#general acacius fluff

[lokischocolatefountain]

Battlefront | At Your Service

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Empress!Reader Rating: M Word count: 5.3k words Summary: General Acacius returns energized by battle when an unexpected guest makes themselves at home in his tent. Warnings: Historical inaccuracies, some historical accuracies, poor description of battle strategy. A/N: Listen, I know Rome never had a single reigning Empress. But seeing loyal husband Marcus Acacius has made me eschew historical accuracy. If Ridley Scott can have characters reading newspapers before their invention, I can have Marcus Acacius being devoted to his powerful Empress wife. I'm thinking of making it a lose series with snippets of these characters' lives together. Like my Married Javi series. So lmk if there's anything you want to read about them.

“What are you doing here?” 

The sounds of battle still rang in his ears. The strategies he’d laid out playing out in his vision as he sought to identify problems he could have failed to spot. His heart was restless, every beat reminding him how high the stakes were, reminding him that every young man there was his responsibility. And then you appeared. 

Like the brain cooled the body, the sight of you cooled him. 

“You dare ask what I do at my own battlefront?” You asked, an eyebrow raised. He stood in place as you took small steps towards him. He rushed ahead, calling attention to his broad shoulders that narrowed down to his waist. Your pace was wholly inadequate for his liking.

“This is not the battlefront, Caesarea,” he said, stopping in front of you and taking your hand in his. “These are my private quarters.” He bowed and placed a kiss on the back of your hand, looking up at you from behind soft brown eyes you did not believe capable of inspiring fear until you witnessed him in battle. 

“You forget your place, General. You have no authority to deny me entrance to my husband’s quarters,” you teased. His eyes darkened at your words and the implications they bore. Your relationship had been a delicate one since the two of you left childhood behind. But it was only more so with you on the throne and him the General at your command. 

“If you wish to assert your marital rights at this moment, know I will have to as well,” he warned, his hands itching to be upon you. Unlike his soldiers, Acacius had gone many months without the touch of a woman. Some high ranking officers brought their wives and some indulged in whores. Not Acacius.

“What man asks to claim his marital rights? I believed I belonged to a man who knew what was his and conquered it.” 

It was all he needed to close the distance between you. In an instant, your fearsome general, covered in the blood of enemies and grime of their land he claimed, pulled you to his chest. His large hands engulfed your face. His lips came crashing against yours, desperate and sloppy. You instinctively reached up to one, caressing his rough hand with your soft one. Teeth clashed against each other. Saliva dribbled down his lips, transferring the dried blood on his face to yours. Smearing you with evidence of his devotion. To you and to Rome. 

His hard iron armor covered in leather and embossed with gold dug into your chest in his desperation to feel you. One hand slipped to your neck, holding you in place with the force of a soldier and authority of a husband. His other hand slipped to your hip, rough as he guided you towards the thin mattress on the floor.

“I must have you…” he growled into your ear as his hands groped around through your clothes. He grabbed every part of you he could think of, squeezing as though planting flags on a territory he’d already claimed.

You nodded, the gold and gems that dangled from your ears glinting under the light of the torches that illuminated his quarters. 

“Good,” he muttered, pushing your coat off your shoulders, catching it before it fell to the ground and discarding it on a chair. The clips and fasteners that kept your linen, silk, and wool too intricate for his impatience, he tore through anything that did not yield. Delicate fabrics met their end at the hands of the ravenous beast he became at the battlefront, revealing delicious skin underneath. He needed this. Needed to plunge into your tight, wet hole and spend the aggressive energy that coursed through his veins.

He took whores, but that was before he wed you. Married men took other women both back home and especially when at war. As long as they were whores or any other women lower than his wife’s status. It was expected, encouraged. But he was married to the Empress. Anyone he took would be a disrespect to her. Sure, many mocked him behind his back as the Empress’ wife. It did not bother him. Not anymore. 

When men depended on one’s instructions to survive each day, they ceased to question his manhood. Further, it was hard to question a man’s ability when he lead the mightiest army the world had seen to victory. 

You were beautifully exposed in front of him, your veil, stola, and palla lying in defeat on the ground. Only your tunica, exposing your legs and the shape of your breasts. His lips claimed your neck, biting and sucking on everywhere he knew you favored the way he expertly mapped and attacked the vulnerabilities of enemy territory.

Every bit of skin he touched lit a fire in your belly, replacing the weeks of agonizing solitude with only your inadequate fingers for release. 

Buried in your neck, he inhaled your scent, of your sweat combined with the roses and attar from Arabia. He licked, grunting when your gold necklace tainted the taste of your skin. Reaching behind you, he tugged at the fastener, growling when it proved too delicate to be undone by his large fingers. You let out a laugh before slapping his hand away and undoing the offending jewelry in one swift moment. He liked you bare. Needed to rid you of any object that interfered with his preference be it fabric or lustrous gold and gems.

You were an oasis in the desert. For a man surrounded by young men with nothing but rage and fear coursing through their veins. No bath fully cleansed him of enemy blood, mud and grime. Grace to the gods, you were not a woman repulsed by his gory state of being. 

You whimpered as he forced you to the ground, laying you out on his small mattress before climbing atop. The pteruges of his armor tickled your thighs as he hovered above you.

“Marcus…I have longed for you every night,” you whispered, your words clenching his heart. You did not have the luxuries that other royal women enjoyed. The wealth and adoration came with a sword at your neck and the weight of all of Rome and her people. Rare was the opportunity to only be a woman in the arms of your husband.

“I think of you day and night. My duty to my Empress by day, my duties to my wife at night,” he said, peppering kisses along your jaw. You sighed, curving away from him to expose more of yourself for his kisses.

“Do your duty then. And allow me to do mine,” you said, reaching below to caress his thigh. 

He searched under his pillow and retrieved his dagger. He tucked the tip of the cold blade under your strophium. You gasped as he cut through the layers, your breasts spilling from their restraints. Hands that for months only knew the reins of his horse and the handle of his sword relished in the softness of your breasts. He was no barbarian. He knew to treat a woman with gentle touch and loving words. 

His appetite, however, was quick to defeat the gentle Acacius who was allowed his Empress’ hand in marriage. Your breasts filled his hands perfectly, like the gods had shaped them for his sake. For his touch. For his children to feed from. The image formed in the back of his mind, his child drinking from your full breasts as your belly grew with another. His cock twitched at the thought and he acted, forcing your legs apart with his knees.

Fear joined a familiar ache in the pit of your stomach as he slid the blade down your chest, resting it near your core. Your nails dug into his arm and your core throbbed with need. You yelped as he cut through your subligar. The night air caressed your cunt forcing you to feel how wet his bestial acts made you. Your hips bucked up in search of him, desperate to fill the void he’d left in his absence. 

He traced the dagger further below and rested it on your thigh. His eyes exuded a hunger you’d seen only in the exotic beasts that devoured gladiators. “Stay still,” he said and placed a soothing hand on your trembling thigh as the other reigned terror on its counterpart. With your nod of understanding, he moved the blade closer and closer until–

You shrieked as the cold blade sat at the edge of your opening. Before you could comprehend, he brought it up before your eyes and licked the blunt edge. His eyes closed and a moan rumbled from his chest as he tasted your arousal. 

“You drip for me, melilla.” 

“I have been aching for you,” you said through trembling breaths, thinking of every night you touched yourself in his memory. He had made your body his, rending separation tartarus on land. The closest your cunt had felt of him was the ring from his pinky he placed on your middle finger before his departure. 

He tossed the dagger aside and it landed with a clang. Your cunt clenched at the sound, thrilled by his animalistic want for you. He cupped your core in his hand, parted your lips and plunged two fingers inside you. It was already much more than you had in his absence, his thick fingers filling you better than your own. 

“Please,” you whimpered as he worked you open, your cunt dripping around his fingers with each stroke. He was always gentle with you, but not this time. You didn’t want him gentle. In peacetime, he bowed to you as your loyal subject. In war, when he overflowed with masculine power, you wanted him forceful. Wanted him atop you, taking you with the same ruthless power he did enemy land. You wanted to be unburdened of the weight of your empire if only for a moment. Be husband and wife, not General and Empress.

His hand slipped under your head, grabbing your hair between his fingers. You hissed at the sting of his grip on your hair and reached for his arm instinctively. He withdrew his fingers, pushing them between your lips when you whined to be filled. As you tasted yourself, he aligned his cock up with your weeping entrance. You choked out a sob as he split you open with his cock, your walls burning at the stretch. Tears clouded your vision, but you blinked them away to see your dearest, handsome even in war. Your bejeweled fingers weaved through his dark curls, needing to touch the familiar parts of the man you’d so long yearned to reunite with. 

His own hand and a few whores was satisfactory when he was a lone general who did not know the taste of a woman he called his own. He doubted he could find someone else to satisfy his desires now that he had you. His men found this sentiment strange as they chose to relieve their stress with whores and slaves. 

None of those fools had the fucking Empress waiting for them at home. 

“Look at you…” he rasped, luxuriating at the vision. You were divine. All goddess-like in your beauty even lying on his thin mattress, hair strewn across his pillow and your hairpins coming undone under his grip. No dingy military camp was worthy of a visit from such an ethereal creature. But you were no simple Lady content to stay in the palace surrounded by your riches. He doubted he could stop you from visiting him even if you weren’t the Empress but only his dear wife.

“You like me this way,” he said instead of asking. He did not need to ask. He had seen how you looked at him when he wore his armor. No stranger to combat, the blood and gore did not seem to rattle you. His other campaigns found you in the camps for celebrations. Too many times, he had to keep you at arm’s length out of respect for your station. Now that you belonged to him…

“Always… Always liked my General so. Always wanted to pounce upon you and fight those girls you chose over me.”

He snorted at the jealousy that returned to your visage though he was now all yours. “My severed head would have joined the barbarians had I defiled the Princess, my dear.”

“You should have abstained,” you said, the smile that played at your lips all he needed to know it was but a jest. 

“And deprive you of the fruits of my experience with the female form?” He taunted, angling himself to stroke the particularly sensitive place inside you. Your lips opened in a small circle, whatever witty remark you’d concocted now dissolved into a pathetic moan.

He pawed at your breasts, his large hands and the loss of etiquette making you feel mauled by a beast. You pushed up from the ground and into his hands, sobbing as he tugged your nipples, adding to the pain of penetration. He took you in long, hard thrusts, your needy cunt pulling him back in each time he withdrew. Each stroke soothed the pain he bestowed, eased by how he had you leaking around him.

“I need, I need… please,” you begged, too occupied by your lust to find better words.

“Anything you want, Carissima,” he whimpered, bending down and claiming your lips. He smelled of war. Of mud and blood and something vile that should repulse you. He did not kiss like he usually did. Did not explore you and drink your sweet sounds. He took you, forced your lips apart and invaded with his tongue. He bit and drew blood, the taste of iron adding to the familiar taste of your beloved.

“Anything,” he growled, filling you deeper. “I will make you feel me between your legs for days. Make you wince in pain when you ride your horse,” he said, his hot breath and the threat making you shudder. “Would you like that? Like the people who bow to you smell me on you? Make you strategize with my seed dripping down your legs under your dress?”

“Macrus, want…please” you blubbered, your intelligence leaving from his vicious ravaging. Your thighs burned from how wide he spread you to fit himself between your legs. It was an agonizing stretch without the aid of any oils, without his lips easing you open for his thickness. But none of it mattered for you ached more with longing. 

Fully immersed in you, he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as though he were meditating. He was heavy, his large frame that mowed through enemy men and swung weighty swords through necks now being used to contain you. He took your breath away not only with his stature but with his beauty. You liked to believe him sculpted by the gods to put you in his thrall. To tame the wild princess into the tempered Empress Rome needed.

You needed him to move, to fuck you so thoroughly you would feel him with every move you made until you could reunite once again. But you did not have heart to push him. Not when he looked like a devotee at the shrine of his goddess. 

All men thought of in the midst of war was the people they left behind. It did not change when one rose to command the entire Roman army. He opened his eyes, sighing with relief when he found you still there beneath him. He had dreamt so many times lying all alone that he was home with you. He dreamt that the war had ended and he was sat by your side as you read scrolls from senators and discussed fucking sanitation of all things. He dreamt of you returning to his arms, of your kisses and your tight cunt holding him inside you. You were never there when he woke up. 

He pinned your wrists above your head, desperate to contain you so he wouldn’t be separated from you again. 

This was no dream. Even dreams of you didn’t feel as elysian as your true form. He fucked you in short thrusts, grinding against your clit as he did. You dug your heels into his lower back, your hips rising up to meet his thrusts. He cupped your cheek in one hand and you melted into his touch, confounded by his contradictions. He brought your hand between your bodies and you took his direction, rubbing your clit as he returned to a brutal pace. 

He grabbed your hip for purchase, his other hand mauling your breast. His balls slapped against your skin, the lewd sounds of skin against skin sounding through the camp. 

You cried his name as he rammed into you over and over until you could no longer find an ounce of regard for propriety in you. Word would’ve spread that you were here. Everyone knew the General to be fiercely loyal. Now they would know it was their Empress in the tent moaning like a whore taking their General’s cock. You clenched tight around him at the scandalous thought, wrapping your arms around him to anchor yourself to reality. 

He pulled you up off the ground and onto his lap, bouncing you up and down his cock as you kept yourself wrapped around him. You grabbed his hair and pressed yourself against his chest. His dark brown eyes bored into yours, soft even as he fucked you with animalistic vigor. You kissed him, his growl devolving into a mewl like a lion tamed. Your heart beat against your ribs, longing to escape its confines to find the man it belonged to. 

You trailed kisses across every bit of exposed skin. The patch above his jaw where his beard never grew called out to your lips and you rewarded it with kisses. He returned them, his strong aquiline nose pressing against your cheekbone. 

Full of him, the world disappeared from your thoughts. Your hips moved of its own accord, taking him deeper as he bounced you up and down his cock. 

“What d’you think they would say?” he taunted, breathless from the exertion. “Their unshakable Empress being used by her husband in the camps. Your perfect hair tangled, your jewels on the ground,” he growled and you simply mewled, the shame coursing through you only aiding him as he hammered into you. 

“Answer me,” he commanded, punctuating the words with harsh thrust. You opened and closed your mouth, eyes trained on his fiery ones as he demanded what he made you incapable of doing. A sob emerged deep from your chest, the only sign you were present in your body. 

He let out a mocking laugh. “All of Rome bows to your rousing speeches yet you become mute with a cock stuffing you full.” 

You whimpered his name, or you thought you did. You couldn’t be sure of anything in this state. Your thighs shook from the force of his thrusts and your hip hurt where his fingers dug in. Sounds you did not know yourself capable of producing escaped your lips. The fire in your belly blazed wilder and your vision blackened. You felt the pressure wind tighter and tighter. You threw your head back in pleasure, whimpering when you felt his lips on your neck. He lapped at your skin, devouring your natural taste and your sweat. He nipped and bit, mumbling words of praise you couldn’t make out in your dazed state. 

His name mixed with curses flowed from your lips as pleasure hit you like lightning. You felt your back hit the floor, your legs folded up as he rammed into you. Your hole spasmed around him as he continued taking you for himself but you lay limp, spent. His warm sticky spend spurted inside you, dripping out onto your thighs and his thin mattress as he buried himself deep before collapsing on top.

He tucked his head in the nape of your neck, panting as you both came down to Earth from the heavens. His body weighed heavy on you, as did his armor. He took the breath out of your lungs but you did not want to be without him. It was the antidote for your aching heart.

“That was quite the welcome, General,” you said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I did not receive such treatment the last time.” 

“You were the crown princess when you last visited me in the battlefront.” 

“Ah. You needed me on the throne before serving me this way?” You teased, knowing full well how it pained him to restrain himself from having you before he won approval for your hand in marriage.

“I needed the Emperor to not have my head for defiling his daughter so,” he said, rolling you over and pulling you down by your arms against his chest when you attempted to sit up. You giggled as he placed kisses all over, delighted by how playful he became once he took his aggressive energy out on you.

“He should not have given his General his daughter’s hand in marriage if he was worried about that.” 

“Mmm, I don’t know dear. The princess was quite insistent she would only wed the General. Threatened to be caught in the General’s bed if denied.”

“Yes. I hope you are grateful,” you said, giving him your hand adorned in rings, the one he gave you from his little finger gleaming brighter than the rest. He took your hand and kissed it, his eyes so soft with love and devotion for you that you could hardly reconcile them with the hunger they exuded just moments before. The words were merely a jest, but he was indeed grateful. 

He was celebrated for his prowess in battle. For the many victories he brought Rome. Many men deluded themselves into the belief that this entitled them a victory of the princess’ hand. Not Acacius. Though your hearts reached out for one other through the years, you were the only one with the courage to act upon it. The one to show the Emperor why only he would be the right companion to a woman on Rome’s throne. For that, he would forever be grateful.

“How goes the battle?” you asked, getting up and depriving him of your warmth. He grabbed a scrap of fabric that was once your tunica and tossed it at you. You caught it and whispered a thank you before cleaning yourself up.

“Who is asking? My Empress or my wife?” He asked, propping himself up with his hands.

“Would your answers vary?” 

“They would.” 

“Give me both answers, General. Husband.” You asked, wrapping your furs around you and sitting back on his chair. 

“Caesarea,” he said, finally rising up. Something shifted between you. Your voice had altered from its girlish relaxed state. Wool covered your body. You were perched on his seat while he stood in front of you in submission to your authority. “We anticipated many deaths from illness but have been spared such tragedy by the grace of the gods. The Eastern front has advanced into the barbarians' territory and they have retreated. However, I expect them to recuperate and retaliate. Our men are advancing faster to take advantage of their momentary retreat. The Northern front is not faring well. Not as we’d hoped. We have received intelligence that the barbarians have armed even women and children to attack.”

“What is your next course of action?” 

“We’ve sent troops up North and we need more men to replace them. I was hoping you would grant approval for a few more men from our reserves.” 

“How many?” 

“One century and a centurion to replace the ones I sent north, and twenty cavalrymen.” 

“And how soon do you need them?”

“We can not hold out longer than seven days. Or we stand to lose ground in the East.” 

“I’ll see what I can do. Seven days are… It is not enough time. I must send word with Decimus and the men would take time to arrive.” 

“I understand.” 

“I hope you have told the men you’ve sent North to limit casualties. We are to rule over these people once you have conquered their land. I imagine killing their wives and children wouldn’t endear them to us.” 

“I have, yes. They are under the leadership of a good man- Faunus. He trained under me. I know him to be determined and level headed. Has children of his own as well.” 

“Being a father doesn’t stop many men from killing children. They simply learn not to see those children as children at all.” 

“I have seen that too.” 

“I trust your judgment, Marcus. Let us hope you are right about Faunus and his men. What of the rations? Are they adequate?” 

“I hear more grains are coming our way from the last harvest. If true, we will not be in want of food.” 

“It is, indeed. Is there anything else my General needs?” You asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“No. Nothing that needs your immediate attention.”

“Well, then tell me what answer you would give your wife. About how the war is going.” 

He smiled, his eyes softening and his shoulders relaxing at the permission to change role from General to husband. He stepped closer to you and caged you in with his hands on the armrests. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips and felt you relax. As he spoke, he peppered kisses across your face, enjoying his effect on you. “I would tell you that the end of the war is closer than it was the last time I wrote you. That I long for you every hour I spend in this wretched place. I would reassure you that I am unharmed and ask you to prepare our home for my arrival.” 

“Are you?” 

He tilted his head in question, making you clarify yourself, “Unharmed. I need to see.” 

“Is that why you have come so far? To ensure I am unharmed?” 

“Perhaps. I did not want my men to believe their Empress had forgotten them. I come bearing gifts. Letters from families who have not accompanied officers. Fresh fruits and nuts. Toys and books for the children. Some hearings to handle as you said in your letters. To boost morale.” 

“You have already succeeded with me there, my dear. My morale is higher than ever,” he said, nipping playfully at your ear and making you giggle. “Back to bed now,” he said and you obliged, wrapping your arms around his neck and allowing him to carry you. 

“A happy General makes for happy soldiers.” 

“Perhaps I’m not happy enough,” he said, laying you out on his bed, gentle unlike the man he was a while ago. “You must do more, my dearest. For the sake of the poor soldiers.”

You giggled and pulled him down to your chest, sighing when his weight settled on you. You traced the gold plating on his armor with a finger idly, saying, “Oh, iff it is for the soldiers…” 

He laughed with you and the two of you lied together, quietly taking each other in. Other high ranking men in your army had the privilege of bringing their families to the barracks, but not your husband. You hadn’t the duty to keep your home but to keep your empire. Though opposition to having you on the throne had begun to dwindle, you did not feel secure in your position. You couldn’t afford peace of mind. There was disease and conflicts awaiting your attention. Plebeians to care for without angering the patricians. Marcus unburdened you of all worries about the war for you knew he would bring victory to Rome. But you worried as wives did about whether their husbands would return at all.

“I will be here for four days,” you spoke up, needing a distraction from your burgeoning fears. “I must see to a few disagreements. Inspect the troops. Maybe I will even polish your swords like a good wife ought to.” 

“Oh? What else will you do?” 

You squinted, thinking of what else the women in the barracks did for their men that you knew to do. You couldn’t cook. Didn’t know to wash clothes. Did not yet have children to raise. You could spar with him, but that was frowned upon and not at all wifely.

“Clean your quarters?” 

“My quarters are clean, Princess,” he laughed softly. You pushed at his chest playfully but he didn’t budge. It had been a long time since you could push him around physically.

“I am not a Princess anymore.” 

“I meant it as a term of endearment, not as your title.” 

“Surely there is something I can do. I will have time aside from my duties to our people.”

“When you do, mea vita…” he whispered, hot breath tickling your ear. “Lie back here and open your legs for me.” 

“Whatever for?” You teased, wearing an expression of confusion as you pretended to think of the answers. 

“To do your duty to your husband. To please me,” he said, parting your coat and cupping your sex in his hand. He swept his ejaculate that dripped down your thighs and pushed it back inside you. He wanted it to take. Wanted you full and round with his child when he arrived in Rome victorious. It was their duty, yes. But he wanted children for more than duty and legacy’s sake. He wanted to experience the joy he witnessed in his men when they shared stories of their fatherhood. He could recall a time when he fought only to sate his bloodlust. Since you became more than his friend, more than his Princess, he began fighting to return home to you. He wanted one day to fight with his children in mind. 

He pumped his fingers in and out of you with practiced ease. You trembled, sensitive from his rough use, but did not pull away. You needed this.

“Have I not pleased you enough?” You asked, only half teasing. You did not have much experience with carnal pleasure. There were a few men and several women in your past. But the men were not interested in teaching you to please them. It wasn’t entirely their fault, of course. You did not want to please anyone before Marcus. It was a source of insecurity. You’d seen how women swarmed him since he developed from a little boy who sparred with you to a broad shouldered man with a deep voice. What if you were inadequate?

“You are simply too delectable, my dear. Each time I believe myself satisfied, I only want more of you.”

“I have duties to Rome. I can’t always be in your bed.” That was another insecurity you had. That he would find you lacking in wifely duties as compared to other women, those who did not have Rome on their shoulders.

“We barely had each other a week before I was sent here.” 

“Mmm… She sounds cruel, your Empress. Separating you from your new wife so early.” He could see how you sought to bury your fears with humor. Duty to Rome and your love plagued you despite reassurances of his unconditional support. The elders often turned their nose up at you, found you lacking as a woman. Though you’d proven yourself both in battle and in administration, old men set in their ways refused to accept you as Empress. Many already whispered about you not having conceived a child. 

“She is not cruel. My Empress,” he said, smiling. He wouldn't have you doubting his trust in you, be it as Empress or wife. Everyone was you tartarus, but he would only be your peace. “She is just. She is brave and kind with intellect as sharp as the tip of my sword. The right person to lead Rome into prosperity.”

You melted into his arms and he held you close to his chest, heavy with the weight of doing right by the Roman Princess who lent little Acacius her sword when he couldn’t afford one.

⌘ ⌘ ⌘

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[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night (1) -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

Part 2 here!

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

I. Heal the Heart 

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, nescio. Sed fieri sentior et excrucior.  I love you and I hate you.  Why I do this, I have no idea.  But I feel it happening and I’m in agony. [Catullus]

Following the conquest of Egypt and its incorporation into the Roman Empire, there was a growing interest in its ancient culture. Over time, many in Egypt began to express a desire for greater autonomy and control over their own affairs. Dissatisfaction with Roman control over Egypt became part of the Egyptian psyche.

This is precisely why, immediately after the death of Emperor Septimius Severus, preparations for revolt began in Egypt. His emperor sons Caracella and Geta were already doing little else but quarreling with each other, drinking and having fun, watch gladiators  fighting and feeling proud of themselves. Even when they were informed that their subjects in Egypt had revolted, they continued to do what they were doing. They didn't care about anything but themselves and their daily activities.

The Egyptians were aware of this, of course, they knew they could not be a strong soldier like their emperor father. They were quite sure that the day would come when they, with the help of the Greeks, would put the Roman governors in Egypt to the sword. After all, they had been making preparations since the death of Severus. There were Jews among them too, all of them insistent on establishing the sovereignty of ancient Egypt, but there was one thing they did not consider or pay much attention to.

General Marcus Acacius.

They say, you can feel the ground shake when he walks on it. He makes his opponents feel certain of their own death at the very moment he draws his sword. A daring commander with  few who could stand up to him. It is unclear whether this is an exaggeration or not, but it is still rumored that he cut a lion in half in the Colosseum.

A beast in every sense of the word.

More than that, he is a leader who manages his legions very well and spur them on to achieve success during the war, a man who has not yet tasted a failure, well-earned the title of general in every way.

Since it was obvious that no one else could succeed in suppressing the rebellion, he was immediately sent to the region with the intervention of his Empresss Julia Domna, the mother of the two emperors.

Just like she guessed, he had succeeded in putting down the rebellion, of course, no doubt, as soon as his name rang through, the rebels, along with all the inhabitants of Egypt, have knew that they already defeated.

Some were forced to surrender, those who resisted and fled were found and killed by the Roman soldiers, but not all. The general didn't kill the surrendered ones, he took them as captives which was pretty fair for a beast. In contrast to him, the ones who fled were not, they were so desperate that they didn't know what to do and they started attacking everything and everywhere like rabid dogs.

They even attempted to violate the laws of war and mapped out a plan to kill the General and his soldiers, and even all the medics, in the night at their camps. It was a suicide mission, but they were on the verge of success.

'Has anyone seen the General? He's not in his tent!' A burly soldier strode in, holding his sword which was covered in the blood of the rebel he had just killed. He looked through all the tents one by one, moving quickly and with a concerned look on his face.

The clinking of swords echoed in the darkness as the soldiers cut down the last remaining rebels to death with their swords.

Soon, the soldier ran to his General, relieved to see him, but he was wounded in the abdomen moments ago. As he gently pressed his hand to his injury, a small amount of blood emerged, shining like rubies under the moonlight as it dripped from between his strong fingers onto the grass. His attackers were no longer alive, they were all lying on the ground, were literally cut to ribbons. They attacked him in his sleep when he was wearing nothing but his tunic, catching him off guard. He nodded to the soldier, demanding assistance as his white tunic transformed into a crimson hue. He had been wounded many times before, countless times, but this was nothing like before and was undoubtedly the worst injury he had ever sustained. ‘I think, I… got…,’ he groaned, it hurt much even when he speaks, feeling like beneath the wound his blood was boiling. ‘…poisoned.’ These were the last words spilled from his lips before his enormous body slumping to his knees, collapse altogether to the ground.

The woman with waist-length with black hair was dragging you along with her as she walking across the meadow, you were struggled, couldn’t control your feet, as if the ground was sliding under. She had her hands outstretched at her sides, even though her back was turned, it was not difficult to see her smile by the sunlight reflecting the curve of her chin. She abruptly ceased her movement and bent down to gather a few herbs in a meadow. She plucked them, gathered them in her palms, and kissed them. You heard the whispers between her lips and the harmony of the wind rippling through your ears. It was clear that she was blessing these herbs. When she turned to you, you staggered backwards, hypnotized by her face, so beautiful, mesmerizing, her eyes hypnotizing yours, it was impossible to look away, no escape from them.

Perhaps even more surprising than anything else was that her face and eyes were identical to yours. It really was truly astonishing. She handed you the plants like they were rare jewelry. You could see her arms shone in the sun, and her skin looked like fine marble. It was impossible to believe that it could be human skin; it must have been that of a goddess, but why did her face resemble yours?

'Heal the heart, child,' her voice sang through the meadow like a gentle breeze. You couldn't move your lips, but she heard you anyway.

‘Heart?’

A warm wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman came closer, startling you. Her hazel eyes were turning green under the sun. As she slightly opens her lips, you locked your eyes on them and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘The heart of Rome,’ almost whispers, ‘Serve it,’ a little loud now like commanding, ‘Heal it...’ again whispers then gently puts the herbs on your hand.

A strong wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman danced with the wind. The sunny sky burst into a starry night as the wind embraced the silhouette and rose to the sky, to the stars. You felt the ground under your feet, but your eyes were drawn to the enchanting sky.

As the wind finally gave way to the silent night, you looked at the herbs you were holding in your hand. These kind of herbs you were used to seeing almost every day, but what you were not used to seeing was that they were sparkling like diamonds between your fingers. It was as if you could feel their healing power on your skin.

Abruptly, you heard the voice again, echoing across the meadow. Your ears were once more caressed, blessed, but this time, the words were different.

‘Cure him…’

You barely heard your name being called and your body was shaking, slowly opened your eyes, you saw a familiar but worried face.

‘Wake up, please, you need to get up now,’ the concern in the man's voice brought you back to reality, the effect of the dream disappearing like a cloud of dust between the stone walls and dissipating into the air.

‘Uncle?’

You had rarely seen this face of your uncle who had taken you in when you were an orphan, who cared for you, protected you and raised you well more than any other father or mother ever would.

You sat up from the firm mattress you were lying on, ‘I thought we were travelling tomorrow night?’

‘No, no, that's not why I woke you up,’ he put your big dark cloak over your head. ‘You need to hide.’

You were startled to hear shouting and footsteps coming from outside the wooden door of the room. This was not the sort of noise you would normally expect to hear in this Valetudinarium (hospital, clinic) at this late hour. 

‘What is going on?’ You rub your eyes with your fingers, trying to figure out the situation.

Your uncle tucked your hair deeper into your cloak.

'The Roman soldiers are gathering all the medici (psychians). I have to go with them.'

'Roman soldiers? I thought they left after they put down the rebellion, and slaughtered thousands. Besides, they already have medici with them why they-?'

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his anxiety evident.

'Some rebels with indigestion murdered all the medici in their tents, and then-'

A soldier's voice was heard from one of the nearby rooms. You both turned your heads in that direction, startled, and then looked at each other again.

'General, they targeted him. They attacked him in his sleep. He got them, but he got poisoned. They want me to save him.'

‘Poisoned? But Uncle, he might already be dead, if you won’t be able to cure him they'll blame you or punish you and-’

‘Don’t think about it now, go and hide, as a woman you are not allowed to be here remember? You have to hide and wait for my return.’

The soldiers' voices were heard very close by.

‘No, I'll come with you, if it's aspis (venomous snake in Nile region) venom we'll use the same techniques as before, like we did with the boy last time, it would take too long to make an antivenom on your own, let me help you.’

‘It's too dangerous for you my dearest, to go among the soldiers, even if you wear these men clothes, we can't hide the beauty of your face, dear.’

You strode over to the cauldron in the fireplace and ran your hands over the soot that had accumulated underneath it.

‘It worked before,’ you said, rubbing a little soot on your cheeks.

‘Only at the market. This time it's more dangerous. I'd never forgive myself if I couldn't protect you there.’

‘Don't worry. I'll be back here as soon as we've finished with the antivenom. I know all the paths and shortcuts very well now.’

Suddenly a soldier burst in, kicking the door angrily, you shuddered.

‘You two! Get out, now! We don't have time!

‘We're making sure to collect all medical supplies, sir,’ he turned to you. ‘Come on, boy, don't dawdle!’

You nodded without looking at soldier, grabbed all medicine bottles.

‘You'd better hurry!’

As soon as the soldier left the room, your uncle moved swiftly to the corner and opened the small wooden chest. He took out a cream-coloured envelope of slightly worn paper, sealed with a wax seal bearing the emblem of Septimius Severus.

'This is…'

'I was going to give this to you tomorrow as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here.'

You took the envelope from him with shaking hands. The previous emperor himself had sealed it. You wondered what it meant.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you, making sure you understood how important this letter was.

‘No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it, hide it like your life depends on it, you'll understand why.’

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard. You tucked the letter into the bag hanging around your neck and hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, making them rattle in the process.

‘Aya, you’re going to have to choose,’ he looked at you before leaving the room.

‘Choose what uncle?’

‘To run or stay. It’ll make sense when you read the letter,’ he checked the hall and grabbed your wrist. You were so confused but you had to think about this later.

'We have to get out now, soldiers are outside, quick!'

The soldiers had gathered all the medici they could find in the army headquarters, near the tents. There were seven of them yet were unable to find a solution to the General's injury. When it was only you and your uncle who were next, a burly soldier, who was of a higher rank than the others, approached you two. You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact. Everyone was in a rush, with almost all of them mobilized to save the general's life. Your gender didn't matter to them, for now. As you were about to follow your uncle into the tent, the soldier stopped you by raising his hand.

‘Only the medicus.’

‘My aide, sir, let him in. He's as expert as I am.’

As your uncle is their last hope, he let you in, but did not follow you inside, stands guard outside the tent. The General's squire was standing right next to him, he looked at you with tears in his eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight. The sorrow had taken possession of everything inside the tent, and you could feel it right down to your bones.

The General was lying on a mattress in the west corner of the tent. He was unconscious, but you noticed that his lips were moving, like murmuring. You moved forward to look closer to see his face, which you had been so curious about.

His face was exactly as you had imagined, and yet not. He had many scars, as if he had been born with them, his light brown skin embracing them. His moustache and beard were partially grey, his nose and chin perfectly shaped, as if the Prometheus had spent more time shaping this man. His face was stunning, and it made your heart beat fast. You had never felt this way about any other man, well you never had an opportunity to do though.

You were somewhat disappointed to see his eyes closed. You were curious about what they might look like, and you were eager to see what he would look like when he opened them. When you found yourself wanting to touch his face, you were a little surprised. For a moment, you forgot why you were there. Your uncle had already picked up the sword with which General had been wounded and was examining the blood on it. You went over to help him, keeping one eye on the general, lying there with his imposing body and half of the white tunic he wore dyed red.

Your heart constricted with pain, and the dream you had came vividly to mind.

‘Cure him.’

‘We need to check his wound!’ You were startled by your uncle's loud voice, squinting at you, you felt ashamed.

As your uncle beckoned, you approached him, seeing the wound was not deep but the skin around the cut starting to get pale from the venom and the edges curling inwards.

‘He doesn't have much time, let's start making the antivenom now,’ he swallowed, the wound was really getting worse, you had to cure him no matter what.

Maybe, you thought, this is why the Gods showed you this in your dream, they warned you in advance that your life depends on it.

The process of making the antivenom took slightly longer than anticipated, but you persevered admirably. Your uncle cleaned the wound to neutralize it while you were perspiring from the fabric of your clothes. Once the antivenom was finally administered, your uncle applied the antidote carefully to the wound but he was exhausted, fingers are shaking so you helped him even you were feeling so tired too. Your eyelids were almost closed but you managed to complete your duty perfectly.

The soldier from earlier came into the tent to check the process, you bowed your head, and stepped back.

'We've cleaned the wound, once its neutralized, applied the antidote. We just need to wait now,' your uncle informed him, wiping sweat off his forehead. 'We need to give him some time, and make sure he drinks water soon to avoid dehydration.’

As the solider checking the wound you turned your head to look at the squire boy who was sobbing just ago, already fallen asleep. Poor boy, you thought.

The soldier ordered you to leave the tent and wait outside.

You felt your arms and legs go numb with fatigue and collapsed to the ground, sat cross-legged, trying hard to stay awake. Your uncle was same but he still struggled to sleep. In the end, he couldn't control his eyelids.

You woke up to the sound of the soldiers shouting and arguing. You turned your head, couldn't make out what they were disagreeing about, but they were making a lot of noise.

'You better go in and make sure the General drinks some water. He needs to stay hydrated,' your uncle said in firmly, watching the soldiers probably keep an eye on them.

The tent was empty except for the General. The soldier from earlier was outside, reassuring the other soldiers. You approached to check him. His forehead was covered in sweat, his body was fighting with venom. You quickly grabbed a damp cloth and pressed it gently on his forehead. Then you touched his lips with your thin, fragile fingers. You felt something intense growing inside you. As a secret medicus, you have touched the face and other parts of the body of many men and women to cure them. However, touching this man's face and lips was never like touching others.

