#general acacius x y/n | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 4 months ago

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ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀ ғᴀʟsᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀ

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Summary : Your father is fed up with your shenanigans, so he arranges a marriage to Rome's famous general and gladiator, Marcus Acacius.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Oral F and M, Implied age gap, Scars, Misogyny, Spitting, both give switch vibes,

A/n : I put a dub-con warning just because it is a forced/arranged marriage also ty and enjoy @multiversed-daydreamer for listening to me yap about this all day luv ya 💕

The table was set, lit, and ready for a feast. Grapes, wine, cheese, and meats lined the table. Being the daughter of a powerful general had its perks, not that you liked the kind of life you had. You understood you were privileged, your place in society clear. You knew that if it weren't for your father's position, you would probably be a slave to the hierarchy. But it didn't mean you had to like your life.

You were 18 and shockingly unmarried—not that you cared. You had more fun sneaking away to the parties that would happen late at night. You were happy for the fact you weren't tied down yet. The thrill of escaping your father's watchful eye and diving into the forbidden world of Rome's underground festivities made your heart race.

You had a reputation, one that was far from ladylike. Wild child, they called you, and you wore it like a badge of honor. You knew what sex was, what things happened in the dark corners of those parties, but you were still a virgin. Your knowledge came from observation, whispers, and the daring escapades you had witnessed, but you hadn't crossed that final threshold. Not yet.

Your father, a stern and formidable general, was a man who worked with gladiators and other powerful figures in Rome. His influence was vast, and his expectations were high. He had grown increasingly frustrated with you lately, and you couldn't quite understand why. His annoyance with your antics was palpable, but there was something more, something beneath the surface that gnawed at him.

As you sat there, wine goblet in hand, you sipped slowly, savoring the taste. You knew he would tell you to only have a single glass, a rule you delighted in bending. The door to the grand hall burst open, and there he was, your father, his expression a storm of irritation and something deeper, something darker.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the hall. "Drinking again?"

You looked up at him, feigning innocence. "Just a single glass, Father, as you always insist."

His eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room with swift, purposeful strides. "You think I don't know what you get up to, do you? Sneaking out, causing trouble. Do you have any idea how this reflects on me? On our family?"

You sighed, placing the goblet down. "I know, Father. But you can't keep me locked away forever. I'm not a child anymore."

He stood before you, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "You're my daughter, and you will behave with the dignity and decorum befitting your station."

You met his gaze, unflinching. "And what if I don't want that life? What if I want to be free, to make my own choices?"

His frustration seemed to boil over, and for a moment, you thought he might explode. But then, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You don't understand the dangers out there. The people I deal with—the gladiators, the politicians—they're not like the ones at your little parties. They're dangerous."

You softened slightly, sensing the genuine worry behind his anger. "Then tell me, Father. Explain why you're so frustrated lately. What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitated, the walls he had built around himself momentarily crumbling. "It's complicated," he finally said, his voice quieter. "There are threats... to our family, to our position. I'm trying to protect you, even if it doesn't seem like it."

You reached out, touching his arm. "I want to understand. Help me see what you see."

He looked down at your hand, then back at your face, a mixture of anger and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe it's time you did," he said, his voice resigned. "But you must promise me, you'll be careful. This world is not as kind as you think."

You nodded, determination filling your chest. "I promise, Father. I'll be careful. But I won't be caged."

Your father's expression hardened once more, and the momentary softness disappeared. He sat down at the table, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping one into his mouth. "Enough. This isn't up for discussion," he snapped. "You are to be married."

Your heart plummeted. "Married? To whom?"

His eyes were cold as steel. "To a man who can protect you, who can secure our family's future."

You jumped to your feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "No! I don't want to be married off like some piece of property. I won't do it!"

He towered over you, his presence suffocating. "You have no choice. This is for your own good."

"Who is it then?" you demanded, your voice rising in defiance. "Is it Lucius? That lecherous old man who can't keep his hands to himself?"

Your father shook his head, his jaw clenched. "No, not Lucius."

"Is it Gaius, then?" you asked, pacing around the table, barely noticing your father grabbing a slice of cheese and eating it with deliberate calmness. "The pompous fool who thinks he's the smartest man in Rome but can't even string a coherent sentence together without tripping over his own ego?"

"Not Gaius."

"Then it must be Quintus! The brute who only knows how to solve problems with his fists, who would treat me like a possession rather than a person."

"No, it isn't Quintus either," your father snapped, his patience wearing thin. He took a deep drink from his own goblet, trying to steady himself.

"Who then? Who could possibly be suitable in your eyes?" you spat, your desperation clear.

Your father took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's Marcus Acacius."

The name sent a jolt through you, and you took an involuntary step back. Marcus Acacius, a name whispered in both awe and fear throughout Rome. A man known for his prowess in the arena and his cunning outside it. A man with a reputation as cold and unyielding as stone.

"Marcus Acacius?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone. "You can't be serious. He's a gladiator, a killer."

"He's more than that," your father insisted. "He's powerful, respected, and capable of protecting you from the dangers you don't even know exist."

You shook your head, your mind reeling. "No, Father. You can't do this to me. I won't marry him."

"You will," he said firmly. "And you will do it for our family, for our future."

You felt the walls closing in, the life you had known slipping away. You slumped back into your chair, staring at the untouched food before you. "What if... what if I've already been with someone else?" you blurted out, hoping to find some way out of this nightmare.

Your father's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Have you been taken by another lover?"

You hesitated, the lie heavy on your tongue, but the fear of his wrath kept you silent. "No," you finally admitted, defeated.

"Then it's settled," he said, the finality in his voice chilling. "You will marry Marcus Acacius, and you will do so with dignity."

Tears of frustration and anger welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I won't be happy, Father. Not with him, not with this life."

He reached out, a rare gesture of tenderness, and touched your cheek. "Happiness is a luxury we can't afford," he said softly. "But safety, security—that is something I can give you."

You pulled away, the weight of his decision crushing your spirit. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be free."

His hand fell to his side, and his eyes hardened once more. "Freedom is an illusion, my daughter. And you will learn that soon enough."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the grand hall, the weight of your impending marriage pressing down on you like a vice.

Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.

Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.

You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.

You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.

Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.

It had been a month of plotting and planning, each day dragging on as your impending fate loomed ever closer. Today was your wedding day, the day your life would be sealed into a destiny you hadn’t chosen. Final preparations had been completed yesterday, and now you were meant to step into the role of a dutiful daughter and bride. You had woken up earlier than your maids would have roused you, knowing your father would want you to rest more so you appeared extra fresh for Marcus. Instead, your nerves had kept you up all night, the shadows on the walls morphing into ominous shapes as you thought of your future.

The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window, and you knew you couldn’t waste any more time. Your small bag, packed with bread, a few pieces of jewelry to sell, and the spending money your father occasionally gave you, lay hidden under the covers of your bed. The plan was simple: catch the slightest bit of rest before your handmaid came in to wake you, then escape before anyone noticed.

The door creaked open, and Lucia, your handmaid, entered with her usual gentle and serene presence. She glided to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, casting a warm glow that felt almost mocking given your circumstances. You sat up in bed, the light highlighting the bags under your eyes from a sleepless night.

"Good morning, my lady," she said dreamily, her voice like a lullaby. "The sun is shining so beautifully today. It's a perfect day for a wedding." She moved to your side, her hands deftly beginning to arrange your hair with practiced ease. You watched her reflection in the mirror, feeling a pang of guilt for the deception you were about to execute.

"Your dress is so beautiful, my lady. It's like a dream come true. You'll look like a goddess, a vision of perfection," Lucia continued, her words meant to comfort but only adding to your anxiety. The dress she spoke of hung in the corner, a symbol of the life you were being forced into.

You let her continue, her words a soothing balm against your churning thoughts. As she began to apply a light makeup, using berries to tint your lips and cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a sense of finality creeping in. "You'll be the envy of every woman in Rome," she continued, her voice full of admiration. "Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You'll be safe with him."

Safe. The word echoed in your mind, tinged with bitterness. Safety was a cage, and you longed for freedom. Suddenly, you sat up, startling Lucia. "I need your dress," you blurted out, your voice urgent.

She looked at you, shocked and confused. "My dress, my lady? Why would you want my dress?" she asked, her hands frozen in mid-motion.

You gave her a reassuring smile, reaching under your bed to pull out a dress you had kept for a long time. It was a simple yet elegant gown, one she had always admired. "I have something for you," you said, handing her the dress. "I've seen how much you like it. Today, I want you to wear it and have fun. I just... I want to feel normal before the wedding."

Her eyes widened, and a smile of pure joy spread across her face. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you so much!" She looked at the dress, then back at you. "But what about you? Where will you be?"

You hesitated for a moment, crafting a believable lie. "I'll be eating breakfast with the soldiers. I need a moment to myself before the chaos begins."

She nodded, believing your words, and quickly changed into the dress you had given her. You watched as her usual plain attire was replaced by the elegant gown, the transformation bringing a genuine smile to your face despite the turmoil in your heart. "You look beautiful," you said, forcing a smile. "Now go, enjoy yourself."

Lucia beamed, her happiness palpable. "Thank you, my lady. I'll remember this day forever." She gave a small curtsy and hurried out, eager to enjoy the brief taste of luxury you had gifted her.

As soon as the door closed behind her, you sprang into action. Your heart pounded as you grabbed your small bag from under the covers and moved swiftly towards the door. The corridors of the castle were quiet, the early hour ensuring most were still in their beds. You moved with purpose, your sandals barely making a sound on the stone floors.

Every step you took was filled with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. You had never been so bold, and the risk was immense. If you were caught, the consequences would be severe, but you couldn't live a life that wasn't yours. The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage with Marcus Acacius spurred you on.

You reached the courtyard, the cool morning air filling your lungs as you dashed towards the farthest end where the horse stables were located. The sound of hooves and the scent of hay greeted you as you approached, your eyes scanning for a suitable mount. Freedom was within reach, and your heart soared with the possibility.

But then, a familiar, stern voice cut through the morning air. "Where do you think you're going?"

You sprinted, your sandals slapping against the cobblestones as the guards closed in. Heart pounding, you reached the barn, your fingers fumbling with the latch. The sound of pursuing footsteps fueled your frantic efforts, and finally, the door swung open. You dashed inside, the scent of hay and horses enveloping you. There was no time to lose.

Without wasting a moment, you chose the newest and fastest horse, a powerful chestnut stallion that had always intimidated you with its raw strength. It was your only chance. Your hands shook as you grabbed its mane, your heart hammering in your chest. The stallion snorted, sensing your urgency. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

"Hyah!" you urged, kicking your heels against its sides. The stallion reared, its powerful muscles tensing beneath you, then surged forward, galloping towards the gates. The wind whipped through your hair, the thundering of hooves drowning out the shouts behind you.

The gate loomed ahead, freedom tantalizingly close. You leaned forward, urging the horse faster. As you rode, you navigated the narrow alleys and sharp turns of the castle grounds, the stallion's speed making every twist and turn feel like a life-or-death gamble. The guards were not far behind, their yells growing louder, but you kept pushing, your eyes fixed on the gate.

You had run from the guards before, slipping through their grasp with quick wits and nimble feet, but this was different. The stakes were higher, the danger more palpable. The horse beneath you was your only hope, its powerful strides eating up the distance between you and the gate. But it was also a wild, untamed force, difficult to control.

As you neared the gate, you saw it beginning to close. Panic surged through you. With a desperate cry, you urged the stallion faster. The ground seemed to blur beneath you, the world a whirl of motion and sound. The horse’s breath came in powerful snorts, its muscles straining with effort.

Just as you thought you might make it, the stallion stumbled on a loose cobblestone. You were flung from its back, the world spinning around you as you hit the ground hard. Pain shot through your body, your vision swimming with stars.

When you opened your eyes, the sky above was a brilliant blue, and the scent of earth and grass filled your nostrils. You groaned, trying to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Easy there," a deep, soothing voice said. You turned your head and found yourself staring into the concerned eyes of a stranger, his face handsome and strong, framed by dark curls. He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

You blinked, trying to focus through the haze of pain and confusion. "Who... who are you?"

A small, enigmatic smile played on his lips. "My name is Marcus Acacius. And you must be my bride."

The revelation hit you like a bolt of lightning. This was the man you were meant to marry, the man you were running from. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw not the tyrant you had imagined, but a man filled with genuine concern and curiosity.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Marcus continued his voice a mix of authority and kindness. "It's dangerous. Let me help you."

The irony of the situation was almost too much to bear. You had been fleeing from your fate, only to run straight into its arms. As Marcus helped you to your feet, his hands strong and reassuring, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps your destiny was more complex than you had believed.

Marcus's strong arms guided you inside, each step a reluctant surrender to the fate you had been trying to escape. The castle's grand corridors, usually bustling with servants and courtiers, were eerily quiet in the early morning light. You were disoriented, the pain from your fall mingling with the turmoil of your thoughts.

As you entered your bedchamber, a familiar and unwelcome face greeted you. Aurelia, one of your father's maids and his well-known mistress, stood there with a smug expression. Her presence was a bitter reminder of your father's indiscretions and the fractured state of your family.

"Well, well," Aurelia purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "What a surprise to see you here, my lady. Running away on your wedding day? How very unbecoming of you."

You shot her a withering glare, your temper flaring. "Spare me your lectures, Aurelia. I'm not in the mood for your sanctimonious drivel."

Aurelia's smile widened, enjoying your discomfort. "You should be grateful for the match your father has arranged. Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You could do far worse."

You clenched your fists, your anger barely contained. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify spreading your legs for my father? That you're doing it for power and security?"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she maintained her composure. "Watch your tongue, girl. You may not like me, but I'm here to make sure you fulfill your duty. Now sit down and let me get you ready."

Reluctantly, you sat down, feeling trapped and helpless. As Aurelia worked on your hair and makeup, her touch was firm and unyielding. Her presence was suffocating, her every word a reminder of the life you were being forced into.

"You think you can escape your destiny?" Aurelia continued, her tone dripping with disdain. "You're just a foolish girl. This marriage is your only chance at a future."

You bit back a retort, knowing it would only fuel her smug superiority. Instead, you focused on the mirror in front of you, watching as she applied the final touches to your appearance. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable—a vision of beauty and elegance, but one that felt like a mask hiding your true self.

Once Aurelia finished, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. "There," she said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "You look perfect. Ready to be a proper bride."

You stood, your heart heavy with dread. The grand hall awaited, filled with guests and the weight of expectation. As you made your way towards it, you felt the walls closing in, your fate sealed with every step.

The hall was decorated with lavish flowers and banners, the scent of incense filling the air. Guests whispered and watched as you entered, their eyes following your every move. At the far end, Marcus Acacius stood, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

The ceremony began with the priest’s voice, resonant and solemn, echoing through the hall. The guests fell into an expectant silence, the only sounds being the faint rustling of their silk garments and the distant clinking of goblets. The hall, lavishly adorned with ivy and flowers, seemed to shimmer with an almost otherworldly glow, casting shadows that danced like phantoms along the walls.

You stood at the altar, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The priest’s words, though intended to be a comfort, were like a dark incantation, each syllable wrapping around you tighter, dragging you deeper into the abyss of your fate. Your eyes flickered over to Marcus, standing with his back straight, his gaze unwavering. He looked every bit the powerful man he was rumored to be—tall, imposing, with a presence that commanded the room.

You recalled the whispers you had heard over the past months—the stories of Marcus Acacius. The tales were rife with speculation and fear, his name often mentioned in hushed tones. They spoke of a man whose ambition knew no bounds, whose cruelty was whispered about in every corner of Rome. Some said his eyes held a darkness that could see through to the soul, while others claimed he had a penchant for the macabre, often indulging in extravagant displays of power.

As the priest began the traditional vows, his voice a monotone murmur, you tried to focus, but the words blurred into a cacophony. "Do you, Marcus Acacius, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"

Marcus’s voice was steady, unwavering. "I do," he said, his tone deep and commanding, sending shivers down your spine.

When it was your turn, the words caught in your throat, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I do," you managed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, the weight of your submission crushing your spirit.

The priest nodded, a satisfied smile curling his lips. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

As the priest declared you bound by law and faith, the room erupted into applause, the sound a thunderclap that seemed to echo off the very stones of the castle. Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, leading you down the aisle. The guests showered you with petals, their faces a blur of congratulations and forced smiles. You felt like a puppet, each step you took dictated by an invisible string.

The reception hall was a whirlwind of opulence, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats. Long tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous feasts, while musicians played melodies that mingled with the laughter and chatter of the guests. The hall’s high ceilings seemed to stretch into eternity, adorned with golden chandeliers that sparkled like stars.

You clung to the edge of the hall, the laughter and music a distant hum, your mind wandering back to the dark tales you had heard of Marcus. The rumors were impossible to ignore: they spoke of his ruthless ambition, his cold demeanor, and his unsettling fascination with power. Some said his parties were a mask for darker pursuits, where the line between pleasure and pain blurred into obscurity.

As Marcus moved through the crowd, his demeanor was that of a king—gracious yet commanding, his laughter rich and resonant. He was surrounded by his closest allies, men whose eyes gleamed with greed and ambition. They raised their goblets in his honor, their voices melding into a chorus of congratulatory toasts.

