could you prevent him from watching you? Oh sweet torture from the wife he adored. He reached to touch himself but retracted his hand, you wouldn’t agree in that moment.

“Good Commodus, excellent…ah..” you moaned, praising him for resisting his impulse, letting him look again as you pleasured yourself, looking at him, your only source of desire, those scarred lips, his round and soft face, those curly raven hair begging to be pulled and those eyes…the most expressive eyes you had ever seen, so deep and passionate, dangerous…

Your pleasure was fast increasing, your pussy quivering with impatience, you even started to struggle with eye contact in fear of reaching your peak already. You kept circling around your soft spot for a bit more until you felt you had reached your limit, just like Commodus whose eyes had become teary with desire, he was panting, it took all his strength to resist you.

“Commodus…how do you feel?” you asked seriously, wanting him to feel the difference, to learn. At first, he seemed confused by your question, then focused, what would have happened if he had followed his impulses? He would be done by now, perhaps regret, understand some mistakes he did, feel relieved but would he be satisfied?

“I feel...powerful, as if I could accomplish the labors of Heracles. I savor the sight of what I have in front of my eyes, memorize every detail, think of the best way to act, how to please...” he answered, understanding what you had taught him, the benefits of patience and he was about to taste it all.

“Good.” you smiled, how beautiful, how fragile and yet how strong he was “Join me, your wife commands you.” You purred, he almost couldn’t believe it and grinned, finally! He quickly jumped onto the bed, closing the gap between you two, his lips crashing against yours, placing himself between your legs, his cock rubbing along your slit. Then, he guided it inside you, moaning loudly as he buried inside you, your fingers grasping his hair needily. His moans were raw, high pitched sometimes, his brows furrowed as if his pleasure had been multiplied, he could finally enjoy the relief of being reunited to his wife, feel your warm embrace around him. His senses were overwhelmed, sharper, he was conscious of every bit around him. He looked at you, smiling a bit among the moans, he understood what you meant. “How wise you are…” he praised devotedly your unusual methods, filling your face in kisses, thrusting passionately, enjoying your hands running on his back until your nail dug into his back, marking him once again with your love.

Soon, you found yourselves laying in each other’s arms, panting with your legs entwinned, your hand playing with the leather string around his neck as his fingertips traced your nipple gently.

“I never thought my marital life would be like this.” He said softly, deep in thoughts, he was at peace, a little smile on his lips.

“How so? Did imagine something radically different?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. You were a stubborn woman who knew what you wanted, you had always imagined a relationship of trust and power.

“Of course. The senators have wives they rarely love and instead countless mistresses. My father and mother was quite the affair…passionate. But she cheated on him one day with a gladiator, he caught them in the act and killed him, as the man laid dead in a puddle of blood, he took my mother again. Not long after…mother died in a military camp. Some say father poisoned her, other say she killed herself. All of this to say that we are not like the couples we see around us. We care and respect each other.” He explained, kissing your inner wrist devotedly “How many men can claim they can sleep with both eyes closed next to their wife? to talk about their political projects or to weep in their arms? You and I are blessed, the gods put you in my path…” he cooed fondly, looking at you in the eyes “No one stands a chance against us, and I lay the Empire at your feet Y/N.”

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[lavender-annd-lilac]

Lololol jk this was like 10/10 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍 I was very entertained

What do they fight with? Like modern weapons? Or is it like UFC/MMA stuff? Or do they go full old school with swords and shields? (Lol people could be getting ripped apart in the arena and I’d be like.. Pls I hope no lions get hurt 😢)

Whenever I read anything with gladiators I always assume it’s an AU of the Gladiator movie which is prob not the case haha

Spoils of War

Pairing: Gladiator!Steve Rogers x Female Reader, mention of Dark Advisor!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: Steve gets a reward for a job well done and wishes he could have been with you under different circumstances. Word Count: Over 3k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Noncon references (do NOT read if this upsets you), Dubcon elements (reader consents with Steve), vaginal unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive behavior, dirty talk, talks of violence, captivity, servitude, dark themes, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Here we go with The Arena! Please heed the warnings with each post for this AU as there will be dark elements throughout. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Steve Rogers believed in doing the right thing. Even as a young boy, he didn't allow his small size to let bullies push him, or others, around. As long as he could get up, he would fight. He carried that idealism throughout his life. It was why he chose to work with S.H.I.E.L.D..

