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stylesispunk · 10 days ago

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'The soldier in the armour'

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

summary: Lucilla arranged a wedding between you and General Acacius to protect you from Emperor Geta. Acacius doesn't love you but he has swore to protect you.

w.c: 12k>

warnings: power imbalance, age gap, arranged marriage, creep man, suicide attempt, smut, fluff, and angst.

a/n: this is a mix of two requests! I lost one of the requests in my asks so if you see it, please feel free to yell at me haha there is it! 😭 I wanted to say sorry for taking so long on this, but I made the choice to mix both because I didn't have the time to write separately and I didn't want to make you wait anymore, don't hate me, please.

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

There were blurry reminiscent of the life you once had. It wasn’t very different from the one you had now, but it wasn’t the same either.

The empire seemed at peace back in the day, the sun caressed your skin with the tenderness of a loving mother touch, but now it burnt your skin as if you had been set in a fire.

You remembered your grandfather death.

You recalled your uncle’s death in the arena.

Maximus death, and with him the dream of Rome died, swapping the peace of the empire away.

You recalled a brother. He was your twin, and you remembered loving him.

Lucius.

Your mother had sent him away under sacred protection, with Comodous’s death, he was the next emperor in line.

But you had stay here. After all you were a woman and your blood didn’t have the value running through your veins.

You had been forced to live with the faded memories of Lucius's blue eyes, those that mirrored your own somehow, the ones that used to gleam with the particular mischief of a kid. Now, they haunted your dreams like ghosts, a reminder of the bond torn apart by politics and promises of protection.

Each day in the palace felt like a gilded cage rusted by the passage of time, where the air was thick with deceit, and every word spoken seemed laced with hidden agendas. Emperor Geta’s obsession with you had made life unbearable. His attention was suffocating, his gaze lingering too long, his presence a constant reminder of your vulnerability as a woman in the imperial court.

Under his and his brother rules.

And when your mother and the council proposed your marriage to General Acacius, you had resisted. Marriage was meant to be a union of love, not a transaction of protection. That what you were told by her when you were a kid. Yet, as Geta’s obsession grew more unhinged, and whispers of his plans to claim you as his own wife reached your ears, you knew there was no choice.

Lucilla braided your hair, the same way she had been doing it since you were a kid. Her touch was gentle, but her face displayed her worry. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and the occasional quiver in her fingers spoke of the weight they carried on her hands, not just as your mother but as a woman who had maneuvered through the treacherous politics of the empire her entire life.

"My sweet girl," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know this is not the life you would have chosen. If I could take your pain and bear it myself, I would."

You turned to look at her, meeting her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, though still fierce, carried a shadow of regret that seemed etched into her very soul. For a moment, you weren’t the daughter of a woman which fate as empress, had been stolen, you were just a child looking for comfort in your mother’s arms.

"But you can’t," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. "You sent Lucius away, and you kept me here. You say it’s for my protection, but sometimes it feels like I’ve been sacrificed for a safety it’s not real.”

Lucilla’s hands paused in your hair. Her reflection in the mirror faltered, the weight of your words cutting deep. "I sent Lucius away because he was a target," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I thought once he was older enough, one day he would reclaim what is rightfully his. But you... I couldn’t send you away, too. I couldn’t lose both of you."

"Instead, you bound me to this place," you said, unable to stop the bitterness in your tone. "To a life I didn’t choose, to a marriage that will feel like another cage."

Lucilla moved to face you, her hands resting on your shoulders. "Acacius is a good man," she said firmly. "He may not have been the man of your dreams, but he is a man who will protect you. And I swear to you, I chose him because I saw something in him. Something that told me he would be more than just a shield for you”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t respond. Deep down, you knew she believed she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less sharp.

“I wish I was dead” you whispered to yourself only.

The wedding day arrived cloaked in grandeur, yet it felt suffocatingly hollow. The palace was adorned with gold and crimson, every corner lit by the soft glow of countless lamps. Musicians played melodies meant to celebrate unity, but their music tortured your aching heart. Guests gathered in their finery; faces painted with polite smiles masking their true thoughts. You stood at the heart of it all, draped in a gown of ivory silk embroidered with golden threads, a symbol of wealth and duty, not love.

As you walked towards Acacius, flanked by your mother, the room blurred, as if it wasn’t truly real. The man awaiting you at the altar stood tall and composed, his features carved from stone. Acacius wore a ceremonial armor, the white and gold catching the light, but his expression was unreadable. His eyes met yours, steady and unyielding, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what he truly thought of all this.

The vows were spoken. His voice was deep, calm, and detached. When he slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was light, almost hesitant. There was no tenderness, no sign of warmth. Only duty. The ceremony ended with applause that echoed in the vast chamber, but the sound felt distant. You were bound now, not by love, but by necessity.

Emperor Geta would stop his courting towards you.

Later that evening, you found yourself alone with him in your new chambers. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. You sat at the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap, while Acacius stood near the window, his back to you. He seemed restless, as if the weight of his armor had been replaced by the burden of this union.

"You don’t have to speak to me if you don’t wish to," you said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was steadier than you expected, though your heart raced. "I know this wasn’t your choice any more than it was mine."

He turned then, his gaze settling on you. For a moment, his cold exterior softened, though only slightly. "It wasn’t," he admitted, his tone measured, as if he were weighing every word. "But it was necessary. Your mother asked me."

His honesty stung, even if it wasn’t unexpected. You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "My mother,” you echoed, her title feeling heavy in your mouth.

Acacius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the movement breaking his usual composed demeanor. "This isn’t what I imagined for my life either," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I’ve sworn to protect you, and I will. Even if this arrangement feels..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unnatural."

"Unnatural," you repeated with a bitter smile. "What a lovely way to describe a marriage."

His jaw tightened at your sarcasm, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping a few steps away from you. His presence was imposing, yet his movements were deliberate, careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you.

"I will do my duty," he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. "And I will honor you as my wife. But I can’t pretend to feel something that isn’t there.”

His words were a knife, cutting through the fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands.

"If you need anything, you only have to ask. I’ll be in my chambers." he said. And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you. Acacius’s words echoed in your mind, and though they weren’t cruel, they felt colder than any rejection. You couldn’t blame him, not really. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You wished you could close your eyes and be anywhere else. In the gardens with your brother, in the safety of Lucius’s protection, or even in the quiet stillness of a life unbound by imperial chains. But instead, you were here, in this gilded cage, with a husband who was as much a stranger as the walls around you.

The following days were a blur of formality and silence. Acacius remained distant but civil, his actions guided more by duty than emotion. He escorted you through the palace when required, his hand resting lightly on your arm but never lingering. At meals, he was polite, engaging in conversations when prompted but offering little more than what was necessary. You were a pair in appearance, but the gulf between you was undeniable.

Lucilla watched it all silently. She offered no commentary, but her concerned glances betrayed her thoughts. Her belief that Acacius was the right choice remained unwavering, yet even she couldn’t deny the strain in your union.

One evening, after the day’s obligations had ended, you returned to your chambers to find Acacius standing by the window. He was in his tunic, having removed the heavy armor that seemed to weigh him down as much as the marriage itself. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense as he gazed out into the fading light of dusk.

“Do you regret this?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. The question had been clawing at you for days, and you couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

Acacius turned to you; his expression unreadable. “Regret isn’t the right word,” he said after a pause. “This wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the path I’ve chosen. I will honor it.”

You crossed the room, stopping a few paces from him. “You speak of honor as if it’s enough to make this work,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But what about us? Are we just to coexist in silence, fulfilling obligations without ever truly living?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his cold demeanor cracked. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. But I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can to give you the life you deserve.”

“The life I deserve?” you echoed, anger bubbling to the surface. “I deserve a life where I’m not a pawn, where my choices matter. I deserve a marriage built on something more than duty.”

Acacius looked away, his jaw tightening. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly. “Bound by something neither of us chose.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know,” Acacius said, his voice softening. You felt his presence behind you, and a moment later, his hand rested lightly on your shoulder. “I can’t change what brought us here, but I can promise you this; I will protect you. Always.”

“Why do you don’t like me as a person?” you asked, unable to meet his gaze

Acacius’s hand froze on your shoulder, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The weight of your words hung in the air; unspoken questions laced with vulnerability. Slowly, you turned to face him, your arms still wrapped around yourself as if shielding your heart from the answer you feared.

“Why don’t you like me as a person?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “Is it because you didn’t choose this? Because I’m nothing more than an obligation to you?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to speak the truth or spare you further pain. Finally, he exhaled deeply, stepping back to create some space between you. His hand fell to his side, the warmth of his touch fading.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he began, his voice low and measured, as if choosing his words with care. “You’re intelligent, strong-willed, and far braver than anyone gives you credit for. But... this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Your stomach twisted, the pit forming at his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out of the window. “Your mother,” he said finally, the words falling like stones. “I... I loved her.”

The breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as if the room had suddenly closed in on you. “What?” you managed to choke out, disbelief coloring your tone.

Acacius turned back to you, his expression a mixture of regret and resignation. “Lucilla. I loved her long before any of this. Long before Commodus fell, before your world became this mess of alliances and power struggles. But she...” He hesitated, his gaze softening.

“Asked you to marry her daughter because of Geta’s courtesy” you ended his sentence. You felt disgusted by his confession and guilty for destroying the chances of your mother and Lucilla of being happy together.

Acacius's eyes widened slightly at your words, but he didn’t deny them. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of shame and helplessness, as though he carried the weight of his choices like chains he could never cast off. “It was more than just Geta,” he said quietly. “Lucilla believed—she hoped—that this union would keep you safe from him. And I thought... I thought I could do that for her.”

You stepped back, your heart pounding. The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you under the weight of his confession. “And in doing so, you destroyed any chance you both might have had for happiness,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because of you, she sacrificed everything—for what? To tie me to a man who doesn’t even want me.”

“Hey,” Acacius said quickly, stepping closer, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t try to justify it. You will never love me, and now I know why. Because all you see in me is her shadow.”

“No.” His voice was firm now, his eyes blazing with an intensity that startled you. “You’re wrong. I never wanted this to be about her, and I never wanted you to think I see you as anything less than who you are. But I can’t bury my feelings, and I can’t undo the choices we made.”

Your stomach churned with anger, disgust and despair. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” you demanded. “You’ve tied me to a life I never wanted, a life where I’ll always wonder if I was just a piece in someone else’s plan. I’m always trapped in the middle of something.”

The tears you had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. The weight of Acacius’s confession, of everything you had endured, crushed you, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around you.

“I can’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling, thick with emotion. “I can’t stay here.”

“Please,” Acacius began, his tone urgent as he stepped toward you, his hand outstretched. But you recoiled, shaking your head fiercely.

“Don’t!” you cried, your voice cracking. “Don’t come near me! Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when nothing ever is. You’re just another person who’s used me, another person who doesn’t see me.”

The rawness of your words hung in the air, and for a moment, Acacius froze, his face etched with a mixture of pain and helplessness. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The walls of the room blurred as your tears continued to fall, and you turned abruptly, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

You fled the room, your sobs echoing in the empty corridors as you ran blindly through the villa. Servants and guards turned to look at you, startled by the sight of their lady in such distress, but you ignored them. You needed to get away, away from Acacius, away from the suffocating weight of expectations, away from everything.

Eventually, you found yourself in the gardens, the cool night air biting at your skin. The sky above was scattered with stars, their distant light doing little to ease the turmoil within you. You collapsed onto a stone bench, your arms wrapping around yourself as you cried, the sound of your grief swallowed by the rustling of the trees.

You had tried so hard to find a place in this world, to make peace with the life forced upon you. But tonight, every fragile piece of that illusion had shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

As your sobs subsided, a cold breeze swept through the garden, chilling you to the bone. For a brief moment, you thought of Acacius, of the way his eyes had softened when he spoke, of the regret laced in his voice.

But the anger and betrayal still burned too brightly within you to let those thoughts linger.

The cool night air stung your cheeks as you sprinted through the gardens, past the rows of manicured hedges and marble statues. The villa loomed behind you, its walls suffocating even at a distance. Your lungs burned, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it had to be far away from Acacius, from the weight of his confession, from the life you no longer recognized as your own.

Your feet carried you to the outer grounds of the villa, where the shadows grew darker, the torchlight dimmer. The muffled sound of distant voices reached your ears, guards patrolling the perimeter, but you veered away from them, toward the narrow dirt path that led to the forest. The trees ahead beckoned like a sanctuary, their darkness promising solitude.

You barely noticed the snap of a twig behind you until a voice cut through the silence.

Before you could gather your thoughts, you heard soft footsteps approaching once more. Your heart lurched. "Acacius?" you called out tentatively, but when the figure stepped into the moonlight, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Acacius.

It was Geta.

He stood there, his face shadowed yet unmistakably troubled. The smugness on his face was characteristic but still you couldn’t name his expression you couldn’t place what he was feeling, desperation? Anguish? The way his chest rose and fell told you he’d been running, as if chasing you had been his sole purpose.

“Emperor Geta? wha-what are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice shaking, not with fear but with a volatile mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite name.

“I was on my way to pay a visit to our beloved General” he answered, his sinister smile still on his face, "I must admit," he said, stepping closer, his tone dripping with false amusement, "I didn’t expect to find you wandering out here all alone. What would dear Acacius think, hmm? Leaving his precious wife unguarded in the dead of night?"

Your heart pounded harder now, but for an entirely different reason.

Geta took another step toward you, and you fought the urge to recoil. The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that made your skin crawl.

"You’re drunk, emperor" you said sharply, hoping to mask the fear creeping into your voice. "Go back to the palace, Geta.”

But he only laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Oh, I’m perfectly sober," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I think it’s time we had a little... talk, you and I.”

“What more could you possibly want from me, Emperor?”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, they weren’t cold or calculating. They were raw, bare, and filled with an emotion that made your stomach churn.

“You,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

Your blood froze. “What?”

“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice trembling. “For as long as I can remember. And I’ve hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop. Not even when I tried to keep my distance. Not even when I told myself it was wrong.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. This was a nightmare—a fever dream born of the turmoil of the night. It had to be.

“No,” you said, shaking your head vehemently. “No, you can’t—you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer, though he didn’t reach for you. “I’ve tried to bury it; to pretend I could be the dutiful emperor everyone thought I was. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice...” He broke off, his hands clenching into fists. “It is like I am set on fire.”

“I—” you started, but words failed you.

Geta took another step forward, his desperation palpable. “Do you see now?” he asked, his voice softer but no less intense. “I’ve only ever seen you as mine.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you raised a hand to keep him at bay. “Just stop. Whatever you think this is, whatever you feel—it’s wrong.”

He froze at your words, his face twisting with a mixture of pain and defiance. “Wrong?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “How can it be wrong when it’s the only thing I’ve ever been certain of?”

“Because I don’t feel the same!” you shouted, your tears spilling over now. “I will never feel the same. I’m married.”

Geta flinched at your words as though you’d struck him. His face, already a storm of emotions, darkened further. “Married,” he spat, his voice low and bitter. “To a man who will never truly see you. A man who cannot love you the way I do.”

