#first Marcus fic let’s go!

[messrmoonyy]

- Amor vincit omnia

Marcus Acacius x Fem!reader

Summary: Marcus returns from another military campaign and finds you tense with the unrest building in Rome, thanks to your brothers blood thirsty ways. And so he helps take your mind off it.

A/N- this purely self indulgent. Marcus has me by the throat. He has done since trailer 1. Tough men who melt for their woman!!! I am so here for that. Watching the movie and seeing how he was with Lucilla? I was a goner. So. Here’s this.

Warnings- 18+ | likely inaccurate/ooc Marcus as this is my first time writing for him. And writing for this time period. Not mentioned but kind of implied age gap. Smut: unprotected p in v, slight fingering( wc-4.5k )

Being born into royalty guaranteed you a life of luxury. Stability. No need to worry or want for anything. But that didn’t mean you were happy.

Your brothers had all the power the empire had to offer. And you? Very little.

They kept you hidden away for the most part. Even your quarters in the palace were on the complete opposite side to your brothers. Like a prisoner in your own home. Kept away. Out of sight. You couldn’t leave unless they allowed it, and even in that rare occurrence you were not to be let out of sight.

They brought you out for appearances sakes. Let the people of Rome see you at the colosseum from time to time. Let your face been seen to greet people at their frequent feasts, eat with them but remain silent. And then be sent away before they indulged in their hedonistic pleasures for the evening.

But your appearances being at only prestigious events, meant you mingled with the nobility at times. And along with that, had come to know Romes beloved General.

You’d been enamoured from day one. The first time you’d gotten to actually talk to him, the way he had looked at you like you were one the goddesses before him. The way he wanted to know about you. Listen. Had sat with you for what felt like hours as you gushed over how much you adored Virgil and Catullus. And though your brothers desire to hide you away kept you lonely for the most part, it also meant they rarely had their eye on you when you were inside palace walls. Which allowed for many a secret rendezvous.

Like the one you were presently waiting on.

Stood in the large arched window of your chambers, looking at the gardens below, the only place you could really roam freely. The flora bright and lush even in the twilight. Flowers that you couldn’t even name, buds and seeds brought back amongst the many stolen items from the Generals travels. His conquests under command of your brothers.

One of those conquests that was being celebrated presently. Past the gardens you could see the city alight with celebrations still. The rich throwing parties in their homes and gardens, whilst Romes lesser subjects suffered. The fires in the streets there to keep warm, not to light up lavish parties and celebrations. Celebrations like the ones presently in the palace. Which you cared very little for, but it did allow for a much easier meeting with your lover, as he was already inside palace walls. Eating. Drinking. Dancing maybe. Making himself seen for appearances sake when really all he was really waiting for was to get to you.

All he’d have to do is slip through the crowds and disappear from sight. Take the well practiced walk to your chambers. And hide away with you for the night.

And so. Eventually you heard a knock on your door. Firm and short. Then the sound of someone entering without being given vocal permission.

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. No one else entered your room without asking first. Your staff wouldn’t dare, even though you were always kind to them. Considerate. Far gentler than most nobles would deem necessary. They still knew their place. And they knew to obey you.

But Marcus knew he could enter without permission. He had done it often enough. Though he would always wait by the door once inside for you to speak. Acknowledge him. Wait to be fully welcomed into your space.

You were silent for a few short moments. Eyes still transfixed on the lights in the distance past the palace gates.

“ Rome is alight with joy at your return “ you finally spoke up, eyes still watching the glow of the lights in the city. Listening to the sounds of the happy crowds as they danced and cheered. Chanted and sang in drunken joy. Mingling with the cry’s of those that begged for food.

Events like this could distract them from the utter misery most of them were suffering each day. But not completely.

The tensions in Rome were rising. And it made you uneasy.

“ unnecessary celebrations “ Marcus murmured. He never had liked the fanfare. The attention. He was a soldier to his bones, not a fancy nobleman who liked to flash his privilege around and indulge in such festivities.

“ my brothers don’t seem to agree “ you responded. If you focussed enough you could hear the music somewhere in the palace “ through they will take any possibility to throw a party “

You heard Marcus stepping a little closer but he didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“ I was expecting them to bring you out “

“ I told them I was unwell and not up to it “ it had been a lie. But you didn’t want to go down there and force a smile onto your face. Sit still and pretty, when your mind was elsewhere. And had been for weeks “ I sense unrest in the near future “ you said quietly. Eyes still fixed on the celebrations “ it makes me uneasy “

“ you say that as if there is not always a lingering unrest in the empire. Men will always want to be gods. Emperors will always want more. More. More my darling “ Marcus said. His voice low and collected. It made you turn your head a little to the side to glance his way.

“ maybe so. But it is different this time Marcus “ you spoke, voice a little firmer as if to make him listen. Understand your lingering fears for what was beginning to boil under the surface of Romes imperial strength.

He stood there in a state of silence for a moment, a hand twisting one of the rings on his fingers as he seemed to take in what you said. Then, he let out another short exhale before speaking once more.

“ I am not sure of what’s about to transpire.” He admitted a little bluntly “ But I’m starting to sense it too. Like a storm, just waiting to happen. The people are starving. They sleep with empty bellies whilst emperors gorge themselves.”

He looked over at you, a concerned look apparent in his expression. He stepped in closer once again. He was within touching distance now. And he spoke again, his voice becoming more hushed like there was someone else there with you. Always scared someone may be listening in. The walls would always have ears “ It worries me. Greatly ”

“ me too “ you admitted quietly. If it came down to it and the people revolted. Or the senate conspired… you would be defenceless. Not only were you a woman. But the sister of the emperors. The emperors that more and more people in Rome were starting to despise. Would you be used as an example? Sent to the colosseum? Beheaded and your head staked outside the palace doors? There was a never ending list of how it would end for you. And none of the outcomes were particularly pretty.

Rome enjoyed punishing those it felt deserved it. Whether they truly did or not.

“ but it does no good to dwell on such thoughts “ you said after another few moments of silence. Fidgeting slightly with the fine material of your stola.

Marcus was behind you now. If you thought hard enough you could swear you could feel his body heat through the gold of his ceremonial armour.

“ so you do not think of the possibilities?”

“ no “ you said maybe a little too fast. It made a soft chuckle escape his lips and his hands landed on your shoulders. His touch was like magic. Like it has shattered the tense feeling not only in the air around you but in your limbs.

“ I know you too well my lady “ that made you smile. Just a little. A small twitch in your lips

“ that you do “ you smiled softly, turning your head to brush your cheek softly to his fingers. He squeezed your shoulders softly, a silent request for you to turn around. And you did, tilting your head slightly to the side as you looked up at him. Your hand coming up to scratch softly at his beard.

“ and you must know if things should collapse in the city… if I should- “ he sighed and cut himself off for a moment. You got the idea he was planning something. Something he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell you. But you trusted him implicitly. And you knew that if he wasn’t telling you it was for good reason. That when the time came he would tell you what you needed to know “ just know my lady, my loyalty does not lie with your brothers “ he said after a few beats of silence “ my loyalty, as it always has, lies with you “

You would’ve known that without him having to say it. But it was always nice to hear. Especially in a time where you felt so utterly and completely helpless. Alone.

But it also made you realise how much your time may be precious. Your time with Marcus specifically. If he was planning something, something big. It would be risky. Worse than any barbarian filled, untamed part of the empire. If he were to try conspire-

“ I do not wish to discuss it anymore “ you said and ran your fingertips over the cool gold of the laurels on his head “ war and death. What is morally right and wrong… it makes my head ache so deeply “

Marcus was a good distraction. He always was. He kept you sane.

“ and such a pretty head. What a crime for it to come to any pain “ his fingers skimmed some of your hair behind your ear, that gorgeous smile of his on his face that only you really got to see. It made you so weak in the knees. The way his eyes crinkled, those beautiful little lines that formed in the corners. You laughed softly at his words, always so appreciative. Complimentary.

You didn’t know what was going on with the tensions building in rome. You didn’t know how much longer Geta and Caracalla could keep their tentative grasp on things. But one thing you did know. Was that Marcus Acacius was devoted to you entirely.

And you to him.

“ I did miss you greatly “ you whispered after a few moments, realising you hadn’t mentioned it “ each time you are away… I… I am sure I spend the majority of my day on my knees praying to the gods “

Marcus’ large hands moved then to gently cup your face, his calloused palms rough against your perfectly smooth skin in a way that shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did.

“ you know I will always come back to you my lady. Always “ he murmured, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks “ never, and I mean never think I would leave you willingly. The gods themselves would have to rip me from your side, and even then I wouldn't stop fighting to come back to you."

You smiled softly and let your eyes close for a moment, your hands sliding up his arms to gently wrap your fingers around his wrists. Like he may vanish any second

“ oh how I missed you “ you whispered.

Marcus looked down at you with a mix of fondness and sorrow in his eyes. His sweet, lonely, girl.

As his head dipped down you instantly tipped your head up to meet him, his angular nose brushing against yours for a moment like he was waiting for permission to kiss you. He didn’t need it. But he always wanted it

“ kiss me my darling “ you whispered, lips so close to his they brushed as you spoke. And in a beat he granted your request. His lips capturing yours. It was like every drop of tension immediately vanished from your body, stepping closer to him so that your chest pressed to the solid force that was his.

He always kissed you like you were delicate. And he’d confessed such thoughts too. Like he was too brutish and strong. That he didn’t have a place kissing someone as gentle as you.

But it never took much convincing to urge him on.

You let yourself melt into it, let him hold your face so tenderly as he kissed away your fears and your stress. Even if just for tonight.

You had missed him. Missed this. The familiar tickly, scratchy feel of his moustache and beard against your soft skin. The way his large hands that were so stained in blood, used to such violence and anger, being soft. Gentle. Tender as they slipped into your hair. Twisting the strands around his fingers to anchor himself to you.

“ take me to bed “ you whispered against his lips when you both had no choice but to pull back slightly, breaths mingling in short soft pants “ give me the tender affections i so deeply crave “

“ you know I could never deny you my lady “ he murmured with a smile that made a small, soft laugh bubble past your lips. It was true. He never would. You were the only woman, only person period, who could make this man weak in the knees. He’d drop to the floor and kiss your feet in utter submission if you asked it of him.

He scooped you up into his arms with a smile, carrying you across the room to gently deposit you on your bed. You looked up at him with a coy smile as you lay amongst the plush linens.

From your spot you watched as he made swift work of removing the outer layers of his ceremonial armour. Watching a man who was conditioned to need to be protected at all times, need to be strong and prepared, remove the precious clothes… it always felt like a privilege.

You giggled softly when he climbed onto the bed with you, moving over your body in just his tunic now, propping himself above you on his elbows.

“ my beautiful one, like a goddess laying in wait for me here “ he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers to your cheek “ as tempting as Venus herself “

“ I am no goddess my darling “ you whispered, leaning slightly into his touch as your eyes locked onto his.

He kissed you again. Like you were a source of air. And his large hands wandered, the fine fabric of your stola being pushed up your body, then over your head. His hands and lips everywhere. Mapping out every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it committed to memory.

“ always so soft “ he murmured as his lips descended between the valley of your breasts, your back arching up as if to chase the feeling even more.

“ let me feel your skin on mine “ you whispered. Hands weakly tugging on his tunic. He didn’t need to be told twice. And it soon had joined your stola on the floor, a blissful sigh leaving your lips as he pressed his body to yours. It felt like being reawakened. Like the shackles keeping your mind so locked in a sense of fear and unrest… shattered. The feel of his war ravaged body against yours. So soft and pristine. Never having done a days hardship in your life. It felt… right. So unbearably right.

“ my little dove. So perfect and all mine “ he whispered as he kissed at your neck, his hand sliding down your body. Following the curves and the lines, the soft feminine dip of your waist and curve of your hip. Tracing a gentle path down until it settled between your thighs, fingers brushing through the soft thatch of curls and then along your slit.

“ your body is already preparing itself for me “ he murmured next to your ear, his thick fingers gliding through the slippery slickness between your thighs. It was a little embarrassing. All you’d done was kiss, feel his hands running over your body. And yet you were soaked.

“ you see how much I have missed you?” You whispered, your eyes locked onto his as he lifted his face from your neck.

“ I missed you too my darling “ he whispered, and you whined softly as one of his fingers gently pushed into your welcoming warmth “ every night I lay sleeping on that ship I dreamt of being inside you once again “ his words made your cheeks flush, the thought of him on his way to a brutal battle. But thinking of you. Wanting to be home with you.

His fingers that were usually covered in blood or dust or sweat. Now dripping with the essence of you. The metallic scent of ichor nowhere to be found, just the heady scent of your arousal clinging to his fingers instead.

“ Marcus “ you whimpered softly as his fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, the soft wet sounds mingling with your breathy pants. So weak from something as simple as his hand.

“ shh I know little dove “ he murmured and kissed your forehead. Your cheek “ your body always welcomes me so warmly. So readily. How I dreamed of being in this moment again with you “ his words were like honey, your body melting into the bed with their combination of his touch. He pleasured you as naturally as he held his sword. A man able to kill and give pleasure as if they were one and the same. A rigid dichotomy you didn’t wish to think too much about in that moment.

“ I dreamed of you too “ you whimpered “ every night I wished you were laying beside me “ he smiled and curled his fingers up, making a gasp escape your lips and your hips buck.

“ such filthy thoughts for a princess “

When he deemed you prepared enough, he withdrew his fingers. Sucking your essence from them in a way that never failed to make your cheeks burn.

“ the filthy one here is you my love “ you whispered, making him chuckle as he settled between your legs, using his knee to nudge your thighs apart, you let out a steady exhale. You could feel the heavy weight of his hard length against your leg and it made you chew on your bottom lip.

“ are you ready for me little dove?” He whispered, gently brushing some hair back from your face. He always gazed upon you like you were the most beautiful creature.

“ yes. Yes I am ready “ you replied and turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand that had settled against your cheek “ please Marcus. I have waited so long. So patiently. Do not make me wait a moment longer “

His eyes lingered a little longer. Just to be sure. Always wanting to be sure. Before wrapping his hand around his throbbing length and notching it at your weeping entrance.

You whined and arched your back when he pushed forward. Your body had missed him, missed the stretch. The weight. The fullness. And it welcomed him home with a practiced familiarity. Like the space inside of you was carved out specifically for him and him alone.

You watched his face intently, a hand on his cheek to take in every single emotion. The way his brow furrowed as soon as he felt your body envelope him, slowly sliding into you and stretching your walls so perfectly around him. A deep moan falling past his lips.

“ you feel so good. Always so good my flower " He whispered, his tone deep and husky. He knew you took no other lovers. Unlike your brothers that seemed to be making their way through every single concubine in Rome. Your body was his. For him. His eyes his hands. And so it had been a while since you’d last taken him. Since before he’d left for Numidia. And he knew this. So he was even more gentle than usual "Just a bit more. You can take all of me, I know you can." He gently encouraged you, his hand moving to gently push at your thigh. Opening you up just that little bit more to him, his eyes drifting down briefly to watch the way your body eagerly accepted him in.

“ I’m okay “ you whispered, a shaky exhale leaving your lips “ I can take it “ you agreed, urging him to pepper your face in soft gentle kisses. He never wanted your discomfort.

“ that’s my sweet girl “ he murmured and kept pushing on until his pelvis was flush to yours, the soft curls at his base tickling your skin in the most delicious way “ there we go. That’s it”

He remained still for a few moments, your eyes locked on his as you took deep and slow breaths. Adjusting. Your body reacquainting itself with his.

“ ready my flower?” He whispered and kissed your cheek. You simply gave him a nod, your hand sliding over his strong bicep and squeezing softly.

He remained still a moment longer, then gently began to move within you. Every thrust was slow and deep, almost teasing in nature. Slow, long, drags. Pulling out almost completely before sliding back in at an agonisingly slow speed "Good, little dove... That's my girl..." he whispered, his voice still reassuring and gentle. One large hand shifting to gently knead at your chest, trying to relax you as much as humanly possible " you take me so well “

Soft, sweet moans escaped your lips as he settled into a steady but oh so deep pace. Your hips already beginning to ache at having to stretch so wide to accommodate his broad body, but it was a welcomed ache. It made you feel alive in a way you only felt with him.

“ oh Marcus “ you gasped your hand slipping to grasp the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls there that were already damp with with a sheen of sweat that was glowing on his skin.

"Oh gods..." He groaned, closing his eyes at the blissful sensations you offered him . The tight heat, the sound of your breathy little moans. He knew and you knew that they didn't always have time for slow, passionate lovemaking, but he was enjoying every single moment of it. He didn't want it to end. The general wanted it to last forever. As did you.

But there was also an underlying desperation lingering between the two of you. Of how much you had missed each other. How desperately you needed each other.

And his hand moved away from your chest to grasp your free hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and pinning it down against your bed sheets.

“ Marcus “ you whimpered in some pathetic kind of way. A plea. For more. More. Always more. More of him. More of the two of you. Just. More.

“ I know my darling. I know. I’ve got you sweet one “ he whispered and readjusted his position, thrusting into you with a little more urgency. Harder. Deeper.

He began groaning louder, letting himself go in a way he had once confessed he never had with previous lovers. Always wanting it done quick. Emotionless. But not with you, never like that with you. He let his walls down. It was more than just a means to an end with you. It was special. Passionate. It was love.

His hips continued to push hard against yours, your body jostling with each deep thrust he granted you "There you go, my love. Look at you taking all of me." He praised, holding onto your hand tightly like he was scared you’d vanish "You don't know how divine you look right now..." he murmured into her ear, dropping his head to pepper your neck with kisses. Careful not to mark you, gods forbid your brothers should pay attention long enough to see “ the most ethereal creature “

“ I missed you so “ you whimpered, your arms tight around his neck to hold him close “ I missed you “

“ and I you my love… you feel so perfect… so tight. So wet. Perfect for me my flower “ he murmured against your ear, his teeth playfully nipping at your soft skin " I missed you my dove..." he breathed your familiar pet name like a prayer as he made love to you, every movement of his hips bringing you both closer to ecstasy. And ecstasy you knew would be more earth shattering than ever after so long without his touch.

He whispered softly in your ear , his lips grazing your skin. Praising you. Loving you. Over and over "I've missed this, my love. I've missed being inside you, feeling your body against mine. I promise to never to leave you again" you knew it was a empty promise. That he would leave again. That the emperors would call him away.

But you didn’t call him out on the fact. Too lost in him. The feelings he gave you.

“ I love you my darling “ you whimpered as the familiar tension started to grow deep in your body, with every thrust hitting the most incredible spot inside you. It made tears spring in your eyes. But not out of sadness or pain. Out of utter joy and happiness at having him back in your arms even for a short period.

“ and I… you little dove “ he panted softly, his head lifting as his eyes locked on yours. He knew your body well. Knew the signs of your impending climax and he kissed your lips before speaking again “ you’re close sweet one “

You nodded and grasped at his face to keep his eyes locked with yours “ finish with me?” You pleaded “ please “ he nodded and kissed you again, picking up his pace ever so slightly, one hand pushing your thigh up as if to let him get impossibly deeper.

And a few more deep strokes had you stumbling head first over the edge. Your orgasm so blinding you were certain it made your vision blur. Every nerve in your body sparking like hot coals. And the way your walls spasmed and clenched down around Marcus was clearly his undoing too. Delivering one final, deep thrust before he groaned loudly, spilling his seed into you in a way that you would never tire of. No matter how risky the situation was.

Your body trembled as your climax finally dissipated. Going weak and boneless as you sunk into the linens below you, panting softly as you still clung to Marcus. Who was fighting the urge to just drop down against you too.

But he carefully rolled off you, pulling you against his side immediately. A soft kiss to your forehead and a large hand stroking down your spine. You were certain this was what pure bliss felt like. Maybe you’d died and fallen into the elysian fields. Peace and bliss and love.

“ I love you “ he whispered and kissed your head again as you lay composing yourself against his chest “ and I meant what I said little dove…. My loyalties lie with you. And if- “

“ shh “ you said softly and lifted your head, placing a finger to his lips “ not now. Let us just enjoy this moment together “ you didn’t know how many of these moments you would get now. They had always been special and each moment was to be cherished. But even more so now.

You didn’t know what the future held for Rome. Or for you. But you knew Marcus would be at your side. And that was enough for now.

[talaok]

Win Again

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x sex worker f!reader

Summary: Marcus has won yet another match, so to reward him, his master has granted him another hour with you.

warning: smut| unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), a whole lot of manhandling, he like uses your body idk how to explain it, multiple orgasms, and once again unnecessary feelings cause im not able to write something where they just fuck for some reason

a/n: i know im two days late but PLEASE read this still. (also) basic things for this guy that i've decided are canon: 1)he has a monster cock, like actually scarily big, 2) he's real fucking strong (hulk typa shit), 3) he's not a big talker (but he is a grunter). I need this man to fuck me more than i need my next breath (real), also i did so much research for this fic and you cant even fucking tell

It wasn't often that you didn't dread going to the barracks.

These were strong, ferocious, and dangerous men, and you were but a meek lamb in comparison.

But today was different, today you were seeing him, him who fit the previous description to a tee, and yet was so different from any man you had ever offered your services to.

And perhaps it was because it never felt like you were ever offering anything, ever since that first night, you had never given anything you hadn't wanted to.

The guards stopped as you arrived at his room and you felt a wave of excitement crawl up your spine the moment they opened the door, waiting for you to enter.

The armored men stepped aside to let you pass, the cobblestones on the ground sounding against your sandals as you made your way inside, looking back at the door just in time to see it being shut close.

It was his breathing you heard first, his heavy breathing coming from where you knew his bed sat on the room's left, and seconds after, the creaks of the wood as he stood up, his feet stalking your way.

You turned to him then, a smile almost making it to your lips as you saw him alive before you once again, granting yourself a second to relish in the fact he still breathed, he was still here.

"You've won again" you spoke softly, your hands slowly finding the string holding your dress together.

He didn't respond. The window behind him caused the moon's soft glow to fall on the stone floor, but not on his beautiful face, that, you had to watch closely to inspect.

A newer cut right above his left eyebrow had appeared, and his right arm was bandaged almost completely, but otherwise, he looked fine.

His eyes remained on yours until you'd undone the dress, until it fell at your feet- then, a low groan rumbled from his chest as he took you in, and took his turn inspecting every inch of your bare figure.

"How do you want m-"

You didn't have time to finish your sentence that he'd picked you up, effortlessly pulling your body up until your legs slung over his shoulders and his face was buried in your cunt.

He hadn't even given you a second to realize what was happening that his tongue was already lapping between your folds, desperately drinking everything your body gave him.

"Oh my g-" you threw your head back, your skull finding the wall behind you being the only reason you realized he'd moved, and you were now caged between him and stone as you forgot how to speak.

The moans you had faked so many times for so many clients were nothing like the ones your mouth was spilling now, these were higher, coarser, feral, and the way you were gripping his hair... there was no way that didn't hurt.

"Y-You only" a whine interrupted your words when you felt his tongue plunge into your hole, when he started fucking you with it just like he would with his cock "You only h-have me for an hour" you breathed, your thighs squeezing tighter around him contradicting the words you were about to speak "d-don't you want me to p-please you?"

His grip on your ass only tightened and his mouth halfheartedly parted from your core to answer you.

"You are"

And just like that, he'd gone back to work. The moment his mouth closed around your clit you knew you were done for, you knew there was no point in fighting what was inevitably going to come, and so you shut your eyes, as he brought you to heaven.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nouse, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

"F-fuck- general I-" The fist you had wrapped around his hair tightened as every muscle in your belly did the same "Oh!"

Somehow, through all the chaos, while you were coming all over his face, while your moans reached levels never reached before, the only thing you could feel or hear, besides pure ecstasy of course, were his groans, his groans as he drank up every drop of your juices, as if your orgasm was bringing his as much pleasure as it was to you.

You barely had time to open your eyes that his strong, big hands and even stronger, bigger arms had pulled you down until your legs hugged his waist instead.

You really did weigh nothing for him, and if that wasn't enough to prove it, the next minutes definitely would.

Your heavy breathing was fanning over his mouth as he freed his cock from his pants, but while you were expecting him to kiss you, having been blatantly staring at your mouth since he had any way of seeing it, every thought in your brain turned to dust when with one hard fucking thrust, he drove his cock into you- or the first few inches at least.

You couldn't talk, you could do nothing but throw your head back as your eyes rolled to the back of it, and let him take whatever he wanted to take.

"I'm not a general anymore," he said with another thrust, stretching you out even further, even deeper.

You wanted to laugh at his words. Now? Now he was feeling the need to correct you? When you could barely breathe, let alone think?

But he didn't look interested in hearing a response from you, not when he grabbed your waist, and definitely not when he started moving you up and down on his shaft with just the sheer force of his muscles.

The moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Oh my god" you whimpered, feeling tears prick your eyes as your toes curled at the feeling.

You could feel him everywhere, everywhere.

But he didn't pause, he wasn't one to take his time, and perhaps that was because he didn't have much; he resumed his movements again, retracting his hips while he pulled you up his cock, and slamming into you while pushing you down on it, leaving you breathless, a simple doll at his mercy.

His groans and growls were deep and filled with lust, just like the way he bent down to take your left tit into his mouth, just like the way he was fucking you, deep and hard, and God- God it was happening again.

"s-shit" you squeaked, your walls squeezing around him as you bit your lip, so fucked out you could barely remember your name or anything at all that wasn't how good he was making you feel.

"O-Oh my fuck-"

The arms you had intertwined behind his neck tightened with every spasm of your hole, with every flutter of your belly, until you'd come once more.

You opened your eyes, letting them trail downwards, to where his lips parted to suck in ragged breaths, begging him for a kiss.

"again" he said instead, and your eyes widened as you felt him starting to move anew

"I-I can't"

He looked at you now, really looked at you, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, and then- then he kissed you. Marcus Acacius kissed you the same way he'd been fucking you for the last hour: like an animal.

It was a mess of teeth and tongues and yet it felt like the best thing on earth, better than wine, better than life, even better than the sex- it was perfect.

"again" he ordered once more, and what could you do, if not comply?

So he started again, he started fucking you again, even more ferociously than the previous time, even if you didn't think it possible.

The way his skin slapped with yours was drowned by both your desperate sounds, your legs started to tremble, beginning to fall from his hips as he moved you up and down his cock like it were nothing, and you- you didn't even know where you were anymore.

"please" you begged, a single tear of pleasure, of overstimulation falling to your cheek as he kissed you again, muting all your cries as he drove himself into you like a madman, like he was possessed.

"Time's up"

Two knocks sounded from the other side of the wall together with the warning, and you thanked Marcus for having rendered you such a mess because otherwise, that would have reminded you of how little time you two ever had, and how miserable everything really was.

His movements sped up at the notice, his dick plunging into you over and over and over until finally, it was happening again.

"give it to me" he said, and you did exactly as he asked- you gave it all to him, screaming and crying you let him have all you had to offer, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

He came loudly just after you, groaning deeply as he filled you up to the very brim.

Out of all the words you could have said to him then, all the things you wanted to tell him at that moment, you chose none, because none would have said anything he didn't already know from the look in your eyes, from the same exact spark in your irises that ignited his own.

So he helped you to the ground until you stood on shaky legs, walked to where your dress lay on the floor, and dressed yourself again, his eyes never leaving you.

The door opened just as you were done, and you turned to him one last time again, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Win again for me, general"

He looked at you too for one last time again, as he thought about how you didn't know, you didn't know how big of a role you played in his victories, how many times he could only think of the taste of you, smell of you, feel and voice of you as he took his opponent's life, as he fought for another hour with you, another second.

"I will" he promised

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Dual

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Marcus and his soldier return from battle. You take care of them before they take care of you. Warnings: ALL PORN NO PLOT. SMUT, MMF threesome, soft dom marcus, subby lucius, double penetration, 69 (duuuudes), fingering, anal fingering, unprotected p in v, anal sex, creampie, anal creampie, pussy and ass eating, mutual dick sucking, lots of praise kink, oil, bathing, a tub that can fit three people, ignore how dirty the water would be, pretend it’s magical water that heals so they can fuck, when you go to the dick store and get the BOGO deal Words: 4,400.

A/N: Well. I've gone and written another threesome fic. Read their prior adventure here. This is the first time I’ve stepped into dude on dude stuff sooo I hope I did it justice. I told myself to kinda take a step back from posting so much but your girl just can’t help writing filth while sitting on her patio with her headphones in. Life in America a month before an election is stressful AF so I escape with dicks. Thank you to @ohheypedrito for her 20 texts after she read it and @magpiepills for her encouragement. Please know this is just pure filth.

municipium: town | domus: home | subligaculum: underwear 

Trēs Masterlist Masterlist

Word spread through the small municipum, General Acacius was victorious in battle. You wonder if they will return to your domus— Marcus and his blue-eyed soldier. You dream about them, remembering the heat of their bodies pressed against you, the strength of their arms wrapped around you as you drifted off to sleep between them. But, by the morning they were gone. The only sign of them being there was your dress laying on the floor and the chair Marcus had sat in remained in the same spot he had left it.

—-

“Angel,” a gruff name calls out for you as heavy footsteps enter your domus.

Marcus.

You turn the corner and spot him, battle weary and tired looking. His face is streaked with crimson and soot. Lucius stands behind, his blue eyes are set deep in exhaustion.

Your heart races when you see them. Relief and desire bursting through your body. You rush over to Marcus, your hands reaching up to touch his dirty face.

“You’re back,” you whisper, feeling the rough texture of dirt and dried blood against his skin.

He grunts, his large hands reaching for your waist, pulling you against the metal of his appliques that now press into your skin.

He breathes in your scent while you smell the remnants of metallic blood and smoke on him.

You look to Lucius, extending your hand to him.

“Come,” you beckon. He moves slowly, limping, his muscular body taut with tension. You pull him close, sandwiching yourself between the two men.

“You both need tending. Let me take care of you.”

—-

The water from the fire warms the pool of water in the tub. The water ripples as you pour a small container of olive oil smelling of juniper into the bath. Sprigs of lavender float delicately on the surface.

Lucius dutifully helps Marcus undress. The strong general grimacing as he stretches his arms out to remove his armor. You watch them, working in silent cooperation with each other. Lucius’s hands move deftly, undoing each strap and buckle, doing everything he can to help his general.

As Marcus unwraps his subligaculum, all of his golden skin is revealed to you. He’s now peppered with fresh cuts and bruises, signs of the brutal battle he has just survived.

He steps into the bath, groaning as he settles into the warm water. He sinks down, the water lapping at his broad chest, his brown eyes close as he allows himself to relax. You kneel beside the tub, grabbing a cloth and dipping it into the water.

“Let me,” you murmur, gently wiping the grime and signs of battle from his handsome face, the tension leaves it as you wash him.

Lucius stands to the side, still fully clothed, awaiting instruction from his general. You glance up at him. “You too,” you say. “There’s room for both of you.”

He hesitates. His blue eyes look to his general for permission.

Marcus opens his eyes and nods. “Go ahead soldier.”

Lucius sheds his armor and garments, the flickering light of the lamp highlights every well-defined muscle of his toned body. He stands naked and glorious, his cock stands throbbing in between his powerful thighs, obviously turned on by the sight in front of him.

His moan is low and quiet when he sits down, across the bath from Marcus. His body, like Marcus’s is marred by fresh cuts and bruises.

You continue to wash Marcus, your hands running across the wide breadth of his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. He lets out a low rumble, Lucius adjusts in the tub, his bright blue eyes turning darker as he watches you move your hands down to wash Marcus’s broad chest.

The water clings to his skin, droplets collecting on the light smattering of hair across his chest. Lucius’s eyes watch your every movement, his nostrils flaring as his breath quickens when you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his general’s shoulder, now clean and fragrant from the bath oil.

“Angel,” Marcus sighs. His eyes flutter open as he turns his head and captures your lips between his.

You part your lips, accepting his tongue into your mouth. A moan breathes out against his mouth when his calloused hand cups your cheek, a stream of water trails down your neck. He growls low in his throat when you nip his plush bottom lip, before soothing it with your tongue. You can feel yourself growing wet, aching for more of his touch, knowing that Lucius is just across the bath from you watching.

The cloth trails farther down, gliding across his torso and the plush of his stomach before dipping down to caress his thick thighs. Marcus hisses when you brush the soft fabric across his half-hard cock.

Lucius shifts again, a quiet whimper escapes his lips. You and Marcus turn your attention to him, your eyes locking with his. His chest heaves up and down against the surface of the water.

“Come here,” you beckon. “Let me take care of you too.”

Lucius glances at Marcus, silently asking permission again. His general nods. The water sloshes against his body as Lucius moves towards you.

You shift, the cloth moving down Marcus’s legs and onto Lucius's thighs as he kneels between Marcus's open legs.

He shivers as you move the cloth up his muscular body to his well-defined shoulders bathing him with the same care and attention you gave Marcus.