You took a deep breath to pull yourself together. This was nonsense.

You made his lips crack open and dipped a rag into the fresh water in the copper pot. You pressed it against the general's rather dry, pale lips, squeezing it through his mouth.

After repeatedly doing this, you decided you had enough. Just before you withdrew your hand, the general's strong hand grabbed yours with a firm grip. You were surprised and moaned in pain, opened your hand with pressure, and the rag fell to the ground.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you looked at his face. He opened those eyes you had been so curious about and looked at you with a cold, calculating gaze, squeezing your wrist so tightly you felt it would break in a minute. You stifled a scream and moaned in pain, 'Sir, I'm here for help.' You sounded almost as if you were crying, and suddenly he moaned in pain as well, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, the effort drained him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as his breathing quickened.

When he finally released your wrist, you threw yourself backwards for dear life, rubbed your wrist with your other hand and stroked it, praying to the Gods to take the pain away. You could have sworn to Jupiter that if he had squeezed your wrist any harder, you would have heard a cracking sound coming from your bones.

How could he possibly be so strong even when exhausted, so close to death?

As the pain receded, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. Your thin wrist was painted the red like poppies, as if the shadows of his fingers were engraved on your skin.

You glanced timidly over your shoulder, he was still lying with his eyes closed, but you had just made a terrible mistake, he heard your voice, must have noticed you were a woman, and only the Gods knew what he would do when he came to his senses.

You had to leave immediately, wrapping your wrist in a clean piece of cloth and tucking the sleeve of your dress into it so that the bandage wouldn't be visible. When you came out of the tent, your uncle grabbed your arm and pulled you behind the tent.

‘Uncle, the General seemed to opened his eyes for a moment and heard my voice, he might remember when he awakens,' you said in a whisper, hoping no one have heard you.

‘Gods have mercy upon us,’ he glanced down, murmuring, then grabbed you by shoulders. “Time to go, you need to leave now. Go by following the path through the woods. Soldiers having a disagreement about something, I think they found out-‘

‘You, medicus, come here,’ one of the soldiers shouted at your uncle.

Your uncle gestured to you with his eyes, saying ‘go now’,

'You too!' you gasped as you realised the soldier waving his hand at you.

'Sir, he should stay with the General...' your uncle stepped in front of you to protect you.

'I said come, both of you, now,' he wasn’t asking, it was a firm order.

As you took tentative steps towards the place where the other soldiers were forming a circle beside your uncle, your heart began to beat as if it were going to burst. These were the soldiers who had just fought, and you wondered if they hurt each other, but you could not see anyone hurt or wounded.

On the contrary, they looked at you curiously, only at you.

‘That's nonsense, Dimitrus, this boy can't be a girl,' said one soldier pointing you with a small knife in his hand.

Your uncle was standing next to you, his fear having come true, his face taut with worry.

As the soldier, who you guessed was named Dimitrus, approached you, your uncle took a step in front of him, but the soldier easily overpowered him and pushed him aside. The soldier looked at your body from top to bottom. You bowed your head and clenched your fists. Your heart pounded in your chest as your breathing quickened. He yanked down your hood of your cloak with his big hands, other soldiers came nearby for a better look.

Your hair was tied up at the back of your head, and the soldier's grin widened when he noticed. He drew his dagger from its holster, and when you saw your uncle's worried face behind the soldier's formidable arm, you began to pray to all the Gods.

He grabbed your bun with his hand and cut the hairband with his dagger, your golden-brown wavy hair falling over your shoulders. The soldiers laughed and whistled. Dimitrus looked at them with a cocky smile and turned back to you.

‘Such a long hair for a aide boy, eh?’

'A girl, indeed,' said one soldier, looking at you with disbelief.

‘I told you I could smell a woman a mile away,’ he laughed, his voice booming.

'Please,' you demanded, feeling unable to do anything else. A feeling of despair took control of your whole body.

‘What is going on here?’ The burly soldier approached and noticed your new look, looking at you in astonishment. Dimitrus grabbed you by the hair and pulled you towards him. He then grabbed your chin and turned your face to Octavius.

'Look at her. You don't even know that the medicus brought a girl with him, Octavius?' And you're the general's right-hand man!’

You struggled to move your body, but he was so strong.

‘Hey, I can't see her face clearly!'

You closed your eyes tightly as someone threw wine on your face. Dimitrus wiped your face with his big fingers, rubbing roughly.

'Gods, no ordinary beauty,' looking at you like a hungry wolf, then smells your hair making you feel nauseous.

You tried to look away, but your eyes met your uncle's desperate gaze.

‘That's enough, Dimitrus, let her go, is this what you all thinking while our General lies there like that?’

You rushed to your uncle's side as his hands released your hair.

‘He's already dead, I've never seen anyone get up after being poisoned,’ he says as if he was looking forward to his death.

Octavius drew his sword with a schwing. ‘How dare you! Say that again and I'll cut your tongue off!’ he growled.

Dimitrus' followers drew their swords as well. Octavius looked at each of them with anger and disbelief. He has been betrayed.

‘You filthy rats! I'll kill you one by one!’ He waved his long sword at them.

Dimitrus grabbed your uncle by the collar, 'Start with this one. Who knows what he gave the General instead of medicine?'

‘Yes, he must be punished!’

'Punish him, Octavius!'

They were all yelling at him by raising their swords, you were thinking a way out but there wasn’t any.

‘If you won't, I will,' Dimitrus pointed his swords end at your uncle.

‘No!' you cried but your uncle stopping you with his hand.

Then, as Octavius raised his hand and was about to lunge at him, Dimitrus plunged his sword through your uncle's stomach, the poor man groaning in pain and falling to his knees, and as you ran towards him, he drew back his sword, his blood splashing in your face with the force of the draw. Your body began to shake and you felt paralysed as you watched his lifeless body fall to the ground.

'Dimitrus!' Octavius roared, ‘You've gone too far! What do you think our general will do to you when he awakens?’

You collapsed to your knees in shock, your body rigid and still, your face expressionless yet tears streaming down your cheeks.

'General? You failed to save him, you let that medicus get into his tent, you must share his fate! I will tell the emperors that this is your fault! And I think we should put the general out of his misery-'

Suddenly, an axe emerged from nowhere and plunged into Dimitrus' chest deeply. His body reeled back, shaking, then fell to the ground lying backwards, dying in a pool of blood as everyone looked at him in astonishment and panic. Blood gushed from where his chest had been split open, and when he stopped breathing, laying there as his eyes remained wide open.

They turned their head to see who had thrown the axe and they were shocked once again.

The general could barely stands near his tent, his eyes filled with rage, his gaze blazing with fury. Octavius ran to his side quickly.

'General! Thank Gods you're finally awake!’

'What's going on here, Octavius?' his voice was like a roar.

‘Sir, Dimitrus and others have attempted to mutiny.’

Acacius gave the other soldiers a deathly stare and they immediately kneeled down with their swords upside down.

'No, sir, we did not.’

'Forgive me, sir, it was Dimitrus doing.’

'Sir, please forgive me.’

You closed your uncle's eyelids with your fingers as they all begged for forgiveness. Your back was turned to the General, you didn't care if you live or die, you didn’t care about anything. You felt your whole life was already over.

'If any of you ever dare to do anything like this again,' he walked near Dimitrus’ body and pulled the axe from his chest roughly, you startled by the crunching sound coming from his bones.

'I Marcus Acacius, will make sure that he meets the same fate as this scum!'

He put them all in their place, they all nodded in fear and stood up with his gesture, bowing their heads though couldn't look him in the face.

'Now get ready, we must sail at dawn!'

‘Yes sir!’

All of them sheathing their swords, spreading around in rush.

Acacius staggered a little as they gone at his sight, his wound still hurting but he tried hard not to show them.

Octavius touched his arm, 'Sir, the Gods have spared your life but please rest a little longer.’

'Who is this man?’

You were certain he was talking about your uncle, even though your back was turned to him.

'The medicus who cured you, sir, Dimitrus got mad and killed him because he thought he couldn't save you.'

'As if we haven't lost enough medici tonight. He was wrong obviously. This man managed to cure me. I'm standing thanks to him,' he turned his head to Octavius. 'Make sure this man's body reaches his family. Let the governor know about this. They should fulfil all ritual arrangements.'

Octavius nodded, "Yes sir, I will."

Then both turned their gaze to you. 'What about this one?'

Your body was petrified, you felt the time of execution has come, you’ve never expected the last moments of your life to be like this.

‘I think this was his aide or slave sir, Dimitrus found out she was a woman, that medicus was hiding her, sir,’ he bowed his head in shame, you swallowed.

Acacius' pain returned, he groaned in pain, Octavius grabs his waist gently, "Sir, please rest, you need to get your strength back.’

'Sir!' Acacius' squire came and put his arm under his.

It was time for him to turn his back to you.

‘Since her master has died, take this girl to the other slaves, I don't want any more chaos or mishap,’ he said in a firm voice.

You wiped tears from your eyes with the back of your hand as their footsteps faded away. Two soldiers came and grabbed your arms, lifted you off the ground while the others carrying your uncle’s body. When you turned your head, glancing over your shoulder, saw the General's curly grey hairs and his well-shaped nose before he went into his tent.

Your body was filled with rage.

What you heard was only a heightening of your pain and a deepening of your hurt.

A slave? How could he say that? The one who cured him was now worthy of being a slave?

As the mid-morning sun began to reflect on the walls of Rome through the haze that filled the

harbour, the capital was preparing to experience one of the most active days in its history. Everyone who noticed the navy ships approaching the harbour from afar, citizens, subjects, foreign mission chiefs, tradesmen, civil servants, porters, all filled the entrance of the city. They were waiting to welcome General Marcus Acacius and the glorious Roman soldiers. On the deck of the large ship at the forefront of the fleet, the General sighs deeply as he looks out over his city, thanking Mars for his triumphant and healthy return.

It ten days to get from the port of Alexandria to Rome, a very difficult experience for you, travelling with captives called slaves. Most of them were Greeks and Egyptians, and the fact that the streets of the Roman capital were filled with shouts of joy was of no interest to them. On board the ship they were constantly told that the slave market in the capital was a very prestigious place, that the young girls would be well brought up by certain families, that they should stop crying, that they should pray to Jupiter to make the wealthy families could like them and buy them with high prices.

But you were not like those slaves, you were not a prisoner of war, nor was your family enslaved or poor. Your uncle was a renowned and esteemed medicus. He was a member of an affluent family. He and his wife found you on the banks of the River Nile when you were three years old. That is what they told you. The gods had not blessed them with a child, so they loved you as much as their own. You knew he wasn't your real father or uncle, but you were very happy with your life and didn't ask too many questions until he told you about that letter the night before the night that ruined your life.

As an orphan, you were brought up well by your uncle, learning all about Egyptian medicine, performing countless surgeries at his side, bringing many people back to life -including the general himself- and learning enough to become an expert. But, no one could call you as medicus because you were a woman, yet your talents were too great to be ignored. No matter who you told on this ship, no one would believe you, and even if they did, there was nothing they could do about it.

As you looked out through the small cracks between the planks of the ship, your eyes travelled over the seemingly endless sea. You couldn't stop thinking about the dream you had that night.

‘Cure him.’

Wouldn't it have been better if you haven't cure him? Perhaps your uncle would still be alive. Maybe you wouldn't be sitting on this ship now, resigned to your fate, wondering, worrying what will happen to you. Is this your reward for healing the great Roman general?

That man ruined your life, and you only did yourself a disservice by saving him.

Perhaps the gods were testing you, but what was the lesson?

You looked at the shadow of the General's fingers under the piece of cloth you had wrapped around your wrist. The color was that of violets caressed by moonlight days ago. Now, it is unmistakably that color, doesn’t hurt much anymore.

As the ship rumbled into port, you realized that it was time to accept your fate. In the dark and damp bilge of the ship, you and a girl close to your age called Decima took turns using the same swing as a bed, you liked each other very much and in desperation you became confidants. She was in her early twenties, beautiful yet you were in your late twenties, ahead of her in beauty. Her father was a rebel, probably killed by the General's men, and she was taken as captive. You told her almost everything except the letter that you’re hiding in your bag.

As soon as you stepped into the harbour, the discrimination began, the general and his men moved in the other direction, while the trader man of slaves were standing in front of you ordered you to move somewhere else.

You frowned as you saw his face in the distance over the shoulders of the people in the crowd, he looked very healthy, his body had managed to overcome the venom of the past few days and his wound has healed. You remembered how you had spent hours with your uncle trying to cure him, how you had struggled for hours to make the antidote while your arms and wrists ached with pain.

The General's face lit up with a warm smile as he waved his hand at his citizens, you were surprised to find that all your anger has vanished for a moment.

You turned your head away, looking at him would only cause you pain. He didn't look at you because he hasn't seen your face yet -well not clearly-, furthermore, you’ve never met face to face, to him you’re just a slave nothing more. Octavius however, recognised you from a distance. He was the only one who has witnessed your hard work. He was an honorable men, didn’t like to see you among the slaves, yet he has nothing to do, it was his General's order.

In the evening of that day, after the slaves were taken to the baths and then to the slave market for sale, you and Decima were taken by the slaver man to a separate cell. From outside, one could hear the sounds of a lively market, where slaves were being sold one by one. There was a great deal of interest in these new slaves from Egypt.

Slaver man appeared at the door of your cell in the market with a man over your age looks wealthy. Decima immediately stood up, but you did not. The slaver gestured with his hand, turning Decima around in the center and showing her arms, face and feet, squinting at you meanwhile.

‘Look at these strong and beautiful young girls, sir, I wouldn’t show you any poor slaves, they are both virgins, and they are very beautiful, the great Venus has bestowed her beauty on these girls. They would fetch a lot of money if they went to the market, but I thought I would show them to you first sire.’ He was blandishing much, but the man's eyes were locked on you.

‘Doesn't she have any manners? Why doesn't she stand up?’

‘You're right sir, she must be a bit sick from travelling, she will,’ he gestured to you with his hand, ‘Come on, get up, girl.’

You rolled your eyes and got up, he squeezed your arm hard to warn you first, then did everything what he had done to Decima, opening almost every part of your body for the other man to see. It was incredibly disgusting, you felt like an animal being sold at the cattle market.

‘The other one is younger, but this one is so beautiful, a rare one,’ he said, grabbed you by arm, looking at you hungrily. ‘How much do you want for this one?’

Your eyes meet with Decima in a silent exchange, as it was time to go your separate ways.

‘Eight thousand sesterces, sire.’

He pursed his lips, thinking, his fingers touching your hair mean while you were closing your eyes, praying for a miracle.

‘Ten thousand sesterces!’

A familiar voice of a man echoed through stone walls. You all turned your heads to that direction.

‘General Marcus Acacius offers ten thousand sesterces for this girl!’ Octavius’ imposing body appeared, he came towards them with his armor making a sharp noise with every step. He threw a big coin pouch to the slaver, who caught it with a big smile on his face.

‘Sold, of course,’ he was counting the coins with happy face.

Then Octavius firmly grabbed the other man's arm that was still touching you, lifted it, and pushed it away. He frowned.

‘This girl belongs to General Acacius now, sir, you must not touch her,’ he warned him gently but firmly.

As the general entered the city in his chariot, the people shouted his name. He waved his hand to them, and the streets were filled with a great enthusiasm as everyone gathered to honour the general and his soldiers. The chariot carrying him soon passed under the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus and turned towards the Curia Julia, the Senate building, where the emperors must have been waiting for him. The general's smile faded. He was tired and not looking forward to seeing them, but he would not go to his villa before visiting the emperors.

As General strode purposefully up the marble stairs, Geta and Caracella leapt down from their golden imperial thrones in excitement. As soon as Geta saw him, he opened his arms wide.

‘How can I reward Rome's greatest general?'

'By letting him catch his breath first,' Caracella smiled widely.

Acacius stopped in front of them and nodded, 'Emperors.'

'We have been eagerly awaiting for your arrival, general,' Geta clasped his hands together, looking at him with admiration.

'Speak for yourself, brother. My legs ache from sitting for so long,' Caracella said, then laughed loudly. 'But it was worth it, indeed!'

‘Indeed!’ They both laughed once more, but Caracella looking at his brother a bit strange way.

It was hard to tell if Caracella wanted to embrace Geta or if wanted to take his life right then and there. The relationship between the two of them was quite distorted.

The general rolled his eyes, he was used to these two whiny emperors half of his age bickering at each other all the time, he sighed in frustration at having to put up with them when he could easily take both their lives with a single stroke of his sword. Unfortunately, this unpleasant situation had only just begun.

‘We heard that you were poisoned, how did it feel?’ Geta looked at him with wide eyes and smile.

The news must have reached the emperors before the general had even boarded the ship.

'Painful, your highness,' Acacius stated, a shadow passing over his brown eyes as he remembered the pain again.

'I'm sure it was, it must have been an interesting experience.’ Caracella crossed his arms; smiling just like his brother.

‘Cobra or viper?’

‘Aspis, highness, the viper type.’

‘Oh, I won!’ Geta jumped for joy and gestured to Caracella with his hand, imitating a snake.

Caracella ignored him looking at the General.

‘The rebels must have quite a sense of humour, poisoning a Roman General carrying Medusa on his chest with a snake, quite ironic,’ he touched Medusa on General's armor with his index finger.

Acacius frowned while looking at him, ‘They certainly do, they murdered all our medici mercilessly, fortunately the great Asclepius sent his help, my men brought another medicus from city was able to cure me, it is thanks to him that I can stand here in front of you, highness,’ Acacius remembered the memory when he was unsure whether it was a dream or not but he could not get out of his mind the fingers that touched his lips, the owner of those hazel eyes that came to his aid when his throat was dry from thirst. But it couldn't be medicus he thought, it had to be someone with thin fingers, someone with beautiful eyes he had never seen before. Maybe, since he was too close to death, it was a dream or a goddess has appeared to him, he couldn't be sure.

The first thing he remembers is opening his eyes and grabbing her wrist with his survival instinct. He thought it was a strange looking young man in a hood, maybe another rebel had come to kill him again, but then he heard her voice and thought his goddess had come to heal him. He was in so much pain and seeing hallucinations that he couldn't tell if it was a dream or not. But couldn’t get rid of those thoughts since days.

The emperors didn't seem to care much about the medicis the general was talking about, or how he had recovered, and Acacius seemed bored as they continued to joke with each other.

‘Mother,' Geta ran to her as he noticed the Empress approaching, extends his arm for her.

Julia Domna took his arm as she coming towards Acacius, whispering something into Geta’s ear, without taking her eyes off the General.

‘My lady,’ Acacius nodded to her.

Domna's smile was like Caracella's, you could never guess what she was thinking.

‘General, how good it is to see you return triumphant once more. Rome salutes you, and I embrace you,’ she approached him with open arms and put her hands Acacius’ board shoulders.

Caracella sat back on his throne, a bored look on his face.

‘My Lady, the honour is mine,’ the general said, bowing his head.

‘We shall sacrifice 1000 bulls to honor our triumphant mother!’ Geta clapped his hands excitedly, ‘Let's have a great feast tonight!’

‘Highness, let's give the General some time to rest, he must be tired from the battle,’ Domna removed her hands from the General's shoulders but kept her eyes on him.

Caracella let out a high, shrill laugh that echoed through the white marble columns. Geta sat on his throne and scowled.

‘Marcus, walk with me,’ the Empress turned round, gestured to him.

Acacius sighed, he didn't want to be alone with her, but he had to. Domna walked ahead of him, hands clasped behind her back, he followed her slowly.

‘My sons are glad to see you again, even if they have no idea how fortunate they are to have you serving them.’

'It is my duty to serve Rome.’

She paused and smiled, watching the water in the pool shimmer in the sunlight, the glow reflecting off her bright skin, her expression was difficult to read.

'I think you have a talent for survival.’

She sounded dissatisfied. 'After all, you trained under Maximus, you must have learned a lot from him.’

He looked away, 'I owe where I am today to the remarkable fighting skills he taught me, he was an honourable man, the greatest general Rome has ever seen,' Acacius' eyes were fixed on the great Temple of Venus between the eastern edge of the Forum Romanum and the Colosseum.

Domna looked at him with a feeling between admiration and concern.

‘He, like you, lived to serve Rome, even if he had to kill Commodus,’ she said, and even little children could catch the obvious implication in her voice.

Acacius held his ground, his eyes roaming the curves of the statue of Venus.

‘But unlike him, you are loyal to the emperors, I can be sure of that, can't I?

He turned his head towards her, but did not look at her. His eyes were now on the two spoilt emperors who were talking animatedly to each other between the columns. 'As long as Rome is prosperous for all her subjects, I will be loyal to them, my lady.'

Domna laughed loudly, 'Ah, that's why I want you in the Senate, how long will you refuse?

'I am only a soldier, politics is not my business, nor should it be. Consuls in the Senate -'

‘Those old foxes live in abundance and do nothing, the person who has done Rome the greatest service should be in the Senate.’ Domna glanced over her shoulder at her sons. 'I am concerned that Macrinus has no equal in the Senate and that Caracella dominates him, perhaps if you are in there, you will gain his trust.’

'Your Highness...' He looked at her shaking his head as no.

Domna looked at Acacius, this time with a serious expression on her face, 'For the sake of Rome you must be especially careful with Caracella, as her mother even I find it hard to get my way with him, he is not like Geta, he is a hard-headed child.’

Acacius looked at Caracella whose back was turned, of course he knew this very well, for a moment he thought that he was the real threat to Rome, not the enemy soldiers or the others.

‘Anyway, you should go to your villa and rest, you will have time to think about this alone,’ she said with a forced smile, then turned around to go to her sons.

After praying in the temple of Venus, Acacius walked out, and as he descended the steps of the temple, he felt a stinging pain where his wound had been, the poison had completely gone from his body, but it had left its trace behind.

Octavius was lost in thought as he has leaned against the side of the carriage waiting for him, quickly stood up when he noticed him.

‘Sir.’

‘I see you don't miss your home, as you're still here,' Acacius said as he descended the last step. He got into the carriage and climbed in to sit beside him. Acacius was quite tired so he lay down on the seat, the fact that he felt so comfortable with Octavius was because of their long friendship, he was his most trusted man, more than just a friend, like a brother.

'Are you going to tell me what's troubling you?’ Acacius covered his face with his arm, but he could feel the tension in him.

'Sir, the girl.’

'Oh, I see, a girl? Have you fallen in love with a girl?

'No, that's not it,' Octavius felt embarrassed as he remembers your face. 'That poor girl, It doesn't seem fair that she should be with those slaves, sir, you are an honourable man, but-'

Acacius lifted his arm from his face and looked at him, the cart swaying as it moved along the stony roads.

'The girl that medicus hid? Why do you care so much for her? Is there something I should know?’

'After all, they worked so hard together to cure you, perhaps you should have at least let her go home.’

‘Together? What do you mean?' Acacius sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

Octavius bowed his head.

'Sir, I made a mistake, it was my fault for letting them into your tent, I don't know how I could have been so careless even after the assassination, forgive me...'

Acacius raised his hand.

'Slow down, we will talk about your mistake later, you are saying that girl entered my tent and cured me? How?’

'I didn't look closely at her face and I didn't know she was a woman maybe because of her outfit but I made a terrible mistake, I should’ve known, forgive me sir.’ He bowed his head once more but it made Acacius more angry.

'You haven't answered my question, Octavius,' his voice was loud.

'Yes sir, she did her best to cure you, sir, the girl and Medicus worked hard to produce antivenom all night.’

Acacius was surprised when he realized that he hadn't dreamed that night. He was glad to learn that the owner of those eyes was a real person. But then he thought that she might be on the slave market by now, about to be sold to someone else.

‘Stop the carriage!’ He yelled.

The coachman immediately did as he was told and pulled hard on the horses' harnesses, the horses howling and stamping their hooves on the ground.

'Sir?' Octavius raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'Go and find the girl, I want to see her at my villa tonight, do you understand? Acacius tossed him a pouch full of coins.

Octavius smiled, ‘Yes, sir.’

please comment, reblog and like if you enjoyed so far thank youu,

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[orcasoul]

Marcus Acacius Imagine #1

Warnings: Fluff, age gap, smut (under 18's DNI!)

Word Count: 665

Older husband Marcus Acacius who never expected to marry again almost two decades after his wife ran away with a servant. Who had long ago given up on the notion of love and poured all of his energy into serving Rome. Who, at a large celebration in honour of his retirement felt the whole world slip away as your father introduced you to him. Who became instantly besotted with your delicate smile, your gentle mien, and the shyness you exhibited around him. Who spent the whole evening in deep conversation with you, drawing you out of your shell and learning as much as he could. Who the very next day arranged your marriage to himself with your father.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who felt the gods had truly blessed him as you walked towards him in your bridal attire, looking like Venus herself. Who felt your smaller hand shake as you took his and instantly became overwhelmed with the urge to ease your nerves and to protect and shield you from every bad thing this world had to offer. Who knows that your youth and naivety has not prepared you for the real world and as long as you have him to care for and safeguard you, you'll be fine. Who will spend the rest of his life ensuring you will want for nothing from this moment on. Who's not foolish enough to believe that you love him as he does you - by the few interactions you've both had it's clear you do care for him, but love can take time for some people - and he will make it his mission to gain your love.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who, being an experienced lover knows just how to both sooth your wedding night anxiety and excite you at the same time. Who trailed his lips over your shoulder as he released the clasps of your dress, the fabric flowing to the floor around you. Who stared in reverence at your naked flesh, your subtle curves and the swell of your breasts, professing that you are the most ethereal creature he has laid eyes on. Who tilted your chin up to meet his eyes and saw both lust and apprehension staring back at him. Who allowed you to take your time undressing him, getting lost in the feel of your soft fingers as they trailed over his many scars. Who's heart almost burst with joy as you tiptoed up to press your lips to his.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who laid you on the bed, smoothing his hands down your body, from your neck, over your breasts, past your navel and finally settling over your sex, cupping it gently. Who began to rub circles over your clit with the heel of his hand while pushing a finger inside your aching core, soon followed by a second. Who grinned in triumph as you came apart beneath him, your flushed face looking both awed and fascinated at what just happened. Who, only once you had become pliant enough entered you slowly, pushing in all the way to the hilt. Who watched your eyes roll back as he increased the intensity of his thrusts inside your warm, wet walls, drawing moans and gasps of his name from your pretty lips. Who made sure you came one last time before spilling his seed inside you.

Older husband Marcus Acacius who held you in his arms as you slept, studying all the fine lines, beauty spots and freckles on your face and shoulders, smoothing the silky skin of your back and relaxing in the warmth of your body pressed to his. Who has never felt more at home than his is right now, embracing the woman he adores and has waited his whole life for. Who hopes that his seed has already taken hold and will soon have you swelling beautifully with his son. Who will love, worship and protect you and any children you give him until his dying breath.

[4ever-feral]

The only manspreading I will accept. Also the blue jeans black tshirt combo is *chefs kiss* 😮‍💨

[trulyumai]

benevolence

—pairing: emperor geta / wife! reader

—synopsis: you were hurt and geta was determined to find the man responsible.

—warnings: mentions of hitting, violence, grabbing. geta trying to be patient.

a/n: this was a request; thank you anonymous!

Enjoy!

Brown sandals slapped against the floor. With ease, the emperor moved quickly. For the man was furious; choosing to seek out his wife to see if the rumors were true.

General Acacius, to hear such a rumor from his own general? How unbecoming.

The man had seeked the emperor out with hushed words, whispering to him the betrayal that had occurred. Geta wasted no time to seek you out. 

His guards stood behind, albeit a little more distanced, as the man stormed through the temple, mumbling incessant curses and threats. They didn't dare get into the ginger's way as he strode across the building, shoving anything and anyone out of his way. 

It couldn’t stop raining today, and he knew exactly where to find you. 

The chamber balcony. 

Always watching— staring into the valley with wonder as rain would soak your being. He would always be furious with you when this occurred, yelling that you would be sick. Sick over your own doing, watching a silly weather phenomenon. You would only smile, invite him to join you with wet hands and a sappy expression. Most of the time he would decline, calling it foolish and dumb. But sometimes (usually when he was drunk), he would allow himself to grace your presence. Feel the rain drench his clothes as you lean into his warmth, kissing up his arm and up his shoulder. 

He adored it. 

Slamming his ringed hands across the wooden door, it groaned open. The doors met with the stone walls laid behind, letting out a loud bang. 

You laid unaware. And unfortunately for you, he was right. You were on the balcony, protected by the awning as rain came crashing down upon the stone. It was peaceful. Beautiful. Any other time he would admire your body. The curves and supple areas that made you; you. Always dressed in the finest silks that clung to your body deliciously. 

“My wife,” a deep voice gave way, dragging your once distracted thoughts. Turning, you saw how Geta made his way to you, veiny hands already reaching out for your form.

They connected with your face, sprawling across your cheeks with ease. 

“Is it true?” Anger held onto each word, with his eyes staring right through you. Full of fire—  his orbs held such contempt, a hatred so deep that it made you shudder. 

He wanted to grab you by the throat, drag you across the floors and demand you to explain. Explain why a bruise littered across your face like it belonged there.

No words needed to be said; afterall, the proof lay before him. 

A black and purple bruise lay sprawled upon your jaw, up your cheek and ending just before your right eye. 

A growl escaped the emperor's lips, and with a quick raise of his hand, dismissed the guards behind him. 

Their armor— white and golden, shined bright against the dimly lit room. For all the candles lay burnt out, unused. You wanted to lay in darkness, remembering how you fell upon the chamber in shakes and tears, not wanting to light the injuries that fell upon you. 

Now alone, Geta demanded again. Although softer, his voice held so much anger. It was rough and callous, just as much as his knuckles were when they began smoothing over the affected area.

“Tell me,” the emperor implored. 

“Tell me and it will be dealt with. I will—”

“You’ll what?” A sniffle sounded out. It was so hard not to burst out in tears.

“You’ll find the afflicter? And then what, what will happen to him?” 

Geta snarled, blue veins sprouted through his forehead in unfiltered rage. 

“What does it matter? Why leave such a worthless being alive.” Grabbing the back of your neck, he pushed forward. Now, your head forced its way back to glance upwards at the taller man. 

Thunder roared out, only spurring the man further. His eyes were so bright today. 

Full of swelling emotions, ready to burst at any given moment. 

“Please,” you whispered, raising your shaking hands to his cheeks. They were rough, stubble tickled your fingers as they grazed over the skin with a loving gentleness. “No one has to die.” 

Geta scoffed against your hold, refusing to meet your dewy gaze.

“Someone will pay, dear wife. I don’t need your consent.” 

“It was an accident— 

“Enough!” Geta grabbed at your small hands, squeezing them uncontrollably. A cry left your lips as the pressure grew, a pain kneaded and flowed through your palms as the man tore them from his face. 

“You’ll tell me. Now.” Tears dribbled down your lashes, meeting with the soft skin of your cheeks until they met with your chin. 

“I— I can’t.” 

“Did he threaten you?” 

You shook your head, the hair around your shoulders moved with the action. 

“If I tell you, he’ll die. There’s no mistaking that. I can’t… I can’t rightfully send a man to his death for such a foolish reason.” 

Deep breaths, Geta, deep breaths. His chest rose and sank slowly, to calm the raging waves battling against the walls of his sanity. 

“Wife,” he began. Molding his forehead on yours, he forced eye contact. Now inches away he began to wipe at your tear stained cheeks. 

“This will be no fault of yours. This man? His fate has already been set. The moment he made contact with you, it became inevitable.” 

“But—,” 

“I will not hear more of it. This cannot go unpunished. How would we look if such a thing went without discipline? The word is already traveling, little wife.” 

Fingers kneaded down to your neck, brushing the hair back with a gentle care. 

“Please,” he whispered to you. 

“Tell me now.” 

Lip wobbling, you gave in. Form slackened against his, sobs escaped you. 

“The— the new servant.”

Geta’s brows furrowed. He tried to think— imagine the useless being his wife was referencing, but nothing came to mind. 

Seeing your husband’s confusion, you shakily spoke again. 

“The one with, with the scar?” 

Instantly, recognition flowed through the man’s squinted eyes. 

He pictured the brunette man. He was short, squatty. A scar was plastered upon his face, distorting it and contorting it against its will. 

He remembered bringing it up upon their first meeting. Comparing the man to an Oxen’s behind. 

He remembered how the man bowed pathetically before him. Telling his grace of the accident. 

Geta spat at his feet then. He had leaned forward upon his throne and called out, “And what makes you think I care about your formed impudence?” 

Your sobs brought him back. They battled against the rain that patterned down against the stone walkway. 

Your form slumped down, head now cascaded down upon his sandaled feet. 

Geta did nothing to comfort you. 

He wanted to. Gods, did he want to. 

If he was any other man, he would whisper sweet nothings to you. Brush your tears away with a brush of a hand and carry you back inside. 

But he was the emperor. 

Geta, the unbreaking 

Geta, the undying. 

His form moved away, leaving you to drown upon the tears that overwhelmed your being. His feet carried on, not stopping for each broken sob or the way you mumbled his name pathetically. 

He now knows of the perpetrator; and justice was soon to be delivered, whether it was with you at his side, or not. 

Geta would serve it. 

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

Just here to beg for a crumb-- just a little blurb about Marcus as a new dad? All those swimming lessons would have paid off before long, right?

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Wife!reader | WC : 1.7k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN | Under a False Alter

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage), Birth, insecurity, vulnerability, fluffy romance vibes with a hint of the reality of parenthood

A/n : Sorry this took a second but i hope you enjoy

"MOTHERFUCKER!" you shouted, your voice echoing through the chamber as you clung to Marcus' arms, your grip iron-tight. Midwives swarmed around you, their practiced hands moving swiftly, their voices a blend of soothing reassurances and urgent instructions.

"It'll be alright, love," Marcus murmured, his voice steady despite the worry etched across his face. He wiped the sweat from your brow, his touch tender. "You're the strongest person I know."

"Strongest person you know?" you snapped, glaring at him through the pain. "If you had just kept your hands to yourself, we wouldn't be in this mess, Marcus!"

Marcus chuckled softly, though there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes. "I recall you being quite persuasive that night."

"Don't you dare put this on me!" you retorted, another contraction making you wince. "If you had any self-control, I wouldn't be screaming my head off right now!"

"Almost there," the head midwife announced, her voice cutting through the haze of pain. "I can see the head."

Marcus looked at you, his eyes shining with pride and awe. "Just a little more, darling. You're so close."

"Close to killing you," you muttered, though your grip on his hand tightened, drawing strength from his presence.

With a final, primal scream, you pushed with all your might. The room seemed to hold its breath as the midwives sprang into action. And then, a new sound filled the air—the cries of your newborn son.

Tears streamed down your face as the midwife placed the tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms. You looked down at him, your heart swelling with a love so fierce it took your breath away. Marcus leaned in, his arm around your shoulders, his eyes filled with wonder as he gazed at his son.

"He's perfect," Marcus whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "You did it."

"We did it," you corrected, meeting his gaze. "And you owe me a lifetime of back massages and foot rubs for this."

Marcus laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Deal. And I'll start by being the best father I can be."

As you held your son close, feeling the warmth of his tiny body against your chest, you knew that whatever the future held, you and Marcus would face it together. This was the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with hope, love, and endless possibilities.

The midwives busied themselves around you, cleaning up and murmuring congratulations. You glanced at Marcus, who was still watching you with that same awestruck expression.

"Stop looking at me like that," you teased, though there was no heat in your words. "I look like I've been through a war."

"A beautiful war," Marcus said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "And you, my love, are a warrior."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you replied, though you couldn't suppress a smile. "But I suppose I can let you off the hook. Just this once."

"How generous of you," Marcus said with a grin, leaning in to kiss you. "I love you."

"And I love you," you whispered, feeling a deep contentment settle over you. "Even if you did get us into this mess."

"Well, it's a beautiful mess," he said, looking down at your son. "And I wouldn't change a thing."

"Marcus, you can't hold him like that," you said, trying to suppress a laugh as you watched him awkwardly maneuver the tiny, squirming baby in his arms. Your son wriggled, his small fists waving in the air, clearly unimpressed with his father's attempt.

"I'm trying!" Marcus replied, a mix of frustration and amusement in his voice. "He's just so slippery."

You stepped in, gently guiding Marcus' hands to support the baby's head and body correctly. "There, like this. See? He's not that hard to handle."

"Easy for you to say," Marcus muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips. "You've always had a way with handling difficult creatures."

"Are you calling our son a creature?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Only the cutest one I've ever seen," Marcus said, his eyes softening as he looked down at the baby. "Alright, little man, let's get you clean."

You carefully poured warm water over your son's tiny body, making sure the temperature was just right. The baby let out a small, surprised squeak, his eyes widening at the sensation. Marcus chuckled, his large hands gentle as he helped you wash the baby’s delicate skin.