You stood near a heavy oak door, the cool stone beneath your fingers a reminder of the stark reality you now faced. The night was growing darker, the moonlight streaming through the tall windows casting an eerie glow on the festivities.

Suddenly, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you away from the door. It was one of the guards, his expression grave. "My lady, you mustn't go near that door. Your father has given strict orders. Any guard who aids your escape will be put to death."

You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. "What do you mean? You can’t be serious. There’s no way out of here. You’re all trapped too."

The guard’s eyes flickered with a mix of pity and resolve. "It’s true, my lady. Your father’s command is ironclad. He has spies everywhere. If you try to leave, he will know. And the consequences for anyone who helps you are severe."

A knot of fear and frustration tightened in your chest. "What do you expect me to do? Just stand here and pretend everything’s fine?"

He hesitated, his grip on your arm softening. "No, my lady. But perhaps you could find a way to make the best of this night. Try to speak to him, learn his intentions. There may be more to him than the rumors say."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, your mind spinning with the guard’s words. With a determined stride, you made your way through the crowd towards Marcus, who was leaning casually against a pillar, a goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes were slightly glazed from the alcohol, but his gaze sharpened as he saw you approaching.

"Marcus," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I wanted to thank you for your help earlier today. I... I appreciate it."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You mean when you tried to flee?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it. "You have spirit, I'll give you that."

You forced a smile, trying to gauge his true nature. "I only wished for a moment of freedom. But I suppose that is behind us now."

Marcus took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. "Freedom is a fleeting thing, my dear. But power... power is eternal. And together, we shall wield it."

Your stomach churned at his words, the rumors about him echoing in your mind. "Is that all you care about? Power?" you asked, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice.

His smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "You misunderstand me. Power is not an end, but a means. It ensures safety, prosperity, and control over one's destiny. Is that so terrible?"

You struggled to see past the image you had built of him. "I’ve heard things about you, Marcus. Dark things."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "People fear what they do not understand. Let them talk. What matters is that I have the means to protect those I care about."

His words, though seemingly sincere, did little to quell your doubts. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, your father’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Honored guests!" he called out, drawing everyone’s attention. "The hour grows late, and it is time for my daughter and her new husband to retire to their bedchamber."

A murmur of approval and knowing smiles rippled through the crowd. Your heart raced, a mixture of dread and resignation filling you. Marcus extended his hand to you, his grip firm and possessive as he led you through the throng of guests towards the grand staircase.

As you ascended the stairs, the weight of your future bore down on you. You glanced back once, seeing the guests' faces fade into the distance, their laughter and conversations becoming a dull roar. When you reached the door of the bedchamber, Marcus paused, turning to face you.

"This is just the beginning," he said, his voice low and intense. "We have much to learn about each other."

You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yes, we do."

He opened the door, and you stepped inside, the room lit by the soft glow of candlelight. The bed, draped in rich fabrics, seemed to loom ominously in the center. Marcus closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding like a final seal on your fate.

As he moved closer, you felt a mix of fear and curiosity. This was the man you were now bound to, and despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a part of you that longed to understand him, to find the truth beneath the rumors.

"Let's start anew," he said, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "Whatever you have heard, whatever you fear, put it aside. We are bound by more than words and vows. Let’s see where this path takes us."

You recoiled from his touch, your anger bubbling to the surface. "I'd rather fuck a pig than you," you spat, your voice dripping with venom. The shock on his face quickly morphed into a cold, calculating expression.

"You need to learn your place," Marcus hissed, his grip tightening on your arm. "You should consider yourself lucky to have me, especially with your reputation."

You glared at him, your temper flaring. "Lucky? Is that what you think this is? A blessing? I know what people say about you, Marcus. They call you ruthless, a monster. I'd rather die than be your plaything."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You speak so boldly for someone in such a precarious position. But let me make something clear: you are mine now. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you in line."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and defiance. "You can't control me. I'll never submit to you."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Is that so? Tell me, my bride, are you truly a virgin, or have your wild antics already sullied you?"

The question caught you off guard, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "How dare you—"

"Answer me," he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. "Are you a virgin?"

You clenched your fists, refusing to be cowed. "Yes, I am," you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. "Not that it's any of your business."

He seemed taken aback for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. "So, you are pure, despite everything. Interesting."

"You think you can just claim me like some prize?" you retorted, your voice rising. "I won't be your obedient little wife. I won't be another notch on your belt."

Marcus's expression hardened, his grip on your arm like iron. "You will be my wife, and you will learn to respect me. You don't know the first thing about power or survival. But you will."

"You don't scare me," you lied, your voice faltering slightly.

"Don't I?" he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "You should be scared. But perhaps you're just too stubborn to realize it."

"Stubborn?" you scoffed. "Is that what you call it when someone refuses to bow to a tyrant?"

His eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you. But instead, he did something even more unexpected. He leaned in and kissed you, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, passionate intensity.

You froze, your mind racing as his kiss deepened. There was a raw, undeniable heat between you, a clash of wills and desires. Your initial shock gave way to a whirlwind of emotions—anger, fear, curiosity, and something else you couldn't quite name.

As his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, you found yourself responding, your body betraying your mind. The kiss was a battle, each of you struggling for dominance, neither willing to yield.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart racing. His eyes were dark and intense, a storm of emotions swirling within them. You stared back at him, defiance and confusion mingling in your gaze, unsure of what to say or do next.

"I'm sorry," Marcus said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "I shouldn't have forced myself on you like that."

His words, so out of character, only fueled your anger further. "Sorry?" you scoffed, pushing him back slightly. "You think a simple apology will make up for everything? For the way you've treated me, for the way you think you can just claim me?"

His jaw clenched, but he didn't back down. "I know I can't make up for it. But perhaps... perhaps we can find a way to understand each other."

You were silent for a moment, then your eyes narrowed. "Understand each other?" you echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what this is about? Understanding?"

A dark, reckless impulse surged within you. You grabbed him by the front of his tunic, pulling him closer. "You think you can control me?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "You think you can just take what you want?"

Before he could respond, you pressed your lips to his again, this time with even more intensity. The kiss was fierce, a clash of wills and desires. You could feel the tension between you, the thin line between hate and something far more dangerous.

Marcus responded in kind, his hands gripping your waist with bruising force. The room seemed to spin as you lost yourself in the raw heat of the moment, your anger and frustration boiling over into something wild and unrestrained.

You broke the kiss, your breathing ragged. "You want me?" you demanded, your voice a low, challenging whisper. "Then take me."

His eyes blazed with desire and a hint of confusion. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Shut up," you snapped, pulling him closer. "No more talking. Just... take me."

With a growl, Marcus responded, his hands tearing at your clothes with a desperate urgency. You mirrored his actions, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his tunic. The fabric fell away, and you pressed your bodies together, the heat of his skin igniting a fire within you.

"You're infuriating," he muttered, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And you," you retorted, your hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, "are a tyrant."

He paused for a moment, his breath hot against your skin. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire, "I hate you. And I need to feel something other than this... this helplessness."

He captured your lips again, his kiss searing and demanding. "I hate you too," he whispered against your mouth, his hands roaming your body. "But I can't resist you."

The world outside ceased to exist as you gave in to the storm between you. Clothes fell away, and you were left exposed, vulnerable yet defiant. You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him, your eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"You think you can control me?" you challenged, your voice breathless.

"I don't need to control you," Marcus replied, his hands gripping your hips. "I just need you."

Marcus brought his thumb to circle your clit, his rough touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You moaned slightly, your head falling back in bliss. His voice teased you, dripping with arrogance. "What, haven’t you touched yourself before?"

You gasped, grinding down against the hard length of his cock straddled between your legs. His smirk faltered at your audacity. "Of course I have," you retorted, your voice edged with defiance, a spark of rebellion lighting your eyes.

Marcus gripped your hips, lifting you off him with ease before moving to sit back against the headboard, his arms casually behind his head in a display of smug dominance. "You want the virgin to do all the work?" you taunted, your eyes narrowing in displeasure as you crawled closer.

His smirk returned, darker this time. "The virgin, huh? That's what I get to call you now?" He paused, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "You're the one who's on me like a dog in heat."

You looked at him with a dark expression, sitting back on your thighs, your chest heaving with frustration and desire. With one hand, you began to caress his upper thigh, mimicking the movements you'd seen from the sex workers in your father's employ. Though inexperienced, you weren't ignorant; you'd read secret novels and asked questions of your father's mistresses. But nothing had prepared you for the raw reality of this moment.

"You know what to do?" he questioned a challenge in his eyes, his voice a low growl.

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum on your tongue. The taste was oddly addictive. You wrapped your hand around his thick length, marveling at how it almost didn't fit in your grip. Steadying him, you licked the tip, eliciting a deep groan from him.

"Don't be shy," he patted your head condescendingly, his fingers tangling in your hair. Despite your nerves, you collected spit in your mouth and let it fall onto the tip of his cock, watching as he rubbed it around with a satisfied smirk.

You took the tip into your mouth, savoring the taste of his pre-cum, and groaned at the flavor. He moaned deeply as you sucked gently, guiding your head with his hand. You gagged slightly as you tried to take more of him in, your hand still gripping the base, your eyes watering with the effort.

"Spit on it," he commanded. You did as he asked, letting more saliva dribble onto his length. He patted your head again, a gesture both condescending and encouraging, and you resumed sucking, taking him deeper into your mouth. You gagged again, but he didn't let go, enjoying the sight of you struggling to accommodate his size.

"Come on," he urged, pulling you up to straddle his hips once more. You thought he was finally ready to take your virginity, the moment you'd both been building towards, but he surprised you. Gripping your hips with firm hands, he moved you so his face was between your thighs.

"What are you—" you began, but he cut you off, his lips attacking your clit with a fervor that stole your breath. He completed the arc with his tongue, taking your bud between his lips and sucking hard. You almost screamed, the pleasure overwhelming you. "Oh God," you moaned, your hands flying to his hair to steady yourself.

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes meeting yours with a predatory glint. "Marcus, baby… Marcus," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need and desperation.

He resumed his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. You began to grind against his mouth, the sensation too much to bear, yet not nearly enough. The tension built rapidly, your orgasm approaching with a force that took you by surprise.

"Marcus!" you cried out, your fingers gripping his hair tightly as your body tensed and then shattered into a million pieces. He held your hips firmly to his face, lapping up every drop of your release as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue.

You fell back onto the bed, spent and trembling, and he crawled over you, his face slick with your essence. "Well, well," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his features as he rubbed his cock against your still-sensitive pussy. "Are you all fucked out already?"

You managed a weak glare, but it melted into a moan as he pushed into you. The stretch was intense, making you claw at his shoulders for support. He kissed your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back in deeply. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching to meet his every movement.

"You hear that?" His gruff voice asked, pulling you back to the present as his cock dragged from your cunt, pushing back in slowly. The squelch of him pushing deep inside you was loud, the sound of your arousal undeniable. You threw your head back, moaning his name.

"Yeah, you do," he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. His teeth grazed your delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Hear how wet you are?"

You opened your eyes slowly, your vision filled with the sight of him. His beautiful, sweat-covered face was close to yours, every scar and wrinkle telling a story, the grey in his beard adding to his rugged appeal. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your heart race.

A moan escaped your lips as his thrusts grew more desperate, more hungry. He caught your wrists together in one of his big hands, pressing them down into the mattress with a grip that left no room for escape. Your thighs were splayed wide, almost uncomfortably so, pressed down by the width of his hips. His cock was splitting you open, and you were so impossibly wet that you could hear it every time he pushed back into you, a lewd squelching sound that only seemed to spur him on.

He grinned wildly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You like that, don’t you?" he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Only I can make you this wet, make you submit so completely."

You could only moan in response, your body arching beneath him, every nerve ending on fire. "Marcus," you whimpered, the intense pleasure making you delirious. Your mind was a haze of sensation, every thrust sending you spiraling further into a world where only he existed.

His grin softened slightly, a hint of something almost tender in his eyes as he looked down at you. "That's right," he murmured, his voice a low growl. His thrusts were deep and relentless, each one driving home his dominance. "You're mine now."

You wanted to hate him, to deny the truth of his words, but with your body quivering beneath his, you knew he was right. You were his. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word claimed you, bound you to him in ways you had never imagined.

His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the wet, obscene noises of your coupling. His free hand roamed over your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't get enough of you."

Your response was a garbled moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy. His words, his touch, everything about him overwhelmed you. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the coil of pleasure tightening in your belly, ready to snap.

He seemed to sense your impending release, his movements becoming even more deliberate, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough with his own need. "Let go. I want to feel you."

The command sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing beneath him. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room, a testament to your surrender.

His weight pressed you into the mattress, his skin hot and slick against yours. You felt every throb of his heartbeat, every shudder of his breath. It was an intimacy you had never experienced before, raw and all-consuming.

As the waves of your shared climax ebbed, you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his body. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of passion.

As he lifted his head, his eyes met yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, but the softness in his expression was unexpected, almost tender.

"Well," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, "I guess the rumors were wrong. You're not a virgin after all." He paused, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, not anymore."

You felt a flush of anger rise within you. "And what if I wasn't? What difference would it make to you?"

He smirked, the familiar arrogance returning. "Just proves you're not as innocent as you pretend to be."

You pushed against his chest, forcing him to roll onto his side. "You're insufferable," you snapped, your breath still coming in short gasps. "You think you know everything, but you don't."

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe not everything. But I know enough."

You glared at him, the heat between you not entirely dissipated. "You don't know anything about me."

His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "I know you're stronger than you think. And I know you feel something for me, whether you want to admit it or not."

You scoffed, turning your head away. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. "Or are you just afraid to admit it?"

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a shiver running down your spine. "Get over yourself," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your insides twist. "I could say the same to you."

You pushed at him again, trying to create distance, but he caught your wrists, holding them against the mattress. "Let go," you demanded, struggling against his grip.

"Not until you admit it," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Admit what?" you hissed, your anger flaring again.

"That you feel something for me," he said, his eyes boring into yours.

You glared at him, refusing to give in. "You're impossible."

He sighed, releasing your wrists and rolling onto his back. "Maybe I am. But so are you."

You lay there in silence for a moment, the tension between you thick and palpable. Despite everything, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards him, the strange mix of hatred and desire that left you breathless and confused.

Finally, exhaustion began to creep in, your body heavy with the aftermath of your intense encounter. "This doesn't change anything," you said, your voice softer now, almost resigned.

"Maybe not," he agreed, his tone equally soft. "But it's a start."

You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes already on you. "What do you want from me, Marcus?" you asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "But I want to find out."

You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly comforting. "Then don't. Just sleep."

You turned onto your side, your back to him, trying to create some semblance of space. The room was silent, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. You closed your eyes, willing sleep to come, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't ignore the warmth radiating from Marcus's body, the solid presence of him beside you. There was a strange sense of comfort in his nearness, an unexpected feeling of safety that contrasted sharply with the chaos of your emotions.

As you lay there, the exhaustion from the night's events slowly began to overtake you. Your muscles relaxed, and your breathing grew steady and slow. You felt the mattress shift slightly as Marcus moved closer, his arm draping over your waist in a possessive yet gentle gesture.

For a moment, you considered shrugging him off, but the weariness was too much. Instead, you let yourself sink into the feeling of his arm around you, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back. It was oddly soothing, a stark reminder that despite the tumultuous start to your union, there was a potential for something more, something deeper.

"Goodnight," Marcus murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You hesitated before responding, the word barely a whisper. "Goodnight."

PART 2

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talaok · 5 months ago

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Win Again

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x sex worker f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you want m-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could feel him everywhere, everywhere.

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

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

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

"O-Oh my fuck-"

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

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

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

"I-I can't"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Time's up"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Win again for me, general"

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

"I will" he promised

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panakinthedisco · 4 months ago

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PART 1 | HEAVEN ━━ Marcus Acacius

summary: acacius' mother forged a blood pact with the goddess of love, vowing to safeguard and elevate her son, while dedicating her life as a delphi in return. through all general acacius' triumphs, you as the daughter of venus deftly orchestrated his victory as promised but then gradually nurturing a forbidden attachment.

author's note: don't get me started how i almost died with the trailer and the photos of papi pedroooooo so i had to do this (also i can use my greek mythology knowledge for some good use) so yup reader is an immortal goddess and possibly daughter of venus, idfc anymore because i'm making my own lore! they're going to be arwen and aragorn-esque ending coz i eat those kind of tropes lmfao

warnings: eventual smut to later chapters. mentions of misogyny, violence and also implications of sexual abuse.

word count: 4.4k

In the heart of a desolate village, a young woman stood at the fringes of society, shunned and abandoned for bearing the child of a powerful general. Clutching her infant son tightly to her chest, she wandered aimlessly, her heart heavy with despair and fear. The whispers of the villagers echoed in her mind, a cacophony of judgment and scorn. Tears streamed down her face as she made her way to the grand temple of Venus, the goddess of love, her last beacon of hope.