“That’s it Angel. Don’t neglect my brave soldier.” Marcus reaches over and begins untying the knot of your dress, his wet hand rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your back. “He fought valiantly, protected me in battle, he deserves this, don’t you soldier?”

“Y-yes Master,” Lucius gasps as your dress falls from your chest and you lean forward. The washcloth runs across his handsome, chiseled chest, his blue eyes looking into your eyes the whole time.

“Now, Angel, join us,” Marcus instructs, grabbing your hand to pull you forward. Your dress falls off your body as you crawl into the water and lay your back against Marcus’s chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. Lucius’s hands fist at his side as he still kneels, now between both yours and Marcus’s legs.

Marcus's hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch with a soft moan. You feel his cock hardening against your lower back.

"Touch her, soldier," Marcus commands gruffly.

Lucius’s hand tremble slightly as he reaches towards you, his palms gliding up your thighs. You spread your legs wider, inviting his touch.

Marcus’s lips brush against your ear. “That’s it, Angel. Show him how much you want him.”

You moan. The solid heat of the general behind you and his soldier’s hesitant hands exploring your curves lights a fire inside you. You recall what it felt like to be held in Marcus’s hands as Lucius’s tongue explored your cunt.

Lucius leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips before licking his way down to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

“Good soldier,” Marcus praises, one hand leaving your breast to tangle in Lucius’s dark hair and guiding him lower.

Lucius take your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand cups your other breast. Marcus’s other hand trails down your stomach to between your thighs, dipping his hand in between your folds.

“So wet for us already, aren’t you Angel?” he growls, his thick finger circling your clit. His hand stays wrapped in Lucius’s hair yanking his head over to pay attention to your other breast.

Your hands reach up, wrapping one around the base of Lucius’s hard cock, the other forming around his smooth balls. He whimpers against your nipple, biting and sucking harder as you move across his length.

“She feels good, doesn’t she soldier?” Marcus asks against your neck before gently nibbling your skin.

Lucius grunts in agreement, too busy licking and sucking your nipple to say a word. Marcus pulls against his hair, lifting his head up. “Answer me soldier.”

A wave of want crashes through your body at his firmness, a moan escapes your mouth.

Lucius blinks up, staring at Marcus. “Yes Master, y-yes. She feels amazing.”

Marcus's powerful chuckle rumbles against your back. "Good. Now show her how grateful you are.”

Lucius nods eagerly as his hands roam down your body and dip below the water, his fingers replacing Marcus's at your core. He circles your clit slowly before sliding two fingers inside you.

"Oh," you moan, arching your back against Marcus's broad chest. His cock throbs against you as Lucius pumps his fingers in and out.

"That's it, soldier. Make her feel good," Marcus growls, his hands pinching and rolling your nipples as his soldier works between your thighs.

The water sloshes around you as Lucius shifts closer, his muscles pressing against yours. His lips find your neck, sucking and nipping as his fingers curl inside you.

"More," you whimper, overwhelmed by the touch of both men.

Marcus's hand slides down to join Lucius's, his thick finger rubbing tight circles around your clit as Lucius continues to pump in and out of you.

You’re surrounded by their heat and strength, your body left writhing and overwhelmed by their touch and attention.

“That's it, Angel," Marcus rumbles in your ear. "You took care of us, now let us let us take care of you."

Lucius latches onto your breast again, sucking hard as his fingers curl and hit that perfect spot inside you. You cry out, your hips bucking against their hands.

"She's close," Marcus says gruffly. "Let’s make her cum, soldier."

Lucius pumps you harder, Marcus rubs your clit firmer, the duality of their attention pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm splashes through you, much like the water does in the tub as you shudder between the two strong men. Your hands grip Lucius’s firm shoulders, slipping under the wetness of his skin.

“Lift her soldier, move her to her bedroom,” Marcus instructs. “I have plans for both of you.”

Lucius gently gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he steps out of the tub.

Marcus rises, water cascades off of his body. The curls of his wet hair clings to his forehead and streams down his face and chest. Water hits the floor, dripping onto the tile as he steps out.

Lucius walks you into your bedroom. The cool night air on your wet skin makes you shiver, you press yourself closer to Lucius’s warm skin.

Marcus’ heavy footsteps follow closely behind, you look over Lucius’ shoulders at him. He gazes forward powerfully, as if he’s headed into battle.

The oil lamp casts an orange glow across your bedroom. Marcus moves to the middle of your room, his large body looms over yours and Lucius’ body.

He looks down at you, cradled in the arms of Lucius. His hand reaches to caress his soldier’s cheek, his thumb tracing over his lips.

“Do you want my soldier, Angel?”

You nod, lost in the darkness of his brown eyes.

“Both of you, on your knees,” he commands.

Lucius carefully lowers you to the floor, before kneeling beside you. Your eyes both gaze up at Marcus, waiting for his next order. Water drops still follow the curves and planes of his body. His cock stands hard and glistening.

"Show me how grateful you are," Marcus says, running both of his hands through yours and Lucius's damp hair. "Both of you."

You lean forward, running your tongue along the underside of Marcus's thick shaft. Lucius mirrors your actions on the other side, his blue eyes flicking up to watch his general's reaction.

Marcus groans, his fingers tightening in your hair as you and Lucius worship his cock with your tongues. You swirl your tongue around the head while Lucius licks and sucks at the base, your mouths working in tandem to please him.

"Good," Marcus rumbles, his hips rocking slightly. "Such eager mouths."

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck. Lucius's lips brush against yours as he moves to lick and nibble at Marcus's heavy balls. The general's breathing grows heavier, his powerful thighs tensing under your hands.

"Enough," he grunts, gently pulling you both back. "On the bed. I want to watch you both.”

You both gasp for air as you scramble to the bed. Lucius’ back hits the softness of the mattress as your body hovers over his. His blue eyes are dark under his thick, furrowed brows as he looks up at you. He reaches up, running his hands along your neck down to your breasts touching you with something akin to reverie.

Marcus walks over to the bed, his body casts a shadow over you as he stands holding a carafe full of oil. “Stay still,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly.

You and Lucius follow his direction, your bodies pressed together, skin still damp from the bath. Marcus tilts the vial and a thin stream of oil cascades down, landing first on Lucius’s broad chest. The oil pools in the dips and valleys of his muscles before trickling down his sides.

Marcus moves the vial, pouring a line of oil down your spine. You shiver at the cool sensation, goosebumps rising on your skin. The oil drips down the curve of your ass, some of it running between your cheeks and mixing with your own wetness.

"Rub it in," Marcus orders, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you both.

You begin to move your hands over Lucius's chest, spreading the oil across his skin.

Lucius's hands glide up your sides, spreading the oil across your back. His calloused palms knead your muscles as you grind against him, your slick bodies sliding together. You lean down to capture his lips in a deep kiss, moaning as his hands cup your ass.

Marcus's low growl sends a shiver through you both. "That's it," he says, his voice husky. "Show me how much you want each other."

You roll your hips, feeling Lucius's hard cock slide against your wet folds. He groans into your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Marcus reaches down, his large hand wrapping around Lucius's hard cock already slick from rubbing against your wet pussy. He pours the oil, letting it drip down the soldier's thick shaft. Marcus's hand glides up and down. Lucius moans at the sensation, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

"Turn around, Angel," Marcus commands as he sits on the edge of the bed. "I want to see you pleasure each other."

You obey, shifting and turning until his mouth is aligned with your aching cunt, your mouth positioned just above his cock, leaking with precum.

You run your tongue along the length of him before taking him into your mouth. He shudders underneath you, his hips jerking up slightly. His hands reach up to grasp your thighs, spreading them wider and pulling your cunt down to his mouth. His nose taps against your sensitive skin as he swipes his tongue against your clit, making you moan around his cock. His tongue devours your wet heat. He sucks your clit between his lips, flicking it with his tongue.

“Beautiful,” Marcus’s deep voice rumbles beside you. He gathers your hair in his hands maneuvering you up and down his soldier’s shaft.

“Stretch her out for me soldier,” Marcus orders. “Fuck her with your fingers.”

Lucius slides two fingers into your heat as he continues lapping at your clit. His fingers pump you, scissoring them to give you the delicious stretch you welcome.

Marcus’s hands tighten in your hair, guiding you faster up Lucius’ hard cock. “That’s it Angel, take him deep,” he growls. Your throat relaxes, taking Lucius all the way down to his base. He whimpers against your cunt, his hips jerking.

“Good girl,” Marcus praises. “Now soldier, add another finger. Stretch her nice and wide for me.”

Lucius obeys, slipping a third finger inside you. The stretch burns deliciously as he pumps them in and out. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, pleasure spreading through your body.

Marcus lets go of your hair, running his hand down your back and around the curve of your ass.

“Lick her little asshole soldier,” Marcus instructs as he massages the puckered bud of it. “Get it wet for me.”

His tongue moves up your cunt to your asshole, licking and laving before he spits across it. Marcus hums an approving noise as he sticks his thumb in his soldier’s mouth and wets it.

Marcus’ thumb, slick with Lucius’s saliva, circles your tight entrance. You whimper and moan around Lucius’s cock as he slowly pushes the pad of his thumb inside. It’s so intense, a new sensation you’ve never felt, but your body yields to the pressure.

“Relax Angel,” Marcus murmurs, his free hand soothingly stroking down your spine. “Let me in.”

You breathe deeply around Lucius’s cock as Marcus works his thumb deeper. The fullness between his thumb and Lucius pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt sends sparks throughout your body, lighting you from within. Lucius’s tongue laps eagerly at your clit as Marcus begins to slide his thumb in and out of your ass. Your thighs begin to tremble, your body quivering as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” Marcus growls approvingly. “Open up for me. You’re doing so well. Isn’t she doing good, soldier?”

“Y-yes,” Lucius grunts against your cunt.

Your orgasm is right there, right at the cliff ready to jump.

“I think she’s ready,” Marcus says, pulling his thumb out. “Up, Angel.”

Your body tightens. You whimper as Lucius’s mouth and fingers leave your aching cunt. Marcus helps you sit up, pulling you against his broad, warm chest. His hard cock pressing insistently against your lower back.

Lucius lays spread out on the bed, his hard cock standing at attention, twitching with need.

Marcus snakes a hand up your chest, spreading his hand against your neck and pulling you closer. "Now Angel, I want you to ride my brave soldier, I believe he’s earned it. And while you take his cock, I’m going to take your sweet ass," he growls in your ear.

A shiver runs through you at his words. You nod eagerly, lust coursing through your whole body. You’ve never had anyone there before, and Marcus’s cock is quite intimidating, but you welcome the promise of feeling so full of these two brave soldiers.

Marcus guides your trembling body to straddle Lucius. He grips his soldier’s thick shaft, positioning it at your entrance before you slowly sink down. You both moan as he fills you completely.

"That's it," Marcus praises. "Take him nice and deep."

You rock your hips against him, adjusting to the stretch of Lucius inside you. He grips your waist, guiding you as you ride him. Marcus tips you to lean forward, your hands brace on Lucius’s strong chest as you feel Marcus position himself behind you.

“Relax my angel,” Marcus says, his large hands kneading the globes of your ass. More oil is poured on your ass. His thick finger circles your asshole, before he pushes it inside, stretching you for him further.

Your body tenses slightly, Lucius reaches up to cup your face, his blue eyes locked on yours. “It’s okay,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “Just breathe.”

Marcus moves a second finger in, scissoring them to open you up more for him. Your hips jerk, grinding down on Lucius as Marcus slowly moves his fingers inside you.

"Good girl," Marcus rumbles. "You're taking it so well."

You pant and whimper out into the cool night air, your body burning hot from feeling so full, and Marcus hasn’t even fucked your ass yet.

Lucius still stares into your eyes, his movements gentle and caring, softly telling you you’re doing so well and you feel so good.

Finally, Marcus withdraws his fingers. You hear the sound of him slicking his cock with more oil and pumping himself. You feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, it feels so much larger than his fingers.

“Breathe, Angel,” he whispers.

You inhale deeply, steeling yourself as Marcus slowly pushes inside. Ohh, the stretch. It feels like so much, bordering on pain. Your head drops, Lucius presses soft kisses to your lip.

“I know. Relax,” he whispers. “Let him in.”

You exhale slowly, deflating your lungs, allowing your body to relax and accept him. Marcus slides in deeper with a long, low groan.

“So tight,” he grunts. “Perfect.”

You moan, the fullness overwhelming you.

Marcus's thick cock stretches you wide as Lucius throbs within your cunt.

Marcus stills, allowing you to adjust even more for him. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady. “That’s it, Angel. You’re taking us so well,” he praises.

Lucius tenderly kisses you, his tongue sliding against yours as Marcus begins to move, slowly and pulling out before gently pushing back in.

Your body feels alight, burning with desire for the two men currently fucking both of your holes.

“Move, soldier,” Marcus commands.

“Yes Master,” Lucius grunts against your lips, rocking his hips up into you as Marcus pulls back. The two men set a steady rhythm, one sliding in as the other pulls out. You gasp and moan, drunk on their cocks as you’re caught between their strong bodies.

“Don’t s-stop,” you whimper and cry, your fingers digging into Lucius’s smooth chest.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and deep groans fills the room, soundtracking the two men’s movements inside you.

Marcus’s hips snap against you harder. “Such a good girl,” he grits. “Taking both our cocks so well.”

Lucius matches his general’s movements, thrusting into you harder. The fullness is overwhelming, pleasure radiating across every nerve in your body.

Marcus’s hand snakes around to rub tight circles on your clit, your body begins to tremble. “Cum for us Angel. Let us feel you. Make your pussy cum all over my soldier’s cock.”

Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your body clenching around both men as you cry out in ecstasy.

"That's it," Marcus growls. "Milk our cocks."

Lucius moans beneath you, his hips jerking erratically as your cunt pulses around him. "M-master, I'm close," he whimpers.

"Hold on, soldier," Marcus orders. "Not until I say."

Marcus's thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he nears his release. His deep grunts fill the room as he drives into you harder.

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm close. Soldier, cum with me."

Lucius whimpers beneath you, his hips snapping up frantically. "Yes, Master," he pants.

With only a few more powerful thrusts, Marcus buries himself deep inside you with a loud roar. You feel the hot splash of his release filling you as he pulses within your tight channel.

Lucius cries out, his cock throbbing as he spills inside your cunt. The dual sensations of both men cumming inside you triggers another orgasm, your body clenching around them as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Marcus holds you steady as aftershocks course through all three of you. Slowly, he eases out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss. He gathers you into his arms, lifting you off Lucius's softening cock and cradling you against his broad chest.

“Shh, Angel,” he murmurs, holding your shaking and overwhelmed shell of a body. Your back molding to his front. “You did so good.” He looks over at his soldier, catching his breath, still laid out on the bed. “You did too, Soldier.” He spreads your legs wide. “Now, clean her up.”

Lucius groans, sitting up and crawling across the bed to settle between your legs.

Lucius's eyes flicker up to meet yours as he lowers his mouth to your sensitive flesh. You whimper and squirm in Marcus's strong arms as Lucius's tongue laps gently at your swollen folds, cleaning away the mixture of your combined releases.

"That's it, soldier," Marcus rumbles approvingly. "Taste how good she is."

His mouth moves lower, licking against your asshole with gentle care.

Marcus's large hands caress your body as Lucius works between your thighs. He kneads your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers as his lips brush against your ear.

"You were perfect, Angel," he murmurs. "Taking both of us so well. Such a good girl for your soldiers."

Your hips rock slightly, seeking more of Lucius's tongue.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you?” Marcus chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back.

He pinches your nipples, making you gasp. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you.”

Lucius’ tongue dives deeper inside you, to lap up every last drop of cum. His large nose bumps against your sensitive clit, sending little sparks of pleasure through your body.

“That’s it soldier. Make her cum again on your tongue.” Marcus encourages before he kisses and licks against your neck. He holds you firmly against him, keeping your legs open wide for Lucius.

Lucius sucks your clit between his lips, flicking it rapidly with his tongue. The dual sensations of his mouth on your core and Marcus's hands on your breasts push you over the edge once more. You cry out, your body arching and shuddering as another orgasm washes over you.

Marcus holds you in his strong arms through it, praising you softly, in between open mouth kisses all over your neck and shoulders.

Lucius gently licks up your release before pulling away from your overworked core. His face glistening with your release.

Marcus gently lowers you onto the bed, your body trembling from the intensity of the night. He lays down beside you, pulling you close against his broad chest. Lucius crawls up to your other side, hesitating for a moment before Marcus nods his approval. The young soldier curls up against your back, sandwiching you between their warm, strong bodies.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing of the three of you as you all come down from your orgasms.

“You did so good for us Angel,” Marcus proudly tells you as his fingers lazily trail up and down your arm. “Didn’t she, soldier?”

“Yes Master,” Lucien responds, nuzzling against the nape of your neck. “So good.” 

[pedroscurls]

letters across time (one-shot)

summary: after having moved to rome for a fresh new start, you begin to receive letters from an unlikely stranger that you begin to develop feelings for... only to come to the heartbreaking realization that the two of you may never meet.

pairing: marcus acacius x fem!reader content warnings: angst (with a happy ending), strangers-to-lovers trope (?), mutual pining, mentions of war and death, sorry - i've got a lack of historical ancient roman knowledge but trying my best lol, deviation from the film (lucilla dies before marcus - sorry, wanted marcus to be single / widowed which only fuels his hatred for the emperors), reader has a nickname (rose), excuse my poor attempt at speaking italian, no use of y/n. word count: 9.4k a/n: so i'm really stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, but i've been obsessed with marcus a since gladiator 2 came out (and honestly who else hasn't lol). also a bit of a tidbit - my first ever tattoo is with the latin saying ad maiora so i had to fit it into this story hehe. if the characterization seems off or if the historical aspect of ancient rome / dialogue is inaccurate, please bear with me - it's my first ever marcus a fic and first time writing in that time period... anyway, huge thank you to @jolapeno for hosting this "dear-uary" challenge <3. my epistolary is letters and my prompt is here. hope you all enjoyed this!

Finally settled in, you walk out to your small balcony and take a seat. It overlooks the famous Colosseum and despite the sounds of chatter coming from nearby, you have to wonder how this place looked centuries ago. Rome had always been a place you wanted to visit, but never did you think that you’d move here. 

You don’t speak the language (yet), and the apartment you moved into was surprisingly affordable given the location. An elderly couple owns the small building and when you had approached them about a vacant apartment listing, they were more than eager to have you move in. It wasn’t at all luxurious–the apartment building. It was very dated, remnants of ancient Rome decorated throughout the building. It almost felt like you were transported back to that time period, given the decoration that filled not only your apartment but the entire building itself. 

The couple could speak a little English, asking plenty of questions that a usual landlord wouldn’t ask. 

American? Yes, you answered.

Married? No, you replied with a heavy sigh–memories of your last relationship flickering in your mind. 

A beautiful girl like you, not married? No, you repeated–now trying to end the conversation in hopes that you don’t have to go into detail why you uprooted your entire life into one suitcase. 

You had noticed the way the older woman’s smile drops, can see her eyes softening at the sight of you. It’s almost like she knows, like she can understand why you’re here. She’s the first one to say that you got the apartment–the brief meeting lasting only twenty minutes. 

It’s yours, she said. 

You had told them you weren’t sure you could afford it, given how close it was to the Colosseum and knowing that it was one of the hottest tourist spots. There’s a lot of foot traffic that surrounds this area and you’d be lucky to have found an apartment this fast. 

Whatever you can pay, the husband had chimed in. We will accept.

Then, the woman had touched your arm–gentle, light, almost feather-like and you could have sworn the warmth radiated throughout your entire body. This place, this couple–it felt familiar, it felt like home. 

You nodded in agreement and you shook hands with the husband before the woman hugged you gently. 

And now, sitting in your new apartment, this didn’t feel real. You still feel like you’re running, like you’re looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the sun begins to set, the sky soon turns a shade of orange and you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

A flood of relief washes over you.

You’re safe. 

This is your fresh start. 

And you remember what the woman had told you when they had given you the keys to your new apartment: Ad Maiora, cara mia, she whispered, eyes staring into your own. A fleeting gaze of understanding. You asked her what that meant and she smiled, patted your hand and answered, Towards greater things, my dear. 

After finding luck with your apartment, you doubt that your luck would continue. But now, a month later, you have a steady job at a coffee shop that’s within walking distance and the elderly couple–Giovanni and Antonia–have begun teaching you Italian. Most nights, they invite you to their apartment for dinner where they ask you about your day along with a detailed lesson in learning Italian. Some nights, though, they ask you to teach them English–living so close to a famous tourist area, they encounter plenty of Americans and they believe it’d be good for business if they learned how to speak the language. 

Rome starts to feel more like home as the days pass. Giovanni and Antonia have welcomed you with such warmth that they soon find out the reason for you moving here. You told them you left America for a fresh start–having just gotten out of a very toxic relationship and a very meaningless job. You wanted more for yourself and you knew that staying in America was only going to keep you complacent, stagnant. 

Antonia had given you a hug at the end of that night–a hug that you had gotten so used to receiving, a hug that you found so much comfort in. They reminded you so much of your grandparents that had raised you–those were the only good memories that you dreamt of, a time where you could be a young girl again, running around in your grandparents’ home. 

You feel much freer, more at ease, safe now that you feel fully settled in here. And one day after work, you walk up the two flights of stairs to your apartment and unlock your door. There’s an envelope on the hardwood floor–almost like someone had slipped it underneath your door. There’s no writing on it, no name addressed on it, but you pick it up anyway and notice that it isn’t sealed. You set it on your small rounded table and walk to your kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine–this is routine for nights when you don’t have dinner with Antonia and Giovanni. 

You take a quick sip of your red wine and then move to your bedroom, removing your clothes to change into much more comfortable clothing–shorts and an oversized crewneck, your hair now pulled into a messy bun. You’re barefoot when you walk back into the kitchen to retrieve your wine glass. As you pass the rounded dining table, you notice the envelope. Someone must have had to slide it underneath your door on purpose, right? 

You take the envelope and then walk out to your balcony, sitting on one of the seats as you set the glass on the small table. Slowly, you pull the letter out of the envelope and open it, the writing in neat cursive. You shouldn’t be reading it, especially if this was meant for someone else. 

Confused but intrigued, you continue to read. 

Lucilla died today. I was not there to bid her goodbye. I had given her a promise–that this campaign will be my last. All of Numidia–for the glory of Rome… all for nothing. Writing this journal entry surely is treacherous–I could be punished for it, but what is the point of it all? This is not Rome. This is not the Rome I had promised to fight for.  Lucilla–I am sorry, my lady. I will love you for the rest of my days and cannot wait until we meet again. Your blue eyes, your smile… Your laugh and your voice–I will carry it with me, my love. I will speak with the Senate. I will–I will do what is right, what must be done.  For you. For Rome.  Acacius

You’re unsure of what you just read. Lucilla. Numidia. Acacius. Rome. It almost seems like this is a journal entry–the feel of the paper, the cursive writing. Maybe you shouldn’t have read it, but you’re curious. Something inside you tells you to write back–almost like a tug, a pull that you feel in the pit of your stomach. So, you grab a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing–not in cursive, though.

Dear Acacius,  I’m so very sorry for your loss. I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can say to make things better and I’m not even sure if time helps either… Shit happens. It sucks, and I want to say that life goes on, but it doesn’t. At least not for the person who lives.  I lost my grandparents when I was eighteen–it crushed my entire world and set me on a path that I’m still trying to fix. I know this isn’t the same as losing a wife or a partner and I’m not even sure if I’m making any sense. I just–I know what loss feels like and it fucking sucks.  Anyway, I think this might have been sent to me by accident and I’m sorry that I opened it and read it. It wasn’t my intention. So, I’m just gonna send it back to you–somehow–but… I hope things get better for you, Acacius (really cool name, by the way!).  Best wishes,  A stranger

You fold your letter and place it into the envelope with Acacius’s original piece of paper. You then close the envelope, grab your glass of wine and walk back into your apartment, setting the envelope onto your dining table so that it’s visible for you tomorrow morning to ask Antonia about. 

The following morning after getting ready for work, you notice that the envelope is gone. You furrow a brow in confusion, beginning to turn over your entire apartment to find the envelope–contents of your letter along with Acacius’s journal entry inside of it. When you realize that you’re late for work, you decide to call in sick and quickly leave your apartment to descend the stairs to speak with Antonia. 

She’s in the community garden, tending to the roses and when she sees you, a bright grin lines her lips. She stands and pulls you into a hug without hesitation. 

“Cara mia, no work today?” 

You shake your head and ask, “Antonia, there was an envelope in my apartment last night. Do you know who might have slid it under my door?” 

“Envelope?” she shakes her head, confusion written across her features. “Like a letter?” 

“Well, not really?” you answer. “It seemed like a journal entry. They talked about Lucilla, about Numidia–”

“Lucilla? My dear, she was the daughter of Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius.”

“Wait, that was centuries ago.” 

Antonia nods. “And Numidia,” she sighs. “So very tragic.”

“Antonia, who’s Acacius?” 

“General Acacius?”

“G–General?”

“Cara mia, cosa sta succedendo?” asks Antonia. My dear, what’s going on?

You shake your head. “Nothing. Um, I’ll have to skip tonight’s dinner with you and Giovanni. Mi dispiace.” 

“Cara mia–”

You give her a hug and walk back inside your apartment, determined to find out more about Acacius. 

Marcus returns to his chambers, distraught and overcome with grief. His bed–once shared with Lucilla–now remains cold and empty. He can’t bring himself to lie in bed, yearning for his wife who is no longer alive. After Numidia, he was more than ready to return home–returning home meant returning to Lucilla, but when news of her death finally reached him, he no longer found the need to go back to Rome, despite the emperors’ orders. 

But Marcus was a man of honor. He would ask Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla for a period of rest from war, to fully grieve the loss of Lucilla. He can’t even think about attending the emperors’ ceremony that’s dedicated to his success in Numidia–how can he when Lucilla is no longer here? 

He hears a knock on the door and he walks–barefoot–to open it. He sees a chambermaid on the other side–she has a look of sympathy across her features with a hint of fear. 

“G–General,” she mutters. “There is a letter for you.” 

“A letter?” he asks, confused.

She nods and extends her hand. Marcus takes the envelope from her and gives her a single nod, dismissing her silently. She turns on her heel and Marcus shuts the door, walking towards the candle that illuminates a small table. He takes a seat, pours himself a cup of wine before he begins to open it. He holds two pieces of a paper–one he’s familiar with and when he opens it, he realizes it’s the journal entry that he had written–and the other, much more smooth, less texture, more white in color. When he opens it, his eyes widen at the writing–all capitalized, not written in cursive. 

He reads the first line and realizes that this is a letter to him. He reads it with interest, eyes still slightly widened at the choice of words that he’s not used to. 

Shit sucks. 

Cool name.

It’s signed A Stranger and he isn’t sure how his journal entry even got into the hands of someone else. He doesn’t have any information aside from the fact that your writing is unusual and the words you use are out of the ordinary. 

But, he finds comfort in your letter. He’s known loss before–plenty of his men understand what he’s going through–but somehow talking to a stranger who doesn’t truly know who he is provides a sense of relief. He doesn’t have to be General Acacius in his response to you–he can just be Marcus. 

So, he grabs a piece of paper and his quill and begins writing to you. 

Dear Stranger,  Thank you for returning my journal entry. I am not sure how that fell into your hands and it is quite alright that you read it. However, for some reason, I feel some relief knowing that I am not alone. Maybe my journal entry was meant to find you… Do you believe in that? In fate?  Anyway, I am sorry for your loss as well. Loss is… Well, it is a part of life but that does not mean that it is pleasant either. I am sure the path that you are on now will lead you to greater things. There is a saying–if you are familiar–Ad Maiora. It means towards greater things.  Also, what do you mean by ‘cool name’? It is quite interesting that my name is associated with some kind of temperature… unless I am misunderstanding.  In any case, you may call me Marcus. If you are comfortable, may I ask what your name is?  I hope this letter finds you well, stranger. And I hope I get to talk to you again.  Best wishes,  Marcus

He re-reads his letter, furrows a brow and sighs. It sounds desperate–a plea to get you to talk to him again because he feels less alone when he’s writing to you. He isn’t sure how this letter will get to you, but he keeps his journal entry and your letter and places his reply back into the envelope. 

Marcus spends the better part of his night drinking, having ended up falling asleep at his desk and the envelope magically disappearing by the time he awakes the following morning. 

You awake the following morning, having fallen asleep on your couch with your laptop and notebook scattered on the coffee table. You had spent the entire night researching Acacius. Antonia was right–Marcus Acacius was a General for the Roman empire, serving under the rule of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. Empress Lucilla was his wife, but had died while he was on his way back from Numidia. But all of this–it happened centuries ago. 211 AD. And Acacius ended up dying–right in the center of the Colosseum after he was forced to fight in the arena after the emperors found out his plan of treachery. 

There’s no way that the person you had written to the other day was the same man you had researched–he was dead. Surely, you can’t be writing to someone from a different time period and to someone who is no longer alive. Right? 

You sit up from your couch and notice the same envelope magically resting on your coffee table. Quickly, you grab it and pull the letter out. Same paper, same writing. 

It’s from Acacius. 

You read it quickly, a small smile lining your lips and a quiet giggle escaping you. You feel a wave of emotion when you read his reply; it’s obvious this man is clearly still alive but how could it be possible that you’re communicating with someone who lives in an entirely different time period? And how come the envelope is your only string tying you to him? 

After you finish reading his letter, you grab your notebook and pen and begin writing your reply. 

Dear Marcus,  You can call me Rose. It’s my favorite flower and I grew up helping my grandma with her garden, which was filled with roses.  You’re cute, Marcus. Cool name meaning… You have a nice name. I think that translates the same?  Ironically enough, Ad Maiora is something I’m trying to remind myself when I have tough days. A good friend of mine mentioned it to me when I moved here. It’s been something that keeps me going every day… the hope that I’m moving in the right direction.  And fate… I don’t think I believe in it. We all have free will and everything we do in life is a choice we make… like my choice in getting into a relationship with a really bad man. Would you call that fate?  I like talking to you too… and I feel less alone too. Can I ask a question, by the way? What year is it?  Best wishes,  Rose

You take Marcus’s letter and set it aside, folding your reply and placing it back into the envelope. You’re sure that it’s going to disappear during the night and you hope that you can wake up the next day with a response from Marcus. 

Marcus attends his ceremony, dressed in white and gold as he feigns a look of pride, a forced smile when he’s standing in front of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. It makes his blood boil–the fact that these two young men are parading him around like he’s done something so great, so grand. All he can see is the unnecessary bloodshed, the bodies burning in that pit. All he can feel is the emptiness in his soul–Marcus doesn’t want to be here. 

And not once did they give their condolences over the loss of Lucilla. Marcus asks for a respite from this war, but they don’t grant him that luxury. He has a cut along the side of his neck due to Emperor Geta placing a sharp blade along his skin. As soon as the ceremony is over, Marcus retreats to his chamber where the envelope that disappeared that morning magically appears on his desk. 

Still in his white and gold attire, he quickly opens the envelope and reads your letter. He lets out a breath of relief as he sits down and reads your words over and over again. It gives him comfort–something he desperately needs right now. 

There’s something in the way your words put him at ease. He still has to put Lucilla to rest and he isn’t looking forward to it–that the next time he sees his wife will be in a coffin. 

He grabs a piece of paper and begins writing to you. 

Dear Rose,  That is a beautiful name and a beautiful flower. There are gardens filled with them here. Now, when I see a rose, I will think of you.  Cute–I have never been called cute before. That is certainly a first, thank you.  I believe in fate, Rose. I believe that everything happens for a reason… But I am sorry to hear that you had to endure a difficult relationship. It pains me to hear that you were mistreated and I surely hope that you are far from him now.  I believe that we have crossed paths for a reason. Maybe we will never know why, but I am surely glad that we did.  You can ask me any question you like and I will be more than happy to answer. It is 211 AD–do you not know the year? Also, I assume that you live in Rome since these letters are coming rather quickly.  The next few days will be… rather difficult. I am planned to bury my wife and I am not sure if I will be available to reply, but if you send me a response… I will do my best to write to you when I can.  I am not looking forward to saying goodbye to Lucilla. She was an amazing woman. She had to sacrifice a lot in her life–she was very brave, strong, resilient… I should have been there at her bedside. I should have held her hand when she took her last breath…  I failed Lucilla.  What kind of man does that make me?  If you choose to never respond after this letter, I understand. I just–there’s something in the way your words bring me comfort, puts me at ease, gives me a sense of relief… Anyway, I must go now. Until we speak again, Rose.  Best wishes,  Marcus 

He folds his letter and puts it back in the envelope, ensuring this time that he passes it along to the chambermaid. 