Your chest tightened as anger began to bubble within you, momentarily overpowering the fear and confusion. “Love?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “This isn’t love, Geta. Whatever you think this is, it’s twisted. You’ve turned me into some...some object to claim, a possession to own!”

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I have done nothing but love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “When no one else cared about your happiness, when they made you a pawn in their schemes, I thought of you. Always.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” you demanded, stepping forward despite yourself. “Why didn’t you, with all your power, say something? Do something? If you loved me so much, why didn’t you fight for me?”

Geta’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment, a crack in his otherwise unyielding façade. “Because I couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Because to love you openly would have been to destroy you. You think I don’t know how they look at me? How they whisper? They already call me unfit to rule, unstable. If they knew how I felt, they would have turned their wrath on you.”

“That’s not love,” you said, shaking your head, your voice breaking. “Love doesn’t hide in shadows. It doesn’t tear someone apart from the inside. It doesn’t...” You trailed off, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth as sobs threatened to escape. “It doesn’t feel like this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the night wind.

“I didn’t want this,” Geta finally said, his voice almost a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you. But watching you with him, knowing you’re his...” His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “It’s killing me.”

“I’m not yours,” you said firmly, the words sharper than you intended. “I’ll never be yours.”

Geta’s face hardened at that, the softness of his confession replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “We’ll see,” he said quietly, his tone chilling in its calmness. “The gods have a way of changing fates”

The sound of hooves pounding the earth broke through the tension that had built between you and Geta. The rhythmic thundering grew louder, and you instinctively turned toward the noise, your heart racing in your chest.

Acacius appeared from the shadows, his silhouette cutting through the night as he rode forward, leading a group of horses. His eyes immediately locked on you, and in an instant, his expression shifted—darkening, as though a storm had formed within him. When his gaze flicked to Geta, the atmosphere around them changed.

Geta remained still, but his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who had arrived. A low tension crackled in the air, like two opposing forces on the verge of collision.

“Emperor Geta,” Acacius said sharply, his voice hard, his stance unwavering. His hand instinctively tightened on the reins of his horse as if it were a weapon, a subtle warning. “It is too late for you to be out in the middle of the night”

For a moment, Geta didn't respond. The intensity of his stare met Acacius’ head-on, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. But Acacius didn’t flinch. His presence was commanding, and even Geta, in his turmoil, could sense the shift.

You stepped back slightly, the weight of the situation dawning on you. The conflict between these two men was palpable, and it made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. Your heart pounded, not just from fear, but from something deeper, more painful. The realization that you were now caught between these two men who seemed to hold pieces of your life in their hands.

Geta’s lips curled slightly in a sardonic smile, though there was an edge to it. “I bet is too late to pay a visit to our beloved general"

Acacius ignored the provocation, his eyes now focused solely on you, his voice softening. “Are you all right?” he asked, though it was laced with an undertone of concern, almost as though he was afraid to hear the answer.

You could feel your chest tighten as Acacius’s eyes met yours, the concern in his voice stirring something deep inside of you, something vulnerable. You wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Your emotions were a storm, a swirl of anger, fear, and confusion that made it impossible to think clearly.

Before you could respond, Geta’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Does he really care, or is this just about keeping control? Do you really think he’s here for you?” He sneered, stepping forward as if trying to push Acacius out of the space between you. “Or is it just the idea of you that he wants to control, the power that comes with your bloodline?”

The truth was beyond the obsession Geta had towards you, there was fear. He was aware your blood belonged to the realm, so you weren’t a lover he wanted to possess but a treat he wanted to eliminate.

You weren’t just a woman who caught his eye; you were the reminder of the power he feared losing. Your existence in the realm, your connection to the throne, made you a target in his mind. His twisted love for you wasn’t love, it was a deep-seated need to control, to erase what he couldn’t possess or manipulate.

Your marriage to the General of Rome put you in a place where you could go back to ruling the empire.

Acacius stood tall, his eyes still fixed on Geta, the tension between them thick enough to choke the air around you. His expression was hard, his jaw clenched with quiet fury, but it was the protective energy that radiated from him that caught your attention. He wasn’t going to let this spiral any further.

"Whatever matter you think needs discussing, Geta," Acacius began, his voice steady but firm, "it can wait until tomorrow. Not tonight. Not in the presence of my wife."

The words were sharp, final. There was a strength in them that sent a clear message, a line that Geta could not cross. Acacius’s gaze never wavered as he took a step forward, a silent challenge to Geta, daring him to try anything more.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, torn between relief and dread. Acacius's words were a shield, but they didn’t seem to do anything to quell the storm brewing between the two men.

Geta’s face hardened, the flicker of emotion that had passed through him earlier replaced by a steely resolve. “Your wife, Acacius,” he said, the venom in his tone unmistakable, “is a part of this empire, and the future of it is bound to her. Don’t think for a second you can keep her out of this.”

Acacius’s grip tightened on the reins of his horse, his knuckles white as he kept his stance, unwavering. “I’m not keeping her out of anything,” he said, his voice low but deadly. “But as her husband, I will not let you use her to fuel your delusions of power.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze, the threat hanging between them like a sword poised to fall. But Geta, ever the strategist, knew when to back down. He held your gaze for one last moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned away, his posture stiff, and he strode off, leaving the two of you standing there in the quiet aftermath.

You exhaled shakily, feeling a weight lift from your chest, but it didn’t last. The shadows of what had just transpired seemed to cling to you, the fear, the confusion still buzzing in your veins. Acacius’s protection, though fiercely given, couldn’t erase the uncertainty of everything that had just happened.

He turned to you then, his expression softening, though the hard edge from earlier remained in his eyes. “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle now, and the concern in his gaze pulled at your heart in a way you couldn’t explain.

You nodded but soon after you moved your head, everything went completely black.

The world slowly came back into focus, the heavy weight of unconsciousness lifting from your mind like a veil being drawn aside. You blinked, the sharp light of the morning creeping through the windows, and the gentle rustle of sheets beneath you signaled you were no longer outside. You were back inside, in the cool, quiet comfort of your chambers.

Your body felt heavy, as though every muscle had been drained of energy, but the pain from the night before had faded, replaced by a strange weariness that seeped into your bones. You tried to sit up, but a soft voice stopped you before you could move.

“Careful,” Lucilla said, her tone gentle but firm. She was sitting by your bedside, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calm reassurance. “You need to rest.”

Your heart raced for a moment, the fragments of the night’s events rushing back to you. Geta’s confrontation, the threat in his voice, and Acacius standing between you, the tension thick enough to choke the air. You could still feel the sharp edge of fear in your chest, but for now, you were safe.

“Mother…” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “What happened? Is… is everything all right?”

Lucilla’s eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a lock of hair from your face, her touch soothing. “You fainted, my lady. After the confrontation with the emperor, you collapsed. Acacius was frantic. He had you brought inside immediately. He’s been by your side all night.”

Her words made your heart flutter, a strange mixture of emotions flooding you. Acacius had been there, waiting, watching over you, just as he always did. But there was something else in the air, something unspoken between you and him that neither of you could ignore.

“He stayed with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The thought of him there, protecting you, made something twist inside your chest.

Lucilla nodded, her expression softening. “Yes. He didn’t leave your side for a moment. He’s worried about you.”

As Lucilla’s words settled into your mind, the door to your chambers creaked open. You barely had time to turn your head before Acacius stepped inside, his figure towering in the doorway. His presence seemed to fill the room, his eyes immediately locking with yours. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a depth of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, it felt as though the world outside of your small room had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, caught in the stillness of the moment.

He took a step forward, but it was the way he looked at your mother that made your breath catch in your throat. The same tension you had felt between you and him last night now seemed to make sense. The raw honesty, the confession he had made—the admission of his feelings, the vulnerability in his voice—was clear in that single glance. And in that moment, something inside you recoiled.

You were a burden.

“Acacius…” you whispered, barely able to speak, your mind reeling. You could feel the panic rising inside you, suffocating, as if there was no room to breathe in his presence. Was this what you had been running from all along?

He stepped closer, his voice steady but strained. “You’re awake,” he said quietly, almost as if he was still processing the fact. His eyes softened when they met yours, but there was a flicker of something darker behind them, something you couldn’t place.

“I was worried about you,” he added, his tone still holding a thread of concern, as if your well-being was his sole focus.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. Lucilla, sensing the weight of the moment, quietly excused herself, leaving you and Acacius alone in the quiet of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between you two seemed to grow heavier, more suffocating. He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it fully. Every part of you screamed for distance, for space, and yet, he remained close—too close.

“Acacius, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. How could you put into words what you were feeling? The confusion, the fear, the overwhelming weight of it all? It wasn’t just about what Geta had done or said; it was about the emotions Acacius had stirred in you, emotions you didn’t know how to deal with.

You wanted to feel loved in a way your skin felt when the sun caresses your face in the midst of a cold winter.

But Acacius could never love you.

The days passed like slow, heavy drops of rain. The storm of emotions that had churned inside of you seemed to settle, but it wasn’t a calm; it was the oppressive stillness before something darker took hold. Acacius remained by your side, always present, but the warmth that once ignited in your chest when you saw him, when you felt his concern, began to dim. His confession, those raw words of love for your mother, left a lingering sting that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Each time you saw him, you felt a coldness creeping into your heart, like the chill of winter settling into your bones. It wasn’t that you hated him, far from it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had broken. You had wanted to feel cherished, wanted in a way that made you feel whole, like the sun warming your skin during the harshest of winters. But instead, you felt like the shadows of something lost were all that remained.

The days blurred together as you drifted through them in a fog. The joy that once accompanied your moments with Acacius, his gaze, his touch, seemed to fade with each passing day. You were still there, still functioning, but you weren’t alive in the way you had once been. You were a shadow of the person who had laughed freely, who had dreamed of a future with the man who had stood beside you through every storm.

Now, his presence only reminded you of what could never be. Every word from him felt weighted, laced with an unspoken truth you couldn’t escape. He was there, yes—but it was Lucilla’s name that seemed to linger in the air between you, a constant reminder of what could never happen.

You stopped meeting his gaze as often, your conversations clipped and polite, but distant. You couldn’t pretend anymore that things were the same. You couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling that had taken root inside you, gnawing at you like a slow, insidious poison.

The days felt endless. The life you had once felt for each moment, for each glance he gave you, slipped away bit by bit. You told yourself you were strong, that you would move on, that you could adapt to the life in front of you. But the spark that once filled your soul, the fire that had kept you going, was slowly being smothered. Each day without clarity, without answers, without that spark, made you more resigned, hollower.

The days blurred into weeks, and life continued its chaotic, inevitable march forward. The grandeur of Rome, its towering structures and ancient streets, became a distant backdrop to the turmoil that had taken root within you. Despite the growing tension surrounding you, your presence at the grand events of the empire remained. There were battles in the Colosseum—events that had once stirred the blood, filled with anticipation and excitement. Now, they were merely noise, the sounds of clashing steel and roars of the crowd unable to penetrate the numbness that had taken hold of your soul.

Geta's obsession with you deepened, his presence more frequent, more invasive. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and every word he spoke, every look, was an attempt to assert control, to draw you into his tangled web of fear and power. But his attempts only felt more suffocating. You were trapped, like an animal in a gilded cage, unable to escape his watchful gaze. He wasn’t interested in you as a woman; you were a symbol to him, something to manipulate, to dominate, to erase the threat you posed to his fragile claim on the empire.

Despite your growing isolation, Acacius remained at your side. His concern for you was evident, though he seemed to be walking on a thin line, careful not to overstep or push you too hard. He knew you were withdrawing, knew that something had shifted between you, but he didn’t know how to reach you. He could see the distance in your eyes, the way you pulled away when he tried to comfort you. And it broke him, though he never spoke of it.

There were feelings he didn’t know he was able to feel, appearing.

The battles at the Colosseum grew more brutal, the spectacle becoming more and more gruesome with each passing day. The roar of the crowd no longer thrilled you. The sight of blood, the cries of victory and death—it all blended into a backdrop of life that felt increasingly distant, like you were watching it all from behind a veil. You were alive, yes—but you weren’t truly living.

One evening, as you sat beside Acacius in the grand hall, your hand in his, you tried to force a smile. You knew he was watching, hoping for some sign that the woman he once knew was still there. The fingers that held yours were strong, steady, but you felt a chill crawl up your spine. His warmth didn’t reach you anymore. His presence, once a comfort, now felt like a reminder of everything you had lost.

"Smile," he whispered, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Just for tonight. For me."

You nodded, a small, strained smile curling at the corner of your lips. But as you smiled, something inside you felt hollow. You knew what he saw—the facade of a woman who was still whole, still alive. But inside, you were dying. The life that once burned brightly in you had been extinguished, snuffed out by the weight of betrayal, fear, and a love that could never be returned. And as you smiled for him, you felt like an actor playing a part—faking a life that wasn’t truly yours anymore.

The crowd cheered as Acacius raised your hand, the symbol of his victory and his loyalty to Rome. But you couldn’t feel the victory. You couldn’t feel the joy. You just felt death. Not the death of your body, but the death of everything you had once been. The woman who dreamed, who hoped, who believed in love and light, was slipping further away with each passing day.

Acacius, for all his strength, could never reach you. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way he would glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, as if he was searching for something—anything—that would tell him you were still there. But you weren’t. You were a shadow, a flicker of the woman you used to be, trapped in the space between life and death.

As the days stretched on, Geta’s obsession with you grew more dangerous. His presence became a constant reminder of your captivity, the ever-present shadow of his desire to control. He wasn’t content with merely watching anymore. No, now he was making his move, pushing harder, testing boundaries. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t in the room. He was always there, lurking, waiting.

Acacius noticed it too. He saw the way you tensed whenever Geta entered the room, the way your eyes darted nervously, the way your smile faltered. He knew you were becoming a shell of the person you once were. And for the first time, Acacius found himself unsure of how to help you. He had always been your protector, your constant, but now, it felt like he was failing you.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he said one night, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I see it. The distance. I see you slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

You wanted to tell him, to let him in, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you turned your gaze toward the distant horizon, watching the sun set behind the buildings of Rome, casting long shadows across the streets. It was a beautiful sight, but you couldn’t appreciate it. The beauty of the world was lost on you now.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though the words didn’t feel like enough. They would never be enough.

Acacius squeezed your hand tighter, as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away entirely. But you knew, deep down, that it was already too late. You were already gone.

The days continued to stretch on, the weight of your own existence pressing down on you with each breath you took. You moved through life like a specter, haunted by your own thoughts, consumed by the shadow of everything that had transpired. The air around you felt thick, suffocating, and nothing seemed to reach you anymore.

One evening, after yet another long day of feigned smiles and empty conversations, you retreated to your chambers. You had long since stopped caring about the grand appearances, the masks you were expected to wear. In the silence of your room, the darkness that had begun to take root in your heart felt heavier than ever before. It was as though the weight of your despair had become a tangible thing, pulling you under, drowning you from the inside.

You moved toward the bath, the cool marble surface inviting you with its quiet promise of solitude. You sank into the warm water, hoping, if only for a moment, to drown out the noise inside your mind, to forget the suffocating reality that had become your life. The water enveloped you, and for a brief moment, you felt weightless, free—free from everything that bound you, from Geta's obsession, from the looming presence of the empire, and from the love you could never have.