The temple, with its towering marble columns and intricate carvings, loomed before her like a sanctuary in the midst of her turmoil. The air grew thick with an impending storm as she fell to her knees at the entrance, her cries piercing the silence of the sacred place. "Great Venus, goddess of love and mercy," she sobbed, her voice trembling, "I beg of you, protect my son and guide us, for we have nowhere else to go. I fear for his life, for he is innocent."

As her desperate pleas echoed within the hallowed halls, the wind suddenly picked up, swirling around her with a fierce intensity. The sky darkened, and the deafening roar of thunder cracked through the air. In the midst of this tempest, a radiant light descended upon the temple. From the ethereal glow emerged a figure of unparalleled beauty, clothed in pure white robes that flowed like water.

Venus, the goddess of love, knelt before the fallen woman. Her presence was divine, her skin like alabaster, flawless and luminous. Her eyes, a captivating shade of deep blue, held the wisdom of the ages and the compassion of a thousand hearts. Golden hair cascaded down her back in waves, shimmering as if woven from sunlight. A gentle smile graced her lips, exuding warmth and serenity.

"Rise, my child," Venus spoke, her voice a melodious symphony that filled the air with hope. "Do not despair, for I have heard your cries and felt your anguish. I can offer you and your son protection, but it comes with a price. You must dedicate your life to me, serve as my devotee, and in return, I shall ensure your son’s safety and guide you both to a brighter future."

The young woman, overwhelmed by the goddess's presence and her words, gazed into the loving eyes of Venus. With unwavering determination and gratitude, she nodded. "I will do as you ask, great goddess. My life is yours to command, if it means my son will be safe."

Venus gently lifted the woman to her feet, her touch tender and reassuring. "Then it shall be so. From this moment forth, you are under my protection. Fear not, for love shall guide your path, and together, we shall overcome all obstacles."

With that, the storm subsided, leaving behind a serene sky. The young woman, now filled with renewed hope and purpose, cradled her son as they both embraced the divine path laid before them by the goddess of love.

Years had gone by, the once forsaken young woman found solace and purpose as a devoted Delphi. She served with unwavering faith, her every breath a testament to the sacred bond she had formed with the goddess of love. Her son, Acacius, grew under the protective aegis of the temple, receiving the finest education and training from the wise sorceresses who resided there. His days were filled with rigorous training and study, molding him into a formidable warrior.

One golden afternoon, the courtyard of the temple buzzed with activity. Acacius, now a young man of remarkable prowess, moved with grace and strength as he sparred with his fellow trainees. His body, chiseled and powerful, gleamed with sweat under the sun. Every muscle in his arms and chest rippled with the precision and control honed through years of discipline. His jawline was sharp, his dark hair tousled, and his piercing eyes focused, exuding an aura of confidence and determination.

From a distance, Venus, resplendent in her divine beauty, emerged from the temple accompanied by you, her daughter. Venus’ robes flowed like liquid moonlight, and her presence illuminated the courtyard. While you, whose divine essence shimmered with an ethereal glow, stood by your mother’s side, your eyes subtly observing Acacius as he trained vigorously.

"Look at him, my daughter," Venus spoke, her voice a soothing melody. "Acacius’ mother devoted her life to serving as a Delphi, and it is now your duty to watch over him. He has grown into a man of great potential."

You were hesitant and prideful, replied, "Mother, surely I am capable of far more important tasks than merely watching over a mortal."

Venus laughed, "Ah, my dear, I see great things in Acacius. I made an unbreakable oath to his mother to protect him and guide him to victory. This task is of utmost importance, and you, my daughter, are perfectly suited for it."

Reluctantly, you agreed, though you felt the weight of the responsibility. As Venus gracefully returned to the temple, your gaze lingered on Acacius. You had watched him grow from a vulnerable child into the powerful warrior he had become. His masculine form, sculpted by relentless training, was a testament to his dedication and strength. His broad shoulders, strong arms, and defined torso were a sight to behold, each movement exuding a raw, magnetic energy.

As the daughter of Venus, you had spent millennia observing the ways of mortals. From the heights of the celestial realm to the depths of human existence, you had witnessed the endless cycles of birth, love, ambition, and vanity that defined their ephemeral lives. Mortal men, in particular, seemed ensnared by their own reflections, driven by a relentless pursuit of power, beauty, and validation. Their obsessions with vanity, you mused, were like chains binding them to an endless quest for an ever-elusive perfection.

In the sanctity of your divine solitude, you pondered these thoughts, your mind weaving through the countless interactions you had with mortals over the ages. Vanity, you concluded, was a double-edged sword. It spurred men to greatness but also led them to their downfall. How often have you seen warriors, poets, and kings, their hearts consumed by the desire for eternal youth, adoration, and glory? They built monuments to themselves, adorned their bodies in opulent garb, and sought the fleeting approval of their peers, all the while neglecting the deeper virtues of humility, wisdom, and compassion.

Living among mortals, you had grown accustomed to their ways, understanding the fragile nature of their existence. Yet, with each passing century, you have grown more disillusioned by their unchanging flaws. Despite the wisdom imparted by time and the guidance of the gods, mortals remained predictably obsessed with their own image.

When your mother, Venus, entrusted you with the responsibility of watching over Acacius, you could not help but feel a familiar pang of skepticism. Was he not just another man, destined to be ensnared by the same vanities as those before him? Despite his formidable strength and the disciplined mind he had cultivated, you feared that beneath his heroic exterior lay the same vulnerabilities that had claimed countless others.

As you observed Acacius from the shadows, your thoughts grew heavier. You remembered how, as a boy, he had shown signs of the same traits that plagued mortal men: the pride in his burgeoning strength, the flicker of arrogance in his victories, and the longing in his eyes for recognition and admiration. He seemed no different from the countless men who had walked the earth, striving for greatness yet ultimately ensnared by their own hubris.

Your divine heart, though swayed by eons of witnessing human folly, felt a curious twinge as she watched him. There was something about Acacius, a glimmer of potential, that both made you intrigued and worried. Could he break the cycle? Or would he, too, succumb to the inevitable downfall of vanity?

As you silently vowed to fulfill her mother’s promise, you found yourself grappling with an unexpected sense of protectiveness. Despite your reservations, there was an undeniable bond formed by watching him grow, a reluctant admiration for his resilience and strength. You feared for him, not because you doubted his abilities, but because she understood the weight of his mortality.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to the task. "Acacius may be like other men," you thought, "but perhaps there lies within him a spark of something more." You would watch over him, guide him, and protect him from the shadows, ever vigilant and ever hopeful that he might transcend the very vanities that ensnared his kind. As the daughter of Venus, you knew that love and duty were bound by unbreakable threads, and you would honor them both, even if it meant confronting your own doubts and fears.

As you observed him and embedded in your own thoughts, Acacius suddenly paused and turned his head, his sharp eyes meeting yours across the courtyard. Startled, you quickly retreated into the shadows, your divine essence blending with the darkened corners of the temple.

Hidden from view, your heart pounded. You realized the gravity of your new role, feeling a mixture of trepidation and an unspoken bond with the man she would protect and guide. As Acacius resumed his training, unaware of the divine eyes watching over him, you knew this won’t be an easy responsibility.

As the daughter of Venus, you have watched over Acacius from the shadows, your divine presence hidden but your influence ever-present. From the moment he drew his sword, you felt the weight of your mother's promise pressing upon your shoulders, a vow to guide and protect him, to steer him towards greatness. Acacius was more than a mortal; he was the culmination of a divine pact, and your duty to him was as sacred as the bond forged between his mother and Venus.

In his youth, you whispered wisdom into the ears of his mentors, guiding their hands as they trained him in the arts of war and leadership. You ensured that the best teachers found their way to him, that he learned not only the strategies of battle but also the virtues of honor, compassion, and justice. Through subtle interventions, you shaped his character, molding him into a man worthy of the destiny laid before him.

As he grew, so did the challenges he faced. You were there in the thick of his battles, unseen but ever vigilant. During his early skirmishes, you would nudge his instincts, sharpening his reflexes and lending him the strength he needed to overcome his foes. When he faltered, you were the whisper of encouragement that steeled his resolve, the invisible hand that steadied his sword.

In the grand halls of strategy and politics, you guided his thoughts, helping him navigate the treacherous waters of Roman ambition. You planted seeds of wisdom in his mind, urging him to form alliances that would strengthen his position, to make decisions that would earn him the respect of his peers and the loyalty of his men. You were the unseen force that smoothed the path before him, ensuring that every step he took led him closer to his destiny.

When he was appointed as a general under Maximus Decimus Meridius, you knew that your efforts were bearing fruit. Acacius had become a formidable leader, his name spoken with reverence and fear across the empire. Yet, his journey was far from over. Under the rule of Emperor Geta and his co-Augusti, Caracalla, Acacius faced new trials. The invasion of Caledonia was a test of his mettle, a crucible that would forge his legacy.

As the Romans prepared for their campaign, you took on the guise of a tradesman’s daughter in Caledonia, positioning yourself to be near him, to watch over him more closely. The battles were fierce, and the land was unforgiving. You ensured that crucial information reached him at the right moments, that his strategies were sound and his decisions unerring. You softened the hearts of those who might have betrayed him, turned the tides of fortune in his favor.

Through the years, you have been his silent guardian, his invisible ally. You have seen him rise from a young warrior to a revered general, each victory a testament to the bond you honored. Even now, as you stand among the captured townspeople, disguised and hidden, your purpose remains unchanged. You are here to protect him, to guide him, and to ensure that he fulfills the destiny that was promised.

In the moments when doubt clouded his heart, you were the light that pierced the darkness. When he faced insurmountable odds, you were the strength that carried him through. You have watched over him with a mixture of pride and affection, your heart swelling with each triumph and breaking with each loss. Acacius is more than just a mortal; he is a living embodiment of the divine promise you are bound to uphold.

Amidst the chaos of the Roman invasion of Caledonia, the air was thick with smoke and the cries of the conquered. The formidable General Acacius, now a seasoned leader under Emperor Geta and his co-Augusti, Caracalla, surveyed the battlefield with a steely gaze. His once youthful visage was now marked by the scars of countless battles, his presence commanding and unwavering.

In the midst of the turmoil, you risked disguising as a daughter of a tradesman, moved with quiet resolve. Clad in the coarse, earth-toned garb of a peasant, she blended seamlessly with the captured townspeople. Yet, even in your humble attire, your divine essence could not be wholly concealed. Your skin, a flawless alabaster, stood out against the grime and soot of the war-torn village. Your eyes, a striking shade of hazel, gleamed with an unearthly light, and your movements, though tempered to appear modest, held an innate grace that betrayed your true nature.

The Roman soldiers, drunk on victory, rounded up the women of Caledonia, separating them from their families with ruthless efficiency. Among the throng, the disguised goddess maintained a facade of fear and helplessness, your heart pounding as she witnessed the suffering of the innocent. The brutality of the soldiers, their coarse laughter, and lecherous gazes made you shudder inwardly, but you knew you must maintain your cover.

General Acacius, his mind burdened with the responsibilities of command, scanned the scene with a practiced eye. His soldiers were securing the captives, ensuring the spoils of war were collected. His gaze fell upon the group of captured women, and for a moment, he saw them as mere pawns in the grand scheme of conquest. But then, his eyes landed on you.

Despite your plain clothing, something about you stood out. Your skin, untouched by the harshness of the elements, was too smooth, too luminous for a common peasant. Your hair, though partially hidden beneath a simple headscarf, shone with a subtle, otherworldly luster. You moved with a quiet dignity, your posture erect even in the face of despair. Acacius's sharp eyes missed nothing, maybe a nobility pretending to be a peasant so they can escape from the invasion. He finds it as a clever tactic.

As one of his soldiers, emboldened by the chaos, approached her with lecherous intent, Acacius felt a surge of anger. The soldier, a brutish figure, reached out to grasp your arm, his intentions clear. Before he could lay a hand on you, Acacius's voice rang out, authoritative and cold.

"Stand down," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The soldier froze, his hand hovering in the air. "Do not touch her."

The soldier, taken aback, stammered a protest, "But, General, she's just a—"

"Bring her to me," Acacius cut him off, his gaze fixed on the disguised goddess. "Now."

The soldier, reluctant but obedient, withdrew his hand and roughly pushed you forward. You stumbled slightly but quickly regained your balance, your eyes meeting Acacius with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. As you were brought before him, he could see the subtle details that marked you as different: the refinement in your features, the intelligence in your eyes, the air of quiet strength exuded within you.

"Who are you?" Acacius asked, his voice softer but still commanding. "You do not belong here, do you?"

You hesitated, you mind racing to craft a plausible response. "I am the daughter of a tradesman," you said, your voice steady despite the fear you felt. "Captured like the others. Please, I mean no harm."

Acacius studied you for a long moment, his instincts telling him there was more to your story. "Take her to my tent," Acacius declared, his voice carrying an edge of finality. "She will be my personal cupbearer."

The soldiers, recognizing the unwavering tone of their general, nodded in agreement. They stepped back, leaving you untouched. Acacius's gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, a mixture of curiosity and protectiveness in his eyes.

"Find her something clean to wear," he instructed, his tone gentle yet firm.

Two soldiers led you through the encampment, their grip on your arms firm but not harsh. They guided you to the lavish tent of General Acacius, a striking contrast to the roughness of the battlefield outside. The tent was grand, its exterior adorned with rich fabrics and ornate decorations. Inside, it was a sanctuary of luxury and comfort amidst the chaos of war.

The interior of the tent was spacious, with plush carpets covering the ground and opulent cushions scattered around. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of Roman victories and mythological grandeur. A large, intricately carved wooden table stood at the center, laden with an array of sumptuous food and fine wine. The scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the aroma of roasted meats and freshly baked bread.

As you stood in the middle of the tent, feeling the weight of her disguise, General Acacius entered. His armor gleamed in the soft light of the tent, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. He moved with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, yet there was a gentleness in his approach.

"Sit with me," he said, gesturing to the cushions by the table.

You hesitated but complied, lowering yourself onto the soft cushions. Acacius sat across from you, his gaze never leaving yours like a lion observing his prey. He offered you a plate of food, the array of delicacies a testament to the wealth and power he commanded.

"Please, eat," he urged, but you shook your head, declining politely.

"I’m not hungry, my Lord," you explained, your voice steady.

Acacius leaned back, studying you intently. "What kind of business does your father have?"

You took a breath, weaving the story you had prepared. "My father is a tradesman, specializing in silk. We travel far and wide, even to the distant lands of China, to procure the finest silk. He sells it to the emperor and to those of noble birth."

Acacius nodded, intrigued. "A tradesman of silk, you say? But then, you do not seem like a mere peasant."

You lowered your eyes, the weight of your divine secret heavy upon you. "We have faced many hardships, but my father has always ensured that we present ourselves with dignity."

Acacius leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me," he said, his voice low and measured, "does your family live in Caledonia?"

Your heart is pounding. "Yes," you replied, your voice steady. "We come from an impoverished background. My father sought to make a better life for us through his trade."

Acacius studied you closely, his eyes dark and intense. As he reached for a cluster of grapes, he popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. The act, so casual and yet so intimate, made your pulse quicken. His scrutiny was unrelenting, and you felt as though he could see through the layers of your disguise.

"You should know," he began, his tone carrying a note of warning, "that the nobility of Caledonia will be captured. There is no escape for them."

You remained silent, her expression carefully neutral. You knew he was testing you, probing for any signs of deceit. His words, though intended to intimidate, also carried a hint of concern.

"My soldiers are ruthless," he continued, his voice growing colder. "They would take advantage of you if given the chance."

You nodded silently, acknowledging the gravity of his warning. Your heart ached at the thought of the suffering around you, but you knew she had to maintain your composure.

As Acacius spoke, the flap of the tent was pushed aside, and a soldier entered, carrying a bundle of fresh clothes. They were simple but clean, likely taken from a Caledonian household. The soldier handed the bundle to Acacius, who thanked him with a curt nod.

"Here," Acacius said, extending the clothes to you. "Put these on."

You rose from your seat and took the bundle obediently, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. The contact sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the thin line she walked between mortal and divinity.

"You may change behind the screen," he said, gesturing to a beautifully carved wooden partition that provided a modicum of privacy within the tent.

You nodded and moved behind the screen, the fabric rustling softly as you slipped out of your peasant clothes. The new garments were a marked improvement, though still modest. As you dressed, you could feel Acacius's presence just beyond the screen, his protective aura enveloping you like a shield.

When you emerged, you found him watching you intently, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something you could not quite name. The new clothes fit you well, accentuating your grace and poise even in their simplicity.

"Better," he murmured, his voice softening. "You look more like the person you claim to be."

You offered a faint smile, lowering her gaze. "Thank you."

Days passed, and you, now working as a cupbearer in General Acacius's camp, endeavored to maintain your humble facade. Despite your best efforts to appear as an ordinary servant, your innate grace and poise occasionally betrayed your true nature. Acacius, ever observant, began to notice the subtle refinement in your movements, the way you carried yourself with a dignity that spoke of nobility.

Your body language, though deliberately subdued, hinted at a life of privilege and education. You moved with an elegance that seemed out of place in the rough-and-tumble environment of a military camp. The way you poured water into cups, the delicate curve of your fingers as you handled the pitchers, all bespoke a background far removed from the impoverished tale you had spun.