"He's not so bad once you get the hang of it," Marcus said, his voice filled with wonder. "Look at him. He's so small, but so perfect."

"Just like his father," you teased, running a soft cloth over the baby's head.

Marcus grinned, his eyes twinkling. "You think I'm perfect?"

"In your dreams," you replied, but there was no denying the affection in your tone.

As you continued the bath, Marcus took over washing the baby's tiny feet, his fingers incredibly gentle. "These little toes," he mused, "I can't believe something so small can be so perfect."

"Careful, Marcus," you warned with a laugh. "You're turning into a sentimental sap."

"Too late," he admitted, looking at you with a smile that made your heart melt. "This little guy has completely undone me."

The days and nights blurred together as you adjusted to the whirlwind of new parenthood. There were moments of sheer joy and wonder as you watched your son grow and change, his tiny features becoming more defined with each passing day. But there were also moments of exhaustion and doubt, when the weight of responsibility felt overwhelming. Your pregnancy had been a mix of excitement and anxiety, each milestone bringing a new set of emotions. Now, holding your baby in your arms, you felt an intense love that was both beautiful and terrifying.

You marveled at his tiny hands and the way his fingers would curl around yours, his innocent eyes gazing up at you with trust. Those were the moments that made everything worth it, when the world seemed to stand still and all that mattered was the bond between you and your son. But there were also nights when he would cry inconsolably, and no amount of rocking or soothing seemed to help.

One particularly long night, as the baby cried relentlessly, you found yourself on the brink of tears. The exhaustion was bone-deep, and the frustration of not being able to calm him gnawed at you. "Why won't he stop crying?" you whispered, your voice trembling with fatigue and despair. You rocked him gently, trying every trick you knew, but nothing seemed to work.

Marcus appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled from sleep, his eyes instantly alert with concern. He had been your rock throughout the pregnancy and now, in the chaos of new parenthood, his support was unwavering. "Hey, hey," he said softly, crossing the room to you. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I feel like I'm doing everything wrong. I can't even calm my own baby."

Marcus took the baby from your arms with practiced ease, his strong hands cradling the tiny body. He began to hum a gentle tune, swaying back and forth as he did. Almost immediately, the baby's cries began to quiet, his small body relaxing against Marcus' chest. Watching them, a mix of relief and sadness washed over you. Relief that your baby was finally calm, and sadness that you couldn't seem to provide the same comfort.

"See?" Marcus murmured, looking at you with a reassuring smile. "Sometimes, he just needs a change of scenery."

You sank into a nearby chair, the tears finally spilling over. "I feel like such a failure," you confessed. "I love him so much, but I can't seem to get anything right."

"You're not a failure," Marcus said firmly, kneeling beside you, still holding the now calm baby. "You're an amazing mother. This is hard—it's supposed to be hard. But we're doing it together, remember?"

You nodded, wiping your tears away. The weight of his words began to soothe the ache in your chest. "I just... I want to be perfect for him."

"And you are," Marcus insisted. "Look at him. He's healthy, he's loved, and he's got the best mom in the world."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you reached out to touch your son's cheek. His skin was soft and warm, and you felt a rush of love so powerful it almost hurt. "I guess I just need to take it one day at a time."

"Exactly," Marcus agreed, standing up and offering you a hand. "Now, let's get you both back to bed. I'll take the next shift."

You allowed Marcus to help you up, feeling the fatigue in your bones but also a renewed sense of hope. The journey of parenthood was far from easy, but with Marcus by your side, you knew you could face the challenges ahead.

“He’s growing up so fast,” you whispered, a bittersweet ache in your voice as you took in the sight of your little boy, so full of life and promise.

Marcus nodded, his voice a gentle balm. “He is. But look at him—strong and happy. We’ve done well, haven’t we?”

You leaned back into his embrace, savoring the warmth of his presence. “It’s been an incredible year,” you agreed softly.

Marcus pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, a playful glint lighting up his eyes. “How about we make this weekend even more special? A trip to the sea, just the two of us.”

You turned to face him, excitement mingling with a hint of anxiety. “But what about our son? I don’t want to leave him.”

“Don’t worry,” Marcus reassured you, his voice soothing. “I’ve spoken with your mother. She’s thrilled to have him for the weekend. We’ll be close by if anything happens.”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you considered his words. The thought of time alone with Marcus was enticing. “It would be nice to spend time together,” you admitted.

Marcus smiled, the warmth in his eyes making your heart flutter. “We deserve a little break. And perhaps… we could start thinking about giving him a little brother or sister.”

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

A Love that Burns

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

A/n: You don’t understand the chokehold this man has on me ughhhhh. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy, I wrote this very fast!

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x wife character (I usually do x reader but I really like the name Aurelia so I used that!)

Warnings: fluff, angst, arranged marriage, Curse words, mention of fire, minor injuries, burns. A bit of suicidal ideation. Allusion to smut hehe. 18+ to be safe please. No minors!!

Summary: General Marcus Acacius’s new bride is troublesome, he doesn’t seem to mind though. After an incident occurs she pulls away from him and he can’t figure out why.

****************************************************

“He’s going to be furious…”

“Such a shame…do you think he’ll throw her out?”

“He might… we always knew she was trouble but this time she’s gone too far…”

“Poor dear, I doubt even her father will take her back…”

The roaring flames had long since died down, leaving now only crackling embers and dark clouds of smoke. How much time had passed you didn’t know. You hadn’t moved from the ground, knees planted on the hard stone, eyes glued to the scene before you.

What was once a grand structure, beautifully carved and molded for someone equally as impressive was now nothing more than a pile on the ground and it was completely your fault.

How had wanting to get a book out of your husband’s study and lighting a candle to see had gone so wrong?

You should’ve listened to your conscious, it told you that you shouldn’t go into your husbands private building but you knew he had an extensive selection and while you were newly married, barely even a few months he was your husband and you didn’t really think he would mind.

In the short time you were married the general had been accommodating and civil, more than civil actually, he had been doing his best to make you feel comfortable. That being said you did barely see him at times due to his duties and when you did it seemed all you did was cause him trouble.

Like that time you accidentally visited the animals one early morning when you were bored and didn’t shut the door behind you. Acacius had been abruptly woken up by the clucking of chickens ascending the staircase and running around the halls like it was a party. You had been redder than a pomegranate when you realized your mistake.

Or that time you lost your wedding necklace and spent hours wading in the lake where the laundry was washed thinking it fell there. You’d never forget the feeling when Acacius strode through the gates in tow with fellow commanders for a meeting but everyone froze seeing the comical sight of you, a highborn lady dress pulled up and soaking wet. That time made you want to drown yourself right then and there.

Oh and how could you forget the time you wanted to show your appreciation by baking his favorite dessert according to the maids and thought adding some cinnamon you’d bought in town was a good idea. Not even bothering to wonder why the kitchens didn’t have cinnamon in the first place… turns out the reason was a good one, the general had an allergy.

This time it was his face that was redder than yours… you didn’t face him for days after that..

There were so many moments like that but somehow each time he didn’t get angry like you expected. He didn’t yell or scold you.

When you bit your fingers nervously watching the servants try to catch the chickens he slowly walked out, surveyed the scene in what you could guess was mild disbelief and perhaps a bit of amusement, looked at you then turned back to go back to sleep.

When you were soaked in the lake he quickly regained the men’s attention, led them inside then a few minutes later reappeared with some haste. You didn’t get a chance to protest when he stepped in and pulled you out by your arm. Still he didn’t yell, he did start to scold a bit though because you were shivering, but when you suddenly yelped and squirmed reaching in your dress and pulled revealing a flopping fish with your necklace around it he lost all his words. You celebrated while he just started in disbelief.

And when you literally poisoned him you sobbed beside him as the healer frantically gave him several mixtures and an injection of some sort. You apologized over and over like a parrot. When he could finally breathe again, he closed his eyes exhausted but said, “Don’t cry, it tasted great..”

All those times he was so kind, unlike any other man you’d met before. To think you had been so afraid of the arranged marriage and now all you could think was how he deserved someone so much better.

He was older and saw you as a child you were sure of it. You wished you could act like the other wives, but you just couldn’t.

Your eyes glazed watched the flickers before you as if in a trance.

You’d burned his favorite place in the villa. A building constructed years ago that served as his study, his place of comfort, his safe space. He’d showed it to you when you first got married. You’d been amazed at how beautiful it was on the inside.

You could see on his face how this place made him relaxed compared to the rest of the villa.

And now it was gone..

The whispers of the servants were muffled around you but you caught them all the same.

You couldn’t find the strength to move, maybe you should have at least moved back, away from the falling ash and debris but you couldn’t.

You ruined everything, just like always…

There was some more muffling amongst the crackling, some sounds you didn’t register, couldn’t register… then a sharp yell. A tone you didn’t recognize.

“Why is she-!”

There was pressure on your shoulders but still you couldn’t look away.

All gone… all your fault…

You think you heard something loud but couldn’t understand it.

The pressure increased… so did the shouting but still you couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t until you saw the burnt pile get smaller that you realized you were being pulled- no carried away.

You felt so disoriented, everything in your vision jerking and you realized whoever was moving you was running.

The scene was still in view but further away, your eyes not daring to look away. You did however register that you abruptly stopped moving and were sat on something upright. The pressure returned to your head then arms then body.

Yelling, someone was yelling in your ear but it wasn’t until the pressure reached your face and you were forced to look away from the scene.

Eyes, wide and frantic, searched yours. Lips opened and shouted something you still could not understand. But the face you knew all too well. The one you wronged, the one you did a horrible misdeed to. Acacius.

You inhaled loudly, more of a gasp then coughed. Suddenly you felt everything crash into you at once, from when you were numb a moment ago now you burned in pain, lungs on fire, skin itchy and stinging, eyes feeling like the sun itself were upon them. You coughed and sputtered uncontrollably, breathing a foreign concept to you.

His strong hands at your back and arm. Almost cradling you was a strong contrast to his shouts that you could now hear louder than ever.

“Breathe, easy, easy- Dammit why did no one move her! Call the healer now!” He barked behind him.

Angry he was angry. Of course he was, even gentle and kind men like him had limits, limits that you’d crossed by battlefields.

Hot tears came, still you coughed, you wondered how long you could continue like that before losing consciousness, there were already spots in your vision. The sobbing now made it worse.

“Shh shh breathe it’s alright, just breathe for me wife, all is well, shh look I’m here, you’re safe” he pulled you into his lap holding you firmly in the hopes you’d calm down. He kept whispering to you, pleading and eventually the coughing stopped. You wondered how much more smoke it would’ve taken to kill you…

“That’s it, you’re safe, shh just breathe, I’m here” more tears emerged as you registered his words for the first time. How horrible you felt to have this angel of a man cradling you and comforting you when you just burned down his sanctuary.

It would have been easier on your heart had he yelled and thrown you aside.

“The healer is here!” Someone called out, your eyes were closed on his chest but you heard everything around you.

Swiftly you were lifted in his arms and carried to his chambers. The healer immediately got to work peeling back the fabric you only now noticed was dark as ash and singed in many places. Acacius stood behind her as close as he could without getting in her way. You watched as his eyes scanned your form, concern etched as he took in all the burns and scrapes. Your heart couldn’t handle it, he deserved a woman 100times better than you. You shut your eyes of the heartache ignoring the healer telling you to stay awake, moments later you were unconscious.

**************************************************

Stinging pain roused you, you wanted to cry out because your body was screaming at you. You were alone in the room, but by the moonlight shining through and how exausted you felt you didn’t think you had been unconscious long. Fresh tears escaped and you didn’t bother to wipe them.

You sat up in raw agony realizing just how many injures you sustained. Your skin was covered in loose bandages and shiny from salve. Sitting so close at the time you didn’t feel anything but clearly you were affected.

Shouting from below had your head whipping to the window.

With great effort and pain you stood on shaky legs and approached the opening peeking your head outside, you squinted and saw figured in the yard.

You choked out a sob when you realized what was happening. Acacius was yelling… yelling at the servants and guards for not moving you. Yes they put out most of the fire but didn’t bother with you. You hardly blamed them, you were a burden, an embarrassment of a lady to the great house hold. Perhaps they wanted you to die, actually it would have been easier if you did.

You couldn’t bare to listen to it anymore, guilt eating you alive. For some reason you had to see it again. To confirm what you had done…

You ignored all the pain and like a ghost descended the staircase.

When you reached the bottom you sucked in a breathe before walking forward where the smell of smoke was still heavy and thick.

And there it was, like a brand on your heart the scene of your crime. There were no more embers, just wood and ash. You walked closer until you stepped on something.

You moved your sandal revealing a silver medal covered in soot. You remembered how proudly it hung on one of the walls. And now it was beneath rubble and dirt.

Two hands found your mouth as you let out a cry.

“Heavens What have I done?” The strangled voice sounded stranger to you.

“What have I done, what have I done” you whispered achingly.

“Aurelia!”

You choked again hearing his voice, you couldn’t bring your self to look just yet.

“Aurelia what are you doing!? Why are you up!?” He rounded you hands finding your shoulders.

Acacius waited for your answer but you had none, only fresh tears. He barely hesitated before reaching down and scooping you up.

“I can walk-“ you tried to say but it was unintelligible through your tears, you didn’t want to burden this man ever again, not for anything.

He glanced at you for a moment but continued his quick pace to the bedroom. He laid you gently on the bed, his concern growing at the endless tears.

“Are you in pain? Let me call the healer back-“ he was already halfway out again.

“No-! no I’m fine I’m fine don’t call I’m fine!” You cried out but tried to collect yourself to not worry him more. The truth is your body was on fire but you would never burden this man again.

He hesitated but listened and approached you again, “Then what is it? Are you afraid? Everything’s alright now, your safe”.

You bit your lip to keep in the cry. How could he be so kind?

“Aurelia? Tell me please, what is it?” He kneeled beside you a helpless expression on his face.

“I-I I’m so- im so sorry, I’m sorry- I don’t know how- I was in there for a b-book and lit some candles I don’t even know how it h-happened I-I-“

Your breathing was becoming erratic again but once you started apologizing you couldn’t stop

“I’m so s-sorry Acacius I’m so sorry” you buried your face in your hands.

“Aurelia shh it’s alright, don’t cry, it’s nothing that can’t be replaced, don’t apologize, you need to breathe alright?”

You barely heard him, but you needed him to know how sorry you were, even if you didn’t deserve forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry” you continued.

“Aurelia-“

“I’m s-sorry”

“Aurelia stop you’ll hurt yourself more!” He kneeled on the bed pulling you closer to him, worried that if you didn’t calm down you would go into another coughing fit.

“Shh it’s alright, I’m not angry, all that matters is you’re safe. Please calm down, can you breathe slowly for me? Look, follow my breathe…”

“That’s it, breathe in and out just like that, good girl…” he held you close and you felt your eyes begin to droop, exhaustion taking its toll. He sighed when your last words were a whispered apology.

***************************************************

The next day you were miserable, the burns although mostly shallow still caused great pain. Mentally you were a wreck, replaying the events over and over.

The healer told you you needed to rest for several days so that’s what Acacius made sure you did. He visited often but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak hardly a thing out of shame. Most times you just pretended you were asleep.

A week passed and you were allowed to get up as normal just to take it easy. Acacius had gone out for some business luckily because you didn’t think you had the strength to face him.

As you descended the stairs you tried to ignore the whispers of the servants. They all thought the same thing you were repeating in your mind.

Burden

Shameful

Useless

You sighed shakily nearing the now cleaned land where the structure once stood. His kindness made you feel horrible. You wish he would yell and scream at you, for you deserved all the bad words

You spent the day aimlessly wandering and thinking until you tired yourself out and retired to your chambers.

A jar of salve was left by your bed from the healer for the pain but you didn’t open it. You deserved every single sting and ache.

The next day you hardly felt like getting up so you didn’t. Food was brought, you didn’t bother eating it, instead you gave it to the birds outside the window.

In your solitude you came to a resolve. You would resist every urge, every inkling of your old reckless self. Acacius deserved someone who was 100 times the woman you were but since you were bound all you could do was at least not give him any more trouble. Another week passed, Acacius had been gone for some military business and it was easier that way.

It had been a whole nother week when Acacius finally arrived back to the villa. He dismounted his horse with a sigh. He did not want to be gone so long but he could hardly deny the emperors requests.

Tiredly he walked through the gates, scanning for signs of you. It was unusual to not see you flitting about.

A servant approached and helped him remove his cape.

“The Lady, how is she?”

The servant frowned a bit, “My Lady has been… resting these past weeks. We’ve not seen much of her.”

He frowned at that. Her wounds were not so terrible to have her bedridden so long. So what was wrong with his wife?

He nodded to the servant and made way directly to her chambers.

He knocked on the door listening for her voice.

“Come in” you called expecting a servant with food.

You were sat on the bench by the window staring out.

“My Lady..” he said almost hesitant.

Your head whipped to the side, eyes widened seeing your husband.

“A-Acacius… I didn’t know you were back…”

He walked inside and shut the door behind him.

“Are you well? The servants tell me you haven’t left the room much..” he stepped closer taking you in. Your sunken face, the way your eyes weren’t lit up with that sparkle he loved.

“I’m alright, thank you..” he frowned, not quite satisfied with the answer.

“Your wounds are healed?”

You nodded quickly.

He nodded then cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed, “Then why haven’t you been out?”

You thought of what to say for a moment, “I… no reason, just resting I suppose”

Another answer that didn’t satisfy him but he decided not to pry. If you didn’t want to speak he wouldn’t make you uncomfortable.

“Well I’ll be in my chambers should you need anything…”

“Thank you..” and with that he left shutting the door behind him. You bit your lip forcing the tears not to come. How dare you cry when he’s the one who should be upset. Get it together.

Several more days pass and Acacius was growing frustrated. You barely left the room, choosing to take your meals inside even when he was home. He only caught glimpses of you here or there on the occasional walk around the garden but even that was becoming rare. Where was his wife who was always flitting around singing something off tune or getting into trouble. He recalled the time he awoke to clucking outside his door, and the time he found you skirts tied comically splashing in the lake, then of course when you so happily baked for him flour marks on your face. He smiled fondly at the memories, then frowned.

Why had you suddenly changed so much? Had he done something? He knew the fire shook you up but perhaps he said something unintentional? Did you overhear him yelling at the staff and resented him for it? He was going mad.

It took another few days before his patience finally ran out and he all but burst into your room.

“A-Acacius?! What-“ you startled dropping the book in your hands.

“Tell me what it is” he demanded a bit out of breathe.

“W-what?”

“Tell me what’s wrong or what I’ve done to upset you into seclusion”

“Acacius you’ve done nothing wrong I swear…”

“Then what is it? Why have you been avoiding me? What has upset you so much that you’ve locked yourself away?”

You didn’t expect this, so you really didn’t know what to say.

“I… I think it’s better this way…”

His eyebrows furrowed a bit trying to make sense of what you just said. “I don’t understand, what’s better?”

You fiddled with your hands and had a hard time making eye contact so you chose a lovely spot on the floor instead.

“It’s better that I don’t…. cause problems..” heavens was that a lot harder to say out loud than you thought.

This definitely took him aback.

“What?”

Oh no was he upset now? He surely looked it.. maybe you should have explained better.

“I-I mean… I’m always causing you trouble and getting into situations that I shouldn’t… I figured it would be better if I spent more time here….”

He was quiet for a while, his face undeniably confused and upset.

“And you decided this all on your own?” He said in a tone that you were a bit nervous about. Calm but hidden anger.

“I-I… yes..”

“So your plan is to live out the rest of your days between these four walls?” He couldn’t hold back a scoff. His annoyance seeping through his usually calm demeanor with you.

“….It’s better-”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance “Better? Better for who exactly?”

“Acacius all I do is cause you trouble! I’ve been embarrassing you since we wed, the entire household thinks I’m a burden and they’re right, I cannot-I will not burden you anymore especially after-…” you couldn’t bring yourself to mention the fire. With a shakey breath you gathered yourself and continued.

“I just don’t want to upset you anymore…” you confessed.

The silence was deafening, your heart squeezing so much you were afraid it was going to burst.

“You know out of everything that’s happened between us I think this is the only time I’ve been truly upset.”

You eyed him swallowing dryly taking in his clenched jaw and crossed arms.

“Acacius…”

“You don’t get to decide this all on your own, and you especially don’t get to decide how I feel.”

“…”

“Have I ever been cross with you? Made you feel as if you’ve shamed me?”

“Well no but-“

“Then why?” In two strides he was upon you looking down.

“Why did you suddenly decide that I would like it more if you hid yourself away?”

“Because if I’m here not causing you problems then wouldn’t it be easier for you…?” You wrung your hands together, anxiety heightening with every moment.

“Fuck that”

You jumped a bit startled that those words came out of his mouth.

“W-what?”

“Cause me problems”

“Acacius-“

“Break things, scream shout, bring the whole villa down if you wish it but you will not lock yourself up like a prisoner. You’re my wife, I’d like to actually have you around.”

“You… you’re just saying that because you’re too kind Acacius… but my heart can’t take it anymore. I did something so awful and I know you must be upset…”

“Is this about the fire then?”

“…”

“Things can be replaced, nothing that burned cannot be bought again or rebuilt.”

“B-but you loved that place. It was your sanctuary”

“I did love it, but it’s gone now and I hardly think about it, it’ll be rebuilt soon enough not that it really matters. What matters is that you’re safe and sound.”

“How can you be so kind? So patient so-so perfect” he scoffed at the last one in mild amusement.

“Acacius it’s true! I’ve never met someone so gentle and sweet”

“Gentle and sweet..I’ll be sure to add that to my title right after general or Rome”

“You joke but it’s the truth…” you look down at your sandals.

He sighed before lifting your chin up with his warm fingers then caressing your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“Tell me something wife, have you seen me act that way with anyone else?”

“Well…” you thought about it. He was civil with everyone.. stern a lot, with servants and his men and well everyone else…

“And why do you think that is hm?”

“Well… I assume it’s because you see me more as a child…”

“A child.” He repeated.

You nodded.

“Aurelia you are never allowed to assume anything ever again”

“What?”

“You truly think that’s how I see you? That I treat you kindly because I pity you?”

“Well…then why?” You asked genuinely confused.

“Why treat my wife with care? Why worry for her? Why speak gentle words? Why shower her with gifts? Tell me Aurelia why does a man do those things for a woman?”

“I… I assumed-um well I believed that you were just..”

“Just what? Doing that out of duty? Is it so impossible to imagine that I love my wife and want her to be happy?”

“….” Your eyes widened larger than the sun. You hardly believed the words. So you asked him in a whisper.

“W-what did you s-say?”

Instead of answering he leaned forward closing the distance with a soft kiss.

“Does that answer your question?” He breathed in the few inches between your lips.

You shook your head no and leaned in. You felt the smirk against his lips. After several moments you pulled back to regard him.

“I never imagined you’d feel the same way…I still don’t think I believe it…”

“Like I said, you’re forbidden to assume things from now on wife”

“I… I’m sorry…” his hands settled at your waist, his smell flooding your senses.

“Make it up to me…”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks but didn’t want to disappoint. You wrapped your arms around him pulling him into a deeper kiss full of emotion.

“Never allow such thoughts in your mind again, and you’re wrong, you’re not a burden. Yes I’ll admit you have a habit of getting into unique situations but I don’t mind, in fact I look forward to what surprises await me each day.”

“Do you really mean it? Even if I do awful things…? “

“Yes I mean it.. although I will draw the line at one thing, never do anything to put yourself in danger. When I saw you by the flames I-“ he paused sucking in a breathe.

And that moment you heart finally caught up with your head because no man could fake the emotions on his face like that.

You hugged him whispering an apology into his shoulder.

“You’ve apologized enough for a lifetime, come, dine with me, you’ve lost weight…” you nod letting him pull you by the hand out the door.

You heard some voices and frowned, anxiety creeping up again.

Ever the perfect man he caught on immediately.

“What is it?”

“The servants… it’s been hard to be around them… you might accept me for who I am but they haven’t…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it”

You cocked your head a bit at his amused tone, “why?”

“Because I fired them all”.

“Acacius!”

“Don’t protest, it’s done. I blame myself for not realizing what heartless people resided in my home. Besides I think you’ll like the new staff a lot better..”

You descended the staircase still confused why he seemed so smug until you heard voices you hadn’t heard in months.

“My Lady!”

“My Lady we’re here!”

“Oh how we’ve missed you!”

You couldn’t contain the loud gasp when your eyes landed on the familiar faces below. The staff that practically raised you was beaming up at you with joy.

“Oh my- Marika! Cicero! Diana! Felix! Ahh you’re all here!” You practically jumped from the staircase onto the group of your favorite people in the world.

Acacius couldn’t help but chuckle as the group enveloped you pulling you in, hugging and kissing you. Hardly the kind of servants he was used to but now he understood why you were so saddened to leave them behind. After your embraces you pulled back.

“What are you doing here? Is Father here?”

“You mean you don’t know?” The words would have worried you had everyone not been smiling ear to ear.

“Know what?” The general has employed us all here.

“W-what?!” You snapped your head to your grinning husband.

“B-but how did you- father must’ve been- h-how!?”

He laughed and descended the last couple steps, “I can be very persuasive if I need to be dear wife.”

“Oh- oh I don’t believe this!” you couldn’t contain your joy and parted from the group to jump on your husband who stumbled a bit but caught you of course. You kissed him then and there not caring who was watching- well in fact you didn’t care because everyone in the room were people you loved and felt safe with.

He was a bit surprised but when you pulled back his face was quickly morphed into fondness and satisfaction that the gleam in your eye was back.

“There she is..” you sighed happily hugging him once more then ran back to the awaiting group.

Well actually you made it halfway before pausing, turning around with an unsure look, and walking slowly back to him.

He tilted his head curious, “Acacius… will you… will you allow me to properly thank you… tonight? If that’s- if that’s something you’d like… or-“ your face that lovely shade of red he’d come to admire.

“Something I’d like?” He scoffed and for a moment you were afraid until you saw the expression in his eyes.

“Well I didn’t want to assume… you’ve forbidden it remember.” He smirked leaning down by your ear so only you could hear him.

“Listen well wife. This is the only exception you may always assume...” You shivered feeling his breathe caress your ear.

Gentle and sweet and now you had a new word to add, although you couldn’t quite find the right one just yet. But oh were you ever so eager to find out…

***************************************************

Is it getting hot in here guys?? No? Just me? Anywayyyy hope you enjoyed. I threw this up in one sitting so forgive all the mistakes. I finally saw the movie and wow, who knew they could fit so many hot men on one screen.

Also can anyone think of a better title lol😅

[joelsrose]

Weight of Worry

fluff !!!!! here is my masterlist xxx

You sat in the living room, your leg bouncing in that telltale rhythm Joel always noticed—the one that gave away your stress, your anxiety, or whatever this tangled knot in your chest was tonight.

The door creaked open, followed by the familiar shuffle of his boots and the rustle of his coat finding its place on the peg. Comforting sounds, ordinary sounds, but tonight they only seemed to tighten the knot further.

“Darlin’?” Joel’s voice called out, warm and familiar, the way it always did to announce his arrival. “I’m home.” He spoke just loud enough that wherever you were—upstairs, in the kitchen—you’d know he was back. The ritual was so Joel, so everyday, it almost softened the edges of your anger. Almost.

But you stayed where you were, rooted to the couch, arms crossed tightly over your chest, silent and still. There would be no light footsteps rushing to greet him, no joyful fling of your arms around his neck as you did every other day. Not today.

Today, the weight in your chest kept you anchored, the warmth that usually propelled you to him dulled by something heavier, something unresolved.

Anger simmered beneath your skin, sharp and unrelenting, its heat warding off any comfort his familiar presence might bring. The shuffle of his boots, the warmth in his voice—things that usually softened you—only fueled the fire burning inside.

“Baby?” Joel’s voice echoed softly down the hallway, each step bringing him closer. “You in here?”

When he rounded the corner and his eyes landed on you, his face broke into that familiar, easy smile—the one that could disarm you in an instant, if you let it. “Oh,” he said, his eyes crinkling with warmth—those damn brown eyes, you thought, the ones that only ever seemed to soften like that for you. “Thought maybe you’d be nappin’.”

He wasn’t wrong—most patrol days, he’d find you curled up in bed, catching a little rest to make the hours pass quicker while he was gone. Otherwise, your mind would spiral, racing with worry, wondering if he was okay.

He always was, of course—but still. That nauseating, uncomfortable feeling never truly let you be. And every time, without fail, you’d wake to the soft press of his lips on your forehead, his rough hand smoothing back your hair with a tenderness that unraveled you. Then he’d slip off for a shower, and you’d finally be able to breathe again, the tight knot in your chest loosening just enough with the reassurance that he was here—safe, if only for another night.

It was a routine so familiar, so intimate, that it made you ache now. Damn him for knowing me so well. But he did—he knew every habit, every rhythm, every quiet quirk that made you you.

And tonight, you saw it—the way his eyes lingered, studying you a little too long, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. He already knew something was off. You could practically see his mind racing, flipping through every possible thing he could’ve done to piss you off this much, the subtle tension in his jaw betraying his worry.

“Uh-oh,” Joel murmured, his brows knitting together as he studied you, his posture shifting into something almost cautious. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the couch across from you, his hands resting heavily on his thighs—a man bracing for impact, steadying himself for whatever storm was brewing.

“Baby,” he started softly when your silence stretched on, his voice careful, like he was trying not to spook you.

Don’t look at his thighs, you cursed yourself, but your gaze betrayed you, following the movement anyway. The way his broad hands rested there, so casual, so maddeningly him. Focus. You’re mad, remember? You snapped your attention back to his face, determined not to let him derail you with a single damn movement.

His lips parted, his head tilting just slightly, the way it always did when he was trying to piece something together. He exhaled a short, frustrated sigh when you didn't respond. “Alright,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, steady tone laced with concern. “What’s goin’ on? You’re killin’ me here, darlin’.”

You let him stew in the silence for a moment, watching as his concern deepened, the faintest crease forming between his brows. Then, with deliberate calm, you delivered the blow. “Maria told me.”

His expression froze for a beat, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Told you what?” he asked, his voice careful now, almost wary.

“Extra patrols, Joel? Seriously?”

The realization dawned on his face, and to your utter disbelief, he laughed—a low, relieved chuckle as his hand scrubbed over his stubbled jaw. “Jesus, baby, you had me thinkin’ it was somethin’ serious.”

“Oh, it is serious, Joel,” you shot back, your voice sharp with anger and the ache that had been festering all day. “You should be scared, Miller. Scared of me.” The words wavered, caught between fury and the tight knot in your chest.

Damn, you were cute when you were mad, he thought, biting the inside of his cheek to stop the smile creeping onto his face. He knew if you caught even a hint of it, you’d only get madder, and that wasn’t something he needed to deal with right now.

His smile faded as he sighed, shifting forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “Tommy needed another hand. It’s just for a couple weeks, sweetheart—”

“Joel.” His name broke from your lips, your voice cracking under the weight of it, and his entire demeanor changed. The tension in his shoulders softened, his expression falling into something tender, something aching. He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to unravel the emotions you couldn’t quite put into words.

“Hey.” Joel stood now, his movements slow and deliberate, before settling beside you, his solid frame pressing against yours. His thigh brushed against yours, warm and unyielding, a grounding presence that was both maddening and comforting in equal measure. His scent enveloped you—leather, woodsmoke, and that indefinable something that was purely Joel, stirring emotions you weren’t ready to face but couldn’t ignore.

His hand found your thigh, the roughness of his palm a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch. It was steady, reassuring, but it sent a ripple of heat through you that made your breath hitch. “I know it worries you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, each word sinking into your skin like a balm, even as the ache in your chest refused to relent.

“Worries me?” you echoed, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm inside. “It terrifies me, Joel. Every time you leave, I just… I can’t…” Your words faltered, choked by the lump forming in your throat as you folded your arms tighter across your chest, desperate to hold yourself together.

Joel leaned in, his voice dropping to that low, steady murmur that never failed to disarm you. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

You tried to resist, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the floor, determined not to give in. But then his hands—those warm, calloused hands that had weathered so much, healed so much—slipped to your sides. The touch was gentle but insistent, tugging you closer with a quiet strength that left no room for argument. Slowly, purposefully, he drew you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, leaving you no escape from the weight of his presence.

His thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles against your thighs, the motion grounding yet impossibly intimate. His eyes, dark and steady, locked onto yours, searching your face with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. Your resolve wavered, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. Why was that so hot? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your focus. Focus, you reminded yourself again, even as his touch made it impossible.

His hands settled firmly on the sides of your legs, his grip steady, reassuring. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours, and in that moment, it felt like he could see straight through you.

“I’m gonna be okay,” he murmured, his voice low and even, the rasp in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m always okay, ain’t I?”

The certainty in his words, the quiet confidence in the way he spoke, was disarming. He wasn’t just trying to reassure you—he was making a promise. And God help you, with his hands on you and his eyes holding yours like that, you almost believed him.

“It doesn’t stop me from caring,” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of the emotions you’d been trying so hard to keep in check. The words barely escaped, more breath than sound, as you turned your face away, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over.

“I know, baby,” Joel murmured, his voice soft and steady, grounding you even as your heart felt like it might break. His hands found your face, calloused palms cradling your cheeks with a tenderness that almost undid you. He tilted your head back gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had escaped despite your efforts.

“My sweet girl,” he said, his tone so low and warm it felt like a blanket wrapping around you. A small, crooked smile pulled at his lips, the kind only you ever got to see. “You worry too much, y’know that?”

Your heart softened despite yourself, the corners of your resolve melting under the warmth of his words. “Can’t help it,” you muttered, your lips forming the faintest pout, enough to coax a low chuckle from him.

“Aw, come on now,” he teased, his voice dipping into that familiar, honeyed warmth that wrapped around you like a soft blanket. It was the kind of tone that always managed to undo you, no matter how hard you tried to hold on to your irritation. His lips quirked into that lopsided grin, the one that sent a flutter through your chest every single time.

“Can’t stay mad at me forever, can ya?” he drawled, tilting his head as his eyes softened, a hint of playful mischief dancing in them. God knew you couldn’t, not when he looked at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world worth his attention.

“Gimme a kiss, hmm?” he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. He leaned in ever so slightly, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of him, that intoxicating mix of leather, woodsmoke, and Joel. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, his touch so gentle it made your heart stutter.

You huffed, crossing your arms as if that might somehow shield you from the effect he had on you. You were determined to keep your resolve, but with the way he was looking at you—those soft, teasing eyes that held just a hint of mischief—you knew you were already losing.

“Just one,” he murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice dipping low, warm and coaxing, like he knew exactly how to undo you. “For good luck?”

With an exaggerated sigh and a shake of your head, you finally gave in, leaning forward to press your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but the moment his hands tightened on your sides, pulling you impossibly closer, something shifted. It was as if he couldn’t stand even the smallest fraction of space between you. A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you, and the scratch of his beard only heightened the warmth that spread through your body. His lips were soft, plump, and impossibly familiar, like they were made just for you.

When he pulled back, his voice was low and filled with a quiet affection that made your heart flutter. “That’s my girl,” he murmured.

Before you could even catch your breath, his grin widened, his tone shifting to something lighter, playful enough to make the corners of your lips tug upward. “Now,” he drawled, tapping your butt lightly with a smile that could only be described as infuriatingly charming, “What do you want for dinner?”

[myownwholewildworld]

back to main masterlist

PER ASPERA AD ASTRA — SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader.

summary: when your husband dies in battle, his best friend is there to console you, to help you navigate your grief as he does his own. as you become close, feelings flourish. but your father, emperor Traianus, sees Marcus' romantic advances as a way to dethrone him.

a/n: this will be a series of drabbles, might evolve into a full-blown series eventually if i feel up to it. the drabbles may be posted out of order as inspiration hits, so i apologise for that. you can find the order below.

status: ongoing.

word count: TBD.

series warnings: 18+, mdni. slow burn. eventual romance and smut. hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, death, war, discussion of sensitive topics. sad(ish?) ending. please heed the warnings for each chapter.

drabbles:

i. veni, vidi, victus sum - 🤕🩸 (the beginning) ii. faber est suae quisque fortunae - 🤕 iii. requiescat in pace - 🤕 iv. flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo - 🤕🩸💢 (the end)

[natalieispunk]

the sluttiest thing that a man can do

[andy-15-07]

A Family Beyond War

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader Word Count: 2616

The sun burned high in the sky over Rome, its rays reflecting off the golden armor of General Marcus Acacius as he stood on the training field. His two sons, Cassius and Tiberius, mirrored his stance, their youthful faces determined as they wielded wooden practice swords. Marcus’ wife, Y/N, watched from a shaded pergola nearby, her youngest daughter, Aurelia, seated beside her with a scroll of poetry in her lap. The warm air was filled with the clanging of swords and the occasional barked correction from Marcus.