But the peace was fleeting. The thoughts came rushing back, overwhelming and relentless. Acacius’s touch, his words, his confession of love for your mother—it all swirled in your mind like a storm, too much to bear. And in that moment, something inside you snapped. You wanted it all to end. The pain. The confusion. The crushing weight of everything.

As the water rose higher, you slipped under, the coolness surrounding you like an embrace. It was quiet. So quiet. The pressure in your chest intensified, a cold finality settling in. Your body felt heavier, the world fading as you sank deeper into the water. The voices in your head quieted, the darkness enveloping you completely. And for the first time in a long while, you felt... peace.

But fate had other plans.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you completely, a sudden hand gripped your arm, pulling you from the water with desperate force. The world rushed back in an instant, blinding, harsh, and you gasped for air, coughing, choking as water flooded your lungs.

“No!” a familiar voice cried out, filled with fear. “Don’t you dare do this!”

Your vision swam as Acacius’s strong arms pulled you up, his face a mask of panic and determination. He moved quickly, his hands steady as he worked to lift you from the bath and cradle you against his chest. His voice was shaky, though he tried to hide it.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice breaking as he held you close, his hands pressing against your wet skin. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

You were too weak to respond, your body trembling, your mind foggy. But his words—don’t leave me—cut through the haze. They echoed in your ears, but they didn’t make sense. Why would he want you to stay when you were nothing more than a burden, a shadow of what you once were?

“Acacius…” you whispered weakly, your throat raw as you fought to speak. His name felt like the last thread that held you to this world. "Why...?"

His grip tightened on you, his body radiating warmth as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and anguish.

“Because I want to love you,” he said, his voice shaking but steady with resolve. “I’ve always wanted to love you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. I don’t care about the empire, about the danger, or the expectations of the world. I care about you. I want to be there for you—to love you.”

His words hung in the air like an echo, reverberating through the silence that had settled between you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to reach for that spark of hope, the promise of love he was offering, but the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had lost, held you back.

You closed your eyes, your breath still shaky, and tried to push away the wave of conflicting emotions that surged within you. Acacius’s love, though it was sincere, felt like a distant dream—a dream that you didn’t deserve. How could you accept his love when you felt so broken, so consumed by the darkness inside of you?

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but filled with the depth of the regret you felt. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve lost so much of myself...”

Acacius gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and comforting, as though he were trying to steady you from the storm that raged inside of you. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re not lost,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re not alone, even when it feels like it. I’m here. I will always be here, whether you believe it or not.”

The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your skin, like a quiet promise. But even with that promise, there was still a part of you that resisted. You were drowning—not just in the water, but in the weight of your own thoughts, your own feelings. How could you possibly let yourself love again, after everything that had happened?

“I don’t know how to let anyone love me anymore,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Not after everything I've been through... everything that's been taken from me."

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours as his hands moved to hold you more firmly. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just let me be here with you, for as long as you need. You don’t have to carry the world on your own anymore."

His words settled in your heart, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel his presence. It wasn’t a solution to all that haunted you, but it was something—something real.

“You’re not alone, either,” you whispered, your voice still fragile but more certain than before. “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

The quiet between you felt like an unspoken promise, an understanding. You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

Acacius carefully lifted you in his arms, his movements gentle yet strong, as though he feared breaking you. The room was quiet, save for the sound of his steady breathing and the soft rustle of the sheets as he settled you onto the bed. His hands lingered at your sides, making sure you were comfortable, as though he couldn't bear to be too far away, even for a second.

You lay there, your body trembling from the cold of the water and the emotions that had swirled through you in such a short time. But there was a warmth now, a steadiness in the way Acacius was with you, something that grounded you amidst the chaos. His presence filled the space between the silence, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling, to keep it close as though it were the last thread that could save you from the darkness.

But even as your thoughts tangled, your voice came out soft, barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled around you.

"Acacius," you said, your voice catching slightly. "Stay... please."

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you could feel your heart beating faster as you waited for his response. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—comfort, reassurance, or simply the presence of someone who cared when everything else seemed so uncertain.

Acacius didn’t speak at first. He simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze intense, but filled with an understanding that pierced through the barriers you had built around yourself. His hand gently rested on yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing motions.

"Of course," he finally said, his voice a soft promise, like the calm after a storm. "I’m not going anywhere."

He pulled the blanket over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable, and then he settled beside you, close but not too close. His presence filled the space beside you, but there was a tenderness in the way he lay next to you, giving you the space you needed while still remaining close enough to feel his warmth, his care.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room. The vulnerability in your chest, the fear of asking for too much, made you hesitate for a moment. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke again, this time more urgently.

"Stay with me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Just... for tonight. I don’t want to be alone."

Acacius’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. Without saying a word, he shifted closer to you, his arm slipping around you as he pulled you gently against him. His warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to rest, truly rest, without the weight of the world pressing down on you.

In that moment, as you felt his heartbeat steady against yours, the storm inside you quieted, if only for a little while. The darkness still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, but Acacius’s presence, his steady, unyielding care, was a reminder that, for now, you didn’t have to face it alone.

And so, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his arms around you pull you into a fragile peace, knowing that, for this one night, you were not lost.

In the days that followed, something shifted between you and Acacius. It was subtle at first, like the quiet change of seasons, but it was unmistakable. His devotion to you became more evident in every action, in every word. It wasn’t just the caring gestures—though those were abundant—but the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch seemed to convey more than words ever could. You could feel the change in the air, like the warmth of the sun breaking through the clouds.

Acacius, the loyal general, who had always been steadfast in his duties to the empire, had turned his focus entirely toward you. His thoughts, his actions, and his very presence were now centered around ensuring that you were safe, that you were cared for.

Every morning, he would bring you breakfast, a small smile on his lips as he placed the tray before you. He would sit with you, talking about the day’s events, but his attention was always on you, his eyes soft with concern, his every movement thoughtful. If you showed signs of fatigue, he would insist on helping you with whatever you needed, no matter how small. And when the nights came, he would always stay, watching over you as you slept, keeping his promise to never let you be alone.

At times, you felt the weight of his care, the devotion he gave so freely, and it both soothed and unsettled you. The fear of being a burden gnawed at your mind, but each time you tried to withdraw, Acacius was there, offering reassurance, pulling you back from the edge.

“What about when you have to go into battle again?” you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been haunting you ever since your marriage. No matter how much Acacius promised protection, he was a general first—a soldier bound to the empire’s whims.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the confident, stoic mask he always wore faltered, and you saw the man beneath it, a man burdened with duty and uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I will make sure you’re safe before I leave. Always.”

His honesty was disarming, and for once, it didn’t feel like an empty reassurance. Still, the thought of him riding off to battle, leaving you behind in the suffocating grip of the palace, sent a shiver down your spine.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

Acacius stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I will come back,” he said firmly. “I’ve survived countless battles, and I’ll survive the next one. Because now, I have a reason to.”

His words made your breath catch, and you turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t say things like that,” you murmured. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I’m not making promises,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m telling you the truth.”

You looked at him then, your emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something else—something you weren’t ready to name. “You make it sound so simple,” you said bitterly.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his expression unflinchingly honest. “But I’ve faced death more times than I can count, and I’ve always fought to live. Now, I fight for you, too.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice raw.

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “You won’t be,” he said. “If anything, you’re the reason I will.”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much to bear. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Acacius,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to let myself care for someone when everything in my life has been taken from me.”

He stepped closer, his hand sliding down to take yours. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he said. “But let me stay by your side while you do.”

His grip was firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years: hope.

“Just... come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I will,” he promised, his gaze unwavering. “Always.”

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him.

After the gladiators’ fights had concluded in the Colosseum, you and your mother, left the arena, your minds still lingering on the chaos of the day. Acacius had been by your side throughout the event, his protective presence never wavering. But you noticed something had shifted in him—the tension in his jaw, the restlessness in his eyes, as if his mind was elsewhere. It was as though the very air around him had grown heavier.

As you made your way back to the villa, you could feel the weight of the looming battle on his shoulders. The orders from Emperor Geta and Caracalla had been clear: Acacius was to return to the front lines in two days. The idea of losing him, of seeing him walk into another battle with the same fierce determination he had shown every time, filled you with dread.

The villa felt quieter that night, the cool breeze brushing against the stone walls, but inside, the silence was almost suffocating. Acacius was pacing in his chamber, his armor now set aside, but his mind seemed far from peace. You watched him from the doorway for a moment, your heart aching as you saw him battle with his own thoughts.

"Acacius," you said softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I know you want more from me, but right now, my duty—my loyalty—it demands more than I can give."

You walked toward him, the soft sound of your sandals barely reaching his ears. "You don't have to apologize," you said quietly, touching his arm. "But I can see it... you're restless. You're carrying the burden of something you shouldn't have to face alone."

He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I have no choice. The orders are clear. If I don't return to battle, I dishonor my men, and if I do... I risk everything. Including you."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You moved a little closer, your voice softer now. "You don't have to risk everything alone. I’m here, Acacius. If you need my company tonight, I will stay. I will help carry your burden, if only for this one night."

For a moment, he stood still, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, his hands reached for you, gently pulling you closer until there was no distance left between you. The tension in his shoulders softened, but only slightly. His eyes, filled with uncertainty and longing, met yours.

"I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice rough.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You are more than that. You are the man who has kept me safe, and for that alone, I would follow you anywhere."

He seemed to hesitate for just a breath, then, with a sudden urgency, he kissed you. It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, as if he were testing the waters. But the moment your lips met, everything else faded. The weight of the empire, the war, the orders—none of it mattered in that instant. The world outside was silent, and the only thing that existed was the warmth of his kiss, the soft but undeniable spark between you.

As he pulled away slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, your hearts racing. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You’ve made this so much harder”

You smiled softly, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

His lips brushed against yours again, this time more urgently, more desperately, as if the fear of losing you in the battle, or the fear of losing everything in the coming days, had driven him to this moment.

And in that kiss, you both found something you hadn’t realized you were searching for. You had been lost in the chaos of the empire, in the uncertainty of what came next, but in this moment, with him, everything felt right. You weren’t alone anymore.

As you pulled away from the kiss, Acacius didn’t let go of you right away, his hands still resting on your shoulders, as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the world outside the villa’s walls completely forgotten.

Carefully, he brought his hands to your shoulders, traveling down your arms, at the same time your skin bristled under his touch. You had never felt this before, the mixture of nerves and lust of being touched with delicacy and love that you didn't know could exist.

He carried you to his bed gently, in slow steps without taking his gaze from your eyes that looked at him with curiosity and lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

Lust and desire.

The fabric of your dress felt suffocating against your skin and as if he had read your mind, he peeled your clothes off your skin leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. You gaped at him, half embarrassed, half impressed, then he pulled his lips back upon yours, palming your breast, as he made his way to his bed.

You chuckled as you lay there, and his face matched your smile as he continued to kiss you down your neck. The warmth of your uneven breaths mingled, enveloping you both as he quickly worked on his garments, and as soon as his clothes were removed, there was nothing to keep you apart. You curled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you all over your body for the first time. You could sense the emotions, but the intimacy and lust were like a fire in your core.

You felt Acacius' lips against your hips and angled them up for him. You were already dripping as he licked a route from your thigh to your cunt before sucking on your clit and pressing his fingers against you.

You whimpered while holding his head between your legs. His cock hardened as the sound from your lips and you clenched around his fingers. He sucked like he was hungry, forcing your legs apart till you had one calf under his shoulder. His free hand moved up your torso, grabbing your breast, as his nose rubbed against your clit. For instinct, you buried your heel into his back and dragged him closer until all he could taste was you.

He fucked you slowly, taking his time to taste your wetness on his lips before locking eyes with you. You were flustered, and your eyes shone.

"You...fuck," you whispered.

"I want you; I need you before leaving" he whispered desperately, going forward between your legs, forcing your knees up to your breasts, and plunging into you easily. You sighed and leaned forward to kiss him. Your hands were on the back of his neck, and he was on your breasts, attempting to touch you everywhere. As you both kissed, you raised your hips to fuck up into him as he drove down into you, attempting to be as cautious as possible.

You mumbled "Acacius, I love you" into his ear before he reclaimed your lips. He leaned down and sucked your nipples, lightly biting your breasts.

“I’ll come back for you cara mia” he promised, between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep as into you as it could go as you encouraged him with your moans and nails scratching down his back. Those marks would accompany the wounds of thousands of battles.

He slid his hand down to your pussy and rubbed along your clit. You fucked yourself harder on him by thrusting back against him right away.

When you came, he whispered something on your neck. You clutched around him and your hips trembled even as he continued to fuck you. Soon after, he began thrusting into you and eventually pulled out while making uneasy gasps in your shoulders. After that, the only sound in the room was the mingling of your breaths.

Acacius was nosing at your throat, promising he would come back alive to continue his life adoring you

The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breaths, which mingled together in the stillness. Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the moment settling around you like a gentle, unspoken promise.

his warm breath grazing your neck, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His hands, still holding you with a tenderness you hadn't known before, seemed to search for something, as though memorizing the contours of your skin, tracing the lines of your jaw, your shoulders, your breath.

"I’ll come back," he murmured, his voice hushed, as though sharing a secret only meant for you. "I promise, I will come back to you. I won't leave you alone."

His lips brushed lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and you could feel the intensity of his words in that simple, delicate touch. You felt a sudden knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of longing and fear, but more than that, a deep, consuming need to believe him, to trust in the promise he was making.

"I will continue my life loving you," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, as though each word was a vow, a binding thread between you two. "When the battles are over, when the storm has passed, I'll be here and I will adore you for as long as I live."

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body pressed so closely against yours, the heat of his devotion seeping into your soul. For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as if everything else faded away—the empire, the scheming, the endless pressures. It was just the two of you in that room, your hearts beating as one, a bond forged in the quiet moments when nothing else mattered.

You took a deep breath, feeling his hands gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that had escaped. Your hand instinctively reached for his, holding onto him tightly as if the act itself could somehow make his promise real, could anchor him to you forever.

"I need you to come back," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth behind them.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steady and comforting. Then, with a soft and almost hesitant voice, Acacius finally asked, "Could you stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me."

The vulnerability in his words surprised you. Acacius had always been the strong, unshakable general, the one who carried the weight of the empire on his shoulders with unyielding resolve. But now, in the quiet of your shared space, he seemed as human as anyone, his guard lowered, his needs simple, yet profound.

Your heart gave a quiet thud in your chest, and without hesitation, you nodded. "Of course," you said softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes softened, the slightest flicker of relief crossing his features. He led you over to the bed, the weight of the day seeming to leave him as he settled beside you. The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound as he adjusted, his body tense but slowly relaxing as you lay beside him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply sharing the same quiet space, your presence the only comfort either of you needed. But the closeness was enough. It was as though the war, the orders, the empire itself could not reach you here, in this space that was just yours and his.

"Stay with me," he whispered after a while, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. His hand found yours in the dark, his fingers threading through yours, a simple but grounding gesture.