One afternoon, a group of generals gathered in Acacius's lavish tent for a luncheon. As you silently poured water into their cups, you could feel the weight of their gazes upon you. The generals, their voices booming with laughter and boasts, paid little heed to the solemnity of their surroundings. One of them, a burly man with a coarse beard, eyed you with a lecherous grin.

"Acacius," he called out, his voice thick with drink, "is your cupbearer good in bed?"

The tent erupted in raucous laughter, the crude jest echoing off the walls. Acacius, seated at the head of the table, narrowed his eyes. His gaze hardened, and he fixed the offending general with a stern look.

"Such things are not to be discussed," he said, his tone carrying a quiet authority that silenced the laughter.

The general, still chuckling, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Ah, Acacius, always so reserved. You'd do well to indulge a bit more."

The disguised goddess watched the exchange with keen interest, your heart pounding. You knew Acacius's character well, having observed him for years. You despised these gatherings, these displays of vanity and ego. He found no pleasure in the idle boasts of his peers, preferring the company of his own thoughts and strategies.

As you continued your duties, pouring water and refilling cups, you could sense Acacius's discomfort. He was a man of action, a warrior with a clear sense of purpose. These luncheons, with their empty chatter and frivolous banter, were a stark contrast to the disciplined life he led. You admired his restraint, his ability to maintain his composure in the face of such provocation.

The generals continued their revelry, their conversations shifting from one boast to another. They spoke of past victories, of conquests and spoils, their voices a cacophony of pride and self-importance. Acacius, though present in body, seemed distant, his mind likely focused on the next battle, the next challenge.

As you moved around the table, you caught his eye for a brief moment. In that instant, you saw a flicker of something deeper, a connection that transcended. You knew that he valued substance over show, strategy over vanity. His reluctance to engage in their crude jests and hollow boasts only endeared him to you more.

The luncheon dragged on, the generals growing more boisterous with each passing moment. Acacius, ever the disciplined leader, maintained his stoic demeanor, responding to their jibes with measured patience. You could see the tension in his posture, the tightness in his jaw, and felt a pang of empathy.

As the daughter of Venus, you had always found mortal men to be easily swayed by vanity and ambition. They are like clay, molded by the hands of society and their peers, their true selves often buried beneath layers of ego and pride. But Acacius is different. Despite the pressures and temptations that come with his rank, he remains steadfast and true to his values. You're secretly proud of him, of the strength he shows in resisting the crudeness and arrogance that so often define his comrades.

That evening, after the generals had left and the camp had settled into a quiet lull, you found Acacius outside his tent, gazing up at the night sky. The stars twinkled above, their light casting a gentle glow on his strong, chiseled features. There was a tranquility in the air, a moment of peace amidst the chaos of war.

You approached him silently, your heart swelling with admiration for the man he had become. "Thank you for everything, My Lord," you said softly, breaking the silence.

He turned to look at you, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "You don’t need to thank me," he replied, his voice steady.

You nodded, understanding the brusqueness of his words. "Even so, I am forever grateful."

As you turned to return to the tent, you could feel his gaze lingering on you. There was a mystery in his eyes, a curiosity that you knew he could not easily dispel. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you—this woman who appeared from nowhere, cloaked in the guise of a humble servant yet betraying hints of refinement and grace.

CONTINUE READING: PART 2 | PART 3 ━━ AVAILABLE ON AO3

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS ☆

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wheresarizona · 4 months ago

Text

Columba

summary: It isn’t until you’re in his home that you learn it’s General Marcus Acacius who’s summoned you for your services—you’re not sure why he did, when the other courtesans standing beside you, hoping to be chosen by him, have bodies that look nothing like yours.

pairing: Marcus Acacius/Plus Size f!reader (Courtesan)

rating: E (18+!! This is smut. No y/n, explicit smut, plus size reader, courtesan reader, age gap (reader is of legal age in today’s standards), takes place pre-Gladiator 2, dommy Marcus Acacius (loves giving orders), he’s a tiny bit possessive, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, rough sex, backshots, woman on top, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, breast worship, hair pulling (m receiving), slight breeding kink, (1) pussy slap, dirty talk, spanking, spit mention, some biting, with hair like that he wants it pulled, some sweetness at the end)

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: I took one look at Marcus’ hair and immediately thought, that guy likes his hair pulled. I also decided that since he spends weeks to months with a bunch of men at a time, when he comes home, he really appreciates a curvy woman. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything for him until I saw the movie, but the trailer got me. This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

It was the marble bust atop a pedestal that revealed whose home you were in. The opulence of the domus’ atrium, with its four tall marble columns surrounding the impluvium's shallow, sunken pool in the middle of the room and the compluvium’s opening in the ceiling above it, allowing the moon’s light to filter in, told you whoever lived here had notoriety—then you saw the face carved out of stone, recognizing the curls and strong nose you'd only ever seen as he was paraded past you down the street in honor of his latest victory, and you knew.

General Marcus Acacius is a man feared by many for his ferocity and skills in battle. It's been said Mars, the God of War, blessed his birth, while others believe his bloodline is descended from the God himself. What you know to be true is he's a gifted General that the Emperors and Gods have smiled upon, and in his presence, an intimidating figure you didn't dare look at unless you were addressed.

There are four women standing to your right, all of you younger than him, naked, and courtesans of the highest standard—well-educated and well-versed in politics along with the pleasures of the body—and highly sought out by society's elite.

Marcus is at the opposite end, silently making his way down the line with what you can only assume is a scrutinizing eye, and you fear there's been a mistake that you're here—the other courtesans are all built similarly with small breasts, flattened stomachs and thinner waists than yours, whereas you’re curvier, and have more meat on your bones, with your bigger chest, soft noticeable belly, and grabbable hips. Clearly, he requested a particular type of woman, and it doesn't appear you're it. Staring down at the tiled floor seems better than seeing the disappointment on his face when he gets to you.

His sandaled feet come into view as he stands before you, and you can feel his eyes roaming over your bare body—golden snake bracelets coil around each of your upper arms, and at the unexpected gentle touch of his fingertips to one, you flinch.

"Do I frighten you?" His voice is a low, deep rasp that shivers down your spine.

"No, Sir," you answer.

His thumb strokes over the snake's head and along its body. "Why do you flinch?"

Raising your head, you see he’s wearing a white tunic with a gold pattern lining around his neck, down his arms, and along the hem, a belt securing it at his waist; golden cuffs covered his wrists. You’re met with dark eyes, a furrow crinkling between his eyebrows—his brown hair with a kiss of gray, curls like waves on his head, his facial hair dotted with a few silvery strands. It takes you a second to answer his question because the glimpses of him you caught during victory parades and the marble bust didn't prepare you for his beauty.

Mars and Venus have bestowed their blessings upon him.

“My apologies, Sir,” you finally reply. “It was simply surprise at being graced by your touch.” His expression is difficult to read, so you continue speaking, “I’ve heard of your prowess in battle that inspires songs and how your enemies tremble before you, but I do not believe I have reason to fear you—unless that is something you wish. Do you wish for me to be frightened of you?”

Some men liked it if you acted afraid of them to feel powerful. Some men, usually the big, tough ones, liked to bury their faces in your bosom while you held them. The slight show of relief on Marcus’ face when you said you had no reason to fear him made you suspect he’d be in the latter category.

“No.” His eyes are locked onto yours. “I do not need another to fear me. I wish for you to want my touch.”

“I wish for more than your touch,” you reply. “I wish to feel your lips on mine and your weight on top of me, I wish to feel your cock inside me and to hear the sounds you make when you peak, and I do wish for your touch; I wish to feel your hands claim my body as yours.”

His gaze turns to one of desire, and it makes you smile.

"You," he says. "Stay. The rest of you,” he announces, keeping his eyes on yours, “leave us.”

The invitation the messenger brought to your home the day prior did not state who requested your services; it simply said the person was a public figure, and the woman picked would be paid handsomely.

The servants, who stood as still as statues against a wall, scurried to assist each of the other women with redressing.

"Come," he orders, offering you a hand you accept. He leads you to a room you realize is his personal quarters when you spot his armor in a corner, Medusa's golden head on the cuirass shining in the candlelight—she wards off evil and offers protection. There's a bed against the wall opposite the door, and he lets go of your hand, slipping off his sandals by the doorway before walking over to a thin table laden with a jug, cups, and a bowl of berries and grapes.

"Care for some wine?" he asks without looking at you while pouring himself a cup.

His body is tense, and you’re assuming you’re here to help him relax—he arrived home only days ago from war, and you got a chance to see him rolling down the street on a chariot as he waved to the cheering masses. It would make sense that he could use somebody with your expertise to get him to unwind.

“No, thank you, Sir,” you answer, and he faces you again, taking a drink. “It’s a great honor that you chose me, and I do not wish to forget a single moment.”

His cup lowers, and you're surprised to find he’s wearing a little smile. He twists to set his wine down next to the jug, and removes the cuffs from his wrists, setting them onto the table then his eyes are on yours.

"Marcus," he says, and it only takes a few strides to have him in front of you again.

"I'm sorry?" you ask.

His attention moves to your body, and he’s not looking upon you like an object or something he’s just purchased as most men do; his gaze is appreciative, the same kind of look you could imagine was on his face when he stared at art that pleased him. Your figure isn’t the ideal for most Roman women—your hips are too wide, your breasts are too large, your ass is too big, your thighs are too thick, and your stomach is too noticeable—yet, there are many men who sought you out and paid well for your time, and it seems the General is one of them.

"My name." He walks around you, his fingers sliding along your upper back from shoulder to shoulder. “Call me Marcus. I want you to be familiar with how my name tastes on your tongue.”

The touch and his words cause your nipples to harden and goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Marcus,” you say.

He’s in front of you again, his darkened eyes on yours. His big hands grip your waist, pulling you into him, and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck, feeling him inhale deeply. “Gods, you’re the best thing I’ve smelled in months.” The words are said against your flesh. “Like a meadow of flowers in Spring, and I fail to remember the last time I felt such softness.” He squeezes the fleshy handles at your hips and goes lower to grab handfuls of your ass, then runs his hands up your back. “Upon hearing your description,” he says, “I knew you’d be perfect, but what I imagined has no comparison to seeing your beauty with my own eyes.” His admission catches you off guard as it sounds as though he always intended to pick you from the line of women. It’s curious that he even invited the others if his mind had been set beforehand. He straightens, meeting your gaze. “Take off my clothes.”

There's no need to reply; you just do as he ordered, getting his belt undone, the leather falling to the floor, then pulling his tunic over his head, it meeting the same fate as his belt.

He’s completely nude, standing at his full height before you.

You expected the scars etched all over his body, the evidence that he'd lay down his life for Rome without hesitation. There's a long, jagged one across his right pec, silvered with age, that has you forgetting yourself and softly pressing your fingertips to it.

He snatches your smaller hand, pulling it away from his marred skin.

"My apologies," you quickly say, bowing your head in submission. "I shouldn't have touched you without permission."

"You may touch me." Once again, he surprises you by putting the flat of your palm against the scar, his other hand grabbing your chin to lift your face.

From his reaction to your fingers on him, you think he hasn’t been with a woman in quite some time, and you hope you can make up for all the nights he spent alone.

It seems he's done with the pleasantries when his lips crush into yours. It's all of the encouragement you need, kissing him back while rubbing your palms up his broad chest, feeling his warmth. You snake a hand down his stomach through the trail of hair low on his belly to take his half-hard cock into your hand—he groans and twitches in your hold.

He truly has the Gods' favor—a talented General, handsome and well-endowed.

With his hands on your waist, he walks you backward to the bed, laying you on the mattress. He's on top of you, deepening the kiss with his tongue pressing into your mouth, his hand palming your tit, making you wet with arousal and your body heat.

It's fascinating how he's defying all of your expectations. The men who seek you out after spending months fighting are often rough and brutish, using you however they want to release their tension. There's never kissing or offers of drink; it's orders to suck their cocks, or to get on the bed in their desired position—and here's Marcus kissing down your body, along the skin of your neck to your chest. Most of his weight is on his knees between your legs while bending forward over you, and the only word you can think of to describe it is he's worshipping your breasts. He has them in his hands, moving from one to the other, licking, sucking, and nibbling on your nipples and soft skin, the sensations making your pussy weep with need.

“Gods, Marcus,” you moan. He has you squirming with how good it feels, your fingers pushing into his curls. He takes a pebbled bud between his teeth and gently tugs. “Oh,” you gasp, your hands tightening in the tousled waves on his head.

He releases your nipple. “Harder,” he rasps, then flicks his tongue against your stiff peak, and you do as requested, pulling his hair harder. A loud groan rumbles from his chest as he continues laving at your tits, skimming his hand down your stomach, your skin tingling under his fingertips, until he’s sliding two fingers through your wet slit. You tighten your hold on his head, your toes curling when he starts rubbing your clit, and the realization hits that he intends for you to have just as much enjoyment as him.

"Marcus," you whine.

He’s one of those men who has you praying that he’ll wish for your company again, and you wouldn’t even make him pay if you got another chance to warm his bed.

The push of his thick digit into your pussy makes your breath hitch at the slight stretch, his thumb pressing to your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving side to side—you know he’s going to make you come, and you silently thank the Gods.

His finger is pushing in and out of you, his thumb continuing its movements, and he lifts his face to look you in the eyes, his own are so black there’s hardly a sliver of brown remaining. "Come for me," he commands, slipping a second digit inside you—you’re so wet you can hear the slick slide of his fingers pumping into you. The muscles in your belly are tightening, and the fire in your core is building. "Come for me, sweet girl." His head dips to lightly bite your nipple before soothing it with his tongue. "Once you come, I'll do as you wish and sheath my cock into this perfect cunt."

The hot heat of his mouth envelops your pebbled bud, and he sucks—it's your undoing; your eyes close as you fall over the edge, coming with a moan of his name. His digits and mouth continue to extend your ecstasy while your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart pounds.

He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, his hand sliding from your pussy, up your stomach, leaving a trail of your release on your skin. His voice deepens, “You’ve done well for me, and I keep my word—turn over.”

He helps you to roll onto your front, and you get up onto your hands and knees—a familiar position. He takes a moment to admire you in front of him, his palms feeling the thickness of your thighs and hips. His fingers dig into your plump asscheeks as he spreads them and dips his head, hearing and feeling him spit between them, the hot saliva dripping from your asshole down to your opening. He shuffles up behind you, sliding his cock through the wetness of your come and his spit to lubricate himself, then notches it at your entrance—you both moan as he slowly starts feeding himself into you.

Gods, he’s big.

There’s a slight burn with how he’s stretching you, your inner walls having to accommodate his ample girth, and once he’s pressed all the way to the root inside you, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in.

He has a tight grip on your waist and pulls out almost all the way, immediately pushing back into you hard enough there's a clap when his hips hit your ass. This was expected, Marcus setting up a rhythm that punches the air from your lungs each time he thrusts forward—he’s working out what he doesn’t wish to feel, and with how slippery it is between your legs, he's moving easily, and the brutal pace feels amazing.

Many times, you’ve had to fake your enjoyment to make those employing you think they’re talented lovers—the majority are selfish in bed and care little about your comfort but want their egos stroked. Marcus, on the other hand, earned your favor when he took the time to ready you with his fingers and allowed you to climax.

He's pounding into you, the collide of his body against yours making your asscheeks shake, and with how his cock is pressing into something truly divine, he’s also earned your screams of his name and whatever incoherent words are babbling from your mouth—he has you dizzy with pleasure, heat coiling in your belly, and there’s no doubting the Goddess of Beauty and Sex has given him her blessing.

Sounds are spilling unbidden from your lips, Marcus loudly grunting with each stroke, the wet slap of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, and you look over your shoulder—the candlelight around the room shows the glisten of sweat on his golden skin. His head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and his jaw slack. Hair is sticking to his forehead, and a beautiful rosy flush has begun on his chest, rising up his neck to paint his cheeks. You can't think of another you've laid with who looked so breathtaking while taking their pleasure, and you could only imagine how glorious he’d look on the battlefield. You don't know what comes over you, reaching your hand back to touch his hip, and suddenly, he’s looking at you, his eyes glazed with lust.

It’s as though he’s been in a trance, losing himself in your body, and now he’s come back to be in the moment with you. He falls forward, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of you, blanketing your back and slowing his pace. His chin is on your shoulder, and he bites the shell of your ear; all of his weight goes onto one arm to free up the other that roughly grabs your breast and plucks at your nipple.

“You take me so well,” he says into your ear, his cock continuing to slide in and out of you. “Your sweet little cunt will milk me dry, and then I’ll have you again and again after that to keep you full of my seed.”

His words steal a moan from your lips.

“Does that please you, my sweet girl?” he asks. “You wish for more of me? Has another ever fucked you so good?” He gets his hand between your legs to circle the pearl of your pleasure, and your jaw drops, eyes closing—he’s going to make you come again. “Answer me,” he growls, lightly slapping your clit, and you clench around him.

It’s challenging to think, but you say, “No,” and push your ass back against him as he thrusts forward, fucking yourself on him to get closer and closer to your end. “I’ve never had such fortune.”