Later that night, you come home after having spent dinner with Antonia and Giovanni. You’re welcomed with the sight of the envelope sitting neatly on your dining table. You set your things down immediately and grab the envelope, taking the letter out and sitting down on the couch. 

Your heart breaks slowly as you read Marcus’s letter. You can feel his guilt through the words on the page and when he confirms the year he’s living in, it all but crushes you. This is a man that you’re slowly developing a friendship with and you know that it isn’t going to last long. 

As you continue to read his letter, you feel tears sting your eyes. So, you don’t hesitate to begin writing your response back to him. 

Dear Marcus,  With you, I’m starting to believe in fate. Would you believe me if I said the year I live in is 2025? I’m not sure how to explain how we’re able to exchange letters from different time periods, but… here we are. It’s possible. I just don’t have an explanation for it.  I can assure you that I am no longer in a relationship with that man and I am very much far from him. I moved to Rome about a month ago and I love it here. I can see the Colosseum from my balcony.  I’m sorry that the next few days will be difficult. I can’t imagine the pain that you’re feeling–losing the one person you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with. Lucilla sounded like a great woman, Marcus. I know saying sorry doesn’t change anything, but I don’t know if there’s even anything I can say to make things better.  I’m sure Lucilla knew… I’m sure she knew that you did your best to get to her. I’m sure she knew that you wanted to be there with her…  And you know, maybe you don’t have to say goodbye. The ones we love don’t ever really leave us, do they? We continue living to keep their memory alive.  You didn’t fail, Marcus. Sometimes, things happen out of our control. Not being there for her at the end isn’t a reflection of who you are as a person, or as a husband. I’m willing to bet that if you had it your way, you’d have been there for her. Maybe wherever you were… you wouldn’t have gone if you had a choice.  Finally, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, sorry.  I hope the next few days give you some closure, Marcus, and when you’re ready, I’ll be right here waiting.  Best wishes,  Rose 

You take his letter and put it on the pile you’ve collected before you place your reply back into the envelope. You turn your back for a moment to grab a glass of water and when you turn back around, the envelope is gone. 

Marcus awakes that morning to the sight of the envelope. He can’t explain how it just vanishes and reappears out of thin air on his desk. He pulls your letter out of the envelope and reads what you have written. 

2025? Surely, that’s a lie. There is no way he’s exchanging letters with someone centuries into the future. He has to wonder if this is some sort of joke, if maybe the emperors put someone up to this. As he continues reading though, he feels tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over. Your words–it provides a sensation of warmth that blossoms in his chest. He wants to believe you, wants to believe that he’s a good man. 

Marcus rereads your last sentence repeatedly, commits it to memory as he begins thinking of what he has to do today. 

I’ll be right here waiting. 

He doesn’t have time at the moment to write you back, so he keeps the envelope and letter separate from each other. He takes one last look at your letter before he leaves his chamber. 

The next few days, you’re anticipating a response from Marcus. He did warn you that he wouldn’t write back until he’s able, but you still can’t help the disappointment you feel when the envelope doesn’t appear for the next few days. Antonia and Giovanni notice a change in your demeanor since you’ve been receiving the letters–they notice the excitement in your eyes, a much freer spirit, but you tell them it’s because you’re finally feeling more and more comfortable here in Rome. 

You learn more about Marcus through your research and you try to find someone who can explain the phenomenon that you’re experiencing. How is it possible that you’re communicating with a man from a different time period? Sure, there are theories about time travel but that never felt real to you. 

At the end of the week, you’re already getting anxious. It’s been four days since Marcus’s letter. You have to wonder what he’s doing, how he’s doing. You know how his life ends, and you have to wonder what would happen if you told him. That would change so many things, right? It would not only change history, but it would ultimately change the trajectory of how the world is now. 

On the fifth day, Marcus is exhausted. Saying goodbye to Lucilla had only fueled his anger for the emperors. He has a plan in place and he knows what end he will meet if he gets caught, but at this point, he has nothing else to lose. 

After he buries Lucilla, he finds some time to ask around if anyone knew a woman named Rose. When someone would respond with a nod, there’s a flutter of excitement that he feels in the pit of his stomach but he’s left disappointed every time. Every Rose he’s met so far has no idea of the letters and he’s starting to believe that maybe you do live in the future–centuries into the future. It leaves him with an unsettling sensation in his chest, a sad reality that there’s a likely possibility that Marcus will never get to meet you. 

Now, he finally has some time alone. So, Marcus sits at his desk, rereads your letter once more before he takes his usual paper and quill out to begin writing a response to you. 

Dear Rose,  I am sorry for the delay in my response. The last five days have been very difficult for me, but every time I saw a rose… I thought of you and it brought me a lot of comfort that I did not realize I needed.  I want to express my gratitude to you, Rose. Your last letter–I kept it close to me at all times during the last few days here. Somehow, knowing that you’re waiting for me helped me get through each day… and knowing that I get to write to you again helped me through the difficult moments I endured. Ad Maiora, I suppose. Towards greater things… and I think that greater thing is you.  I buried Lucilla yesterday. She still looked so beautiful, but she looked… peaceful. She endured a lot of hardship in her life and there is some comfort that I feel knowing she’s no longer in pain. She no longer needs to fight… and I believe you are right. The ones we love do not ever leave us. We keep their memory alive and Lucilla will always hold a special place in my heart.  I must be completely honest with you, Rose. I am the General of the Roman army. I have a lot of blood on my hands… all for the glory of Rome, but you are right. If I had a choice, I would have been by Lucilla’s side from the start. I am conflicted… It is difficult to fight for this version of Rome. So much bloodshed, so many lives lost… all for nothing. I should not be writing this–it is certainly punishable, but I am exhausted, Rose.  If you do live in 2025–which does not seem possible–how does Rome look like then? You say you moved to Rome. Are you happy here? I also tried to look for you. Asked around about you, but I did not get anywhere. There isn’t anyone by the name of Rose that knows about these letters. Do you really live in 2025?  Lastly, tell me more about you. I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose. I hope that is okay.  Best wishes,  Marcus 

He folds his response and places it into the envelope. Right before his eyes, it suddenly vanishes and Marcus is sure that he must be hallucinating. He’s exhausted and hasn’t had much sleep since he’s gotten back, but he has no other explanation for it. 

You awake the following morning to see the envelope on your coffee table. Excitement fills your veins and you quickly walk over to the envelope, carefully taking the familiar piece of a paper out. You begin to realize the letters you have begun exchanging with Marcus are becoming longer and longer–it brings a smile to your face and heat rising in your cheeks. 

You sit on the couch, pull your legs underneath you and grab the blanket to drape over your lap as you finally read Marcus’s letter. He thought of you–the last five days and he thought of you. When he finally tells you the truth about who he is, you feel a sense of relief. You had been afraid that you’d accidentally let it slip that you know who he is, despite already telling him that you live in the future. 

The last sentence in his letter brings you back to reality. You feel the pit in your stomach drop at the realization that this is as far as you’ll ever get with him. Sooner or later, this letters will end but you can’t help the feelings you’ve begun to develop for a man you will never meet. 

I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose. 

It’s almost like he knows what will happen to himself–maybe he knows that the plan he eventually comes up with is a death sentence once the emperors find out. 

You know you shouldn’t get attached, but you get your notebook and pen and write back to him anyway. 

Dear Marcus,  I must say, it’s such a relief to hear from you. I wish I could have been there for you, with you… supporting you. If I’m being honest, it’s hard to hear that you’re going through a difficult time. Makes me want to go back into time and pull you into a hug. Do you think that’s possible? Time travel?  You sure know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you? You make me blush sometimes with the things you say. Are you sure you’re real? A lot of the men here certainly don’t talk like you do–you can definitely teach them a thing or two.  I'm starting to think our saying is Ad Maiora, isn’t it? Moving to Rome led me toward a greater thing… one after the other, and it finally led me to you. I’d say that’s fate, wouldn’t you?  And General Marcus Acacius–sounds so formal, so official. You must be very important, aren’t you? Like I said, I wish I could pull you into a hug. I hope, at least, knowing that I’m here to listen is enough though. Also, if talking about this is punishable, then maybe we should be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you… Yes, I live in the year 2025. I’d be surprised if someone lied to you and said they knew about the letters we’ve been exchanging. Rome is… different than what you’re used to. There are no emperors. The colosseum is no longer in use–there aren’t anymore gladiators. I’ll attach a photograph of me and my balcony, maybe it’ll help you believe me.  Well, what do you want to know? I’m an open book, Marcus. Ask away.  Can’t wait to hear from you again. I have missed you.  Love,  Rose 

You sign the letter without thinking, but you don’t bother to change it or rewrite it after you realize the word you used. You hope it isn’t too forward or too insensitive. You grab your Polaroid camera and quickly walk out to your balcony. You face the camera to yourself and smile, pressing the button to take the picture. Once it develops, you go back inside and fold your letter. After a few minutes, the Polaroid develops and you look down. It’s a good picture and gives a good view of the colosseum in the background. 

Placing the letter and the Polaroid into the envelope, you close it and surprisingly see the envelope disappear. 

“So it is real,” you whisper to yourself, a smile lining your lips as you already begin counting down the time before you receive a reply from Marcus. 

Later that same night, Marcus sees the envelope on his desk as he gets ready for bed. He sits down instantly at his desk and uses his candle to illuminate your writing. 

But he sees the Polaroid and takes it out of the envelope. Marcus lets out a quiet breath when he sees you. He isn’t sure what exactly he’s holding or how this managed to capture a realistic photograph of you but he’s distracted by your beauty to even notice the colosseum in the back. He’s still reeling over Lucilla’s death, but there’s something in the way your smile and your bright eyes somehow puts him at ease. 

“My lady,” he mumbles. “Lucilla, if you can hear me, please forgive me. This woman–She is helping me through this, through your loss.” Marcus shuts his eyes, guilt and desire mixing together. Guilt because he’s still dealing with the grief of losing Lucilla, and desire because you are absolutely stunning. Marcus isn’t even surprised–this is exactly how he pictured you when you began exchanging letters with him. 

Marcus turns his gaze to your letter, but his eyes flicker to your picture repeatedly. You really do live in the future and you will always be so out of reach. 

Then, he sees the word you sign your letter with. A warmth washes over him. His lips curl upwards just slightly and he begins to write. 

Dear Rose,  This–This picture, it is you, yes? I cannot explain how something like this exists, so it must be true that you do live in the future. So far into the future.  But you are breathtaking, Rose. Absolutely beautiful. Your smile and your eyes… there’s a kindness and warmth to them. The man you had been in a relationship with before truly did not realize what he had because any man would be lucky to have you.  The colosseum in your photograph–it looks old. If what you say is true, no gladiators and no emperors, then can I ask… is your world a better place than what it is here? I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life. This is not to say the life I currently have or have led is not great, but a man can still dream, right?  A hug from you sounds very nice. I imagine that I would feel even more at peace with my arms around you. I am not too sure about time travel, but if these letters are any proof of what’s possible, then maybe time traveling is too. Though, if anyone is doing the time traveling, I would rather it be me. I do not want you to be in this time period here, Rose. I do not want you to be around such men because there are bad men here too. Maybe more worse here than there.  If I may be honest… I cannot stop looking at you. I believe I’m going to keep this very close to me from now on. I am sorry that I cannot provide the same type of picture of myself–we do not have this here… but maybe I can think of something else…  An open book, hm? Well, I know your favorite flower. I know that you are starting fresh here in Rome… I suppose I should ask what do you like to do then? If you are living in the future, what is there to do?  I am unsure if you have experienced this yet, but this envelope… it seems to be the reason why we are able to exchange letters. It vanished before my eyes the other day, Rose. I cannot explain how or why that happened, but maybe this is fate. Exchanging letters across time sounds impossible, but for some reason, the Gods wanted us to meet. That sounds like fate to me.  I will wait for your next letter, Rose, and I have missed you too.  Until then.  Love,  Marcus

He quickly folds the piece of paper and gently slides it into the envelope, not bothering to wait for it to disappear because his attention is pulled to your photograph. He brushes his thumb across it gently–wishing you were here. 

The following morning, you’re awake far too early but excitement fills your entire body when you see the envelope sitting on your dining table. You make a cup of coffee and open it, having grown accustomed to Marcus’s neat cursive. You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he compliments you, can feel the butterflies in your tummy. 

I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life. 

You feel your heart tug just a little–the harsh truth that you will never get to meet him becomes more and more real as you continue to exchange letters with him. 

He’s seen it too–the envelope disappearing without a trace. You can’t explain how it’s possible and there is a part of you that no longer wants one. Time travel–there isn’t a way that’s possible and even if it was, how would it even work? 

You grab your notebook and quickly begin writing to him, setting your cup of coffee down. You lift the cup away from the paper, taking note that it left a coffee-stained circle at the top corner of the page. 

Dear Marcus,  You are very sweet… I’m sure there are more pretty women there. I’m just… me.  But Rome… it’s beautiful here. It’s always been a place I wanted to visit. I never did think I would end up moving here and now, I can’t even imagine ever leaving.  Considering your time period, I would say the world now is much better. I think you would like it… it might take some getting used to–it’s so very crowded here, but I think you would like it. I suppose that’s all we will have, isn’t it? Dreaming of a different life… Or maybe I’ll learn how to time travel and bring you here.  I love the beach. I love the water, the sunsets… It’s calming, almost peaceful to me. There’s just something about the sounds of the waves, the feel of the water, the sight of the sky that just puts me at ease. The beach was the one place that I felt like I could get away from everything. It became my safe haven, my safe place…  What about you? General Marcus Acacius–what do you like to do? I have also seen this envelope just disappear. I don’t have an explanation for it either, but maybe you’re right. Maybe there is a reason why we’re able to communicate across time. Do you think we’ll ever get the chance to meet face to face? You know, if I learn time travel…  Sometimes, when I go to bed, I pray that I dream of you. I think it’s the closest I can get to ever meeting you. I imagine what you would look like, what your voice would sound like… How it would feel like to be in your arms. I would assume I’d feel like how I would if I were at the beach–safe, calm, peaceful.  If by some miracle I’m able to time travel, may I come visit you instead? I think it would be much easier for me to go back in time rather than you come here. Some things might change if you were to leave your time period and come to mine… Looking forward to your next letter, Marcus. Love,  Rose

You fold your letter and place it in the envelope, already counting down the hours until you receive Marcus’s reply.

Marcus finally sits at his table after an exhausting day at the colosseum. He doesn’t find the violence entertaining like everyone else. It’s unnecessary and he wants no part of it, but he has to put on a facade for the emperors. He still plans on speaking with the senate, to conjure up a plan to somehow overthrow Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. 

However, he’s conflicted with so many emotions. The grief and loss he feels over Lucilla lingers in his chest, but he feels hopeful–excited whenever he sees the envelope on his desk. If he goes through with his plan and he ends up getting caught, Marcus knows what the consequence will be. He knows that it’s ultimately a death sentence if the emperors find out, but his mind drifts to you whenever he thinks about what his end might be. 

His eyes drift to your picture on his desk, a small smile curling his lips. He dreamt of you last night, after he had written his response to you. He dreamt that he was in your world, somehow lying in a bed with you in his arms. It was the first time since losing Lucilla that he had woken up with a feeling of ease–just dreaming about you brought him that sense of peace. 

Marcus takes your letter out and reads it with a smile. Once he finishes reading, he begins writing back to you. 

Dear Rose,  I dreamt of you last night. The Gods answered me and I dreamt of you. I dreamt that I was in your world, sitting on that balcony in the picture I received from you. I have this image of you–smiling and laughing–ingrained in my mind. It puts me at ease. Talking with you has been my safe haven, I suppose. Things have been difficult here ever since I got back and it’s lonely without Lucilla. I am sorry to bring her up.  These letters have been able to get me through each day. Your picture, too. Lately, I have been dreaming of a different life than the one I am living. I have been a soldier for most of my life, Rose. I do not think there’s a day that has gone by where I have not fought… And it is tiring. The beach sounds like a great place to just get away from it all, I agree. Here, though, I like to go to the gardens. More so now than before. I am usually surrounded by roses and it makes me feel closer to you.  I am ready to retire, Rose. I am ready to spend the rest of my days in quiet–possibly far, far away from Rome. Maybe near a beach, hm? That would certainly be another place where I can be reminded of you.  I will pray to the Gods for a miracle that we get to meet one day. I didn’t think it would be possible to exchange letters with someone from a different time, so maybe being able to meet face to face may not seem so out of reach… I imagine that I would feel safe and calm with you near too.  Your beauty, your words… The way you have made me feel… It all reminds me of Lucilla, but in your own way. I am a man of honor, Rose, and Lucilla will always have a piece of my heart, but… you have become the reason why I am able to get up every morning. I look forward to the next time I see this envelope because it means I get to talk with you.  Maybe tonight, we can meet in each other’s dreams, Rose.  Until then, my lady.  Love,  Marcus

Days turn into weeks and your letters with Marcus become more and more frequent. You’ve tried to teach yourself the theories of time travel, but you’re just as confused as when you first started. The more you talk with Marcus, the more you begin to realize the magnitude of your feelings for him. You try to tell yourself that developing feelings for a man you won’t ever meet–a man who’s already dead–is only going to set you up for heartbreak. 

But despite knowing how this might end, you still exchange letters with him anyway. 

Marcus is set to meet with the Senate tomorrow and he knows that if he gets caught, it will be his death sentence. There won’t be any way that he will be able to get out of it. He holds onto your letters–and especially your picture–when the days and weeks become more difficult for him. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla require his presence at the colosseum and Marcus finds it increasingly exhausting to sit there and feign interest. 

When he gets back to his chambers every day, the envelope is there waiting for him. He reads your letters repeatedly before he can even write a response. The way you talk about your world–it helps him escape his reality. He begins to realize just how deeply he feels for you and it saddens him because despite how strongly he feels, Marcus knows that you two may never get the chance to meet. 

Later that night, you see the envelope and feel the excitement rush through you. However, once you open the letter and begin reading the words on the page, you feel your heart drop–tears building at the corners of your eyes. This feels almost like a goodbye…

Dear Rose,  I am set to meet with the Senate tomorrow. In secret. I realize that this might be the last letter I will ever write to you, but I will be praying to the Gods that it won’t be, but if it is… I wanted to write to you one last time.  You have given me hope, have made me feel alive when I had lost everything. Coming back to Rome after Numidia, after losing Lucilla–I could not find the will to live, but then I received your first letter. It was fate. You saved me, Rose. You continue to save me.  I wish I could see you. I wish I could touch you. I wish I could hold you. I know I said in a previous letter that I would want to spend the rest of my days in quiet… but I think that has changed.  If I had it my way, I would spend the rest of my days with you. I imagine what my life would be like with you. I imagine a lot of laughter. I imagine that we would be at the beach or maybe at the garden and we would have plenty of meaningful conversations. I imagine my mornings would be one of my favorite times of the day because I would get to wake up every morning with you by my side.  If this is the last time I get to speak with you, just know that you now also have a piece of my heart, Rose. I will carry your photograph with me forever. I will hold onto the conversations we’ve had and the letters we’ve exchanged.  If I do not make it… please remember that you deserve all of the good things in the world. You deserve to always be happy. You deserve to live your life the way you want. You deserve to be with someone who will cherish the very ground you walk on because you deserve nothing less.  When I sleep tonight, I will dream of you… like I always do, Rose.  Yours forever,  Marcus

You know what he means when he says he’s going to speak with the Senate tomorrow. You’ve read what will happen–after all, you know exactly how history plays out after having researched the history of Ancient Rome and Marcus. 

You can feel your heart breaking–the ache in your chest beginning to throb almost painfully. You know how Marcus’s story ends, but you can’t let him go. You had been hesitant before–altering history–but you have to tell him. You may never get to meet him, but you don’t want this to be the end. 

Grabbing your notebook, you begin to write your response. Almost fifteen minutes later, you fold it in half and place it inside the envelope, watching it disappear yet again before your eyes. 

Marcus awakes that morning with a knot in his stomach–his eyes glance over at your photo before he catches the envelope. He sits up from bed and walks towards his desk, pulling out your letter and reading it carefully.

Dear Marcus,  Don’t. Your last letter feels like a goodbye, and I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to say goodbye, not yet… Not ever. I shouldn’t be telling you this because I’m sure it’s going to alter my own reality, but I don’t care. I don’t want to let you go.  You’re going to get caught. No matter how many times you’ve rehearsed it in your mind, you will be caught. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla will find out and they–they will not take it lightly. They will make you fight in the colosseum and that is where you will die. I know how your story ends and yet, I made a choice to continue exchanging letters with you. I knew that our story would only end in heartbreak, but maybe… Maybe there’s still a chance for us.  I am begging you, Marcus… Please do not do it. Don’t go to the Senate. Just–Just leave Rome. Live the rest of your days in quiet–away from war, away from the bloodshed, away from the emperors. You no longer need to fight and I understand… I understand that you made a promise to Lucilla, to yourself, but I cannot lose you and maybe this makes me selfish, but– You saved me too, Marcus.  I will spend the rest of my days figuring out how to transcend time… to find a way where you and I can finally meet. Fate brought us together, right? We will figure this out. I will figure this out.  This is not the end of your story, Marcus Acacius. Do you understand me? And this certainly isn’t the end of ours. At the end of the day, we still have a choice… If you decide to still go through with it, then I will understand. I know you are a man of honor, Marcus. And if you do decide that you will go to the Senate tonight, then I hope you know how deeply I feel for you too. I didn’t think I would ever love again, but you… You nestled your way into my heart and made a home there. I go to sleep dreaming of you. When I wake up, you are the first person I think of.  I love you, Marcus.  Yours forever,  Rose

He sits at the edge of his bed, rereading your letter over and over and over again. You know how his story ends and you know exactly what will happen when he goes to meet with the Senate tonight. He should have known that you’d be aware of his history–you live in the future after all. 

Marcus isn’t afraid to die–in fact, it’s something that he’s come to terms with a long time ago, but for once, he doesn’t want this to end yet. He doesn’t want to let you go either and maybe, maybe you two will never meet, but he would rather die an old man exchanging letters with you. 

He reads the last sentence repeatedly and he can’t help the way the words stir something in him–the butterflies he feels in the pit of his stomach, his heart beating faster–you love him. 

Marcus knows what he needs to do now. 

The rest of the day seems to drag on–the minutes trickling by ever so slowly. Even at work, you can’t concentrate. Antonia and Giovanni pick up on your distraction, but you reassure them with a fake smile and tell them that you’d just rather spend the night alone. 

You know it was selfish to tell Marcus the truth, to practically beg him to stay, but you couldn’t imagine continuing to live your life with the possibility that you could save his life. You had only been exchanging letters with him for a little over a month, but you couldn’t help the feelings that you had begun to develop for him. The way your heart races faster when you see the envelope, or the way your stomach flips when you read his letters. 

In your free time, you had been trying to learn how to time travel. It seemed almost impossible, but you didn’t want to quit. You couldn’t explain how you’re able to exchange letters with someone who lives centuries in the past–and if that was possible, then surely it was possible to time travel. 

Somehow. 

You enter your apartment later that night–you can feel the nerves settle in the pit of your stomach when you slowly open the door. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, heart rate slowly picking up when your eyes scan the dining table.

No letter. 

Your stomach drops, so you close the door and then move your gaze to the coffee table. 

Nothing.

Tears begin to pool at the corner of your eyes and you realize that Marcus had made his choice. You sit on your couch, bring your legs to your chest and cry into it. The sob builds and builds until you let out a quiet whimper, tears now streaming down your face. 

He was gone. 

Forever.

A week later and you finally get the courage to go back to work. When at work, you fake a smile–feign happiness, but when you get back home, you cry yourself to sleep. 

Antonia and Giovanni leave you dinner at your front door, but you don’t bother to open it. You aren’t hungry–you haven’t had an appetite since Marcus’s last letter. You wonder if he ever received your letter and if he did, did he read it? 

And if he did read it, what went through his mind? 

And when you admitted that you loved him, did that scare him away? 

When you open your front door later that night, you set your things down and begin walking into the living room until you finally see it.

The envelope. 

Your heart leaps out of your chest. 

You waste no time in opening the envelope, quickly taking out the letter and breathing out a sigh of relief when you see his familiar cursive writing. 

Dear Rose,  I am sorry that I have not written back to you. I had a change of plans after your last letter and had to strategically plan how I would be able to execute it.  I am no longer in Rome. You were right–I no longer need to fight. I faked my death–with the help of some trusting men of mine–and am far away from that place.  I am living the rest of my days in the quiet–I now live in a small village where no one is familiar with who I am or what I have done. It is almost like a fresh start–a chance for me to live a different life… a life that I might have chosen from the beginning if I had the choice.  I want to thank you, Rose. For telling me the truth, for warning me. I am much happier now than I have ever been, and I am more than ready to spend the rest of my days with you. Traveling to this village was not easy, but you gave me the strength–like you always do–to keep going.  I love you, Rose. I wanted to tell you that once I was safe–once I was finally settled in. Ad Maiora, right? Towards greater things... So, my lady, what do you say? Shall we continue our story together and maybe–one day–finally meet? Yours forever, Marcus

the end...?

[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never���” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

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V. The Council

Hi, guys I did some research on Rome, and they don't use the word princess. instead, they use rarely: filia regis so I mentioned in the story. But I will use the princess word to make it easier. I will make Geta softer than he looks in the trailers, but not much obviously. In history Caracalla kills Geta so I am writing my fic according to real history places, and tradition, events. if you have any advice let me know, thank you for all your support, so enjoy the episode...

Si scio quid sit amor, propter te est.

If I know what love is, it is because of you. H.B.

Road…

The streets of Rome were fairly tranquil at night, in comparison to the bustling activity that characterizes the city during the day. It was particularly the case with the roads leading out of the city and into more remote areas. The general's villa was situated on one of these remote roads, and it was a somewhat lengthy journey to reach the city on foot. It might have been a good idea to use a horse or cart to traverse this road. But you were determined to continue on your journey, despite the discomfort you felt. You voiced your concerns to yourself and even considered turning back. You would have been pleased to rest in Marcus' bed, next to his warm body, his strong arms.  Yet, you were worried that you might regret not going ahead with your plan if you didn't do it. Even though you had these concerns, you decided to keep walking. As you got closer to the entrance to the big city, you suddenly noticed what sounded to be footsteps behind you.

You were reluctant to turn your head to see what was happening because a shiver ran through your whole body. It was as if the darkness of the night, which had been your friend a moment ago, had now become your enemy. Sounds, shadows and endless dirt roads were now his companions. When you started running, your legs were not as strong as you had hoped, and you experienced more discomfort than you had anticipated. Nevertheless, you ran with all your strength to reach the stone roads.

Subsequently, upon noticing your breathing becoming more rapid, you decided to take a moment to catch your breath. You were somewhat surprised but grateful when you realised that you were no longer being followed. Upon reaching the stone streets, you were somewhat reassured, but on the other hand, you felt a pang of sadness because you were further away from Marcus. The morning was fast approaching, with dawn on the horizon. From your observation point at the foot of the Venus statue in one corner of the street, you were clinging to the marble at the very end of the column and looking at the city panorama ahead, attempting to calculate the direction of Palatine Hill. The Colosseum is in a great spot, right in the center and visible from all sides. It's a bit of a landmark. So, it made sense to adjust the route to go forward and to the right. You still had a way to go, so you kept walking. You never expected it to be so difficult.

It's particularly when you're passing through these streets, places you've passed before, that your memories start to haunt you. It's as if these streets, which you used to pass by horse and cart, have now turned against you, becoming your enemy's friend. After a few quiet, dark streets, you stopped to rest under the triumphal arch. As you drove under the arch, you noticed something you hadn't seen before and were surprised.

The colossal statue of a former emperor that you had seen it before, but you hadn't had a chance to look at the inscription.

‘Imperator Caesar Lucius Septimius Severus Pertinax Augustus’

Your knees gave way, and you found yourself unable to stand. The stone pavements felt cold against your skin, but you remained still. As you gazed at the statue of your father, you found yourself thinking that perhaps things might have turned out differently if he had been there with you. You had never had the opportunity to witness first-hand what kind of an emperor he was, but from what you had heard, he had been quite successful. You spoke to him, your gaze fixed on his stone eyes, and wished he had heard you: “Father, my lord, I have made my decision. I have been thinking since I learnt about the letter. I came here even though you warned me, even though I knew it would be hard. My heart hurts, father, but I am not afraid. I met love, and I am not going to lose it. I love him so much. I know you hear me, and I know you understand. I am not angry with you. In fact, I am grateful. I met my brothers. You were right about Caracalla. Provide guidance on Geta. I saved him, Father, and I'm ready to face whatever comes next. I know you're with the Gods now, so I'm asking you to help me. I'll do whatever it takes for Rome. Open my eyes and ears, give me strength.”

You wiped away your tears and remained in a seated position for a period of time. However, when the cold became unbearable, you began to shiver. Before standing, you heard the distant cry of a horse, followed by the sound of hooves striking the ground. You wrapped your cloak around yourself tightly, burying your hair and face within it. The sound of hooves echoing in the silence of the night only served to heighten your nervousness.

As the horse drew nearer, you became aware of a slight tremor in the ground beneath your feet, caused by the horse's hooves striking it. You turned your head and observed a man who clothed in a dark cloak.

'My lady,' he greeted you.

When you looked at him, you felt a little surprised and perhaps a little uneasy, and said nothing. He opened his cloak and jumped down from his horse and approached you, still holding on to his horse's harness. The horse snorted noisily and you involuntarily took a few steps back.

"It is imperative that you come with me, as the situation is too perilous for you to remain here at this hour.”

"Who are you that I should agree to accompany you? Was it you who followed me previously?”

He bowed his head and replied, "Yes, my lady. I am a slave of Master Macrinus and I must take you to him."

You narrowed your eyes. ”What if I decline your offer?”

The man laughed, 'He thought you would say that. He said if she doesn't want to come, bring her by force, before she does something to hurt herself. Don’t let her to do, so.’

It was your time to laugh, 'How thoughtful of him. Tell him I appreciate the advice, but I have somewhere else to be right now.’

As soon as you turned around, you heard him coming towards you.

“My lady, I have to do as I'm told,” he said, coming up quickly behind you and grabbing your wrist. You tried to pull back with all your strength, but he was too strong. When he got close, you had a chance to get a good look at him. He had a very muscular and large body, which reminded you of warriors fighting in the Colosseum.

“Let go of my arm!” you cried.

But he had no intention of letting go, his strong hand locked around your wrist as if you were chained.

As he drew you closer to his horse, you heard another horse neighed from down the street, followed by a voice you recognised from before. It was a voice you would not forget, even if you were dead, a voice you felt your ears were made to hear.

The general spurred his black horse into a halt in front of you two. The horse reared under him and uttered a cry. He leapt down from the horse with one swift movement, his face as angry as ever, his eyes fixed on the other man. The general seized the man's hand that was gripping your wrist, pulled it and pushed with such force that the man staggered backwards. But he seemed to be angry too, and quickly regained his composure.

“How dare you lay a hand on her? State yourself, who are you?”

The General moved in front of you, taking charge and protecting you. You were relieved to see him. From behind, he appears to be dressed only in his tunic and cloak. It seems he may have left in a hurry, perhaps he was so worried, you wondered if he had opened the letter yet or not.

"General Acacius, Master Macrinus has given me a mission. I will complete it.”

"Macrinus? I just remember where I saw you before. Tell him I am Marcus Acacius, and I will prevent you from completing your mission.”

The man frowned and tensed as one hand went to the sheath of the sword at his waist. He was not afraid of the General at all.

"Marcus," you gently grasped his cloak and gave it a slight tug. He did not turn to you, still glaring at the man.

"Macrinus would like to take me to the council meeting, I believe he wants to ensure my safety until then. I apologise for not telling you before, I hope you can forgive me.”

Acacius turned his head and looked at you. His eyes conveyed a multitude of emotions, including anger, frustration, and longing.

"Nevertheless, I am unable to allow you to accompany him. I will take you to the meeting if that is your desire."

"No, the emperors may think you've been hiding me all this time. I won't let this happen to you because of me."

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, as if trying to suppress his anger.

“Don't you realize how much I care about you? They've already seen you with me, so I'm prepared to face whatever consequences may result.”

You frowned. "I would never want to cause any damage to your reputation."

"Is that why you decided to leave me? What exactly you were planning, I wonder?”

You bit your bottom lip. “To go to Geta and tell him everything.”

Acacius' eyes flashed with anger. “I'm hoping you're joking right now.”

“He said he owed me, I thought he'd understand.”

“Do you really think he's as pure and kind-hearted as you? How can you be so reckless?”

"Perhaps he'll reconsider when I tell him I'm his sister.”

Acacius shook his head, “Wrong. He won't. He'll kill you on the spot, I'm sure of it.”

You were fairly certain that what he said was true, but you still had the inclination to believe it wasn't. Then, two more riders came down the street towards you and dismounted next to the other man. The General immediately sensed a potential threat and pulled you behind him for protection.