You squeezed his hand gently, resting your head on the pillow beside him. "I’m not going anywhere, Acacius. I’m here. And I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, no matter what happens."

The words hung in the air, simple but true, and in that moment, you both found something precious, peace in the storm, a promise without words. Acacius’s breath slowed, his body finally releasing the tension that had held him captive for so long.

Acacius woke slowly, the gray light of early morning spilling softly into the room. For a moment, the heaviness of his reality came crashing down on him—the orders from Geta and Caracalla, the battle that awaited him, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The weight was still there, pressing on his chest like an unrelenting force, refusing to let him breathe freely.

But then, he became aware of something else.

You.

Your warmth was pressed against him, your head resting on his chest, your hand lightly curled over his heart. The soft rise and fall of your breathing matched the quiet rhythm of the room, and for the first time in days, maybe even months, Acacius felt the smallest flicker of peace.

He glanced down at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face in the gentle morning light. You looked so calm, so trusting, nestled beside him, as though you belonged there. A part of him still couldn’t believe you had stayed, that you had given him this small gift of solace before he left for what could be his last battle.

Carefully, as though afraid to wake you, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for a moment, his fingers barely grazing your skin, and he let out a quiet sigh. How had it come to this? How had you, someone he had been ordered to protect, become the person who made him feel safe?

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, giving him the strength he hadn’t even known he needed.

You stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him in your sleep, and he froze for a moment, unsure if you were waking. But you only let out a soft sigh and settled against him once more. He couldn’t help the way his arm tightened around you, holding you closer, as though he could shield you from the world for just a little while longer.

His voice was barely a whisper, more to himself than to you. "What have you done to me?"

As the minutes passed, Acacius let himself stay in that moment, letting go of the weight of his duty, if only for a little while. With you there, the storm within him seemed to quiet, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.

When you finally began to stir, blinking sleepily up at him, he felt his chest tighten. Your eyes met his, and though your expression was soft, he could see the worry lingering there.

"Good morning," you murmured, your voice warm and still tinged with sleep.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice lower than usual, as though the morning had stolen some of his strength.

You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. "You didn’t sleep much, did you?"

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "No. But this... this helped."

You smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Then let me help you more. Whatever you need, Acacius, I’m here."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as though it was the only thing keeping him steady. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, filled with something deeper than gratitude.

"I’ll remember this," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise you didn’t fully understand but felt all the same. "No matter what happens, I’ll remember."

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

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vivwritesfics · 27 days ago

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Smooth Is The Descent

All your father did was talk of rest, but the emperors didn't take that well. Punishing your father didn't do much, so you were punished instead. It's a shame the champion gladiator they gave you too has no interest in being anything but sweet to you

Lucius Verus x reader (general Acacius's daughter)

Warnings: sa (not explicitly written but heavily implied), Canon typical violence, use of the name whore (let me know if I've forgotten anything)

Chapter Two

You were never supposed to bear the weight of his words. You hadn't been the one to say them, to let such blasphemies leave your lips. Yet here you were, facing the punishment for them.

"No!" Your father cried when Geta turned his attention to you. "Emperor Geta, please! The words were mine! Do not punish my daughter for them!"

But the general was ignored and you were taken away.

For such punishment, you would have thought it treason your father had spoken. But no, he only spoke of rest, of spending some time at home with his wife and his daughter. His wife, Lucilla. She was not your mother, but you respected her still. The woman your father had chosen to marry after your mother's tragic end.

No more details of your punishment were given to General Acacius. The twin emperors, with sickening smiles on their painted faces, sent your father away before you could utter a word to him, before you could assure him that you would be okay, that you were strong.

Of course, if he knew the true nature of your punishment, he would have stormed the Palace to get you back. He would have taken on every man that stood between him and the twin emperors, slain them then and there.

Whatever your fate was, you knew no harm would befall you. Well, no lasting damage, nothing that would send you to the afterlife. For the moment your hand was placed in Death and you allowed her to lead you to a forever slumber, their control over your father would have been lost.

But it was still a punishment.

With your wrists shackled together, you were led away. Emperor Geta had controlled his men with nothing but the flick of his wrist and you realised that your punishment had been preplanned, prepared for the moment your father stepped out of line.

You had no idea what awaited you. Lashings, beatings. Maybe Caracalla would have you dance for them, for their entire court, the senate, and your father, wearing nothing. That had happened before. Your face had burned with humiliation and your father had been unable to look at you.

Instead, you were taken from the Palace. The control the twin emperors had over your father was no secret, the reason why their hold over him was so strong was no secret.

You. It was all because of you.

"Feed her to the barbarians," the man pushing you out of the Palace had said once you'd made it to the Colosseum.

Feed her to the barbarians.

Suddenly, you struggled. "No!" You cried as you tried to twist out of their hold. "No, you can't!" Barbarians. Once slaves from conquered nations, now gladiators, fighting for their freedom.

Your father had been the one to conquer their lands, the one to take them prisoner. There was no telling what would happen once they found out who you were.

"Please," you cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Please, they'll kill me! Once they find out who I am, they'll kill me." Clutching the soldiers armours, you dropped to your knees, still sobbing. "Please," you cried. "Please."

He kicked you away, his sandal hitting your chest. It knocked the very wind from your lungs, left you struggling for breath as you tried to get up. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut," he spat.

The men outside of the Colosseum, the ones that had watched you pathetically sob, grabbed you and hauled you to your feet. You couldn't help they way you cried, your feet dragging and the gravel digging into your skin.

They carried you into the darkness, the only light source being the flicking lanterns along the walls. When you were far enough into the labyrinth beneath the Colosseum, they let you go and pushed you to your knees. The dirt and the gravel bit into your palms as you were pushed forward.

"Come and get your fill," one of the men that had dragged you called, but they weren't talking to you.

One hulking gladiator stepped forward. The very ground shook with every step he took towards you. He crouched in front of you, fingers beneath your chin forcing you to look at him, to look into your eyes. He took in the finery of your clothing, the gold atop your head and the bracelets around your wrists. A girl of status, that was clear.

When he smiled, you saw mostly gums. The smile was ghastly, twisted and evil. The sort of smile you had only seen the twin emperors wear. "She'll do," he said and dragged you to your feet.

"No!" You cried again, screaming in his face as your struggled against your grip. But he pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he dragged you away.

A night of torture. That was what it was, nothing more. Torture that never seemed to end. Gladiators that never grew weary, gladiators that kept your torture going through the night. Torture that kept you from the reprieve of sleep.

The sun might has risen, but you weren't to know. It was only when soldiers came to fetch you, threw you a cloak to hide your tattered clothing and your broken state, that you allowed yourself to breathe.

Breathe without the foul scent of gladiator surrounding you. Breathe without tasting death.

Your body ached as you were again shackled and taken back to the twin emperors. Geta and Caracalla revelled in pain and torture, this you knew. Even as General Acacius's daughter, you were not exempt.

You were dragged before the twin emperors, cloak pulled from your body. Geta grinned at the sight of you, at the bruises marring your skin, at the way your legs trembled in exhaustion. At the way your clothing hung in tatters, showing too much of you. It was nothing they hadn't seen before, again down to your punishment.

"A fitting reminder to your father of what will happen should he dare to question me again," Geta said and held out his hand. You couldn't help but tremble as you took it and kissed his ring.

He pushed you away with a demand to clean up before the games. They were in your father's honour, after all. Sick and barbaric games, all for the pleasure of the emperors. Games meant to be in your father's honour, yes, but you knew how much he hated this.

Your horse walked slowly, as if he was aware of just how much pain your body was in. Your patted his neck in appreciation as you rode towards your home. The gates opened as you approached and you rode through. You were slow as you jumped from his back and handed his reins off to your groom.

Holding your cloak closer to your body, you headed inside. As much as you didn't want your father seeing you like this, as much as you wanted to run to the baths before your father or Lucilla could catch sight of you, you couldn't avoid it.

There your father was, dressed all in white. Ready for the games, you realised. He wore concern on his face when he took in your appearance. "Oh, my daughter." General Acacius couldn't hide the sadness from his voice as he strode towards you. "I swear they'll pay for this." When his hands touched you, touched the bruises you were trying to keep hidden, you hissed and pulled away from him.

"Do not speak such things, father," you said as you stepped away from him. "I will be ready for the games shortly."

You bathed as quickly as you could, desperate not to make your father late. God, you could only imagine the anger on Geta and Caracalla if you made him late, could only imagine the punishment that would be placed onto you. Lucillas staff helped you to dress, helped replace the jewellery the gladiators had stolen from you and helped you to fix your hair.

Gathering your skirts, you joined your father and Lucilla. Things were quiet, you refusing to speak on your way to the games. Games, what a silly word for it. What a silly word for men fighting each other for the pleasure and amusement of other men.

You sat silently, head bowed as you rode towards the games. Your father said nothing, you said nothing to him. It was better that way, better if you didn't talk about it. The less he knew, the better. The better for the both of you.

At the Colosseum, you were led to your seats. Led to the Emperors box. Geta and Caracalla stood, observing the crowd as the games announcer announced your father. The crowd roared as your father stepped towards them at the request of Emperor Geta. A request he answered when Geta looked to you in silent threat. They cheered his name and clapped their hands.

"Speak to them," said Emperor Geta as your father turned to return to you and Lucilla. Another request your father couldn't deny, another silent threat made towards you.

It was hard to listen to your father as the Colosseum surrounded you. Mere hours before, you had been here, you had been tortured beneath her walls. The men that would come and fight in the name of your father had been your tormentors through the night. Your eyes stung with fresh, hot tears, but you didn't let them fall.

You were all too aware of the man sitting behind you. Macrinus, the gladiator king. The title did not come from his ability to fight, you knew, but his ability to choose. Choose the best fighters, the one that would win him the most coin. These were his fighters, you realised as your father finished speaking. He came and took his seat between yourself and Lucilla. The crowd was still cheering his name, showing him more love and loyalty than they showed their emperors.

The barbarians from Numidia. That was what the games announcer had called them. You watched, none of their faces those of your tormentors, they they strode into the middle of the Colosseum. Their armour was minimal, some carrying swords, some carrying a sword and shield. Some pointed at the crowd tried to get their attention, tried to elicit cheers, and the rest were more concerned with what was to come.

And one looked towards the Emperors. At least, you thought he was looking towards the Emperors. But Lucilla stilled, and polite smile dropping from her face. "What is it, my love?" Your father asked her, but she could not bring herself to answer.

The rhino and its rider. You knew the face of it's rider, the face of the man that had taken you first the night before. Your blood ran cold as you watched. For the first time, your support when to the barbarians, to Macrinus.

The rider pulled a weapon, something sharp and deadly. The crowd around you cheered for him. Your focus was for the Numidian front and centre, instructing the other gladiators. Unable to hear what he was saying, you sat forward in your seat.

The rhino charged and the gladiators broke, running for the wall. The Beast kicked up sand, preventing you a clear picture of what was happening. "Do not watch the brutality, my daughter," your father whispered, but you couldn't help yourself.

Violence and death didn't fascinate you like it did men. But to see the rider of the rhino brought to his knees? You weren't looking away for one second.

But there was a reason he was undefeated.

You watched the Numidian pick up the gravel and sand in his hands. The rider was focused on him, you realised. He charged but the gladiator stood there, unyielding. He was going to get himself killed.

At the last moment, he threw the sand and it spread out around him, blocking him from view. The rhino still blindly charged, but the Numidian man leapt out of the way. Suddenly, hope soared within you. If anybody could bring down the rider...

With its horn smashed and its rider no longer on its back, the rhino sat in pain. But the two gladiators were on their feet, racing towards the sword. You held your breath as the Numidian grabbed it first, repeatedly used its hilt to hit your tormentor in the head.

But then your tormentor twisted in his hold and grabbed the sword. He kicked the Numidian until he was on the floor and then roared to the crowd.

No.

"The gates of hell are open night and day," Geta said with a grin as he looked down at the Numidian man. "Smooth is the..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to remember the rest of it.

"Sooth of the descent, easy is the way."

You tore your eyes away from the Numidian man as Lucilla stood.

But the fight was still happening and you were entranced by it. The Numidian was given a shield to aid in his fight. You couldn't help but watch him, eyes roaming over every inch of muscle as he fought back. He was strong, but so was the rider. An even match, the end result came down to skill.

But the Numidian was on the floor and the crowd was chanting. "Mercy! Mercy!" You heard them chant again and again.

"Blood," Caracalla said to his brother wearing a twisted grin. Caracalla always wanted blood.

Geta turned his attention to you. "What shall we do? Shall we show the barbarian Mercy?" No matter your answer, Geta was going to do what he liked.

"Mercy," Lucilla said suddenly, before you could give your own answer.

Geta brought his hand down, channelling the Gods. It was a farce, your God's wouldn't allow this. He clenched his fist, his thumb sticking out. As he did so, the crowd fell silent, waiting with trepidation.

His thumb raised. Mercy. The Numidian man was to stay living, and so was your tormentor. Your breath caught in your throat from the unfairness, the injustice. If the Gods were out there, how could they le this happen?

"No mercy!" The Numidian man shouted as he got to his feet.

"Your life has been spared by the Gods-"

"I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!" The Numidian shouted, interrupting Emperor Geta. Foolish, foolish man.

But the fight resumed. The Numidian man dodged out of the way. He picked up his own sword, and the fight truly began.

It wasn't long until his blade went through the stomach of the rider. Undefeated, yet all it took was a man from another land to end his life. As he sat there, on his knees, the Numidian man took his head from his body with a mighty shout.

He was dead. The man that had taken you so forcefully last night was dead. Many of your tormentors were still alive down there, but not for much longer, not with this barbarian around.

You released a choked sob as the barbarian gladiator walked away.

Emperor Caracalla turned to you, still wearing a sick smile. "Perhaps we should give our new champion a prize," he said, lounging back in his seat. "An insensitive to keep winning."

"You know, brother? I think you are right," Geta agreed and looked back to you. "A fitting prize for our new champion, wouldn't you say?"

Hands gripped your arms and pulled you from your seat. "No!" Your father cried. "Emperors, please! You have no reason to punish her! We have done nothing wrong!"

Emperor Geta levelled your father with a vicious, horrible look in his eye. "If you care about her life, Acacius, you will stay quiet." Geta snapped his fingers and you were dragged away, unable to look your father in the eye. If there were Gods, why weren't they helping you?

They dragged you to the baths and pushed you inside. You fell to your knees in front of the baths and the guards backed away from you, locking you inside.

There he was, already in the water. His eyes tracked you as you stood up and brushed the dirt from your clothes. If you could stand to look at him, you would have seen just how beautiful those eyes were.

"You don't belong down here," he said,

You held your hands in fists by your sides as you watched him, waiting for him to move in some way. But he was completely still, watching you. Waiting for you to move, just as you were waiting for him.

"You're right," you said, holding your chin up high. "I don't belong down here."

He stood, water dripping from his skin as he stepped out of the baths. You looked at your sandals, unable to properly gaze upon, to see how much of a man he really was.

The gladiator laughed when you averted your gaze. But he got dressed, bothering with everything but his shirt. That you could look upon. The defined muscles of his chest, his thick arms. He was beautiful, you realised.