But he no longer fought for the greater good.

The cheers from the arena rang in his ears as he closed his eyes, the water from the showerhead washing the blood and grime away. It wouldn't take away the guilt that ate at his soul. He was meant to save people, not take their lives away. How was he reduced to being a puppet for the demented masses?

One day, he would be free.

Today, he would savor the spoils of war.

"You've done well, Captain Rogers. A prize is long overdue."

Steve dried off moments later and kept a towel around his waist as he waited for you. He didn't have to wait much longer. The cell door opened long enough to shove you inside, anger boiling in his gut when you almost fell to your knees.

"Break her and Barber will kill you," the guard threatened.

Andy Barber. His former colleague. Your master.

"Should I tell him you nearly made her fall on her face or do you want to do that yourself?"

The guard didn't respond, but had the decency to look afraid before he slammed the door and left the two of you alone.

Steve watched as you straightened up and carefully glanced around the room. The cell HYDRA kept him in was comfortable enough. A small bathroom, a nice bed, and a desk so he could draw. Charcoal only, as they didn't allow him to have anything he could use to harm them. They also refused to let him have a cell near Bucky, afraid they would conspire against the guards and break free.

Even if he did have a weapon with him, he wouldn't use it on you.

His prize.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked, bringing your gaze toward him.

This was the first time he had seen up close since the day everything went to hell. You were still beautiful, but there was sorrow in your eyes that hadn't been there before. The lacy red and black lingerie set did little to cover you, so different from the office clothes he typically saw you in. He wondered if you shivered slightly from the cold or fear.

"Yes. Thank you, Captain," you answered, offering him a small smile as you made your way to the foot of the bed.

You still had the same smile.

"Don't call me that," he said harsher than he intended to. "I'm not your Captain anymore."

He failed as Captain America. HYDRA captured you, Bucky, and countless others because he hadn't taken them down. It seemed like they only referred to him by his title to taunt him. Was he ever worthy of the shield?

Your smile slipped away as you sat down and lowered your gaze. "I'm sorry, sir."

Steve immediately wanted to pull you into his arms and apologize. You weren't in his cell for more than two minutes and he took his frustration out on you. He hadn't meant to.

"You don't need to apologize. I'm sorry for taking that tone with you. Steve or sir are both fine, sweetheart," he said, his towel slipping further down his hips as he walked toward you. "Or would you prefer I call you by your name?"

"You can call me whatever you want."

The words sounded rehearsed.

You looked up at him when his warm hand cradled your jaw, surprising him when you didn't recoil. He wondered what you saw as you looked into his eyes. A murderer? A monster?

"Why did you ask for me?" you asked.

"Because I was told I could have a reward for a job well done," he told you.

You narrowed your eyes. "Why me specifically?"

Rewards were typically in the form of a mistress since fighters couldn't ask for their freedom, or challenge anyone in charge to a battle. Mistresses were usually sent from the harem and not taken directly from one of the advisors or generals. It was only natural that you'd ask why.

"You belong to Andy Barber," he stated to gauge your reaction.

You flinched, your eyes flashing with something akin to offense and fury, but you didn't pull free from Steve's grasp. From what he gathered, you weren't a willing mistress to Andy. You knelt beside him at every match he could remember and never said a word. Advisors and Generals loved to show off their possessions. Requesting you as his prize for doing such a good job in the arena pissed Andy off, but he couldn't deny him.

A pet having power or sway over a master isn't allowed.

But unlike Andy, Steve's intentions weren't to harm or force himself on you.