Macrinus knew exactly what he was doing and he was determined to see it through.

It is probable that his slave felt emboldened by the arrival of the other men, as evidenced by his demeanor, which shifted from apprehension to confidence.

"General, I advise you not to cause us any trouble. We're taking the lady with us.”

Acacius drew his sword and looked at them with a glint in his eye, ready for whoever or whatever was about to come at him.

"I dare you to try.”

They seemed to hesitate at first, looking at each other, then drew their swords, the tension rising. You swallowed hard.

"Three against one. I heard you were a good soldier, but you don't stand a chance against three of us." He smiled, but it seemed a little cruelly.

"You must have misheard then. I've killed more when I was in a worse situation." His voice was threatening, making the other person uneasy.

"Indeed, I had the opportunity to observe it at the Colosseum. However, we also fought there, so it would be unwise to underestimate us."

They fought there? At the Colosseum? Gladiators?

You had observed the combatants in action during your time there; you had witnessed it first-hand, with your own eyes, and it sent a chill down your spine.

You moved in front of the general, who was still pointing his sword at the others.

“Marcus, you need to let me go with them.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please, hear me out, the council meeting is just around the corner, he can't do anything to me, he needs me.”

You grasped his other hand tightly with both hands and looked into his eyes.

“Please, I ask you to trust me.”

“He's the one I don't trust.”

“I know. I don't trust him either but I need to find out what his intention is before the meeting.”

Marcus looked at you for a moment, considering your words. Then he sheathed his sword. "Very well. You're right.”

The others seemed relieved, but they tried not to show it.

"A wise choice, General," the man said, his voice firm and his gaze steady. He gestured for the others to put their swords back, then approached you with purpose.

"Come with me, my lady," he held out his hand to you and the general caught it in mid-air.

"Who gave you permission to touch her?"

He pushed his hand away and grabbed your wrist. "I will be accompanying her.”

The man laughed and looked at you with disdain. "As you wish. That's fine by me."

As he walked away towards his horse, the general turned to you.

"I'm assuming you've ridden a horse before?"

You didn't ride much in Egypt, given that you lived inconspicuously.

"Well, sort of.”

The look on your face made him smile. He pulled you close to his horse. His black horse lifted one leg and just the tip of the hoof touched the ground, snorted heavily. Acacius stroked the horse's back gently. "You should know how lucky you are to be carrying this beautiful woman, Dromos. Be gentle with her.” The horse lets out a soft whinny as a reply, and Acacius smiles.

“Dromos?”

“Yes, I named him that because he runs so fast.”

“I see.You seem to be quite good friends,” you said with a smile. Hesitantly you reached out and stroked the horse’s neck, ran your fingers through the black of his mane.

“Indeed we are,” he agreed. He placed his hand on the stirrup and held it for you. “Place your foot here and I'll lift you up."

You did as he said, then he put his hand to your waist, lifted you easily and sat you on the thin saddle. When the horse moved, you grabbed onto the horn of the saddle to steady yourself. Then you felt a soreness between your legs but forced yourself to ignore. Acacius quickly climbed on top of the horse and positioned himself right behind you, gripping the reins. You felt safe as you felt his muscular body caressing yours from behind.

“Lead the way,” the General said loudly to the other man, you felt his warm breath just above your ear. The man nodded kicks his horse forward. Acacius gave a gentle pat to Dromos, he neighs, and starts to move faster. Acacius moves a little, closing the gap between you, his arms around you from either side as he holds the reins. Your body shook with the movement of Dromos as he galloped at a moderate speed through the streets of Rome. Your back kept bumping against the General's strong chest, and you even felt his chin in your hair. You gasped. Was he doing it on purpose?

You glanced over at his face and noticed a smile at the corner of his lips, even though his eyes were fixed on the road ahead.

“I’m guessing you’re upset with me?" you asked as the General pulled the rein to the right to steer it, top of your shoulder bumping his chest.

"For leaving me in bed and abandoning me?"

"And for not mentioning the letter before."

"That too.”

When you turned to look at him, a few strands of your hair got caught in his beard. The hairs kept flying with the wind, brushing against his face. He seemed pleased with them.‘

"I must admit that I was eager to find out who you are, but this is beyond what I could have imagined. I can understand why you did it, but I'm still hurt. I wish you hadn't left me in bed. You broke my heart.”

You swallowed, “Forgive me, I didn't know what to do. Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done. Will you let me heal your heart? I'm Medicus, you know?" You blinked your eyes under your long eyelashes, he smiled.

He buried his lips in your flowing hair and whispered in your ear.

"My heart is yours to heal. You don't need to be a medicus for that.”

You smiled as you felt his lips on your cheek, your lips yearning so much to touch his. At that moment, as you rode with him on his horse, you wished that he would take you far away, to a place where no one could find you two, you were willing to give everything for it.

Macrinus’s Villa…

The men on horseback dismounted and led their horses into the courtyard. Acacius gently pulled his horse's reins and rode in a circle, glancing towards the villa. It seemed as though he was hesitating. Soon, Macrinus appeared in the doorway and grasped the bridle to the right, turning it around to face him.

"My lady," he bowed his head and greeted you. "General Acacius?”

Acacius ignored him and dismounted, one hand still clutching his horse's harness.

“Sir Macrinus, have you stationed your slaves outside my villa to keep watch? Or should I say your gladiators?”

Macrinus smirked. “I needed to make sure Lady Aurelia was safe.” He turned his eyes to you.

“I think you can rest assured that it's not something you need to worry about, especially when she's with me.”

“Which is why you must have accompanied her here, I see.”

“Apparently.” Acacius muttered.

“Then let me invite you in,” he gestured with his hand.

Acacius turned to you and held out his hand. “My lady.”

You smiled, initially surprised that he was addressing you with respect for the first time, but then realising how much you liked it. You took his hand and dismounted the horse and allowed yourself to be embraced by his protective arms. He took you gently and lowered you down.

As your feet touched down on the ground, you felt the throbbing return and let out a quiet moan.“Are you alright?” Acacius's voice was worried.

You regarded him with a somewhat hesitant expression. "I'm a little sore from..." You pursed your lips.

Acacius stroked your disheveled hair with his big hand. "I wish I could relieve your soreness.”

You blushed at the memory of witnessing how well his passionate lips worked on your body before.

“I'll take that as a promise for later, General.” You smirked mischievously.

“At your service, my lady,” he grasped your hand gently and kissed it.

As your heart melted in the warmth of his smile, Macrinus watched you from afar, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. He felt something very different. He controlled his expression though and cleared his throat. You and the General looked at him, his warrior slave standing beside him. Acacius held out his hand, offering it to you.

“Shall we?”

Sitting in his garden, you realized that Macrinus' villa was bigger than the General's. The fountain in the center of this big courtyard was rectangular, and in the center was a statue of the queen goddess Salacia, the wife of Neptune, the goddess of the sea and water. She's holding a bucket just above her head and the water is gushing out of it.

The columns ahead were white and straight, half covered with red marble, with ionic protrusions at the corners. They proudly stood among various trees and plants, but this beauty was nothing compared to the Domus Severiana. That palace was magnificent and wonderful.

Although you couldn't see it clearly because it was still dark, you were wondering what kind of flowers were behind the fountain when Macrinus' gladiator slave stood there, blocking your view. You met his gaze and turned to the general, who was standing next to you. He seemed uneasy and reluctant to sit down. His body language showing his tension. You reached out and grasped his hand.

"Would you perhaps like to sit with me?"

"My lady, I believe I will be more comfortable like this," he replied, his eyes on the gladiator who crossed his arms and looking at Macrinus as he approached.

“Apologies, I am expecting an important guest, I wanted to make sure he arrived safely,” he sat down opposite you and crossed his legs. A delighted smile spread across his face.

“I assume you brought the letter with you, my lady?” he said, looking at you.

You glanced at the General, to whom you entrusted the letter. He crossed his arms and looked directly at Macrinus.

“Prior to that, elucidate your intentions regarding the council.”

"I'm going to make sure our lady gets her 'filia regis' (princess) title back and gets what's rightfully hers. You know, general, you were what, twenty? You must have been about that age when Aurelia was born. Septimius gave me the task of taking her away to protect her. He made me promise.”

"I was nineteen," the General stated, his eyes distant as he recalled those days. "And you were the one who made up the lie that she drowned in the river when she was little? You actually took her to Egypt? With that man, Vicius."

He turned his head to look at you, to see your expression. You felt sad when you remembered him, but you gave the general a half-smile anyway.

“There were three hundred days of mourning throughout the empire,” Macrinus gave you a half smile. “Then it was forgotten when it was time for Caracalla's fifth birthday, but the people of Rome must still remember their princess. The year you were born was a very prosperous one, the fields were full of new crops, there were hardly any beggars in the streets.”

A soft smile spread across Acacius' face, you wondered why, but you didn't feel comfortable to ask when Macrinus around.

“Wine,” Macrinus ordered one of the other slaves. “My lady, please eat something,” he said, indicating the food on the table. “You need to gather your strength.” Then he looked at Acacius who shook his head. “I should head out to dress properly for the Council,” he said and turned to you and got down on his knees. "My Lady, I will be ready to provide any assistance you may require at the council today."

“No, General, I cannot allow you to do that.”

He looked confused.

"Perhaps it would be better if I said that I've kept my name a secret from you.”

“They've already seen us together,” he protested. “I don't think they'll care about that.”

"Lady Aurelia is right, General. It would not be good for you to make your side clear, at least from Geta's point of view. Half the council already knows everything and we have the upper hand."

"Marcus, please," you grabbed his big hand with both of yours. "I don't want you to stay in the middle of this.”

He took both your hands in his, his beard brushing against your skin. "As you wish. but know that if things don't go our way, I will do my utmost to ensure your safety." He kissed you gently on the top of your hands and stood up. "I will see you at the Council then." He nodded and left the courtyard. With his leaving, you felt abandoned, out of place.

Macrinus' gladiator-slave accompanied the general out into the courtyard and returned a moment later. As his eyes met yours, you turned your head.

“I wonder why you keep gladiators as slaves in your villa?”

Macrinus smiled, shaking the wine glass in his hand, “Choosing gladiators is an art, they often become prisoners of war, just like other slaves.”

“So you buy them, train them and put them in fights,” you looked at the gladiator without turning your head. "What is the return on investment of this strategy? Is this the best way to gain the trust of the emperors, by providing entertainment?”

Macrinus laughed. “My lady, you have the right angle, but I don't think you see the whole picture. Perhaps you could save your thinking skills for the council, as it is almost time. My slaves will be ready to dress you properly," he said, rising to his feet. "If I may ask, as you still haven't given me the letter."

One of the girl slaves came as you stood up. “The general has the letter, I'm sure he will bring it before the council.”

“I must say, I am rather surprised at the extent of your trust in him.” Macrinus narrowed his eyes.

“I trust him more than anyone,” you said confidently. You couldn't bear to hear him speak unfairly of the General. You took a step back, looking around to avoid making eye contact with him. “Now, where do I get dressed?”

Roman Forum…

The Roman Forum was the centre of day-to-day life in Rome: the site of triumphal processions and elections; the venue for public speeches, criminal trials and gladiatorial matches; and the nucleus of commercial affairs. Here statues and monuments commemorated the city's leaders. This was where the Senate—as well as Republican government itself—began. The Senate House, government offices, tribunals, temples, memorials and statues gradually cluttering the area.

By the time the carriage carrying you and Macrinus arrived, the morning sun was already brightening the streets. The streets were now filled with Romans, spread around, going about their daily routines. This particular street was noticeably more crowded than usual. A considerable number of people had gathered in anticipation of the emperors' attendance at today's significant meeting. Among them were individuals with pending court cases, spectators eager to witness the new gladiators' initial contests, distinguished patricians and their wives, and those in need, who had come with the hope of receiving alms from them. Additionally, there were individuals who were to be dedicated as priestesses to the temple of Vesta and their companions, as well as those with business at the state house and, of course, the esteemed members of the senate and their wives.

Women were allowed to walk around the Roman Forum, but not in the Curia Julia, the senate building. Of course, the empress managed to sneak herself in - to see what was being said behind her sons' backs and what plans were being made - so it was inevitable that no one would pretend to know about it.

Today, Julia Domna managed to get herself into the Curia in the same way, but you couldn't see it because the entrance was too far away. Macrinus got out of the carriage and looked in towards you.

‘My lady, you will have to sit here for a while, you know women are-.’

‘Yes, sir, I know.’

He turned his head and squinted at something in the distance.

‘Acacius,’ he murmured.

Upon hearing his name, your heart began to race with excitement. He was the only person you desired to see at that moment. Macrinus took a step back, and the general's footsteps could be heard just outside the carriage.

"Did you bring the letter, General Acacius?" Macrinus asked.

You stuck your head out, eager to see his face. Cato was beside him, he took your letter out of his leather bag and handed it to Acacius, he handed it to you. You reached for it, and he turned his head to meet your eyes, making you realise how much you had missed him, even in such a short time.

“My Lady, I would like to return this to you.” The General was dressed differently today, in a toga worn on formal occasions. White in colour, it covered almost his entire body, with burgundy stripes around the edges. The shawl was of the same colour and pattern, the sleeves were short so you could see the thick gold bracelets on his arms, it looked perfect and neat.

“I am grateful to you for ensuring its safety,” you said quietly.

Macrinus cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should go inside now to start the session."

“Sir Macrinus, you go first.” Acacius said in a detached manner, his eyes locked on you.

“My lady,” he bowed his head, turned around and made his way towards the wide stairs of the Curia.

"Are you feeling a bit nervous?” His voice softened for you.

“A little,” you lied.

He smiled and put his hand on your cheek. “No need to be, you have nothing to worry about. It's your birthright, like every Roman. I think that's the only thing Macrinus and I agree on.”

You touched his hand on your cheek and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know, thank you.”

He tilted his head towards you, almost close enough to touch you with his lips. “I will always be there to protect you, my beautiful lady, no matter what the outcome.” He held your eyes captive for a moment with his eyes, then pulled himself back. He looked ahead, frowning.

“They're here,” he said, squinting.

“Our Emperors!” Someone in the crowd shouted at the top of his lungs.

Your swallowed, feeling your heart began to race. Acacius stroked your hair gently, "There's no need to be so distressed. They can't do anything to you. There are very few people in the Senate who likes them. As much as I don't like him, I have to hand it to him, Macrinus knows what he's doing, almost succeeded in convincing the entire council,’ he said. 'I must go in now, Octavius will accompany you in,' he said, kissing your hand for the last time before leaving. You inhaled deeply while holding the letter in your hand tightly, praying to all the Gods.

Curia Julia…

All councillors were present and awaiting the commencement of the session, with the oldest councillor taking the lead in opening the meeting. The murmurs of the members of the Senate reverberated gently off the walls of the Curia's spacious, high-ceilinged meeting hall. When their names were announced a little later, all the congressmen stood up and showed their greeting as the Emperors entered the hall from the great hall, albeit somewhat reluctantly. They took their seats in the western corner of the round hall, their attire differing from that of the members of the senate in that it was rather more ostentatious and therefore perhaps less appropriate.

The longest-serving member of the council approached the emperors and stood on the ledge in the centre of the hall to offer them his greetings. He surveyed the room with a gesture that seemed to convey a desire to embrace everyone. “What an auspicious day. Many gave their lives so that we could stand here once more, for the sake of an empire, a government with laws.”

All the members applauded him, except the emperors, who seemed bored already. Acacius was in the lowest tribune and sat quite close to them. Many were surprised to see him at the meeting today; he rarely attended, and no one even knew he voted in the elections.

“In honouring them, I would like to mention that we must pay our respects in your presence to General Marcus Justus Acacius, commander of the southern armies, General of the Legio III Augusta and protector of Rome.” he said, raising his hand and pointing to him. “He demonstrated remarkable courage in defending the Rome and is worthy of our respect and gratitude.”

The members started clapping more enthusiastically. They were all chanting the General's name together. Acacius stood up to show his appreciation and then sat back down.

“Senate is now in session. I invite Sir Macrinus here to make his speech.”

As oldest member approached the tribune to take his seat, Macrinus rose from his seat, came to the centre and greeted the emperors and members.

“Your Majesties, esteemed council members. The reason we are gathered here today is not a matter of government or politics. It is a matter concerning our former emperor, Emperor Septimius Severus and his family.” As he extended his hand towards Emperors, Geta turned curiously to Caracalla.

“What is he saying, brother?” he whispered.

Caracalla answered without looking at him. “Patience brother, you’ll understand soon enough.”

“So you knew?”

He did not answer, which made Geta angry and curious.

By the time Octavius came to get you from the carriage, you were pretty bored sitting inside.

“My lady, it's time.”

You nodded and got out of the carriage with his help, taking a quick look around as you walked together through the crowd. The gladiator fights had taken a break, and people were discussing what was happening in the Curia. One of the trials was underway. A man and a woman were crying, as if they had been convicted of some crime you didn't understand. As you made your way up the stairs of the Curia, one after the other behind Octavius, one of the guards at the entrance blocked your path with an outstretched hand. Octavius brushed his arm away with the back of his hand.

"She is no ordinary woman, and the council members are waiting for her."

"Forgive me," he said, stepping back to allow you to pass.

You and Octavius entered a large hall and proceeded between tall, imposing white pillars. After a short while, you heard the voices of several men. Was there a disagreement in the council? Octavius stood near two large, thick pillars and looked in the direction of the sound, raising his hand towards you. "Perhaps we should wait a moment."

As the big iron door swung open, you could hear the voices inside a bit better.

"Are you saying that our sister is alive?"

It was Geta's voice, sounding angry. "Where has she been all this time?"

"As I said, Your Majesty, your sister was sent to Egypt on your father's orders. She wasn't there when I went to find her, but she is here now. Your sister is waiting outside with the letter your father, the Emperor, wrote to her. Shall I bring her here now?"

Macrinus' voice was loud but persuasive.

“Yes, the council wants to see her!” Someone else's voice was louder than his.

The voices that rose and echoed in the great hall were positive, a flicker of nervousness swept through you. Soon, Macrinus appeared in the doorway.

“My lady, remove your cloak, please.”

You did as he said, Octavius held it for you, and you felt a little reassured that he was there.

Macrinus accompanied you into the meeting room, his demeanor somewhat less reassuring than you had hoped. “Walk with a little more confidence, my lady, you will soon be declared 'filia regis’ (princess).”

His confident face was only working in his favor. It had nothing to do with you. You were trying to look ahead as you descended the stairs one by one, the councillors began to murmur, you didn't feel ready to look at them, and soon you heard Caracalla's hysterical laughter, you were startled and looked in the direction of the sound.

He pointed his finger at you. “You! It must be a lame joke!”

Geta was silent, only his eyes locked on you, leaning forward and marveling under his eyebrows. Caracalla stormed out of his seat and came over to Macrinus.

“What does this mean?”

“You told me my sister was coming, but you forgot to tell me who she was?” he scolded him in a low voice.

“It's pure coincidence that you've met her before, Highness.”

He then looked in the direction where the general was sitting, and you had the opportunity to observe him and the others. All the members were dressed in white togas, similar to the general, but with black embroidery around the edges of their clothes. It was a large hall filled with men, and it was somewhat awkward and uncomfortable to be in the middle of them as the only woman.

"She resembles her mother," one individual posited.

“Indeed, she is an exact match, both physically and genetically," another concurred. “Just like in the records.”

A multitude of voices were present, yet your attention was directed towards Caracalla, who directed a finger at the general.

"For how long have you been aware of this, General Acacius?”

“He didn’t know!”

As your voice echoed through the vast hall with a ringing effect among all the male voices, the other voices gradually faded and Caracalla turned to look at you. Then you handed him the letter.

“I got the chance to open it on the day of the ceremony. That's when I found out everything. General Acacius had no idea.”

This time you said it looking at all the council members as your eyes met Acacius. He was staring at Caracalla, looking a bit angry. Geta arose from his seat and approached Caracalla. He took the letter from his hand and read it over, then looked at you.

“Why didn't you say anything that day?”

"I was planning to," you replied. "I was uncertain of your reaction and what you would do," your eyes shifted to Caracalla. Another councillor approached and examined the letter.

“This is the seal of Emperor Septimius Severus,” he said, looking at the other members. Caracalla grasped the letter and held it up. “But a broken seal and a piece of paper which doesn't prove anything.” Geta reached out to take it from him, but he pushed him away with his elbow, tore the letter into pieces and threw it on the floor.

You were filled with anger. "That was the last thing left of my father," your voice was higher than you would have cared to have it be.

Macrinus interjected, "Your Majesty, while I understand your concerns, I believe it would be beneficial to hear the rest of the speech before making a decision.”

“I want to hear it.” Geta sat back in his seat.

Caracalla nodded and reluctantly joined him.

You clenched your fists, looking at the pieces of the letter on the floor, some of them scattered on your sandals. It was hard not to cry, your father's seal lying on the ground like something worthless. How could he be so cruel?

"Sir Macrinus, if I might be so bold, I would like to say a few words before you speak," said the oldest member of the council.

As he stood up and came to stand beside you, the room fell silent. "I was fortunate to have the opportunity to meet Lady Aurelia before she disappeared," he said, looking at you. "Her eyes and hair are similar, and her face has retained a remarkable resemblance. The emperor Septimius affectionately titled to her as 'Aurelia' due to her blonde hair. I am the one who made it official, and I have my signature and seal included in the record book. It is an honor to see you again, Lady Aurelia.” He bowed his head.

"I am truly grateful for your kind assistance, sir.” Your voice broke.

The crowd began to murmur again, with only a few objecting. The general was looking at you with a soft expression, and you smiled back, though you quickly turned your head away to avoid being noticed. Macrinus thanked the elderly member, waited for him to take his seat, and then he turned to the council members.

"I was fortunate to be able to visit Egypt four years ago at the Emperor's request. I went in search of the lady Aurealia, who was residing with Vicius, Septimius' personal medicus. I had a brief encounter with her, but it seemed that she was still unaware of the truth about herself. Vicius was of the opinion that the Emperor had not sent me. Perhaps he considered himself to be more closely aligned with the Emperor than I was. I am still curious as to what the Emperor may have promised him,” he said sarcastically.

“He did a good job of hiding her,” Caracalla said, teasingly.

The crowd found his behaviour amusing and laughter echoed through the great hall. Geta joined in with the laughter. The mood in the hall started to lighten, but you frowned. It wasn't right to disrespect his memory.

“Sir Macrinus, you mentioned seeing the lady Aurelia around four years ago, which is around the time we lost Septimius Severus.” One of the councillors said.

“I know what you're implying, but I've always had the trust of our emperors since they ascended to the throne. I couldn't bring your sister because I returned here as soon as I heard the news of Septimius Severus' death.” He said, looking at him and then back to the emperors. “He gave me a task before he died and told me to get it done. But I'm not the only one. There's someone else he assigned. With your permission, I call consul ordinarius Gaius Septimius Severus Aper here.”

Once more, the great hall was filled with murmuring. Macrinus  turned  towards you. “Your cousin,” he explained. You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“I hate him,” Caracalla growled. Geta didn't seem to like him either.

A moment later, Gaius entered the great hall with another letter in his hand, greeted everyone and came over to you. He appeared to be in his thirties, well built but not soldierly, with an attractive but stern face.

“Lady Aurelia, we meet at last,” he said, smiling at you. You nodded, but didn't have anything to say, and were pretty surprised.

“Another letter?” Geta enquired.

“It seems our father has written letters to everyone but us,” Caracalla said, making a face.

They stood up and gave their cousins the kind of hug that was pretty clearly insincere. It was obvious that they didn't get along. Gaius held the letter up for everyone to see.

“I was with my uncle when he wrote this letter, he sealed it in my presence.” Gaius said.

“Before or after you fled to Leptis Magna?” Caracalla asked. Geta burst out laughing.

He ignored them and spoke to the council instead. "Members of the Senate, I break the seal in your presence," he said, and broke the seal of the letter that the father had sealed himself and opened it.

Macrinus asked permission to take the letter and summarised it for the council members.

“It seems that our Emperor has directed Gaius to ensure that upon the eventual return of Lady Aurelia, she will be duly restored to her full birth rights. That makes two of us sir Gaius.” Macrinus and him exchanged looks that made you sure they talked about his before.

“I am privileged to be able to convey greetings from your relatives in Leptis Magna to you. The entire Severan Dynasty salutes you, my lady,” Gaius said, bowing to you. “And of course you, our emperors,” he bowed to them, as a reply Caracalla turned his head in disgust.

Oldest member of council came towards you again with few members beside him.

‘Then, before our emperors and your esteemed councillors, I extend an invitation to all to welcome our filia regis princess Septimia Aurelia Marciana, first of the name, daughter of Emperor Caesar Lucius Septimius Severus Pertinax Augustus and his first wife Paccia Marciana, patroness of Leptis Magna back to her home.” He sang out.

"A very warm welcome back to Lady Aurelia!" someone stood up and said in a cheerful voice.“Welcome back, filia regis Aurelia!” another joined him.

And all the council members repeated in unison.

Geta approached you in a cheerful manner, clapping his hands. “Welcome, I embrace you as my sister," he said, kissing you on the cheek. You were somewhat startled, but you kept your composure, your cheeks blushed. "We must celebrate this," Caracalla said, kissing you on the other cheek, smiling involuntarily. You forced a smile in return, although he still made you feel somewhat nervous.

“My brother is right, we must celebrate!”

All the members were now standing and applauding, their enthusiasm evident in the resounding applause that echoed through the great hall.

"Sir Macrinus, bring the new gladiators to the Domus Severiana tomorrow. I want new games!" Caracalla smiled with joy.

"As you wish, your majesty," he bowed his head.

"But brother, tomorrow is the festival of Saturnalia," Geta whined.

“Well? That's better, it'll add some excitement.”

While they were chatting, you scanned the room, looking for the General among all the men.

Caracalla turned to you. “As our sister, you're supposed to come with us now?”

This was something you hadn't planned. You didn't factor in the idea of living under the same roof with them. Why didn't you think of that before?

Geta stood between you and Caracalla. “Mother must be pretty shaken up, perhaps you could go and find her first, I'll accompany Aurelia, she's a bit wary of you,” he grinned at you and took your arm.

Caracalla smirked. “Fine by me.” But you could tell he was watching you two.

'Come on, sister, there's lots to do.' You were a little surprised by how fast they welcomed you, but you feel grateful somehow.

The council members were all standing and chatting, and although you wanted to go to the general in this crowd and talk to him, you had to put it out of your mind for now. Before Geta pulled you along by the arm and led you out, you looked back at Marcus for the last time and saw that he looked worried. As you descended the stairs of the Curia with Geta, cheers and applause erupted from the crowd outside.

“Emperor Geta!”

Guards surrounded you to protect you, the crowd chanting Geta's name with enthusiasm.

Geta raised his hands high and greeted them. Then he grabbed you by the wrist and raised your arm.

"People of Rome, allow me to introduce you to your filia regis, Lady Aurelia!"

You didn't expect it to happen so soon. The crowd fell silent. Caracalla came running up behind him and grabbed Geta's other arm.“Eager much, brother? We must announce at the festival tomorrow.”

After a brief period of murmuring, the crowd suddenly began clapping and shouting again. You were taken aback when Julia took your other arm. How long had she been there?

"I would like to invite you all to welcome Lady Aurelia!" she sang.

"Welcome Lady Aurelia!" someone shouted loudly and cheerfully.

“Lady Aurelia!”

Just like in the hall, the streets of the Roman Forum began to echo with your name. It was a strange feeling, a bit frightening, exciting, and proud. You weren't used to any of it, but you were born that way, a princess. It will take me a while to get used to it, you thought.

“See? They love her already,” Geta winked at Caracalla, then pushed back the hair that had fallen over your shoulder. “Smile, sister.”

For him it was easy to say, for you it was all so sudden and you would have to adjust to this new situation. As the crowd chanted your names, the general, who had been observing the proceedings from a distance, seemed somewhat displeased that Geta had managed to touch you with such ease.

He hated to see another man touches you, even if it was your half-brother.

"General Acacius, it's been a long time," Gaius came up to him.

"Sir Gaius," the general nodded. "You are correct, I had just been appointed commander of the southern armies when I arrived at Leptis Magna. It must be decades." His eyes were watching you from afar.

"I must say that you played a significant role in the success of the battle there," he said. "I believe our people are still grateful to you." He was also observing you and Geta.

"I believe you stayed there to hide the emperor's letter. I understand why you chose to stay away from the capital," the general's eyes shifted to Caracalla.

"I believe he may view me as a potential threat to the throne, as he has done in the past. However, I believe it is my duty to remain here and complete my mission," he said with conviction.

The general observed Gaius' gaze and perceived that he was focusing it on you.

"I must ensure the safety of Lady Aurelia."

"But perhaps it would be wise to ensure your own safety as well? I believe you may be in more danger than she is.”

Gaius picked up on the hint in his voice. "Sir Macrinus told me a little about your relationship with her. I'm really grateful that you protected her while I was away."

The general stayed silent and waited, obviously sensing Gaius' intentions with his man instincts.

"I'll ask the emperors for her hand in marriage. I'm sure she'll be safer in Leptis Magna. She can't be happy with them – look how uneasy she is with them.”

The general looked tense. "I wasn't aware you were a widow," he said.

"Yes, I got divorced a while ago," he replied with a smile. "I would like to remarry, as a widow, you know what I mean, I guess."

Acacius returned his smile with a disgusted expression. "Could Iask why you believe Lady Aurelia will marry you? I am merely cautioning you in advance, Sir Gaius, because I am convinced that you will be rejected." He smiled wryly at him, then turned his back on him and began to ascend the stairs.

Macrinus approached him as Gaius glared angrily after him." You were right – there is something between those two."

"Don't worry, tomorrow at the festival we'll take the first step to get rid of Acacius once and for all."

Gaius turned to him, looking angry. "How can that be? He's someone everyone respects. He's the biggest obstacle in my way."

He touched his shoulder. ”The gladiators are ready to fight, we just need Majesties’ approval tomorrow. Then Acacius will find himself in the Colosseum, and then we'll get rid of him for good. Then there will be nothing in our way, my friend." He smiled confidently.

Palatine Hill…

As the morning sun shone on the crimson-red roofs of the Domus Severiana, the birds chirped cheerfully and flew around, their songs of joy filling the air. Yesterday was a turning point for you. Things moved pretty quickly, and it was a bit of a challenge to adjust. When you first arrived with your half-brothers last evening, it was a lot easier than you thought it would be. Julia, their mother, was pretty quiet all night, but she didn't react badly to you, which surprised you even more. e. You got the feeling that she could be pretty ruthless, even though she seemed pretty calm. The idea of living in the same house with them wasn't appealing to you. In fact, it made you feel uneasy. Geta was the only one who didn't make you nervous, but you knew he was unpredictable like his mother.

You opened your eyes in your new room and bed, looked around, and closed them again. This room was big and luxurious, much more so than your room in the general's villa. A bit too much, you thought. You pulled the silk bed sheet over your head and sighed deeply. You would give anything to open your eyes to the new day lying next to Marcus, in his arms.

You were no longer a slave, nor a Medicus, nor could you go to his villa as a commoner. It seems that even as a princess, you don't always get to choose. But you missed him so much, his strong arms around you, his sensual lips, all the memories you had in his villa.

A gentle knock at the door momentarily distracted you from your thoughts, which seemed to fade into the elegant surroundings of this splendid room.

"Please come in," you said, sitting up in bed.

A young slave girl entered the room.

"My lady, I am pleased to see you are awake," she said, her voice conveying a sense of concern.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Yes, it's about Emperor Geta."

You removed the bedclothes around you and got out of the large bed.

“What happened to him?”

“He asked me to take you to him quietly, he doesn't want the Empress to hear.”

‘Hear what?’

‘He seems a little unwell.’

‘Take me to him,’ you said quickly. You were concerned that the poison might still be present in his body.

You left your room and went into the main hall to leave your chamber. Your room was in the east corner of the other courtyard. They said, it was your mother and father’s chambers when they first married. You strode up the stairs and entered Geta's chambers. It was still early, so the room was quiet. The other slaves looked at you with concern as you approached the door of the room where you had come to heal him the last time. They greeted you and opened the door for you. You were surprised to see a couple of young slaves lying on the floor. Their bodies were naked, which made you blush with shame. It was clear that your brother Geta had a lot of fun last night. There were two girls in Geta's bed, but he was nowhere to be seen. You looked at the latrina (bathroom, toilet) door and heard a coughing sound behind. He should have been there, but you had no intention of finding him naked.

You cleared your throat and called out to him.

“Highness? Geta? Brother?”

There was a brief interlude of laughter, and then he looked up at you through the latrine door.

“I need to get used to this, a woman's voice calling me brother.”

His face was as white as marble.

"Is everything all right? You look a little pale.”

“It's because I started the damn day throwing up.”

You looked down at the wine glasses on the floor and sighed.