"You don't belong down here, yet you are here. Why?" He asked as he stood before you. You couldn't help but shrink under his gaze as he took another step.

You couldn't press yourself any closer to the wall. But you raised your chin, as if in defiance. "I am here as punishment."

His fingers touched your chin, face close to yours. Even after his bath, he still smelt like the Colosseum. "What did a little thing like you do to deserve punishment?"

Finally, you tore your eyes away from his intense, blue stare. "My father spoke of rest," you spat as you stepped away from him, arms crossed over your chest. "Rome is hungry, she must be fed."

The gladiator released a laugh, bitter and sad all at the same time. "Tell your emperors I don't want the general's whore." He walked away, leaving you in the baths.

Again, you were alone in the Colosseum. If last night was any indicator, it wouldn't be for long. You released a sob as you sat there and desperately wiped at your eyes. 'The general's whore.' The gladiator had no idea who he was talking to. Good.

Footsteps, sandals against the stone floor of the baths. You looked up, your eyed looking into the stormy blue of the handsome gladiator. "Come on," he offered you his hand.

Swallowing, trying to act like you hadn't just been crying, you placed your hand in his. His arm settled around your shoulders, holding you against him as he walked you through the Colosseum. The other gladiators stared at you, their eyes hungry. But you looked away, kept your focus on the gladiator holding you. "Why are you doing this?" You whispered.

"You wouldn't survive a night wandering around down here," he murmured as the door to his cell was pulled open.

You swallowed as you walked in. The door was shut behind you as the gladiator walked in. "Sit," he said and gestured to the bed.

You did what you were best at and obeyed. Sitting on the bed, you looked as he sat before you, his hands clasped together. He wouldn't touch you, not in the way the emperors intended for him to. That much was clear.

"What is your name, gladiator?"

He stared at you, unspeaking for a good long moment. It was unnerving, the way he just stared. His stormy eyes focused on you. "Hanno," he answered and turned away from you. "I was taken from my home by the general whose bed you warm."

"I do not warm his bed!" You shouted, suddenly on your feet. The notion had bile ready to rise in your throat.

Hanno laughed. "Yet you enjoy his company. You sit with him while you watch us, get sick pleasure from watching us maim each other.”

"I was there by order of Emperor Geta!" You challenged, standing up. "You act as if I have a choice, as if I want to sit there and watch men get slaughtered. No, I hate it! I don't see why you have to fight!"

He stood, too, towering over you once again. "I fight for my freedom." His voice was so low, dangerous, even. "I fight because my home was taken from me by your general. My home, my wife, taken from me because, what? Because Rome was hungry. Do not lecture me on choice."

You sat back down, tears in your eyes. You knew what your father did, but being told such details was something else. "I'm sorry," you sobbed as you pulled your knees up to your chest. "On behalf of Rome, of the general, I truly am sorry."

A sigh left his lips as he sat beside you. "It's not your place to apologise for what the general has done," he said and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Rome has been a corrupt place, long before you came along."

You blinked up at him, tears resting on your lashes. "What was your home like?" You asked and turned your head towards him.

He told you everything, told you about his wife, his home. The chickens he chased away from the crops and the harvest. The conversation always steered back to his wife.

You didn't ask what happened, didn't force him to relive the trauma so soon. But you couldn't hide your yawns, or the way your eyes were drooping. "Rest now," he said as he stood from his cot. "I will not disturb you."

You laid down, but you didn't sleep, not immediately. Your eyes were shut, but you weren't asleep. Every time Hanno moved, you opened your eyes to watch him, to make sure he wasn't going to use you. Not that you could stop him. But he didn't. He never laid a hand on you.

Eventually, you drifted off, eyes shut and breathing steady. Hanno watched you for a moment. It wasn’t your fault, what Rome had done to his land, to his home. It wasn’t your fault, what the general had done, and he wouldn't take it out on you.

a/n: definitely more parts to come! I won't lie I didn't mean to find Paul hot but his charms have bewitched me

#lucius verus #lucius versus x reader #lucius verus imagine #lucius verus x fem!reader #lucius verus aurelius #lucius verus aurelius x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fic #marcus acacius

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kabuki-writes · 1 month ago

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A Reflection Of Venus

chapter: 1 chapter 2 | 3 | 4

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

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

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

word count: 3.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________________________

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

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

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

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

"I'm glad that you take me with you this time. I've only known the imperial palace from afar," you confessed, while you straightened the long, blue dress you wore. It was decorated with all sorts of silver embroidery and jewelry, encapturing the stars and moon. Your long hair was styled by your servant Yanna into a high braid and finalized with a silver diadem. For the first time you really got the chance to make yourself so presentable that you almost felt like a princess. In the end, you were about to meet the Emperors which made it important to look like the woman you were - the daughter of a general. And you also presented his household tonight, because your mother felt sick tonight. She often suffered from migraine, which kept her a prisoner for days sometimes.

"You really look beautiful", your father said to you, it was honest, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes, which you still couldn't grasp. But there was no chance to take this conversation further as the palanquin stopped. Acacius got out first to help you out. He knew the way as it wasn't the first time for him to attent an official ceremony or party here. Through a long corridor you reached a large room with with an open access to the garden terrace facing the beautiful gardens. It was packed with people from the Roman upper-class, wealthy merchants, politicians and military officers, who were accompanied by their wives, sons and daughters. While they chatted and feasted on the large selection of delicious looking food, a group of musicians played their melodies to which professional dancers moved their bodies.

All those private parties at the homes of your friends seemed to vanish straight from your mind, nothing could be compared to what you were seeing now. It nearly took your breath away, while two royals were watching you from the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________

Geta and Caracalla were sitting on a higher ground, which was highly decorated with two golden chaise longues, cushions and velvet drapes. They were accompanied by a selected group of slaves, women and men, who were assigned to bring them anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted.

While Geta was in in a conversation with one of the senators, which clearly bored him according to his facial expressions, it was Caracalla, who noticed the new guest first, while he fed his little monkey Dondus a grape.

"Such a shame that he hid his daughter for so long. She is a gorgeous looking bird, don't you think? ", he whispered to his brother with a mischievous grin, patting his arm so that he would turn his attention to Acacius and you. Geta's eyes quickly went to you, admiring the way your dress hugged the shape of your curves.

"The gods must've sent us Venus herself to honor us with her presence," Geta answered, while an unreadable smile played on his lips. „No wonder our dear General is so protective of her. Is she already promised to someone?“

„Why do you ask me!?“ Caracalla snapped back, as if his brother didn’t know that he had a lot of spies around the city, who delivered him the newest gossip from the streets of Rome. With an annoyed eye roll, he leaned forward, adjusting the golden laurel wreath on his head. „No, she is a blank parchment. Probably untouched too.“

Geta still watched you with an intense interest as if you were a rare diamond, he needed to claim. But he was not the only one in this room, because Caracalla stared at his brother, noticing the way he looked at you. There it was again, the old melody. Whenever he wanted something, Geta wanted it too. They already shared the title of Emperors, their wealth, their whores… It was already something that cooked in him for a long time. But now he had an eye on you and wasn't happy about the fact that Geta might try to get you too.

Before he could even bring this thought to an end, his twin brother Geta already stood up from his chaise lounge and made his way through the crowd, the direction was clear. Caracalla's nose twitched in a mixture of nervousness and anger, and he got up quickly as well, not as gracefully as he wanted to, but he didn’t care. He had to tame the inner urge to backstab his brother before he could even reach you.

_____________________________________________

You still stood at the side of your father sipping on your first goblet of fine wine, while your eyes went over all the different guests and the excessive decor. Your father was sunken in a conversation with another general, Marcus Galbanus, an old friend and brother-in-arms of Acacius. But their conversation quickly stopped as soon as the Emperors approached them. Both your father and Marcus Galbanus lowered their heads and greeted them according to the etiquette, while you curtsied deep. This was the very first time you got the chance to meet the Emperor's of Rome Caracalla and Geta. And given the importance of those two figures, you even felt a little nervous.

"We almost feared you wouldn't show up to your own party, Acacius. But we're happy you made your way here... we already heard that your dear wife lays sick. Please, send her our best wishes. Nonetheless we would be delighted if you could introduce us to your company tonight", Geta demanded in a playful tone, knowing how much Acacius had tried to delay this. Caracalla stood at his side, his staring blue eyes drilled themselves into your appearence. Even though he was a man that had tasted a lot of men and women, one even more sensual than the other, your whole appearence, your face, your lips, your smile, everything - you reached a sentience in his mind that could only be gifted by the gods. The mere thought of having you infected his brain like a curse.

You could sense the tension that raised in your father as if everything in him resisted the situation. Yet he placed his hand softly on your shoulder and did as they wished. "This is my daughter, y/n..."

"I'm honoured to meet the Emperors of Rome", you said in a soft voice, earning you an appreciating smile by Geta and an unreadable grin of Caracalla.

"Oh the pleasure is on our side, my dearest. How do you like this Ceremony in honor of your father's victories?", Geta asked. But before you could even answer, his brother added, while he took another sip of his wine "Your father is a Roman hero through and through, isn't it right Acacius?" His tone had something else in it, almost as if it was some kind of mistrust. But you needed to ignore the irritation you felt and simply nodded.

"It is breathtaking. I've never witnessed something like this and it makes me incredible proud to see the gratitute he earned himself through the love he has for Rome and its people," you answered, trying to remind the Emperor's of Acacius loyality, which was undoubtful.

"Then you'll enjoy the ceremony in the arena tomorrow as well, i'm sure. Please, we invite your father and you to be our guests."

"I don't think that such entertainment is suited for a young woman of her status," your father suddenly interfered in a calm yet set tone, only earning the laugh of Caracalla. "Let your daughter decide for herself, General."

The atmosphere shifted to an unspoken intensity. You could sense your father's worries and given all what you've heard from the colosseum, you didn't really think of it as something worth to witness. Seeing people die in such a terrible way only for the pleasures of the masses seemed like a farce. Acacius always called it the most needless form of brutality amongst humans, he despised this himself and therefore avoided going into the arena whenever he could. But you also read the eyes of Geta and his brother, who waited for your answer and would not accept a simple 'No'.

"It would be an honour," you answered, and Geta leaned forward a bit, which made your father's jaw clench in anger. Not because of your answer, he was aware that a choice was not existing, when facing an Emperor, but because the way the twins looked at you as if you were a price they could simply claim. But you were a smart girl and definitely not naive, so he fully relied on that.

"So this is a 'Yes'?", Geta asked again and you looked him straight in the eyes, not backing off. "Yes."

"Excellent!", Caracalla shouted and clapped into his hands. "We'll have a lot of fun tomorrow."

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched to a smile and he nodded in response to his twin. Yet he hid his displeasure of having him as a rival in this little game. It was clear that Caracalla had layed his eyes on you too, but he won't allow him to simply take and fuck you like you were a common whore. Maybe you could've potential for something more and strenghten his position as well as his popularity. Because both Emperors were still unmarried - and it was expected from them that this would change sooner or later.

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii imagine #kabuki writes

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eclipseiz · 21 days ago

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The Gladiator 18+

pairing- hanno/lucius x fem! oc 1310 words

(♡ synopsis)- general acacius's daughter became intrigued by the violent gladiator she saw perform in the games and just had to meet him. (lucilla is not her mother)

warnings- p in v, dirty talk, fingering

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Sabina Acacius was a strong willed woman that always made sure to get what she wanted. When she saw ‘Hanno’, as they called him in the colosseum she immediately knew she would seek him out when the time was up in the emperor's section.

After the gladiator had beheaded the contestant Geta and Caracalla had chosen she got up from her seat, “Emperors, An entertaining game as usual. I bid you a good night. I must retire to my room for some needed rest.”

Geta only waved the girl off, more focused on relishing in the applause from the people of Rome, making the girl roll her eyes before catching the General's glare in warning, “Father. Lucilla” she nodded, “I will see you back at home."

Sabina didn't waste a moment to rush out of the colosseum and down the busy streets of Rome towards the Gladiators holding cells. When she arrived at the entrance she pulled her hood up and maneuvered around the training fighters to the back corner where Ravi had Hanno sitting to be stitched.

“Quite a deep cut.” she commented, giving Ravi a kind smile.

“M’lady it's been too long.” he smiled back before focusing back on the task at hand. Hanno watched their interaction in silence observing the girl he saw in the emperor's box, sitting next to the man he vowed to kill and his mother.

Sabina pulled her hood down and sat on the bench in front of the men, “You put up a great fight Gladiator. I wanted to come down and greet you personally. You impressed the Emperors.”

“That carries no importance to me.” Hanno grunted out moving his eyes to the wound Ravi prodded with. “Now what's the real reason you're down here. Certainly not to talk of my achievement.”

Sabina smirked at his sass and crossed her legs, “Perhaps it is, you've intrigued me.”

Hanno furrowed his brow, “This isn't a safe place for a lady of your status.” he said plainly, taking a drag of the mixture Ravi gave to him.

Ravi pointed at a rag that sat next to Sabina to which she handed it to him, leaning in more towards Hanno. “I saw the sour looks you threw towards my father. What's the reason for such emotions?” she asked curiously.

A dark look passed over the gladiator's face, “That would be business between the General and I.”

Sabina hummed while Ravi backed up, “You're stitched up Hanno. I suggest you take a bath, you stink of filth.” he chuckled and patted him on the back. “Nice to see you Sabina.” he bid them a goodbye.

Hanno stood as did Sabina, “I'll escort you to the tub.” she smiled at the aggravated look that washed over him. The pair walked side by side in silence before stepping into the large room with the large tub of hot water in the middle. “Well I shall leave you to rid yourself of the remnants from tonight's game.”

“Wont stay to question me anymore?” he raised an eyebrow while unclipping his armor.

Sabina watched as he undressed cheeks heating up, “Not while you are without clothes, no.” she said perplexed and turned her back, “ You'd like to answer my curiosity?” Once she heard the water splashing she turned back to see Hanno sat in the steaming water, head leaned neck with his eyes shut.

“Nothing with the General.” he said before opening his eyes and moving his gaze to hers.

Sabina moved in closer, slipping her sandals off and hiking her dress up. She sat down next to him and dipped her legs into the water. “What were you before all of this?” she watched the bruised man let a sigh out.

“A farmer.” he answered plainly.

She hummed, “Does any family wait for you?”.

Hanno tensed, “My wife was my family. She was killed when your people invaded.”

The girl nodded, “Rome is in a dark time, not even the citizens feel safe.”

“And do you?” he questioned looking at her.

Sabina pondered, “I worry for the innocent Romans who will be caught in the crossfire when the twins' leadership fails.” Hanno chose not to answer and began to wash his arms, careful of the wounds his body had received before standing.

Sabina looked away at the man's naked form, “You can look. You say I intrigued you and it cannot be my soul in which that did.” he looked down at her.

She cautiously turned back and looked at his face before her eyes moved down to his muscular chest littered with scars, cuts, and bruises. She stood and moved in front of him reaching out and traced a jagged white line that sat on his right pec. Hanno said nothing and instead looked at her features and the way her eyebrows furrowed with every wound she felt.