If he thought for a moment that you were a willing participant in this, your reaction told him otherwise. "I don't belong to anyone."

"I wasn't trying to offend you," he promised, keeping his hand on you as he took a seat beside you. "How does he treat you?"

You hesitated before you answered. "Sometimes he fucks me like he loves me."

He ran a thumb across your cheek when a tear fell from your eye, rage surging through his veins. Even though you didn't bear any physical scars like him and the other fighters, you no doubt had wounds on the inside. Forced into sexual servitude would be enough to hurt the strongest of people. But the flicker of fire in your eyes, you still had some fight in you. It comforted him that they didn't break you.

"Did he do something to you? Is this some sort of payback?" you guessed.

"He did, but I didn't ask for you to get back at him," he said.

He wouldn't have asked for Andy's mistress if it was anyone other than you.

"I don't know why you're asking how he treats me. At the end of the day, I'm just his whore," you said, eying him warily. "And tonight, I'm yours."

He shook his head, bringing his other hand up to cup both cheeks. "You're not a whore."

He wished you could be his girl.

Maybe in another life.

"Then I don't understand why I'm here if you're not going to use me," you said, confusion filling your beautiful eyes. "I'm nobody."

"You worked on the 3rd floor," he said, tracing his finger along your bra strap when you gasped. "You had a cardigan on the back of your chair and the background on your computer matched whatever season we were in. You kept to yourself, but offered a small, kind smile whenever someone looked your way or jumped in to help without anyone asking. You were vital to S.H.I.E.L.D. and you're far from being a nobody."

You moved an inch closer and his gaze fell to your lips. "You knew me?" you asked in disbelief as he nodded. "I-I never thought anyone as high up as you would've noticed me."

"Of course, I did. I was just too stupid to say anything then," he replied, smiling sadly when he wiped another tear away.

Would it have made this situation better? Worse? Dwelling on "what if" would do more harm than good.

“So, you asked for me because you wanted to see me? You care?”

He let out a breath as he nodded. “I had to see for myself that you’re okay. Well, as okay as you can be given the circumstances,” he said.

There were so many things he wanted to say. That he was sorry a man like Andy ever got his hands on you. That he didn’t want you to give up hope. Why wouldn’t the words come out?

"I didn't think anyone cared," you said, lightly tracing a tiny scar on his arm. Something in your expression shifted from uncertainty to seductive as you leaned in closer. "But that shouldn't surprise me. You're a good man."

He placed a hand on your lips to stop you before you kissed him. Yes, he asked for you to be here, but he didn't want you to feel forced to do this. “No, sweetheart. I’m not going to use you.”

The point of his confession, or whatever he could call it, wasn't to make you give in to him. He needed you to know you did mean something to someone. You weren't alone in this.

“Is it using me if I’m offering?” you countered when he lowered his hand, giving you the chance to lean in to pepper his jaw with soft kisses. He didn’t stop you this time. “Unless you don’t want me.”

Steve wanted you. God, he wanted you, but he wouldn’t take from you the way Andy did. Even when you placed a hand on his thigh, your touch light and heavenly, he had to resist. HYDRA reduced him to a killer, he refused to sink any lower.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you said, leaning back and reaching behind you to unhook your bra. He didn’t mean to groan when you took it off, but your breasts on display had his heart pounding against his ribs. Your nipples were hard and he hadn’t even properly touched you. “Like I said, you're a good man.”

Steve’s hands fell to your hips when you straddled him, his cock twitching beneath the towel. Was it wrong to give in if you wanted it? But did you actually want him? Were you acting on instinct? Orders?

“How am I a good man if I’m taking advantage of you?” he tried to argue when you pushed your hips down.

“You aren’t. You're giving me a choice and I'm choosing to give myself to you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I want to forget even if it’s just for tonight.”

He wanted to forget, too. He didn’t want to see the blood that stained his shield or the life leaving the eyes of the bodies that fell. What he wouldn’t give to have a beer with Bucky after a mission gone well. Or take you out on a proper date.