"You must have had a lot to drink. You're just recovered, so you need to be careful about alcohol.” As you approached the latrine door, he was coming out, you almost bumped into each other. You quickly backed away and turned around, it was a bit stuffy in there, you moved to open the big window.

Geta looked like a little boy, messy hair and all, far away from an emperor.

"Do you think it's because I didn't drink your herbal thing?" He threw himself into the armchair by the window, covered his face with his arm.

“You didn’t?" You looked at him in shock. “How could you not? You had to drink it all to get better.” You were angry.

“But it tasted like cow dung.” He whined, lifted his arm up, gave you a mocking look. “What, are you scolding me?”

You swallowed. “Your Majesty,” you said suggestively. “You must drink the concoction for your own health.”

“I can't.”

You crossed your arms. “Don't you want to get better?”

“Because of that stupid whore, she broke the bottle. That's what happens when you bring a whore from the whorehouse.”

When you heard that word, you thought of Decima. You faced the fact that you had left her behind while you were dealing with everything.

“Could you make the mixture again? It's a festival day and I want to feel good, I don't want to look unwell especially when I’m with Caracalla.” He mumbled.

“I will, but may I ask something in return?”

“Aha! You don't act like a saint anymore, huh?” He laughed. You ignored his joke, approached him.

“Please, brother, a small favor?” Perhaps it seemed to you that you were looking at him in a pleading way. But to him, it was seductive, though he didn't show that. He cleared his throat.

“Alright, what can I do for my lovely sister? What is it you want, I really wonder?”

You smiled hesitantly. “A platoon of soldiers.”

Geta opened his eyes wide, let out a hearty laugh, stood up, and then laughed again, clapping his hands. You tried to stay calm and wait patiently.

He laughed so hard that the slaves on the floor and the ones in his bed all woke up and quickly left the room.

“You know, you really are an unbelievable woman.” His childish smile spread all over his face. He let out another laugh. Then he crossed his arms. “What are you planning to do with all those soldiers? I am genuinely curious.”

“I'm going to save my friend.”

He put his hand on his chin, thinking, narrowing his eyes.

“Why don't you ask the General Acacius for help? He can do alone what a platoon of soldiers can do.”

“Because he won't like what I'm going to do,” you were sure of it.The mere thought of it made you nervous, so you had to get it done as soon as possible.

Geta laughed again. “Something Acacius wouldn't like, hmm, sounds delicious. The soldiers are at your service, sister.”

Whore House…

In the early morning, the street where the whorehouse was located was not very crowded, even quiet. Compared to other parts of the city, it might have been the quietest place in the mornings, but not today. You had come to this street with a group of ten soldiers with a single purpose. And this time you had the power to do it. Not as Aya, but as Princess Aurelia.

Walking with confidence among the soldiers, not paying attention to the people looking at you. You paused in front of the door, and the soldiers stopped with you. You'd already told the commander what was going to happen. He nodded and kicked the door open. The soldiers scattered inside to make sure you got in safely, the last two entering with you, standing next to you, protecting you.

Juturna, the woman who owned this place, looked like she had just woken up. She was surprised to see the soldiers; her pupils were popping out of their sockets.

Then she saw you and pointed her finger at you.

“You! What the?”

The room where they were holding Decima was upstairs. You ignored Juturna's whine and headed for that room. The soldiers were waiting for you downstairs, and one of them came behind you to protect you. When you stepped in front of the room, you rushed inside. Decima was lying on the bed, her wrists still cuffed with chains. She looked a little weak and hardly looked at you. You were incredibly angry. You grabbed her chain and looked at the soldier.

“Uncuff her!”

The soldier nodded and grabbed the collar of one of the guards who had come after you.

“You heard the lady!”

The guard was frightened, he quickly uncuffed her, and Decima's bruised face lit up with a ray of hope. When she was free, she hugged you.

“Aya, but how?”

“Never mind now, let's get you out of here first.”

You grabbed her arm and led her out of the room. As you made your way downstairs, you heard Juturna's cries.

“Lady you can't do this!” she lunged towards you, but one of the soldiers pushed her back.

“Pay her compensation,” you ordered one of the soldiers. He handed her the pouch full of coins.

“This girl is now my slave, send the necessary papers to the Domus Severiana, and if you have any objections, try the Emperor Geta.”

She swallowed hard, knowing full well that she'd never want to contradict him. You smiled triumphantly as you and Decima walked out of there with the soldiers behind you. Then you stopped suddenly when you saw the general standing next to your carriage.

When did he come?

You led Decima inside the carriage and looked at him. He'd called the commander of the troops to him and was talking to him. He punched him on the chest, but not so hard. Was he scolding him?

As you approached him, the soldier was coming towards you, rubbing his chest where General had hit him.

“The General says we're done here, my lady, if you'll excuse me.” he bowed his head.

“The General is right, you can go,” you said, looking at General.

“You really do whatever you set your mind to, you are so stubborn, my lady.” He muttered.

“How do you know I was here?”

Acacius crossed his arms and squinted at you. “I am the General, remember? All the soldiers in this city are under my command.”

"I see. I understand why you might be upset with me for not asking for help. I thought you could stop me from coming here, so I asked Geta for help."

"I can see that you and your brother Geta are close. I believe he asked you for something in return?”

"I promised to make the herbal concoction to heal him."

"I'd like to hear the real answer."

He smiled, but his eyes were sharp. It was impossible to lie to those eyes.

"Perhaps I told him you wouldn't like it," you said, biting your lower lip.

“This is the answer I'm looking for.”

“I didn’t want you to upset, I’m sorry.”

“It's not something you should be sorry about,” he said, looking at the carriage behind you. “You did it for your friend, I understand.”

Her eyes softened, and he was smiling once more, which prompted you to return his smile.

“I miss you,” you said in a low tone.

"I miss you more, my lady. "There are memories of you all over the villa. Facing those memories makes me sorrowful." His brown eyes were warm. "I find I miss you more when I'm in my room. There are so many reminders of you there," he said, his lips curving in a mischievous smile. He leaned his head towards you, close to your ear. "Especially in my bed." You gasped as his warm breath hit your face, your heart racing.

You almost forgot you were in the middle of the street. You were ready to throw yourself into his arms. You pulled yourself together with his giggling, he must have been amused by your facial expression. You jokingly nudged his muscled arm with your elbow.

"You're pretty shameless, General. Seducing me right here in the middle of the street.”

“Apologies, my lady,” he said, laughing.

"Are you coming to the festival today?”

“Yes, I've been invited and I would like to take this opportunity to talk with the emperors.”

You heard the hint in his voice, but you didn't understand it. His grin made you even more curious. He never smiled when he talked about emperors, so this was weird.

‘What are you going to talk to them about, I wonder?’

Acacius held your hand and looked into your eyes. "If it pleases you, my lady, I will tell them I ask your hand in marriage."

You froze and opened your eyes wide, unsure if you had heard correctly. Acacius smiled and kissed your hand.

“You can give me your answer after the festival. You might want to head out now, as preparations are about to get underway.” He put his arm around you and pulled you towards the carriage.

You looked at him before getting in, “I'll be waiting for you there, Marcus.”

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

A promise

Summary: You've been in love with General Marcus Acacius, your father's most trusted advisor and friend, ever since you could remember. A kiss on the day you come of age starts an affair that would last for years before you ask him to choose between having you officially as his or not having you at all. Days after, your father the Emperor dies, and the brother who hated you comes to power, wasting no time to make arrangements to marry you off to someone you had never met before, leaving you mourning about what could have been, when Marcus finds you with a surprising solution.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: my take on the Dad's best friend trope, secret affair, age gap (not specified, but I wrote it with around 20 years in mind), death of a family member, toxic family situations (your siblings hate you), tears, feelings, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex), proposals, mentions of hair brushing, Marcus picks reader up but this is fiction so I pretend he could pick everyone up, FLUFF (do not look at me I have no idea what happened there), most likely historically inaccurate, banner as always just for the vibes, reader has no physical description apart from having hair (and if it has please let me know)

A/N: look at me, writing for a character we know almost nothing about. This is definitely not historically accurate, we're just here for the vibes. Tell me what you think cause posting for a new character makes me even more anxious than posting for old characters

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Full Masterlist // Marcus Acacius Masterlist

You had spend all your life being the perfect daughter to your loving father. 

You never complained, always having the greater good in mind. You did everything that had been asked of you, everything that was decided for you, because your father, may the gods bless his soul, the emperor of Rome had promised you that once the time came, you would be allowed to have a say in who would become your husband. 

You loved your father. 

You were the first born and his favourite. And he made sure that all your siblings knew that, leaving you with siblings, that were despising you all your life. 

But now your father was dead and his second born, your brother, had let you know not even a week after your father had been buried, that you were going to marry some Duke you had never met before, who had promised troops and gods knows what for the pleasure of getting to take you as a wife. 

When you dared to complain your brother had reminded you that you were a mere woman and should be thanking him on your knees for a suitable match, giving that he was the only one who had approached him because of you.

You did not even know how he had found the time for his search for a husband for you ever since he had been put on the throne only a week before. 

But deep down you knew, he had only been waiting for a chance to have his petty revenge of you.

Growing up, your brother never grew tired to remind you just how ugly he thought you were. How dumb you were. That the people only talked to you because you were the favourite of your father. 

He talked you down so often, you had started to believe it. 

You would probably be dead by now if it wasn’t for your Father’s most trusted advisor. 

The current general of the roman army. 

Marcus Acacius. 

Your father and him had grown up together. Fought and won wars together. 

And you?

You had the biggest crush on him since you could remember. 

He was just so strong and big and whenever he smiled you, you remembered getting this weird feeling in your belly. The older you got the more you thought about him, imagining how it would be to be with him. 

It was on the day you came of age, a big celebration held in your honour, that you drank a little too much wine and clumsily pressed your lips against his after he volunteered to get you to your room. 

You were mortified when he just looked at you, before turning away and hurrying away from your chambers. 

You didn’t know he would leave the next morning for war. 

You didn’t know that months after when he came back, the war won, celebrations held in his honour, that he would find you in your chambers and kiss you the way you had always dreamed of. 

You didn’t know that seven years later it was still you he chose to see first whenever he came back from a battle. Or… every time he could sneak away really. 

More than once you had asked him why you could not make it official. Acacius was a person of power. While maybe not holding any royal titles, he was the General of the roman armies. If he would have asked your father for your hand, you were sure he would have given his blessing. 

But he had argued against it, thinking it would most likely be seen as a betrayal of the emperor’s trust. 

It made you feel like a dirty little secret and was one of the reasons you had a big fight just days before your father died. 

You had not seen him since apart from the official events you both had to attend. 

After your brother had informed you that you were to be married within the next week so you were out of his palace you had excused yourself to your chambers, dismissing your staff to have some time for yourself. 

You fought back the tears until the doors closed behind your last maid. 

Sitting down on your bed you allowed yourself to cry. 

Cry for your father. 

Cry for Acacius.

Cry for yourself and your future. 

You did not know who this man you had been set to marry was, but it did not matter. 

Of course you were well over the age of getting married, you knew that. But your father did not care. He only cared about your happiness. 

And now here you were, about to marry a stranger, while being in love with someone else. 

Letting your tears fall freely you jumped when your door opened, hastily brushing the tears away when you noticed Marcus as he closed the door behind him. 

„Forgive me for not knocking but I had to see…. What happened?“ He asked, quickly walking towards you. He knelt down in front of you, taking your hands. 

You hadn’t been alone with him since before your father died, when you told him that you were tired of being with him in secret. That you wanted to be his officially. To love him. To marry him. To have his children. 

It may have been childish, giving him an ultimatum to choose to be with or without you, but you were tired of hiding. 

What happened in the days after was a blur. 

And now he was here, his concerned warm eyes looking all over you as if to search for what made you cry. 

„Did somebody hurt you?“ He asked again and you sobbed, leaning down so you could hug him, bringing your face close to his neck, so you could inhale his familiar scent. 

Within seconds his arms were around you and he picked your up before he sat down on your bed with you sitting sideways in his lap. His hand brushing softly over your hair. You had one hand on his shoulder, your other hand wrapped behind his back holding onto his waist, while one of his arms held you securely against him, his other hand softly stroking your hair. 

You felt him kiss the top of your head and you closed your eyes. 

You allowed yourself to relax, melting against him, any arguments you had forgotten. 

Because he was here, and even though you hadn’t parted in the best ways, there was no place in this world were you felt safer than in his arms. 

„I am to be married within the next week,“ you mumbled against his neck and you felt him tense. 

„I learned about it today. My brother did not lose any time to get me out of his sight,“ you joked weakly before you looked up at him. 

You only noticed now hat his hair was still damp. He must have come directly from the baths, wearing only a linen garment. 

Carefully you brought one of your hands up, your fingers resting on his cheek. 

The candle light made him appear like he was glowing and you wondered how you would live without ever having him this close again. 

„He cannot marry you off to whomever he chooses,“ he said and you chuckled weakly. 

„He is the Emperor now. I am afraid that he can do almost everything he sets his mind on.“

He shook his head.

„He can not,“ he said, his grip around you tightening.

„Acacius…“ you began but he shook his head. 

„Do not call me that. Not you,“ he whispered and your eyes softened. 

„Marcus. You must have known that this day would come sooner or later,“ you brushed your fingers through his soft beard. He leaned into your touch. Smiling softly you rested your head back against his shoulder, letting him hold you for a while. 

This was what you would miss most. Just him holding you, giving you comfort. 

„The day before your father died,“ he began after a while, his fingers brushing up and down your spine, „I talked to him about taking a wife,“ he continued. 

You closed your eyes, releasing a long breath. 

„He was actually happy. To be honest he had been asking me for a while if I need any help finding a suitable wife, but I never took his offer for help because I knew who I wanted to marry from the moment you kissed me first,“ he admitted. 

You softly pressed your lips against his neck and you felt it as he took a deep breath. 

„So I told him that I had someone for a while I could see myself spending the rest of my days with. I told him that I was in love and that I would die to protect her. And when he asked when he could meet this incredible woman I told him that he already has, since she was you,“ you looked up at him then, surprised that he had talked to your father. 

„You told him?“ You asked, voice quiet. He nodded. 

„You know what he said? He said that he could not ask for a better man to take care of his daughter,“ Marcus said and you closed your eyes, letting your head fall against his shoulder. 

„But two days later he was dead and your brother had been named the new Emperor. Your father had meant to talk to you, but everything happened so quickly,“ he took a deep breath. 

„Thankfully I did ask for your hand before he died and he agreed as long as you would say yes.“

„Marcus,“ you shook your head, new tears in your eyes. You felt his fingers tilt your chin up. 

„I haven’t come to talk to you earlier, because I knew your brother would plan something like he did. I had to make sure he could not succeed in taking you away from me. Because you’re mine,“ he said with a small smirk. 

„And I protect what is mine,“ he hummed and you gulped, shuddering as his eyes seemed to darken. 

„But before I can protect you the way I intend to, we have to be wed,“ his thumb brushed over your lip. 

„But how? Knowing my brother he is going to announce my engagement within the next days and has me shipped off by the end of the week,“ you said concerned. 

„That would be inconvenient, because our engagement, signed with blessings by the former Emperor, your father, will be released by the morning, with us to be wed within the next three days,“ he said and you were sure you stopped breathing for a moment as he looked at you. 

„Truly?“ You whispered and he nodded. 

Before he could say anything further you threw your arms around him, making him fall back against your bed with you above him, kissing him deeply. You felt him smile against your lips as he pulled you even closer, his hands running down your body, his fingers slipping under your dress. 

Parting from his lips you looked down at him. 

„I thought you left me,“ you whispered and he shook his head. 

„Never,“ he vowed, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. 

„Then I think you have to ask me a question, General,“ you smiled cheekily and he grinned. 

„Will you do me the honour of being my wife?“ He asked as his hands came to rest on your ass. 

„Usually the man gets on his knees to ask his intended, does he not?“ You teased and he hummed thoughtfully, before he rolled you over so he was on top, kissing your forehead. 

„You are right as always, my love. I shall get on my knees to ask you for your hand,“ he winked before he slowly slipped down your body, his lips kissing a line down your body. Parting your legs wider to make space for him you looked down just as he pulled at the sting of your dress, his fingers parting the fabric so it fell to the side, revealing your naked body to him. 

He kissed your knee and goosebumps spread over your body like wild fire. 

You sat yourself up, leaning on your elbows so you could see him properly. 

His nose brushed up your inner thigh as he settled down between your legs, his breath brushing over you wet cunt as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

„I will promise to love you,“ he hummed, his lips pressing against the skin just above your pussy. 

„To cherish you,“ he continued, slowly kissing himself down and you sucked your bottom lip in. 

„To protect you,“ his tongue licked a strip from bottom to top. 

„Until the day I die,“ he hummed before he sucked your clit between his lips. You felt his tongue move over your clit and you moaned softly while his eyes were focused on yours. One of his hands came up to grab one of your tits, massaging it. 

„I will give you everything you want,“ he said as he released your clit only to lick down towards you hole. 

„When you want,“ he licked again. 

„How often you want,“ he winked at you before his tongue entered you, making you moan out his name softly, one of your hands coming down to rest in his soft hair. He hummed against you, his tongue getting you closer and closer to the edge, his fingers pinching your nipple. 

Marcus then focused his attention on your clit, his tongue playing with it while two of his fingers slowly entered you, angling them just the way he knew had you singing his name. 

„Marcus, please,“ you moaned, your head falling back. 

„Cum for me, my love,“ he hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit while his fingers massaged your inner walls and you shattered, your back arching before you let yourself fall back against the mattress, your body shaking with an orgasm so intense you saw stars. 

Melting into the mattress as you tried to calm your racing heart, you smiled when you felt Marcus kiss your hip. 

After a moment you opened your eyes and looked down at him. 

„You still haven’t dropped to your knees or asked a question, General,“ you reminded him and he hummed thoughtfully before he pushed himself up, kneeling between your legs. He pulled his clothing down, leaving him completely naked as he gazed down at you, his eyes dark and his cock hard and leaking. 

His fingers wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping his length. 

Your tongue dared out, wetting your lips, saliva filling your mouth. 

You wanted a taste and judging by his smirk he knew it. 

„I am kneeling,“ he said with a wink. 

„I can see that,“ you sassed and he chuckled, before he released the grip on his cock and lowered his body over yours. You wrapped one of your legs behind him, your feet brushing up and down his leg, as he settled between your legs his cock notching at your hole. 

You smiled up at him as he looked at you, his strong arms resting next to your head to hold himself up. 

„I never thought I would love anyone as much as I love you. You make everything lighter, easier. I want to live my life with you by my side to make it better,“ he rubbed his nose over yours and you could feel tears in the corner of your eyes as you wrapped your arms behind his broad back. 

„Marry me, my love,“ he whispered before he slowly slipped inside of you, his cock filling you every thick inch. 

„Make me the happiest and proudest man in Rome,“ he whispered when his cock had filled you completely. You found his lips in a sweet kiss as he began to move, slowly fucking into you. 

„Marry me,“ he whispered with his lips against yours as he moved faster, his hips meeting yours with an audible smack every time his cock filled you. 

„Let me fill you with as many children as you’re willing to give me,“ he groaned against your ear while you moaned, his body moving over yours with every thrust into you. Your walls clenched his cock inside of you, making him groan. Arching your back against his chest you began to meet his thrusts, your fingers digging into the warm skin on his back.

„As many as I want?“ You asked and he nodded and you made sure to keep your leg wrapped around him, making it clear that you would not let him pull out of you today. 

„Marry me,“ he moaned his forehead coming to rest against yours as your lips parted with a long moan as you came on his cock, your eyes only closing for a moment before you opened them just in time to see his eyes when you gasped a

„Yes“

To his question, his cock almost immediately twitching inside of you as he came and filled you with his seed for the first time.

He stayed like that for a moment before he kissed you and rolled you around so you were resting on top of him. 

He softened inside of you, your joined release dripping into the sheets but you could not bring yourself to care. You leaned with your arm on his chest, looking up at him with bright eyes. 

„What if I had said no?“ You asked with a small smile. 

„Then I would have spend more time convincing you to say yes,“ he smiled, his fingers brushing over your naked shoulder. You pressed your lips against his strong chest. 

You knew that once word got out about your engagement, Rome would not be safe for you anymore, no matter how much influence he had with his post. 

Your brother would find a way to have his way. 

There was only one way for a chance of the happy life you both imagined. 

„If I asked you to leave Rome with me to start a new life somewhere else, what would you say?“ You asked him. 

„I would ask when you want to leave,“ he smiled before he leaned down to kiss you. 

[probablyintensemuses]

Dating Armando Aretas Would Include:

Grumpy x Sunshine Edition

🎧- Enchanted: Taylor Swift

pairing: Armando Aretas x black fem! reader

themes: grumpy x sunshine w/drabble

warnings: mentions of trauma & abuse, strong language, and a bit of gore.

authors note: I saw Bad Boys 4 again last night and it’s really refueled my Armando obsession, so more headcannons, drabbles, and fics on the way.

✨First Encounters✨

You and Armando meet in the worst of circumstances.

He, his father, and Marcus were on the run as wanted men, and you were the first person Mike thought to turn to after the attack at Tabatha’s.

Which he wasn’t wrong, you’d give your left kidney to Mike he’s saved you so many times.

You had let them into your small apartment, offering them clothes, food, and shelter until they could get in touch with the rest of the Ammo team and sort this shit out.

Armando had taken an interest to you then. Your house was warm and cozy, lived in. A small, plush couch, next to a coffee table littered with medical books. A kitchen stacked with teas and espressos , a dresser with vintage vinyls and a record player beside it. This was the kind of house he’d like to live in if he lead a different life.

You remember walking over to him, a picture of your parents and you when you were young in his hands.

“Those are my parents,’ you say. “I was ten then.”

Armando’s gruff exterior takes over though, and he doesn’t give you as much as a word back, let alone a thank you for feeding and housing literal fugitives.

You figured it was just him though and let it roll off you back like water.

You all got some sleep and the next day Mike asks you to drive them out to Dorn’s house on the dock. You agree and begin to load up the truck with guns, water, food, and extra clothes for the drive.

This is when Armando starts to question who you are and the legitimacy of your actions. Last person Mike trusted fucked them over, and he wasn’t having that shit again.

So he pulls his father aside and confronts him on the situation: you.

“How can we trust her?” Armando says, not far out of earshot of you.

“She’s good for it, trust me.”

“Didn’t you say that the last time and we got sold out. Don’t forget there is fucking five million dollar bounty on our heads. We can’t trust no one!” He whisper-shouted.

Mikes shoulders dropped. “I saved her life when she was younger, and I used to work with her parents. Trust me, she’s not going to pull a fast one. Because if she was, she would have done it already.”

Armando looked over at you, you’re dressed in a tank top, and that’s when he notices the cuts and burns littering your left arm. He sucks in a deep breath eyeing Mike who looks at you with sympathy too. There’s a story there, he’ll piece it together later, but for now he guesses you’re his only hope of getting out alive.

✨Post-fallout ✨

After you didn’t screw them over, and got them safety to Dorn’s, Armando found himself limping towards your apartment, blood trailing behind his feet.

Mike had sent him, and for some reason, at that moment, your place felt like exactly what he needed.

With the last of his energy, he banged on your door. Shortly, you answered and immediately went into panic mode.

The moment you let him inside, Armando crashes to the floor, passing out.

You screech and get every first aide equipment you have on hand and begin to bandage him up and stop the bleeding.

It took two bloody, sweaty hours, but you eventually got him all closed up.

Armando woke the next morning in a bed he didn’t recognize. This sent him into a frenzy. He went to shoot up out of the bed, but the soreness of his injuries knocked him back down.

“Fuck,” he moaned, grabbing at his torso.

From the living room, you turn down your headphones at the sound of movement. Armando must be awake.

Two days of rest, not bad.

You move towards the microwave and reheat the breakfast you had made him, pour some orange juice, and bring a whole heck of a lot of water and pain-pills.

Tray in hand, you kick open the door and slip inside your bedroom.

“Good morning.” You smile, setting the tray on the bed by his side. “How do you feel?”

“What the fuck did you put in this.” Armando asks, eyeing the food.

“Eggs, bacon, and toast.” You snicker.

Armando lifts a piece of toast, taking a bite. “If I die from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted, Sarg.” You salute.

You watch Armando eat his food with a smile on your face.

Eventually he looks up at you scowling. “Why are you staring at me.”

You shrug. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” You say truthfully.

“Well,’ Armando takes a swig of water, downing the pills. “Go be happy somewhere else.”

Your shoulders drop and you let out a sigh, you knew Armando was tough, but geez, you practically saved his life. Would it kill him to be a little nice?

But still you smile when you say, “okay, well if you need me, I’ll be out in the living room studying. Feel free to roam around, I don’t mind.”

It was a couple hours before Armando had come out of your room, limping over to the kitchen and rummaging through your fridge.

“I’m making dinner right now,’ you say, pausing your television show. “It’s a roast with veggies.”

“I want a beer.” He grumbles.

“Well I don’t have beer, but I do have wine.” You say, pointing to you collection of reds and whites.

“ I don’t want wine.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

Armando comes over to you, cornering you into the tiny space between your sink and the counter. “Get me a beer.”

“Let’s start over,’ you stick out your hand for a shake. “I think we’re at a misunderstanding of our situation.”

Armando frowns at your response, grumbling Spanish curses under his breath and walking away, slamming your door like a toddler.

The roast was done, and eventually you got Armando to come and have dinner with you…kind of.

He sat on the couch and watched the news, for updates on the status for his search, and you sat at the table, contemplating what to do with him next.

✨Enemies, Friends, Roomates✨

Mike had told you harboring Armando would only be for a short while until he could figure something out with the D.A’s office….that was three months ago.

Eventually you got your bed back, Armando taking the couch, but not your sanity.

Living with Armando wasn’t easy. He was brash, stand-offish, stubborn, and mean.

You did everything to try and form some kind of bond with him, even buying him gym equipment offline, but it just never clicked for him.

Not until one night when you’re studying late for an exam and happen to fall asleep at the kitchen table, books all around you.

That’s when you fall into a nightmare. The man who ruined your life the star of the show, again.

It always starts the same. You and your parents living happily at the park. Your parents watch you as you swing higher and higher, giggles filling the air. Then a man appears at the edge of the park, beckoning your parents over. You scream and shout for them but they never turn back, they keep going to the man. And when he has your parents in his grip, he brandishes a knife, slicing them open.

You let out a blood curling scream, slamming awake and falling to the group. Sweat sticks your curls to your face as you cry and gasp for breath.

Armando’s up in a second, swarming you.

“Estás bien?’ He pats you down, checking you out. “What’s happened to you?”

You can’t do anything but cry. The man who’s ruined your life, he’ll never leave you…he made sure of that in many ways. His latching to you is so deep that you can’t even escape him when you sleep.

You finally are able to get some words out, tell Armando, “I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,’ he helps you stand. “Maybe you should get some sleep in your bed.”

You’re shocked by his response, but you’re even more shocked by the way he helps you to your room.

“What are you doing?” You asks, confused.

“You just flew out your chair from a nightmare, what do you mean what am I doing? I’m helping you.”

“Yeah, I get that…but you never help me.”

Armando sighs, holding his hands at his hips. “You gonna tell me what it was about, or should I leave.”

You sigh. “When I was younger, my parents worked for the Miami Police Department. They were detectives and before I was born they ended up helping catch this serial killer. His name was Gunter Bennett but the media called him “The Gutter” because that’s how he killed. Years later, somehow he escaped prison. That’s when he came for my parents. He killed them in the middle of the night.’ You take an uneasy breath, finding birth relief and shock when Armando’s hand slips into yours. “And I was sure he was going to kill me too, but he didn’t…he did worse. He kidnapped me and kept me at some shithole for three years. Three.”

You rile up your sleeves and show all your burns and cuts. Armando remembers them from the first day he met you.

“It’s how I got these. That sadistic bastard,’ you cry. “He tortured me.”

Armando feels something in him snap hearing your story and seeing the ways it’s effected you, even now. He knows what it’s like to be harmed and loose the people closest to you.

So he shocks even himself with what does next, scooping you up like a wounded bird and nuzzling under the blankets with you.

You whimper and sniffle in his arms and he just hushes you, stroking your curls.

“It’s going to be alright, niña bonita, he’s gone now.”

Slowly, the exhaustion of work, school, and your tears overcome you and you both drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

✨My Lover✨

Armando was jealous.

You two had just spent the day out shopping, laughing and talking. Hell, you two live together! And yet you’re grinding on another man at the bar?!

The glass in Armando’s hand shakes and chips as he squeezes it further.

“Relax, muscle milk. You’ll break the glass.” Marcus says.

Armando scowls at him.

“I’m just saying, if you love her, tell her.” Marcus shrugs, walking away.

Armando scoffs. Love? Yeah right.

Did he feel close to you, yes.

Want to spend every breathing moment with you, yes.

Touch himself in the shower thinking about you, yes .

Oh fuck…he did love you.

Fuck! He loved you and you’re grinding another man!

Armando pushed out of his chair, it clattering to the ground in his wake.

He stalked over to you, grabbing your wrist and putting room between you and the man you danced on.

“ ‘Mando, what are you doing?” You stumble, clearly drunk.

“Let’s go.” He grabs you, chest heaving.

“Hey, wait!” You swat at him as he drags you through the bar and out the exit. “Why would you do that?” You whine.

“Because you’re drunk.” He rolls his eyes, slinging his leather jacket over your naked shoulders.

“I’m not!’ You whine, stumbling, luckily Armando catches you with ease. “I am.”

“You are. Let’s go.” He says, slinging you and carrying you bridal shower.

“Ah,’ you say, wrapping your arms around Armando’s neck and snuggling into him. “My knight in shining armor always takes such good care of me.’ You lean over, smacking his butt with a giggle.

“Shut up.” Armando says, resisting the urge to crack a smile.

Home, Armando tucks you into bed. He’s just about to walk away when you snatch his wrist, pulling him on top of you.

“Let’s play a game,” you whisper.

Armando rolls his eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth for truth. I tell you a truth and you do the same. “I’ll start.” You giggle.

“Tonight went exactly how I planned.”

Armando pulls back. “What do you mean by that?”

You shake your head and pout. “Uh uh. You’re turn.”

Armando sighs. “I don’t actually find you that annoying…anymore.”

“Ah, I knew it!” You laugh.

“Knew what?”

“Game over.’ You slump and snore, pretending to sleep.

“Stop it, you knew what?” Armando lifts you.

You bop his nose. “I knew that you loved me.”

Armando’s eyes get big. “What?”

“Me and kelly paid that guy to dance with me. We knew you’d get mad and that was all the proof I needed.”

“You’re a dick.” He starts to walk away, but you grab him by his belt loop.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You pull him back. “But you don’t have to be shy.” You hiccup.

Armando grumbles, nuzzling his face into your stomach. “And why’s that?”

You lift his head, angling it to face you. “Because I love you too.” You lean forward, placing a firm kiss onto his plump lips.

Armando reciprocates, opening his mouth turning the kiss fierce and hot. He climbs on top of you, mumbling against your lips. “And I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

You giggle. “Feels good to be bad for a change.”

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Gift

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)

Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…

A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3

Masterlist

Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.

He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.

First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.

The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.

The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.

“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.

Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.

“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”

Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.

The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.

It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing. 

He is lucky. 

Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.

They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door. 

Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.

“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.  

“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.

You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.

“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.

“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.

“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”

“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full. 

You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.

“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.

“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”

“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”

The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.

“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”

“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”

“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”

The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.

“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.

“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”

“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”

The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”

“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again. 

“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.

“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.

The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”

“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again. 

“Marcus.”

“...My Lord?”

“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.

The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.

“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh. 

“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”

His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring. 

Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.

Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of… 

Oh.

He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.

He does not know what to do with you. 

Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons. 

He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.

“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.

“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily. 

“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile. 

Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same. 

“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache–and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.” 

It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.

“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes. 

Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.

“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles. 

You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him. 

“What will you do with me?” you ask.

“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”

“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth. 

“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue. 

Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”

“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff. 

Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.

“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.

“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”

“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.

Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”

Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”

You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”

Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time. 

“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds. 

“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly. 

“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”

He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”

In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.

You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate. 

Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face. 

A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.

The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation. 

They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.

“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”

**********************************

Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.

You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.

Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.

“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”

The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.

“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.

“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.

*************************************

A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head. 

“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.” 

The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.

Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling. 

“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.

“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”

“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”

You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair. 

“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”

You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”

You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question. 

“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”

You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.

Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist. 

“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”

“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”

“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”

As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.

“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.

“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”

“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets. 

“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.

“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close. 

“No.”

“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.

“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”

Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.” 

He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.

He did not want you. 

But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head. 

He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–

Gods.

The night that he almost lost you.

If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.

This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.

Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure. 

He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left. 

“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink. 

“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”

Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.