“You do now—by morning, I’ll have you ruined for any other man, and your cunt won’t soon forget the shape of my cock.”

He means every word that slips from his tongue, and it sets the fire in your belly ablaze. You’re holding yourself up on shaky limbs, the muscles in your stomach knotting up—you’re close.

“Marcus,” you moan.

His warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks into it: “I love how my name sounds from your lips. I know you’re close. Give in so I can feel you ascend to the heavens.”

His words, the fullness of his thick shaft moving in and out of you, and his fingers swirling around your sensitive bundle at the apex of your thighs has you shattering—stars burst behind your eyelids as white-hot pleasure erupts in your center, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough he slows to a stop, and groans in your ear.

You exhale panted breaths, your heart beating rapidly, and the blissful euphoria ripples through your body, slowly ebbing away.

Somehow, you find your voice, "Allow me to ride you."

He kisses your shoulder, his beard scratching against your bare skin. "You want to mount me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Then you shall."

He pulls out of you, an achy groan leaving him as he lies beside you on his back, and you get up onto your knees. He draws your attention with how he’s splayed out on the mattress, his long legs slightly spread and arms crossed over his head. His cock is still hard, it shiny with your juices, and resting against his lower belly, cushioned by the tantalizing path of hair that led directly to it—and he’s looking up at you, his eyes dark with want that keep lowering to your bosom, and back up to your eye line, the pink of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, that you suddenly wish to bite.

There’s the common knowledge about Marcus all of Rome is aware of—the family he comes from and the military achievements that have led to him being the victorious General the Gods have blessed the city with, and now you’re versed in his more private attributes—he likes his women to be sturdy with sizeable breasts, he enjoys the pleasurable pain of his hair pulled, he’s a generous lover, he prefers to be in control unless you can tempt him enough to hand over the reins. It’s quite tempting for him to lie back and watch your tits bounce as you ride him.

Shuffling in place to face him, taking his hard length in hand—he didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer, yet you want to take care of him like he took care of you, so you scoot back enough that you can bend down at the waist, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock.

The sound of Marcus’ loud moan and the way his back arches as if it were the string of a bow shoots straight to your cunt—you can taste the mix of your essence and his arousal that’s steadily dribbling from the sensitive head that you lick and suckle; your hand easily stroking up and down the sheath of skin on his shaft. The muscles in his thighs and stomach have tensed like it’s taking everything in him to hold back and not fill your mouth with his come.

“Enough,” he grits the order through his teeth, and his palm lands on the side of your ass with a hard slap that echoes against the walls, the sharp sting getting a moan out of you—your head lifts off of him to see he’s scowling. “I’m not spilling down your throat,” he continues and smacks your ass again. “Ride me, or I’ll have you under me.”

“Apologies, Marcus,” you reply demurely and sit up on your knees once more. Quickly, you move, throwing a leg over his waist to have your thick thighs hugging his hips. You rise, grabbing his cock, you press to your entrance, and you watch his face as you slowly start to impale yourself on him, relishing in how his mouth falls open and the tight grip he has on the meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into them hard enough it bordered on painful.

The fullness is incredible when you sit flush against him, and you love how he fills you. Your palms find purchase on his broad chest, and you rise until only the tip of him remains inside of you, and you drop back down—the rhythm you set has you moving in his lap, up and down in quick succession, Marcus groaning, his eyes locked on the jiggle of your breasts.

Sweat forms on your skin, feeling it on your forehead and a single drop sliding down your spine, your eyes closed as you focus, your moans stuttering each time you sink onto him.

His hands are resting on your backside, rising and falling with you, his voice rough with pleasure, “That’s it, ride me, bounce on my cock.”

This isn’t about you, and though it feels good riding him, your goal is helping him achieve his own high, and you’re determined to do so—your hands leave him to press your tits together, and you gasp in surprise when he sits up and shoves his face into them. Your pace doesn’t waver, and you look at him to see he’s keeping himself up with an arm braced on the bed behind him, the other hand grabbing a handful of your ass, and you know he’s not going to last much longer.

Your fingers slide into the unruly curls at the back of his head, and you yank them hard to make him look at you, Marcus hissing while his cock twitches inside you. In this position, you’re taller, and he gazes up to meet your eyes.

“I want you to come,” you pant, continuing to fuck yourself on him. “I want to feel you flood my cunt with your seed.” The noise he makes sounds like a whine. “Then I want you to do it again, and again after that—I want you to fill me to the point I’m brimming with you, and you’re in me for days.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as he groans out a long, drawn-out Fuck

With his beautiful neck on display, you duck your head and lick up the taut skin of his throat, wishing you could suck a mark into it to remind him of you for a while after you part ways. His free hand roughly grabs your chin to pull you close enough for him to slot his lips against yours, and you have to slow to a grind as he messily kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth.

He breaks away to fall back onto the mattress, his fingers getting a tight grip on your ass, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you enough to start thrusting up into your soaked pussy rapidly—he’s grunting while baring his teeth to chase his high, and all you can do is press your palms to his chest for balance while keeping yourself raised enough for him to pound into you.

The slick push and pull of him, moving in and out of you, has you chanting his name, and it sounds wet between your legs, hearing the clap of skin on skin of him plowing into you. Perspiration makes his tan flesh glint under the candle's light, his hair is a mess atop his head, and his expression is wild; it’s no surprise when his strokes get uneven and his eyes close. Marcus tugs your ass down to bury himself as far as possible in you as he gives in, coming with a guttural groan—you feel his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he paints your insides with spurts and spurts of his spend, wringing himself out until his body goes completely lax.

He pulls you forward to lie on top of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, and turns you both onto your sides. There’s a hiss that slips from his lips when he removes his softening length from your cunt, and you smile at Marcus sliding down the bed far enough for his face to nuzzle in your bosom while hugging you tight. Your fingers stroke through his sweat-damp curls, his hums of appreciation sounding like the purr of a cat.

Minutes pass in silence as your breaths even out and your hearts slow. After some time, he says something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” you reply.

His head lifts, and he kisses under your chin. “Stay,” he says again.

“I have no intention of leaving. I’m here until you send me away.”

“And if I don’t wish to send you away?”

His lips trail along your jaw.

Your eyebrows pull together. “As I said, I’m here until you request my leave.”

“And if I never request your leave?”

He’s kissing your neck now, the question making your eyes round. “You intend for me to be your mistress?”

It’s not uncommon for a courtesan to become one’s mistress. Some of you are from families of wealth and do this line of work for the powerful connections, while others are freedwomen who’ve worked their way up to earn their notoriety—either case, courtesans are respected and thought to make great mistresses.

“That is all I can offer since I have no plans to marry,” he answers. “You can stay here with or without me when I’m ordered away, and whatever is left of my salary and spoils of war after the household debts are paid, you may keep.”

He makes you frown.

“Why me?”

Marcus gets his arm out from under you and scoots up the mattress to look you in the eyes.

“You’re everything I desire in a woman with your beauty and intellect, and you can sate my needs in bed—you’re perfect, and I want you all to myself. I do not wish to share you with anyone else.”

It’s in this moment you realize you’re the one in control here—you don’t need him, you’re self-sufficient, and there are many who’d eagerly take his place, but your looks are rare in your profession, and he needs his deal to be enticing enough for you to take it.

“What if I decline your offer?”

“Then I pray you’ll allow me to keep your company until I receive my next orders.”

He seems to be a good, honorable man who wants to please you, and he had you tempted to accept on the merit of his skills in bed alone—there’s just something that won’t leave your mind.

“Before I make my decision, answer this question: if you believe me to be so perfect, why were the others here?”

He presses his large palm to your cheek. “It was in your power to deny me your company, and though the other women weren’t of my tastes, they were better than nothing.”

You see no flaws in his answer.

“I accept your offer on one condition.”

“And that is?”

You no longer find him intimidating, and you’re now comfortable brushing errant hairs off his forehead and sliding your fingers through the curls above his ears.

Your eyes lock onto his. “You return home to me,” you tell him. “You fight with the might of Mars, and you always return home to me.”

That earns you a small smile, and he takes your hand into his, kissing the center of your palm.

“I will, my Dove.”

Masterlist

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#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius/reader #marcus acacius x y/n #wheresarizona writes

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theetherealbloom · 4 months ago

Text

TAKE ME DOWN TO LIFT ME HIGH

Summary: In the grand city of Rome, you, a senator's daughter, are entangled in a world far removed from your aristocratic upbringing. Your chance encounter with General Marcus Acacius, a renowned gladiator and war hero, changes your life forever.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AU, PWP, Some Plot and more smut, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, Canon Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism (it’s ancient rome, babe), Sneaking Around, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, Boobs,

Word Count: 6k

A/N: The amount of research I had to do for this was insane. I was more obsessed with Greek Mythology than Roman so I needed a refresher. Hehe, there’s not a lotttt of drama, but it leans more into the smut side and just cheesy over all plot lol and a little fun ceremony in the end. Everyone say thank you to @wheresarizona for listening to me go feral over Marcus. Go send her some love cause she deserves it :>

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Song: Selene by NIKI

| Main Masterlist |

The return of General Marcus Acacius was an event of grand opulence. The streets of Rome were alive with screams and celebrations as he rode his golden chariot, smiling and waving at the throngs of admirers. It was as if the bloodshed and death that marked his victory were distant echoes, easily forgotten by the jubilant crowd.

"Long live General Marcus!" someone shouted.

"A true hero of Rome!" another voice rang out.

You weren't supposed to be in the crowd. Your place was at home, learning household chores such as cooking, cleaning, and weaving—the essential skills expected of a Roman matron. Yet, here you were, hidden beneath a hood, blending with the common folk as you watched the celebrated general parade down the street.

As the parade came to an end, you discreetly followed behind the procession, your eyes fixed on General Marcus Acacius. He was dressed in white and glittering gold, a stark contrast to his usual attire of blood-stained armor and weapons. Even though he was smiling and waving at the crowds, you could see the disdain in his eyes for such a grandiose display.

You had heard stories about him, rumors whispered amongst the noble families of Rome. They spoke of his ruthless acts on the battlefield, of his unwavering loyalty to Rome, and of his preferences. Yet here he was, parading through the streets in all his glory, hailed as a hero by everyone.

You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite everything you had heard. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of General Marcus Acacius, wondering what kind of man he truly was beyond his reputation as a war hero.

As you stood there, trying to remain inconspicuous, your eyes met his. The connection was electric, almost as if the gods themselves had intervened. Marcus’s gaze was so intense that it seemed to pierce through the crowd and find you alone. He noted every feature of your face, his expression betraying a hint of fascination.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat and quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned and began to scurry home, the thrill of the encounter leaving you breathless.

Your pulse raced as you made your way through the bustling streets of Rome, trying to push aside the image of General Marcus Acacius's piercing gaze. You couldn't understand why you were so affected by a man you barely knew, but there was something about him that drew you in.

You managed to sneak back into your room, just barely slipping past the household guards. Being the daughter of a senator afforded you certain privileges, including an education that many girls your age could only dream of. Your studies typically included reading, writing, and arithmetic, equipping you with the skills necessary to manage a household and participate in society. You were also taught music, dancing, and literature, for understanding and appreciating poetry was considered a virtue for a Roman woman.

As you settled in your room, the memory of Marcus’s gaze lingered in your mind. The image of his rugged face, scarred from countless battles, and his piercing eyes was etched into your thoughts. There was something about him that was both terrifying and captivating.

A soft knock on your door interrupted your reverie. It was your handmaid, Lydia, her expression curious.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

You hesitated, then sighed. "I went to see the procession."

Lydia’s eyes widened. "The general’s return? You could have been caught!"

"I know," you admitted, "but I had to see him."

"Why? What could be so important?"

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain the inexplicable pull you felt towards the gladiator general. "I don't know, Lydia. It's just... when our eyes met, it felt like something changed."

Lydia shook her head, her expression a mix of worry and understanding. "You must be careful. The world outside is not as forgiving as the walls of this villa."

The days following the procession were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn't shake the image of Marcus from your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the inexplicable connection that had sparked between you.

The grand villa of your father was abuzz with preparations for the evening’s banquet. Slaves hurried to and fro, setting tables with fine silverware and arranging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers.

Tonight, your father, a respected senator, was hosting a dinner in honor of General Marcus Acacius. The entire house was a flurry of activity, with guests arriving in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter filling the atrium. You stood near the entrance, feeling the weight of your responsibilities as the senator’s daughter.

Your mother approached, adjusting the drape of your stola with a critical eye. “Remember, you must be on your best behavior tonight. This banquet is crucial for your father’s alliances.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. Ever since you had seen Marcus in the parade, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The memory of his piercing gaze had haunted you, and now he was here, in your home.

"Come," your father said, his hand on your back guiding you through the crowd. "I want you to meet someone."

You followed, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you approached, you saw him standing there, taller and more imposing than anyone else in the room. Marcus Acacius, the hero of Rome, the man who had invaded your thoughts and dreams.

"General Acacius," your father began, his voice carrying the weight of his status, "allow me to introduce my daughter."

Marcus turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, but his gaze remained unwavering. "My lady," he said, his voice like velvet, "it is an honor."

General Marcus was the most strikingly handsome man you had ever seen. His chiseled features were framed by dark brown eyes beneath thick, black eyebrows. His long, aquiline nose and firm mouth, accentuated by a sensuously full lower lip, completed the picture of rugged masculinity. He stood tall, towering over most men, with a lean, muscular body and broad, powerful shoulders.

His hair, a captivating mix of salt and pepper, was cut short and fell in loose curls around his head, with distinguished grey patches in his beard that added to his allure.

"The honor is mine, General," you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed.

"Please, call me Marcus," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We are, after all, in more intimate surroundings."

Your father chuckled, clearly pleased with Marcus's easy charm. "I will leave you two to get acquainted," he said, patting Marcus on the shoulder before moving away to mingle with other guests.

The moment your father left, the air between you and Marcus seemed to crackle with electricity. He took a step closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you. "I must confess," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I have been looking forward to this moment."

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. "As have I," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Marcus's eyes darkened with desire, and he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your knees weaken. "You are even more captivating up close," he said, his voice husky. "I find myself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel it too?" he whispered.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, his scent, his warmth, the sheer power of his focus on you.

As Marcus's hand continued to caress your arm, you felt your heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You had never been this close to him before, and the realization that he was interested in you sent a wave of exhilaration through your body.

His lips brushed against your earlobe, making you shiver. "I want to know everything about you," he murmured, his voice sending sparks down your spine. "Your hopes, your dreams, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry out for mercy."

You turned towards him, meeting his intense gaze. "I want to know about you too," you said, feeling bold in his presence.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer. "There is not much to tell," he said modestly, though the way his eyes roamed over your face suggested otherwise. "Just a soldier who has dedicated his life to serving Rome."

But there was something more behind those words, something hidden beneath the mask of duty and honor. You could sense it in the way he held himself, in the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't believe that," you said firmly. "There is so much more to a person than their profession."

Marcus's smile widened into a grin as he took another step closer to you. "You are wise beyond your years," he said appreciatively.

The room around you seemed to fade away as you became lost in each other's gaze. It was as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

Suddenly, a loud noise broke through the moment – someone had knocked over a vase nearby. The sound jolted both of you back to reality and Marcus stepped back slightly.

"I should go check on that," he said regretfully.

Marcus's lips lingered on your skin for a moment longer before pulling away to look into your eyes. "I promise, we will continue this conversation another time," he said softly.

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. You couldn't wait to spend more time with him and get to know him better.

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him walk away, his confident stride and broad shoulders filling you with a sense of admiration. You sighed dreamily and turned back to the feast, only to be greeted by your handmaids with teasing grins.

"What was that all about?" one of them asked, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You feel your cheeks heat up, trying to hide your excitement. "Nothing," you said coyly. "Just a conversation."

As the guests were seated in the triclinium, the air was filled with the sounds of conversation and the clinking of goblets. You found yourself seated across from Marcus, who looked imposing in his formal attire. His presence commanded the room, yet his eyes frequently strayed to you, a subtle intensity in his gaze.

The evening progressed with toasts to Marcus’s victories and speeches praising his valor. You tried to focus on the conversations around you, but your mind kept drifting to the man across the table. Finally, you could bear it no longer. Under the pretense of needing fresh air, you excused yourself and slipped out into the garden.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you wandered through the manicured paths, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating your way. The garden was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively banquet inside. You found a secluded bench and sat down, letting out a sigh of relief. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of voices from the villa created a serene backdrop as you tried to gather your thoughts.

As you sat there, the faint sound of a conversation caught your attention. You turned your head slightly, realizing that a group of senators had gathered nearby, their voices low but urgent. You recognized the voices of some of the most influential men in Rome, including your father.

"I hear that Emperor Caracalla is eager to stage a grand spectacle," one senator said, his tone conspiratorial. "He wants to solidify his power and win the favor of the masses."

"Indeed," another replied. "I heard he plans to pit some of the finest gladiators against each other. And there are whispers that General Marcus Acacius himself might be forced to take part in the games."

You felt a pang of concern at the mention of Marcus's name. The thought of him in the Colosseum, fighting for his life, was almost too much to bear.