Cassius, the eldest at 18, struck forward with precision, his blade aiming for Tiberius’ midsection. Tiberius, 17, blocked, his movements slightly more hesitant but determined nonetheless. Marcus stepped forward, his commanding presence evident as he corrected Tiberius’ stance.

“Keep your guard high, Tiberius,” Marcus instructed. “A single mistake in the field could cost you your life.”

“Yes, Father,” Tiberius replied, adjusting his posture under his father’s watchful gaze.

Aurelia looked up from her scroll, her brow furrowed. “Must they always fight? There is more to life than swords and shields.”

Y/N chuckled softly, brushing a strand of Aurelia’s dark hair back. “Your brothers wish to follow in your father’s footsteps. It is their way of honoring him.”

“But I do not wish to honor bloodshed,” Aurelia replied, her voice tinged with disapproval. “What glory is there in taking a life?”

Before Y/N could respond, Marcus’ voice rang out. “Enough for today! Cassius, Tiberius, well done. Your skill improves daily.”

The boys beamed under their father’s praise, their faces flushed from exertion. As they approached, Marcus’ eyes softened as they fell upon Y/N and Aurelia. “And how are my ladies?” he asked, his tone gentle.

“Aurelia was just lamenting the barbarity of your craft,” Y/N teased, a playful smile on her lips.

Marcus knelt beside Aurelia, his hand resting on her shoulder. “You disapprove of our training, little one?”

Aurelia hesitated, then nodded. “It is violent and cruel. Surely there is a better way to resolve conflict.”

Marcus’ expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps you are right, Aurelia. But until the world embraces peace, men like your brothers and I must be prepared to defend our home and our family.”

Aurelia sighed, her gaze falling to her scroll. “I wish the world could see the beauty in words instead of war.”

Later that evening, the family dressed in their finest attire and made their way to the Colosseum. The massive structure loomed ahead, its arches and columns illuminated by the setting sun. The roar of the crowd grew louder as they entered, the scent of sweat and anticipation thick in the air.

Y/N took her seat beside Marcus in the reserved section, their children flanking them. Aurelia sat stiffly, her discomfort evident as the first fight began. She flinched at the clash of swords and the cheers of the crowd as a gladiator fell to his knees.

“Barbaric,” Aurelia muttered under her breath.

Marcus glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “Aurelia, come with me.”

Surprised, she followed her father out of the stands and into the quieter corridors of the Colosseum. Marcus stopped in a shaded alcove, turning to face her. “Speak your mind, daughter.”

Aurelia took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly. “I hate it, Father. The blood, the violence, the cheers for death. It’s monstrous. How can you support this?”

Marcus’ jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he knelt to her level, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability. “I do not enjoy it, Aurelia. But it is a part of the world we live in. The Colosseum is not just a place of death; it is a reminder of Rome’s power, of the discipline and strength that built our empire.”

Aurelia’s eyes welled with tears. “Must strength always come at such a cost?”

“No,” Marcus admitted. “Strength can also be found in compassion, in wisdom, in the courage to speak against what you believe is wrong. You have that strength, Aurelia. Do not let the ugliness of this world dim your light.”

She threw her arms around his neck, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “I love you, Father. I just wish things could be different.”

Marcus held her tightly, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. “So do I, my little poet. So do I.”

The weeks that followed saw a shift in the family dynamics. Marcus encouraged Aurelia’s passion for poetry, often asking her to recite verses during family meals. Cassius and Tiberius, inspired by their sister’s bravery in confronting their father, began to view their training with a new perspective, seeking to emulate not just their father’s strength but also his wisdom and compassion.

One evening, as the family sat together in their garden, Aurelia stood and cleared her throat. “I have written something,” she announced, her cheeks pink with nervousness.

Marcus gestured for her to continue, pride evident in his eyes. “Let us hear it, Aurelia.”

She unfolded a parchment and began to read, her voice steady and filled with emotion. Her words painted a picture of a world where swords were beaten into plowshares, where the cries of battle were replaced by songs of peace. As she finished, the family sat in awed silence.

“Beautiful,” Y/N whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Marcus rose and embraced his daughter. “You have a gift, Aurelia. Never stop sharing it.”

In that moment, the general and his poet found common ground, their love for each other bridging the divide between war and peace.

As the seasons passed, Aurelia’s poetry began to gain attention beyond their household. Word of her talent spread, and soon she was invited to recite her work at gatherings and festivals. Marcus and Y/N attended every event, their pride in their daughter evident to all who saw them.

One day, Aurelia returned home with a scroll in hand, her eyes alight with excitement. “Father, Mother, I have been invited to present my work at the Forum!”

Marcus smiled, his heart swelling with pride. “The Forum is a place of great importance. You will be speaking to some of Rome’s most influential minds. Are you ready for such an audience?”

Aurelia nodded confidently. “I am ready. My words will speak of peace and understanding. Perhaps they will inspire change.”

On the day of the event, the family arrived at the Forum, where a large crowd had gathered. Aurelia stood on the raised platform, her presence commanding despite her young age. She began to speak, her voice clear and passionate. Her words wove a tapestry of hope, challenging the audience to envision a Rome where wisdom and compassion reigned supreme.

As she concluded, the crowd erupted into applause. Marcus watched with a mixture of pride and awe as his daughter descended the platform and was surrounded by admirers. He saw in her the potential to shape a better future, one that transcended the violence and bloodshed that had defined his own life.

That evening, as the family gathered in their garden once more, Marcus raised a cup in a toast. “To Aurelia, whose words have the power to change the world. May her light guide us all.”

The family joined in the toast, their bond stronger than ever. In that moment, they were not just a family of warriors and poets but a beacon of hope for a better Rome.

As Aurelia’s influence grew, she began to attract the attention of Rome’s elite. Senators and scholars sought her counsel, and even the emperor himself invited her to speak at the palace. Marcus, though wary of the political implications, supported his daughter’s endeavors, knowing that her voice was a force for good.

Cassius and Tiberius, inspired by their sister’s courage, began to explore their own paths beyond the training field. Cassius developed an interest in engineering, designing structures that could benefit Rome’s citizens. Tiberius, meanwhile, turned his focus to diplomacy, using his father’s teachings to mediate disputes and foster alliances.

One evening, as the family dined together, Tiberius spoke up. “Father, I have been invited to accompany a delegation to Gaul. They believe my skills as a mediator could be of use.”

Marcus regarded his son with a mixture of pride and concern. “Gaul is a land of uncertainty. Are you prepared for the challenges you may face?”

Tiberius nodded. “I am, Father. You have taught me well.”

Marcus placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then go with my blessing. Make me proud.”

As the family’s influence continued to grow, they became a symbol of hope and unity in a fractured empire. Marcus, once known solely as a warrior, found his legacy evolving through the achievements of his children. Together, they forged a new path for Rome, one that balanced strength with compassion, and tradition with progress.

And through it all, Aurelia’s words remained a guiding light, reminding them of the power of hope, love, and understanding in a world often overshadowed by darkness.

As Aurelia’s influence spread, the delicate balance between her poetic pursuits and her family’s military legacy continued to shift. Her poetry, infused with visions of peace and a world beyond war, struck a chord with many in the elite circles of Rome. It wasn't long before high-ranking senators, philosophers, and even foreign dignitaries sought her counsel. Her words, once confined to the walls of their home, were now finding an audience in the halls of power.

Marcus, despite his initial hesitation, couldn't help but feel immense pride in his daughter’s growing stature. He had long been known as the great general, a man of iron and blood, his legacy tied to the battles he fought and the empire he helped to build. But as Aurelia’s influence grew, he realized that his legacy was evolving, shifting into something more than just strength and conquest.

Cassius and Tiberius, too, found their paths diverging from the training fields and the weight of their father’s expectations. Cassius, with his keen mind and inventive spirit, took an interest in engineering. Inspired by the growing need for infrastructure in Rome, he set about designing new aqueducts to carry water to the farthest reaches of the city, improving life for the common people.

Tiberius, always more thoughtful and diplomatic than his brothers, began to consider a future in statecraft. His natural ability to mediate disputes, honed in the small lessons his father had given him over the years, became a vital tool as he began traveling with the diplomatic corps. He was frequently tasked with negotiating with foreign dignitaries, ensuring that Rome’s alliances remained strong, even as the empire stretched its borders farther than ever before.

One day, while Marcus and Y/N enjoyed a quiet evening together, their conversation turned to their children’s futures. Y/N, ever the pragmatic one, voiced her concerns.

“Do you ever wonder, Marcus,” she began, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and worry, “how our children will fare in the world? Our sons, particularly, are stepping into roles that will shape Rome’s future. I fear the weight of their legacy may be too much for them to bear.”

Marcus, who had always been a man of action rather than reflection, looked at his wife with a rare softness in his eyes. “I fear the same,” he admitted, his voice low. “But they are their own men now. I can only guide them, not live their lives for them.”

Y/N smiled, her hand finding his across the table. “And Aurelia? She is unlike any of us, and yet she is perhaps the most important of all.”

Marcus chuckled softly. “She has a power in her words that no sword can match. I believe she will do more for Rome than any general ever could.”

Weeks passed, and Aurelia’s name became a familiar one in the highest circles of Roman society. One evening, after a particularly well-received performance at the Senate House, Aurelia returned to the family home to find her brothers waiting for her.

“Well, well,” Cassius said with a teasing grin. “The poet returns from conquering the hearts of the Senate.”

Aurelia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “They don’t know what to make of me, but they’re intrigued. It’s a step forward.”

Tiberius, his brow furrowed in thought, placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done more than step forward, Aurelia. You’ve made them listen. Do you realize how many people are talking about you?”

“I don’t want them to talk about me,” Aurelia said, her voice soft but firm. “I want them to hear the message in my words.”

Cassius gave her an appraising look. “You’ve always been the brave one, haven’t you?”

“Bravery has nothing to do with it,” Aurelia replied, her eyes meeting his with quiet intensity. “It’s about doing what’s right, even when it’s difficult.”

Tiberius nodded. “I think you’re right. Maybe there’s something to your vision of a different Rome—a Rome that isn’t built on conquest, but on understanding and strength in other forms.”

Marcus, who had overheard the conversation from the doorway, stepped into the room with a proud smile. “And what would you know of that, Tiberius?” he asked, his voice warm yet teasing.

Tiberius met his father’s gaze with newfound confidence. “I know that Rome cannot grow only through the sword. There must be other ways—ways that preserve the essence of our strength while also allowing for compassion and diplomacy.”

Marcus nodded slowly, impressed by his son’s resolve. “You have learned much, Tiberius. Perhaps the time will come when your role in Rome will be as important as any general’s.”

Cassius chuckled. “Don’t get too comfortable, Father. We still need you in the field. No one can fill your boots just yet.”

Marcus laughed heartily, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Perhaps not, Cassius. But there may come a day when it is you who steps into them.”

One evening, when the family gathered for dinner, the conversation turned to an unexpected subject. A letter had arrived that morning from a foreign delegation in Gaul, requesting Tiberius’ presence for an important negotiation regarding Rome’s borders.

“Father,” Tiberius began, looking up from his plate, “I’ve been invited to represent Rome at the negotiations. It’s a significant step for me.”

Marcus studied his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke. “It is a dangerous path, Tiberius. The politics of Gaul are volatile. But I trust you. If you believe you are ready, then go.”

Tiberius’ eyes shone with a mixture of pride and fear. “I will, Father. I will make you proud.”

Aurelia, always the most thoughtful of the family, placed a hand on his. “You don’t have to prove anything, Tiberius. Just do what you know is right.”

As the family shared a quiet moment of reflection, Aurelia felt the weight of the changes around her. Cassius, Tiberius, and even their father were finding their own paths—paths that had once seemed unimaginable in the shadow of their military heritage. They were forging a new Rome, one that blended the strength of warriors with the wisdom of poets, engineers, and diplomats.

In the days that followed, Tiberius prepared for his journey to Gaul, while Aurelia continued to write and speak of peace. Marcus, ever the watchful father, took pride in the direction his children were taking, knowing that the empire was in capable hands—hands that understood the power of strength and the importance of compassion.

And so, as the seasons changed and the world continued to turn, the Acacius family stood at the crossroads of tradition and progress. Together, they carried the legacy of Rome forward, not with swords and shields alone, but with wisdom, courage, and the power of words.

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

II. The Letter

"Omnia, quae fiunt, eveniunt ut oportet; et si diligenter observaveris, hoc ita esse invenies." M. Aurelius

“Everything that happens, happens as it should, and if you observe carefully, you will find this to be so.”

The carriage shook from time to time as it traveled along the stony roads of the capital. Octavius was sitting across, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as you peered out from under the curtain, eager to see where you were being taken. You had many questions, but you were hesitant to ask him directly. In their eyes, you were merely an ordinary woman considered a slave, after all.

But as you watched outside, you realized that you were more fortunate than other women in the same situation. Instead of being taken away in a carriage like you, they were dragged, beaten, and forcibly taken away in chains.

As the carriage neared the magnificent, rounded building, you couldn't help but gasp in awe at its grandeur. It had to be the Colosseum; you had heard so much about it, but you never expected it to be this enormous. This massive structure was so magnificent that it was truly pushing the limits of the human mind. It was fascinating, frightening, and amazing.

You gazed in awe at the most intriguing structure on the streets of Rome until it vanished from sight. Then, with a sigh, you turned your head in the direction the carriage was going. You drove through a large wooded area after passing insulas, temples, aqueducts, fountains, and gardens. The carriage began to sway noticeably as the terrain shifted from stones to dirt and grass. Then, a large villa appeared in front of you.

Unlike the sand-colored villas in the Egyptian lands, this one was almost white and had a crimson herb-colored roof. At the entrance to the garden, the tall white columns holding up the roof were decorated with various figures and reliefs. It was extraordinarily beautiful, and as you looked around for a long time you were surprised to realize that Octavius had already gotten out of the cart and was waiting for you to come out.

"My lady," you were even more surprised when he offered you his hand.

You lifted the hem of your cloak and carefully stepped down from the carriage.

"I am not a lady, sir," you gripped the handle of your bag tightly instead of taking his hand.

Octavius withdrew his hand and looked at you in confusion.

"I know, I didn't want to address you as a slave, you are so much more."

On the outside, this burly man had a stern temperament that was not to be crossed, but he was very kind.

"That's all right, sir, I appreciate your kindness, may I ask you something if I don't overstep my bounds?"

He nodded.

“Why am I here? Why did General buy me?”

Obviously, he didn't care about you for ten days, why did he suddenly remember you and bring you to his villa, you wondered.

"Ask him when he arrives, I was only supposed to bring you here, I must leave now as I have completed my mission."

"Sir!"

A middle-aged, chubby woman ran up to you, and from the way she looked at him, you realized that she knew Octavius very well. She was about to ask him something, but she turned her head and looked you up and down, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"A slave? Or did the emperors send her as a gift to our master again?"

You took a step back, your eyes wide with panic, and turned your head to Octavius.

A gift? What did she mean by that, you asked yourself.

“No, they didn't send her. The general bought her from the slaver,” Octavius stated firmly as he strode towards the carriage. "Show her to her room and make her comfortable. I have to go now."

"Yes, sir," she said, then turned her head to you.

But you were looking at the carriage speeding away, feeling abandoned by his departure.

“Hurry up, girl, inside with me. The general is almost here. You need to dress properly," she commanded, beckoning you with her hand.

You did as she said, and passed between the imposing columns, entered the garden with a large pool in the center which welcomed you with its sparkling water. The villa had a large courtyard and more than one garden. In the center of the square pool in this garden was a statue of Neptune holding a spear in his hand.

There were vines surrounding the tall white columns and short trees accompanying them, and in front of them, a fountain made of white marble. You listened to the sound of the water running through the fountain as you walked behind the woman. It seemed peaceful, but that was not exactly what you felt inside.

When you entered a small room, the woman called one of the other girls over. In this room, there were two wooden wardrobes and a large wooden chest. A young girl with red hair came running to you. The other woman grabbed you by the arm and looked at your clothes, her face disgusted.

“Dress this girl quickly, she must be ready before the master arrives,” she touched your hair and ran her fingers through it as if combing it. “She looks like she's had a bath, but her clothes look terrible, get rid of them when you're done,” she said as if giving orders. It was obvious that she was in charge of things here, maybe because of her age.

The girl opened the closet door and took out a white silk and tulle fabric. You took out your bag and put it aside, but you were not comfortable. After all, there was something very important in your bag.

"Are you nervous?" the girl asked you curiously when the other woman left.

"A little, but about what?"

"About spending the night with the General," she said, lowering her voice.

You looked at her in shock. "I'm certainly not here for that," your voice trembled with anger.

The girl let out a little sigh as she helped you get undressed. You felt uneasy, but she was so kind and gentle. ”He won't touch you anyway,” she opened the wardrobe and took a piece of fabric in her arm. “He’s never touched any of the girls the emperors have sent for him. They've all been sent back the next day."

"Why is that?" Your voice boomed in the small room, couldn't help but wonder why a man would refuse such a thing.

The girl laughed at your reaction, and you smiled back shyly. She stood in front of you, draped the wool fabric dress over your shoulders, letting it drop over your breasts, and tied it to the belt around your waist. Your arms and neckline were bare, and you covered your wrist with your hand, but it was clear she didn't care about the bruise. "Nobody's sure, but we think it might be because of his wife whom he divorced a long time ago. He's a noble and decent man. I'm sure he'll treat you well, just like he treats all of us.”

"He bought me, not emperors," you stated assertively, tugging at the belt around your waist and trying to feel comfortable.

"Did he? That’s even more strange. He hasn't bought any new slaves for a long time." The girl touched your hair, combing it with her fingers and gathering a strand on the right side before fastening it with a thin hairpin. "But maybe it's because you are so beautiful," she said, smiling at you warmly. "Where are you from?”

"I grew up in Alexandria, but as far as I know, I am Roman, an orphan," you stated confidently. "You don't look like a Roman though."

The girl smiled but her eyes held a hint of sadness. "I was taken as a captive of war at the age of fourteen, but I tried to escape, and the slaver beat me to death." She took a deep breath and continued. “I would have died on those cold cobblestones if he had not been kind enough to buy me and let me live in his villa here.”

You suddenly realized that your story didn't seem as bad as hers. You felt sorry for her.

"I apologize," you said sincerely.

She had a warm smile, and warm brown eyes, her hair was a mixture of red and orange, and she had freckles on her face, she was friendly and one of the nicest people you would meet in a long time. She touched your shoulder with a warm smile.

"The General isn't as harsh and ruthless as he seems. If he brought you here, he must like you. You're lucky."

“But he's never met me,” you said suddenly. There was no situation in which he could have liked you. In fact, he almost broke your wrist because he thought you were the enemy.

That's why you were worried. You wanted to believe he was a good man, but your instincts told you otherwise.

"I'm Norell, by the way," she said, smiling.

"I've never heard that name before," you said, raising your eyebrows.

"It means from the north. I'm from Scandinavia. Do you have a name?"

You wanted to tell her the name your uncle and his wife had given you, but the woman from earlier came over and scolded you both a little for stalling. When she tried to take your bag, you resisted strongly and held it in your arms.

She frowned at you and pointed to the bag, "It looks old and dirty. Put it where you will stay, out of my sight. Norell, show her where she'll be staying. I have to check the kitchen.”

"Yes, Tullia," she said as she led you out of the room. You touched your new clothes as you walked into another room. These clothes were ordinary clothes that any slave would wear, but for you they were unusual. You'd always worn men's clothes when you were with your uncle. You'd never let your hair hang over your shoulders outside the house. That's why you almost like dressing like that if you ignore the fact that your neck and shoulders are completely exposed.

"This way," Norell said, pointing to a room that was slightly larger than the last one. There were two mattresses a large wooden chest and a small closet in the corner. She pointed to one of the mattresses against the wall.

"You can sleep here.”

It wasn't the most comfortable option, but it was far superior to the beds in the Valetudinarium. You sat down and put your bag under the blanket. Meanwhile, she was observing you curiously.

"It's what's left of my family," you explained.

"Don't worry, I would never touch your things," she assured you. You trusted her, even though you'd only just met. But you'd promised your uncle about the letter, so you tucked it under the mattress when she left the room. You were eager to open it, but you wanted to make sure you were completely alone first.

While you were sitting there, you realized how tired you were. You didn't know if it was the effect of traveling with the ship, but your head still felt like it was shaking. Your body was almost collapsing when you noticed a cat outside the window.

Since you grew up in Egypt, you had a cat in your old house too, that looked just like this cat, was dark black with beautiful green eyes. You called it over with your hand, but it ran ahead, towards another garden in the courtyard so you ran excitedly to it.

As you followed her at a brisk pace, you couldn't fit through the gap the cat could, so you entered through the wooden gate of this separate garden, fortunately, it was open. It's a beautiful garden with many herbs, plants and flowers. You distinctly remember using the hypericum (St. John's wort) plant with your uncle on many occasions. This is a medicinal plant with healing properties. You sat on the grass and picked a bunch of hypericum. You crushed the leaves with your fingertips and rubbed the bruises on your wrist with the liquid that came out. Then the cat brushes its tail against your feet. You take her in your arms, sit her on your lap, and begin stroking her head feeling her soft hair under your fingers making you feel peaceful. But you were exhausted and could not keep your eyes open, so you lay down and closed them. 

As the general arrived at his villa, the sun was preparing to bid farewell to the capital of Rome. He had barely sat down since he stepped ashore. He was tired, yes, but also filled with an indescribable excitement. He tried to remember why or when he had felt this way for so long, but he couldn't even remember. He had been on the road for months, on his way to Egypt to put down the rebellion. He had finally succeeded, but it had exhausted him. Moreover, being assassinated and wounded on the way back, and having one of his soldiers mutiny while he was recovering, was not something an ordinary man could handle. He touched his wound through his leather armor and felt grateful to one who healed him. Even though his body was so tired, he was determined to meet this girl.

Tullia greeted him with a happy smile and ran to him.

“Sir! You're home at last! I sacrificed three pigs to Mars to ensure your safe return!”

Acacius smiled at her and stepped out of the carriage, his eyes fixed on the garden of his villa. "Tullia, the girl Octavius brought here today, I want to see her now." His voice was firm and impatient.

"Yes, master, he did. She's inside. Come in."

Acacius strode into the garden, leaving his squire struggling to keep up. He looked around but couldn't find what he was looking for. "I don't see her, Tullia. Where is she?"

Tullia swallowed, "Master, she was here. I'll find her," she said as she started to leave, but Acacius stopped her by raising his hand.

"Send her to my room and prepare my bath at once," he ordered, heading for the stone stairs leading to his room.

Everyone mobilized to find you at once and prepare their master's bath.

His squire entered Acacius's room and helped him remove his armor. Once he was finished, he left the room. Acacius removed his armbands and took a deep breath, now wearing only his burgundy tunic. He felt relieved but still impatient and decided to go out onto the balcony to watch the scenery. He was thinking about you when he gazed at the gorgeous city in the distance. He smiled to himself as he recalled his first experience of falling in love. He had assumed that he would never feel that way again, ever since he had turned his back on love. He was convinced that Venus’s son Cupid would never grant him a new love. All this time he thought of himself as an unlucky lover, punished by Mars, the god of war. Mars had endowed him with the ability to fight, he wondered if it was because love could be his weak point. He was about to find out.

As he made his way inside, he noticed something in the garden below that caught his eye. He noticed a young girl with golden hair, resting on the green grass in the garden that bordered his chambers.

Acacius made his way down the stairs, his heart beating faster with each step, filled with excitement and curiosity. As he made his way down the last step and drew closer to you, he was a little disappointed to see your eyes were closed. He was curious to see those eyes he'd seen in his tent back then. He approached you and leaned in, looking at the beautiful girl sleeping peacefully, waiting for you to open your eyes, just as you were waiting for him then. He looked at your wrist and, gently grasping it, was pleased to see the bruises. His fingers matched the purple spots as if they were meant to be there.

You felt pressure on your wrist where the bruise was. You opened your eyes, not because of the pain, but because you were already dreaming about it, remembering that moment. When you realized that his face was just a few inches away from yours, you opened your eyes wide in surprise. You wondered if you were still dreaming. His dark brown eyes had taken over yours, making it impossible to look away. Then his perfectly-shaped lips curled into a wide smile.

"So it was you," he said softly.

You were rendered speechless. You attempted to rise to your feet, but he grasped your shoulders gently, maintaining eye contact with you.

"I made a mistake. I apologize," you mumbled.

"Mistake? You healed me, so there's no mistake or reason to apologize.” He smirked and stood up, holding out his hand. Despite your initial hesitation, you took his hand and got to your feet.

"I shouldn't have slept here like this," you said, embarrassed, as you shook your dress out to get rid of the leaves and dirt.

“It was such a treat to watch,” he smiled at your surprised face and turned around heading to the stairs. "Come," he beckoned you, not asking, but commanding.

You followed him without complaint, though your tension has increased. Acacius entered his room and waited for you to come in. As you entered from the balcony, you noticed the armor he had just taken off was on your right. Beyond that, there was a desk and a chair, followed by a small table with two chairs. In the opposite corner, there was a large bed and a closet.

Tullia came in with a tray full of food, knocking on the door first.

She opened her eyes in surprise when she saw you.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. Where were you?"

Before you could respond, Acacius ordered, "Leave us alone and let me know when the bath is ready.”

“Yes master," she said, giving you a quick look before she left.

"Are you hungry?" he asked while pouring wine into a cup.

You shook your head no but it was a lie, your eyes were on the food, swallowing. He smirked, sat down in a chair, and took a sip of wine. "Sit," he indicated the chair opposite him with a gesture.

When you didn't, he frowned. "I know you're hungry. Come," he commanded.

You made your way over and took a seat directly across from him, consciously steering clear of his gaze.

"Eat," he commanded again, pointing to the spoon.

You took a spoonful of food that you had never seen before, but it looked delicious. As soon as you put it in your mouth and swallowed, you felt the bite reach your empty stomach. Realizing how hungry you were, you quickly took another bite, surprised by your own eagerness.

He watched you closely, his eyes were lingering on your hands. With a quick move, he grabbed your other hand gently, and placed it in his palm, as if measuring sizes. "These fingers are too thin to be a medicus," he muttered, looking at you. "How did you become a medicus? It must have been tough for you as a woman."

As you swallowed the morsel, he poured another glass of wine and handed it to you. You were taken aback by his unexpected politeness, but took the cup from his hand, and then had a quick sip.

"My uncle taught me everything I know, sir," you confessed.

"That man, the medicus, he was your uncle?"

"He was, yes," you almost whispered, the mention of him having renewed your pain. He studied your face, reading your expression.

"May the Gods bless his soul and grant him sustenance in Elysium. I’ve never met him, but thanks to his knowledge I am still breathing, I will be grateful to him until my last breath."

As he speaks, you sense a sincerity in his voice that helps to ease your pain a little. You are surprised that you do not feel the same resentment towards him as you did before. His words seem to console you.

“You're not his slave, then. Who are you?"

He looked at you with unwavering eyes, waiting for your answer.

“I am Aya, an orphan girl who was found on the banks of the Nile when I was little. I was raised by the man I called uncle,” you said frankly, but he looked perplexed.

Acacius leaned back, still looking at you ‘Aya’ he murmured himself. "It's a name I've never heard before, I wish to know its meaning." He crossed his arms.

“This name was given to me by my uncle and his deceased wife means ‘miracle.’ I believe they thought I was sent to them by the Gods.” You looked at him hesitantly, feeling uneasy. “I think it’s-.”

“It's beautiful,” he completed your sentence in his way, and you took another sip from your cup, feeling his eyes still on you, averting your gaze.

“You mentioned that you are an orphan? You have no knowledge of your mother or father? Your uncle must have discovered why they left you in the river.”

You shook your head, you really didn't know, but he didn't seem to be satisfied with that answer. He put his cup down on the table, then stood up, and stepped towards you.

"Your uncle, or the man who found you, raised you as a medicus until this age. You probably had to wear men's clothes all the time. He let you live as a man, not as a woman. More, he never wanted you to marry a man," you noticed that he said the word 'marry' in a different tone. You felt like he was questioning you, also startled as he knelt beside you. "Like he's hiding you from something or someone.”

He was waiting for an answer, but his face being so close made you tense up. You had to take a moment before answering him.

“I was pleased with helping other people, curing them as a medicus, sir. He never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to.” You were confident and sincere, and he could hear it in your tone.

He stood up abruptly, “I see,” he murmured still thinking about it. There was a knock at the door. They informed him that his bath was ready. "I want you to accompany me," he said suddenly, his smile making your heart race but you were trying to figure out the best way to decline his offer gently and respectfully.

"Sir, I-“

“Since I’m so tired, I want you to help me bathe, and as my medicus, you should check my wound, right?”

"That makes me your medicus as well as your slave," you frowned at him.

He approached you with a bold move that made you jump, but he had a mischievous look on his face. "I'm gonna have to get completely undressed for both, so."

Your cheeks flushed and you tried to look away, but you knew he was right and you hated it.

He opened the door and gestured for you to follow him, you took a deep breath before going after him. Norell smiled when she noticed you, but you couldn't smile back, following him to the bathhouse made you nervous.

As you moved from the courtyard to the other, to the west wing, you could tell by the smells that the kitchen was there. It’s because of the hot water circulation, just opposite the kitchen was the balneum (small bath house). There was no separate bath house in your uncle's small house, so you had to go to the Egyptian public bath house three or four times a week to bathe.

Tullia pushed the door open for you two to enter. Acacius told her to leave you two alone and closed the door after you entered. The hot bath was ready, and the balneum was filled with the scent of various oils and essences that dissipated in the steam with the heat of the water. Since you were well-versed in herbs, you could easily tell which scents belonged to which flowers by their aroma.

When you saw Acacius heading for the bathtub, you clenched the fabric of your dress. It was scorching hot inside and you were sweating buckets. He turned to you, and you knew from the look in his eyes that he was asking you to approach him. You obey, trying your best not to think about anything else but his wound. He grabbed your fingers and led them to the hem of his burgundy tunic, making you grasp it. He watched you patiently as you tried to stay calm, lifting the hem of his tunic to check his wound. He seemed to enjoy it when he noticed you were tense.

“I need to take it off completely. Can you help me?" he said in a soft, gentle voice.

You took a deep breath and removed his tunic with trembling hands, letting it drop to the wet floor, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked in front of you. You concentrated on his abdomen where his wound was, trying not to look down at his lower parts. As your fingers traced his abdomen to check his wound, his eyes wandered over your face, admiring your beauty.

“It is almost healed on the surface, sir, but it may take a little longer to heal completely from the inside. If you feel any pain or inflammation, I may need to make a herbal ointment,” you said as your eyes caught by his.

He brought his face closer to yours and you felt the heat radiating from his lips. You could feel the steamy air and your sweat making your dress a little damp. His hot breath caressed your neck, making your heart race and you almost gave yourself to him to take you, but you managed to pull yourself back.

Acacius chuckled, turned towards the tub, and settled down. The water rose with his weight, and some flowers floating on the surface hit the edge.

He seemed to relax, threw his head back, and closed his eyes, making a gesture with his hand.

“Rub my back a little would you? Maybe your soft, healing hands can take away some of the pain.”

“That sounds more like the work of a slave than a medicus," you muttered, he ignored you but you could see his lips curl into a half smile.

When you touched his shoulders with your fingers he sighed, you tried not to care but he seemed strangely pleased, a soft moan escaping his lips as you rubbed in gentle strokes. Your eyes traced the scars on his body, wondering how he got them.

“The God Asclepius must have endowed you with his healing powers," he purred. How can I repay the owner of these fingers that healed me?”

You stopped rubbing his back and glared at his face behind his partially curly and gray hair.

“I wish you would set me free," you bit your lower lip, wondering if it was too much to ask.

Acacius opened his eyes. "You have no family to go to, do you wish to return to your home and live all alone?

He was right. Even if you went back to your home, you wouldn't have an uncle or anyone to live with. You had to face this truth and you hated it. He then turned his head to you, "Shall I give you a chance to choose?”

You tilted your head to look at him, the steamy air making your throat dry.

“If you don't want to be my slave, why don't you live here as my medicus? I am a soldier after all, I may need your help in the future.” As he turned his body fully towards you in the tub, some of the water ran out and soaked the hem of your dress. “Wouldn't you stay here to help me heal?”

“But I am a woman, sir; I cannot be a medicus. No one would refer to me as such.”

“As long as you’re living here, that’s how you will be addressed,” he expressed with warmth and conviction.

"But will I still be your slave outside of this house?"

“You will, yes.”

“Will you set me free one day?”

“No,” he said loudly, his voice echoed off the marble walls.

When you sighed and pursed your lips, his big hand cupped your chin, his brown eyes almost begging you to stay. He slowly slid his fingers from your neck to your shoulder, moving to the fabric of your dress as he tried to gauge your reaction. You grabbed his hand and stopped him as he pulled the fabric over your shoulder, "I choose to be your medicus, not your slave, sir."

“Very well,” Acacius snickered, grabbing your wrist this time. “It seems to be healing,” his fingers rubbing your bruise, somehow you didn’t feel angry, you liked it when he touched you with his big strong fingers like only they can heal it.

“I won't touch you against your will,” he assured you. Then he pulled his hand away and laid back, closed his eyes again. “You may leave now,” he said coldly as if trying to calm himself.

You were grateful, but you couldn't ignore the feeling of his absence on your skin. But you did as he said, left him alone in the balneum and went out. You shivered as the fresh air hit your almost wet body as Norell approached you with dry and clean clothes in her arms.

“Is he coming out?”

“No, he asked me to leave him alone.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

That night in your new room under the roof of your new home, after a long talk with her, you waited patiently for Norell to fall asleep, but your eyes were so heavy you couldn't keep them open any longer.

You were planning to open the letter when you woke up, but you never got around to it. It was not as easy as it seemed to be alone in this big villa.

But since you saw the General leaving the house in a hurry in the morning, you knew his room was the best place to be. No one could get into his room while he was away, and this was your only chance. You were told he would be back late in the evening, so you had time to open the letter until then.

You weren't sure what to expect, but you were determined to find out. You considered the possibility that your true family might be wealthy or even royal. But why did they want to push you away or abandon you? What did the previous emperor's seal mean? Why did he seal it with his own? Was it normal for him to put his own seal on every letter? There were so many possibilities and questions but you were tired of thinking. You were going to open it as soon as possible, find out everything, and move on.

In the villa, everyone was preoccupied with their morning chores, so it was simple to slip away unnoticed. You were already on a mission to collect the dirty laundry and bring it downstairs to the wash, so you had a good excuse if you got caught.

You strode into the general's room, took a quick look around, and put the dirty laundry he had taken off into the laundry basket in your hand. Then you put the laundry basket aside and sat down on the floor next to it. When you were sure that no one was coming, you took out the letter you had tucked between your chest and the fabric of your dress and started to read.

You took a deep breath, carefully pulled and removed the rope around the letter without harming the seal, then lifted it, which belonged to the previous emperor Septimius Severus, and opened the letter. You saw the letters clearly written in neat handwriting.

“My dearest child, my beloved daughter blessed with golden hair and hazel eyes. The irises of your eyes are a soft brown hue, with a greenish tint, as if they contained the nascent growth of spring.

Gazing into your eyes, I see Rome, the beautiful and prosperous days that await her. You bestow joy and fortitude upon me, enabling me to actualize this vision. It is my ardent aspiration to ensure your collective felicity and to witness your growth and prosperity. It has been a considerable span of time since I lost your mother, my esteemed wife, the resplendent Paccia Marciana. I am yet to fully acclimate to her absence, but I had to remarry because I had to have an heir. I don't want to offend you, my pretty, golden-haired daughter. I do not intend to accuse you of being a girl. I hope you won't misunderstand me child, but I'm afraid it's not possible for you to stay in Rome. Julia is not as understanding as your mother Marciana. My son Caracalla is even less so. He is a very cruel boy. I am concerned that when I ascend to the Gods to the Elysium and he is on the throne, he may be troubled by your presence and do you harm. I cannot allow them to harm you in memory of your mother, so I must send you away from them, away from all. I have placed my old friend Vibius, the medicus from my youth, in the land of Egypt. I believe you will be safe with him. It would be best for you to be as far away from here as possible. I truly hope that Caracalla will rule Rome well. I am not entirely certain, but I sincerely wish to believe that he will.

And I hope that when you are a young girl, reading this letter, you will understand my reasons for sending you away. You are my firstborn child, my only daughter with spring eyes and golden hair, the first of the name Septimia Aurelia, who brought blessings to Rome the year she was born. And you will always remain so my sweet child.

Your father,

Imperator Caesar Lucius Septimius Severus Pertinax Augustus.” 