“How much?” His voice is rough and thick. 

The woman’s smile widens.

They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.

You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions. 

He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is. 

“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully. 

“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread. 

You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.

“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.

You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”

Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.

“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.

He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.

“Would you like to go see it? The play?”

 The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.

“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”

“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”

“Your… your consort?” 

“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”

You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still. 

“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”

You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber. 

“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.

Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?

With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.

“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.

His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment. 

“What?” you finally ask. 

Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”

The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.

“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.

You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”

Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh,” you gasp. 

“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”

Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.

The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”

Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one. 

The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him. 

“Marcus?” 

He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop. 

“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously. 

“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.

“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze. 

“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.

“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”

Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you. 

When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.

“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”

You are ablaze.

Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you. 

Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop. 

“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”

“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”

“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.

His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”

You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.

“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”

His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”

You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself. 

Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you. 

“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.

“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.

When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.

“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”

You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–

“Oh,” you whimper softly. 

Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling. 

“Watch,” Marcus reminds you. 

With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes. 

“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.

“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”

You giggle. “I think so.”

He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–

Oh, Gods. 

Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.

“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.

“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”

You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you. 

“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?” 

You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything. 

“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly. 

“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully. 

“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.

“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”

“That is hardly my doing–”

“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”

“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”

“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Do not be cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You are denying me.”

At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”

“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”

Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours. 

Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction. 

The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds. 

With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–

“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”

He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.

“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”

His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.

“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”

In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”

Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”

He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”

You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.

Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain. 

The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again. 

Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again. 

His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear. 

Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–” 

“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”

“Marcus,” you manage to gasp. 

“Again.”

“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–” 

Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves. 

Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes. 

He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you. 

You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.

[Several moons later]

“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.

“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.” 

You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?” 

Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like. 

“Tell me the statement again.”

He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”

“Yes.”

“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”

“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”

“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.

“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly. 

“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful. 

You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”

Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”

With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.

This is the last time.

The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly. 

“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer. 

“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering. 

Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.

“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”

Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.

“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”

You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side. 

“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”

The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.

“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow. 

“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”

“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”

Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile. 

Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”

Epilogue

In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. 

There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion. 

He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up. 

There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats. 

Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.  

Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.

They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones. 

No one has ever dared to ask about them.

[juletheghoul]

JULES! It's currently 12:30am and I can't stop thinking about your Marcus gladiator fic. I need to scream this at you.

Picture this:

They are back in Rome. They are in the baths, public or private. I personally picture public ignoring the fact he would definitely get his own bathing area being a successful General but I digress. Someone has had a bit too much wine and gets a little too handsy and rough with his girl. That pisses him off so now he has to take a statement right? You can't touch what's his!

So he calls her into the water with him and has her continue the bathing while sitting on his cock before just eventually destroying her. Bonus points if he makes stoic eye contact with the offending party that started it all.

I cannot get this idea out of my head and I just had to share this with you.

Take care~! ❤️

Nonny - you really came for my fucking throat with this one... 😍😍😍 like... I stared at this with my jaw on the floor - what a mind you have... okay lets get into it

smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and barely proofread lmao)

Series masterlist

---

The campaign was finally over, for now.

He'd marched into the city with his legions behind him, and the streets of Rome roared to herald their victor, the famous, brutal, but efficient, General Marcus Acacius.

He waved, and made the appropriate salutes to the city, but he was sparing with his smiles, his eyes scanning even here in the safety of Rome's breast, for anything that might threaten his safety. You watched him from your place behind him, along with the other slaves that had followed him and his soldiers off to war, invisible in his shadow to anyone but him, and a few brazen few who had decided to test his boundaries. They had been forgotten however, the only thing that occupied your mind, was him.

His first stop had been his villa, to settle his household. It was all very cut and dry, his staff knew to keep his house in order in his absence and they did so, enough that he hadn't even spoken more than a few words while he made his way through. While he set about getting settled in, you did the same, moving silently through his halls towards your modest quarters. The road had been long, and you thought that you could probably get away with bathing, and taking a few moments to yourself, trusting that now he would be well attended to.

You barely got your bearings when he cleared his throat at your door.

"Apologies Dominus, did you want for something?"

"Gather your things, we go to the baths."

-

The baths, strictly speaking, were for everyone. There were certain ones however, like the one you were in now, that were privately owned. This one, was owned by a member of the Senate and friend to the Roman army, and as such, was populated by a few other soldiers, and their attendants.

Marcus spoke very little by nature, he was a man who kept his words as close as he did his coin. He said even less when confronted with raucous laughter, and men who couldn't seem to keep their dignity when taking a cup of wine.

His jaw clenched as you both settled into the warm waters of the baths and you set about washing the march and the war and the violence off of his skin, sitting behind him to rub the knots from his shoulders while ignoring the ever increasingly loud soldiers around you. One of them, was the same that had tested his patience in his tent, and by the way he kept eyeing Marcus in front of you, had forgotten the lesson.

"The oil, girl." He spoke low over his shoulder, and you belatedly realized you'd left the oil he liked with the robes when you'd undressed.

"Yes Dominus." WIth haste, and not an ounce of shame, you rose up out of the water and went to grab the vial, finding it quickly, but before you could make it back to him you were cut off.

"I can see why you like this one General, I can see why you're so greedy with her." The same soldier stands in your way, his hands grabbing at your waist. The wine in his cup spills onto your naked skin and for a moment you're afraid he'll paw at you further but within a moment he's as still as a statue. That's when you notice, the deathly hush that falls over the whole place.

You look up into the soldiers face and his eyes are as big as plates, a small dagger pressed to the apple of his throat, the point just deep enough to draw blood. You hadn't heard him come out of the water.

"This is the last warning I give you, the next time you put your hands on what's mine, you will die." His voice was a whisper, but it echoed through the room. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Ye-yes, Yes General." all humor had gone from the man, and when Marcus had pulled away, all taste for wine had as well.

Wordlessly you followed Marcus back into the water, but instead of sitting in front of you, he pulled you to sit in his lap, keeping his eyes on the spurned soldier.

"I want you sitting like this." His hands settled on your hips and you felt the way he hardened beneath you, "Continue." He spoke low, but clear and kept his eyes focused, daring anyone to question him.

You did your best to focus on washing his hair, on rubbing the oil into the skin of his shoulders and his chest, but his hands wandered, grabbing at your ass and fitting his cock between the lips of your sex, drawing out your arousal and making your pulse quicken. His lips descended next, pressing softly to your shoulder while his eyes remained fixed. WIth a move, he slid his cock inside, pulling a moan from your lips, it only served to bolster him, making no move to conceal what he was doing and you knew it was part frustration from being at war, and driving home his point.

He said nothing, but he didn't need to.

People watched him take you there, in the water, and they said nothing. Any modesty you had, and shame had been worked out of you long ago and now, all you felt was pleasure. Both at him bouncing you on his cock, and at him having taught the soldier a lesson on your behalf. You ignored the part that sang the sweet song of ownership. You were his, and he relished the fact.

"Dominus-" You all but moaned into his ear, "May I have your gift?" You bounced on your own now, holding onto his neck, pressing yourself tightly to him.

"Yes Girl, it's yours, take it." He grit out the words, his eyes finally finding yours. You sped up, using your buoyancy to your advantage, clenching around him on the downstroke and when you felt his hands tighten around your hips you knew you had him.

"May I have your mouth, Dominus?" You watched his lips as you bounced, and he smiled a tiny smile before claiming your kiss with the same ardor that burned in your veins.

His tongue licked into your mouth and within a moment you felt the first spurt of him, deep inside where he liked it to be.

After a few minutes you made to move but his hands held you tightly. You took a look around, but unbeknownst to you, the baths had emptied and you were alone.

"I did not feel you flutter, and I am not yet clean."

---

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[baronessvonglitter]

Halftime Show

Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Dave York, Frankie Morales, Marcus Moreno x f!sexworker!reader (lucky girl)

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: you're an escort hired for a private Super Bowl party hosted by a mysterious client and his four friends

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, reader's work name is "Angel", reader is a sex worker, mildly dubious consent (though she does state that the men can do as they want, it's her first experience in sex work), rough sex (but no violence done to reader), group sex, threesome to sixsome, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, double p in v, anal sex & fingering, multiple penetration, hand jobs, face fucking, facial, verbal abuse/humiliation, squirting, swallowing, creampie, spitroasting, reader gets slapped w/a dick for a bit, porn without plot, you know.. all the sweet stuff.

Author's Note: another cross-post from AO3 but honestly, football is barely mentioned so if you want you can ignore the whole Super Bowl aspect. Y'all might know by now I love a little romance in my smut but this particular fic has zero romance. Reader is there to do a job and leaves having done it very well. Also.. I'm considering creating a part 2 featuring more Pedro Boys, so any input on that is welcome!

FULL MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | JAVIER PENA MASTERLIST

It's your first day as an escort and you're a little nervous. Okay, a lot nervous. You never know what you're going to expect from clients, but these guys you're about to meet have been pre-screened and even had to turn in blood tests just to be considered as clients. The escort service you work for is very prestigious. You're even driven to the location by a security detail who is tasked to wait outside for you. This makes you feel a little better.

You take a quick look at your outfit before you leave the car. The rule is you show up in character and leave in character. No real names, no background stories, just a persona and an exchange of goods. Simple as that. Should be easy enough.

Taking a deep breath, you exit the car and go up to the front door.

The doorbell rings, and Dave York springs from the sofa, a little smirk on his lips. "Guys, I think she's here," he announces, and the rest of the group look up from the Super Bowl game, groaning when Dave mutes the sound even though it's just gone to commercial.

"Who?" Frankie Morales asks, swigging a beer.

"The halftime entertainment," Dave answers mysteriously.

Marcus Moreno and Joel Miller trade inquisitive glances. Javier Peña raises his brow. He knows what Dave means.

Dave brings you into the living room and you take a quick survey of your surroundings: the home is nicer than most, two stories, decorated tastefully but with an obvious woman's touch. You give him a once-over. He's forty-ish, handsome, clean-shaven.

"The wife got the house in the divorce," Dave tells you, as if reading your mind. "This is my last weekend here, so let's make it count!" He raises his glass of whiskey to the guys, most of whom also salute with their drinks. They are all eyeing you like a pack of dogs that haven't eaten in days.

Marcus, a kind-looking man with dark eyeglasses who gives you Clark Kent vibes, smiles awkwardly at you, blushing. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" he asks Dave politely.

"Angel," you give your working name, smiling at each of the men. They're all cute: some scruffy, some dapper.

Dave smirks. "I'm Dave, and these are my buddies Marcus, Frankie, Joel, and Javier." Each of the guys smiles or nods at you as they're introduced.

"I heard you guys are looking to get wild," you say, opening your winter coat to reveal your see-through lingerie. Joel, Javier, and Dave whoop in excitement. Marcus and Frankie are more reticent but can't take their eyes off you. "What do you plan on doing with little ol' me?" you ask innocently, kneeling on the cushioned ottoman in the middle of the living room. You glide your hands over your body and smile as the men shift in their seats, watching you, getting hard already at the idea of you offering yourself.

Dave is the first to put his hands on you, first on your hips then grabbing your ass. Joel, an older man with graying hair and green flannel shirt, interrupts him, rising from his seat. "Now, who told you you get to go first?" he asks in a deep voiced Texan accent.

"First? We're running a train on this girl?" Javier asks from his seat, a cigarette burning between his lips. He's dressed like someone from the 1970s but his clothes fit him well, accentuating a lean physique.

"You can do whatever you want with me," you tell them with confidence. "But of course, no hitting, no biting, no leaving marks." You are resolute on this, as is your employer.

"Hell, darlin', we're not monsters," Joel says, his eyes full of concern for you. The others chime in that they aren't into really rough stuff. Only Dave looks a little disappointed by your rule.

"I'd expect you to be more methodical about this," Javier tells Dave, rising from his seat and casting an amused glance at his friend. He eyes you up and down then reaches into your bra to cup your breast while his other hand dives between your thighs. "Christ, she's already wet. And so fucking tight. You haven't been doing this kind of work long, have you, baby?"

"You all are my first clients," you admit, your breath hitching as his thick fingers tease you.

Javier manages a small smile then looks over at the group. "You haven't thought about these guys," he tells Dave, and nods at Frankie and Marcus. "They're completely baffled by this."

"We're not, I know exactly what's going on," insists Frankie, an adorable middle-aged guy wearing a t-shirt, cargo pants and baseball cap. His innocence is palpable and quite touching.

Dave and Javier's hands are still on you, grabbing and groping. It's a good start. "I'm paying for her. I should get to go first," Dave complains.

A few of the guys (well, okay, Javier and Dave) start to bicker about it, fueled by testosterone and alcohol. Joel strides up to you, effectively taking you away from Dave and Javier. "It's kind of a shame that no one's puttin' her feelings into consideration. She's gonna be providin' a huge service for us. Least we can do is give her a little pleasure beforehand." With that, he takes you and places you on the ottoman, kneeling between your open thighs. He rips open the crotch of your lingerie and dives in, sucking on your pussy. Your initial shock gives way to thrill as you register the warm, wet stiffness of his tongue rasping your folds, your clit, not taking his time about it. Your fingers curl into his hair as you lift your thighs back. You're still on the clock, still giving a show, even if this part is currently for your benefit. With Joel's aid you manage to take the now-ruined lingerie off and are naked but for your knee-high stockings.

"Way to get the party started," Javier says approvingly. "I'm not about to waste any time." He goes to you and sits you up. You take a moment to admire the bulge in those tight trousers before he pulls them down enough to take out his thick shaft. You obediently open your mouth to accept it and he slowly moves into your throat, allowing you to get used to him. Saliva pools in your mouth as you start to moan around his dick, still exhilarated by Joel's ravishing you with his tongue. You feel a hand massaging your breast and look over to see Frankie, his puppy dog eyes wide with wonder, as if he can't believe you're real.

"That feels so good," you tell him, sensing he likes praise. He lights up, encouraged by you, and continues to pinch and pull at your nipple before sucking on it, extracting a pleasured moan from your lips before you go back to sucking off Javier.

Marcus and Dave stand back. Marcus looks flustered and Dave has his hands on his hips, making a face. He's figuring out where to squeeze in but at the same time doesn't want to share.

Meanwhile you're keeping busy with Javier's cock in your mouth, Frankie's mouth on your breast, and Joel still lapping at you between your thighs. The most exquisite feelings comes over you and your scream is muffled as you come so hard, your body spasming while surrounded by these men. It's the most sensually charged moment of your entire life.

Joel lifts himself up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "She's wetter'n a cucumber in a convent," he chuckles, standing and trying to get the feeling back in his knees. Frankie then moves down to finger you just as Javier is on the verge of coming. Just as he gives a strangled growl, spilling his cum into your willing throat, you feel one of Frankie's fingers in your ass. You gasp and clench around him as Dave takes Javier's place. Your body is buzzing with energy, with lust.

"You're gonna earn every penny," Dave growls, thrusting into your mouth as if he hates you. You don't have a gag reflex but you pretend to choke on him, bringing tears to your eyes.

Frankie starts to undo his pants then quickly steps away. "I'm, uh, not ready yet."

"Let her take care of it," Javier says, lighting up another cigarette.

"No smoking in here," Dave warns, his eyes still on the mascara running down your face.

"Fuck you."

You start stroking Frankie, smiling at the plumpness of his cock, uncut. He's gazing down at you with tenderness in his eyes.

"Marcus, you joinin' us?" Joel asks, getting ready to pull down his jeans.

Marcus watches from the adjoining kitchen, his beer growing warm in his hand. "Maybe.. in a bit." He smiles nervously.

Joel shrugs and unzips himself, releasing his thick, veiny cock. It's all you can do not to stare at it in wonder.

"Hey, I was gonna go first," Dave says aggressively.

"You snooze you lose. Aren't we all gonna get a turn?" Joel smirks before aligning himself to your opening. "Such a tiny, perfect little pussy.. you're gonna be completely wrecked when we're done with you, babygirl..."

Your eyes widen when he begins to slide into you, but you're already slick enough to take him. You remove Dave from your mouth so you can watch Joel's cock disappear inch by inch into your cunt.

"Don't forget about me," Dave warns you, tapping his dick against the side of your face. You compliantly return to sucking him off and he grunts contentedly in response. At the same time Joel pushes in to the hilt. "Hell she's taking every inch of me," he groans. "What a good little slut she is.."

"Well shit, don't stretch her out before the rest of us," Dave complains.

"That's not a particular worry of mine," Javier smirks, getting himself ready again as he goes to your free hand, opposite Frankie, who is already hard and ready. Joel is building up a nice tempo, sliding deep inside your pussy, Dave thrusts avidly into your mouth, Frankie and Joel are watching you as you zealously prime them for whatever they want to do next.

"Oh my god!" Frankie's eyes go wide and without warning he comes on your stomach and you make a sound of surprise when you feel the warm stickiness of him on your skin. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," you tell him with a smile. "Think you've got another one in you?" you wink and scoop his cum into your mouth as Frankie watches in wonder.

Dave seems upset that you keep removing him from your mouth to talk to Frankie, but Frankie looks so happy that you're not grossed out or upset. Dave grabs hold of the back of your head and rams himself in your throat. "Less talking, bitch," he growls.

You would give him a death glare but then you feel Joel speeding up, his thrusts strong, the loud slapping of your flesh fills the air. Before you know it you're throbbing around him, milking him as you feel him finish inside you. He doesn't stay long, and soon Javier takes his place. "Flip over, cariño," he says, moving you on all fours. Dave takes over from the front, Frankie strokes himself while fondling your tit. Javier grabs your ass and slides in, letting you feel every inch of him as you moan around Dave's cock. He cums soon, spraying the back of your throat with his thick white cum.

"Get in there, Frankie!" Javier encourages, pumping away none too gently as he watches your ass ripple with each thrust. "Marcus get over here and do something or you'll miss out!"

Marcus seems frozen to his spot but Frankie follows orders and you open wide to receive him. He looks down at you like you're some kind of miracle, and you make sure to look at him the same way, charmed by his good nature.

Javier leans close to you. "I'm gonna put it in your ass, cariño."

"Do whatever you want," you purr.

He pulls out of you and you feel a warm glob of saliva at your rear entrance. Javier smears it around your puckered hole and eases himself in. You gasp, fists clenching the edge of the ottoman. "Fill all her holes, boys," Dave says, watching from the side. "That's what she's here for."

Frankie pulls away from your mouth. "Let me get under you." he says, and Javier pulls out enough for you two to get positioned. Frankie aligns himself at your entrance and sinks in easily. "Jesus, you feel so good, Angel.." He thrusts up into you as Javier continues to fuck your ass. The three of you are a fusion of lust and frenzy. Joel watches, running his tongue over his lips, still tasting your sweet essence. Dave tells everyone he's next to claim your ass. Marcus has since inched closer, undeciding yet if he's going to join, or how. He's obviously hard, his eyes dark with craving.

"Marcus," you mumble as he approaches your side. "Fuck my mouth," you beg.

He suppresses a gasp but he unbuckles his belt. "I haven't.. in a while.."

"That's okay.." you smile at him, helping him pull down his pants and briefs, running your nails over his solid girth, and he immediately rises to the occasion. "You were shy before, but not now," you notice, and give his cock a couple of gentle tugs before taking him into your waiting mouth, just the tip, and letting him go in as deep as he wants.

Javier speeds up, fingers digging into your hips as all your cries fill the room. He comes, filling your ass as he grunts savagely, causing you in turn to come, clenching around Frankie who buries himself deep inside as he lets go. Once Javier pulls away Dave takes over, gripping your hips and moving you against him.

You finger your lonely pussy, unable to make yourself feel as good as any of these men have. “Oh god, I want all of you at once.. please!” You beg.

Marcus approaches you and lays beneath you as Dave moves away, scoots up so he’s practically standing over you. Joel claims your mouth and Javier lets you pump him with your fist. Frankie approaches from behind and at the same time Marcus enters you from beneath. Two men fuck your cunt, stretching you, ruining you, and all you can do is give them what they want and then ask for more.. one man in your mouth, in your hand, in your ass.. you are working for every penny just as Dave said.

You're practically dazed by the countless feelings of pleasure coming from every man inside you, the way they move, the way they taste, how their hands grope your ass or your breasts, your hips.. you're just a receptacle for them, a plaything. This allows your brain to soak everything in without having to think. Just feeling. None of them really care about your pleasure, not at this point. You're just a means to an end, and you like it. You've never felt more alive.

"God!" you gasp as you feel yet another wave of absolute euphoria threaten to take you under. You don't even bother to hold back. As soon as you come you feel them all come with you, like tiny explosions set off in a chain. You gulp down Joel's spunk as Dave spills himself inside your ass, and Marcus and Frankie throb then release, one only seconds after the other. Javier takes control of himself from you and spurts his cum onto your face. For the first time ever in your life, you squirt, gasping at the relief and suddenness of it. The six of you try hard to catch your breath, all of you taking in the moments of this night.

"I don't think I'll be able to cum for weeks," Joel says, chuckling as he pulls up his pants.

Showered and dressed, you leave in a skimpy outfit that covers more than the lingerie did, as Dave uses the escort agency's app to send you a very generous tip from himself and the rest of the guys. The guys, cleaned up and all in relaxed moods, watch the game, not even upset that they missed most of the second half. You take your money and leave, blowing a kiss to the guys.

"God damn, you hired a good one," Javier mutters to Dave.

"Let's make this an annual thing," Dave smirks. "Next one's on you, Peña."

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.2

Chapter Two: Hold On For Dear Love

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, War, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Chat, I am giving the reader a super vague background, like it won't matter too much, lol. You’re here for the vibes, and so am I ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So this entire fic isn’t gonna be overly complicated, I don’t think this is the fic for that. I mean, they put sharks in the Colosseum, so… we’re going to take some liberties here and there for funsies. It’s fanfiction, it’s supposed to be fun :> ALSO YA’LL I GOT INTO A GROOVE. I wasn’t planning on updating til next week but the words kept coming to me and suddenly I’m done with chapter two hehe. AND YES YES SHUSH NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUT. MAYBE. Ok enjoy girlies heheh.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Hymn To Virgil by Hozier

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SENATOR THRAEX’S PARTY — DAY

The grand villa was alive with music, laughter, and the heady scent of roasted meats and spilled wine. Senators, high-ranking officials, and Rome's wealthiest citizens mingled among trays of fruit and platters of delicacies, their voices filling the air with a cacophony of conversation and self-indulgent boasts. Courtesans draped in sheer silks wove through the throng, their laughter as light and false as the smiles of their patrons.

You stood to the side, partially hidden in the shadow of a marble column. The position offered a semblance of privacy while giving you a clear view of the room. You made mental notes of the faces present—senators, generals, and merchants, all drunk on wealth and power. Their alliances and rivalries played out in every guarded glance and overly polite toast.

Senator Gracchus approached you with a goblet of wine, his face etched with age but kind. “You look like a soldier observing a battlefield,” he remarked dryly.

You smiled faintly, accepting the drink. “It feels like one. Though I’m not sure which side I belong to.”

Gracchus chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “In Rome, one must always choose a side, my dear. Even if that choice is to appear invisible.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted. “Ah, the daughter of misfortune graces us with her presence.” Senator Thraex’s saccharine tone drew the attention of those nearby. He strode toward you, his beady eyes alight with thinly veiled mockery. “I was just telling Gracchus how tragic your loss must have been. Your poor parents—what a terrible end.”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced a polite smile. “Your concern is appreciated, Senator. They are at peace now.”

Thraex clasped his hands, feigning sympathy. “Still, such a pity. A young woman like you, left all alone in this cruel city. Surely by now, you should have found a husband to protect you from its dangers?”

The words stung, though you refused to let it show. Keeping your tone steady, you replied, “I fear my reputation for independence precedes me. Not all men wish to marry someone who refuses to play the meek lamb.”

Gracchus coughed into his goblet, poorly disguising a laugh, while Thraex’s smile faltered. “How... peculiar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “Though perhaps not surprising. It would be difficult to find a suitor for one so... outspoken.”

The room seemed to hum with energy as Thraex’s face, darkened with irritation from your earlier remark, shifted into a mask of forced hospitality when his gaze landed on a man entering the crowd—a towering figure wrapped in silk and jewels, his presence as commanding as it was enigmatic. You followed Thraex's movement as he moved to greet the man, a name rippling through your thoughts: Macrinus.  

You had heard whispers of him before. A former gladiator who had fought for his freedom, now a powerbroker in Rome. He supplied food, wine, and oil for the empire’s armies, manufactured weapons, and even maintained a stable of gladiators. His name carried weight, his connections extending into the darkest corners of Roman politics.

As Thraex approached Macrinus, his false charm returned, his arms spreading wide. “Macrinus!” he greeted, his voice dripping with exaggerated warmth. He clapped the man on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that bordered on theatrical. “I knew the provinces could never contain you.”

Macrinus accepted the embrace with a faint smirk, his dark eyes scanning the room with calculated ease. “I’m just here for the games,” he replied, his tone casual, though there was a hint of something sharper beneath the surface.  

Thraex chuckled, his grip lingering on the man’s shoulder. “Ah well, you won't be disappointed. Rome has all the games that men like you like to play.”

“Men like me, cracks men like us.” Macrinus shot back, his grin widening. “I know nothing happens in Rome unless you… tasted it first! ”

Thraex laughed at the jab, the sound too loud to be sincere. Their exchange continued, a dance of veiled threats and mutual amusement. You lingered at the edge of the room, doing your best to blend into the shadows, your ears straining to catch every word.  

Thraex handed Macrinus a gilded chalice of wine, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What's this we hear about you being interested in standing for an election to the senate practice?”

Macrinus stiffened, his surprise poorly concealed as he let out a dry chuckle. “Me? You know, I don't even know how to use an abacus,” He sipped his wine before adding with a wry smile, “but I do understand that… it's customary for your guests to make wagers at these affairs.”

Thraex’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn’t falter. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

Macrinus tilted his head thoughtfully, the jewels around his neck catching the light. “A thousand gold aureus?”

Thraex’s lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Two,” he countered smoothly.

Macrinus glanced at the courtesan draped over his arm, as if seeking her approval. The woman gave a slight nod, and Macrinus shrugged, turning back to Thraex. “Denarius,” he said simply, the single word carrying enough weight to silence Thraex for a fleeting moment.

Macrinus walked away with an easy swagger, leaving Thraex standing alone with his forced smile slipping into a scowl. The flash of irritation on his face, so quickly concealed, didn’t escape your notice.  

You couldn’t suppress a small smirk of your own as you turned your attention elsewhere. Rome’s elite might dress themselves in finery and smiles, but it was clear that every word exchanged tonight was a thread in the intricate tapestry of power. Threads you were determined to unravel.  

The air in the grand hall shifted, thick with anticipation as the crowd clustered toward the edges of the room. The glint of opulence—golden goblets, silk-draped tables, and jewels adorning the guests—clashed against the dark reality of what was about to unfold. Your eyes lingered briefly on a figure across the way: a man, bound in chains, sitting quietly. There was no fear in his expression, only a smoldering anger that made you uneasy.  

The sound of clapping drew your attention back to the center of the room. Senator Thraex, ever the showman, raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Stand back! Stand back!” he called, his tone a mix of authority and delight.  

You stepped aside, blending into the edges of the gathering, as the spectators parted to form a circle. The twin emperors, Caracalla and Geta, lounged decadently on their perch, surrounded by concubines who laughed and whispered among themselves. Their indifference to the gathering's undertones was maddening.  

Thraex turned toward them with an exaggerated bow. “My emperors,” he began with a grin before addressing the audience. “Lords, ladies, senators—tonight, for your entertainment... the art of combat!”  

Excited gasps rippled through the room, the revelers’ reactions equal parts anticipation and bloodlust. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Thraex gestured dramatically toward the two men brought forward—one was the same figure you’d seen earlier, still brooding but now standing tall.  

“And now,” Thraex continued, “the barbarian, versus from my own stable, the mighty Vijay!”  

The crowd erupted into applause as Vijay, a towering figure in a yellow tunic, was escorted forward. His opponent, the gladiator from across the room, now squared his shoulders and met Vijay’s gaze.  

“It is your gladiator?” Emperor Geta asked, his tone laced with mild amusement, as he glanced at Macrinus.  

Macrinus inclined his head respectfully. “It is, your Majesty.”  

Chains were removed from both men, their freedom feeling more like a death sentence. Thraex began to set the terms. “Three rounds, hand-to-hand—”  

But Emperor Caracalla’s voice cut through. “Swords!” he barked, his grin wicked.  

The room fell silent.  

“We want swords. A fight to the death!” Caracalla continued, his voice rising with glee. “No quarter to be offered, or given!”  

Thraex hesitated, his expression faltering for a moment, but the guards stepped forward, placing swords into the gladiators’ hands. You felt your stomach twist as the two men began circling one another.  

The gladiator of Macrinus spoke first, his voice calm but edged with pleading. “Brother, come now. Let us not kill each other for their amusement.”  

Vijay’s only response was a roar as he lunged, his sword slicing through the air. The next moments were chaos. Blades clanged as they met, sparks flying from each blow. The room seemed to shrink around the violence as tables splintered and decorations toppled.  

The climax came when Vijay’s sword slipped from his grasp in the scuffle. The other gladiator seized the opportunity, driving his blade into Vijay’s chest. A sharp gasp escaped you as the larger man crumpled to the marble floor, his blood pooling beneath him.  

The victor tossed his sword to the ground with a clatter, breathing heavily, his face and tunic spattered with blood. Around you, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers, their delight in stark contrast to your quiet horror.  

“Remarkable!” Emperor Geta exclaimed, standing as he clapped his hands. He approached Macrinus with an approving nod. “Congratulations.”  

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Macrinus replied smoothly.  

Geta then turned to the gladiator, studying him with newfound interest. “From where do you hail?”  

The man said nothing, his jaw set, his silence defiant.  

The tension in the room grew thick. Even you found yourself leaning forward, curiosity mingling with unease.  

“Speak,” Geta commanded sharply. When no answer came, his impatience boiled over. “I said speak!”  

Macrinus stepped in quickly, bowing his head. “Your Majesty, he is from the colonies. His native tongue is all he understands.”  

The gladiator finally raised his head, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way: but to come back from hell, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”  

The poetry stunned you, the eloquence jarring against the brutal spectacle that had just unfolded. Around you, the room fell silent for a beat before Caracalla broke into a laugh.  

“Poetry!” the Caracalla declared, grinning as he turned to Macrinus. “Very clever, Macrinus. Very clever indeed.”  

Macrinus bowed slightly. “To amuse you is my only wish, your Majesty.”  

“We are amused,” Geta said, though his gaze remained fixed on the gladiator. His voice rose as he addressed the room. “And we all look forward to seeing your poet… perform in the arena.”  

“As do I your majesty's.” Macrinus gestured to his guard. “Viggo,” he said softly, and the guard stepped forward to escort the gladiator out of the room.  

As the crowd began to disperse, murmurs of excitement rippling through the air, you remained rooted in place. Your eyes followed the blood trail left by Vijay’s body as it was dragged away. The victor—dripping in another man’s blood, yet unbowed—disappeared through the doors, his haunting words lingering in your mind like a ghost.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — LATE AFTERNOON

The villa of Domitia Lucilla stood as a serene contrast to the chaos of Rome—a sprawling sanctuary of pale stone walls and gardens heavy with the scent of roses and citrus. The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across the courtyard as you entered, the weariness from Senator Thraex’s debauched gathering weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Lucilla awaited you, standing poised near a column. Her cream stola shifted with the breeze, but her sharp gaze was unwavering, as if she had been expecting this moment.  

“You’ve returned,” she said, warmth in her voice tempered by the gravity of her expression.  

“I have, my lady—”  

She waved off the formalities with a flick of her wrist. “Enough with that. How many times must I tell you?”  

“Habit,” you replied with a faint smile, though it lacked its usual brightness.  

Her lips twitched with amusement, but concern quickly took its place. “And how was Senator Thraex’s gathering? As intolerable as I feared?”  

You sighed, the grotesque excess of the night flashing briefly in your mind. “More wine than wit. And blood, of course. Always blood.”  

Lucilla’s mouth tightened, her brow furrowing just enough to betray her displeasure. She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Rome devours itself with spectacle. It leaves nothing but emptiness behind,” she murmured.  

You nodded but didn’t speak. The heaviness of her words settled heavily on you because they were true.  

“And Thraex himself?” she pressed, tilting her head.  

You hesitated. “He made his usual jabs about my… unmarried state. Feigned sympathy for my family. And spent an inordinate amount of time with Macrinus, the arms dealer. It seemed more calculated than casual.”  

Lucilla’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already turning. “Macrinus does not waste his time on frivolities. If Thraex is courting him, there’s more at play.”  

“Something to do with the games tomorrow, perhaps?” you suggested. “He seemed eager for them.”  