Sabina’s eyes lingered on his abs before moving down to his half hard cock between them. She had been with one man before and he had been nowhere close to the size Hanno was, “I should return to my chambers.” yet she made no move to leave.

“Perhaps.” he whispered moving his hands to her waist

Sabina didn't waste a moment before crashing her lips into his chapped ones, hands moving to his shoulders and around his neck. His hands gripped her harder, lifting her up with ease and setting her up onto the counter behind her. Hanno stood between her open legs exploring her mouth with his tongue, driven with frustration and desperation.

He gripped the bottom of her dress and tapped her hips in order for her to lift them so he could punch her dress to her waist. “Are you sure you want this Sabina?” he asked breathlessly. Although he hated the girls father he had to admit something about the girl made him addicted

“I've wanted this since I saw you in the games, please Hanno.” and with that he returned to her lips and brushed his fingers agaisnt her soaking pussy. She moaned into his mouth and gripped the hair at the nape of his neck.

Pushing one finger into her he circled her clit with his thumb. Relishing in the way she tightened her walls. “Feel how wet I make your cunt?” He whispered between her swollen lips.

Sabina whimpered, “Please-more Hanno, please give me more.” she moaned out

He pushed another finger in and curled them up in her g-spot and sped his pace on her clit bringing her to the cusp of an orgasm before pulling away leaving the girl a gasping mess, “No-why?” said asked

Hanno gripped the base of his cock and lined it up to her entrance before leaning down to her forehead, “When I get you to cum I want it to be around my cock.” he said before pushing up into her all the way to the hilt. Sabina moaned, gripping his back, adding more cuts with her nails, “You're taking me so well my beautiful girl.” he gritted out while thrusting into her at a fast pace.

“Cum with me, my gladiator.” Sabina gasped out.

Hanno worked his hips into her, tip hitting her cervix, “Let go.” he commanded and that all she needed to hear before an orgasm washed over her, Hanno followed burying his hips deep into hers.

The pair caught their breath before separating, Sabina pulling her dress down and feeling a mixture of their cum leaking out of her while Hanno pulled a uniform over his head.

“I shall see you at the colosseum in coming days.” She combed her hair out and moved towards the exit but he caught her wrist and pulled her back to him.

“I ask of you to pay me a visit after the game, that is if I survive.” he smirked

Sabina smiled and nodded, “If that is what you want my gladiator.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Part Two

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#gladiator 2 smut #gladiator smut #lucius verus fic #lucius verus smut #lucius verus #Hanno smut #hanno x fem oc #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #hanno #Spotify #paul mescal #gladiator movie #gladiator #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #marcus acacius #lucius versus x fem oc

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absurdthirst · 3 months ago

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

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.6k

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

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

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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missadangel · 3 months ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

III. The Intention

"Veritas Odit Moras"

Truth Hates Delay.

"Septimia Aurelia, do you know how much I have searched for you, my lady?"

You regarded him with surprise and were rendered speechless.

The man carefully looked around and then grabbed your wrist to move you to a more secluded spot against the wall. "You've got a lot of attention, dressing like this, it's pretty clear who you are. When did you get here? You've read the letter? Have you told anyone about it? I hope you haven’t."

Your heart was racing, your ears were ringing, and the man's voice sounded distant.

"May I ask who you are, sir?"

How is it possible that you knew nothing while he knew so much more than you?

“I’m Macrinus, my lady. You might not remember me; you were too young. I’m the one who took you to Vicius.”

Vicius was your uncle's real name, the one your father had mentioned in the letter.

“I went to Egypt to find you as your father ordered. However, Vicius was reluctant; I’m not blaming him, but—” he glanced over your shoulder as if he was looking for something behind you."How did you return to Rome? Where is he now?"

You tried to understand what he said, but it was very difficult, too much for one day.

"He has passed away, and I was brought here as a captive," you said in a low voice, your eyes bright with tears as you recalled him once more—especially in this way—stung you anew.

He touched your shoulder. "It seems that your return was unfortunate. You must have opened the letter. You didn’t lose it, did you?"

You dabbed at your eyes with the tips of your fingers, wiping away the tears. "It doesn't matter now, sir. I was brought here as a slave."

“What slave? You are the daughter of a divine emperor. Who purchased you? Who is your master?”

You remained expressionless and refused to give him the General's name. You knew it might put him in a difficult position and you had no intention of trusting him."Sir, I am a slave, and I must live as one."

"You can't be serious, please. This is your birthright, and you must demand what you deserve."

"How?"

"I will present it to the Senate, and it is likely to receive their support. However, I must first weaken Geta," he stated firmly and decisively.

“But-."

"I have to go now before they get suspicious. I will help you. I’ve promised your father."

“Sir I-"

"I have a lot to tell you. Trust me and wait," he said, striding across the temple..

This man claimed to be a friend of your father's, but you were uncertain whether to trust him. The situation was a significant source of distress for you, both mentally and physically. You felt a sense of nausea, pressing your hand and then your arm against the wall in an attempt to regain your composure. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to your arm, attempting to gain control of your thoughts. At that moment, you heard a voice you recognized calling out to you.

"My Lady!" Octavius hurried over to your side, looking concerned.

When you opened your eyes, you saw his sandals first because you were glancing down to ground, you then lifted your head up.

“Are you well? Did someone hurt you?” He looked around angrily, ready to draw his sword. You put out your hand and stopped him.

“Calm down, sir. I'm fine."

Octavian pulled his hand away, taken aback by your touch. “I've been looking for you everywhere. The general sent me to find you, he was worried.”

You brushed a few strands of hair from your face with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry, I got a little nervous in the crowd and pulled away."

"Yes, it was unexpected for everyone. The emperors were in a hurry to get to the games, so they cut the ceremony short. I couldn't get you to the carriage in time. Forgive me."

"You still treat me like a lady, sir," you teased him.

He smiled. "If you don't mind, I'd like to keep it up. Shall we? The games are about to begin."

He gestured to the waiting carriage in the distance.

You were mesmerised by the splendour of this building, sitting in the part of the Colosseum intended for slaves and others. From your vantage point, you surveyed the area where the emperors and the General were seated, though they were not clearly visible from your distance. However, when they stood and advanced to deliver their opening speeches, you could see them more distinctly in their white shawls.

Caracalla and Geta raised their hands and greeted the crowd, while they chanted their names repeatedly loudly.

"People of Rome! Today, we gather to honor the glorious, greatest General Marcus Acacius.”

Applause and voices rose as Geta extended his hand to the General, you were filled with excitement. He took his hand, came forward and raised his hand. He looked up at the top bleachers and searched the crowd, his eyes determined to find you, but it was hard from such a distance.

Caracalla grasped the General's other hand. He was between them, the crowd now chanting all three of their names.

"Are you ready to see these magnificent, mind-blowing games to celebrate his extraordinary achievements?”

When the crowd responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, Geta and Caracalla shouted excitedly at the same time.

“Then let the games begiiiiiiiiiiiin!”

The thick iron gates of the arena rumbled open and two chariots thundered in, their arrival accompanied by the roar of trumpets and the beating of drums. They circled round the arena and stopped in front of the general and the emperors. While the emperors applauded them enthusiastically, the soldiers in charge ordered them to step aside and the chariots moved forward, their warriors saluting the crowd.

“Now, Gladiatoooooors!” Geta shouted and pointed to the other door. The crowd continued to cheer louder when they saw the iron-armored warriors coming out one by one. Every step was a sharp noise, echoing through the arena. The gladiators, seven in number, turned to the emperors and saluted them.

“Ave Imperatores, morituri te salutant!” Hail Emperors, those who are about to die salute you!

Caracalla looked at the General, smiling widely.

“Today, the speech is yours, General Acacius!” he shouted and clasped his hand, and sat on his throne.

"Spur them on, you're the expert, I want to see some blood,” Geta said to the general with a wink and sat on his throne, legs crossed, clapping. From a distance, you couldn't hear them or see his face clearly, but you were certain the General was not pleased. As the General raised his arms in the air, the crowd fell silent, and the shouting died down, allowing you to rest your ears a little.

“As a soldier, I can tell you this: When you engage in combat, it is important to maintain a positive mindset and avoid thoughts of defeat. You must only think about winning! However, winning is not easy, not just about killing your enemy or defeating him. Absolutely not. Winning is about being remembered with honor, like a hero, even if you die in the end! A true soldier most likely, is not afraid of death. Neither is a true gladiator! He embraces it, caresses it, and even defies it! Today, we want to see a real gladiator who can kill death itself! Prove you can achieve it and make your emperors proud! Fight with honor and win the crowd!”

The general's speech was a roaring success, prompting a rapturous response from the assembled crowd. The drums beat again, and the gladiators raised their swords in salute to the general and gathered together in a defensive position.

He was the real deal: a genuine commander and warrior. He made your heart beat fast and you admired him.

As the battle between gladiators and other warriors commenced, you began to feel a certain degree of apprehension. You had seen blood and wounded people before, of course, but this was not the point. The point was that these warriors, whose bodies were being ruthlessly cut and torn apart, were being watched with enthusiasm and laughter by the crowd. You were grateful for the top stand, thankful that you were watching from there. You knew you wouldn't have been able to bear to see such an atrocity up close.

The warriors in the chariot had lost all their horses, also torn apart mercilessly, they jumped down and attacked the gladiators with their spears, killing, and butchering a few in the process. Only two gladiators and three warriors remained. They all had cuts on exposed parts of their bodies and blood oozing from their injured areas, but they were completely focused on survival and didn't have time to care. The dusty floor of the Colosseum was stained red, and the smell of blood wafted around in clouds of dust, like the smell of red-hot iron. The gladiators roared their triumph as they slew the last of the warriors, and their voices echoed throughout the Colosseum. The sounds of drumbeats, applause, whistles, cheers, curses, and laughter filled the air.

The emperors rose to their feet and expressed their approval and support for the gladiators through applause and cheers. Once their orations had concluded, the gladiators proceeded through the reopened iron gates, whereupon the drumming ceased. The sole remaining auditory stimulus was the noise of the crowd. The general and emperors were no longer visible, so you decided to leave, as the noise was already causing a headache.

Your legs were aching as you descended the steps, but it was just as hard to get down as it was to get up. After all, you had watched from the top and it was quite high. You had never been up to such a high building before and you were certain that you would never go up again.

When you reached the ground floor, you looked around, but there was no one you recognized. Senators and other dignitaries were leaving the Coliseum one by one, talking among themselves about the evening banquet. You weren't sure that the General would take you there. He was nowhere to be seen, but you kept looking for him. When you took a few steps in the opposite direction to where the people were coming from, you were frightened that you might meet your brothers. When you saw a white shawl his wearing, you approached the General, who was talking to one of the senators. He turned his head and saw you. But you noticed the emperors were walking towards you from another direction. You reeled back in shock and turned on your heel. You were never prepared to see them so close. You strode through the exit and headed for the stairs. Since already climbed and descended quite a few stairs today your feet were no longer firmly planted on the ground. As you quickly went down, you suddenly lost your balance and found yourself on the ground. You shivered when you felt the cold stones against your skin and scowled at the women nearby who were laughing at you as you tried to figure out what had happened. You sat down on the marble stairs, heard his voice and footsteps hurrying down behind you, and soon felt the breeze from his shawl caress your back."Aya!" The General reached out, grasped your hand gently, and lifted you up.

"Are you alright?" He checked your feet and then your face, clearly concerned.

“Ah, as always, our General is a gentleman, isn't he, brother?”

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you heard Caracalla's voice so close. They must have seen the General holding your hand so you immediately withdrew them from the General's and stepped back, bowing your head. However, they were already descending the stairs slowly, their gaze fixed on you.

“Indeed, aren’t you going to introduce us to this beautiful lady, General Acacius?” Geta asked curiously. From where he stood, he looked taller than the general.

“Is she your secret lover or something?” Caracalla chuckled, tilting his head to see your face clearly.

“My emperors, the carriage has arrived,” you could have sworn you'd heard that voice before. When you looked at her, the Empress Julia Domna stared at you raising her eyebrows and came a little closer. You averted your eyes, the feeling that you had seen this woman before took over your whole body and made you even more nervous than your brothers did.

“We just met the General's lover, Mother,” Caracalla laughed.

“Lover?” She sized you up and gave you a stunned look.

“My slave highness,” the General corrected him. You immediately bowed your head and greeted them formally.

“A slave? How fortunate you are, I have never seen such a beautiful slave,” Geta said, his eyes wide, and you felt him tense as the General's body moved slightly in front of yours. You felt grateful as you hid yourself behind his shawl.

“She reminded me of the Germans, remember?" he chuckled and covered his mouth.

Geta accompanied his laughter and punched him jokingly in the shoulder. Then he looked at you again. “Restrain yourself, brother, this is something completely different, you know what I mean?"

Caracalla huffed, “Tempting!"

You had no idea what they were talking about, and despite your best efforts to keep your eyes off Julia, she was always looking at you.

“Bring her to the banquet,” Caracalla said excitedly, clasping his hands together.

“But Highness, you know, women are not allowed there,” Julia said loudly.

“The Empress is right, only senators and patricians, just like any other banquets,” the General said with a sharp tone.

“How boring, I'd like her to serve me, pour me some wine, so I'd see a pretty face instead of those ugly blokes' faces all night.” Caracalla pursed his lips.

Geta sighed at his reaction and put his palm in his foreground. “You’re still a child brother, if you want a girl to get laid, I'll get you one after the banquet,” he turned his head to general. “Spending the night with another Roman's slave would be a bit of theft,” he said with a grin that showed all of his teeth at the General.

The General clenched his jaw and looked at him menacingly. You felt shivers run down your spine. Domna looked at them with concern and tried to ease the atmosphere by clapping her hands. “That's enough gentlemen, I'm famished, watching the games made me real hungry,” she took Geta's arm “Shall we?” She must have been pretty familiar with this kind of situation.

Geta turned to General one last time, ”We wanted to send you a new slave as a gift, tonight,” his eyes searching you up and down.

"That is very kind of you, but I must refuse,” the General said in a firm tone.

He inhaled deeply, "It's not hard to guess why," he smiled crookedly.

“Then I want it for myself, as you promised,” Caracalla whined, taking Geta's other arm.

“Share with me?”

“You just said it's a theft.”

“Cruel.”

They kept up their debate while they walked towards the waiting carriage. It seemed like the tension was slowly easing.

Once they were in their carriage and out of sight, the general turned to you with a look of frustrated annoyance on his face. Meeting your brothers for the first time was awkward, but it was clear that they had always been like that, and everyone, including their mother, accepted it as normal.

“Are they always like this?”

“Worse.”

“They're like spoiled little children,” you snapped.

He let out a little laugh, putting a hand to his mouth, which surprised you. You thought he'd scold you for criticizing the emperors in his presence. But he didn’t, also, his smile was so beautiful that you couldn't help but smile back.

“Have you seen the games? What do you think?” The General asked you curiously.

“Well a bit, bloody.”

He smirked. “But you're used to seeing blood,” he looked around as if he was waiting for something.

“Yes, but I don't like it when people cut each other mercilessly,” you said in a stubborn tone.

“It's called survival.”