You read each sentence again and again to make sure you hadn't read it wrong. But no you read everything correctly. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, you knew it was real, not imagined. You sat there, detached from time and reality, as tears rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the letter you were holding with trembling hands. Your life began to pass before your eyes, piece by piece: the lush green fields where you used to run around joyfully as a little girl, and the people you called uncle and aunt who raised you with love, always protecting you from the outside, keeping you away from other people, your uncle taking you on as an apprentice when you were very young and teaching you all his knowledge, buying you flashy girl's clothes on the condition that you only wear them at home when you wanted to wear them, insisting that you always wear a cloak when you went out in public, all of these were completed like the missing pieces that brought you back to where you belonged.

You wished you had never opened the letter, never imagining that the truth would hurt so much and leave you so helpless. You had no home to go to, your Empress mother and Emperor father were no longer alive. In their place were your Emperor brothers and their mother, your stepmother, and your father had warned you about them in no uncertain terms.

The word "Emperor" will forever hold a new meaning for you. Everything you knew, everything you learned, everything you lived, felt different now. But you were the same person. It was unreasonable to expect you to be anyone else, regardless of what your name was.

As you wiped away your tears, you heard voices outside and swiftly folded the letter back into its original shape. You didn't have time to hide it. Your first thought was to put it into the general's wooden chest full of papyrus, empty envelopes, and papers. You would come and get it later.

“What are you doing here?”

The last thing you expected to hear was the General's voice yet he was there, had opened the door looking at you curiously. He was wearing an all-white tunic, white leather armor and a white shawl that fluttered like dove wings in the wind behind his back, all embroidered with gold. Seeing him like that you forgot the shock you just had, he was looking breathtaking. Suddenly you realized that you didn't answer his question, so you quickly picked up the basket. “I’m here to pick up the laundry, sir,” you said, bowing your head, hoping he wouldn’t be suspicious.

“I thought you chose to be a medicus and not a slave,” he said as he approached you. “Let the others do it, come with me now.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the room with a serious look on his face, hurried down the stairs, and stopped to call Norell out as he observed your clothes. "Dress her properly," he ordered.

While you were trying to figure out what was going on, Norell held your hand and led you to the dressing room to do his bidding. She opened the wardrobe took out some fabrics, all white, and placed them on a chair in the room. You couldn't help but ask when you saw that the clothes were different from the last time.

“Why am I wearing these?” you asked her curiously.

“Today's a bit special.”

You were startled to hear the General's voice just outside the door.

“And the color of the dress you're wearing has to match mine.”

How can I match his charm, you thought, it wasn’t possible.

You didn't mind being naked in front of Norell, but knowing the General was just outside the door made you a little nervous. Norell sensed your unease and giggled, then she helped you put on a white tunic, then a peplos (long dress) of the same color and a gold embroidered palla over your shoulders, then tied it around your slim waist and put the other part over your head. She was an expert, or so you felt because it was the first time you had ever worn this kind of dress. You felt as if the wish you had made as a little girl had come true. Norell combed your hair, first downwards and slightly side parted, then combed it again, then braided it, took a piece from the front left and twisted it round the back of your head. She secured the twist inside the braid by inserting a wire barrette inside the braid and finished the braid, letting it hang over one shoulder. When she was finished she looked at you and smiled, “You look beautiful. Now all that's left are the accessories.”

The General opened the door, he eyed you up to down, then grabbed your arm gently. He gestured to Norell, and soon she returned bearing a box containing a gold bracelet and assorted jewelry which produced a tinkling sound when she moved.

“Sir, these don’t look like something a slave would wear,” you said, surprised.

Acacius quickly put the bracelets on your upper arm and wrists. “My slave wears whatever I want,” he said firmly, his gaze fixed on you one last time, a confident smile on his face. You felt your cheeks flush, but the word ‘slave’ bothered you more than before. Yet you still couldn't be angry with the General, not when he was dressed like this.

“But where exactly are we going?”

“To the place where the ceremony will take place, then to the Colosseum. Come now, get your sandals on, we have to hurry.”

Norell appeared beside you, lifted your foot, and helped you quickly put on the sandals, despite your insistence.

“Looks pretty,” he pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen on your forehead with a gentle touch then you weren't sure whether he was in a hurry or impatient, he put his arm around you and pulled you out of the courtyard with quick steps.

“I saw you leaving, this morning,” you said while Acacius tugged and adjusted the shawl that he sitting on to feel comfortable.

He cleared his throat. “That’s right,” he looked at you. “I didn't want you to miss a day like this, so I came back for you,” he admitted. How could he be such a charming, gentle, and at the same time dangerous warrior? You also wondered how all your anger, all your resentment towards him had passed so quickly.

“I'm grateful, sir,” you said sincerely, he smiled in response.

As the carriage entered the alleys of the Capitoline Hill, you noticed that the streets were full of people, just like yesterday. It was as if no one had returned home and spent the night on the streets. As soon as the carriage approached Via Sacra Street, you realized you were wrong, it was even more crowded than yesterday. In Egypt, such crowds only gathered on special occasions and religious festivals. However, you were not used to being in a crowd, walking freely in the streets, especially when you were dressed as a woman. Despite having resolved the queries that had troubled you since childhood, you still felt unfulfilled. It was not that you held any resentment towards anyone, but your father and uncle both tried to do you good in their way, but you still couldn't help feeling wronged. Somewhere deep in your heart, a voice kept telling you that something was wrong, and it grew louder with each passing moment. What your uncle had said to you kept echoing in your head. “You’re going to have to choose.”

But what were you going to choose? To go to your emperor brothers and explain everything and have them give you official recognition and hope that they don't kill you as a result, or to go back to Egypt as if nothing had happened and live as before, far away from everyone and everything?

“What makes you think so much? I wonder.”

At the general's voice, all your thoughts dissipated like a cloud of dust. You nearly forgot that you were in the carriage together, and he was sitting in the seat opposite you like a statue of a god.

“I'm a little nervous, sir,” you said honestly.

"Are you feeling nervous about seeing the Colosseum for the first time?"

He was correct; that was one reason, but the true reason was the anticipation of seeing your half-brothers in person.

“Yes,” you clenched the fabric of your dress.

“We'll be there after the ceremony. I would love to have you with me, but the slaves and others will be watching from the stands upstairs. I could ask the emperors for special permission for you to stand beside me, but I’m concerned that your beauty will inevitably attract their attention.” There wasn’t the slightest trace of humor in his voice. This would have worked in your favor if you didn't feel ready to face your stepbrothers.

“Sir, it's not a problem really, I'll watch from where I'm supposed to be,” you said with a half smile.

“The more I can keep you away from them, the better,” he murmured vaguely, peering out from behind the curtain. “Here we are.”

When the carriage stopped, the crowd's enthusiasm rose, Acacius stood up with a serious expression on his face, he reached for your hand and grasped it.

“It is no longer possible for me to hold your hand and walk side by side. You can follow me at a distance.” He gently stroked your fingers with his thumb, then withdrew his hand and got out of the carriage.

You watched him exit, his shawl billowing in the wind behind him, trailing gently to the steps of the carriage.

“Sir!” Octavius ran towards him through the crowd, cheerful. You watched the two of them with their backs turned, talking to each other, the crowd chanting the General's name. Then they both turned their heads back towards you, Acacius nodded for you to come out, no one was looking at you anyway, and all the attention was on him, you took a deep breath and climbed down out of the carriage. Acacius and Octavius made sure you got out and began walking forward. As you walked behind them, keeping your eye distance, you could hear people talking and chanting. You couldn't help but wonder if one day if something happened and you sat on the throne as the emperor's daughter, would they cheer for you like that? You shook your head and tried to dismiss the absurd thought.

Acacius and Octavius were joined by other soldiers, and it was clear from the crowd that there were many people from different social classes. The wealthy, the nobles, the dignitaries, the craftsmen, and the slaves. Looking at them, you realized your clothes seemed strange to you. They had almost no jewelry on their sleeves; they were ordinary. But here, slaves could accompany their masters or enter the Colosseum, unlike in Egypt. The crowd also included women, nobles who looked at you with a piercing gaze. At first, you were perplexed by their actions. But when you looked them up and down, you saw the problem: jealousy. In Egypt, everyone ignored you, thinking you were a thin young boy in a strange cloak. Here in Rome, you were a beautifully dressed young girl, the envy of even the noblewomen. Life should be full of miracles and surprises.

The Roman triumph was a civil ceremony and religious rite of ancient Rome, held to publicly celebrate and sanctify the success of a military commander who had led Roman forces to victory in the service of the state or, in some historical traditions, one who had successfully completed a foreign war.

The venue for the ceremony was the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, one of the most important temples in the capital. Most Roman festivals were calendar fixtures, tied to the worship of particular deities. While the triumphal procession culminated at Jupiter's temple on the far end of the Via Sacra (sacred road) in the Roman Forum, the procession itself, attendant feasting, and public games promoted the general's status and achievement. In effect, the general was close to being "king for a day", and possibly close to divinity.

Accompanied by the red rose petals thrown to him to honor him, the General ascended the white marble stairs of the temple with quick steps, shining like pearls in the sun. At that moment you immediately recognised them, they were not unnoticeable anyway, your half-brothers, the emperors, approached the General. They were dressed in white and gold, just like him. From their appearance, it was not difficult to guess which one was Geta and which one was Caracalla. The general greeted them with a hand placed on his chest and Geta gently placed the golden crown of laurel leaves on his head. While everyone was shouting and cheering with enthusiasm, you suddenly felt a pain somewhere deep in your chest. You deserved to be with them, you wanted to be, it was your birthright. But your emperor father had to take you away, was it because you were not a boy? He had asked you not to blame him, not to be angry with him, but you couldn't help it, as they stood there in all their reality you realized that you really had to choose. If not now, one day. Looking at him from a distance, Caracalla raised his hands towards the people and spoke, and you wondered if your father's warning about him had been right. His hair was the same color as yours, but his face was different. His eyes were wide with excitement and eagerness. He didn't seem so bad besides you knew it was wrong to judge a person at first glance.

You soon realized that there was some tension between him and the priest next to him, Geta raised his hand to silence him, which was very rude and disrespectful. Obviously, your half-brother was not a man of religious tradition.

“Now that our ceremony is finally over, are we ready to watch the big games?”

The whole crowd let out a roar of excitement, and it was clear that everyone was just as pumped as he was.

“Then let's head to the Colosseuuuuuuuuuuum!” he shouted and pointed in the direction of the Colosseum with his right hand.

“The gladiators are waitiiiiiiiing!” Caracalla joined him in shouting, their voices blending and echoing throughout Capitoline Hill.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing when you realised that the General was smiling forcibly as he applauded him, you could see how annoyed he was with them. Fighting all these emotions inside you, you had neglected to pay attention to the general, but if anyone dazzled you more than anyone else, it was him. With his golden crown on his head, he was more than even an emperor, he was like a God, the son of Mars, Marcus himself, who more than lived up to his name. He was glamorous, sending his radiance first into your eyes and then sending vibrations deep into your chest. As your heart beat faster than ever, you wondered if this was what love felt like. If love wasn't what this man was making you feel this way, what else could it be? You could only guess because no one had ever advised you to do so. So you realised that you wanted to remain this man's slave until you die without revealing your identity.

Now that the crowd was heading away from the temple towards the Colosseum, you followed them. You tried to keep the general and Octavius in sight, but it was difficultPeople were hurrying along, bumping into you. As people rushed past, you wanted to go to another direction to avoid getting lost, you passed more people and got closer to the temple, and you looked for him. You saw the Emperors and General were going down the road in a chariot. You were about to run after them when the senators came down the stairs. And then your eyes met with a dark-browned skin member of the senate, he looked at you with wide eyes. You looked away and went into the crowd because he was coming towards you. But more people were coming from the road, so you turned left and went behind the temple to hide. When you reached the corner wall, you looked back and saw no one. Then someone called out to you as you headed towards the other road. You ignored him, but this time he called you by name. “Wait, Aurelia!”

You froze in shock. That was your real name, and you thought everyone who knew it was dead. You turned your head with curiosity and saw the man from earlier running towards you. You gripped the dress fabric in your hands feeling extremely nervous. The man was panting as he approached. "Is it really you?"

You swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think you have mistaken me for someone else."

The man looked you in the eye and smiled confidently. "I would recognize those eyes anywhere; it's you." His eyes lingered on your hair. "Septimia Aurelia, do you know how much I've searched for you, my lady?"

@myownwholewildworld @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury

if anyone wants me to tag them please comment :) thank you all <3

[orcasoul]

General Marcus Acacius Headcanons

Coming soon

A collection of headcanons showing how I imagine Marcus Acacius would react in different situations...

💔= Angst 💘=Fluff 🔥=Smut 🗡=Violence

Marcus' and your arranged wedding - coming soon 💔💘

Marcus takes your virginity on your wedding night - coming soon💔💘🔥

You get jealous when other women flirt with Marcus - coming soon 💔 💘

Marcus when you're in danger - coming soon 💔💘🔥🗡

Marcus learning to be gentle with you - coming soon 💘

Marcus is overprotective when you go into labour - coming soon 💔💘

You take care of your wounded general - coming soon 💔💘

Marcus misses you while he's away at war - coming soon 💔

[tremendouscreationperson]

Marcus Acacius x Reader

A/N: So I've been having a recent bout of insomnia and wrote this completely for myself, I don't know an awful lot about ancient Rome so if there are mistakes please dont hate me but nevertheless please enjoy

This takes place years before the movie

You and Marcus are old friends and on his return to Rome you find yourself in need of some help

Marcus tried to school his expression - having just caught a glimpse of you, sitting out on the terrace - as he continued his conversation with your father.

He had been allowed respite from the everlasting conflict and your father was an old friend of his family so it was only natural to say hello.

Your mother called the man away to discuss decorations for the oncoming party she was throwing in his honour. She was sweet like that, actually wanting to throw a party for him instead of because it was socially acceptable - caring when others wouldn't. He found himself missing his own when he was in her company.

But thank the gods it provided him a distraction, he could speak with you without an audience, bless her.

As he crossed the room, he observed you staring into space - sitting with your back mostly to him - Marcus noticed the subtle frown of your brow and the twitch in your fingers, telltale signs that you were troubled. Overthinking. Nevertheless, you were a picture, your hair was intricately braided, some strands blowing loosely with the material of your stola in the wind, and you had only gotten more beautiful than the last time he laid eyes on you.

“I've been away for almost four years,” you jolted, head snapping towards him. “And you seem not to care.”

The grin on your face was infectious and you were quick to rise and embrace him fully, squeezing him tighter than friendly.

“I knew you had returned!” You began the sentence at his ear but pulled back to face him. “I didn't realise you were visiting!" Your eyes darted around his face, noting the new scar on his cheek. “Oh-” hand hovering inches away from his skin. “Did it hurt?”

He let out a small breath of a laugh, usually people asked ‘what happened?’ or even ‘did he get what he deserved?’. It was refreshing, you were refreshing.

“Not as bad as the one on my back.”

Your brows scrunched again, hand finding it's place on his chest as the two of you were still in a half-embrace. “Marcus, you really need to be more careful.”

“You can't build the greatest Empire in history by being careful.” And as though he, himself, hit you, you flinched. Shoulders tensing.

You plastered a grin onto your face. "Of course."

Did the idea of conquest sicken you? Had the image of him fighting made his scar disgust you? Why were you hiding? What was wrong?

"What is it?"

"I'm fine." You lie.

He loosened his hold of your waist. "You can speak anything to me."

Your mouth opened and closed, tears forming. He was about to hug you tighter but you left his grip. Taking a few worried steps back and began pacing just subtly enough for any onlooker to think ‘normal’.

You offered after a moment. “I'm terrified Marcus.”

“Terrified?” He took a step closer. Why were you terrified? He couldn't have that.

“They-” you sighed, picking at your nails. “The Emperors- Father says I'm to be a concubine.”

Now that was news.

Big news.

Marcus blinked thrice processing your words, dread settling into his bones.

The twin Emperors were young and naive. They had the world handed to them and didn't care for any consequences. He had seen first hand what could happen. He had watched them slap animals and spit at servants.

“It's a great honour, of course.” You carried on, pacing once again. “I know many would and have wished for this themselves. But it's usually the freedwomen! I'm unmarried- I-” cheeks warm you spit out. “I kept myself pure, I know nothing of performing in that way. Well, no I know how but to actually be called in-”

“Hey.” He interrupted your spiral, hands on your forearms to stop the pacing, forcing eye contact. “It'll be okay.”

“It won't, Marcus,” your lips were sore from biting them and close up he could see the darkness beneath your eyes. “The Emperors are godly, yes, but they are volatile. The last batch have disappeared - Astoria is gone - all noblewomen, unwed. Youthful but inexperienced. Mother is fretting and father is overjoyed. I- I don't think I'm ready for death.”

“You will not die.” That was a vow. He wouldn't let you die. Not for any of the Emperors. “I have seen death, I know its name. You will not see Pluto, yet.”

“Sorry.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I know you've seen far more than you should have and I know my worries aren't nearly as large as yours-”

“That does not mean they are lesser.” He interrupted again, forehead millimetres from yours, his gaze intense. “I am merely stating that I won't let them harm you.”

Your lips tugged at that, face warping into the familiar fond expression he had sorely missed, and you playfully ask, “you'll be my hero?”

“Any time.” He vowed again. “I'd defy the gods for you.”

You scoffed. “Now, that's too far-fetched to believe.”

He remained standing, closer than he should be, in contemplation. How he was going to help was a mystery. He could try to steer the Emperors to another, could tell them you were married. He could try to explain the act of seduction and hope what heated him heated them.

Or.... He could offer to help. He could offer himself to you. If he was to offer, everything would change. It was a cruel thing to offer really… but it wasn't. In fact, it may help you. No, it would help you.

“About your problem.” His words were stronger than he felt. “Come to my home and I will help.”

You physically had a reaction to the words, they took you aback, you couldn't believe your luck. “You'd do that?”

“Of course.”

“I'd hate to be a burden.” He was very good at concealing the laughter.

“It's really no trouble.” It’d be his pleasure… and potentally yours too.

~~

Aelia was quietly humming as she looked the thread that held your hair in such an intricate way. Untying it slower than necessary, you knew she was biding her time, waiting.

“Aelia.” You spoke, halting her tune. “I know you want to tell me something.”

“I have nothing to tell.” She shrugged playfully. “I just happened to see you and the General.”

You rolled your eyes at the hidden insinuation. “Aelia, he would've asked father by now. You know this.” It took three seconds before you whispered. “But, by Zeus, how does he get more attractive each time I see him?”

She chuckled. “His hair is turning white.”

“It suits him. Did you see the scar?” A somewhat embarrassing groan escaped your throat. “I know it must've hurt and it should be ugly but it just makes him look... He's glorious!”

The last thread came loose and your hair sprung free. “I think you're a fool to keep your feelings hidden. I also think he likes you just as much.” She rubbed your shoulders.

“Perhaps.” A heavy weight developed in your stomach when you remembered. “It's hopeless now.”

She was quiet and it wasn't like before, it wasn't pleasant nor sweet, it was out of dread. She was just as, if not more than, afraid for you.

“He did offer to help.” You filled the silence, trusting Aelia with the secret. “I know how the act happens, I just haven't had any real experience. Nothing proper, I mean-” you spun to face her, voice lowered, “most women do explore, despite it being unladylike to speak of, so I know what to do with my parts… I have yet to deal with that part. And what if I'm not pleasant to look at? I have this here." You point at a tiny birthmark. "What if it's displeasing? There's so many questions, I am just so unsure of myself, it's a bit of a godsend for him to offer help.” Her eyes were wide.

“When are you to meet him?”

“He said tomorrow.”

Her eyes were bulging and her mouth slowly morphed into a wild grin. “He - the general - offered to help you? To show you what to expect? And you think he doesn't-” her giggles cut her off.

You swatted at her playfully, finding it hard to cease your own laughter. “Stop it!”

“I'm sorry.” She offered, despite not being sorry at all.

You twisted back to your original position, partly because bending to face her pulled at your spine, mostly to hide your warm cheeks.

She readied the bowl to cleanse your face. You always kept yourself clean but now you were to be the Emperor’s property, you had to have the best oils and such. It was sheep wool sweat and ground oyster shells, nothing too pungent.

“You are my favourite." She beamed at your words. "I enjoy our chats, Aelia.”

She situated herself between your knees. “I enjoy them, too. You're a lot kinder than most.”

“I think.” You spoke as she rubbed your forehead. “You and I should run away.”

With one eye you glimpsed her smile. “Just the two of us?”

“You can bring that boy you like from the market.”

She was strategic to rub your lips as she spoke: “Only if you bring ‘Marcus’.” Quietening any arguments.

~~

Marcus greeted you at the door. He had been anxiously waiting all afternoon. He was actually very scared. He hadn't felt this way in a long time, not at any sieges or dealing with the Emperors. He was scared that he was scared!

There was only so much of staring at a scroll he could take but, thankfully, you arrived.

You glanced around as a servant led you to him and smiled happily as your eyes landed on him.

“We didn't specify a time, I was worried you'd be busy.”

Busy? He'd offered to- you thought he'd make plans?! “No, today I am yours.” However you wanted. If that was questions, if that was his body, he was yours.

The starstruck look on your face was perfect. He hadn't quite meant it to sound like that but your reaction was wondrous.

The servant accepted your cloak and he told her to stay away, he was teaching a lesson and could not under any circumstances be disturbed. You also dismissed your servant, they nodded and made a quick exit.

Your hair was in a simpler style today, and you wore a red stola adorned in gold. That was a clever move. Was it? Is that what you intend to do today? Did you want him to bed you?

“So.” He clasped his hands. “Where do you want to start?”

You gestured to the room, “the bedroom, no?”

Amused he replied, “I meant did you have questions but that's probably wise.”

You sniggered, taking the outstretched hand and following his lead.

You had been at his house before, a few times, as he was a friend of the family and trusted to look after you. He had once asked your father for a union - spurred on by the trust - before he was Rome's General but was denied, there wasn't a reason for it but Marcus accepted the 'no' with grace. Plus you were young and had a list of suitors your mother tried to push onto you. You never took one, he had wondered if he was the cause. Had hoped he was.

And now the two of you were staring at his bed.

Why did he take you here? There were other beds.

He knew why.

He brought you here so he could do these deeds in his own bed, so maybe later he could smell your perfume on his pillow. This was wrong. He was using you. No, no, he was helping you. If he retreated now you would be totally lost to those idiots Emperors.

You took lead and sat on the bed, looking up expectantly. Marcus followed, sitting closer than allowed, his left thigh touching your right.

“Have you had any experience?” He needed to know what he was working with.

You were open and honest. “I have been kissed and I-I have explored myself.”

Fuck. That was an image for later.

He took a deep breath. “Nothing other than that?”

“No.” Your head shook minutely before commenting out loud, “I don't even know if I look suitable.”

“Look suitable?” He was confused.

“Down there.” You shrug. “What if it's abnormal and I don't know?”

The softest sigh left his lips and gave you a warm smile. “It won't be abnormal.”

“That's why we're here.” You joke with hot cheeks. “Scare you before I scare them.”

He licked his upper teeth, changing the topic; “Did you enjoy kissing?”

You made a face. “Not particularly, we were children, it was Gnaeus. He just sort of did it.”

Marcus nodded, remembering the brat, who should NOT have been anywhere near that close to you. “That is where we start then.”

You nod, eyes fluttering to his lips.

He gave you ample time to pull back before he closed the gap, one hand finding your waist whilst the other cupped your cheek.

Your lips were soft when he pecked them and their barest touch had him cursed. He would never be able to kiss another without thinking of you.

Pressing a little firmer he continued kissing you in this fashion, slowly working up to running his tongue across your bottom lip.

You gasped and he retreated an inch. “Are you alright?”

“Where do I put my hands?”

“You can put them anywhere.” He pecked your nose, “you're allowed to touch me anywhere and if you want me to stop just ask.”

Slowly you ran your hands up his torso - the position you were currently sat in meant one was on his chest and one his back - and back down before you initiated the next kiss.

He grinned into it, feeling his palm on your cheek heating.

Again, Marcus ran his tongue across your lips and slowly, ever so slowly, got you to open wide enough for him to infiltrate. A breathy noise escaped you but you continued, even finding the confidence to brush your tongue against his.

His hands had migrated - whilst yours were now firmly positioned - one in your hair and the other pressing your spine, pushing you into him. He tugged lightly on your hair and you allowed him to manipulate your head, exposing your neck. Marcus was quick to leave a trail of sloppy kisses down it. Nipping and sucking just to elicitate those breathy half-gasps that were sweeter than nectar.

Languidly travelled back up to reconnect your lips. He could feel your fingers flexing against his chest and one of your hands found his jaw, angling him to better suit your needs.

That was heavenly, he could die happy.

You pulled back, breathing heavily, and placed your left hand on your thigh. “I-I’m wet.” The confession was more of a question.

He deserved a medal for suppressing the groan that tried to claw its way out. It did half escape as a rumble that you would’ve felt. “That's good.”

“It normally takes a long while before that happens.” You were too surprised to hear the words you spoke but he adored them.

“Means I'm doing my job well.” He gave you a cocky wink.

“Shut up.” You words had finally caught up, covering your mouth in embarrassment. “I can't believe I just said that.”

“It's good.” He promised. “It helps if we're honest.”

You had to agree with that. “So, I'll disrobe?”

“If you wish.”

“Do you wish?”

“I'm ready to see the beast.”

“I hope you know,” You stood to remove the stola. “After this, you and I will next meet in the Coliseum.” He chuckled at your mock threat, rubbing a hand down his face.

This was it. He couldn't believe you were asking him to analyse your body. How on earth had he got this lucky?

The tunica was discarded and your bare back faced him. “You'll be honest, yes?”

He nodded before realising you weren't facing him. “Of course.”

Slowly you swivelled to face him, arms at your sides but itching to cover your insecurities. Which was foolish because you were glorious. Sent from Venus, or perhaps you were her. Maybe you were a test and he was failing.

Your skin was smooth and there were no blemishes in sight. The slope of your breasts was beautiful and the colour of your nipples made him smile. His eyes raked downwards where a neat set of curls lay.

“I can try to trim shorter, or even longer? I know some women prefer tha-”

“You're perfect.” He stopped you. “You look divine.”

Relief hit you, it relaxed your tense shoulders and you were quick to sit back next to him, one knee bent so you could better face him. You held your ankle - a move which drew his attention ever closer to those soft curls - and smiled. “Thank the gods, they won't kill me.”

“Wouldn't dare.” Marcus dragged his eyes back up to yours. “I'd kill them both.” You tried to suppress the grin into a tiny smirk but he could feel you radiating pride. “I’m going to kiss you again.” He told you.

You readily accepted that, leaning in to meet him.

Now you were facing him it was easier to fondle him. Your right hand firmly grasping his shoulder as your left held his thigh.

Marcus was never one to shy away from anything so he found his hands starting at your hips before they split off in opposite directions. His left was delicate as it cupped your breast, thumb grazing the nipple he ached to lick, and his right on your thigh, dangerously close to your core.

He was even more careful as he descended, using his thumb to swipe at your wet curls.

You fully gasped, eyes cast downwards and he repeated the action. Your bent knee provided just enough of an opening to play with.

He gathered some of your slick and brought it to his lips. You were definitely a trick from Venus.

He repeated himself, slowly getting deeper into your heat as he did.

“I'm going to need you to lay back.” You were silent as you nodded, slowly extracting yourself and dropping to land on your elbows. “No, up on the pillows.” He spoke staring directly at your heat.

It was glistening.

“Oh.” You squeaked but followed instruction.

He allowed you a second to get comfortable and then hovered over you, kissing all over your face. Your cheeks and your nose and your forehead, he got lost in your lips but was quick to get back on track peppering kisses down your body. Making sure - selfishly - to suck just enough, on your flesh, to leave marks. The moan you released wasn't breathy - it was full and sexy - and encouraged him to do more. He left a physical trail down towards your chest.

He did in fact lick that nipple and your reaction was to arch your spine which pushed it further into his mouth. He groaned and flicked the other, making you squeak. Using his tongue he met that second nipple and kissed it better.

Throughout this he could feel your legs - which he was betwixt - clamping against his sides, it was lucky for him that he was at this lower angle because otherwise he didn't think he had the strength to stop from pressing into your heat. If that happened he would find it hard to leave.

Fuck.

He was so fucking cursed.

He wanted you.

This should be your wedding night.

Why-why was this not?

Why was this a friend helping a friend out?

How was this a friend helping a friend?

Your fingers clutched his hair and forced him to look at you, chest rapidly rising and falling, “that felt so good.”

The out of breath, brows slightly pinched, puffy lips look suited you.

If you were his bride you would permanently look like that.

“Ready for more?” He kissed the centre of your chest, crawling backwards. He kissed your stomach, taking bits of the flesh between his teeth and smoothing them with kisses.

Until he got where he had wanted to be for years.

He hooked his shoulders under your legs in a fluid movement, kissing your inner thigh.

“Gods.” You watched, fascination splattered across your face. He inched closer and kissed your curls causing your knees to meet. “Sorry- sorry.” You pried them apart.

“Let me help.” He positioned his left arm so it was bent over your leg with his hand inches from his mouth, his fingers brushed across your lips and your subsequent suffocation attempt was halted.

His right hand was free and - surprisingly - grapsed yours. He intertwined your fingers, giving you one last wink before he licked the stripe of your lips.

Your head fell back and you groaned in pleasure. He kept going, left hand parting your folds further for him to lap at the nectar.

He was a proud man.

He had had many women.

But this.

You.

This was something new entirely.

This felt right?

He was meant for this.

To bring you pleasure.

Once more, he lamented the fact that this wasn't your wedding night and you weren't his.

But in his mind he could dream. He tested putting your name with his last name and had to grind his hips into the bed for relief.

You fisted chunks of his hair expertly and kept muttering words he was too distracted to hear.

He spied you and decided that this was the perfect time to replace his tongue with his hand. Sadly that meant extracting it from yours but he was certain you wouldn't mind.

It was seamless work to swap tongue for finger and now he could focus on the pebbled bud he'd purposely been knocking with his nose.

Swirling random shapes on it morphed into flicking it and your moaning became an ever present hum of bliss.

It was only here when he realised you had been saying his name. Chanting ‘Marcus’ again and again.

It was another breath of fresh air. Usually he was called General or Acacius but he loved when you called him Marcus. Special.

He thought on the ramifications of that, of this, as he pumped his finger into you. You were tight and warm and wet and fucking perfect! How were you this good?

He took a brief break to watch his hand as it disappeared into you, your slick sliding down his palm and onto the sheets. Was it dastardly if he didn't wash them? If he slept in them later?

He was sure you could do another finger. He'd make such a mess if there was a second. It was exciting him, these perverted thoughts. He didn't waste a moment and added the other digit.

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ as you let out a mewl. He glanced up to see you observing him. The light sheen of sweat that had formed on your temples was delicious, your dazed eyes were even more so.

“It feels-” Your thighs stiffened. “I'm going to-”

He kept his rhythm, bending back down to suck on your clit and you tensed so hard he thought you were in pain.

You weren't. You were cumming.

He bent lower to lick at his palm and your folds and his fingers as he was still working you. Wanting you to feel every part of the orgasm.

“Oh my gods, Marcus,” you mutter once you could think coherently, “Marcus, please.” You tried to move your hand - still clutching his hair - but it was jelly. “Marcus Acacius. General!”

He snapped out of it, head jolting up and meeting your gaze.

Calling him ‘general’ in bed went straight downstairs. He ground himself against the bed, again, for any kind of relief.

“I like it when you call me General.” He carefully extracted his hand, lapping at the remnants and sitting up. “Makes me feel good.”

“Well, that just made me feel very good.” You clumsily sat up, legs still spread. He could just kneel back down. You'd let him, he was certain. “Come here.”

He obliged, pulling you flush against him and flopping himself back against the pillows. You giggled at the movement and then returned to the original plan of kissing him again.

He let you kiss him all you wanted, your wobbly legs on either side of his stomach. You were sitting slightly higher than his pelvis. It wasn't long before he noted the subtle grinding against his body. Hesitant and clumsy.

His palms kneaded the flesh of your rear, prizing the cheeks apart and not so subtly directing you to where you wanted to be.

You ceased the kiss and gave him a frustrated scowl. “Why are you wearing clothes?”

Marcus couldn't provide a suitable answer so ridded himself of the fabric.

Your gaze was focused on his length and you licked your lips. “Do- do you want me to-?”

He could actually feel the fondness of his smile, it was in the crinkles by his eyes. “You don't have to do anything. Just what feels right?"

“I-I liked when I was just rubbing against you- gods, that sounded so stupid.”

“Then keep doing that.” He pulled your hand away from where it hid your face. “We don't have to learn everything today. We can have fun.”

You were hesitant but pressed a deep kiss onto his forehead. “I thank the gods for you.”

“Don't thank them, I'm not-”

You silenced him by pecking his lips. “You're an idiot but at least you're my idiot.” You kissed him again.

He lifted you back onto him and let you grind against him. It was sweet, sweet torture. Your wet core against his hard length was enough for him to burst. You accidentally notched his tip a few times - he had to will himself to be calm - but you were quick to recover.

“And this is meant to fit in me?” You gasped in his ear. “I doubt it.

He rumbled a response, lost entirely in you. In your motion. In the confidence that made you kiss his neck.

You even bit down.

That caused a growl. He ordered you to do it again and his hold on you tightened to a bruising pressure.

“Fuck.” He forced his lips back on yours, devouring you.

One of his hands made quick work of relocating that little bud of nerves and he was lightning quick in conjuring your second orgasm.

You cried into his mouth, him swallowing the moan like a starved lion.

You were limp in his arms, allowing him to kiss and move you however he wanted until you could make those decisions again.

“Marcus this isn't fair.” You mumble, before coughing and trying again, “I've come twice, you still need to. The roles are meant to be reserved. You're meant to show me how."

The stern brow was wildly contradicted by the satisfaction in your entire being. You sat up from his embrace and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“This is all confidence building.”

You removed your limbs from him, landing on the stained sheets. “Come on, I need to at least do something to relieve you. I just don't think it'll fit in either my mouth or..."

"Your cunt?"

An adorable flush decorated your cheeks.

He was incredibly smug that you were even considering those options.

“I won't last long,” He warned. “But it is usually customary to shake a man's hand before inviting him in.”

The exact second his words clicked was a picture. You nodded enthusiastically and even let out a proud, “I can do that.”

He was leaning against his pillows observing you calculate your next move.

“Sorry, I got you so messy.” You bit your lip as you delicately took him in hand.

Even just you holding him was erotic. It took more strength than it should have to keep from embarrassing himself.

“Up and down.” He whispered, unsure if you knew what to do next. You were careful with your movements, slowly easing into a rhythm that teased. “Faster.”

Your eyes flickered up to him and he saw the mischievous glint, “say please.”

Marcus fought back a growl but conceded, “please.”

You did go faster and it took hardly anything at all for him to spill onto your lap. In your surprise your movements faltered but he captured your hand and worked himself through the orgasm, thick ropes hitting as high as your chest.

He panted, head entirely too heavy on his neck. When he came to he caught you dipping your finger into the mess on your chest.

You brought it up to inspect before experimentally licking your finger. There was an inquisical noise before you brought more to your mouth.

“Stop,” he halted your movements. “You are entirely too erotic to look at in the state I'm in.”

“Taste's like the ocean, salty.”

The room was still, the two of you basking in your shared bliss, his hold on your hand firm.

Until you broke the silence with a cocky, “I can't believe I made you say please.”

“You'll pay for that next time.” He warned, bringing your hand to kiss the back of it. “You will pay.”

A dark glint in your eye and a devilish smirk appeared. “When is the next time?”

The fact that he was able to give you lucid and coherent sentences whilst actually using his brain to think in this state, staring at your cum covered body, was unheard of. You must be special. “I am needed tomorrow, I can do the next day.”

You leant back down for a kiss. "Okay."

~~

Scanning the room you made the appropriate amount of conversation despite being in a daze. You couldn't stop your mind conjuring the image of Marcus, the feeling of him, his lips, his smell, just him.

It was almost a twist of fate that you were standing in the middle of a celebration in his honour.

Calacais was throwing it, he had invited everyone of importance - meaning your father - and your mother was on a mission. She presented many handsome and eligible men for you to speak to, in hopes that a marriage would halt the Emperor's plan.

They were all nice, all charming, but they weren't him. He was something else, something new; you had raved on and on to Aelia about your experience.

“Aelia, it was spectacular.” You whisper over a shared pomegranate.

“Spectacular?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Hush, I'm so glad, so blessed, that he offered his help. I've learned much-well, actually the majority of it was him pleasuring me but he said it was confidence building. Which I very much needed.”

She tossed some seeds your way. “I swear you are blind to the signs. You're telling me he spent the majority of your time just focusing on you? Hardly any man does that.”