“I’m your prize, Steve. So take it.”

The last shred of hesitation inside him snapped when he fastened his lips against yours. You went pliant against him, opening your mouth for him to take what he wanted. It wasn’t how he wanted your first kiss with him to be, but it made him dizzy nonetheless.

He didn’t break the kiss as he rolled you over, spreading you out on your back to slide in between your thighs. He swallowed down the small sound you made before he gave you both a chance to catch your breath. The sight of you gazing up at him made him lose his breath again.

“Please,” you whispered, shuddering as he moved his calloused hands up your legs.

He heard people beg before, but not like this. You would be his salvation. He hoped he could be yours, too.

Torn between kissing up your thighs or diving right in, he decided to dip a hand between your legs. You shivered again as he pressed his palm against the damp, flimsy fabric. “You’re wet,” he said in awe, gripping the underwear and tearing it away.

Your back arched, sending a shiver down his spine when he saw your eyes glaze over with lust. “For you, Steve.”

For him.

The slide of his first finger made him close his eyes. You were tight and warm and the clench around the digit alone was enough to make his cock twitch. He wondered if you ever got this wet for Andy. Did he prep you? Make you come?

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” you whined when he pushed another finger in.

“Are you my prize, sweetheart?” he asked, spreading and sliding his fingers in and out. He brought his other hand up to your breasts, not wanting to neglect them as he toyed with your pussy. "Are you giving yourself to me?"

“Yes,” you said breathlessly when he pinched a hardened bud, your walls tightening more by the time he added a third finger. “I am.”

“Then let me handle you as I see fit,” the slight command that came out was reminiscent of his days of being a Captain, the very thing he told you not to call him.

“Yes, Sir,” you whimpered, arching your back again when he removed his fingers.

He brought them to his mouth and licked each of them clean, savoring the sweet and tangy flavor of you on his tongue. If he was a better man, he’d take more time with you. Worship every inch of you until you sobbed and begged for more. Later, he’d indulge until all he knew was your taste. Your first orgasm though, he wanted on his cock.

He had to be inside you now.

You blinked and smiled as if you sensed his need. “I’m ready.”

Steve gripped the base of his cock as he settled between your legs. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine you were in his home. He refused to do so. This was the reality you were in and he had to make the most of it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, silencing you with a kiss when you opened your mouth.

You gasped as he lined up with your entrance and slowly slid in. He almost stopped halfway through when you clenched hard around him, but his kisses relaxed you enough to let him in. He never felt anything as good as you and was sure he never would again. He was afraid he’d become addicted.

“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered back, sending shivers down his spine when you ran your fingers through his beard. “But it’s okay.”

He began to thrust, unable to take the tenderness in your eyes. In another life, he would’ve been worthy of that gaze and comfort. Now it was survival of the fittest.

“I won’t break,” you moaned, allowing him to take your wrists and pin them over your head. “You can fuck me how you need to.”

“What was it you said?” he asked, driving deeper into you to make you moan louder. “He fucks you like he loves you?”

You choked on your breath when you gazed up at him with fear in your eyes. You blinked it away before he could dwell on it. “Sometimes.”

“You haven’t been fucked by me before,” he grunted, taking your leg to wrap around his hip. “When I send him back to you, you’ll be dripping with me. He'll know you'll never truly be his."

A loud moan escaped when his grip on your wrists tightened, your hips rising to meet his thrusts as he fucked into you. It was easier than he thought to forget the horrors when he was buried inside you. What would he have to do to keep you for more than a night?

You squirmed when he slid his hand between your bodies and sought out your bundle of nerves. “You said you don’t belong to anyone, but here with me, you’re mine,” he said, circling your clit with his thumb. The whine he got in response was otherworldly. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you moaned, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

He wanted to believe it.

“Again,” he gritted. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours!”