“The game of survival,” you murmured. “I don't know, it doesn't feel right,” you said honestly.

“I'm a warrior too you know, I've fought there countless times,” he said with a proud smile on his face.

You looked at him in surprise, of course, you had expected it, but you shuddered when you imagined him there, fighting for his survival. Soon a carriage pulled up beside you both, he touched your shoulder.

"You'd better go to the villa now. They're expecting me at the banquet," he said.

“I want to say thank you, for bringing me here today,” you said softly as he helped you into the carriage.

“The pleasure is mine," he said gently, his eyes meeting yours made you smile undoubtedly.

He then gestured to the coachman and the horses began to move, pulling the carriage forward.

As the carriage carried you away from the General, you continued to observe him from beneath the curtain until his silhouette in white receded from your view.

The next morning, you opened your eyes and smiled when you heard the rooster crowing cheerfully. You sat up with a yawn, you saw that Norell was already up her mattress was empty, clearly started the day before you. You looked out the window while your mind returned to the events of the previous day. You thought about the ceremony, the games, the gladiators, the blood, your first sight of your arrogant and strange brothers, and that brown-skinned man, Macrinus. And of course, the General. When he stood with that golden crown on his head… You smiled to yourself, remembering him, and suddenly your cheeks flushed. You were surprised every time because you had never experienced such feelings in your body before. It was all so new to you.

On the other hand, you couldn't stop thinking about what Macrinus had said. You were sure he was planning something. It was hard to know if it would be right to tell the General everything, how he would react, who he would side with. Then you remembered the letter, and your body stiffened almost like a statue of Venus. It had completely slipped your mind that you had left it in his room. He didn't have a chance to touch his stuff yesterday because he arrived late at the villa, but he would definitely touch it eventually. You quickly tidied yourself and your hair and walked out of your room. As you stood there by the stairs leading up to the General's room, wondering what to do, Norell came up to you, carrying a tray with food on it.

“Are you taking this to the General?”

“Yes, he must be awake by now.”

“I'll take it to him,” you said and took the tray from her.

“Are you sure? The Master has warned us not to let you do too much work.”

“I'll talk to him, don't worry, I need to check his wound anyway,” you said smiling at her.

“Well, I was afraid of dropping the tray,” she gasped.

“What's wrong?” you put the tray on a nearby chair and went over to her, she was pressing her hand to her stomach.

“Well, it’s my moon,” she smiled at you, her freckled cheeks flushed.

“Oh, do you want me to give you an herbal mixture for the pain?”

“Would that help?”

“It works for me.”

You strode into the room and picked up your leather bag, looking through the few remaining bottles of medicine. You were running low on supplies. When you returned to her side, Norell was sitting in a chair, pressing her hands to her stomach.

You poured some of the medicine from the bottle into a bowl on the tray and crushed it, then poured a little wine into a cup, also from the tray, and diluted the mixture.

"That was the master's cup," Norell declared.

"I'll get a new one from the kitchen, drink this, and I'll be right back."

You had to cross to the other courtyard to get to the kitchen, where you had last entered the balneum. You felt your cheeks flush as you remembered the last time you were there with the General there. You returned to the main courtyard with a new cup, put it on the tray, and looked at Norell, who was grimacing as she drank the herbal concoction you had given her.

"This tastes awful," she complained.

"That's why you should drink it all, dear,” you smiled at her.

Then you picked up the tray and ascended the stairs, one by one. You stopped in front of the General's room, propped the tray up with one hand, and knocked on the door with the other. You opened the door and entered. He was sitting at his desk, looking at papers. He seemed busy. You saw the calamus pen and papers in his hand and knew you had to make a plan to get the letter before he found it.

When he looked up and saw you, he raised his eyebrows. "Have you decided to be my slave now?"

"Well, Norell is not feeling well. I'm helping her, at least for today." You put the tray down on the table and turned towards him, your gaze fixed on the wooden chest next to him.

"What's wrong? Is she alright?"

"It's a woman's issue that happens every month," you explained.

"Oh, I see," he murmured and returned to his papers.

“May I take a look at your wound? As your medicus, of course.”

"So you will appear to be both my slave and medicus today.” He put the pen on the desk, took the paper in his hand, folded it, stuffed it into the envelope, and sealed with pressing his own seal on the wax.

"I guess I am, for today," your eyes were still on the chest, wondering how to get the letter without him noticing.

His lips curled into a smile. "I feel blessed.”

Acacius stood, wearing a dark purple tunic with gold embroidery on the sleeves and collar. He walked over to his bed and sat on the edge of it, looking at you. You moved closer to him and had to bend down to check on his wound. Looking at him out of the corner of your eye, you put your bag on the bed, a bit away from him who had rolled up his tunic.

As you stood in front of him and leaned over him, he was surprised to feel the light breeze of your hair hit his face. He leaned back a little, but it gave him a better view of your breasts, he swallowed hard making him stunned. Then he turned his head away, even though it was so difficult for him, but he waited patiently. You were no different from him as you checked his wound, oblivious to everything, touching his skin made you tense every time.

The General's wound was almost healed but you noticed a rash around the cut.

“Do you have any itching or pain, sir?”

“Itching, yes, a little, pain, no.”

There’s pain, thought Acacius, but it's not where my wound is, deep in my chest.

He turned his head towards you again and looked into your beautiful eyes shining like a gem under your long eyelashes, he embraced his pain meanwhile. But it wasn't just it. The general was experiencing a whole range of sensations he hadn't felt in a long time, and it was unlike anything he'd ever fully experienced with a woman. You unintentionally revived memories of his naive and callow youth, but he appeared to find it amusing.

“I need to make an ointment for that-“

But just as you straightened up to reach for your bag, you felt pressure and pain in your neck. Looking down, you realize that the chains of the necklace you were wearing were caught in the trimmings on the collar of the general's tunic, stuck in its threads.

He was taken aback, but perhaps not as much as you were. The expression on your face, as you tried to pull your neck backward in utter shock, made him giggle. Unfortunately, you found it difficult to remain calm and the first thing that came to your mind was to unlock the necklace. So when you reached your hands back behind your neck, you lost your balance and fell on top of him. The General was a trained soldier, with well-developed arm and back muscles and a body that could easily carry such a light load in that position. All in all, he was a man so when you fell and your breasts hit his muscular chest, feeling them beneath the thin fabric, made him fall backward onto the bed.

You gasped as you found yourself in this awkward situation without even realizing how it had happened. With a quick move, you put one hand on the bed to sit up and realized that the other was on the general's chest, you withdrew it and looked at his face to check his reaction. The general looked back at you, his dark brown eyes locked on yours, but you were blinking your eyes in surprise. You frantically tried to stand up, but your necklace, as if mocking you, wouldn't let you. He grabbed your shoulders and stopped you as you struggled over his body. You were making it difficult for him to remain calm with your movements, and he was starting to lose his patience.

“Easy, would you?” He growled. His hands reached behind your neck and he murmured as he unlocked the necklace. "Stay still. I can't restrain myself if you keep moving like this.”

Your face flushed like a crimson hue as you realized what he was talking about, gasped as you felt between your legs, beneath the fabric, a part of his body pressing against your womanhood.

“You really don't know how to behave around a man, you are so careless,” he chastised you.

Once your neck was free from the damn necklace, you stood up quickly, feeling a slight soreness in your neck.

“I've spent more time around men than you think, sir,” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.

As he removed your necklace from the collar of his tunic, a few threads of the fabric snapped with it. “But you were dressing like them, they didn't know you were a woman,” he corrected you. ‘You have to be careful from now on, especially when you're dressed like this.’

"Forgive me, sir," you said, feeling a little embarrassed to look him in the face.

"Your face is as red as wine," he chuckled, sitting up in bed.

You bit your lower lip and pursed your lips, then went over to your bag and picked it up to make the ointment. The medicine bottles rattled as they came out of the bag, and the general looked at them curiously. "You've been carrying these in your bag all this time?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," you replied, uncapping the green bottle, shaking it, and pouring a few drops into the empty bowl on the tray. As you stirred and softened the ointment with your index finger you murmured, “I made all this myself, but it’s almost ran out.’

“Impressive.”

Once the ointment was ready to be applied, you took the bowl in your other hand and approached the general.

“Sir, I need to apply this ointment to the wound.”

“Careful and don't throw yourself on me this time,” he giggled as he grabbed the hem of his tunic and pulled it up once more.

You swallowed and cleared your throat, trying to stay calm, dipped the tip of your finger into the bowl, took some and applied it to the wound.

"You're making the same mistake again," he teased.

You frowned, not quite understanding what he was saying. You were sure you applied the ointment well, but looks like this was not the issue. When you looked at him, you caught him staring at your breasts. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him, his eyes meeting yours. His brown eyes were warm and intense, making your heart melt.

"Never bend over another man like that," he whispers.

As his warm breath brushed against your cheek, your heartbeat quickened. "I-I won't," you stammered.

He released your wrist, and you stepped back and put the bowl on the desk. “It needs to be applied at night too, I think you can handle it,” you said with your back turned. You glanced at the wooden chest out of the corner of your eye. It seemed like you wouldn't have a chance to get the letter, at least not while he was still in his room.

“Yes, I'm grateful,” said the general, standing up and coming over to you taking the bowl and sniffing it.

"The aroma is pleasing; what is this?"

You smiled at him. “Asphodeloideae (aloe vera), sir, it does indeed have a pleasing aroma. It has been demonstrated to accelerate the healing of burns and itching wounds. But I'm afraid it's about to run out, so just use it until it's finished.”

Acacius perched himself on the edge of this desk, looking at you. “Carrying all these bottles in your bag might be a little difficult. Besides, you say you're out of supplies, I will be traveling to the city and subsequently to the barracks tomorrow, would you like to come with me?”

“To the barracks?”

“Absolutely not,” his voice was loud and sharp. “I meant to say, I shall convey you to the city in my carriage, and return for you when I have finished my business.”

Pleased by his offer, “Sir, that would be great, thank you.”

He smiled softly at you and walked over to the table to eat the food you had brought for him. As you grabbed your bag and headed for the door to leave the room, he stopped you by extending his hand.

“Won't you join me?”

You turned your head to him. He pointed to the chair opposite him with his hand. “Have a seat, I need to make sure my medicus has eaten something.”

You smiled, did as he said, putting your bag down. Acacius picked up the wine cup, you reached for the decanter before him.

“Allow me, please.”

He smiled gratefully as you poured the wine from the decanter into his cup.

“You are getting better and better at being a slave, you are willing to fulfill all my needs. Except one.”

You almost spilled all the wine when you met his piercing eyes. You slowly placed the decanter on the tray. While you were calculating what to say, he put his hand on yours which holds the handle of the decanter.

"Don't you have any feelings for me?” He was looking at you from under his eyebrows, eagerly waiting for your answer.

His gaze shifted from your lips to your eyes, you lingered looking into his eyes, even if you said what you felt now, it was very difficult to predict what would happen next. You wondered if he would love you for who you really were.

“It's all so new to me also very hard to say anything for sure. But…"

“But?”

You were trying to think rationally under the influence of his gaze, but you were failing.

“I feel happy when I'm with you, and… I miss you when you're not around,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks burning.

“At least there's a silver lining.” Acacius smiled widely, lifted your hand, and placed a kiss on it.

It was an ordinary day in the streets of Rome, blessed by clear sky and sunshine. The sounds of birdsong were interspersed with those of the rooster. Some people wandered the streets on foot, chatting to each other, while others mounted horses and rode along the stone paths at a pace that caused the hooves of the horses to clatter against the buildings with a distinct echoing sound. The sound of a nearby blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the voices of merchants trying to attract customers to their businesses and draw attention to the goods they were offering for sale. Women often inspected the exhibits before making a purchase and then had their slaves carry them home. Since the clothing and accessories worn by each group reflected their status, it was relatively easy to distinguish between social classes.

You and Norell were walking around the streets in your slave clothes and cloaks to buy something just like other Romans. You still couldn't get used to these clothes. When men and women stared at you, wished you were invisible, as you used to be.

You entered the market street and noticed the large crowd gathered in front of the stalls. There were pots, vegetables, fruits, fabrics, fish, butchers, and plants. The plants, herbs, and flowers on the stalls were very varied and fresh. Once you had purchased what you needed and placed it in your bags, you walked down the street once more, recounting to Norell the events of the previous day and your observations at the Colosseum, as she had requested.

"You know he's in love with you, right?" Norell looked at you suggestively through her yellowish eyelashes.

"Are you talking about the General?

“Is there someone else?" she teased, then inhaled deeply. "I wouldn't be surprised, you're quite attractive."

“Oh, Norell, please," you whined.

“I know you love him too, why are you avoiding my question?"

You smiled shyly, “I’m not sure what I feel. How can you be so sure of his feelings anyway?”

You both waited for a carriage to pass in front of you before crossing the street.

“Because I've known him since I was young and I've never seen the General like this before. Even Tullia is worried, she's angry with you, you know.”

You looked at her with your hazel eyes wide open. “Why? But I didn't do anything wrong, I did everything the General asked.”

Once the carriage had passed, you crossed the street and continued walking along the avenue where the west front of the Colosseum was visible. Norell took your arm.

“I don't know how it was where you come from, but here slaves have to fulfill their master’s every need. So Tullia thinks you’re not obeying him.” You were offended by being treated as a slave, but you couldn't blame her for being unaware of the truth about you. You turned your head to her and kept your voice low. “He said he would not touch me against my will.”

“Oh, that's why he's so upset then.”

You stopped and looked at her. “Upset?”

Her brown eyes looked sad. “Every night before I go to bed, I see him looking deep in thought at his balcony. And during the day, he's there, watching whatever you're doing. It's not like him.”

Was he? Somewhere deep in your chest, you felt a sharp, intense pain.

“Other slaves, the beautiful ones, are raped, killed or sold. Even among the nobles, there are those who are forced into marriage and have to sleep with a man they don't love. I know you've never been touched by a man before and neither have I. But if I found someone who could love me the way he loves you, I would give myself to him.” She blinks at you.

You were absolutely certain of her sincerity, but your situation was quite different from that of other slaves, even from all other Roman women.

“I suppose I should confess my feelings to myself first,” you murmured.

“My Lady!”

You and Norell turned to see who was speaking. You were surprised to see Macrinus standing next to you in his cloak.

"I was hoping to meet you," he said, looking around, then came closer. "But, you are very careless," he said in a low voice. "You attract too much attention."

You couldn't understand what he was saying. "Sir, why do you seem to be hiding?”

"I'm lurking because I've been following you for some time, and luckily I found you without anyone noticing."

"Why did you follow me?"

"We need to talk, but not here. We are too exposed.”

“What's going on, Aya? Who is this man?” You forgot for a moment that Norell was looking at you both in confusion.

Macrinus looked at her and then at you then he turned his head to the street.

“Norell, I'll tell you everything later,” you said, touching her shoulder then turned to Macrinus. “Sir, I don't think it’s the right time-”

He grabbed your arm gently. “You don't realize how much danger you are in, Julia suspects something and it's only a matter of time before she finds you.”

“How do you mean?”