Your cheeks warmed at the insinuation. “He's showing me things, That's all." Dismissing with a wave of your hand because you wouldn't hurt yourself by hoping.

“Okay,” she understood. “What did he do then?”

“He-” you couldn't believe you were saying this. “He first used his hand and then began to lick my slick from his fingers!” She looked impressed. “He informed me that I looked acceptable-”

“I doubt he said acceptable.”

“-and then used his mouth on me. His tongue was divine. Cupid himself would be proud.”

“And then?”

“I hadn't ever come that quickly, it was- anyway, we kissed again and- oh, yes, we practiced kissing a lot. He kissed me everywhere. He even bit me, look.” You pulled your tunica and she saw the marks. “I long to parade them.”

Her eyes flashed up from your chest to your face. “This was purposeful. He wanted to mark you.”

“It just happened, I bit him too.” You replaced the tunica. “I left no marks, his body is littered wit- oh shit, I didn't spend enough time admiring his body. Aelia, it was so strong, so hard-” she giggled. “-not just there. He could lift me as if I was a lavender sprig. His arms were large and yes down there was, too. Next time, I need to give him the same amount of attention he gave me because he deserves worship.”

She quirked a brow. “When is next time?”

“He's busy tomorrow but the day after told me to return.”

“Stop staring into space.” Your mother pleaded.

You give her a sheepish smile, “apologies.”

“Did anyone catch your eye?” She was beautiful for asking that. Usually women were just married off but she was firm with your father, she wanted you to like your suitor - at least to be attracted to him - which led you to today. Unwed and facing the Emperors.

“They were all lovely.” You nod.

She side eyed you but said nothing.

You coughed slightly, making idle chit chat, “it's good that the General is home.”

“Bless Mars,” she agreed, lost in thought. “He is a nice man.” With that she left you again.

Where was she going?

Not to see him, surely?

He was here.

You had caught his stare not too long ago, unsure about how to present yourself - did you go up to him? Would that look alright? Would you be able to keep your head? Did he want you to talk to him? - due to the anxieties rattling around your mind.

In an ideal world you’d have jumped into his waiting arms.

But you weren’t in that fantasy.

So you kept to the shadows, letting your mother lead the suitors to you rather than meandering about and bumping into Marcus.

Gods! What if she presented him to you? You'd have to act in front of her!

No, you couldn't bear that.

So you stealthily made your way out of the atrium and through an exit where you were able to breathe in the fresh air. Calacais had a lavish home and fortunately that meant everyone wanted to stay inside and examine his newest vases and paintings.

Your hands landed against the cool stone balcony and for a moment you looked out into Rome, the greatest Empire there ever was. It was beautiful, of course there are the bad sides but when you looked at it from a distance it was brilliant.

“You’re avoiding me.” You jumped, hand holding your heart.

“Oh my- Marcus!” He was leaning against the wall.

The man chuckled and gestured with a nod for you to follow him. You did. Always would.

Marcus led you towards Calacais’ gardens but stopped just short of them to pull you down a crevice corridor. It was narrow - the two of you were chest to chest - and dimly lit. Completely hidden unless you knew where to look.

Your voice was too loud when you asked “Are you having fun?” to break the tension.

“You're avoiding me.” He accused again.

“I didn't know how to approach.” You confessed, shrugging. “I thought you may prefer me to distance myself.”

He scoffed, palms rubbing your waist. “I thought I scared you.”

“You're not scary.” Your head minutely shook and you caught the fabric of his toga. “I like this colour on you.” It was yellow and brought out the tan of his skin.

His knuckles brushed a strand - you were sure wasn't stray - from your face and then caressed your cheek. “You are magnificent, as always.”

Your words caught in your throat. You hadn't actively made an effort to beautify yourself, your skin bare except for the balm you rubbed on your lips. Him speaking those words made you believe they were true. It hasn't been a thing you'd spent time considering in the past. You were you, there were others far more exquisite.

But if General Marcus Acacius, hero to Rome, spoke it. It was true. You were magnificent. As always.

It was him that deserved these words. If only you could speak them.

“Ask me your question again.” Marcus’ eyes crinkled with fondness.

“My question?”

“Yes.” He prompted.

Racking your brain you found the question, repeating it for him, “Are you having fun?”

“Not yet.” He smirked down, his hands slid down to cup the fat of your rear. “But I could be.”

What did he mean?

Were you two to fornicate publicly?

It was shocking how willing you were to accept that.

“My mother will come looking.” You warn.

“Ah yes, she's parading you around for men who can't take you. I thought you were to be a concubine?”

“Please, I don't know what her plan is.” With a sigh you rest your forehead on his chest. “I think she hopes a union will halt the Emperors.” You dragged your head back up. “I doubt it.”

“I'm insulted, she hasn't even approached me.” He jests.

“It's a fool's hope.” You dismiss.

Marcus’ eyes were flicking between the two of yours. “I will seek her out.”

“That's probably a good idea, you are the man of honour, we better return.”

You left the crevice too soon to notice his puzzled expression. He realised, staring at the back of your head, that you didn't understand the weight of his words. His confession. You assumed he meant 'lets leave' instead of actually hearing 'I will seek her out'.

~~

Although he would never admit it, Marcus was giddy the next day.

No, he hadn't been able to speak with your mother but he was seeing you. That would make any man beam.

He had no idea what to expect other than his face buried in your sweet cunt. That was the goal.

Again he sat by the fauces, awaiting your arrival. His servants did ask if he intended to leave but he dismissed them again, he felt watched.

Out there he had freedoms, here if he made the wrong move it could be seen and reported. He didn't want you to be in any danger so he told them of your arrival and that he was teaching you another lesson. He'd have to remember to tell you that lie.

Maybe you could learn some sword work?

He crossed his legs at the image of you wielding a sword.

Fuck, he had never been this excited just from the mere thought of a woman. Yes, there were times when that's all that got him through but it wasn't like this.

“Boo!”

He jolted out of the thoughts.

Marcus’ glare softened once he saw you in a fit of laughter and he shook his head. “It's dangerous to sneak up on a general.”

You couldn't speak but when you did it was between wheezes. “The- look- on- your- fa-face.” You clutched your stomach.

He allowed you time to compose yourself, fanning yourself with a hand. “Finished?”

You giggled but then regained that composure. “I'm sorry, it was too easy.”

“You apologise far too much.”

“Sorry.”

He stood from his perch and intertwined your fingers, pulling you into the direction of his room, “You're not nearly as cute as you think you are.”

“I don't think I'm cute.” The reply was too genuine to be false.

He didn't want to inflate your ego but did respond with, “start. Everyone else does.”

Marcus had to keep his eyes on the destination because he knew the face you would be pulling. He could feel the weight of your gaze. Your eyes would be glowing - he had no idea how exactly they did that - and you would have that shy almost-nonexistant smile. Or perhaps your lips would be an inch ajar. Yes, that would be it.

As the two of you passed the threshold of his room he was suddenly struck. He had had all of these grand ideas and positions and wishes but here with you holding his hand, he was blank. He just wanted to kiss you and see where it went but you… you were here for a lesson.

“I think I made a mistake last time.” He tensed at the words. “I didn't spend nearly enough time observing your body.”

“Observing my body?”

“Yes.” You nod, hands on hips, because this was clearly obvious. “You spent an age looking at and kissing and touching mine.”

“You asked me to evaluate you.” He reminded.

Your lips purse and you step from him to remove your cloak and stola. When you were in your tunica you raised a brow and prompted him to disrobe.

As soon as you were bare - he was still untangling himself from the fabric - your hands were touching his body. They made mismatched patterns and cascaded along the muscle of his stomach. He had a particularly nasty scar on his left side so he tried to turn, hiding it from sight.

“Marcus.” You warned and he ceased the movements, finally free of any clothing.

“My body is not as breathtaking as yours.” He confessed, unashamed. He was a man of war. This is what got him to where he was today, loved by thousands though he only seeked one person's approval.

“Hush.” You bend to kiss the scar. “It doesn't hurt does it?”

“If it's cold. Sometimes I get hit there and it aches.” He stroked your hair - which again was less intricately styled - and you resumed kissing his side. “Let's- come on, that can't be comfortable.” It was an attempt to get you to stop because I) you were bent at an awkward angle and II) you were being far gentler with him than anyone had been for the entirety of his life. He was unsure how to react to such caution.

“Yes, please lie down.” You encourage, dragging him to the bed.

He did let out a few protests and grumbles but surrendered due to your promise of: “you can do whatever you wish later, just let me have this?”

So he lay on his back, feeling slightly vulnerable, and allowed your eyes to scan him. Your face never changed as you took in every bump, nick and scar.

Then you sat closer, your hip touching his, and kissed the thin line across his chest. That was old, it was barely a remnant of his training days. Your tongue sliding across it burned more than actually receiving it.

His heart started as you swiped it again but you shushed him, “it's okay.”

You kissed his shoulder at the marred flesh from an explosion. Which again had healed - not too unsightly - but to have you kiss and show it kindness causes his brows to pull.

Not one person referred to his injuries. Usually they go purposely ignored. There can be a polite ‘how'd that happen?’ but the women he had bedded and the men he fought with did not discuss much less than pay attention to them. It reminded him of your ‘did it hurt?’ reaction, you were just different. You saw him in a light that no one else could.

Shit.

He was really in trouble here.

Your lips tickled up from his shoulder to his jaw and onto his scarred cheek.

He hated that one.

A stupid, idiotic, mistake was the cause.

He never wanted to relive that day but it was a permanent reminder. Caught in a mirror, in his drink, on his cutlery, in the eyes of a curious child, in the whispers of women, the judgement of men.

But when you pressed your lips to it nothing else mattered.

“You said there was one on your back?” Your breath was warm against the scar.

Marcus’ hands - had been hovering around you during this exploration - crushed you into a hug. He clutched at your hair and shoulders, smushing you into him, carelessly.

He didn't want you to see the tears in his eyes. He couldn't have that.

So he hid behind the hug, swiping his face with the hand tangled in your hair.

“Marcus?” You whisper at his ear.

He loosened his ironclad grip and you gave a kind smile. Leaning down to kiss each eyelid.

“I think you are astonishing.”

“You flatter me too much.” His voice was small. “I'll get soft.”

A chuckle rose from you, “I doubt that, you're pure muscle. Look at these!” You gestured to his arms. “They are thrice the size of mine!”

How did you know exactly what he needed? You knew to steer the conversation and it made everything worse.

Fuck.

He was ready to admit that he was lost for you.

Head over heels.

Had been for years. Eons.

Was it too soon to admit it?

Did he care?

“I have to keep fit, there's a reason pretty women like you are safe here.” He stroked your arm.

His words made your expression falter for a millisecond but he caught it. And he remembered why you were here.

How did he keep forgetting?

You weren't his!

This was dangerous.

Yesterday was fucking reckless. He should have let you avoid him.

He shouldn't have sought you out.

But he liked the chase.

He liked that you were acting.

Hiding.

No one else knew that the two of you had been together.

It was thrilling.

You were wearing his mark under your conservative stola.

The man or men you faced could bring about your doom. It physically pained him to think of you in the same room as those boys. What would they order you to do?

The idea that you would be with another was unpleasant but them!

“Okay,” you nodded, all business, eager to learn. “I've had my fun. I'm ready to learn. I know I briefly pleasured you but I was thinking today I could use my mouth? You made me feel incredible. I want to do the same to y-I need to learn how to make someone feel good.”

He swallowed the bitter taste but nodded encouragingly. “I'm not hard, yet. We can kiss or you ca-”

“I'll rub you.” You avoided his eyes.

This felt wrong.

This felt weird, now.

You took him in hand and gave him a hesitant stroke.

“Lick your hand.” He spoke.

You followed the instruction, clinically, and rhythmically stroked him.

He would be the first to admit this felt strange but he was also just a man. And a beautiful woman was pumping his length and he was just a man.

“It's fascinating.” You mutter as he began to swell.

He would've replied with a sarcastic remark but you kissed the tip and he let out the least-manliest whine.

That noise surged you forward and you kissed again. He was able, thankfully, to keep himself quiet.

“You'll tell me if it's not good?” Your voice was steady and unsure but you carried on, kissing the head.

“Of cour-UH.” You licked a stripe from base to tip which was unfair. “Fuck you.”

Your chuckle vibrated through your tongue and it was heavenly.

If he hadn't known, he would have assumed you'd always been a concubine. You swallowed him down like a whore.

Summoning Herculean strength, he restrained himself from moving because you were adjusting to it. But your mouth was warm and wet and tight and he wanted to buck up so badly.

You came off of him with a pop causing another whine. “My teeth aren't in the way are they?”

He shook his head frantically, “n-no.” Coughing, “no, they're fine.”

And you resumed.

Swallowing him and slowly you bobbed your head experimentally and then awkwardly tried to move your body to regain the rhythm.

He didn’t have to - probably couldn't - talk you through it as you were smarter than Minerva and found your way.

Your hair flew as you bobbed around so he scooped it up and held it, tight. He needed to watch. He couldn't get too lost in the feeling. Couldn't close his eyes.

This was a sight to behold.

Your tongue had been still, flat to your jaw, but as you grew in speed you swiped it across his length and he hissed out a breath. Fuck.

Your eyes flashed up, but he shook his head. “Keep going.”

So you did, you even wrapped your palm around the base where your mouth was too small to hold. Pumping him with all your might.

When the urge was too much to control, Marcus’ hand pushed your head the tiniest amount.

You hummed around him in response and he did it again, gently fucking up into your mouth.

You hummed again and even gave a thumbs up so he was less gentle. Hips bucking as he shoved you down onto him. You took everything he gave. Took it all. Even when he was too rough and you gagged, you still continued.

He hadn't even registered that he was uttering words of motivation until he found himself wiping away stray tears as he shushed you, “You're okay. You're doing good, you're doing real good. Keep going. Keep going. That pretty little mouth of yours. Taking me so well.”

He didn't stop boosting your ego, not when you were doing this brilliantly.

It wouldn't be much longer now.

He could feel his muscles tense, he knew he was close.

He had longed to fuck you - it had haunted his dreams - but to stop you from your frankly amazing work when he was just on the cusp of an orgasm…

Again: he was just a man.

So he let out a brief warning and suddenly he was cumming into your mouth.

This time, you remembered to keep going, you kept sucking until he was spent, swallowing all he gave until he did have to prize you off.

You straightened, out of breath - chest rising and falling rapidly - eyelashes wet and swiped the drool from your lips with your tongue.

“Fuck me.” He yanked you down and kissed you once, settling you next to him in a far too intimate embrace. He kissed you again. Pouring everything he wanted to say into it.

His forehead met yours and you both caught your breaths.

“Any notes?” You question.

“That was not the first time you've done that.” He was in disbelief.

Your lips curled against his. “There has to be room for improvement.”

He found himself still panting. “I'd have to experience it again, see if I missed anything.”

“I don't mind that.” You peck his nose.

~~

You had slipped out from his hold and left Marcus’ home as he slept. The two of you had laid there chatting, playing with hair and leisurely marking each other.

You left an awful lot on him.

But he kept asking for more.

He wanted a mark from you to match each scar on his body.

Who were you to deny him?

Your mother and father hadn't noticed your return so you and Aelia were free to gossip as much as you wanted.

The next day was a nothing day. You and Marcus hadn't arranged your next meeting and you couldn't just show up in case he was hosting or out.

You lounged about your rooms, considering catching a mime show but stayed content with weaving.

It helped to do something repetitive.

Keep your mind off of him and onto the task at hand.

However you were very good at the task at hand.

You could weave without thinking about it.

A blessing and a curse.

So you took to spinning yarn.

“Thraex is hosting!” Your mother sung as she rushed into your room. “Why are you not ready?”

“Thraex?” You weren't told about that.

“I told you at Calacais’. Every noble household is hosting for the Generals return, you know this.” She scoffed. “Do you not listen to a word I say?”

“Sorry.” You offer.

“Where's that girl? She is at fault.”

“No, I dismissed Aelia. I told her I was okay, I didn't realise. Don't blame her.” You order. “I will be ready momentarily.”

“But your hair!” She cried. “I wanted you to wear the green and gold headpiece- or the opal one. I don't think we dress you up enough.” She examined you. “We could maybe try to open up the stola at your chest. Draw them in.”

“Mother, you are acting crazy.” You could not show your chest at all! “You've never been like this before.”

“We had the luxury of time before.” She snapped. “Your father is a good man but I don't think he realises what he does half of the time. Being gifted to the Emperors is a privilege, by the gods, but you are virgin. You are young. They are hungry men. I am afraid it will be like handing a lamb to two famished lions.”

“It is the both of them?” Your voice was shaky.

“I am unsure which one.”

“Let's hope it is Caracalla. He is the joval one.”

“You best hope it isn't him.” She warns.

“Why?”

“I hear he is sick down there.”

“Sick?” What did she mean?

She saw the evident fear in your eyes and changed her demeanor. Instead of scolding you, she found you the combination of jewellery and stola, speaking as she pottered about. “Geta is volatile but he's the better of them. But we will find you someone, even if you don't like them that way. We will find you a match you are content with but you have to act the part. Last time you were lost in thought. You'll have to win these men over. You aren't getting any younger.” You nodded. She was right of course. Someone, surely, would take your hand. You just had to show them you were worthy. Had to prove that taking your hand wasn't a mistake. Had to stop thinking about Marcus because he would have asked by now. He had even joked about it! “I'll send the girl in, just… try to smile.”

~~

You'd left whilst he slept.

He cursed himself.

It was foolish of him to do that.

He had a plan.

He wanted to more- wanted to be better for you.

At least the two of you shared some laughs?

Your favourite fruit was an azerole, you'd only had it once, it was fairly rare but you remembered the taste. Second were strawberries, they were ‘delectable’. Your choice of word made him go on a tangent about a sweet fruit he had tried recently, how it was hot and juicy and tasted better than nectar. That caused a very heated make out session.

Talking to you in bed screamed domesticity and he yearned for it.

The other darker reason why he hated himself, why he cursed falling asleep was because the bloodshed sometimes returned in slumber. It waited until he was at his most peaceful and cut at him. There were nights where he woke up screaming and he had found his bed caused the most pain. It was too soft. He was an imposter. Half being. He was a twisted, God spited, thing that didn't deserve you to lie in it.

If you had seen that… no. He wouldn't do that again. You wouldn't see that.

As he was fitted into a chest piece, he grumbled, “do I have to attend?”

Thraex? The name was vaguely familiar. Was he a senator? Marcus tried to find a mental image of the man but he couldn't. He was sure they had met four years ago, before Lebanon.

“The Emperors are to make an appearance.” His servant spoke, a hint of an apology in his tone. “Your lady friend may be ther-”

“Do not refer to her ever.” He snarled. “Do not speak of her. She is a lady, her lessons are vital but to an on looker it may look nefarious.”

“I meant no disrespect.” He promised. “I will not mention her.”

“Her reputation could be harmed.” Marcus carried on. He didn't need to and was unsure why but he kept speaking. “She is innocent and the Emperors have taken an interest so I wouldn't like to damage her chances. She's a special woman.” Why was he saying this? “You're dismissed.”

The servant nodded and left silently.

The chariot ride was gastly and he hated all the pompous introductions.

He needed a drink.

The Emperor's celebration was enough but to have a week of parties dedicated to him - by people that didn't even know or truly like him, they just liked showing off - felt like overkill. But he had to deal with it because it was part of the job and despite hating the spotlight, he didn't mind being Rome's “hero”.

“Acacius!” Caracalla clapped his spine harder than necessary. “Where is your corona?” He ruffled the man's hair.

Marcus side stepped, eyeing the boy suspiciously. He wasn't convinced that this man was a complete lamebrain, it could have been a calculated act. Sometimes Caracalla was as sharp as a blade, but he did dip in and out of lunacy.

“I have it placed on display at my house. I wouldn't want to damage it or insult you by wearing it too much.”

“Always so humble. I like your cape.” He smiled and twaddled off to find his brother.

Marcus did have to agree. The cape was the finest yet. It was white, adorned with golden patterns that matched his chest place and tunica.

He felt clean in it.

In fact, had his actual armour ever been this clean?

“Acacius,” Thraex’s voice cut through the chatter. “Come hither, you must come and speak with Tiberius and Gracchus!”

So Marcus milled and acted humble and debated with senators about their ideals. He noted that no man in the room had seen any real as much conflict as he did but they all had their opinions.

Marcus warmed to Gracchus instantly, the man was wise and made comments about the state of the Empire that sounded harmless but got under your skin. Marcus could see them.

He knew of the poverty.

He knew resources were better used in house but if he were to cease the fight where would that leave him? They'd probably throw him into the Colloseum.

Tiberius was an ass.

He didn't like Tiberius.

Entirely too full of himself.

And he made comments about those in attendance that weren't subtle. He spoke about how fat Thraex had become, how the elephant meat was chewy, how Gauis needed to father a son before his wife was too old 'and by the gods she looked it'. He was certain the man would speak ill of him as soon as his back was turned.

“Oof.” He let out a low whistle, “finally, look there.” Tiberius nodded behind Marcus' shoulder.

“I think you've had enough.” Gracchus stated as Marcus glanced behind him.

You were speaking with a man - Octavius? - a fake smile plastered on your face. Your hands were twitching and your eyes kept flashing over to where the Emperors were being entertained by the host.

“Do you think she's been bent over?” Tiberius elbowed Marcus in jest.

“I think.” His words were pure venom. The wartime persona he had left at the gates clawed its way out. “You shouldn't speak so unwisely, cretin.”

Tiberius paled. “My mistake. She is a lady, Gracchus is right, I have had too many glasses.”

“You owe her an apology.” His gaze was piercing and he ordered the words around ground teeth.

“To apologise would only upset her, I would have to explain-”

“In lieu of an apology, you can steer clear of her and any other women you have insulted tonight.”

Tiberius agreed mutely, and said goodbye to the general.

Gracchus watched the man stumble away and turned his head towards Marcus who’s anger was radiating from him in hot waves.

“You've moved up in my estimations.” He commented.

Marcus’ lip twitched in a fake smile and he excused himself.

“Acacius, where are you going?!” Caracalla called. Fuck. “They're about to s-iinnnng!”

So he turned back to watch with the rest of you. He stood far back, close enough to appear interested but far enough to cool off.

He used the smorgasbord of food as an excuse.

The song became two and then three and then there were dancers. He was entirely bored.

Movement caught his eye and he was drawn back to the very thing which riled him up: you. You casually picked at one end of the table, head directed to the performers. And slowly meandered to pick at the nuts at the end he was standing by - shooting a pointed ‘whats wrong?’ look as you passed him. A subtle shake of the head told you ‘not here' and you carried on the act.

His body - bless the cape! - shielded you from view. Behind his back he moved to clasped his wrist in one hand and you intertwined your fingers. Giving him a squeeze.

“Have you had any elephant, yet?” he looked over his shoulder - body still hiding you - to ask you the completely normal question.

“I have not. I'll have to try some.” You smile up at him, a real one. It didn't quite meet your eyes because you were clearly confused and concerned but he would take it.

“I can cut you a piece.”

“That would be very kind of you, General.” You blinked exaggeratedly when you spoke the word.

His eyes hardened and you mouthed a quick ‘sorry’.

The casual conversation drew no attention. He cut you a slice and you chewed happily. Thanking him.

Your mother hissed your name and you were summoned back to her and Octavius. “Until our next meeting.” You gave a polite nod and brushed your hand against his when you left.

The singing was actually a half play. That's why it took so long.

There were better things he could be doing with this time. There were swords to polish and beautiful women to steal away and fuck. If only he were Pluto and he could whisk you away to his realm like Proserpina.

When the half play eventually ended some people were dabbing their eyes!

The Emperors clapped and gave their seal of approval before demanding real entertainment.

“I was promised a show, Thraex.” Geta demanded. He had no other way of speaking, he always demanded things and was always appeased. He was to be approached with caution.

Thraex chortled. “My dears, I do have a show. Straight from the Colosseum itself.” He waved through a pair of fighters and asked the group to move back.

“Acacius.” Geta called. “Come here. I want to know your opinion on this fight.”

Marcus waited a beat but did come to stand at Geta’s side. Strategically the better move. He wouldn't have liked to be in between the two.

The fight began, the man using nothing but their two fists, much to Caracalla’s chagrin.

“You get a longer fight, brother.” Geta waved him off. “Are they really trying to hurt each other, or are they just elongating the show?”

“They are doing a bit of both but he-” Marcus pointed to the taller man. “-has a past injury, it must be difficult to keep up.”

“Ah.”

The men were on the floor in a scramble, causing the crowd to step back - Octavius moved you out of the way.

“What did her teeth look like?” Geta asked, also watching you.

“Pardon?”

“Her,” He spoke your name. “You were just at the table, what were her teeth like? Signs of illness?”

How did he answer that? Did he say yes and then you wouldn't be wanted? Did he say no and stay in this Emperor's favour for being truthful?

“I didn't notice any signs, I wasn't looking for them.”

“You can usually smell it. Disease has a stench but you'd know that.”

Marcus’ head swivelled to meet Geta's stare.

“Plenty of death and decay out there.”

“Yes.”

“I'm meant to have her.” He shrugged in an aloof manner. “I'm not a fan of the younger ones, they don't know as much. Useless. But the older ones get sick quicker." Geta sighed. "I'm curious. Why has she not taken a husband? Why not be married off? Do you reckon she's a hermaphrodite? Or has a disgusting body? Well... There's not much we can see to look at. I don't like her nose and she's… she's a little bland isn't she?”

Bland?

Fucking bland?!

He took a deep breath. “You are the Emperor, you have the greatest and best taste of all of us.”

“I don't know why her father is so insistent that I take her.” He mused.

“Years ago.” Marcus picked his words carefully. “I asked her father for a union and he denied it, so it is a privilege that he’s offered her to you. However, if you do not want her and don't feel like she is worthy. Don't stoop, don't give in, stand tall. Find yourself 10 that are better. You are the Emperor, don't settle for less.”

Geta considered the words as the champion was announced. He merrily clapped. “I will see you in the Colosseum! You've made a name for yourself!” His cheery demeanor fell when he directed his attention yet again at Marcus. “I want Africa, Acacius.”

It was a change of pace but yes, Africa was doable. “It won't be easy. With the right men and training I believe we can claim it for Rome.”

“Everyone!” Geta giggled, standing to address you all. “I have an announcement. Our hero, General Acacius has promised to deliver me and Caracalla and you Africa. We will claim it. We will conquer it. And as reward I am feeling generous.”

“I need no reward.” Marcus stated. “Serving Rome is enough.”

“Nevertheless, I am a generous Emperor and I am to gift you something of mine.” The crowd gasped. “Something I had yet to play with.” Marcus frowned. “I have heard whispers and rumours about our beloved hero and the absence of any heirs.” Marcus’ frown deepened but shot up as Geta called out for you. “Come hither.” You hesitated. “Now.” His harsh tone forced you to move but you were too slow. Geta met you halfway and forcibly dragged you across the room, hissing. “Do not be ungrateful, girl.” He raised the arm he was clutching in a death grip and announced, “A bride for our General.” Geta then tossed you into Marcus. “I have done well here. You are to tell everyone that Geta has secured the future of Rome with this marriage.”

Marcus held your bruised wrist with care and he gritted out. “Thank you, Emperors. This is an immense honour.”

“Thank you.” You bowed your head, hiding your glossy eyes.

There were nail marks at your wrist where he raised it and would be bruised on your bicep from him dragging you across the floor.

“Well done, brother!”

“To sheepish.” Geta sneared. “Train her General then if you should perish I'll consider her.”

~~

The following week was chaos.

Your father wasn't pleased. He accepted the union but you knew he secretly loathed it.

Mother was overjoyed. I) you were safe and II) she got to throw the biggest celebration Rome had seen in a while.

You were pleased, of course, you were safe. But there was this niggling feeling that Marcus wasn't. He was stuck with you, now.

You weren't a prize. Yes, there were times he spoke of your beauty and sometimes when he kissed you you believed you were loved but… he hadn't said that. He offered to help you because you were in danger. It was simply helping a friend.

The two of you hadn't been able to see each other alone whilst preparations were underway.

The Augurs were consulted and a date was picked. It wasn't far off at all. It would be in June so the Goddess Juno would bless your union.

That gave you four weeks and two days to plan, incorporate the Emperor's hefty list of demands, settle your father's complaints and figure out what to say to Marcus.

He was distant.

When you were testing wines, he sat next to you with tense shoulders, smile was slightly strained.

Aelia had even commented a few times but you didn't have the time to entertain that.

You were helping your mother create beautiful lace work, it was a hobby for those in the lower classes but you found it to be just as stimulating as weaving.

The weeks flew by.

It was all too quick and suddenly you found yourself trying on your white gown. The red cape - for fertility - was harsh in contrast but you mother found a pair of earrings the same colour.

It was real.

You were marrying Marcus.

This was wrong.

You were trapping him.

At least the two of you were friends. If he wanted to engage in another you could deal with that. Right?

“I know it's customary but do we think the six stranded braid is prettier than when you weave her hair?” Your mother asked Aelia.

Aelia’s eyes squinted in thought. “I think you may be right, the flowers would sit better.”

“Then it's settled.”

You were perfect. The perfect bride for the perfect groom.

All of Rome was please - ecstatic - to hear Marcus had been gifted a bride. And the Emperor's choice?

This was the marriage of the century.

It didn't feel like it should.

You sigh, staring up at your ceiling, mind set back to last month simpler times when Aelia snuck into your room. “Marcus’ servant gave me this to give to you.”

You bolted upright. “What does it say?”

“I haven't read it.”

“Has he run away?” Your nails were battered from weeks of abuse, but still you picked them. “Escaped?”

“I doubt it.”

“Aelia, he has been forced into this.” You took the papyrus and unravelled it, reading aloud. “Meet me at noon, behind the Thermae. Marcus.”

“It's not negative.”

“It isn't positive, either.”

“Will you go?”

“Of course.”

And so you were off to the baths for a treat. Neither of your parents minded, they were encouraging, you should enjoy yourself. Let loose. Have some fun!

You kept the charade up, a happy bride-to-be going to treat herself before the big day.

Everyone ate it up.

You round the building and find no one there. Aelia was waiting at the front, so you walked down the thin alley and sat in solitude on a broken piece of wall.

It took three songs - you were humming to keep your spirits high, this was a creepy alleyway - for someone to walk over.

It then struck you that the message may not have been from Marcus at all. This hooded figure walking towards you could be anyone. You could be kidnapped right here. Beaten, raped.

“Marcus?” You forced your voice to be strong.

He dropped his hood and, yes, thank the gods, it was him. He looked tired but it was Marcus. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You clasp your hands on your knees. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Sorry for the lack of communication, the Emperors have been on my back.” He explained. “They want Africa and they want it now but realistically it will take years to train men and to find the resources. The senators are against it and I'm caught in the mi- what happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” You glance at them, they look awful but they're not bleeding, and then shrug him off, “Wedding planning.”

“Ah yes. My bride.” He spoke, giving nothing away. You can't judge his feelings, he may be happy or miserable.

“My husband.” You rebut.

“How are you feeling about that?” He steps closer, leaning against the wall opposite and filing his arms. “I know I'm probably not the first choice but better than them right?”

“Of course, I am beyond grateful for the union. I cannot express how glad I am that it is you. You are my friend and have helped me.” His lips twitch. “I feel so guilty that you're stuck wit-” you sigh. “You could have anyone you wanted and they lumped you with me.”

“I've not been lumped with you. I am also pleased that you're my bride.” That was something. “It's not often I get what I want.”

“What you want?” You were what he wanted?

“Yes,” he chuckles darkly. “Did your father not tell you?”

“Tell me what? I know he isn't pleased but he's taken a distance from mother and I.”

Marcus’ face scrunched into an adorable frown. “He really didn't tell you?” You raised your brows and gestured for him to speak. “Years ago, when I was just a soldier, I asked for your hand.” Excuse me. What the fuck?

“Sorry, can you repeat yourself? It sounded like you said you had already asked for my hand.”

He smiled warmly. “I did. He denied it. Something to do with our fathers, I never knew why.”

You were in a state of shock.

He had asked for your hand?!

He

Had

Asked

For

YOUR

Hand.

And he admitted he ‘wanted’ you. Still wanted you.

“I-I-” Words failed.

“Are you okay?” The question was genuine but you could see the smug glint in his eye.

“Come here.” Offering your hand, he took it and you yanked him over the short distance.

He was between your knees, hands landing on your thighs, staring down at you with what you now know to be devotion in those eyes.

Your hands are connected behind his head, arms resting on his shoulders. “I never thought you cared for me.”

You felt the puff of laughter on your lips. “I don't usually offer to bed my dearest friends.”

“I have been fond of you from afar since childhood.” The confession heated your cheeks but you were proud to finally say it. “Remember in summertime, the year Brutus died, when you made me that flower crown? I wore it for days. It was dead when I finally took it off.”

“I remember that.” He pecked your temple. “It was all I could offer you.”

“You gave me more than a crown that day.” You extend your neck upwards, “kiss me?”

Marcus obliged.

The kiss was simple and innocent. The two of you hadn't had many that were.

You kissed because you could, not to dive into the bedroom. Not because it was part of some training.

You kissed him because you wanted to.

And so did he!

You broke the kiss and Marcus’ lips followed yours, reconnecting them for one last.

“I wasn't finished.” He joked.

“So… we-” you giggle. “We're getting married in less than a week.”

“Say that again, hearing it brings me such joy.”

“We are to be wed in five days.”

His grin was illuminating.

“Did the ring fit?”

“Yes.” You show him, the ring was simple but elegant. There were words etched into it, too faded for you to make out. "What does it say?"

“It says 'even after death'. It was my mothers.”

You bite the inside of your cheek looking down at your intertwined hands. His was so large and rough, yours small and soft. The ring looked like something he would give. It had a subtle beauty.

“I can't believe I spent so long thinking I was trapping you when years ago you asked for me!”

“I cannot believe you think you are a trap.” He scoffs, bringing his hands to smush your cheeks together. “You are by far the most beautiful woman in all of Rome.” The subsequent frown elicited an actual fit of hysteria.

Marcus had to bury his face into your neck and you were holding his entire weight as he chuckled into you.

Once the laughter had died down to short shaky breaths you spoke. “I'm glad I amuse you.”

His shoulders shook but he controlled himself. “Please, don't make me laugh anymore.” He spoke below your ear, voice strained. “It hurts.”

You hum, rubbing his spine and holding him.

It was odd.

No.

It was nice.

You held him close, smelling his hair and pressing kisses into his crown. You'd only ever held babies like this but right now you were holding Rome's future.

Marcus was beloved, more so than the Emperors. He made the Empire proud, he was cheered for in the streets, people gifted what little they had to him.

He was an honest to God's hero.

And here he was laying on you, stroking your arm.

He seemed small like this.

“I hate the way the Emperor refers to you.” His voice was low.

“What does he say?”

“They gave you to me. Like you were their property, like you're just a piece of clothing. Sometimes they imply I'm renting you or I'm preparing you.” His sigh heats your skin. “He thinks I will perish before we get Africa.”

The hand in his hair coaxes him from his hiding place. “Marcus you will not.”

“I have come close many times, this is something you will have to make peace with.”

“I won't allow you. I will walk to Pluto's domain and bring you back.” It was a fact. You wouldn't let him die. Not now he was yours.

“You'd defy the gods?” He quirked his head.

“For you, I would.” It was true. You'd jump into the Colosseum and fight every Gladiator there was - even Maximus - if it meant saving Marcus. “I want you to know, you're not renting me. I was not given to you, I wanted you. If I had known you had asked- the circumstances leading up to our union may have been unusual, unbelievable, but what is important is: we got there.”

He squeezed you so tight you could burst, kissing you with such force your nose hurt.

“I love you.” It was whispered into your ear, his face hidden but you knew he meant it. He liked to hide from you when he was emotional - like when you kissed his scars and he tried to hide his tears, you'd seen the wet eyelashes but knew not to comment.

You kissed what you could reach - his temple - and replied in your own hushed whisper. “I love you, too.”

~~

Despite having previously seen you wearing white and red for that matter, you were a vision. Your stola was white - fresh with unuse - with a pale embroidered trim. Over your shoulders sat a deep red cloak - white for purity and red for lust - that swallowed your body. The red shone against your skin, making you rosy. Attached to a thin red veil on top of your head sat a crown of roses and geraniums.

”Do you like it?” He hoped you did, he'd spent a while perfecting the crown. Used to braiding rope and nothing as fine as flower stems.

“Of course I do.” You beam. “It is spectacular.”

He didn't get to self-deprecatingly comment that 'it wasn't' because you placed it on your head and he was struck. Your cheeks and knees were dirty from the ground and your hair had loosened significantly, this was you. Boisterous and bold, laughing freely against the wind, following him through his exploration with curiosity.

“Only as spectacular as you.” Marcus looked down the hill at a distant Rome, avoiding your eyes.