Your eyes widened when you quivered around him, a gush of wetness flowing around his cock as you cried out. The orgasm seemed to take you by surprise, but he kept up his pace to ride it out. He hoped it would be the first of many. Your face twisted in pleasure was almost enough to send him over the edge.

“Please, Steve,” you moaned brokenly, lying bonelessly beneath him as he buried his face in your neck.

Steve couldn’t resist when you begged so beautifully, letting out a broken sound of his own as he spilled into you. The release had him panting against your skin as finished, trying to remember the last time he experienced ecstasy like that. He desperately tried to hang on, not wanting it to end for either of you.

He pushed himself up to look at you, but didn't pull out, a sense of pride filling him at your fucked out expression. Releasing your wrists, he brought your hands up to wrap around him. He wasn’t expecting to need the comforting touch, but he had to feel your hands on him after what you shared.

Silence stretched on as snuggled close and he thought for a moment that you drifted off when you stayed quiet.

“I don’t want to send you back in the morning,” he admitted, tilting your chin so you'd look at him.

You quietly sniffled as you turned away. “I don’t either, but you have to. Andy is furious enough as it is."

He pulled you in for a hug when you trembled. He wanted to choke the life out of Andy himself. Maybe HYDRA had made him a monster.

“Maybe you can't stay here permanently, but I’ll ask for you again after my next match. I promise.”

He didn’t want you around Andy longer than you had to be.

“So, we meet up after your fights and allow ourselves to keep forgetting? You go back into the fight and I go back to the Advisor quarters?” you asked, your eyes shining as he let you rest against the mattress.

He tilted his head as he studied your face. The blissful expression had determination underneath. Both of you wanted to get out of here, like everyone else. With your position, maybe you could use it to your, and his, advantage.

“I’m a fighter. You’re the mistress of an advisor. I’m sure we can forget and find other uses for our time together,” he said carefully, in case he was reading you incorrectly. “What do you say?”

The smile you gave him was hopeful. “I'm in."

Oh, you don't think it'll be that easy, do you? Not if Andy has his way. 😏 Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[profeyandere]

𝐉𝐎𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

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ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ᴛᴡᴏᴍʙʟʏ │ •➤ ʀᴇᴀʟ ╰─────────────

ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ғʟᴇᴄᴋ ᴏʀ ᴊᴏᴋᴇʀ │ •➤ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴀᴅ ╰─────────────

ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏᴅᴜs │ •➤ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss ╰─────────────

[five-miles-over]

Joaquin Phoenix Characters

Tom Hiddleston Characters

Benedict Cumberbatch Characters - Coming Soon!

[creativestorylove]

Peace and the connection to trust

A silent sigh left your mouth as you closed your eyes and leaned your head back on my stomach. I was running my fingers through your hair, massaging your head to relax you. I knew how stressed you were, not being able to sleep through a whole night, because of your paranoia. I always gave my best to comfort you, pulling you out of your work mode. Tonight it was already really late and I had come to your study. You were sitting at your desk frowning, trying not to collapse. I went behind your chair, softly pulling your back to me.

I felt your tensed muscles around your neck and shoulders up to your head. With the perfect mixture of softness and fierceness, I continued massaging your scalp and temples. Seeing you relaxing your face, almost moaning because of my touch, made me feel good. I couldn't deny that this was for me and for you.

I felt your shoulders dropping down and your breath getting deeper. I let my hands wander down your neck to your shoulders, just to continue my massage there. You still rested your head against me. When a sudden moan and a following hiss escaped your mouth, I stopped, trying to contain myself and not to get aroused by that.

You turned your head up, facing me, begging to continue. I had no other choice but to do so, I wanted to touch you so badly. I smiled and continued on your shoulders, pushing my hands under your tunic to feel your skin. I felt my stomach clench, developing a familiar hotness that slowly emerged into my whole body. Now you were relaxing your jaw, opening your mouth and letting out another low moan. I closed my eyes and bit my lower lip as I felt your hands first touching my fingers, then my hand and making their way up to my arms. Then you pulled me down over your shoulder just to place long kisses on my neck. Your hands led mine down your body, then up to your chest again.