"Emperor Geta is not pleased with this idea," a third senator interjected. "He sees it as a waste of a valuable military asset. But Caracalla is determined. He believes a victory in the arena will elevate Marcus to legendary status, securing loyalty from the soldiers and the people alike."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed their words. The political machinations of Rome were ruthless, and it seemed that Marcus was caught in the middle of it all.

As the senators continued their discussion elsewhere, their voices drifting away back into the villa, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Marcus emerging from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He moved silently, his powerful form cutting through the darkness like a predator stalking its prey.

"My lady," he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It seems we both seek refuge in the quiet of the garden."

"Marcus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "I overheard the senators. They plan to have you fight in the Colosseum."

His expression darkened, and he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. "I know," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The emperors play their games, and I am but a pawn. But tonight, I do not wish to think of such things."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you. "Tonight, I only want to think of you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a tantalizing softness. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His touch was both possessive and gentle, his need for you evident in every caress.

"Marcus," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. "This is madness. If we are caught..."

"Let them find us," he murmured against your lips. "I would rather face the lions in the arena than be without you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you responded with a fervor that matched his own. Your bodies pressed together, the heat of your passion driving away the cool night air. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other.

"Promise me," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "Promise me you will come back to me, no matter what happens."

"I swear it," he said, his voice filled with determination. "No matter what the emperors or the gods throw at me, I will return to you."

With those words, he captured your lips again, sealing his promise with a kiss that left you breathless.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

His voice, a velvety whisper, sent a wave of desire flooding through you as he murmured, "I want you. Here. Now."

The moon was high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the garden, as Marcus pressed you against the wall. His hands roamed over your body, igniting fires with each touch. You could feel his desire for you, and it only fueled your own.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you up and pressed you against the garden walls. His body hovering over yours as he trailed kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you couldn't contain the moan that escaped from your lips.

With a growl of need, Marcus captured your lips once again while his hands began to explore under your dress. The feeling of his warm skin against yours sent shivers down your spine as he traced patterns along your thighs.

"Marcus," you gasped between kisses. "We shouldn't-"

"Shhh," he whispered, gently sliding your white cotton robe off your shoulders. "I can't resist you any longer.”

Marcus unexpectedly reached out his large, rough hands and cupped each one of your breasts, weighing them in his palms. Your body jolted at the sudden touch, your skin tingling under his warm heat. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, hardened from years of wielding swords and other battle weapons, leaving tiny marks on your delicate skin like a trail of fire.

As he squeezed and rotated your breasts gently, desire surged through you, igniting a deep longing within. You wanted to surrender yourself completely to him, to offer up not just your body but your very being to his every whim. The sensation was so overwhelming that you yearned to throw your head back in abandonment and give in to the all-consuming pleasure he evoked.

The protests that had escaped your lips now transformed into guttural moans of pleasure as his skilled fingers worked their magic on your most sensitive spot. Every touch sent electric shocks through your body, making you shiver and writhe against the wall. As Marcus trailed his fingertips over every inch of your slick flesh, you felt yourself becoming more and more lost in the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each stroke, your body arched further off the wall, desperate for more of his touch. It was like a symphony of sensations, building and crescendoing until you were completely consumed by the intensity of it all.

He slid a finger between your legs and pushed it deep inside you. Pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch and writhe as he expertly stroked your tight passage.

"My lady, you have an incredibly tight cunt," he grunted out, his voice strained and revealing his own growing arousal. His features twisted in pleasure and his eyes glinted with a primal lust.

He firmly grasped your aroused nub and slid another finger into your tight, welcoming entrance. "We have to be quiet or we'll risk getting caught," he whispered in your ear.

You nodded eagerly, pleading, "Yes, anything. Please."

As his skilled fingers gently rotated over your sensitive clit and his other digit pumped inside your wet, pulsing core, you couldn't help but surrender to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. From the moment his eyes locked on yours, you knew you were his to be used however he pleased, your body a vessel for his insatiable desires. With each expert movement of his fingers, you felt yourself spiraling into a dizzying state of pure ecstasy, completely at his mercy. Your flesh responded eagerly to his touch, begging for more as he claimed you as his own.

The General's gentle touch on your skin was electrifying, bringing a growing pleasure to your body that felt almost overwhelming. You could feel yourself getting too hot, too tense, and you were afraid of releasing the intense climax that was building inside you with just a single touch.

"Oh Goddess," you gasped, tilting your head back against his shoulder and shutting your eyes as your desire became sharper and more urgent.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as his long finger penetrated you, rotating and rubbing inside your core while his other fingers worked relentlessly on your sensitive clitoris. Your body squirmed against the intense pleasure, your hands grasping at his muscular arms to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations. He chuckled softly as you began to move your hips in a circular motion, still continuing to bring you pleasure with his skilled touch for several minutes. Just as you were about to reach the edge of climax, he eased off slightly, keeping his movements quick and light.

But eventually, your body tensed up and convulsed, your movements erratic and desperate, your breaths coming in short gasps. As the tension in your loins grew tighter and tighter, you let out a high-pitched wail and reached the peak of ecstasy. Your walls pulsated around his probing finger, which was now coated in even more of your warm juices.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Marcus gently turned you to face him again. His white robe and short toga were cast aside, leaving him naked in front of you. He stood tall and proud, his lean and muscular frame on full display. But it was his erect penis that took your breath away. It was massive, thick and much longer than average, standing rigid and red above a nest of dark pubic hair.

His impressive and exposed physique took your breath away as you gazed upon it. "Oh, my Goddess!" you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by his sheer size.

Without hesitation, Marcus reached out and grasped your thighs, pulling you closer to him. He leaned over your body, closed his fist around his member, and guided the tip towards your still-dripping entrance.

He managed to get the thick bulbous tip of his penis through your opening. You immediately felt stretched and full. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling in an effort to accommodate him. “You big brute, you’re tearing me apart.”

He clenched his teeth, sweat starting to matt his silver and grey hair at his forehead. The pleasure of being inside such a tight flesh was almost dizzying, and he had to pull in all of his control to prevent himself from plunging completely inside of you.

That would come later, he promised, once you had been well oiled by him. He pushed again and managed another inch, and slowly continued to advance his penis inside your channel.

“You’re so tight,” his voice was harsh and strained, as if in pain. It wasn't too far from the truth; she felt tight around him, almost like a vice grip. But despite the discomfort, she was so warm and smooth inside.

With a groan, he slid the thick bulbous tip of his penis into your opening. A sharp pang of fullness shot through you as your body stretched to accommodate him. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling and contorting in an effort to ease the pressure. "You big oaf," you playfully scolded, though there was a hint of pleasure in your voice.

He clenched his teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he fought for control. The sensation of being inside such tight, warm flesh was almost overwhelming, and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He promised himself that he would give in completely once you were well-oiled by him.

He pushed with all his strength, feeling the resistance of your body as he slid deeper and deeper inside. The walls of your channel were smooth and slick, clenching around him like a vice. He couldn't hold back the grunt that escaped his clenched teeth, a mix of intense sensation coursing through his body. It was a pleasurable pain, like being held in a fierce embrace by someone who loved you too much - an exquisite torture that he never wanted to end. But with each slow and deliberate thrust, he knew that the pleasure would only intensify, building to a climax that would leave them both breathless.

Slowly but surely, Marcus eased his penis deeper into your body. With each inch of progress, you both felt the intensity of your connection grow stronger. Your entire body trembled with each thrust he made. When he was halfway inside you, Marcus used his fingers to stimulate your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your core throbbed with ecstasy as Marcus took advantage of your relaxed muscles and thrust deeply inside you until he was fully engulfed.

You and Marcus both groan at the same time. He quickly covers your mouth with his hand, gently hushing you. "Shh, my Carissima... I know it feels good, but we must be quiet. We can't risk your father catching us in this compromising position." The General continues to stimulate your sensitive spot, using his fingers to tease and moisten it further.

Your hips continued to rock and push against his manhood, your desire growing with each movement. You leaned back and moaned as General Marcus Acacius took full control of your body. He held onto your hips tightly as he thrust deep inside you, the pleasure intensifying for both of you. It was clear that neither of you was far from reaching the peak of ecstasy.

You let out moans and contorted your body as the large, broad, man moved back and forth between your legs. As your face twisted in pleasure and your head thrashed about, you experienced this unfamiliar sensation called sexual pleasure. Your climax came quickly and intensely, feeling like it lasted for several minutes. You threw your head back and let out a scream as the intense pleasure broke through between your thighs. A hot wave of pleasure spread throughout your body, causing your hips to writhe against Marcus'.

As your body trembled and released into an intense orgasm, you felt Marcus' muscles tighten beneath you. A deep, primal roar escaped his lips as he too reached the peak of his climax. The sound echoed through the gardens blending with the rhythmic pounding of your heart and breath. It was a moment of pure, raw passion that left you both gasping for air and tangled in each other's embrace.

As the intense pleasure slowly subsided, you became aware of the small droplets of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the grass. It was a sign that your virginity had been taken, marking the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

General Marcus Acacius carefully pulled out of you and helped you to sit up. You could see his concern in his eyes as he looked at the blood staining his robe on the ground and your thighs.

"Are you hurt, Carissima? I didn't mean to be so rough..." he asked, his voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "No… I'm fine," you managed to say.

He let out a sigh of relief and gently wiped away the blood with a nearby cloth. You winced slightly at the slight soreness between your legs but it was nothing compared to the intense pleasure you had just experienced.

Marcus held you close, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. "You were amazing, my love," he whispered in your ear.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you realized what had just happened between the two of you. You had shared an intimate moment with General Marcus Acacius, someone who was forbidden to you because of your status as a daughter of such nobility. And yet, in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of love and desire that consumed both of you.

Your mind was spinning, knowing all too well what would happen if anyone found out about your relationship with the General. Your father would surely punish both of you severely and possibly even sell one or both of you off.

Even with the knowledge of what had just happened, and what could, it was difficult for you to feel remorse or embarrassment. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment that you had never experienced before.

Marcus chuckled warmly and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. "You are truly something special, Carissima," he said with adoration in his eyes.

You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. Despite the risks and consequences, being with Marcus felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But as the reality of your situation sank in, a sense of worry crept into your mind. How would you continue this relationship without anyone finding out? How could you possibly be with Marcus when your father would never allow it? Or worse, your father having you marry someone else?

Marcus brushed his fingers against your cheek, and it felt like he could read your mind. "We will find a solution, my love. I promise I will marry you and make you my wife," he whispered to soothe your fears.

The weight of Marcus' words settled heavily in your heart. The thought of being married to the man you loved filled you with joy and hope, yet the reality of it all seemed impossible.

"How could we possibly make that happen?" you asked, your voice laced with worry.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt. How could someone as powerful and respected as General Marcus Acacius be able to marry someone like you? You were just a daughter of a nobleman, while he was one of the most influential men in the kingdom.

Marcus spoke with unwavering assurance, his gaze locked onto yours. As you looked back into his eyes, all your doubts and fears dissipated. You were certain that he would do anything to keep you safe and by his side. "We will find a way, my love. I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife."

"I believe in you," you said softly, placing a hand on his chest.

Marcus smiled and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips gentle and loving against yours. In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away except for the two of you.

"But we must be careful," Marcus reminded you, his tone serious once again. "We cannot let anyone find out about us until the time is right."

You nodded in agreement, understanding the risks that came with your relationship.

"We must also gain your father's approval," Marcus continued. "It won't be easy, but I am determined to prove myself worthy of you and your family."

You couldn't help but admire Marcus' determination and love for you. Despite the challenges ahead, he was willing to do anything to be with you.

As the sun began to rise, you woke up in your room with a smile on your face. Today was the day that Marcus would finally meet with your father and ask for your hand in marriage. You could hardly believe the moment had arrived, the day you had dreamt of for so long.

Ever since he had first confessed his love for you, the two of you had been meeting in secret, stealing moments together whenever possible. The clandestine nature of your meetings had made your bond even stronger. The thought of being with Marcus made every challenge worth it.

You dressed carefully, choosing your finest gown, and adorned yourself with simple yet elegant jewelry. Your heart raced with anticipation as you made your way to the garden where the betrothal ceremony would take place. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves created a serene atmosphere.

In the garden, your father stood with Marcus, deep in conversation. The sight of them together filled you with a sense of pride and hope. Marcus, in his formal attire, looked every bit the honorable and powerful man that he was—a general respected by all of Rome.

Your father turned to you, his expression warm. "My dear daughter," he began, "today is a momentous day as the gods have blessed us. General Marcus Acacius has proven himself to be a man of honor and valor. It would be a great honor for our family to be united with his."

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is my greatest wish to make you my wife," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise to honor and protect you for all the days of my life."

The betrothal ceremony commenced, a formal ritual between your two families. Your father and Marcus exchanged respectful bows, symbolizing the joining of your households. Gifts were presented, and the dowry was discussed and agreed upon. A scribe stood by, ready to document the agreement in a written contract.

Marcus then produced a small, ornate box and opened it to reveal a beautiful finger ring. "This ring," he said, "is a symbol of my commitment to you, a tradition that stretches back through the ages."

He took your hand gently and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a thrill through you. The ring was exquisite, a delicate band adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of ancient craftsmanship.

"You honor me with this gift, Marcus," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion.

Marcus smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "The honor is mine, my love."

With the ring in place, you turned to the scribe, who handed you both the written agreement. You signed your name carefully, your hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. Marcus signed next, his signature bold and confident.

Finally, the moment came to seal the betrothal with a kiss. Marcus stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, sweet kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that perfect moment.

As you pulled away, you saw the approval in your father's eyes and felt a rush of joy and relief. You were now betrothed to Marcus, the man you loved, and your future together was set.

"Let this day be the beginning of a lifetime of happiness," your father declared, his voice filled with emotion.

Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Together, we will face whatever the future holds," he promised.

And with that, your hearts intertwined, you knew that your love would endure, growing stronger with each passing day. The journey ahead was full of promise, and with Marcus by your side, you felt ready to embrace it all.

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lokischocolatefountain · 4 months ago

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at last, my love has come along

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: General Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: PG13 Word count: 2.9k words Summary: After the end of a loveless marriage, your father finds a match for you in General Acacius. Warnings: age gap, arranged marriage, mentions of maternal and infant mortality, widowed reader, widowed Acacius, past neglect, virgin!reader. A/N: Marcus Acacius has me in a chokehold and he knows I like it. This is a second look at the characters from home in three days, do not wash but happens earlier. You can read them in whatever order you wish. Title stolen from Etta James' At Last.

“What is he like? The Dominus?”

“He is very kind,” said one of the girls who worked on your toga. You nodded, the pearls in your earrings brushing against your skin and making the hairs on your body stand upright.

“What of my hair?”

“What of it, Domina?”

“The sun has already set. You said the Dominus will be home soon,” you said, fidgeting with the silk fabric that your sisters had presented you with before you began your travel from your village to the city. Something that would help you fit in better with the fashionable ladies and not make your husband, the General, look bad in society’s eyes.

It was not for lack of wealth that you did not own many luxurious fabrics. Only that such things did not reach your village easily and your father, despite his place in the Senate, never brought the right things home. Not for a lack of love for you and your siblings but a lack of taste in women’s clothing and jewelry.

You thought as a young girl of only fourteen that your husband, the first one, would bring you the soft silks and lustrous gold unlike your father. But he did not even bring himself home. You had been married off through letters exchanged between him and your father. It took two of living in his mansion and raising his two children from his last marriage before he finally came home. And when he did, he did not act as a husband should. Not how your older sisters told you he ought to be.

When Consus passed, you mourned not as a wife but as a friend.

“The dominus prefers unbraided hair,” the girl standing behind you said. You nodded, registering the information in your heart. You wanted to know all that there was to know about him before he even arrived. Perhaps then you would be pleasing enough to have a fate different from your last marriage.

It had been all but a year since you were widowed that your father brought you news that you would be wed to a General who lived in the capital. There was no wedding for you even this once. A repeat of your last fate. You had resigned to never knowing your husband when you reached his grand home and spent your night with servants rather than his bed.

How foolish you were to hope.

But the situation changed for the better quite suddenly when you received word that General Acacius was returning from his travel soon. You expected that the news would calm your nerves but it somehow achieved the opposite. Fear.

When the girls were happy with how they had decorated you for your husband’s eyes, they led you to his chambers. They left you there alone to stew in your anxieties about how the night would fare. The quiet of the night did not help matters. All that filled the space was the tides of the sea and the occasional clinking of your bangles as you fidgeted with your dress.

It was all you yearned for in your last marriage, a night of intimacy as a husband and wife should. But now that you were at the precipice of getting what you wanted, dread filled your chest. You’d heard from your older sisters and servants what it was like to lay with a man. From their stories, it did not seem enjoyable. Not for women. It was only something to bear for the sake of having children. And all you wanted was to have children.

You loved Consus’ children of course. They were all you had in the lonely life you led with him. But they were taken from you soon, married off or sent to battle in many campaigns. And you wanted your own children. Have what your brothers and sisters had. Hold your newborns in your arms and raise them from their first breaths rather than from the middle of their childhood.