You sat on your knees glancing down where he lay on his spine. “You're too kind.”

No, he wasn't. You were amazing. He- well, he loved you. He was lucky enough to have met you - his father bringing him along to a meeting - and be trusted enough that the two of you could go exploring - servants keeping a distance. If only he could be yours.

“I'm not.” He needed to change the subject. Marcus sat up, arms resting on his knees. “I'm going off soon.”

Your smile faltered but you gave an encouraging nod. “So I hear. You'll be a General in no time.”

He scoffed, “we can hope.”

Your fingers twitched and he noted your eyes flickering between his and his lips. Why were you looking at his lips? He could just lean down now and kiss you. Should he?

No.

He shouldn't.

He didn't.

Marcus ached to touch you, to brush a hand on your cheek, but he held back. Your parents were overseeing everything, father chatting jovily with guests - entertaining the forever bored Emperors - as your mother micromanaged each servant.

The ceremony lasted an hour however to Marcus sacrificing the lamb and throwing cake crumbs over your head before signing the contract felt like mere minutes.

Within seconds he and you were joined.

Finally.

It had taken years.

He had wanted this for so long.

You'd vowed to be his!

By the Gods you were his.

You were his!

Once all the ceremonial business was complete and the party commenced spirits were high. There was dancing and drinking and gift giving and life advicing.

You'd slipped from his grip to dance with your servant, uncaring about the judgemental glares. Marcus clapped along to the tune of three singers and one harp, smiling every time you twirled.

It was a sight to see. Not one person in this room could recall the General smiling. He was known for his stoic demeanour and, depending on circumstances rude, behaviour. It wasn't a deliberate act, he just didn't have the patience nor the time for half these men.

Glancing around the room he made eye contact with your father.

Marcus took a reassuring breath and stalked over to him.

He had faced hoards of men on the battlefield meeting your father over wine would be easy.

“Acacius.” He greets with the usual amount of disdain.

Marcus gave a curt nod and with a wicked glee he spoke, “Father.” The man bristled but couldn't argue. He was the only father figure that Marcus had. “I've received many gifts but, please, give me this one: Why do you hate me?”

He didn't give anything away, taking a long sip from his cup. “You're a soldier.”

“I am.” Marcus came to stand next to him, facing the crowd instead of his back to it. “Is that not a noble profession? Did that not build this Empire?”

He scoffed. “It leaves widows. You'd know the destruction conquest brings.” That was harsh but true. He had seen widows screaming in muddied fields, orphans weeping. He had made them. He wasn't proud of that. "How old were you when he died?"

Marcus was taken aback. He hadn't realised his father was the subject. He had only focused on his destruction, on his vengeance but thinking about it...

His father did die when Marcus was a boy and his mother perished shortly after. She didn't die but she was a ghost. A shell of herself.

Walking around lost.

Her appetite shrunk and her mind frazzled.

She died before Lebanon.

That's what your father meant.

“That isn't your only reason.” Marcus accused. It couldn't be.

“It's the only one you need to worry about.”

The two were quiet, silently stewing. How was he supposed to win your father over if the man wouldn't tell him why he was so against this union?

He stood next to your father watching you laugh, barefoot on the dancefloor.

Marcus would endure the brunt of your father any day just to watch you dance some more.

“The Emperor is wise.” Your father grumbled the words. “He knows what's best.”

Marcus didn't reply. Didn't know how to.

The singers, and thus the dance, finished and you broke from your servant - Alea? - with a grin.

The two of you skipped over to him, you weaved your way into his arms.

“Father, isn't it wonderful? You and mother have done such a great job.” You gestured to the room. Your mother had decorated with long flowing blue and red sheets, hanging from ceiling to floor, she and her servants - and he assumed you as well - had woven dark floral banners to match each vase of live flowers. The wedding and afterparty were happening in your home - there were the seven torches and the standard pyre but otherwise the home was transformed into a place of ceremony - he didn't mind. The two of you could leave when you wanted. To his… well… to your new home. “And you look lovely.”

Your father was wearing an orange toga to compliment your mother's green. “Thank you.” He spoke with a hint of a smile. “You are, of course, a vision.”

You rolled your eyes but didn't argue which was good. You must've felt how you always looked: pretty.

He squeezed your sides. “You are.” The light in your eyes was blinding and your smile adorable. He recentered a flower on your crown and ran his knuckles down to your temple. “Gorgeous.”

“Ahh, Rome's most popular pairing.” Geta interrupted your moment. The twins watching with morbid curiosity. “Aren't you something.”

“Yes, Emperors.” Marcus straightened his back, securing his hold of you, keeping his arms locked in place. “We have been blessed.”

“Thank you both, so much.” Your voice was confident.

“I cannot wait for your offspring. Literal proof of a good decision.” Geta’s eyes raked your body before he prodded your stomach. “Perhaps motherhood will suit you.”

Marcus knew this was a cruel joke, the Emperor was referring to his previous remark about your body but he found that he was distracted. Lost in those words.

Motherhood.

The two of you were going to be parents.

That was fucking brilliant. Marcus had to contain the full force face-splitting grin into something lesser.

You would look good swollen.

Your stomach round with life.

He could picture it. You holding their child.

Would it be a little girl or boy? He hadn't had to consider this. Hadn't had any reason to.

But, despite popular belief, he could only see a little girl.

He would stand her on his feet and dance, put her on his shoulders and be her horsey, he'd let her press flowers into his hair.

She would look like you.

He didn't want any part of him in her. He wasn't pleasant to look at.

But then, in this dream, she grinned up with big teeth and wide brown eyes. His eyes. And he didn't mind being part of her.

Her hair was a brown curly mop and she played Gladiator with him in the garden.

You would be the Lion.

The servants would gossip and rumours of your unusual parenting methods would spread but no one would mind. Because it was your family. The two most loved people in Rome.

He wouldn't go off to war as much. No.

He didn't want to.

Not now.

Snapping back as he realised this was a reward he hadn't paid for yet.

He would have to leave.

When, he didn't know.

But he couldn't whilst you were round and wouldn't when the baby was young. To leave when it was a toddler or a child was cruel.

That didn't leave an awful lot of room for the Emperor's plan.

"A mighty warrior." Geta forced your chin high, fingers denting your flesh.

In one fluid movement, Marcus pulled the hand down, clasping and shaking it. "We are blessed and will endeavour to bring one into the world."

“Are we to witness the joining?” Caracalla’s eyes wandered towards the lectus. “It is customary.”

Marcus frowned. “No. We won't be taking part in that.”

“Breaking tradition…” Your father huffed. “That's not a good omen.”

“It was my choice.” You rushed, taking the blame.

“Interesting.” Geta's eyes squint. “Either way, I expect an heir soon. And a male one at that.”

~~

Staring at his bed was heavy.

You were nestled in Marcus’ arms, breaking tradition again by being transported to your new home in only his muscled hold. You could understand why ususally many people caryed the bride as he almost walked the two of you into pillars because you were kissing.

“Lady Acacius.” His words drew you back to him, looking down at you with love.

“My husband.” You kiss his nose.

Marcus walked you to the right corner before he let your feet land on the stone. He undid your robe and let it fall to the floor, taking your hands in his and removing your bracelets.

He deposited them on your vanity table. It had come with your belongs as well as you and your servants, tucked into a corner for your oils and hair accessories to be held.

His hands removed the thin veil and delicate crown, placing them with precision.

“You've deflowered me.” You spoke the jest with a bitten lip.

His eyes flashed dark, movements halted. “Not yet.”

You chuckle and he rotates you by your shoulders to face a mirror - that he had brought you - adjusting the mirror so you can see yourself. His hands unclasp the necklaces and earrings and then make their way to your hair. Taking out the minuscule pins.

You were free of any jewellery bar the two rings on your left hand. The newest was a brighter gold an was etched with the same font 'forever and always'. He told you that it was how he truly felt and it matched the older's 'even after death' in a beautiful poem.

With you free of jewellery he slowly undoes your stola.

It's a shame, really, to wear it only once. The effort it took you to embroider the patterns felt silly. With it gone, he found you bare. You weren't wearing a tunica tonight in preparation.

Marcus’ breath grazed your neck as he placed deliberate kisses to your ear and down your neck to shoulder.

His hands wrapped around you. One palmed your left breast and the other went straight where you wanted it.

He played with your folds, running his finger through. You shuddered but welcomed the feeling.

You'd wanted him all night. He was yours. The two of you had both teased each other through the celebration with kisses and wandering hands. You were certain in almost no time you'd be begging for him so you tried to force that down. Tried to remain cool.

But he kept swiping his way through the now slicked folds.

He bit your jaw, making your back arch, and then sucked the raw flesh.

You kept spasming without meaning to, feeling and watching him enter you was something else entirely.

His movements ceased, “put your leg up on that.” Gesturing with a nod to the stool.

“My leg?”

He wanted you to what? To put your leg up there? You'd be open. You weren't against that ordinarily however to be watching oneself… it was a little intense.

“Come on.” He cooed.

You raise a wobbly leg and put your foot on the stool. The only reason you didn't feel silly was the shaky breath in your ear and watching his mouth fall open. “You like that?”

He growled in your ear, nipping your cheek for being cocky, and resumed his handiwork.

Your leg being higher meant that when your spine jolted or arched he didn't fumble.

You mewled as the torturously slow circles he created against your clit. “Marcus..”

He chuckled behind you.

The circles stopped altogether and you whined.

“If I'm doing it wrong, show me.”

Your cheeks were hot and you felt frustrated. He wasn't usually like this.

You sucked your finger before your hand knocked his out of the way and relieved yourself in the best possible way. The flick of your wrist had you moaning like a whore, what could you say? You'd had the time to practice.

Marcus’ breathing sped up as he watched you and you realised this is what he wanted.

He wanted to watch you enjoy yourself.

The fucker.

He brought his hand back up to your breast - you didn't notice it fall - and his ring was cold against your skin.

“If you wanted a show.” You pant. “You could've asked.”

It was a blessing that he was standing behind you holding you upright because you were a wreck. You don't usually do this standing.

His hand joined your own, two fingers slipping in, and you open your eyes to see his were wild. They were darker than you had ever known.

Your head was resting on his shoulder meaning that you were millimeters from his neck. So, you left sloppy kisses and lapped the tan skin.

Marcus pinched your nipple, his hand speeding to an impossible pace. Your only response was to moan.

You could feel him, behind you, firm against your rear and could just taste it. Forcing his hand to stop fondling you, you drag it to your mouth and begin sucking his digits. There was no reason except that you needed something to do, other than groan, with your mouth.

He bit your ear and you felt close.

You were ready to cum any second now.

Marcus trailed a stripe up your arm and entered a third finger.

How it was possible that he could reach somewhere inside that caused instant bliss, was a mystery. You hadn't even found that spot, hadn't been able to reach it.

Without his hand on your chest - that's why it had fallen - he wasn't there to stop your hips squirming but it didn't matter.

You felt the thread snap and you cried around his fingers. The orgasm sept throughout your body - everywhere going slack - and he worked you through it as long as he could.

He pumped his fingers into you until you begged him to stop.

He pulled out of both holes, a trail of spit and slick flowing as he did. Marcus pecked your cheek and made a display of lapping his right hand.

“You-your fingers are so much longer than mine.”

If he had done this, if he had have bedded you and then you were to go to the Emperors you'd be fucked.

He was all you ever wanted.

All you ever needed.

“Not just my fingers.”

He pressed his hard length into your rear and you let out a guttural moan. “I want it.”

“You're getting it.” He reassured before crushing your lips to his again and walking you to the bed.

Mirroring your way to the bedroom; he blindly led you to the bed, distracted beyond belief.

You could feel him disrobing and when your legs met the bed, you opened your eyes to see him bare before you.

Licking your lips, you reach for him but he stopped you and situated you amongsthis pillows. You wiggled your brows and Marcus followed you, kneeling between your bent legs.

“I'm glad we waited.” He opened up, eyes sincere.

You agree by pulling him closer, so he was hovering inches above you. “Let's not wait a moment longer.”

“Well, this-" He kept his hips still. "this may hurt.”

“Hurt?” He had brought you nothing but pleasure.

Your mother and Aelia had mentioned the act hurting but you thought that was preparation for the Emperors.

This was going to hurt?

“Not a lot and only for a moment but it may.”

Well, shit, now you were worried but ultimately, “I trust you.”

Marcus’ brows pulled and he pecked your nose. Then your cheeks. Then your neck. Then left so many marks on your chest that it looked like one big stain.

He was sneaky about deflowering you.

Rubbing his head between your folds to get it slicked and teasing you. You could feel your walls clench around nothing, waiting for him.

He distracted you by raising your leg and biting the flesh of your calf.

“Marc-uus.”

His blunt head pressed into you.

It was big. You knew it was going to be a tight fit and still it was big. He pulled back out and through your dazed vision you could see him analysing you.

He pressed back in and made it further in.

Only to pull fully out again.

What was he doing?

Was this part of it?

Marcus thrusted into you even further and it felt like he was splitting you into two.

He kissed your temple and played with your clit, repeating the action again and again.

It was strangely familiar and enjoyable.

You had used your hands, Marcus had used his and his tongue.

But it was also vastly different.

You felt full and every vein had your back arching. It was incredible.

Once he deemed you ready, he was able to speed up.

And you felt cheated.

You could've had this years ago.

The rhythm was perfect.

Both your bodies moving together, connecting in a way you had never.

“Marcus.” Your mouth was speaking on its own accord. “This is-yes, do that again.”

He pressed his palm against your stomach and reached even deeper inside you.

Ow.

That did hurt.

What the?

Oh, no, the pain had vanished.

You were biting your lip to stop the slew of dirty words and filthy moans escaping.

He held himself up - by your head - using his left arm and when you threw your head backwards in pleasure you glimpsed his muscle.

Bringing your useless - they were so useless, what had they been doing? - hands up to his cheek and his bicep you cupped each with an equal amount of love.

He noticed your infatuation, “you like that?”

Yes, yes you did. Very much so. It may be a more barbaric part of your mind but you did enjoy his body a lot.

He was quite possibly the strongest man you knew. You felt incredibly safe with him. And to see his strength as he thrusted into you was not a bad sight.

“Yes. My General.” You winked.

It was almost animalistic the way he growled and thrust into you harder than before.

Again there was a slither of pain - your nails leaving indents he’d parade about later with into his flesh - but that quickly morphed into pleasure.

As He hooked a hand under your thigh and, again, brought your leg up, folding it so he could hold your ankle into place; you simultaneously yanked him, down by his hair, for a heated kiss, tongues and teeth colliding.

The new angle he thrust himself into was even better than before.

He knocked that spot and you were crying his name over and over in a prayer.

Marcus kissed the groan out of your mouth and then, as if this wasn't enough, let go of your leg - you held it still - and paid close attention to your clit.

“Fuck, oh, fuck me.” The words spilled before you could stop them.

“I am.” He drove into you a touch harder and you were stuttering out a final moan.

Orgasm surprising you, rupturing through you, intensifying as he kept going.

He milked your orgasm longer than you could stand but you wouldn't stop it. No, you wouldn't dare.

His last strokes were sloppy and he fumbled, leaning on his left side a little as he came.

You could feel it inside you.

Was it demented to say it felt right?

You were empty without him inside you or splashed across your walls.

Marcus held off for a while but eventually did lean his full weight on you. You cuddled him, squeezing him with your arms and legs and even your core.

You caught your breaths, he took longer but that was okay. That meant you could run your nails over his back and play with his hair.

“Let me get you a cloth.” He spoke, trying to sit up.

“No. Not yet.” You gently pat force him back down, closing your eyes. “Just lay here a moment longer.”

A soft rustling caused you to open your eyes.

It was dark.

You had fallen asleep.

Reaching across the bed to what you assumed was now Marcus' side you met nothing.

“Marcus?” Your voice was hoarse, you rolled over in the blanket and found him by the door. “Marcus? Where are you going?”

He spun, caught in the act, pillow in hand.

Oh.

Oh gods.

You were right.

Not now, the first time.

He didn't like you.

He was leaving. Going somewhere else.

Shit.

That was okay.

No. You'd work through this.

You could do that.

Of course!

He only slept with you because the Emperors had repeatedly mentioned an heir.

Fuck.

Ouch.

That hurt.

“I was going to sleep in one of the guest rooms.” His voice gave nothing away and he was haloed by the tiniest spark of a flame so you couldn't even see his face.

You were such a fool. “No, this is your bed.” You sit up and shuffle towards the end. “I'll go, you could've just told me this was all an act. I would’ve helped. I don't mind you not liking this union but to lie… to give me your mothers ring and bed me and then- Marcus, that is despicable.”

He rushed over, halting your next movements. “No, you mistake me.”

“I mistake you? You're sneaking out on our wedding night?!” Now he was standing there between your legs, you could see him a little bit clearer; the moonlight half illuminating his features.

“No, I promise. I am not regretting us. I-” He sighed, rubbing his hands across his face. “I am afraid.”

Despite yourself you knew it took great strength for him to talk like this so kept quiet. You wouldn't belittle or make fun of him, you'd hear him out and then decide what to do.

“My bride, I am a soldier. I have seen things.” One of his hands fell, fingers brushing your knee as it sat at his side. “Sometimes war returns in sleep. I-” He sniffs. “I have awoken to ripped sheets, to damaged pillows. I yell also and sometimes I wake and need to let it out. I punch the bed.” Marcus stepped from your legs to flop down next to you. He plucked the discarded pillow from the floor, holding it to his chest. “If I did that to-” He shook his head, glancing at you with fat glossy eyes.

You instantly wrap your arms around him, feeling idiotic again. Your hands rub his back and you kiss his forehead. “My love, you've fallen asleep before.”

He shook his head. “You left after minutes.”

You hum a ‘no’. “It was longer, perhaps an hour or two.”

He took your information in and dissected it. You could see his brain working, the great military mind.

“If you were to ever harm me-” his whole being tensed. “-shh, it's okay. If that ever did happen. I would love and forgive you.”

Marcus’ face crumbled and the tears fell.

You pulled him closer. Holding firm as he forced the shaking shoulders to calm.

“Please.” You speak into the darkness. “You don't have to. Please, stay with me tonight?”

Marcus was still but you felt the miniscule nod and shuffled the both of you back into the bed, bringing him back onto your chest.

You couldn't see his face, only the mop of hair you had tugged earlier. So you ran a hand through his locks and wrote ‘I love yous’ onto his back.

You hadn't ever cradled anyone like this before. You'd held children and animals but nothing like this.

This was Rome's golden General. A great leader and ruthless man.

But it wasn't. It was your Marcus.

The man that had loved you silently for years.

The man who offered to help you with an impossible task.

The man who kept you safe.

The man who treated you well.

The man who would gladly gift you the world.