Lucilla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s possible. His ambitions are endless, and I fear his alliances will be the ruin of many.”  

“Rome always finds a way to drag us into its mire,” you muttered bitterly.  

Her hand on your shoulder tightened briefly, reassuring. “Then we tread carefully. But not tonight. Tonight, we focus on what lies ahead. The senators will convene soon, and General Acacius is to join us.”  

You huffed a soft laugh, though it carried a trace of exasperation. “A grand gathering in his honor, and he doesn’t bother to attend the festivities.”  

Lucilla arched a brow, her expression turning sly. “Were you hoping he would?”  

Heat rushed to your face, and you fumbled for a response. “I—no, of course not. I just thought it odd.”  

“Mm.” Her tone was noncommittal, but her knowing smile made you glance away.  

Before you could dwell on your embarrassment, Lucilla turned down another garden path, leaving you to follow. It was there, amid the soft hum of cicadas and the golden haze of the late afternoon, that you saw him.  

Marcus Acacius sat beneath a pergola, his broad shoulders bent slightly over a parchment, a quill poised in his hand. A goblet of wine sat forgotten beside him, the scene unexpectedly tranquil for a man of his reputation.  

Lucilla glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “It seems you’ll get your wish after all.”  

Your stomach twisted at her words, but before you could form a protest, she disappeared around the corner. Left to your own devices, you took a steadying breath and approached. The crunch of gravel underfoot drew his attention, and he looked up, his dark eyes softening as they met yours.  

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice low and warm, though a flicker of relief betrayed him.  

You tilted your head, folding your arms as you came closer. “And I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the party was meant for you.”  

Marcus chuckled, setting down his quill. “Crowded rooms filled with drunken senators and empty promises hold little appeal. I prefer the quiet.” He gestured to the bench across from him. “Join me?”  

For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken tension between you filling the air. But then you sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap.  

“The games tomorrow will be particularly… extravagant,” you said, glancing at the parchment. “I’m to serve as a healer for the event.”  

His brow furrowed. “You’ll be in the arena?”  

“Not in it,” you replied quickly. “But close enough.”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “It’s barbaric. They celebrate death, and you’re left to mend what’s left behind.”  

“It’s Rome,” you said with a shrug, though the bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.  

“Does it not anger you?” His voice was steady but insistent, his gaze searching yours.  

You hesitated before answering. “Every day,” you admitted quietly. “But anger doesn’t heal. It doesn’t save lives.”  

His hand moved, resting near yours on the table—not touching, but close enough that the space between felt charged. “You do more than heal,” he said after a moment. “You remind us of what’s worth saving.”  

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.  

“I only do what I can,” you said finally.  

“And it’s enough,” he replied, his voice firm.  

Silence settled between you, but it was not empty. It was heavy with questions left unasked, with the unshakable feeling that you knew him from somewhere beyond this life.  

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.  

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”  

He smiled faintly. “A truth.”  

You studied him, the edges of recognition tugging at your mind. “Have we met before?”  

His hand stilled, his expression unreadable. “Why do you ask?”  

“It’s the way you look at me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you know something I don’t.”  

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “Perhaps I’m just trying to understand you.”

“And do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze lingered on yours, as if he were searching for something—something hidden behind the words you didn’t say. His jaw tightened, and then relaxed, his hesitation drawing out the silence until it felt like the whole garden held its breath.  

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the courtyard. The scent of citrus blossoms drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of oil from the bronze lamps. You and Marcus sat across from each other, the heavy quiet between you punctuated by the distant hum of the city below.  

“I think,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “that you’re not as much of a mystery as you’d like to believe.”

You said nothing, the truth of his words settling over you. He wasn’t the first to try to understand you, but he was the first whose attempt didn’t feel like an invasion. Still, you kept your silence, hoping it would shield whatever he thought he saw.  

Marcus leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering, though his tone softened. “You wear your defiance like armor. It suits you, but…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Even armor cracks under enough weight.”

Your chest tightened. There was no judgment in his voice, just quiet understanding, and that somehow made it worse. You turned your eyes to the horizon, watching as the light bled into dusk.  

“And you?” you asked at last, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “What cracks your armor?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he looked away. For a long moment, you thought he might deflect or let the question fall unanswered. But then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, the facade of the unshakable general slipping.  

“The things I’ve done,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The wars. The lives I’ve taken. I tell myself it was duty. For Rome. For honor. But when I close my eyes…” His hand curled into a fist on the table, the scarred knuckles white with tension. “I see their faces. The ones I killed. The ones I couldn’t save. Sometimes, I think that’s all there is left of me. Blood and ghosts.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt the sharp sting of his pain as if it were your own, and it stirred something deep within you—a desire not to fix him, but to let him be broken without shame.  

“There’s more to you than that,” you said softly, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your voice. “Let the brokenness be felt, Marcus, until you reach the other side. There is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has.”  

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those fierce, commanding eyes—betrayed a flicker of something fragile. “And if the edge is all that’s left?”  

You shook your head. “Then you find your way back. One step, one breath, one choice at a time. You’ve already come this far.”  

A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips. “You sound certain.”  

“I am,” you said simply. “Because I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen men lose everything and still find the strength to rebuild. You’ve endured so much, Marcus. And yet, here you are.”  

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt impossibly heavy, as though the weight of both your pasts had settled there. But then, something shifted—just a fraction—and the tension eased.  

“Tell me,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “How does someone like you—someone who speaks of goodness and second chances—end up in a place like this?”  

You let out a soft laugh, though it held no humor. “A long story,” you said, your tone laced with irony.  

He smiled faintly. “I’ve got time.”  

The simplicity of his statement caught you off guard. You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of mockery, but found none. He was patient, steady, like a man who had weathered every storm and learned to endure the waiting.  

You hesitated, then began to speak—not all at once, but in fragments. You told him of the choices that had brought you here, the moments of defiance and loss that had shaped you. He listened without interrupting, his focus unbroken, as though each word mattered.  

When the story faltered and the silence crept back in, Marcus spoke again, his voice gentle. “You’ve carried much on your shoulders.”  

You shrugged, your gaze fixed on the table. “Haven’t we all?”  

He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps. But not everyone carries it as well as you.”  

The compliment startled you, and you looked up to find him watching you with something like admiration. It wasn’t romantic, not yet—but it was real, and it unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite name.  

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.  

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d like to.”  

Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity, unadorned by pretense—made you pause. You realized, with a small jolt, that you wanted to know him, too. Not just the general, but the man beneath the armor.  

“Maybe,” you said finally, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re patient.”  

His smile widened, just a little, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I’ve learned to be patient,” he said. “For the right things.”  

And as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, this was one of them.

The room was dark, the faint glow of torchlight from the grilled window casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. Lucilla stood beside you, her sharp eyes trained on the guards below as they exchanged shifts. She watched silently, her body tense but still, until the last of them disappeared around the corner.  

With a soft sigh, she turned back into the room and extinguished the candles one by one. The light died away, replaced by the cover of darkness. Outside, a guard’s voice called up, noting that she must be retiring for the evening.  

You remained quiet, holding the lamp as Lucilla adjusted her robes and pulled up the hood, the fabric obscuring her features. The air felt heavier now, laden with unspoken tension. She glanced at you, her gaze sharp even in the dim light.  

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.  

You nodded and pulled your own hood over your head. The warmth of the lamp in your hand was a small comfort against the chill of the night.  

Lucilla stepped closer, her hands gripping your forearm briefly as she said your name. “You must know,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “if you do this with us, there is a possibility that we may be discovered. And the penalties—”  

“I’m aware,” you interrupted gently, meeting her gaze. There was no hesitation in your voice.  

She studied you for a moment longer, then nodded, a faint flicker of respect passing over her features. Without another word, she turned toward a small shrine tucked into the corner of the room.  

Kneeling, she rolled back a slab of marble with deliberate care, revealing a narrow passage that led downward. The air that seeped out was cool and damp, smelling faintly of earth and stone.  

Lucilla motioned for you to follow, and you descended after her, the spiral staircase winding tightly into the depths. Your lamp cast shifting shadows on the walls, and the faint echoes of your footsteps seemed louder than they should have been.  

The tunnel at the bottom was carved with care, though the stone showed its age. Lucilla moved through it with practiced ease, her robes brushing against the walls as the passage widened and opened into a massive underground catacomb.  

You stopped short, your breath catching at the sight. The vaulted ceilings arched high above you, their grandeur almost otherworldly. This place was built for eternity, every detail a testament to early Roman splendor. Statues of gods and long-dead ancestors stood sentinel, their marble faces solemn in the lamplight.  

Lucilla’s steps slowed as she approached a series of crypts. Each one was marked with the bust of a family member, their likenesses carved into the stone. She stopped before the bust of Marcus Aurelius, her father, and laid a hand on its smooth surface.  

“Father,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow, “protect us and guide us.” Her fingers lingered for a moment before she turned away, her expression unreadable.  

You wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words escaped you. There was a sacredness here that felt unshakable, a weight you couldn’t quite explain.  

ANTECHAMBER — MINUTES LATER  

The air in the antechamber felt thick, like the weight of centuries pressed down upon you all. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering light casting wavering shadows on faces lined with tension and purpose. The damp chill of the underground space only added to the solemnity of the moment.  

Lucilla moved forward with practiced grace, her head held high despite the gravity of the meeting. The first man stepped into the torchlight, his wiry frame and sharp features softened only by the faint trace of a smile.  

“Gracchus,” Lucilla said warmly, extending her hands. “Old friend.”  

Gracchus clasped her hands briefly, his grip conveying both respect and concern. “My lady. I wish we were meeting in better times.”  

Lucilla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The sun shone once—it will shine again.”  

Gracchus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking into a sardonic smirk. “And what in heaven’s name does that mean?”  

Before Lucilla could answer, a low, resonant voice emerged from the shadows. “It means hope, Gracchus.”  

You started slightly, your heart skipping as a figure stepped forward. Marcus Acacius. The flickering light caught the edges of his armor, making it gleam like liquid fire. His presence filled the room effortlessly, his broad frame and steady gaze commanding attention.  

Gracchus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh yes. He is shiny.”  

Marcus didn’t react to the jest, but his eyes flicked between Lucilla and Gracchus before settling briefly on you. His gaze held for a beat too long, making your pulse quicken.  

“Did I startle you?” he asked, his tone smooth but edged with faint amusement.  

You straightened, tightening your grip on the lamp you carried. “Not at all,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.  

The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but he turned his attention back to Gracchus, his expression growing serious. “We want to take back the city. To restore Rome to what it should be.”  

Gracchus’s expression darkened, doubt creeping into his voice. “An exciting venture. When?”  

“On the final day of the games,” Marcus replied firmly.  

Gracchus raised a skeptical brow. “How?”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened, the tension clear as he measured his words. “My army waits for my command at Ostia. Five thousand soldiers loyal to me will enter Rome. I intend to arrest our emperors in front of the crowds at the Colosseum for their crimes against the Senate and the people.”  

A long, heavy silence followed. Gracchus exchanged a wary glance with Thraex, who stood silently in the background. The two senators appeared burdened with years of cynicism, the spark of belief long extinguished.  

Lucilla broke the quiet, her voice sharp and resolute. “We cannot continue to see Rome damaged, sliding further into corruption and decay.”  

Thraex snorted softly, folding his arms. “Does he want to be Emperor?”  

Marcus’s gaze sharpened as he shook his head. “I am a soldier, not a politician. Rome will be yours to administer and—”  

Gracchus interrupted him, his tone cutting. “Your father spoke of returning power to the Senate. But that was a generation ago. Much has changed. The people haven’t seen hope for years, and—”  

This time, Marcus’s voice rose slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “Rome is not yet ready to be a republic, but with time—and guidance—a vote by the people, for the people, would mean—”  

Lucilla placed a steady hand on Marcus’s arm, quieting him. She turned to Gracchus, her voice calmer but no less determined. “Rome can live again. Do we have your support, Gracchus?”  

Gracchus hesitated, his gaze shifting to you, then back to Marcus. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Lucilla, you are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius. He had my loyalty, and so do you.”  

Lucilla allowed herself a small smile. “A political answer, but good enough. Senator Thraex?”  

Thraex hesitated, his eyes flickering to you. He seemed to brace himself before speaking. “Politics follows power, my lady. Take back what is rightfully yours, and the Senate will support you.”  

The room seemed to exhale as the senators gave their tentative agreement, but Gracchus’s gaze lingered on you. His voice softened. “I vowed to your parents I would take care of you. To give you a life beyond this... chaos.”  

Your grip on the lamp tightened as you met his gaze, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “There is no point in life if the future of Rome is nothing but an abuse of power and position.”  

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marcus’s expression shift. His gaze rested on you, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were seeing you in a new light.  

The torches flickered, their flames casting light on faces filled with determination and shadows that hinted at the dangerous road ahead. You glanced at Marcus once more, and his eyes caught yours, a faint, unspoken understanding passing between you.  

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY

The air around the Colosseum is alive with a chaotic energy that hums through the sprawling crowd. The great amphitheater towers above, its shadow sprawling across the dusty streets. Vendors shout over one another, selling honeyed dates, roasted nuts, and cheap wine. Children dart between the throngs, their quick fingers snatching at coin purses while wide-eyed newcomers marvel at the spectacle before them.  

As you approach the towering Capitoline Arch, your eyes lift to the imposing statue of General Marcus Acacius atop a marble plinth. The sunlight gleams off the bronze plaque beneath, bearing the inscription: ACACIUS, VICTOR AFRICAE.  

You pause, a faint sigh escaping your lips as you take it in. The statue is majestic, carved with precision to capture his strength and valor, but there’s something about its stillness, its perfection, that feels wrong. The man you’ve come to know is far more complicated than the warrior immortalized in marble.  

Pulling your hood closer to shield yourself from prying eyes, you make your way toward the entrance of the Colosseum.  

Outside the massive arena, the crowd is dense, funneling into the arched entrances like water forced through narrow channels. The scent of sweat, baked bread, and dust clings to the air.  

A wagon lumbers past, its wheels creaking as it pulls into the rear gates of the Colosseum. The iron gates groan shut behind it with a finality that makes you shiver.  

Your eyes catch on one of the gladiators stepping down from the wagon. He is broad-shouldered, with a grim expression and scars that tell stories of survival. Recognition flickers in your mind—he was at Senator Thraex’s gathering, one of Macrinus’ men.  

For a moment, his gaze meets yours, sharp and searching. You quickly turn away, the weight of his stare lingering like a brand on your skin.  

COLOSSEUM UNDERCROFT — DAY  

The undercroft is a world unto itself, hidden beneath the grandeur of the arena above. The air here is damp and stale, filled with the mingled scents of blood, sweat, and the earthy musk of the animals kept for the games. Torches line the stone walls, their flames barely cutting through the heavy gloom.  

You step carefully, the hem of your robe brushing against the uneven stones beneath your feet. Around you, the sounds of preparation echo—metallic clangs of swords being sharpened, the low murmur of prayers whispered by gladiators, and the distant roar of the crowd above, a constant reminder of what waits beyond.  

A sudden shout breaks through the noise, and you flinch instinctively, your hand tightening around the lamp you carry.  

“Keep moving!” A guard barks, shoving a gladiator forward.  

You press yourself against the wall to let them pass, your eyes following the line of chained men as they march toward their fate. The air feels heavier here, thick with despair and the metallic tang of blood that never quite fades from the stone.  

The main chamber opens ahead, a cavernous space carved from the bedrock, with a stone memorial spanning two centuries etched into one of the walls. The names carved there seem endless, a testament to the lives given—or taken—beneath this roof.  

You step into the room, your eyes searching for Ravi, the healer who has been your closest ally in this grim underworld. He is leaning over a battered table, his thick canvas coat bristling with the tools of his trade—scalpels, needles, and small bottles of tinctures.  

Ravi glances up as you approach, his dark eyes meeting yours. He nods, his expression weary but kind. “You’re late,” he says, his tone more teasing than reproachful.  

“I was delayed,” you reply, setting the lamp down on the edge of the table.  

Ravi straightens, his hands covered in the telltale stains of his work. “Delayed by a statue, no doubt,” he says with a smirk, nodding toward the hallway you came from.  

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Not just the statue. The entire crowd outside could rival an army.”  

He chuckles softly, but his humor fades as his gaze shifts to the tools laid out before him. “It’s a mad world out there. And in here. They’ll call it glory, but we know better, don’t we?”  

You nod, your fingers brushing against one of the bottles of tincture on the table. “How many today?”  

“Too many,” Ravi replies grimly. “It always is. But if we don’t patch them up, they’ll be thrown back into the arena like lambs to the slaughter.”  

You glance toward the memorial wall, the endless names a stark reminder of what happens when healing is no longer enough. “And yet they cheer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.  

Ravi follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “They cheer because they’re too far away to hear the screams. From up there, it’s just a show.”  

A heavy silence falls between you, the weight of his words settling in the space like a tangible presence.  

Finally, Ravi breaks it, his voice quieter now. “You could have been anywhere. A villa in the hills, a proper clinic, somewhere far from all of this. Why here?”  

You meet his gaze, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because someone has to be.”  

Before Ravi can respond, the distant blare of a cornu horn echoes through the chamber, its mournful call summoning the combatants to the arena.  

Ravi exhales, shaking his head. “That’s our cue.”  

You nod, grabbing the lamp and turning toward the corridor. “Let’s hope today isn’t worse than the last.”  

Ravi follows, his canvas coat swaying as he moves. “Hope’s in short supply here,” he mutters. But then, as if to lighten the mood, he adds, “But if anyone can keep these bastards alive, it’s us.”  

A faint smile pulls at your lips as the two of you head toward the chaos waiting above. The sound of the horn grows louder, blending with the roar of the crowd—a noise as relentless as the tide.

The roar of the Colosseum was muffled slightly where you and Ravi stood in the shadow of the lower arches, but the sight above was impossible to ignore. Caracalla and Geta had already taken their places in the royal seats, their expressions imperious yet lacking true command. The crowd’s response to their arrival was lukewarm, tepid applause barely rippling through the masses.  

Ravi glanced at you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They can’t even fake enthusiasm for their own Emperors. Telling, isn’t it?”  

You nodded grimly, shifting your gaze to the arena floor where the fight’s Master of Ceremonies stood, clearly tense. He gestured sharply to the musicians, prompting them to play a fanfare in a desperate attempt to rouse the audience.  

Through the giant copper horn mounted on a stand, his voice bellowed, “Citizens of Rome! These sacred games are held to honor the victory of Rome over the barbarians of Numidia—”  

You winced at the crude remark, the words cutting through the air with their arrogance.  

“And to honor Rome's legionary commander, General Justus Acacius!”  

At the mention of Acacius, your eyes instinctively sought him out. There he was, emerging in white and gold, a gleaming figure against the harsh backdrop of the Colosseum. His presence was magnetic, commanding without effort. He moved with the same purpose he always did, though you could sense a tension in his posture, a reluctance masked by the pageantry.  

Lucilla followed close behind him, her chin lifted with practiced grace. When the Master of Ceremonies announced her name—“Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius!”—the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, a stark contrast to their earlier indifference.  

Beside you, Ravi let out a low whistle. “They still adore her.”  

“They always will,” you murmured, watching as she ascended to the royal seats under the guise of honor, though you knew better. The two Centurions flanking her were not mere escorts but guards, a subtle display of control that would escape the average onlooker.  

From this distance, it seemed she embraced the accolades, her every gesture perfectly measured. But you caught the slight flicker in her expression when she glanced toward Acacius.  

“You honor us with your presence. Speak to the plebeians, Acacius,” Geta commanded, his tone laced with condescension.  

You held your breath, sensing the reluctance in Marcus’s stillness. He exchanged a look with Lucilla, brief but telling, before his gaze swept across the crowd, searching. When his eyes found yours, something in his demeanor shifted—resolve, perhaps, or a need for grounding.  

Finally, he rose, stepping to the railing as the crowd quieted, anticipation thick in the air. His voice, deep and steady, carried over the expanse with ease.  

“I am not an orator, nor a politician,” he began, the simplicity of his words a sharp contrast to the pomp surrounding him. “I am only a soldier. Real heroism is not the stuff of games.”  

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and intrigue mingling as Acacius’s words sank in.  

“It reveals itself to us only in the service of life itself,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I have seen bravery in men during war, and from women, too—bravery that does not falter in the face of fear but rises to meet it. And even, once, in this arena.”  

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Though his gaze never left the crowd, you felt as though those words were for you alone.  

“If you pray,” Marcus’s voice deepened, his tone almost pleading, “pray that the gods will deliver us bravery like that. Because Rome needs it now.”  

The silence that followed was profound, the kind that held more weight than applause. Then, slowly, the crowd erupted, their cheers cascading through the Colosseum like a wave.  

You watched him step back from the railing, his expression inscrutable as he returned to his seat. But as the applause thundered on, his eyes found yours again, and in that brief moment, you saw it—something unspoken yet unmistakable.  

Ravi nudged you gently, breaking the spell. “He’s good, I’ll give him that.”  

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “Better than they deserve,” you said softly, though your thoughts were far from the Emperors.

The tension in the Colosseum was recognized as the opening ceremony came to an end. Caracalla and Geta clapped from their royal seats, their applause mechanical and devoid of genuine enthusiasm. Below, the Master of Ceremonies stood nervously, his voice amplified by the great copper horn.  

“From the South Gate... fighters from the stable of Macrinus of Thysdrus!”  

Your gaze darted to the southern entrance, where the gladiators emerged into the blinding sunlight. You recognized one of them—Hanno of Numidia—whose name Ravi had told you earlier. The crowd greeted them with scattered boos and jeers, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the arena itself.  

Hanno walked with measured steps, his expression stoic as he led the small group to the center of the arena. His shoulders bore the weight of more than just the armor; you could see it in his eyes.  

“And from the stables of our Emperors Caracalla and Geta themselves: Glyceo the Destroyer!”  

The eastern gates creaked open, revealing a towering figure clad in ornate armor, seated atop a great white rhino. The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers, the noise reverberating through the stone walls. The rhino trotted with surprising agility, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as it carried Glyceo with the ease of a seasoned warrior.  

From your vantage point, you saw the glint of weapons strapped to the rhino’s side—an axe, a sword, a mace, and a bola. Glyceo reached for the mace, gripping its heavy handle with a confidence born from countless victories.  

The first gladiator dared to challenge the beast, stepping forward with his sword raised. He attempted to dodge the rhino’s charge at the last moment, but the creature’s speed and precision were unmatched. The horn struck him with brutal force, sending him flying across the arena before the rhino finished him off with a savage thrust.  

Your stomach churned as the body was tossed aside like a ragdoll. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder.  

Hanno stood still, his gaze fixed on the carnage. Then, almost imperceptibly, he crouched and scooped a handful of sand from the arena floor, letting it sift through his fingers. The gesture was hauntingly familiar—a ritual Maximus had performed before every fight.  

Beside you, Ravi murmured, “Do you see that? He remembers.”  

You glanced at Lucilla in the royal box, noting the flicker of something in her expression—recognition, perhaps, or sorrow. But she quickly masked it, her face hardening as she turned back to the arena.  

The rhino charged again, this time with Glyceo’s mace raised high. Hanno sidestepped at the last possible moment, but the rhino’s horn clipped him, sending him sprawling. Dust clouded the air as the beast wheeled around, disoriented by the sunlight.  

Hanno was quick to act. He flung the remaining sand into the air, creating a bright, blinding curtain that obscured his movements. The rhino charged again, unable to see clearly, and slammed full force into the arena wall. Glyceo was thrown like a ragdoll, his body hitting the stone with a sickening thud.  

The rhino staggered, its massive frame reeling as it struggled to regain its footing. Hanno retrieved his sword and advanced on Glyceo, who was already scrambling to his feet. Their blades met in a clash of steel, sparks flying as Glyceo’s superior strength began to overwhelm Hanno.  

You leaned forward, gripping the stone railing as Glyceo delivered a brutal series of blows, forcing Hanno to his knees. The crowd chanted, their bloodlust palpable.  

Lucilla gasped, turning away, her hand trembling as it gripped the edge of her seat. Even Macrinus, who had been watching with a calculating gaze, shook his head slightly.  

Glyceo raised his short sword, poised to deliver the final blow. He paused, turning to the royal box for approval.  

“Shall we spare his life, brother?” Geta asked, his tone mockingly casual.  

Caracalla shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some blood.”  

Geta ignored him, his attention shifting to Lucilla. “Lucilla, shall we show mercy?”  

Lucilla hesitated, her voice trembling. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, choked with guilt and something deeper.  

Geta stood, raising his fist. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as he slowly extended his thumb upward, granting Hanno his life. The Colosseum erupted in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived.  

“No,” Hanno said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.  

The crowd stilled, murmurs of confusion rippling through the stands.  

“No mercy,” he repeated, his tone resolute.  

Geta’s face twisted in disbelief. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses—”  

“I will not accept mercy,” Hanno interrupted, rising to his feet despite the blood dripping from his wounds. He turned to the royal box, his gaze unwavering. “I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy.”  

The crowd erupted in chaos—laughter, jeers, and shouts of encouragement mingling in a cacophony of sound.  

“Fight on, then, fool, and die,” Geta spat, his face reddening with embarrassment.  

Glyceo lunged, his mace swinging in a wide arc. Hanno ducked, his movements fueled by desperation and fury. With a final burst of strength, he seized his fallen short sword and drove it into Glyceo’s abdomen. The mighty gladiator staggered, his expression one of shock before he collapsed, lifeless, into the sand.  

The crowd roared its approval, chanting Hanno’s name as he stood victorious. From the royal box, Macrinus smiled, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. You couldn’t help but watch Hanno with a mixture of awe and apprehension, your heart pounding as the weight of the moment settled over the arena.  

COLOSSEUM HOSPITAL ROOM — NIGHT

The dim light of flickering oil lamps cast wavering shadows on the rough stone walls of the makeshift infirmary. The smell of blood, sweat, and burnt herbs clung to the air like a heavy shroud. Ravi moved methodically among the injured, tending to other gladiators with a calm, steady hand.

You were left alone with Hanno. He sat on a wooden stool, his posture tense despite the exhaustion etched into his features. A deep, jagged wound marred his upper arm, the torn flesh angry and raw. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, drawn to the scent of blood and sweat.

You crouched beside him, your hands deftly inspecting the wound. “This needs to be cleaned and stitched up,” you murmured, glancing up at him briefly. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable.

He broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

You paused, meeting his gaze again as you answered, giving your name. You nodded toward the other side of the room. “That man over there is Ravi. We’re both doctors—or as close to it as you’ll get here. More men die of infected wounds than in the arena itself.”

Hanno tilted his head slightly, watching you as you prepared the tools of your trade. “This is going to hurt,” you added, your tone both matter-of-fact and soft.

You handed him a small pipe, its carved edges worn smooth from use.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining it with mild suspicion.

“Devil’s breath and opium,” you explained. “For the pain. Breathe it in.”

Hanno hesitated for only a moment before placing the pipe between his lips. He inhaled deeply, his expression neutral as the sharp, bitter taste hit his tongue. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing steadied.

“The effects are different for us all,” you said gently, noting the way his features softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

When his eyes opened again, they were hazy, unfocused. “Your voice…” he muttered, blinking at you as if trying to place something familiar.

“What about it?” you asked with a small smile, distracting him as you began cleaning the wound.

“It’s… nice,” he replied, his words slow and slightly slurred. “Kind.”

You gave a soft chuckle, focusing on the task at hand. “Don’t get used to it. This part isn’t going to feel so kind.”

He took another draw of the pipe just as you began stitching the torn flesh with catgut. The needle pierced his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, coughing as a puff of opium-laden smoke escaped his lips and drifted into the air between you.

“Where’d you learn your trade?” he asked, his voice rough but steady.

You kept your focus on the stitches, your hands moving with practiced precision. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got a light hand,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced up briefly, the corners of your lips quirking. “You don’t strike me as someone who hands out compliments easily.”

The faint flicker of the oil lamp threw warm shadows across the stone walls of the infirmary. The low hum of muffled groans and whispered prayers filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and herbs. His dark eyes, hazy from the drug, remained fixed on you as you worked.  

“I don’t,” he murmured, his voice soft and slow. “But I’ve had enough wounds stitched up to know the difference between butchery and care.”  

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and a soft chuckle escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  

“It is,” he said, his tone unusually earnest.  

Your laugh echoed softly in the quiet room, and his lips curved in response. Hanno was inebriated now—high on the devil’s breath and opium. He looked at you, his gaze almost childlike in its wonder, as if the haze had stripped away some of the weight he carried.  

“What we do in life echoes in eternity,” you said suddenly, your voice a mix of reverence and melancholy.  

The words hung in the air, timeless and heavy. You paused, your fingers stilling over the bandage.  

Hanno blinked, as if chasing a memory. “I feel I know those words…”  

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t take credit for them. They’re written on a tomb here, over the bones of a gladiator.”  

He let the words sink in, his gaze distant but thoughtful. You returned to your work, your hands moving with practiced precision as you tied off the final stitch and smoothed the bandage over his wound.  

“There,” you said, leaning back to admire your handiwork. “I think that should hold.”  

Hanno’s eyes drifted to his arm. He reached out, almost absently, and ran his fingers across the crude stitches. His touch was featherlight, as if testing the reality of it.  

You stood, gathering your tools and reaching for the pipe still clutched in his hand. But before you could take it, he brought it to his lips again, inhaling deeply. The motion was slow and deliberate, his dark eyes fixed on you through the curling smoke.  

You paused, watching him, but said nothing. After a moment, you gave a small nod and turned back to pack away the rest of your supplies.  

“Why did you let me take another hit?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now, as if the opium was tugging him toward vulnerability.  

You glanced over your shoulder, your expression unreadable. “Because sometimes, we need the pain to go quiet for a while.”  

Hanno held your gaze for a long moment, his lips curving into a faint, lopsided smile. “You understand more than most,” he said quietly.  

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words lingered. As you turned back to your work, his voice broke the silence again, softer this time.  

He said your name a tender echo in the quiet room. “Do you believe it?”  

“Believe what?” you asked, not turning around.  

“That what we do in life echoes in eternity.”  

You stilled, your hands tightening slightly around your tools. Finally, you turned to face him, your expression thoughtful. “I think… the choices we make, the lives we touch—they ripple outward. Whether it’s eternity or just a fleeting moment, I think it matters.”  

Hanno’s gaze didn’t waver, even through the haze of the drug. “You matter,” he said, his voice low but steady.  

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing. He meant it.  

Your throat tightened, but you forced a small smile. “Rest now, Hanno. You’ll need your strength.”  

He didn’t protest, but his eyes lingered on you as you turned away, your heart inexplicably heavier and lighter all at once.

LUCILLA’S VILLA – EVENING  

The villa shimmered under the moonlight, its alabaster walls soaking in the silver glow. Marble columns cast long shadows across the flagstones, and the air hummed with the gentle chorus of cicadas. Somewhere in the gardens, the delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the faint tang of the sea breeze.  

You stood at the edge of the terrace, a delicate glass of spiced wine cradled between your fingers. The cool air kissed your skin, but it couldn’t chase away the heat simmering beneath—an ache born of exhaustion, frustration, and something you dared not name. The day had unraveled like a tragedy, the gods watching with cruel amusement as you struggled to hold it together.  

Behind you, the sound of soft footfalls broke the stillness.  

“You stand there as though the weight of Rome rests on your shoulders,” a voice drawled, smooth and familiar.  

You turned, finding Lucilla leaning against the stone archway, her golden hair catching the light of the lanterns flickering nearby. She regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and knowing—Lucilla had a way of reading people like scrolls, unrolling their secrets with unnerving ease.  

“Does it not?” you replied, attempting a wry smile, though it faltered before it could fully form.  

Lucilla stepped closer, her movements fluid, regal. “Rome’s weight has crushed stronger people than us,” she said softly, joining you at the balustrade. “The key is learning when to carry it—and when to set it down.”  

You scoffed, swirling the wine in your glass. “And how often do you set it down?”  

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Far less than I should.” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “But I’m not the one standing out here, staring at the stars as though they hold the answers.”  

The faint humor in her tone was a lifeline, grounding you. “If the stars do have answers, they’re not sharing them with me,” you muttered, shaking your head.  

Lucilla’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand lightly on your arm. “The answers aren’t in the stars,” she said. “They’re in here.” She tapped lightly against your chest, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve already carried so much. Don’t forget you’re allowed to put it down—just for a while.”  

Her words settled over you like a balm, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of distant laughter interrupted, drawing both your gazes toward the villa’s golden glow.  

Lucilla sighed, stepping back. “The night calls,” she said, her tone laced with resignation. “Goodnight.”  

“Goodnight, Lucilla,” you replied, watching as she disappeared into the shadows of the villa, her presence leaving an unspoken promise of strength in its wake.  

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the night’s hum. You exhaled, leaning against the wood, letting the day’s exhaustion seep into your bones. But the solace was short-lived.  