After I sighed smiling, you elegantly rose from your chair just to turn around to me. You detailed me while taking your jewelry and your laurels off. I held my hands open for you to put your belongings into. Slowly, I circled you, luring you outside of your study, thrugh the hallway and in your bedroom. Teasingly I wore your crown, barely touching you til we reached your bed.

Anticipation accompanied by lust for the following actions showed in your eyes as I put your jewelry and crown down on a small table and came back into your arms. Slowly, you opened my cloth belt, dropping it to the floor. I locked my eyes with yours. As you removed my dress from my shoulders, I felt your hot breath on your skin, causing me to chill up as it slid down my body to the floor. I knew you loved to look at me, so I stepped back. Fully naked, I slowly lifted my arms like wings and made a pirouette. A slight chuckle of yours was the answer. Then I sat down on the end of the bed, watching you slowly taking your robe, tunic, and underwear off. I smirked when I saw your naked body, your muscles fighting for the moonlight, and the shadows they caused with every little movement you made. I chuckled at your teasing question whether you should do a pirouette, too.

With a smile, you came to me, helped me on the bed supporting my back with your hand. I held you close, wanting our bodies to finally unite. You hovered over me, tracing your fingertips down my torso. I hated and loved your teasing at the same time. I tried not to squirm, caressing your chest. The lower your fingers reached, they passed my belly button for a long time, the more I became impatient. I pulled you down into passionate kissing. A moan of yours followed. I couldn't hold back anymore when you started to caress my core with your gentle fingers. I buried my nails into your back, pulling you closer, just to feel that you were as aroused as I was.

Our eyes met when we paused kissing to breathe again. Your light eyes focused on me when you positioned yourself between my legs. I ran my fingers through your hair, moaning, feeling you slowly filling my insides. Slowly, we started to move against each other, the pace increasing with every thrust. Now it was just our breathing and our moaning here and there that went with the noises of our bodies moving on the sheets of the bed. After a few minutes, you held my hips higher with your arm, just to thrust in deeper and faster. I felt tension inside of me building up rapidly, and I was sure you felt the same by the way your rhythm became wilder. Just when the tension felt like exploding and jolts of sweet pain were flashing through me, you let out a low groan, holding me close. Quivering, you collapsed on me, laying your head on my chest. Now the noise was gone, just our panting was filling the cozy, satisfying silence of the room.

I caressed your head until our breathing normalised again. You slowly pulled yourself away, just to lay down next to me slightly smiling. I kissed your cheek, excusing myself to the bathroom.

When I came back quietly, I heard your steady breathing. You had turned onto your stomach and pulled the sheets up to your lower back. Carefully, I laid down next to you, watching your back rise and fall with your breath. I just slowly realized this moment full of quiet peace. The peace you didn't have, because you felt so stressed before. The peace you desperately needed to rest and sleep. The peace only I could offer you to such an extent. You trusted me with your life, and now, when I saw you like this, I was more than eager to make that peace remain.

@darknessisafriend

@satlun

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate! 

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you. 

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said. 

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius. 

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed. 

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer. 

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm. 

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you. 

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones. 

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families. 

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain. 

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move. 

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully. 

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze. 

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision. 

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in. 

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader. 

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone. 

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears. 

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you. 

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?” 

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him. 

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored. 

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“ 

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.” 

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again. 

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth. 

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling. 

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him. 

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly. 

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder. 

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly. 

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.” 

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you. 

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.” 

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty. 

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.  

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination. 

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs. 

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours, 

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you. 

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it. 

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. 

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day. 

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body. 

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions. 

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls. 

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground. 

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden. 

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened. 

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you. 

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer. 

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides. 

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.” 

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again. 

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows. 

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden. 

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache. 

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out? 

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off. 

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself. 

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that. 

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut? 

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist. 

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen. 

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin. 

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs. 

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

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