In your fantasizing of motherhood, you had completely forgotten that you had to be bed by your husband to become a mother. You had forgotten your sisters describe how painful it would be the first time a man took you. If one’s husband was a barbarian with a big cock, it would hurt each time although not as much as the first. A servant girl told you that she had the luxury of a kind husband who would not touch her if she said she was feeling unwell. But there were also husbands who would beat their women for refusing to perform their marital duties when asked.

Your thoughts grew louder and louder in your head until you couldn’t hear the ocean anymore. And you most certainly did not hear when the doors opened and your husband entered. When you perceived his presence, he was already sat by you. When he spoke your name, your heart nearly jolted out of your chest.

He laughed softly and looked you over with a smile on his plush lips. The candle lights illuminated his golden skin and the strands of gray that interspersed his dark hair. The candle on his other side shone bright to highlight his silhouette, his aquiline nose standing bold, characteristic of a valorous man. The sight had you transfixed and you wondered if his godlike visage aided him in battle. If it distracted his enemies long enough for him to slay them.

He reached his hand out to yours, brought it up from your lap and placed a kiss on your fingers. He looked up at you from your fingers, his brown eyes drawing you in like Cupido himself was pulling your strings like a marionette.

“I have kept you waiting for long.”

Not as long as Consus did. But you kept the comment to yourself. You’d never come close to a marital bed but something told you that men did not want to hear about a woman’s previous husband.

You spoke for the first time in his presence. “You are an important man. I understand.”

He smiled, dropping your hand to the space between you but not leaving it. His hand was rough from battle yet gentle in touch. It enveloped yours, exuding a soft dominance like the rest of him did. He was quite large and you winced internally, hoping that it did not translate to his size elsewhere. Did your sisters ever tell you about the relationship between the size of his man and his manhood? You couldn’t quite remember.

“Have the servants made the home comfortable for you? It has been quite a while since this home had a domina.”

You nodded and licked your lips, wishing you could run out to fetch some water for your drying mouth. “It is comfortable. And very beautiful. I have never seen the ocean before.”

“There is nothing like the peace the sound of the waves brings. Nothing like the cool breeze at night and relaxing on the balcony to indulge in the stunning blue expanse.”

“The sight of the ocean when the sun sets is truly incomparable. I spent many evenings mesmerized by it.”

Like magic, the pressure in your lower belly disappeared. You spoke about the beauty of Rome and indulging in it. He put you at ease, drawing smiles out of you, each one wider than the last. But you had a way of finding something to torture yourself over. As you exchanged details about your past, you blurted the question out.

“Am I to your liking?”

“You are beautiful. Worthy of the praises your father sings of his younger daughter in the senate. And at banquets. The bathhouses and libraries and markets. Rome does not know your name but she knows you.”

“I…” you swallowed, relieved that he found you beautiful but afraid for everything else to come. You were inexperienced but even you knew that beautiful faces were not enough to be an adequate wife. It was not adequate for Consus and you did not want a repetition of that with the General. “I do not know what you require in a wife. But I will learn. I have kept my hair out of braids. I learned that you prefer it that way. I will learn everything else too.”

Please allow me to learn. Do not discard me for my inadequacies before I have the opportunity to prove myself.

“Your father also described you as dutiful. I see he was right.”

“Stand up,” he said and took your hand once again, guiding you to stand in front of him. “Undress. Let me see you.”

He leaned towards the headboard of the bed, relaxing with his arm draped over it as he looked at you. You felt your heart thud like a galloping horse on the battlefield. Like a good soldier would, you persisted into your own battle and undid the ties and clasps that kept your clothes in place. He sat back, exuding power with his broad shoulders, wide chests and thick thighs spread apart.

Something about the situation made you feel like cattle in the market being evaluated by customers. Did the cows feel the way you did? Did they wonder as they were purchased if they would be slaughtered for meat or kept to be bred and milked? At least they had the peace of mind knowing that the man who bought them was satisfied with his purchase.

The General hadn’t seen you before he took you for a wife.

Silk pooled around your legs and the cold breeze he’d waxed poetic about caressed your skin. The cold and the shame of being bare in front of a man persuaded you to cross your arms over your chest. You kept your eyes on the ground, focusing on his feet and yours being so close together.

You jumped when his hand grazed your elbow but refused to look at him for fear of what you would find. Disappointment? Disgust? Anger? You could not fathom which would be the worse outcome.

“Do not hide from your husband,” he said, gently prying your arms apart. Arms by your side, you dug your fingernails into your palm to keep from covering yourself again. Consus never laid a hand on you— never bedded you, never hit you. The General had been sweet so far, but you did not know who he was and what he did when angered.

He held your hip and caressed your soft skin with his calloused hand. You inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by the proximity of his hand to your core. You pressed your thighs together, your feminine demureness anxious to keep your most intimate parts hidden from men’s eyes.

“Turn around. Slowly,” he said, guiding you by your hips. As soon as you faced away from him, you brought your hands back up to cover your breasts. He did not seem to notice as his hand trailed down to your rear and grabbed your flesh in both hands. You whimpered, feeling somehow more exposed though you had not become more naked.

“Beautiful…” he hummed as he rotated you to face him once again. You dropped your arms to your sides as though you had touched a hot pot, his instruction ringing in your ear.

“And obedient… I could not have chosen better. Now show me what you can do, girl.” It was enough for you to finally look up at him. There were none of the expressions you feared you would see. He looked quite relaxed and you were afraid you would ruin that with your ignorance of what you were to show him.

“I will do anything you ask,” you answer meekly, hoping he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do. Hoping he would instruct you every step of the way.

“Show me how you will serve me.”

You swallowed, thinking through every bit of information your sisters and servants had given on pleasing a man. It all came down to obedience, to lying down and taking what your husband gave you. Were you supposed to do something else?

“P-please,” you whispered, the world distorted as it spilled from your trembling lips. “Show me what I should do.”

He stood up, startling you and forcing you to take a step back. He placed a hand on your lower back and caressed gently like you did a litter of feral kittens when you were a girl.

He placed a finger under your chin and nudged you to look up at him. “Nothing you should do, beautiful girl. I only want what you want to do.”

“I have never…” you trailed, shaking your head in denial. “I am still chaste,” you blurted out. He froze in place, deep brown eyes boring into you.

“Your father said you were a devoted mother.”

“To Consus’ children. Borne by his first and second wives. After his second wife died in childbirth, he— I raised the children.”

“You do not want children of your own?”

“I do!” You exclaimed quickly, afraid this life would be taken from you once again. You kept silent throughout your marriage and you couldn’t do that again. Not if it meant your womb staying barren. “I do. Consus, he— both his wives before me died in childbirth and the children— he did not want them to lose another mother. So he never touched me. I am chaste.”

“Your father did not tell me.”

“I did not tell him. Consus wrote to my family that I lost pregnancies. Had my father known that he was— that we did not live as a married man and woman— he would have had me divorce him. Consus did not want that for the children and I could not tell my family the truth until he passed. Please… If my father believed I could not bear children, he would not have arranged for our marriage.”

You naively believed your father would have informed the General of your predicament. Giving one’s daughter to a man when you believed her barren was no small slight. Your felt as though a stone had lodged itself in your throat. You had just doomed yourself and your father. He could march up to the senate come sunrise. Humiliate your father. Take his sword to his neck. All because you were too foolish to know how to please a man.

“What of you?”

“What of me?” You asked, confused. He took your hands in his and guided you to sit on the bed. He joined beside you.

“Why did you remain loyal to such a loathsome man? One who besmirched you to your family rather than admit to his deficiencies as a man?”

“I was young and foolish. When I realized that he would never give me children, I… he had already lied enough to my family about my—” you stopped and shook your head. There was no need to speak ill of the dead man. No need to remind yourself how your barrenness made you the laughing stock of the village. “I resigned myself to the fate the gods had chosen for me. And I grew to love his children as my own.”

“I want more children. I ha— all my sons are dead, a few daughters too.”

You nodded, your chest clenching from the pained look in his eyes. It was universal. Almost everyone who’d had children had lost children. But the pain never subsided. You’d seen it in your sisters, noble women of the highest ranking, in servants and slaves. The first time in a General.

“I want to have children.”

He smiled and nodded before picking up your linen stola from the ground and wrapping it around you. He cupped your cheek, his hand engulfing the entirety of your face. He tilted his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his eyes bore into yours.

You leaned closer to him, praying you remembered how to kiss from the few times with a servant girl when you were only thirteen. Anticipation and anxiety had your heart racing together. When he finally touched his lips to yours, he quietened every anxiety, leaving only excitement behind. You placed a hand on his armor, the hardness of the metal underneath the leather contrasting the softness of his lips. Your other hand moved of its own accord, finding the nape of his neck. His soft curls tickled your fingers and he sighed into the kiss.

He traced your lips with the tip of his tongue and you opened up, welcoming him. A sense of calm settled in you as you explored each other. In his arms, you found safety for the first time since your arrival. His lips coaxed you to the gates of heaven and you followed as you imagined soldiers followed your General into war. With some fear of the uncharted territory yet brave because they trusted his leadership.

When you pulled away from each other, something felt changed. He no longer felt like a stranger. Something in his eyes, an openness inviting you into his life.

The ravages of war and time were evident in his features. A scar on the bridge of his nose perhaps from a time he came too close to his own end. His skin was spotted with marks from the sun. His eyes were soft not from the naïveté of youth but from seeing the harsh world. His golden skin peeked from under his beard decorated with a few grey flecks. You caressed a patch of skin where his beard did not grow.

Not an hour had passed since you met him but in his embrace, glancing into his eyes, you knew life would be peaceful.

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multific · 10 days ago

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Meant to Be

Marcus Acacius x Reader

Summary: He fought for his freedom and your hand.

In ancient Rome, a love story unfolded between a bold gladiator named Marcus Acacius and a beautiful noble lady, whose heart longed for freedom.

However, their love faced impossible obstacles, primarily the strict and overbearing father of the noblewoman.

Marcus, a strong and skilled warrior, fought in the grand arenas of Rome.

His every victory brought him one step closer to the freedom he yearned for. Little did he know that destiny had something more in store for him.

One day, as Marcus stepped into the arena, his eyes met the gaze of a noble lady, whose name was yet unknown to him.

Her radiance captivated his soul, and from that moment on, Marcus fought with a new fire within him, fueled by the desire to win not only his freedom but also the heart of the lady.

Your paths intertwined further when, against all odds, Marcus caught the attention of the noble lady's father, a stern and unyielding man who demanded nothing but the highest standards for his daughter.

He saw potential in Marcus, both as a gladiator and as a worthy suitor for his beloved daughter. If Marcus could prove his worth.

You on the other hand.

You were not blind.

You could see the gladiator looking at you in a certain way.

You could also see just how handsome he was. How great his built was.

You noticed the way he moved, the way he always won. You liked him.

As Marcus continued to triumph in the arena, his reputation grew, and whispers of his love for you reached your ears.

In secret, you exchanged stolen glances and heartfelt letters, your love blossoming despite the obstacles that stood in your way.

Determined to prove himself worthy, Marcus embarked on a difficult journey, training tirelessly to become more than just a gladiator.

He studied the arts, philosophy, and etiquette, moulding himself into a man who would be worthy of your hand.

The day of reckoning arrived when Marcus was granted his freedom.

With his newfound liberty, he approached your father, humbly seeking his blessing to marry his daughter.

Your father, initially sceptical, witnessed the change Marcus had undergone, and his heart softened.

He recognised the genuine love that existed between his daughter and the brave gladiator.

"You may marry my daughter." your father said and Marcus felt fulfilled.

His freedom was nothing compared to the feeling of his love and dedication finally reaching his goal.

With tears of joy running down your face, you ran into his arms, finally embracing Marcus.

"I knew you would do it. I knew you would come for me." you whispered.

"Always." he replied before embracing your lips with his.

It all felt so right.

Meant to be.

In a grand ceremony, surrounded by many, Marcus Acacius and you, a noblewoman exchanged vows of eternal love, promising to cherish and protect each other for the rest of your lives.

Marcus, the once-captive gladiator, became a free man, not only in body but also in spirit.

Together, you embraced a future filled with love, respect, and shared dreams, forever grateful for the journey that had led you to this moment of true happiness.

And it was only you and your husband.

Taglist:

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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jobean12-blog · 10 days ago

Text

My Lady

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 572

Summary: Being the General requires much of Marcus' time and although you understand that it doesn't mean you don't miss him always- not as much as he misses you of course

Author's Note: Every new little snippet we get of this man basically ends me so I just was feeling something small and cuddly and soft because I really just want to curl up on his lap and in his arms forever. Please and thank you! 😁Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovey @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: it's soft and sweet and warm

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

He leans in, mouth hovering just over yours.

“They will be expecting me soon.”

He whispers this against your lips before his kisses trail along your jaw and down to the hollow of your throat.

Crowding your space a little more, he brushes his nose against yours, his soft lips and warm hands moving everywhere.

His face falls to the crook of your neck, and he groans. The sound vibrates all the way down your body and between your legs.

Your hands slide over the wide expanse of his back, the broad width of his shoulders and then ghost across his lips when his eyes meet yours.

“You are not making this very easy my love.”

“Hmm?” you hum with feigned innocence and rock your hips over him.

You’re seated in his lap at the edge of the bed, your thighs straddling his. You dip your head, and he meets you halfway, lips moving with yours, familiar and warm, through smiles and quiet sounds as his hands trace along the curve of your spine and then down to your ass to pull you tighter against him.

His kiss turns soft, the faintest, slowest, most feather light kiss imaginable, and you want a hundred more.

“I suspect Lucious will come looking for me any moment.”

“Then you should go General…before he does.”

Your kiss swollen lips turn up into a coquettish smile and his large hands flex on the softness of your ass.

You brush the fallen curls of hair from his forehead and then run your fingertips along the strong column of his neck.

He catches your hand, brushing his calloused thumb across your wrist, your pulse hammering beneath. He lifts it to his lips, kissing first the inside of your wrist, then your palm and finally brushing his mouth along your knuckles before pressing it to the back of your hand.

You start to push yourself off him, but he reaches out to grab your hips, sliding his hands up until they settle at your waist. He stands and drags you against his chest, one large hand smoothing along the curve of your body and up your arm until he can grasp the back of your neck and bring your lips to his.

He lets out a helpless sound and then a quiet groan, his kiss slow and warm. With effort he pulls back, running his fingertips down your shoulder and arm to your hand. He takes it in his and brings it to his lips again.

“My lady,” he murmurs, closing his eyes as he relishes the feel of your skin.

“General.”

He backs away, his eyes always on yours until he can no longer watch you and has to turn, grabbing his cloak and throwing it over his broad shoulders. He disappears in a flurry of fabric and heavy footsteps, and you fall back onto the bed with a sigh, counting the minutes until he returns to you.

When he does return, you’re waiting, and he takes a few purposeful strides toward you and you move quickly into his arms, pressing into him for more when he squeezes tight. His mouth is on your temple, your cheek, covering your lips in small bursts of kisses, lips opening, his tongue sliding to taste you.

His hands impatiently move over your waist, your hips, his words sliding across your lips as he tells me he missed you, missed you, missed you.

#marcus acacius x reader #pedro pascal #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacius x y/n #marcus acacius imagine #general acacius #pedro pascal x reader #gladiator 2

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 4 months ago

Note

omg PLSSSS do a sequel to ‘under a false alter’ like PLSSS ANDDD i wanna know everything about them

how’s married life? how has she adjusted to marriage? what does he think about her? i need banter i need sexual tension I NEED EVERYTHING PLSSS oh and lots of smut THANK YOUU

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀ ᴡᴀʟʟs

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Summary: No matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape your new husband, not that your father makes it any easier for you.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, the reader has a little angsty past, biting, misogyny, almost drowning

A/n: I've never been so grateful for the amount of love this has received. I hope I do it justice with this part two. Lots of love and joy. ALSO, WE GET A MARCUS POV AT ONE POINT hehe

It had been three days since your "marriage" to Marcus, and the silence between you two had been a welcome respite. The tension in the air was thick, each of you occupying your own space, minding your own business. You hoped it would stay that way. Mornings were spent in relative peace, with Marcus at one end of the breakfast table and you at the other.

Taking a bite of a grape, you glared across the table where your father sat with his mistress, Aurelia. The sight of her playing with your father's hair made your stomach churn. The woman who had tormented you for so long was now lounging comfortably in your home, smugly flaunting her relationship with your father. They exchanged whispered words and glances filled with a shared history that excluded you. Aurelia's laughter echoed off the walls, a sound that grated against your nerves.

You noticed Marcus watching them too, his expression unreadable as he observed the easy familiarity between your father and his lover. As if sensing your gaze, Aurelia's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her gaze as if daring you to disrupt their blissful morning routine. It was a calculated move, a reminder that despite your marriage to Marcus, some things remained unchanged.

"My love, we should go to the villa," Aurelia cooed, her eyes darting towards you with a malicious glint. She was clearly enjoying your discomfort. You could practically taste the bile rising in your throat at the sight and sound of her.