"I'll tell you everything, but right now we need to move." He gestured to you as he walked to the other side of the street, you nodded and pulled Norell's arm, you felt uncomfortable going without her.

"Are you going to tell me what is happening? Who is this man?"

"Trust me and wait, I'll tell you everything at once, I promise."

She wasn't convinced, but she nodded and remained silent.

You and Norell followed Macrinus for a few more streets, maintaining a safe distance from the people around you. It didn't take long for you to notice that the streets were getting quieter. There were fewer people around, and the streets were narrower and more secluded. After passing through a narrow, dead-end street, Macrinus stopped, threw back his hood, and turned to you. When you realized Norell was squeezing your arm, you looked at her. Seeing her looking at a structure at the end of the street, petrified. You turned your head to that direction to find out what was worrying her. It was a large but untidy two-story house. The curtains were blowing out of the windows in the wind, they were all red.

“Gods, it’s…whore house," Norell muttered.

You turned to Macrinus in disbelief. At that moment, two men approached you from down the street, surveyed you both, and continued on their way, laughing.

“I'm sorry, my lady, but this is the safest place to talk.”

"To talk? What are you planning? How could you think I would be in such a place?"

Your voice echoed through the cobbled streets as Macrinus approached you, his expression grave.

"I can't speak to you safely anywhere else, your appearance would draw attention if we were in a tavern or other. But this place is too remote for anyone to think of it, you know what I mean, and nothing will happen to you, the one who runs this place knows me and I trust her."

When Norell grabbed your arm, you moved a little away from Macrinus, closer to the wall.

“Look Aya, I don't know what's going on, but this is not good, if the General finds out about this-.”

"I know. He knows my real family, and I trust him.” You lied. “Don't worry, you go to the place where we'll meet with the carriage and wait for me. I don't want you to go there with me."

"I don't think you should go in there either."

You gave Macrinus a quick look, then turned to Norell. "I know, it won't take long, I promise."

Norell looked at you and Macrinus with concern.

"If you won't be there in time, I'll tell the General everything," she said, sounding more like she wanted Macrinus to hear him. You looked at him in panic, but he didn't look surprised. You knew that moment you had to talk to him, no matter what. You were almost certain that he was planning to threaten the General through you.

Once Norell turned the corner into another alley, you turned to Macrinus. He smiled at you, turned, and walked towards the house. He no longer seemed nervous, as if he comes here, and walks through here often. You, however, were tense, feeling abandoned by Norell's leaving and like you'd put yourself in great danger.

Macrinus lifted the iron knocker of the big wooden door and rapped twice. At that moment, you tensed even more as you heard voices coming from inside, your face flushing red with embarrassment. A short, poorly dressed man opened the door and looked at Macrinus, then at you. When his eyes met yours, you looked away.

"Tell Juturna I'm here."

The man gave you one last look and went inside. Macrinus gestured for you to come in as he moved quickly down the corridor. You swallowed and deliberately ignored the voices as you walked in.

“Did it really have to be here?”

“I'm sorry, I understand why you're uncomfortable, but it really is safer than you think.”

Macrinus smirks, but you grow more and more nervous, everyone here men, and women is almost naked even in the mural pictures dyed on the walls. The voices were getting louder and louder when a middle-aged woman came running towards you. She wore too much make-up and smiled broadly at Macrinus.

"Sire, how good to see you again."

"Private room now."

She tilted her head to look at you with wide eyes, you turned your head and wrapped your cloak tightly around your arms, covering your body. She pressed her hand to her chest, "Gods, it's been years since such a beauty drops in here.”

"Don't overstep your bounds, she's a lady!" Macrinus scolded him.

"Apologies, sire. Have your way to up the stairs and the boys will show you to your room," she said with a grin.

Following Macrinus into the hallway, seeing some young girls, half-naked, talking amongst themselves. As you passed them, they looked at you strangely. You felt sorry for them, but also a bit disgusted.

A young boy gestured to the room, and Macrinus invited you in after he had entered. You were almost startled when the door closed behind you. Looked around quickly to observe, red curtains, orange bedspread and pillows, overturned wine cups and fruits in a bowl on the table, and various colored fabrics on the chairs. And the smell... You couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in this room. It made you feel sick.

Macrinus saw your unease and pulled out the chair for you to sit down.

"Have a seat, my lady."

You gave him a look that said you weren't going to be pushed around and sat down on the chair, crossing your arms to avoid touching anything else. "Tell me what I need to know. I don't have much time."

Macrinus took another wine cup from the other table in the corner of the room, poured wine into, and handed it to you. You made a gesture with the back of your hand and shook your head no.

"Are you afraid of the General?" he asked as he sat down in the chair opposite you. "I know you're staying at his villa. How long has he known?”

"He doesn’t! I can assure you that the General has nothing to do with it.”

Macrinus crossed his legs and took a sip of his wine.

"Of course he does. He'll take you to Geta himself as soon as he finds out."

You thought about him. Would he really do that? You couldn't find the answer, and you hated it.

"The general is a man of honor. He will understand when I tell him."

"Are you saying you can lure him to our side?"

"Our side?" You leaned over the chair towards him, "What is your purpose?"

"It's simple. I'm going to present you to the Senate and get them to recognize you unanimously. You will be formally designated as the heiress to the imperial throne. I really wonder about the emperors’ face when they find out."

Macrinus laughed and took a quick sip of wine.

"How do I know you're not lying to me and you're actually on the emperors’ side at this moment?"

Macrinus narrowed his eyes and looked at you. "I am close to Caracalla. He trusts me." He extended his hand toward you, placing one of the red grapes from the table in it. "I have him right in the palm of my hand, right here, and when the time comes…" He closed his palm and squeezed the grape, the pinkish juice of the grape slowly flowed between his fingers and dripped on the floor. You looked at him in disgust as he ate smashed grapes and licked his own palm.

“And what do you want from me? What will you gain if the Senate recognizes me?”

“I promised your father I would restore peace to Rome, and after he sent you away, he asked me to find Vicius and make sure you were safe. So as I stated before, I went to Egypt to find you, Vicius managed to hide you, he didn't believe me, he was very good at covering his tracks. No wonder he kept you hidden all this time. On the way back, news reached me of your father's death in York, and by the time I got back to the capital, Caracalla and Geta had declared their empire.”

That was four years ago, and it was no coincidence that on that very day, your uncle took you from home to the Valetudinarium in Alexandria. But you still weren't sure whether he had done it to protect you from Macrinus or from your emperor brothers or Julia.

“You said Julia suspected something.”

Macrinus was a man of very calm demeanor; it was hard to tell from his expression what he was thinking. “If Julia finds out you're alive, she'll take your life without a second thought.”

You swallowed hard, you already disliked her when you met her on the day of the ceremony.

“But I'm a woman, I can't be a threat to the throne,” you said looking at him, Macrinus put his cup on the table and leaned forward.

“But if one day you give birth to a son, my lady, you will be the greatest threat of all. She is a woman who keeps the General and her sons in balance, do not underestimate her. She wants Acacius in the Senate, to gain power over me.” He reached for a bunch of grapes and plucked one. “But I have secured my position, and with you we can save Rome from them for good.” He popped a grape into his mouth and smiled at you as he chewed.

“What about the General, what will happen to him?”

He stopped chewing. “He has to choose. But before, he could be charged with treason for hiding you in his villa.”

“No, I told you, there’s nothing like that, he doesn't know about the letter. He doesn't know who I really am,” you yelled at him.

“Do you really think emperors would care about that?”

You knew the answer, your heart began beating in your throat. It wasn't fair that the General should face such an offense because of you.

"If you go to the Senate, there'll be a trial and a judgment, and we'll win. No doubt about it. I'll send the word tonight. The court will convene the day after tomorrow. I can hide you until then," he said, standing up and holding out his hand to you.

You regarded him with a determined expression. "I am grateful for your kindness, but I believe I will be safer with the General, I would like to leave now before he finds me here. Moreover, I am not yet ready to trust you fully."

Macrinus laughed. "My lady, I believe that attitude will serve you well in front of the Senate. It might be beneficial to adopt a similar stance.”

As you left the room, you felt a strong inclination to descend the stairs as quickly as possible, in order to avoid the rather pungent odours and sounds. As you passed the rooms one by one, you heard what seemed to be a cry. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a face you had seen before. You stopped, and when you wanted to look again to make sure, you turned your head, and lifted the torn red curtain blocking the entrance of the room to see her face. It was her, Decima, the girl you met on the ship and with whom you had the good fortune to become friends. You shared your secrets with her, and you had always assumed that she had been sold to a wealthy man. You hoped that she had been happy until now. You were so wrong. You felt your body trembling as your eyes began to well up with tears.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Macrinus asked, concern evident in his voice which came to you in a blur.

"Decima!" You ran into the room beside her, grabbing her shoulders. She was startled, then looked at you with a surprised look on her face and started to cry. You hugged her and pressed her head to your chest.

"Have you been here all this time?”

She was visibly distraught, and your heart ached for her. "I thought you had forgotten me," she sobbed.

"Never. I thought that nobleman had bought you. What happened?"

"No, he didn't," she mumbled, shaking her head.

Without a second thought you grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room.

Macrinus stepped in front of you. “My lady, you can't do this, she belongs here now.”

"No way! I'm taking her with me!" You barked and pushed him aside, pulled Decima by the arm ran to the stairs, and kept walking while ignoring the murmuring, and shouting coming behind you.

“Hey! How you? She's my slave, I paid eight thousand sesterces for her!” Juturna, who owned the place got up from her seat and came over to you, she was angry. Two guards at the door came in, blocking your way with a threatening and mocking demeanor.

Macrinus came running behind. “My lady, please, let her go. Those are the rules here. I’m begging you.”

It never felt right, you didn't want to leave Decima there to her fate. Then, someone came running up to Macrinus and whispered something in his ear. He tensed, cursed angrily, and turned his head to you. “Acacius is here. I need to go. Please don't do anything dull,” he warned you. Then he made his way back down the corridor and stepped through the door that led to the rear entrance.

You swallowed hard when you heard the General’s name, you had to think fast, decide fast. Then you opted to follow your heart, rather than your mind. As you grabbed Decima's hand and headed for the door, it opened with a thud and the General stormed in. You both regarded each other with surprise, but his expression soon became one of anger.

“General Acacius, sir!” Juturna approached him.

He didn't hear her, didn't look around, he was as angry as you'd ever seen him, with a piercing gaze that took hold of yours. As he reached out and grabbed your arm, you pulled back with all your strength. But the second time he grabbed again and pulled roughly, you couldn't find the strength to pull back. But you didn't intend to let go of Decima's hand either.

“Sir, please tell her something, she's trying to take my slave.” The woman bowed her head in front of the general and squinted at you.

“She is my friend, please help me, sir,” you said pleadingly.

"I'm a Roman citizen, and this one belongs to me. You clearly don't know the laws. Give her to me now," she said, grabbing Decima's other arm and pulling her along.

“No!”

“Let her go, Aya!” the General roared, but you didn't listen to him. Before you could even think about reaching for Decima, he grabbed your arm again and pulled you to outside, but you struggled with all your strength. The General let out a low growl, and before you knew it, the ground gave way beneath your feet. He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder. Your face hit the leather armor on his muscular back with a thump, leaving you gasping in surprise. You struggled to get free, but he held on tight, carrying you out.

“No! Let me down! Please!” No matter what you said, it didn't stop him, you tried to lift your head to look at Decima, but when you saw that the door was closed, you got angry.

You started punching his back, but it was like hitting a stone wall. He tightened his muscular arm around the back of your thighs, right near your butt. As he carried you, your loud voice echoed through the whole street. People in the street looked at you curiously as they saw the general had come with you over his shoulder to the carriage. You gave up struggling, and he set you down.

Your hair was a mess, but all you had on your mind was getting back to Decima. He saw you looking back, grabbed your arm, and put you and then himself into the carriage. He ordered the coachman to drive and then he started his horses. He sat you down next to him and never let go of your arm. When the carriage moved, he loosened his grip and turned his head towards you. But you were looking the other way. Norell sitting across from you, her lips tightly closed, so ashamed to look the general in the face, blaming herself. No one spoke the whole way, only the sound of the wheels rolling on the stony ground echoed inside the carriage.

Upon arrival at the villa, Norell regarded the General and you with a timid expression before exiting the carriage. You didn't move, your anger still raw. In the end, your stubbornness made him give up and he got out. "Come out now," he ordered.

He was waiting for you with his hand extended. You inhaled and stood up, but instead of taking his hand, you grabbed the side of the car as you stepped out. You walk briskly into the Villa's garden and leave him behind. As you came into the garden, you saw Tullia and Norell whispering to each other. You glanced at them, and they looked over at the general, who was walking quickly behind you. They seemed tense. As you were heading to your room, a strong hand grabbed your wrist. He pulled you to the stairs this time you didn’t resist. He led you to his room and closed the door.

He turned to you, first his brown eyes met yours and then he calculated what to say or tried to remain calm.

“You will never go there again, do you hear me?”

You glanced over at the balcony, and he stepped a little closer. “How could you go there? How could you put yourself in danger like that? What were you thinking?”

“She's my friend,” you murmured, looking at the setting sun on the horizon through the window.

“Even so, there's nothing you can do for her, the rules apply to everyone.”

“That could have been me,” you turned your head to him. “I could have been one of those poor girls if you-” you swallowed, your voice was trembling.

Acacius' expression softened as he moved closer to you. "I'm truly sorry about your friend, but you need to let it go. I need you to promise me you won't go there again." His brown eyes were bathed in the orangish sunlight streaming through the window. They were looking at you with intensity, delving deeply into your soul. You wondered how you could still be so stubborn, defying him like that. You closed your eyes and crossed your arms, realizing your disobedience, he grabbed your shoulders. "I may be a gentle master to you, but don't even think to test my patience.”

At that moment, the anger that was welling up inside you was trying to get out.

“I am not your slave! I never have been! I'm-”

You almost would tell him everything, but not feeling ready yet, not like this. He was far from being surprised, it’s like he knew you were going to say that.

“As for that, I couldn't find any proof that you were a Roman citizen,” Acacius pulled his hands back, “I recently sent a letter to the governor in Egypt regarding your uncle's funeral. I have received a reply from him today. It seems that he does not have any relatives, only his wife and himself. Interestingly, there is no record of the name Aya.”

It was rather unexpected. You were unprepared for how quickly he discovered the truth. As he approached, you instinctively braced yourself and took a step back. You winced when your back hit the stone wall. Acacius placed his palms on the wall, either side of your head. His brown eyes darkened as he leaned in, almost close enough to kiss you. You placed your hands against the wall behind you, feeling the coolness of the stone in your palms and on your skin, in an attempt to gather your strength. His eyes locked onto yours as if he were questioning you.

“Who are you?”

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notjustjavierpena · 5 months ago

Text

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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fawninthesnow · 6 days ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞: Part 1

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Fem Reader! 𐙚 18+

Summary: You are the daughter of General Marcus Acacius. After an argument with your parents, you find yourself alone in your garden with an arrogant, and peculiar stranger.

Warnings/contains: dom fem, f4m, teasing, pinning, size kink, not proof read

Word Count: 1.2k