“Finally,” a low, gravelly voice murmured from the shadows.  

You startled, your hand flying to your chest. “Marcus!” you hissed, your heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”  

He stepped forward, his broad frame illuminated by the flickering lantern light. His tunic was slightly disheveled, and his dark curls fell across his brow, softening the hard planes of his face. Yet his eyes—those piercing eyes—held a fire that made it impossible to look away.  

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Not tonight.”  

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to rebuff him. “And you thought sneaking into my quarters was the solution?”  

Marcus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been on my mind all evening,” he said simply, the weight of his confession hanging between you. “Do you know how maddening it is? Seeing you, hearing you, but never being close enough?”  

Your breath caught, and you shook your head, trying to keep your composure. “Marcus, this—whatever this is—it's dangerous. You know that.”  

“Danger is nothing new to me,” he said, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.  

“Marcus…” you began, but your voice faltered as his fingers brushed against yours, tentative and fleeting.  

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will. But if you don’t—”  

The unspoken promise in his words sent a shiver racing down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, you found yourself tilting your face toward his touch as his hand cupped your cheek.  

“I’ve seen you fight for others, care for them,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “Let me fight for you. Let me care for you.”  

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” you said, your voice trembling.  

“I do,” he countered, his forehead nearly touching yours. “And I’m asking anyway.”  

His breath was warm against your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance, your mouth meeting his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender.  

The world fell away in that moment, the chaos and the danger replaced by the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.  

You pulled back, your chest heaving, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. “This doesn’t make the world any less dangerous,” you said, your voice barely audible.  

“No,” he agreed, his gaze locked on yours. “But I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you.”  

His words sent a shiver through you, a dangerous mix of devotion and desire. And as he kissed you again, softer this time, you realized that perhaps the fire he promised wasn’t something to fear—but something you’d already been consumed by.  

[volturissideslut]

Hi! Just read your Marcus x reader fic where they get compared to Didyme.

I was thinking maybe a Poly! Volturi comparing Reader to their ex/late partners and Reader shuts down. They don't mention it, but it really hurts cause they've always been a replacement, so they leave Volterra. The Volturi don't realise for a while.

Feel free to ignore this if it's too repetitive or you've done one like it before.

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖞)

Angst, no comfort. Pure angst, literally no fluff at ALL. Bad relationship, couple of swear words in there, let me know if you want a part two of making it up <3

Part 2

It's not like you were the second choice

They had been adament that they wanted you, that you were their true mate

So why were they acting like this now?

After almost a year of being together, they were starting to fall out of the 'honeymoon phase'

Had it always just been a phase? Was this doomed from the get-go?

It started with little snippy comments about acting proper. You were human, not raised in the fine luxury and manners they were, and apparently that showed in your actions. And apparently the way you dress too.

It's like they were moulding you into their exes, it it was making you miserable

And it's not like you didn't try to tell them, you did. Only to be shut down. "Cara mia, I'm working. This is not an appropriate place to discuss this" Aro told you, despite being within the privacy of his study

Caius was no better, in no mood to 'entertain you' and your 'whims' as he put it, brushing you off with a sigh

Marcus, too, was no use, disregarding the emotion and making it perhaps worse by saying that didyme would have taken of the constructive criticism

So there you stood, looking at yourself in the mirror. The big dress, the light makeup, the haircut, even the fucking posture just want you.

And so you left.

Silently, seeing as communicating clearly wasn't an option

How long had it been when they realised you were gone? Three days at least

Honestly, Aro had assumed you were annoyed with them and wanted space, telling his brothers suck. It had never crossed his mind that you had left

I mean, the clothes you wore every day were still there, all the gowns and dresses still in place and -

Where were the clothes you brought with you?

The ones they insisted you wouldn't wear?

Caius walkers into your personal room with a huff, intending to talk some sense into this tantrum you've been throwing, and instead intruding on Aro's realisation

The grounds are searched and Marcus is informed

It is pure and utter panic

Chaos as they look for you

Demetri was called back from his mission early to search for you and you were in another country

Marcus was practically having heart palpitations, he can't lose another mate. "Why would she do this, Didyme would never scare me like this"

And he pauses

So does Aro

And so does Caius

And for the first time, they truly hear themselves

Caius is the first one to remember you bringing it up. "Did she talk to you about it too..." the proud kings' voice is for once delicate and quiet

"... I made her leave" Aro practically folds in half, having to grip over where his hear would be in his chest and lean over because of the burning sensation. It aches, it physically aches him to know he messed up this badly - he didn't give you the time of day

"... I told her I don't have time for this" Caius' fist is buried in his hair, gripping in stress and nearly ripping the strands out of his head. His hands are jittery, shaking, and his hair is tussled - a perfect relection of his inner turmoil

"... In the very moment she asked me not to compare her to Didyme anymore, I told her Didyme would take the criticism" is it possible for vampires to be sick? Because I think Marcus is about to be. His eyes sting and he makes a gagged choking noise like he's dry heaving. Like his fight or flight has chosen freeze and the rising anxiety makes his stomach churn

A knock on the door is what pulls them away

Instead of coming to the turbulent kings and taking them with him, it seems Demetri picked you up on his way back instead and brought you right to them.

There are bags under your eyes, and your skin is sickly. Your cheeks are stained with dried up tears and your eyes are bloodshot like you cried so hard you broke a vessel

They rush toward you and Demetri takes that as his cue to leave

Marcus ever so gently holds your face, eyes scanning you for any physical harm, and when he finds none he feels so much temporary relief he almost collapses into himself. "Thank goodness you're okay, I couldn't bare to lose you-"

"what, like you did Didyme?" you spit back with more venom in your voice than their combined fangs have ever produced in their millennias of life

"No, no" Caius' voice has never been so gentle, he takes your hand in his and places a kiss to the inside of your wrist

"Oh, so I'm gone for three days and suddenly it's about me and not your exes?" there is spite in your voice, but it still wavers with how upset you are

Exclaiming "three days?!" was a big mistake on Aro's part, but in that moment he was so full of concern he hadn't realised it would only worsen the situation

"... You didn't know?" and the look on your face is absolutely heart shattering

And they have no words, nothing to say. Because there is no words, and there are no excuses.

"I was gone for three days, and you didn't care enough to notice?!?" your angry now. And you have every right to be. But they have no idea how to fix what they've done

[reidsbookclub]

Vows of Rivalry

Authors Note: MY FIRST AARON FIC AHH!! Idk what is scarier the fact that this is FINALLY going out to the world or the fact that my first Aaron fic does not follow cannon events. Either way I would really appreciate any feedback you guys can give me. gif credit to original creator. I had it saved on my laptop so I really do not remember

special thanks to @boldlyvoid for beta reading the first draft of this fic. pairing: Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Without further ado here is Vows of Rivalry.

Mock trial season. Every law student’s worst nightmare. Except for one.

Most students dreaded the possibility of being pitted against Aaron Hotchner—reigning champion since his first year. Hotch was renowned for his ruthless precision, impeccable argumentation, and the intimidating scowl that seemed permanently etched onto his face. But for Y/N Y/L/N, the prospect of facing Aaron was anything but dreadful. In fact, she relished it.

She could see it now: his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing whenever she’d poke holes in his carefully laid arguments. For her, it wasn’t just about winning. It was about watching Aaron Hotchner, the unflappable law prodigy, completely lose his composure.

That day was no different. The mock trial courtroom buzzed with the tension of impending arguments, the air crackling with unspoken competition. Y/N adjusted her blazer, her eyes scanning the room for her favorite opponent. There he was, already seated with his ever-present briefcase of legal weapons, jaw set and brows furrowed as he reviewed his notes. She couldn’t help the smirk tugging at her lips as she walked to her seat across from him.

The mock trial had barely begun, but the room felt like a pressure cooker. Y/N had just finished outlining her opening argument when Aaron stood to cross-examine her witness. As always, he delivered each question with surgical precision, his voice sharp, his gaze colder than a winter morning.

But she wasn’t backing down.

“Your Honor,” she interrupted smoothly, “he simply doesn’t have the evidence necessary for—”

“Evidence?” Aaron interrupted, his calm demeanor finally cracking. He looked like he was about to explode, his face flushed with frustration. “Evi—Jesus, woman, you make me so annoyed sometimes. I just want to very publicly divorce you!”

The courtroom fell silent, and Y/N stared at him, stunned by his outburst. Then, instead of being thrown off, she smiled. “You’d have to marry me first, Hotchner.”

Aaron stormed off, leaving the room in a buzz of shock. The judge cleared his throat awkwardly and called for a recess, but all Y/N could think about was how much she had enjoyed watching him unravel.

Neither of them realizing that the judge for this mock trial, their peer Marcus,  had a murderous look trained to where Aaron had left. 

Flash forward — Present day

The BAU office was quieter than usual, the team scattered as they worked on different aspects of their current case. Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, tapping his pen absently against a case file, the rhythm of his movements betraying his usual calm. His mind wasn’t on the case—not entirely. Instead, it kept wandering back to Y/N. Their history, their rivalry in law school, the way she always managed to get under his skin.

His mind began to drift to that impulsive night in Vegas that had been the culmination of all that tension

The neon lights of Las Vegas blared like a siren song, luring Y/N and Aaron into a world of wildness and excess. After an exhausting week of mock trials, they and their law school classmates had decided to blow off some steam and take a trip to Vegas of all places.

“Okay, Hotchner, let’s see if you can handle another round!” Y/N challenged, her voice slightly slurred as she leaned against the bar, her hair a tousled mess.

Aaron rolled his eyes, his own drink barely clutched in his hand. “I think you’ve already had enough, Y/N. You know, you might actually lose your pants at the blackjack table this time.”

“Ha! Please, I’m a betting goddess! You’re just jealous because I outsmarted you in court last week!” she shot back, leaning in closer, her breath a mixture of fruity cocktails and determination.

“Outsmarted me? You mean you got lucky!” Aaron replied, smirking. 

“You know what? Let’s get married!”  she taunted, downing the last of her drink. 

“What?” Aaron burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope!” Y/N declared, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s do it. Vegas style! You and me! A wedding! Right now!”

He glanced at her, both amused and wary. “You realize that you’re completely drunk out of your mind, right? You know what they say about Vegas weddings. And I don’t want to be part of a ‘you’re-who-I-got-drunk-with’ story.”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, Hotch! It’ll be epic! Plus, we’ll have a great story to tell during our class reunion 10 years from now about how we got wasted and tied the knot on a whim!”

“Yeah, and how you lost all your money at blackjack the same night!” he shot back, unable to hold back his laughter.

“Shut up!” she laughed, but then her expression shifted to one of playful defiance. “I dare you to come with me! We’ll show everyone that even stoic Aaron Hotcher  can do something crazy with the right company! Or are you too scared”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “You think I’m scared? You really want to drag me into this madness?”

“Absolutely!” she insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the chapel like a determined toddler. “C’mon! What’s the worst that could happen? We’ll wake up tomorrow, laugh about it!”

“Or we might actually end up married,” he replied, a mixture of thrill and dread filling him as they reached the chapel’s entrance. “What’s your plan if we do?”

“Um… we’ll just call it a really fun mistake!” she quipped, giggling as they stumbled into the small, tacky chapel. Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” played in the background, setting the perfect absurd tone.

Inside, they approached the altar, barely able to contain their laughter. The Elvis impersonator greeted them, his eyes twinkling as he took in their disheveled appearance.

“Welcome to the chapel, lovebirds!” he boomed, clearly accustomed to drunken couples making rash decisions.

“Lovebirds?” Aaron muttered under his breath, shooting Y/N a glance. 

“Shhh! Just go with it,” she hissed, nudging him with her elbow. “It’ll be fun!”

The officiant cleared his throat. “Do you, Y/N, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Sure, why not?” Y/N said with a grin, her tone decidedly nonchalant. “I mean, he does make a decent man most of the time.”

“Y/N!” Aaron exclaimed, mortified and amused at her flippancy.

“And do you, Aaron, take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant continued, a bemused smile on his face.

Aaron shrugged dramatically, looking at Y/N with exaggerated seriousness. “I guess so. As long as she promises not to annoy me with her terrible jokes and awful puns.”

“Hey!” Y/N shot back, mock-hurt. “I’ll have you know my jokes are legendary!”

“Legendary at making people cringe,” he replied, chuckling as the officiant tried to stifle a laugh.

After a few more playful jabs and exaggerated vows—filled with drunken laughter and outrageous promises—they exchanged rings made of plastic and signed their names on the chapel’s official log, feeling giddy and foolish.

As they stumbled back out into the glittering chaos of the Vegas Strip, their marriage license in hand, they couldn't help but laugh that they even printed out one. 

“Is this even legal?” she asked not expecting a reply, glancing at their license as if it might disappear into thin air. “You would think that for a pair of law students we would know the answer” 

Aaron only shrugged, too drunk to think, tossing an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s hit the casino again. After all, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”

As they walked, their banter flowed freely, filled with giggles and playful nudges. They knew they would laugh about this ridiculous night for years to come, even if they had to figure out how to disentangle themselves from the drunken mess they had just created.

The next morning had been awkward, to say the least. They had agreed to get the marriage annulled immediately, laughing about how ridiculous it all was. Except, somehow, neither had followed through on the paperwork. It had slipped through the cracks of their busy lives.

Now, his mind kept wandering back to Y/N wondering where she was now. He couldn’t help but notice how the victims all had a striking resemblance to her. 

The team had been called in to investigate a series of kidnappings, and the more they dug, the clearer it became for him how they all looked like Y/N. Where was she now? He couldn’t help but think. Was she safe? 

He leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He had to find her, his protective instincts kicking in. 

“Did you find something, Garcia?” Hotch asked, breaking the silence of his office when Penelope Garcia appeared at the door, her fingers flying across her tablet.

She hesitated momentarily, her usual cheerful energy replaced with a seriousness that made Hotch’s pulse quicken.

“I… I think so, sir,” she said, her eyes widening as she glanced at her screen. “Does the name Y/N Y/L/N ring any bells?”

Hotch’s heart stopped for a moment. His eyes locked with Garcia’s, his mind racing. “Yes,” he replied, his voice strained. “She’s… my wife.”

Garcia’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

Hotch took a breath, the memories rushing back. “We got married… years ago. It was a mistake. We were supposed to get divorced, but… it never happened.”

Garcia blinked rapidly, trying to process what he had just revealed. “So, you’re telling me… you’re still married?”

“Yes.” Hotch’s voice was tight with emotion. 

He stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “What did you find?”

Garcia quickly shifted gears, “well, her co-workers reported Y/N missing yesterday after not showing up to work,” pulling up a map of the latest victim location.  “Y/N’s phone pinged from an industrial area near the docks about an hour ago. The unsub is still playing games, but I believe she is the latest victim, sir. It appears he stalked her online for a couple of weeks’”

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he listened, his professional side taking over. “Send me the coordinates. I want the team assembled now.”

~~~~~

The BAU team had nearly arrived to the warehouse, moving swiftly and silently. Hotch led the charge, his mind a blur of tactical planning and personal fear. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Not after all these years. Not when he was just realizing how much she still meant to him.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay. The unsub had clearly been holding Y/N here, but as they searched the space, there was no sign of her or the unsub.

Hotch’s phone buzzed. A new message.

It was from Y/N’s phone, but the words were clearly from the unsub:

“Do you remember? Do you remember how much you tried to hate her? Tried to hide much did you love her? You won’t find her in time, Hotchner.” 

So this was someone from their past, but who? While trying to think of anyone that would’ve been trying to get close to her and hating him he couldn’t help but recall one fateful winter day that cemented them as academic rivals while also cementing his love for her. 

The cold bite of winter air seeped into the library, where a few stubborn law students huddled around textbooks and laptops. Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily, painting the world in white, but inside, a different kind of storm was brewing.

Aaron Hotchner glanced up from his notes, his sharp gaze falling on Y/N, who sat across from him in their study group. The usual fire was in her eyes, and the faintest trace of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she readied herself for another round of their never-ending banter.

“You’re completely wrong, Hotchner,” she said, her voice sharp and teasing. “Your interpretation of the case law is so off-base, I’m surprised you’re even here right now.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Is that so? Enlighten me, then. If you can, that is.”

Y/N’s face flushed, her hazel eyes narrowing in mock-annoyance. The faint crinkle of her nose appeared—the one that always seemed to surface when she was riled up. It was something he had started to look forward to, something that drove him to keep pushing her buttons just to see that reaction.

“Don’t tempt me,” she said with a huff, leaning forward to point at his notes. “Right here, you missed the entire point of the ruling. You can’t just cherry-pick the facts that support your argument. You’re better than that… or at least, I thought you were.”

Her words were laced with sarcasm, but Aaron found himself barely hearing them. Instead, his mind focused on the way her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, how her cheeks were tinged pink from the warmth of the heated room, and how that fire in her eyes sparked every time they clashed.

She was beautiful in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to fully acknowledge until now. He’d always admired her intellect, her tenacity, the way she stood her ground no matter how hard he pushed. But today—today something shifted. It wasn’t just respect or admiration anymore. It was something deeper, something that hit him square in the chest as if knocking the air out of him.

God, he loved seeing her like this—passionate, focused, and utterly unrelenting. His heart raced as he watched her argue her point, lips moving with a confidence that captivated him. He’d always riled her up for the sake of competition, but now he realized it was more than that. He loved it. Loved the way her nose crinkled, the way her skin flushed pink when she got under his skin and knew it.

She was like a force of nature, and Aaron—against all logic—was caught in her storm.

“Are you even listening to me?” Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts, her eyes narrowing further as she leaned back, arms crossed.

Aaron blinked, shaking off the haze of his realization, and quickly returned to their debate. “Of course I am. I’m just trying to figure out if you actually believe that nonsense you’re spewing.”

Her mouth fell open, and that familiar spark lit in her eyes again. “You’re impossible!” she snapped, throwing her pen down dramatically.

Aaron bit back a grin. “And you’re predictable.”

That earned him a glare, but he could see the amusement behind it. She thrived on this, just like he did. The banter, the push and pull—it was their language, and he’d never felt more alive than when they were like this. But now it came with a deeper ache, a longing he hadn’t anticipated.

Later that day, after they’d packed up and left the library, Aaron lingered near the hallway, stuffing his textbooks into his bag. Y/N’s voice drifted from around the corner, chatting with her friends.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out with us tonight?” one of the girls asked. “Marcus has been wanting to ask you out and you always shoot him down.” 

Y/N laughed softly. “No, I’m good. I promised myself I’d focus on law school. No distractions. I’m staying single and just keeping my head down until graduation.”

Aaron froze, his breath catching in his throat. The words stung more than they should have. He had just admitted to himself that he might be falling for her, and now—now she was putting up a wall, and he wasn’t even on the other side of it.

Single. Focused on her studies. No distractions.

It was clear where she stood, and Aaron felt a knot of frustration tighten in his chest. He could never compete with her ambitions, nor would he try. He respected that about her. But still, it hit him hard, this quiet admission of hers that he had no place in her plans.

He stood there, hidden just out of view, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. He had never been one to chase something he couldn’t have, and Y/N had just made it clear she was determined to stay unattached.

But if he couldn’t have her the way he wanted—if she would never see him the way he saw her—then he’d find another way to stay close to her.

That night, as snow continued to fall softly outside the window, Aaron made a silent vow to himself. If being her rival was the only way to be near her, then so be it. He would challenge her, argue with her, push her to her limits—because that’s when she was at her best, and it was the only way he could keep her in his life.

If being her academic rival was all he could be, then he would make sure to be the best damn rival she ever had.

The blood drained from his face as he reread the words. This was personal. The unsub had been watching them—watching their past, their history. And now, Hotch knew he was the key to finding Y/N. Could it have been Marucs? Marcus was the  other relentless suitor that y/n had. Could it be him? 

He called Garcia, “we are almost at the location Y/Ns phone pinged last. Look into Marcus for me, he went to school with us” he ordered 

“Looks  like Marcus has had many girlfriends that resemble Y/N physical appearance since graduating, up until last year in which his girlfriend broke up with him to marry someone else. The wedding date coincides with the first killing sir” 

“Thanks Garcia” he said as they arrived at the location. 

The SWAT team had cleared the perimeter, and Aaron Hotchner stood just outside the door of the dilapidated warehouse. The once-industrial building had long since been abandoned, its cracked windows and rusting metal exterior fitting the profile of a man like Marcus Chambers—someone who had faded into the shadows, but had never truly disappeared.

Aaron’s heartbeat thudded heavily in his ears, the only sound louder than the quiet murmur of the team communicating over comms. They’d been tracking Marcus for days, and this was their best lead yet. But there was one glaring problem—it seemed Y/N wasn’t here.

And time was running out.

The door to the warehouse creaked open, and Aaron nodded to Morgan and Prentiss, signaling them to enter first. Inside, the air was stale and filled with the faint scent of metal and dust. There were scattered pieces of old machinery and boxes, but it was otherwise empty—save for a table and the man seated at the far end of the room.

Marcus.

His dark eyes were fixed on the team as they approached, his mouth curled into a bitter smirk. He didn’t make any effort to move or run, didn’t flinch as SWAT flooded in behind them, guns raised and voices sharp with commands. He sat there, unbothered, like he’d been expecting them all along.

Aaron’s jaw clenched as he approached, unable to shake the burning anger and desperation clawing at him. Y/N’s life depended on this, and every second felt like an eternity.

“Where is she?” Aaron’s voice was low, controlled, but the fury beneath it was unmistakable.

Marcus’s eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms lazily. “You think it’s that easy, don’t you, Hotchner? You swoop in, play the hero, and save the day.” He sneered. “But not this time.”

Aaron’s fists clenched at his sides. The rage boiling inside him was barely contained, but he couldn’t afford to lose control now. He couldn’t let Marcus see just how much he was getting to him. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’m not playing games with you, Marcus,” Aaron growled, stepping closer, his voice like steel. “Tell me where she is, or I swear you won’t like how this ends.”

Morgan stepped forward ready to jump and protect his boss and close friend, hand resting on his gun, ready for any sign of danger. “You’re surrounded, man, you’re not walking out of here, so you might as well make it easier on yourself.”

Marcus chuckled darkly, shaking his head as if amused by the entire situation. “Easier? For me? This was never about making it easy, agent.” His eyes drifted back to Aaron, and there was something unsettling in his gaze—something cold, unhinged. “This was about making you pay.”

Aaron felt the weight of those words, and it took everything in him to keep his expression neutral. He had known Marcus back in law school—had always seen him as a man with an inferiority complex, always jealous of anyone who succeeded around him. But that was nothing compared to the bitterness Aaron saw now.

“This is about Y/N, isn’t it?” Aaron said, voice steady but cutting. “You’ve hated me since the mock trial when I said I would marry her, but Marcus you should know we were just rattling each other”

“Bullshit” Marcus yelled irritated 

Marcus’s smirk widened. “You have no idea, do you? No idea what it felt like watching you—golden boy Aaron Hotchner—get everything handed to you. The grades, the reputation, and then… her.”

Could he really know about Vegas, about them actually marrying? Aaron thought. It wasn’t as if they actually lived like husband and wife, they had just forgotten to annul the marriage, granted, as far as he knew neither of them had dated after that day. Could he really be this infuriated by a piece of paper? Aaron decided not to focus on the  pang of guilt he felt by thinking of the marriage to the love of his life as just a “piece of paper” he had to figure out where she was before it was too late.

“I watched you two,” Marcus continued, his voice laced with bitterness. “Watched you marry her like it was some joke. Like she was some prize you could just win and forget about.” 

Aaron’s stomach twisted. It all went back to Vegas. The night they’d gotten drunk, the night he and Y/N had woken up with rings on their fingers and hazy memories of how they got there. A wedding that should have been forgotten, annulled, but had somehow turned into something much more permanent, a silent promise that they would always be there for each other. A promise he couldn't break, not after all this time. 

 And Marcus had been there. He’d seen it all. And he was dead set on breaking the fragile bond that was made that night between Aaron and Y/N.  

Suddenly, a faint sound caught his attention—a soft, muffled cry coming from the back of the warehouse. Hotch motioned for the team to follow as they approached a locked room. Kicking the door open, his breath caught in his throat.

There she was. Y/N. Bound and gagged but alive.

You were there that night?” Aaron asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Marcus nodded, his eyes flickering with something darker—something dangerous. “I saw it all. You don’t even remember, do you? How you laughed about it. How you said it didn’t matter, how it would all be a funny memory years down the road. But it mattered to me.”

Aaron’s chest tightened. Yes, there was laughter that night. But, he hadn’t brushed it off like it meant nothing. It had scared him the days after how much that marriage had meant to him. But Marcus had twisted that memory, had held onto it all these years, letting it fester into something deadly.

“This isn’t about Vegas, Marcus,” Aaron said coldly. “This is about your obsession. You’re angry because you never stood a chance.”

Marcus’s smirk faltered for a brief second, but the madness in his eyes only intensified. “I didn’t stand a chance because you took her from me before I even had one.”

Aaron’s fists clenched tighter, his patience fraying. “I'm done with this, I’m done with you. Tell me where she is. Now.”

Marcus chuckled, leaning forward in his chair, his voice dripping with malice. “You really think I’d make it that easy for you? No, Hotchner. This is your punishment. You don’t get to save her this time.”

Aaron’s blood ran cold, a chill settling deep into his bones. He stepped closer, towering over Marcus, his voice deadly calm. “You tell me where she is, or I swear–” Aaron couldn’t finish his threat, noticing Marcus’ eyes flickered to the timer he set on a nearby table. 

Marcus met Aaron’s eyes, his smile fading into something more sinister. “You’re too late. She will be dead in 20 minutes.”

Aaron’s heart stopped. Too late. No, that couldn’t be possible. Not Y/N. Not when they were so close.

“Where is she?” Morgan demanded, his voice rising.

Marcus didn’t answer. His gaze drifted lazily around the room, savoring the tension, the desperation on Aaron’s face. “You’ll never find her. She’s too far gone.”

Aaron lunged forward, grabbing Marcus by the collar and hauling him to his feet, rage boiling over. “Where is she?!”

Morgan and Prentiss moved to pull Aaron back, but he was already too far gone. Marcus laughed in his face, taunting him with the one thing Aaron couldn’t afford to lose: time.

And then, in a quiet, venomous whisper, Marcus finally spoke.

“You’re looking in the wrong place.”

The words sank in, chilling Aaron to his core. Marcus had known all along that they’d come here, had expected this, planned for it. And while they wasted time finding him—Y/N was somewhere else.

Somewhere Aaron might never reach her in time.

He released Marcus, stepping back, chest heaving with frustration and panic. They had him in custody, but it wasn’t enough. Not without Y/N.

They were running out of time, and Aaron knew he couldn’t afford a single second more

Back at the BAU Penelope Garcia’s fingers flew across the keyboard, eyes glued to the flurry of data populating the screen. She’d been digging into Marcus's background, searching for anything that could lead them to where he was keeping Y/N. “Come on, come on…” she muttered under her breath, frustration building—until suddenly, a detail popped up, too familiar to ignore. “Wait a minute,” she whispered, freezing. She leaned closer, eyes widening as the puzzle pieces clicked. “The old library!”

Spencer Reid, sitting across from her, looked up from the stack of files he was pouring over. “What about it?”

Garcia spun her chair toward him, her face pale with realization. “That abandoned library—the one Hotch and Marcus used to study at with the group. It was scheduled for demolition last year, but the plans were scrapped. No one’s been there in years.”

Reid’s eyes lit up with recognition, and his voice dropped. “It’s isolated. Quiet. The perfect place to hide someone.”

Garcia immediately tapped into her comms, panic lacing her voice as she patched through to Hotch. "Hotch, I think we’ve found her. She’s at the old library. Marcus has her at the place you all used to study.”

There was a beat of silence before Hotch's voice came through, tight with urgency. "We are  on our way."

Aaron Hotchner’s heart pounded as he pushed through the crumbling doors of the abandoned library, his flashlight slicing through the dust-choked darkness. Morgan was right behind him, followed closely by Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi, their footsteps eerily silent against the cracked tile floors. The air was heavy with mustiness, and the faint echoes of their past—years spent studying in this very place—seemed to haunt the hallways. But there was no time for memories. They had to find her.

A distant sound, soft but unmistakable—a faint whimper—cut through the silence. Hotch froze, his breath hitching. His pulse quickened as his eyes darted toward a door partially ajar at the far end of the room. He motioned for the team to fan out as he crept forward, fear and determination twisting in his gut.

He pushed the door open, revealing Y/N—bound, bruised, but alive—lying in the corner of the room. Relief surged through him like a wave, but there was no time to celebrate, she was breathing but not conscious. Morgan moved quickly to her side, cutting her restraints while JJ and Prentiss scanned the area, and Rossi stood guard. Hotch knelt beside her, his voice low but filled with an emotion he rarely let surface. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Her eyes, though tired and scared, widened when she saw him. Relief washed over her face “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking for the first time in years.

She coughed softly as she tried to smile. “You… you found me.”

“Always,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms. “I’ll always find my wife.”

tagging some of my friends that I know would not mind reading an Aaron fic

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @boldlyvoid @reidsaurora @milla984 @thedancingcostumeyoungadult @reid-ingandweeping @ssahotchnerr

[pedgito]

it's taken me two years to finally getting around to compiling a list of fic recs together for posting, but we're finally here—a list of all the fics i've read this month (november). this is probably going to be a monthly thing since i tend to compile and read over weekends. thank you to everyone who keeps my hyperfixations alive and well with their beautiful writing and storytelling!

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you're just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 20

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋��𝐑

↝ you've got to learn by @split-spectrum — 🌶️ (dubcon warning)

At a client's house party, you catch yourself getting jealous of other eyes on Joel. Joel pulls you aside to show you exactly what he thinks of that.

↝ for cryin' out loud by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️, ☄️

living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

↝ road trip by @elflutter — 🌶️

car sex with joel on the way home from a weekend trip

↝ well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either… by @sceletaflores - 🌶️, ☄️

↝ that's the way road dogs do it by @joelsdagger — 🌶️ (dubcon warning)

on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past

↝ wherever you stray, i'll follow by @cavillscurls — 🌶️, ☄️, ☁️ (a/b/o dynamics)

Joel resents the choice to allow an unmated omega into Jackson—until he’s the only one who can help her feel at home.

↝ stay awake by @toxicanonymity — 🌶️, (dark) ☁️ (dubcon warning)

Joel meets you by chance after looking for you for 400 years. Now he can’t risk letting you go.

↝ nobody likes a secret by @gracieheartspedro — ☄️, (brief) 🌶️

a rich wealthy playboy who becomes enthralled by his neighbor’s daughter. it never ends well when he can not fathom having happiness for himself.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒/𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐔𝐒

↝ the farmer's daughter by @punkshort — 🌶️, ☄️

Forced to sell your body after your father's farm went under, you find yourself hand picked to service the Roman army on their latest battle away from Rome. What you didn't expect was to be selected to share General Acacius's room for the duration of the journey.

↝ war dog by @studioghibelli — 🌶️ (sub/dom dynamics)

the twin caesars were cruel, twisted, bad, unfit to rule the sweet empire of rome. but they pale in the shadow that you, their older sister, leaves behind. general acacius sees your hunger for power, your thirst for blood, your drive for ambition- it disgusts him. unfortunately, he cannot resist the temptation that is you.

↝ cosmic love by @kedsandtubesocks — 🌶️, ☁️ (ft. marcus pike)

a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

✎ — 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒

↝ with no strings attached by @jolapeno — 🌶️

stumbling into a diner in the dead of the night, frankie morales doesn't expect to find anyone there. then he meets you. what begins as a one-night-stand-turned-weekend becomes a no-strings-attached arrangement.

↝ more than letters (prologue: the letters) by @almostfoxglove - ☄️

An epistolary prologue. Paired up as pen pals in sixth grade, you and Frankie turn a middle school assignment into a years long friendship.

✎ — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍/𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒

↝ fourth time's the charm by @jolapeno —🌶️

when you turn up for your reservation, you don't expect him to be there. uninvited.

✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ the road not taken by @guiltyasdave — ☄️, ☁️

↝ hold still by @almostfoxglove — 🌶️

On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ bad idea by @murder-wife — 🌶️

↝ neighbors by @gothcsz — 🌶️, ☄️

what it's like living next door to javier peña.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

↝ melting point by @drawingdroid — ☁️, ☄️

You’re a first-year PhD at The University of Nevarro specialising in Mandalorian Art. When your favourite sculptor, the mysterious Mando, opens an art exhibition in the city, you’re the first one to enrol. Unexpectedly, attending to that opening would end up changing your life forever.

✎ — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

↝ handjob by @sanarsi

Oberyn is busy discussing important matters for the kingdom but he can’t resist taking care of you as you sit thirsty on his lap.

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you're taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

[drvscarlett]

The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department 

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys 

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x kpop idol!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine) 

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart 

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)