You loved him more than anything.

~~~ epilogue ~~~

“We're goin- going to be late.” You whine into the table.

“Who's fault is that?” Marcus asked above you, hammering into you from behind.

You'd knocked on his study’s door, interrupting his war meeting - not that he gave a single fuck, you could interupt anything and this was your home, too. You didnt need to knock! - and informed him that you were expected at the Colosseum shortly.

He quickly bid farewell to his senators and lieutenants but stayed sitting. You always knew what he wanted so sauntered over and very seductively said. ‘We don't have enough time’.

You were bent over his maps and war plans a moment later.

This was the best position for you at present due to the growing bump of your stomach.

You groan out a cry and glance over your shoulder, mouth open in a sexy 'o'. He loved that look, your mouth open and brows pinched, he was still convinced you were Venus. Maybe a demigod?

Marcus was quick to lean and connect your lips, hand holding your stomach to keep it from hitting the lip of the table as he bent forward.

Your legs seize and you're cumming around him. Walls spasming as he eats your cry.

He stands upright and pistons harder into your heat.

As soon as you became pregnant your sex drive heightened. In fact, at breakfast you stopped him to drag him over to a lectus and ride him. He loved it. It was his favourite position and sadly it was becoming increasingly hard for you to do - he loved watching you rise and fall, engulfing him fully. You had really surprised him one night by asking if you could be on top and since then he was done for - your swollen breasts and stomach were the cause but it was such a sight.

He did that. In there was a part of him. It was growing steadily and every day he was grateful beyond words.

You weren't allowed to do nearly as much alone as you had been before you were pregnant. He was always in the same room and if he couldn't be Aelia was your asigned guardian. If anything happened... he would come down on with a vengance. If one thing was to happen to that fragile life he would burn Rome.

Now he was to be a father - he considered himself one already - he saw the world in a differen light. He couldn't wait to meet your child.

He came with a shudder, wishing upon anything that it would take a second time. That every time he painted your walls it would result in a baby.

Marcus panted, looking down at the face: brows pinched, mouth open. You'd even drooled on his map which was an issue, not for a practical reason, but because now he wouldn't be able to take meetings without thinking about fucking you. Not that he did anything without thinking about fucking you.

He pulled out an inch but you suddenly stopped him.

“Wait.”

It was only then he noticed the hand practically vibrating between your legs. Fuck.

Marcus inched back in and out in a slow agonising thrust and you shook, cumming again.

Your orgasm shot through him, making him twitch.

“Oh, gods.” You lazily smile. “Okay, you can now.”

He thanked you for the permission and eased his way out.

You rose, shakily, and replaced your stola. “We're going to be immensely late.”

“I don't care.” He fixed your hair. “They won't either, we're their favourite couple.”

“Hmm.” You made a face. “The both of them keep staring at my chest and when Geta asked about milk?!” 

Marcus let a small huff of a laugh. At the time he was fuming but your face was humorous. “You lied well.” 

“Well, I couldn't say that you had tried it.” You straighten his toga. “I had to say I hadn't produced any yet.” 

“I know.” He kissed your temple. “You're a good girl. Brave.” 

And you were. 

You were the bravest person he had met. 

To deal with the now what-seemed-to-be-jealous Geta as well as the morbidly fascinated Caracalla was a feat. 

He knew you were afraid but sadly the two of you had to deal with their company. You were perhaps more popular than them - if the cheers of the arena were true - and by default now part of their posse. 

“When she is here, I'm sure they'll lose interest.” He knelt to cup your stomach, his forehead and nose resting against the firm bump. “It will be an age, something else will come along."

“Yes,” You run a hand through his hair, the surefire way of relaxing him. It had become his favourite part of the nightly routine. You whisper so quietly he almost missed it, “they'll send you off to Africa.” 

Marcus’ head snapped upright. 

No. He had at least a year and a half, maybe two before anything like that happened. 

“No.” He stood to his full height. “They won't that soon. I wouldn't let them.” He soothed your worries, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I won't let them. I will be here to stand between you and them for eternity.” 

You lean into his right hand. “Forever and always?” 

He may not know the future but he knew that to be true. “Forever and always.” 

You take his hand and caress the ring. "The baby is a boy."

"No, she's a girl."

[blackwidownat2814]

This was heart-wrenching and absolutely beautiful.

"Shadows of the love under the laurel"

Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Summary: In the shadows of the Roman Empire, you, a devoted servant, discover love with the honorable General Marcus Acacius. You both navigate the treacherous current of social expectations when a looming marriage comes to risk everything.

w.c: 13k.

warnings: themes of slavery and servitude, forbidden love, mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood, angst, fluff, poorly written smut, no proofreading.

a/n: I don't know what to write in here, but this one was a request by @negrita2345 i hope I did it justice and I hope you all enjoy it and share your thoughts with me because I really love to read your comments and thoughts. They make my day, so thank you in advance! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌 happy reading 💌✨

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The sound of the iron gate clanged shut behind you, a cold finality to another day of servitude. You knew that sound well, it was the only sound you had known since you were born, clamoring as a death knell, just reminder of your place in the world. You didn’t even own your freedom, yet you belonged to everyone who had put their hands on your skin or had thrown daggers at you. As a servant, your life was nothing but an endless circle of command shouted from faces that never bothered to learn your name. They simply called you “girl.”

In your twenty-three years, you had learned to endure the sting of insults, the cruel hands that shoved you from one task to another, and the stares that stripped all your dignity. Respect was something that didn’t exist for someone like you, born in the shadows of Rome’s grandeur. You were a property, a tool to serve, to scrub, to clean, and to remain unseen.

And today was no different. You had been sold again.

The place you now found yourself in was the biggest you’d seen. The walls were taller than the marble floors polished to a gleaming white that made your hesitant to step across them. A legion of other servants moved like silent specters, each one avoiding you gaze as you were ushered through the grand halls. It was as though no one acknowledged the arrival of new blood. In their world, new servants were as replaceable as the jugs of wine they carried.

As you moved through the villa, you hear whispers-murmurs of the man who ruled this place. General Marcus Acacius, a name that belonged to a man who had gained respect and admiration. He was no ordinary master, it seemed. He was a warrior, a man who had earned his position through conquest and battle. A man who stood close to the Emperor himself.

Your stomach knotted at the thought. Men of power, you had learned, were often the cruelest. The more they gained, the more they needed to remind those beneath them how little they mattered. You could only hope that Marcus would be indifferent—that he would not notice you at all.

“Girl, this way.”

A sharp voice broke your thoughts. One of the older housekeepers, her face lined with age and wear, beckoned you down a side corridor. It was darker here, the sunlight from the Roman skies barely reaching the shadowed walls. The keeper’s voice softened as you walked.

“You’ll serve General Acacious directly,” she said. “He’s… not like the others.”

You glanced up, surprised by the odd tone in her voice. You weren’t sure if the keeper meant it as a warning or a reassurance, but you nodded nonetheless, keeping your eyes lowered. You approached a set of heavy doors, carved with intricate symbols and flanked by tall, stoic guards. The keeper gestured toward them.

“The general is inside. Speak only when spoken to. He does not tolerate foolishness.”

With a final nod, the keeper disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone. You stood for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. There was no telling what awaited you on the other side of those doors. You swallowed hard, brushing a strand of dark hair from your face before you stepped forward.

The guards opened the doors without a word, and you found yourself in a large, open room filled with the smell of burning incense and leather. It was dimly lit, the sunlight creeping through narrow windows high above, casting long shadows on the ground. Your gaze lifted, and then you saw him.

Marcus.

General Marcus Acacius stood by a table, bent over a map with a furrowed brow. His armor was still strapped across his broad shoulders, and the crimson cloak draped over his back gave him the appearance of a man who had just come from battle. He was taller than you had imagined, his presence commanding without a single word. His dark hair was cropped close, and his sharp features bore the marks of someone who had lived a life of discipline and war.

For a long moment, he did not acknowledge your presence. You stood still, your heart pounding as you waited for his command, for the words that would decide the course of your life here.

Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was something in his gaze that startled you, not precisely cruelty, but something else. Something you couldn't quite name.

"You are the new servant?" His voice was low, measured. He didn’t shout like the others.

"Yes, General," you replied softly, lowering your eyes to the floor as was expected.

He watched you for a moment longer, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, almost burning. It was as though he was seeing something in you that others had never cared to look for.

"Good," he said at last, turning back to his maps. "You will serve me directly. Be quick. Be silent. That is all."

His words were not cruel, nor were they kind. They were simple, matter-of-fact. You let out a quiet breath, your heart still pounding in your chest. You turned to leave, but something held you in place, a curiosity that stirred within you, a question you did not dare ask aloud.

What kind of man was General Marcus Acacious?

As you left the room, the weight of your life as a servant settled back onto your shoulders, but there was something different now, something you had not expected. It was faint, a flicker of warmth in the cold corridors of your mind.

In the days that followed, you learned what it meant to serve Marcus Acacius. His world was orderly, precise, and unyielding. He expected his servants to move with quiet efficiency, anticipating his needs before he voiced them. There was no room for error, but unlike you previous masters, there was also no room for cruelty. Mistakes were met with silence, not blows. It was a strange sort of mercy, one that left you both relieved and on edge.

You were tasked with attending to the general’s quarters, a task that placed you in close proximity to him every day. You polished his armor, prepared his baths, and ensured that the scrolls and maps he studied late into the night were neatly arranged. He rarely spoke to you, and when he did, it was brief and to the point. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he noticed you in a way no one else had.

It was in the quiet moments between orders that you caught fleeting glimpses of the man behind the title.

One afternoon, as you were cleaning his quarters, you heard a faint groan of pain. Startled, you looked up to see Marcus standing by the window, his hand gripping his side. His face was tight with discomfort, though he said nothing.

You hesitated, unsure if you should speak. “General… are you hurt?”

His eyes flicked toward you, the sharpness in them softening just slightly. For a moment, you thought he might ignore your question, but then he spoke.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice strained. “An old wound. It… flares up from time to time.”

He didn’t offer more, and you knew better than to pry. Yet, something in his tone—a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before made you want to help.

Without thinking, you set aside your cleaning cloth and moved toward him. “I could bring you something… some herbs. For the pain.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised by your boldness. “You know of such things?”

“My mother… she was a healer,” Your replied quietly, your eyes downcast. “Before…” You trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The silence filled in the gaps—before you were taken, before you became a servant.

He watched you for a long moment, as if weighing your words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Bring it.”

You hurried to the kitchens, your heart pounding. It was the first time Marcus had allowed you to do anything beyond your usual duties. As you gathered the herbs your mother had once shown you, the ones that could ease any pain and swelling, you thought of the strange connection you had felt in that moment. It wasn’t just your desire to help him. It was something deeper, something unspoken that passed between them.

When you returned to his quarters, Marcus was seated at the edge of his bed, the tension in his shoulders evident. You approached cautiously, mixing the herbs into a small vial of oil, then holding it out to him.

“You need to apply it to the wound,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “It should ease the pain.”

Marcus took the vial from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His touch was warm, surprising you. Your eyes met, and in that fleeting second, you felt an unfamiliar flutter in your chest—a burn you quickly buried.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. It was a small word, but coming from a man like Marcus, it carried weight.

You bowed your head, stepping back as he stood and moved to apply the oil himself. You returned to your work, quietly cleaning the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You had never thought much of men, especially men of power. To you, they were all the same: cruel, indifferent, obsessed with their own glory. Yet, Marcus was different. He was distant, yes, and bound by duty, but he was also… something else. There was a complexity to him, a quiet pain that you couldn’t quite understand.

As the days passed, you found yourself watching him more closely. You noticed the way he carried the weight of command, his posture rigid, his eyes always alert. He was a man constantly at war, not just with the enemies of Rome, but with himself. You saw it in the way he would stare out the window late into the night, lost in thought, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his sword as though preparing for a battle that had not yet come.

And then, one evening, everything changed.

It was late, the rest of the household quiet, and you were tidying the general’s quarters as he sat by the hearth, reviewing maps of distant lands. The flicker of firelight cast shadows on his face, making him appear both weary and resolute. You were just about to leave when he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Tell me,”He said, following by the use of your name for the first time. “How did you come to be here? In this life?”

Your breath caught. No one had ever asked you that before. No one had ever cared to. You hesitated, unsure if you should answer, but the look in his eyes was not one of command. It was curiosity. Genuine, quiet curiosity.

“I was born into it,” you replied softly. “My mother… she was a healer in a small village outside of the city. But when the soldiers came, they took us. I was just a child then. I don’t remember much before it.”

Marcus’s gaze lingered on you; his expression unreadable. “And your mother?”

“She didn’t survive long after that. She grew sick, and no one would help her.”

There was a long silence after that, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. You stood there, your hands clasped in front of you, waiting for him to dismiss you. But he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, a sound so faint you might have missed it had you not been standing so close.

“Life in Rome is rarely kind,” he said, his voice distant. “Even for those who believe themselves fortunate.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You simply stood there, watching as the general seemed to wrestle with thoughts he could not or would not speak aloud. Finally, he shook his head, as if clearing his mind, and looked at you once more.

“You may go,” he said, his tone once again that of a man in command. But there was a softness to it now, something that hadn’t been there before.

You bowed and left the room, your heart pounding. As you walked down the dark corridors of the villa, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you, that the lines separating servant and master had blurred, if only for a moment.

Weeks passed, and Your role in Marcus’s household became routine, yet far from ordinary. You had served many masters before, but none like him. There was a strange rhythm to your interactions now, a wordless understanding that passed between you in brief glances and moments too fleeting for anyone else to notice. Marcus was still the general, the powerful, untouchable figure, but there were cracks in his armor that only you seemed to see.

The changes were small at first. A few words exchanged at the end of the day, a subtle shift in the way his eyes lingered on you when you thought he wasn’t looking. It was during one such moment, late in the evening, that your quiet bond deepened.

You were clearing away the remains of his evening meal, the room lit only by the soft glow of a single oil lamp. Marcus sat at his desk, writing a letter, his brow furrowed in concentration. You moved silently, careful not to disturb him. But as you turned to leave, your hand brushed the corner of the table, knocking over a small cup.

The sound echoed in the stillness.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You had been so careful, always careful. You froze, waiting for the rebuke, the sharp words you had heard from other masters a hundred times before.

But instead of anger, Marcus’s voice came, calm and even. “It’s alright. Leave it.”

You paused, your fingers trembling as you stooped to pick up the cup, determined not to disobey. But as you did, Marcus spoke again, his tone softer this time.

“Do you always expect punishment so quickly?”

You straightened slowly, unsure how to answer. “It’s what happens when mistakes are made, General,” you replied quietly, your eyes still downcast.

Marcus stood, his towering frame casting long shadows in the flickering lamplight. He approached you slowly, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

“Not here,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to fear that here.”

His words, though simple, carried a weight that you weren’t prepared for. For a moment, you dared to look up at him, meeting his eyes. There was something in his gaze—a gentleness that you had never expected to find in a man like him. It made your chest tighten, and you quickly dropped your gaze again.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what kind of men you served before, Mea Columba, but cruelty… it does not make a man stronger. It only makes him feared.”

He was quiet for a long time after that, standing just a breath away from you. You could feel the heat of his presence, the nearness of him unsettling but not unpleasant. You could sense the tension in the air, something unspoken hanging between you like a thread stretched too tight.

“You deserve better than that,” he said finally, his voice almost too soft for you to hear.

Your heart raced, your thoughts a tangled mess. How could he say such a thing? You were nothing more than a servant, a slave, how could someone like him believe you deserved anything at all? But in his words, you heard the truth of what he felt, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with something dangerously close to hope.

Before you could reply, before you could make sense of the moment, the door creaked open, and a soldier entered the room, interrupting them. Marcus immediately stepped back, his expression shifting into the impassive mask of the general once more.

“General Acacius,” the soldier said, bowing. “The emperor has requested your presence tomorrow. Urgent matters to discuss.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Very well. Inform the Emperor I’ll be there.”

The soldier bowed again and left the room, leaving you and Marcus standing in the silence. The air between you had changed, something fragile, something delicate had passed between you, but neither dared acknowledge it.

“You may go” Marcus said, his voice once again composed, though you could sense the tension beneath it. “Get some rest.”

You bowed quickly and left the room; you heart still pounding in your chest. As you walked back through the dim corridors, you replayed his words in your mind

“You deserve better”

and wondered how dangerous it was to believe them.

You hadn’t expected him to say your name, less to hear a name with such affection from him It startled you, but in a way that made you feel seen, in a way that sent warmth through you despite the cool evening air.

“It’s all I’ve known,” you whispered, barely able to speak the words.

Days passed in a quiet blur, and the memory of that evening lingered between you, heavy and unspoken. Marcus was the same outwardly, maintaining his stoic demeanor in front of his soldiers, the senators, and his household. Yet, when he looked at you, when your eyes met across the room during your brief encounters, you could feel the shift in him, the way his guarded exterior faltered for just a moment.

It was in these fleeting moments that you began to understand the gravity of what was growing between you. You had never been close to a man before, not like this. Your world had always been one of shadows, of quiet obedience. But now, Marcus’s presence lingered in your thoughts, his words echoing in the stillness of your nights.

"You deserve better."

You couldn’t stop hearing it. And it frightened you. How could someone like him, someone with power, command, and the loyalty of an empire, care about someone like you, a servant who had spent her life in the background? The idea felt dangerous, as though it could upend everything you knew, yet it was there, undeniable.

The tension between you simmered, growing with each passing day. You never spoke of that moment again, but it hovered between you, thickening the air whenever you were alone.

One afternoon, you were attending to the general’s chambers when he returned earlier than expected from the training grounds. His tunic was damp with sweat, the edges of his dark hair clinging to his forehead, and a fresh bruise marked his arm.

He entered the room quietly, not saying a word at first, watching as you busied yourself, you’re your work. You tried to remain calm, to focus on your duties as you had always done, but the awareness of his gaze unsettled you. Finally, Marcus broke the silence.

he said your name, almost sounding hesitant.

You turned to face him, your heart quickening at the sound of your name. He had been saying it more often lately, and each time it carried a weight that made your pulse race. “Yes, General?”

For a moment, Marcus seemed to struggle with himself, his expression hard to read. He took a step closer, the air between you humming with tension. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, though the statement felt more like a question. “Are you… well?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “I am, General. I—” You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you had been keeping your distance, afraid of what might happen if you let yourself grow any closer to him. “I’ve just been… busy with my tasks.”

His eyes searched yours, as though he could see past your words to the truth beneath them. “You don’t have to keep your distance, mea columba,” he said quietly. “Not from me.”

The words sent a shiver through you. You wanted to step back, to remind yourself of your place, but something in his gaze held you still. There was a tenderness there, a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to see in him.

“I’m only a servant,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, and he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you. “You’re more than that,” he said, his voice firm but soft. “You’re more than what this life has made you.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the depth of his words. You had spent your whole life believing that your worth was measured by your service, by how invisible you could make yourself. But Marcus… he saw you. And it terrified you as much as it filled you with warmth.

“You deserve more than this life, mea columba” Marcus continued, his hand lifting ever so slightly as if he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. “More than this… than the way others have treated you.”

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. You couldn’t let herself believe in what he was saying. It was impossible. He was a general, bound by duty and honor to Rome. And you were, no, you had to be nothing to him. Anything else was too dangerous to even imagine.

“Please,” you said, almost pleading, “don’t say such things. I can’t…” You trailed off, your words caught in your throat.

Marcus’s eyes softened, the hard edges of his face relaxing just slightly. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we can’t… but it doesn’t change how I feel.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and real. Your heart pounded, your mind reeling from the weight of his confession. You wanted to step forward, to reach out and touch him, to tell him that you felt the same—that his kindness, his quiet strength, had stirred something in you that you had never thought possible.

But she couldn’t. The world wouldn’t allow it. He was a man of power, and you were a servant. Their lives were too different, their paths too far apart.

And yet, standing there in the quiet of the room, with only the soft flicker of candlelight between you, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the stillness.

Marcus reached up, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it brushed against your cheek. You gasped at the touch, your skin tingling under his fingertips. It was the first time he had touched you like this, softly, tenderly, as though you were something fragile and precious.

“I wish things were different,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing the curve of your jaw.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hand despite yourself. You knew you shouldn’t, knew that this moment could only lead to heartache, but you couldn’t stop herself. “So do I,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For a long moment, you stood there, suspended in the silence, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, Marcus pulled away, his hand falling to his side. The mask of the general slipped back into place, his expression once again composed, though his eyes still burned with the emotions he couldn’t voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head. “No, it’s… it’s alright.”

But it wasn’t. You both knew it.

“You should go,” Marcus said, his voice rough with regret. “We… we can’t.”

You nodded, though your heart ached. “Goodnight, General.”

You turned and left the room, your heart heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

The days that followed were unbearable. You tried to go about your duties as usual, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Marcus’s words, the feel of his hand against your cheek, the unspoken desire that lingered between you. It haunted you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of night when you were alone with your thoughts.

And you could see it in him, too.

Every glance you shared, every brief exchange, held a tension that had not been there before. Marcus’s eyes lingered on you longer than they should, his gaze filled with something he dared not speak aloud. You could feel the conflict within him, the struggle between his duty and what lay deep in his heart.

One afternoon, as you were preparing the general’s chambers for the evening, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. You could feel his presence, the energy in the room shifting the moment he entered.

“Columba” he said softly, his voice different from the tone he used with anyone else. There was no command in it, no expectation—just a quiet plea.

You turned to face him, your heart already racing at the sound of your nickname on his lips. He stood in the doorway, his posture rigid, yet his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with the same turmoil that had been building between you for weeks.

“General,” you said, your voice steady though your heart was anything but.

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “Marcus,” he corrected, his gaze fixed on yours. “When we’re alone, please… call me Marcus.”

The intimacy of his request made your chest tighten. You had spent your life addressing him with titles, always reminding herself of the distance between you, but now… now he was asking you to cross that distance, to meet him as something more than a servant.

“Marcus,” you repeated softly, the word feeling foreign yet familiar on your tongue.

A small smile touched his lips, but it was strained. He walked slowly toward you, his movements careful, as though he was afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. When he stopped just a step away from you, you felt the air grow thick, the unspoken emotions pressing down on you both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Marcus said, his voice low and rough with honesty. “I’ve tried… I’ve tried to bury it, to remind myself of who I am, of what’s expected of me. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice… it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You had never imagined a man like Marcus, a man of such power and command, could feel this way about you. You had always been invisible, always kept in the shadows. But with him, you felt seen. And that terrified you.

“Marcus, we can’t…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “You know we can’t. You’re a general. You serve Rome. I’m nothing more than a servant.”

“You are not nothing,” Marcus said sharply, his eyes flashing with a rare intensity. He reached out and gently grasped your wrist, his touch sending a jolt through you. “Don’t ever say that. You are everything I—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to restrain words he couldn’t say.

Your heart pounded in your chest. You could feel the heat of his hand on your skin, the warmth of his breath as he stood so close. Every instinct told you to pull away, to remind him of the impossibility of this, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t deny the pull between you, the feelings that had been growing in your heart, no matter how forbidden they were.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice fragile as your heart. “Why would you care for someone like me, when you could have anyone?”

Marcus’s gaze softened, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go. He lifted your hand slowly, his thumb brushing over your palm in a gesture so gentle it made you ache. “Because you see me,” he murmured. “Not the general, not the man who leads armies or answers to the emperor. You see me.”

His words made your chest tighten painfully. You had always tried to stay invisible, to keep your head down and avoid the eyes of those who held power over you. But with Marcus, it was different. You saw the man beneath the armor, the one who carried the weight of duty and responsibility on his shoulders but longed for something more—something real.

“I can’t stop what I feel for you,” Marcus continued, his voice filled with raw honesty. “Even though I know it’s wrong, even though I know what the world would think if they knew… I can’t stop.”

You felt your resolve crumbling. You wanted to tell him that you felt the same, that his kindness, his gentleness, had woven its way into your heart. But the fear of what could come from this, the danger of their impossible love, held you back.

“I feel it too,” you admitted softly, you voice barely above a whisper. “But we have no future, Marcus. You know that. You’ll be expected to marry—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “I know I’m bound by duty. I’ve spent my whole life doing what Rome asks of me. But for once, Livia, I want something for myself.”

His words hung in the air, thick with longing and pain. Your heart ached for him, for the man who had given so much of himself to an empire that would never give him the freedom to love who he chose. And yet, even as you felt the weight of his confession, you knew the truth.

“Even if we want this,” you whispered, “Rome will never let it happen.”

Marcus’s face tightened with frustration, his hand still holding yours as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

You stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of your love pressing down on them. Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the desire to give in to the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress and the reality of the world they lived in.

Finally, Marcus spoke again, his voice heavy with resignation. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said softly. “But I know that for now… I need you here. By my side. Even if that’s all we can have.”

You swallowed hard, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. You knew he was right. Your love, if it could even be called that, would never be allowed to flourish in the light. But in the shadows, in the quiet moments you shared, it was real. And maybe, for now, that had to be enough.

You nodded, your voice barely audible as you whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Marcus’s shoulders seemed to relax, and for the briefest moment, a small, sad smile crossed his face. He gently released your hand, stepping back, the distance between you once again restored. But the bond you shared remained.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “For staying.”

It was a few days later, and the weight of your shared confession still lingered in the air. The nights had grown heavier with unspoken feelings, and each day, the tension between you and Marcus became harder to ignore. You told yourself to be content with what little time you could have by his side, though it tore at you, knowing that it would never be enough.

That evening, you were cleaning his quarters, your movements methodical, when the door creaked open behind you. You turned and saw Marcus step in, but this time he wasn’t the composed general you had grown used to. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, a dark patch of blood staining the fabric. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set in pain. He tried to stand tall, but there was no hiding the wince as he moved.

"Marcus," you gasped, forgetting all formality in the moment, rushing toward him. Your heart hammered in your chest, worry washing over you at the sight of him.

“It’s nothing,” he said gruffly, waving off your concern, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. “Just a training injury.”

You moved closer, eyes searching his. You had seen him injured before—he was a soldier, after all—but this felt different. There was a vulnerability in the way he looked at you, as though he had allowed himself to come to you in a moment of weakness.

“You should sit,” you said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Let me prepare a bath for you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, walking slowly toward the bed and sitting on its edge, his movements stiff and labored. His dark eyes followed you as you quickly went to work, preparing the bath with warm water and fragrant oils to ease his wounds and the tension in his body.

When you returned, you found Marcus removing his tunic, the fabric peeling away from the gash on his shoulder. His skin was marred with bruises, old and new, the marks of a warrior who had seen countless battles. But it was the fresh wound that made your heart ache, the sight of him in pain stirring something deep within you.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, kneeling beside him. He met your eyes, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded, allowing you to step closer. With trembling hands, you gently unfastened the remaining clasps of his armor, your fingers brushing against his skin. You tried to keep your touch professional, but each time your skin met his, a jolt of electricity shot through you.

Once he was bare to the waist, you guided him to the bath. He lowered himself into the warm water with a sigh, his muscles relaxing as the heat enveloped him. You sat on the stool beside the tub, gathering a soft cloth in your hands. You hesitated for a moment, the intimacy of what you were about to do settling heavily in your chest.

When you began to gently scrub his skin, the water rippling with each movement, Marcus closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. His breath came in slow, deep draws, and for a moment, it was as though the world outside the room no longer existed. There was just you, him, and the quiet sound of water.

Your hands moved carefully over his skin, your touch tender and cautious, tracing the contours of his shoulders, his back, the lines of his strong arms. You could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, though your own pulse raced with each moment that passed. The intimacy of the act was overwhelming, but Marcus made no move to stop you.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at his face, at the way the flickering candlelight danced across his strong jaw and the softness in his expression that he only ever showed when you were alone.

He opened his eyes after a long silence, catching your gaze. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice husky from the warmth of the bath or perhaps something more.

“I want to,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

The vulnerability in your voice, in the gesture of your care, seemed to affect him deeply. Marcus’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist in a silent gesture of thanks. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin long after he pulled away.

For a long while, you continued in silence, the only sound the gentle splashing of water as you washed away the blood, the dirt, and the exhaustion from his body. Each stroke of the cloth felt like a confession, a quiet way of telling him what you couldn’t say aloud. That you cared for him. That you wanted to protect him in whatever small way you could, even though you knew you couldn’t keep him from the dangers of the world beyond these walls.

When you reached the wound on his shoulder, you were as delicate as possible, your touch light and careful. Marcus winced slightly, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes remained on you, dark and intense, watching every movement of your hands as though you were something precious.

“You’re always so careful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

You paused, your heart tightening at the question. How could you explain it? How could you put into words the way your heart ached for him, the way you wished to offer him comfort in a world that demanded so much of him?

“Because you’ve given me more kindness than I’ve ever known,” you whispered, barely able to say the words. “I want to give some of it back.”

Marcus’s gaze softened even more, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might say something, something that would change everything between you. But instead, he closed his eyes, leaning back into the water, his hand slipping beneath the surface and resting on the edge of the tub.

You continued to wash him in silence, your heart heavy with the knowledge that these moments, these stolen moments in the shadows, were all you would ever have. And yet, they felt so real, so profound, that you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

When the bath was finished, you helped Marcus stand, wrapping a towel around his broad shoulders. He stood before you, his body strong but weary, the weight of his duties ever present in his posture. You couldn’t help but reach out, your hand brushing lightly against the wound on his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. “Not as much as other wounds,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “Not as much as the ones I can’t show.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You understood. The wounds of battle were visible, but the wounds of the heart—the ones inflicted by duty, by honor, by a world that wouldn’t allow him to follow his desires—were far deeper.

Marcus’s hand reached out, his fingers gently curling around yours, and for a moment, he held on as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too complex to name

Marcus’s fingers curled around yours, and in that moment, the air between you seemed to shift. The world outside his chambers fell away, leaving only the two of you, standing so close, bound by an unspoken connection that had been building since the moment you first laid eyes on him. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his thumb gently brushed over the back of your hand, a simple touch that carried a weight neither of you could ignore.

His hand lingered, holding yours as if it was the only anchor he had left. His eyes were darker now, filled with emotions too complex to name—longing, conflict, something deeper that neither of you had dared to speak aloud. The space between you felt fragile, like a thread stretched too tight, and yet neither of you could pull away.

“Mea columba” he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. The way he said your name sent warmth coursing through your veins, and you felt yourself trembling beneath the intensity of his gaze.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something—anything—to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t need them. Everything was in his eyes, the way they searched yours, as though he were trying to find an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

Slowly, cautiously, Marcus took a step closer, his hand still holding yours. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the pulse in your ears deafening as the space between you closed. His breath was warm on your skin, mingling with your own as he stood so close that the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken.

He reached up with his free hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed a strand of hair from your face. The touch was so tender, so careful, that it made your heart ache. His thumb lingered on your cheek, his palm cradling the side of your face, as though he were afraid to break the moment, afraid to shatter the delicate connection you shared.

“I’ve tried to fight this,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. “I’ve tried to remind myself of what’s right, of my duty, of all the reasons why I can’t—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You already knew. You knew the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders, the impossible choice he faced between the life he was bound to and the feelings that had grown between you.

But in that moment, as you stood in the dim light of his chambers, none of it seemed to matter. It was just the two of you, and the pull between you was too strong to deny.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his name passed your lips, a quiet plea for something you both knew couldn’t be undone.

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours one last time, as if waiting for a sign, for permission to take that final, forbidden step. And then, with a soft, broken sigh, Marcus leaned in.

His lips brushed yours, so softly at first that it felt like a whisper, a question, a promise. The world seemed to still around you, the moment suspended in time as he kissed you with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His hand tightened around yours, holding you close, as though he were afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment would slip away if he loosened his grip.

And then, slowly, the kiss deepened. His lips pressed more firmly against yours, and all the emotions that had been building between you, longing, desire, love, poured into that single, desperate kiss. It was as though every unspoken word, every hidden glance, every touch that had lingered too long was finally allowed to come to life.

You kissed him back, your hand finding its way to his bare chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingers. It beat in time with yours, fast and hard, as if it, too, was caught up in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his body warm and solid against yours.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations, not the world outside these walls. There was only Marcus, his lips on yours, his hands holding you like you were something precious, something he had longed for but never thought he could have.

“I don’t know how we’ll keep this secret… but gods, I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop.”

You felt the same. You didn’t know how you would hide this, how you would keep it from the eyes of the world, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You had already crossed a line, and there was no going back.

“I don’t want to stop either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But we’ll find a way… we have to.”

Marcus’s hand slipped from your waist to your cheek once more, his fingers brushing softly against your skin. He leaned in again, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as though he were trying to hold on to the peace you had found in each other, but as soon as your eyes connected in unspoken pleas, his lips found yours again, this time his kiss screamed desire for you.

The way his right hand slipped down your arm, his touch soft but filled with purpose, sent a shiver through you. His fingers trailed along the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as his lips remained firmly attached to yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your head spin.

His body pressed against yours, strong and warm, as if he were trying to merge your very beings into one. The world around you seemed to melt away, your senses consumed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Each moment felt suspended in time, the quiet intimacy of the moment holding you both captive.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling in time with yours as the kiss grew more passionate, more desperate. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, as though he needed to feel every part of you, to confirm that this wasn’t a dream.

Your own hands, trembling with the weight of the moment, slid up his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles. You had never been this close before, never allowed yourself to imagine being this close to him. And now, here you were, pressed against him in a way that defied everything you had been told about your place in the world, everything you had believed about what you deserved.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched the fire burning in your chest. It wasn’t just desire, there was something deeper, something raw and unspoken that neither of you had been able to express until now. Every kiss, every touch, was a release of all the feelings you had kept locked away for so long.

As his lips parted from yours for just a moment, his breath hot against your skin, Marcus whispered your name again—so soft, so reverent that it felt like a prayer. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-closed, his voice thick with emotion.

“I can’t…” he whispered, his hand still resting firmly at your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “I can’t stop this.”

Neither could you. You didn’t want to. You were lost in him, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered. You could feel the conflict within him, the weight of his duties and the forbidden nature of what was blossoming between you, but none of that mattered in this moment.

His lips found yours again, this time slower, more tender, as though he were savoring every second, memorizing the feel of you in his arms. His hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer, as if he needed to feel the beat of your heart against his own. You melted into him, your own hands finding their way into his hair, threading through the dark strands as you kissed him with a longing you had kept buried for far too long.

No long after, his fingertips caressed your shoulders, slipping the strips of your dress down your arms. None of you stopped locking your gazes as you felt you dress slipping down your body. You were completely bare in front of the man who had made your heart race like never before.

You had never felt like this before, and the fire in the pit of your stomach was a new sensation for you. There was fire everywhere.

Marcus swept his eyes down your body, clearly reacting to the sight in front of him. The dim light of the moon danced across your skin. Marcus couldn’t believe it. You were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on, and under his stare he could swear God had made you just for him to find you, to find love in your eyes and in the way they looked at him now.

He placed his right hand on your neck, before trailing the path down to your neck, your breasts, your stomach as if you were the most delicate map he had ever touched in his life.

Goosebumps arise on your skin as you gasped under his touch. The way he unbraided your hair and swept it, looking at you with adoration. He wasted no time to devour your lips with his, stealing the moaning sounds out of your mouth, when his fingers slipped into your entrance. He worked his was in and out, your mouths attached, and his tongue caressed your swollen lips.

Your hands made their way to his back, his chest, his stomach. A groan came out of his throat when your fingers found his cock. Before you could even react, he carefully laid you on your back, his eyes bored into yours. Your lips were parted by the surprise of his sudden movement, and yet you looked beautiful under his stare, and you could feel beautiful too. It felt like a dream, to had found love in someone like him.

Marcus reached out and cupped your breasts. Your nipples hardened at the touch, and he duck down taking one in his mouth. You whispered his name making his cock throb at the sound of you pleading him, clearly enjoying the was your stomach trembled under his body. He then spread your legs to find the place where you needed him the most.

“Marcus” you whispered; voice weak “please.”

He grumbled and buried his entire face on your cunt. Your legs tightened in surprise, but he kept them open by draping one over his shoulder. He'd done this before, but with you, it seemed different. This time, he couldn't contain his thrill at the thought of making you pleased. He wanted you not only for this reason, but also because you cared for him and he for you, and he desired to prove thar by making love to you and waking up next to you for the rest of his life.

He continued sucking on your clit until you gasped for air. You felt hot under his tongue, and the flavor of you drove him crazy.

“You’re so beautiful mea columba” he whispered, pushing your thighs further apart and took his cock to press the head into your cunt, pushing it with pressure. You both moaned. He dropped his head to your shoulder, inhaling your exquisite scent.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, voice trembling at the thought. You were tight. He knew for the way your eyes looked that you never had done this before, so he tried to be as careful as he could.

“Marcus” you moaned, whimpering. He was all the way inside you. He felt embarred as how weak he seemed because of you. He tried not to come so fast, while glancing between you every second to make sure he wasn’t hurting you.

When he felt himself getting close, he tried to lift your back, holding onto your waist, his chest against yours, lips devouring each other.

“I’m in love with you, mea columba” he whispered, while pounding into you with a steady but delicate force it made you squirm.

your lips and bodies moving in perfect harmony, the rest of the world slipping away as you both gave in to the feelings you could no longer deny. The weight of the consequences lingered at the edges of your mind, but in that moment, nothing seemed as important as this. As him. As the way his hand cradled your waist, the way he kissed you like he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still resting together. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the quiet understanding that you had both crossed a line, and there was no turning back now.

Marcus’s eyes flickered open, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his emotions shining clearly in the dim light of the room. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist, a touch so gentle, yet filled with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I’m in love with you.”

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy with a truth neither of you could deny anymore. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead, the kiss soft and lingering, filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

You felt a rush of warmth flood through your body, his confession sinking deep into your chest. You had heard it in his voice before, seen it in his eyes, but hearing those words—words you never thought someone of his stature would say to you—made everything feel real. His love was dangerous, forbidden, but it was also undeniable.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, not out of sorrow, but from the overwhelming emotions that surged through you—relief, joy, and the painful knowledge that this love, as real as it was, lived in the shadows.

“I…” your voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he closed his eyes, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. “I’ve tried to fight it,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet anguish. “I’ve tried so hard to push it away, to tell myself it can’t be. But I can’t… I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

You felt the trembling in his voice, the vulnerability in his words, and it mirrored the storm of feelings inside you. You had spent so long burying your own emotions, convinced that someone like Marcus could never see you as more than a servant, more than someone beneath him. But here he was, his love laid bare, his heart in your hands.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could speak, Marcus lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing the tear away with the same care he had shown you so many times before. His eyes were filled with something so raw, so real, that it made your chest ache.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words escaping you before you could stop them, but you didn’t want to stop them. They were the truth, and in this moment, you had no reason to hide.

Marcus closed his eyes again, his lips parting in a quiet, shaky breath, as though the sound of your confession had taken away the last of his restraint. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “Whatever happens, whatever comes next… I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

His words were a promise, one that felt as fragile as it was powerful. You both knew the risks, knew the world wouldn’t accept this love, but in his arms, in this stolen moment, you believed him. You believed that somehow, against all odds, you might be able to hold on to each other.

As the night deepened, the warmth of Marcus's arms around you became a cocoon of safety and comfort, unlike anything you had ever known. The intensity of your shared confessions, the raw emotions lingering between you, began to soften into a quieter, more intimate connection. His hands, once rough with battle, now caressed your skin with the gentleness of a man who had found something worth protecting, something precious.

You remained in his embrace, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed, the flickering candlelight casting soft, golden shadows across his quarters. Marcus's thumb traced slow circles against your back, his touch reassuring and grounding, as though he was afraid that letting go would make this moment slip away into a dream. His forehead still rested gently against yours, his breathing steady but deep, as if he, too, was caught in the weight of everything you had just shared.

“I never imagined feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence of the room. You weren’t sure if you were confessing to him or simply speaking aloud the truth of what was in your heart. “I never thought I’d ever know this kind of closeness, this… love.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Neither did I,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Not like this. Not with you.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. The quiet sounds of the night outside his window drifted in—a soft wind, the distant murmur of soldiers on watch, the occasional flicker of torchlight from the corridors. But none of it touched the stillness that enveloped the two of you in this space. Here, with Marcus, the world felt far away.

You felt the exhaustion from the day, from the intensity of everything, slowly creeping into your limbs. Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite the swirl of emotions still lingering in your chest, a deep weariness began to settle over you.

Marcus must have sensed it too, because his hand moved to your cheek, lifting your face gently so that your eyes met his. His expression softened, the hardness of the general gone, replaced by the tenderness of a man who cared deeply for you.

“You’re tired,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “You should rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to leave his embrace, not wanting to lose the warmth of his presence. But he only smiled, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a soothing motion. “Stay here. With me.”

It was more than just an invitation. It was a promise, a reassurance that you didn’t have to return to the cold solitude of your small, servant's quarters. Tonight, you could stay here, beside him, and find some peace in his arms.

You breathed in the scent of him, your heart finding a slow, steady rhythm against his, and in the safety of his embrace, you finally let go.

Marcus’s hand continued to stroke your hair, even as sleep pulled you under. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and sure, and it lulled you into the sweetest, most peaceful sleep you had known in years.

And just before the darkness of sleep claimed you completely, you felt him press one last kiss to your temple, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered.

And with that, you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped safely in his arms.

The days that followed were filled with an eerie calm, the quiet before the storm neither of you could ignore. You and Marcus fell into a rhythm of stolen moments—brushed hands when no one was looking, lingering glances that spoke more than words could ever say. In the dim light of dawn, in the safety of his quarters, your world shrank to just the two of you, the outside concerns held at bay for a little while longer.

But the world, especially one as ruthless as the Roman Empire, couldn’t be held back forever.

It began with hushed whispers from the servants, news of political maneuvering at the highest levels. You heard it first while fetching water from the well. Two women were gossiping, their voices low but clear enough for you to overhear.

“The Emperor’s orders,” one of them said, her tone almost gleeful. “General Acacius is to marry Lucilla, they say. It’s all but decided.”

Your stomach dropped, the bucket in your hand suddenly too heavy. You froze in place, the weight of those words sinking into you like a stone. Marcus is to marry. The Emperor’s will was absolute, and any personal desires, any feelings, would be swept away like dust in the wind.

You barely remember how you made it back to Marcus’s quarters, your mind a blur of emotions—dread, anger, helplessness. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing with the terrible reality you were trying to push away. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling, your breath shallow as if the air itself had become too heavy to breathe.

When Marcus walked in later that evening, you could see it in his face before he even spoke. The weight of duty, the burden of decisions not his own, bore down on him like a heavy cloak. His eyes, once so full of warmth when they met yours, were shadowed with the knowledge of what was to come.

You tried to speak, to find the words to ask him if it was true, but they caught in your throat. Instead, you stood in silence, waiting for him to tell you.

“They’ve ordered it,” he said quietly, his voice strained. He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, as if doing so would make it all too real. “The Emperor has arranged a marriage.”

Your heart shattered at that moment, but you willed yourself not to show it. You had always known this was a possibility—he was a man of power and status, and the empire would always demand his obedience. Still, knowing didn’t soften the blow. You felt like the air had been knocked out of your chest.

Marcus took a step closer to you, his expression pained. “I didn’t want this,” he murmured. “I don’t want her.”

He reached for you, his hand hovering just above your arm as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you. The distance between you felt insurmountable now, the shadow of his impending marriage looming over everything you had built together.

You pulled back, just enough to break the unspoken promise of his touch. “But you must,” you said, your voice trembling. “You have no choice.”

Marcus’s eyes finally met yours, and the anguish in them was more than you could bear. “I swore I would protect you, that I wouldn’t let anything take you from me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay strong even as the tears threatened to fall. “And I swore I would stay by your side, no matter what,” you whispered. “But Marcus, this… this is the world we live in…I can’t stay here just to watch you being married to a woman who is not me.”

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t pretend this marriage means anything to me. It’s politics, nothing more. You are what I want.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, the enormity of what you were facing pulling you under. “But once you’re married…” The words felt like poison on your tongue. “Once you’re bound to her…”

He shook his head fiercely, stepping closer again, this time not hesitating as he took your hands in his. His touch was warm, familiar, but it couldn’t erase the reality pressing down on both of you. “I won’t let her come between us. I won’t.”

Tears filled your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. You couldn’t stop the ache in your chest, the knowledge that your love would now have to exist in the shadows of Marcus’s new life—hidden, secret, and forbidden.

“What kind of life is that for us?” you asked, your voice breaking. “A love hidden away, always in the dark?”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with desperation. “We’ll find a way,” he insisted. “Even if the world says we can’t… we’ll find a way.”

You wanted to believe him, you wanted to hold on to the love that had grown between you, but the cold reality was seeping into every corner of your heart. This marriage wasn’t just an obstacle—it was a wall that you couldn’t break through.

You stepped away, pulling your hands free from his grasp. The distance between you felt like a chasm now, one that neither of you could cross. “I don’t know if love is enough,” you whispered, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest. “I won’t have my heart broken every day of my life just for you to see me from afar.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, each one a dagger piercing both your hearts. Marcus's face fell, the determination in his eyes flickering like a candle in the wind. He reached out once more, but hesitated, his hand hovering between you as if unsure whether he still had the right to touch you.

"Mea columba, please," he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't say that. Don't give up on what we have."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, straightening your spine to muster whatever strength you had left. "I'm not giving up," you replied softly. "But I can't live a life where I'm constantly in the shadows, hiding what I feel, watching you build a life with someone else."

He shook his head vehemently. "My marriage to Lucilla will be in name only. It means nothing compared to what I feel for you."

"But it changes everything," you insisted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. "She will be your wife. She will stand beside you in public, share your home, perhaps even bear your children. Where does that leave me? Sneaking around in the dark, pretending I don't exist whenever others are near?"

Marcus's expression crumpled, pain etched into every line of his face. "I would never ask you to diminish yourself like that."

"But that's exactly what this would be," you said, stepping back further to put some distance between you. "I deserve more than to be a secret, Marcus. And deep down, you know that."

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the bustling city beyond the walls—a world that seemed determined to keep you apart.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "What are you saying?"

You took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to face the truth you'd been avoiding. "I'm saying that perhaps it's time for me to leave."

His eyes widened in alarm. "Leave? No, you can't. I won't allow it."

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "You can't keep me here, not like this. Not when staying would mean watching you live a life, I can never be a part of."

Desperation flashed across his face. "I can speak to the Emperor. I can refuse the marriage. There must be a way—"

"And risk everything you've worked for? Your honor, your position?" You shook your head sadly. "You and I both know that's not possible. The Emperor's command is absolute. Defying him would only bring ruin upon you."

"I would risk it for you," he insisted, taking a bold step forward. "For us."

"And that's precisely why I can't let you do that," you replied gently. "I won't be the cause of your downfall.” You inhaled “Because you would end up despising me for it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "So, what then? We part ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?"

You felt your heart break a little more at the pain in his voice. "I don't want to forget," you said softly. "I will cherish every moment we've shared. But sometimes, love isn't enough to overcome the obstacles before us."

Marcus's shoulders sagged, defeat washing over him. "I can't accept that."

"Neither can I," you admitted, tears welling up once more. "But it's the only way we can both move forward without destroying each other."

He looked at you with a profound sadness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. "Where will you go?"

You offered a small, sad smile. "I'll find somewhere. Perhaps another household, or maybe I'll find a way to make a life for myself beyond these walls."

A tense silence settled between you. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. "When?"

You swallowed hard. "Soon. Before the marriage takes place."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to steady himself against the inevitable. "At least allow me to ensure you're safe. Let me arrange for you to be placed somewhere you'll be treated well."

You considered refusing but knew it would ease his mind. "Alright," you agreed quietly. "Thank you."

Marcus stepped closer once more, and this time you didn't pull away as he reached out to cup your face gently in his hands. "I love you," he whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That will never change."

A sob escaped your lips, and you placed your hand over his. "And I love you. More than you could ever know."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the two of you stood there, memorizing every detail of each other's faces—the warmth of your breaths mingling, the softness of his touch, the sorrow in his eyes.

"Promise me something," he said softly.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll find happiness," he murmured. "That you'll live the life you deserve."

You nodded slowly. "I promise."

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if it were the last time—as indeed it might be. You clung to him, wishing you could freeze time, keep this moment suspended forever.

After what felt like both an eternity and a mere heartbeat, you pulled away, knowing that if you didn't leave now, you might never find the strength again. "Goodbye, Marcus," you whispered.

He reached into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a small object—a simple silver pendant engraved with a laurel wreath. "Take this," he said, pressing it into your hand. "So you'll always have a part of me with you."

You looked down at the pendant, your vision blurred by tears. "I will treasure it always."

With a final, lingering glance, you turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. As you left his chambers, the weight of your decision settled fully upon you, but beneath the pain, there was a quiet resolve. You were choosing your own path, difficult as it was.

Behind you, Marcus remained standing, watching you go until you disappeared from sight. The echo of your footsteps faded, leaving him alone with the emptiness of the room and the ache in his heart.

The days that followed were a blur. True to his word, Marcus arranged for you to be placed in the household of a kind widow on the outskirts of the city. The woman, Julia, welcomed you warmly, unaware of the depth of your connection to the general. To her, you were simply a skilled servant in need of a place, and she was grateful for the help.

Life in Julia's home was peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil of your emotions. Each day, you performed your duties diligently, but your thoughts often drifted back to Marcus—the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace, the intensity of his gaze as he declared his love for you.

News of his impending marriage reached you through whispers in the marketplace. The union was to be a grand affair, solidifying political alliances and elevating Marcus's standing even further. You tried to steel yourself against the pang of jealousy and sorrow that accompanied these rumors, reminding yourself that this was the path he was bound to follow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you found yourself standing on a hill overlooking the city. The distant sounds of celebration drifted up to you—the marriage ceremony was taking place. Clutching the silver pendant around your neck, you closed your eyes and whispered a silent farewell.

"May you find happiness," you murmured into the evening breeze. "And may our paths cross again in another life."

As the first stars appeared in the sky, you took a deep breath and turned away from the city. There was a whole world beyond Rome's walls, and perhaps, in time, you would find your place in it—where you could heal and maybe even find joy once more.

Weeks passed, each one heavier than the last. You had settled into Julia’s villa , trying to find peace in the simplicity of your new life. But the ache in your heart remained, the thought of Marcus and his looming marriage never far from your mind. Each night, you clutched the silver pendant he had given you, hoping it might somehow tether your heart to his, even from a distance.

It had been months since you had last seen him, and you had resigned yourself to the reality that Marcus’s life had moved on, even if yours still felt frozen in time. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

One late afternoon, as you were tending to the garden outside Julia’s villa, you heard the distant sound of horses approaching. You looked up, wiping your hands on your apron, and saw a group of soldiers in familiar Roman armor riding up the path. Your heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

When they came to a stop, your breath caught in your throat. There, dismounting from his horse, was Marcus—his eyes searching frantically until they landed on you.

Your heart raced, and before you could even process what was happening, Marcus was striding toward you, his face a mix of determination and relief.

"Marcus?" you whispered, barely able to believe your eyes.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if he had been afraid you might vanish if he let go. His warmth surrounded you, and for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope again.

"I found you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I told you we'd find a way."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, confusion clouding your thoughts. "But… your marriage? Lucilla?"

Marcus shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. "It's over. The Emperor himself annulled it."

Your breath caught in your throat. "What? How? Why?"

A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes were serious. "Lucilla… she didn’t want this marriage any more than I did. She petitioned to me, and together we spoke to the emperor. She’s in love with someone else, someone who she could never marry while bound to me." He paused, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "And the Emperor, surprisingly, agreed to release both of us."

You stared at him, stunned, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. "So, you’re free?"

He nodded. "I’m free, mea columba. I can choose my own path now. And I’ve come to ask you to walk it with me."

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of joy. "Marcus, I…" you stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions. "Is this real? Are you really here?"

He smiled then, the first genuine smile you’d seen from him in so long. "Yes, it's real. I love you. I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks. I want you by my side, not in the shadows. I want you to be with me—openly, proudly."

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Everything you had feared, all the obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable, had fallen away. And standing before you was the man you loved, offering you the life you had once thought was impossible.

You smiled through your tears, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you, Marcus," you whispered. "And yes, I’ll walk that path with you. Wherever it leads."

With that, he leaned in and kissed you, a kiss full of promise and hope, sealing the future you would share. At that moment, everything felt right. The shadows of the past no longer held power over you, and the weight of uncertainty had lifted from your shoulders.

Marcus took your hand when he finally pulled away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come," he said softly. "Let’s go. There’s a whole world waiting for us."

A few months later...

The soft morning light filtered through the open window of the villa, casting a golden glow over the room as you slowly stirred awake. The cool breeze carried the scent of wildflowers from the hills, filling the air with the promise of a new day. You lay in bed, nestled in Marcus's strong arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

For months now, you had known peace, a life far removed from the chaos and expectations of the Roman court. Marcus had retired from the military, choosing a quiet life with you in the countryside. The villa had become your sanctuary, a place where you could live freely, without the burden of secrecy or fear. No more hiding in the shadows—your love had found the light.

Gently, you shifted in Marcus’s embrace, your hand resting over your growing belly. A small, soft smile spread across your face as you felt the faint flutter of movement inside you. Marcus stirred beside you, his arms tightening around you instinctively, as though even in sleep, he wanted to protect you.

You gazed down at your hand, marveling at the life that grew within you—a symbol of the love you and Marcus had fought so hard to protect. This child, your child, was the future you had once feared might never come.

Marcus’s eyes slowly opened, and he smiled sleepily as his gaze met yours. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice deep and warm.

"Good morning," you whispered back, your hand still resting on your belly. His eyes followed the movement, and his expression softened as he reached out to place his hand gently over yours.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

"I'm well," you replied, your smile widening. "The baby’s been very active this morning."

Marcus’s face lit up, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “And he will know freedom.”

His gaze lingered on you, filled with a deep, unwavering love. "I still can’t believe this is real," he said quietly, his thumb gently brushing your hand. "After everything, we’re here—together—and soon, we’ll have a family."

You felt tears prick your eyes, not of sorrow this time, but of pure happiness. "It’s everything I never thought I could have," you admitted softly. "But now, I can’t imagine life any other way."

Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss, one that spoke of all the joy and gratitude you both felt. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment.

"I love you, Mea columba" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can say."

"And I love you," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness. "For always."

Together, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of your journey behind you and the promise of a bright future ahead. The child you carried was a testament to your love, a symbol of the life you had built together despite all the odds.

Outside, the world continued to turn, but here, in this quiet, peaceful place, you had everything you had ever dreamed of, Marcus, your love, and the family you would soon welcome into the world.

The future stretched out before you, filled with light, joy, and hope. And as the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Marcus would face them together, stronger than ever, bound by a love that had defied the impossible.

Your love had triumphed. And now, the greatest adventure of all was about to begin, the creation of a family, born out of that love.