Your father chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "Ah, my dear Aurelia, always full of wonderful ideas," he replied, his hand finding hers across the table. His gaze met yours briefly, a hint of apology in his eyes before returning his attention to Aurelia. "Perhaps we should make a day of it. Just the two of us."

Aurelia leaned in closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or we could make it a family affair," she suggested with a sly smile, her gaze flickering towards Marcus and then back to you, her implication clear.

Marcus tensed beside you, his jaw clenching subtly as he watched the exchange. His eyes briefly met yours, a silent question lingering between you. You shrugged imperceptibly, unsure of what to make of Aurelia's suggestion.

"We'll see," Marcus finally interjected, his tone neutral but his gaze fixed on Aurelia. "It might be a good idea to get some fresh air."

Aurelia chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on Marcus for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to your father. "Yes, fresh air could do us all some good," she agreed, her smile widening as if she had won some small victory.

The comment landed heavily, striking you with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "Father, that is not—" you began to protest, but Marcus cut you off.

"Parents don't come on a honeymoon," Marcus interjected firmly. "We'll go alone. It's tradition."

Your father looked to protest, but Marcus continued, a subtle urgency in his tone. "It’s important for us to have time alone to... solidify our bond," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at your father. "Besides, it would give her a break from the current... dynamics here."

Your father's brows furrowed as he considered Marcus's words, his gaze shifting between you and Aurelia. It was clear he was torn, wanting to spend time with his lover but also recognizing the benefit of giving you some space away from Aurelia's influence.

"Very well," your father conceded, though his expression remained stern. "But remember, you must be back by fall. And I expect you to return with news of an heir."

The ultimatum hung heavily in the air, weighing down your heart. Visiting your mother was a rare privilege, one you couldn't afford to pass up. But the thought of being with Marcus, of possibly bearing his child, filled you with dread.

"You can't be serious," you whispered, turning to face your father. "You can't make me do this."

His expression was unwavering, a stern reminder of the power he held over you. "It's for your own good," he said simply. "And for the good of our family."

Marcus's gaze remained locked onto yours, a blend of authority and challenge. "It's settled, then," he declared firmly. "We'll leave in the morning."

You bristled, your skin tingling with a mixture of anger and an unwelcome flicker of desire. "This isn't over," you warned, your voice quivering with emotion. "I won't be your pawn."

A dark chuckle escaped Marcus, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I never thought you were," he replied coolly. "But we are bound together now. Whether you like it or not."

The next morning, you found yourself in a lavish carriage, the countryside rolling by in a blur of green and gold. Marcus sat opposite you, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. The silence between you was heavy, fraught with unspoken words and simmering tension.

"I hate you," you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I hate everything about this."

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you?" he asked, his tone almost mocking. "Or do you hate that you can't control it?"

You glared at him, your fists clenching in your lap. "You think you're so clever," you muttered. "But you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But I intend to find out."

You turned your gaze away from him, looking out the window as the scenery shifted. The villa was near the ocean, a place you knew well. It was where you had grown up, where you had spent countless days playing in the sand and swimming in the waves. The familiarity of the landscape brought a rush of memories, both comforting and bittersweet.

Despite the beauty of the place, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The promise of seeing your mother again was the only thing that had convinced you to agree to this honeymoon, but the thought of returning pregnant filled you with dread. You knew your father’s ultimatum was a trap, a way to ensure your compliance and submission.

"I won't return pregnant," you said firmly, breaking the silence. "I'm only doing this to see my mother."

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You think you can control that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can decide what happens between us?"

"I can try," you retorted, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I won't let you dictate my life."

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You’re stubborn, I'll give you that. But you underestimate the power of our bond. We are married now, and that means something."

"Not to me," you said, your voice trembling with anger. "This marriage is just a prison, a way to control me."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, his tone softening slightly. "We could make it something more, something real."

You scoffed, turning back to the window. "I doubt that," you muttered, your heart heavy with resentment and fear.

As the carriage continued its journey, you lost yourself in thoughts of the past and the uncertain future. The villa by the ocean, once a place of joy and freedom, now seemed like a gilded cage. The waves crashing against the shore were a stark reminder of the turbulent emotions within you, a mix of anger, sadness, and a glimmer of hope that you couldn't quite extinguish.

When the carriage finally arrived at the villa, you were both relieved and apprehensive. The grand entrance and the familiar scent of the sea filled you with a sense of nostalgia, but the presence of Marcus at your side was an ever-present reminder of the new reality you were forced to accept.

As you stepped out of the carriage, Marcus placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward. The touch was both possessive and surprisingly gentle, a contradiction that left you feeling even more conflicted.

"We'll make a fresh start here," he declared, his voice tinged with sincerity. "No more fighting. Let's give this a real chance."

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then we keep trying," he said simply. "Until we do."

You studied him intently, trying to gauge the truth in his words. The weight of his gaze held yours, earnest and unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, you spoke, your voice tinged with skepticism. "What makes you so sure we can make this work?"

Marcus sighed softly, his hand falling to his side. "Because I'm not here to control you," he explained gently. "All I want is communication. That's all we need to make this work—open and honest communication."

His words resonated with a truth you hadn't expected. Despite your reservations, a flicker of hope stirred within you. "Communication," you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. It sounded simple, yet laden with potential.

You'd been at the villa for two days, and despite everything, you had managed to avoid Marcus and even sleep in separate bedrooms. Meal times were awkward, the silence between you both louder than any words could have been. You had resolved to stay like that for the entire three weeks your father had given you to "get pregnant." But your alcohol tolerance had other plans.

Each morning, you found yourself waking early to escape to the farthest corners of the villa, the sprawling gardens and the serene lake providing a much-needed sanctuary. You spent your days wandering through the lush greenery, finding solace in the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Marcus, it seemed, had taken a similar approach, retreating to his own activities and leaving you undisturbed. The villa was vast enough to make this evasion possible, yet each evening you couldn't help but feel the walls closing in, the loneliness amplifying your homesickness.

The memories of your mother haunted you. The villa, though beautiful, reminded you painfully of the home you'd left behind and the loving presence of your mother. You missed her gentle voice, her comforting embrace, and her wisdom. The separation weighed heavily on your heart, each passing hour a reminder of the emotional distance that now lay between you.

It was late afternoon when you asked one of the maids to bring you a drink. A mistake, you realized too late, not specifying how strong it should be. Without your father's supervision, you had indulged far too much. The room spun around you, and your vision blurred as you stumbled your way toward the dining room.

You pushed open the heavy door, the sudden light from the chandelier making you squint. Marcus was already there, a book in his hands, but his eyes snapped to you the moment you entered. You could feel his gaze like a weight on your skin, making the room feel even hotter than it already was.

"Well, if it isn't my estranged bride," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He put down his book, his posture straightening as he watched you struggle to find your footing.

You squinted at him, the light from the chandelier making your head throb. "Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out more slurred than stern.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Start what? Observing the obvious? You're drunk."

You staggered forward, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm fine," you insisted, though you nearly tripped over your own feet.

"Fine?" he echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You're a mess."

You shot him a glare, your temper flaring. "Like you care," you spat. "You're just loving this, aren't you? Seeing me like this."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "No, actually, I'm not. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Better a fool than a tyrant," you retorted, your fists clenching at your sides. "You think you can control me, just like my father."

Marcus's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "I don't need to control you," he replied, his hands gripping your arms. "I just need you to stop acting like a child."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Don't touch me," you hissed, your anger boiling over. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Someone has to since you clearly can't handle yourself."

"You're such a pompous ass," you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you really think I wanted any of this? To be stuck with you?"

His grip tightened, but his voice remained dangerously calm. "You think I wanted this either? To be saddled with a spoiled, reckless girl who can't even hold her liquor?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the alcohol fueling your reckless words. "I hate you," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I hate everything about this, and I hate you."

Marcus's eyes darkened, his grip on your arms firm but not painful. "Good," he said, his voice low and intense. "Use that hate. Let it drive you. But don't you dare make a fool of yourself in front of everyone."

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You don't get to tell me how to feel," you choked out. "Or what to do."

He sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not trying to control you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

You glared at him, your vision blurring. "I don't need your help," you insisted, though even you knew how weak it sounded.

"Too bad," he said simply, lifting you into his arms with ease. "You're getting it anyway."

You struggled weakly, your head spinning. "Put me down," you demanded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Not a chance," he replied, carrying you toward his room. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you."

You hated the feeling of being so helpless, so dependent on him. "You're insufferable," you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you're stubborn," he retorted, his grip on you firm but gentle. "But I'm not leaving you like this."

He pushed open the door to his room and set you down on the large, plush bed, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary. You tried to sit up, but your body refused to cooperate.

"I'm sleeping in my room," you said, trying to push yourself up, but failing miserably.

"Not tonight," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knelt in front of you, removing your shoes with careful precision. "You're staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

You glared at him, though it lacked any real heat. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But only because I finally get to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't need your help," you repeated weakly.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe not," he said softly. "But I'm here anyway."

You tried to maintain your defiance, but your vision was blurry and your body was betraying you. The alcohol had dulled your senses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You attempted to sit up straighter, to keep the conversation going, to keep your mind sharp. But the effort was in vain. Your head felt heavy, and your eyelids were drooping despite your best efforts.

"Don't fall asleep," you murmured to yourself, the words slurring together.

Marcus's expression softened, and he crouched down beside the bed, his face level with yours. "You need to rest," he said, his voice gentle.

"I can... stay awake," you insisted, but your body had other plans. Your limbs felt like lead, and the comfort of the bed was becoming impossible to resist.

Marcus reached out, his hand brushing a lock of hair from your face. "Just sleep," he urged. "I'll be right here."

You tried to fight it, tried to keep your eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. As you stared into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze was the last thing you saw before everything went dark. His eyes held a depth that made your heart ache, a mixture of frustration, determination, and something else you couldn't quite name.

Your breathing slowed, and you felt yourself slipping away, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. Marcus's presence beside you was a strange comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you weren't alone. His hand lingered on your face for a moment longer, his touch surprisingly tender.

The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was his face, the worry and care etched into his features. Your final thought was a confused jumble of emotions, a mixture of anger, defiance, and a reluctant sense of safety.

I watched her struggle to stay awake, her eyelids fluttering as the effects of the alcohol took hold. Her earlier defiance had melted into a fragile vulnerability that tightened my chest. Despite everything, there was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in me.

She hated me, and I couldn't blame her. This marriage wasn't her choice, just as it wasn't truly mine. But here we were, bound together by circumstances beyond our control. I had accepted the arrangement with a single, desperate hope – to escape the life of a gladiator. To live a life where survival wasn't measured by the swing of a sword.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I watched her sleep. She looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast to the fiery woman who had spat venom at me earlier. Her reputation had preceded her – wild, unladylike, with a rebellious streak that made her father's blood boil. Any other man would have turned her away, seen her as too much trouble. But not me.

I was no stranger to trouble. Hell, I lived in it every day in the arena. So when this opportunity arose, I took it. Perhaps, deep down, I saw a bit of myself in her – trapped, fighting against the current, desperate for a way out.

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking softly under my weight. The villa was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the ocean outside. It was beautiful here, far removed from the chaos of our everyday lives. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a place for new beginnings.

But that was wishful thinking, and I knew it. We were too different, too stubborn, and too caught up in our own struggles to see eye to eye. Still, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe over time, we could find common ground. Maybe I could help her see that not all men were out to control her, to use her.

As she slept, I couldn't help but reflect on our wedding night. I had been a little drunk, my senses dulled by the wine and the weight of what lay ahead. I hadn’t known what to expect, and the confusion of hate and passion made me feel odd, out of place in my own skin. She had initiated sex that night, surprising me with her boldness. Yet now she pretended I was nothing more than a rodent, something to be tolerated.

But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way she looked at me, the physical attraction she tried to mask with disdain. It was confusing, this mix of desire and loathing. I wanted her, but I wouldn’t force it. I refused to become the monster she seemed to believe I was.

My eyes wandered over her sleeping form, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed out over the pillow. She looked peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a future where she looked at me with that same peace when awake.

I remembered the way she had clung to me on our wedding night, her body warm and pliant against mine. The way she had moaned my name, her defenses lowered, just for a moment. It felt like a betrayal that she could feel so passionately in bed yet treat me with such coldness during the day.

Watching her now, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had fallen asleep in my presence, a small step forward in this tangled mess we found ourselves in. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for us to find common ground.

The exhaustion from the day's events washed over me, and I settled into the chair, unable to tear my gaze away from her. She shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips. The urge to go to her, to hold her and comfort her, was strong, but I stayed put. Pushing her now would only drive her further away.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought about the road ahead. The days would be long and difficult, filled with arguments and misunderstandings. But for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work. Maybe we could find a way to understand each other, to build something real from the ashes of our forced union.

With that thought, I let myself drift off, the rhythmic sound of her breathing a strange, comforting lullaby. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, we had this moment of fragile peace. And in the quiet of the night, it was enough.

You woke up with a slight headache, the overwhelming scent of a man filling your senses. It was a heady mix of sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine. You sat up, and the room spun a little. A groan escaped your lips as you checked to make sure your clothes were still on. You didn't remember him taking off anything other than your shoes, but he was still a man, after all. Your eyes landed on Marcus, uncomfortably slouched in a chair facing the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of him asleep, vulnerable, stirred something unfamiliar in you, but you quickly pushed it aside.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood up slowly, testing your balance. The headache pounded behind your eyes, a painful reminder of your overindulgence. You made your way to the washbasin, splashing cold water on your face, hoping it would help clear the fog in your head. After a moment, you straightened, took a deep breath, and left the room, eager to put some distance between yourself and Marcus.

The villa was quiet as you made your way to the dining room, the only sounds the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lap of waves against the shore. The familiarity of it all made you ache with a longing for simpler times. You remembered your childhood here, playing on the beach, carefree and happy before the world became so complicated.

As you entered the dining room, a maid appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl and a single, raw egg. She approached you with a polite smile, her eyes downcast.

"Good morning, my lady. I've brought you something to help with... pregnancy," she said, her voice hesitant.

Your eyes narrowed, and you snapped, "I'm not pregnant. The only remedy from an old wife I want is a hangover remedy."

The maid's eyes widened in surprise and fear. "I'm sorry, my lady. It's just that raw eggs are believed to help with getting pregnant. I meant no offense."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Just bring me something for this headache, please."

She nodded quickly and scurried away, leaving you with the bowl and the raw egg. You stared at it with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. The idea of swallowing a raw egg made your stomach churn, but you knew that in the world you lived in, old wives' tales often carried weight.

Moments later, the maid returned with a cup of herbal tea and a damp cloth. "Here, my lady. This should help."

You took the tea gratefully, sipping it slowly. The warm liquid soothed your throat, and the bitter herbs began to work their magic on your pounding head. You sat down at the table, placing the cloth over your eyes and leaning back in the chair.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You peeked from under the cloth to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He had changed into fresh clothes, but the scent of him from the night before still lingered in your nostrils.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Not really," you replied, your tone sharp. "What do you want?"

He walked over, sitting across from you. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You glared at him, the words from the previous night echoing in your mind. "I don't need your concern."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You were quite the handful last night."

"Well, if you hadn't dragged me off to bed like some helpless damsel, maybe I wouldn't have been," you shot back, the anger flaring up again.

"You're right," he said, surprising you. "But I didn't want you hurting yourself. Despite what you think, I don't want to control you."

You scoffed, lowering the cloth and meeting his gaze. "You keep saying that, but your actions say otherwise."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if he, too, had a headache. "Look, I know you didn't want this marriage any more than I did. But we're in this together now. Fighting each other isn't going to make it any easier."

You stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes catching you off guard. You wanted to lash out, to keep up the walls you had built, but something in his demeanor made you pause.

"Why did you accept this marriage?" you asked quietly, the question that had been nagging at you since the wedding.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I hoped it would be a way out," he admitted. "A way to escape the life of a gladiator. And yes, I knew of your reputation. But I also knew that any other man wouldn't have accepted you, not with the rumors."

His honesty disarmed you, the anger slowly seeping out of you. You wanted to understand his motives further, but another question gnawed at you.

"So, you did this for your freedom?" you asked, trying to grasp his intentions.

"And maybe for yours too," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours again. "I know what it's like to be trapped in a life you didn't choose."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask, and it left you feeling more conflicted than ever. You didn't know if you could trust him, but you couldn't deny the small spark of hope his words ignited.

The sound of the waves outside grew louder in the silence, as if echoing the turmoil within you. You took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth spread through you, grounding you in the moment.

Marcus shifted in his seat, breaking the silence. "Do you want to visit the pier?" he asked, his voice tentative.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "The pier?" you echoed, memories flooding back. You remembered visiting the pier with your mother, the laughter, the carefree days. Since returning to the villa, you hadn't gone to see it. The thought of revisiting that place brought a mix of nostalgia and longing, but also a sense of trepidation.

"Yes, the pier," Marcus repeated, watching you closely. "I thought you might like to see it."

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to reject his offer out of sheer stubbornness, to prove you didn't need anything from him. But another part of you, the part that missed the simpler times, yearned to go.

"Why do you care?" you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about caring. I just thought it might be nice for you to see it again."

You glared at him, trying to keep your walls up. "You think taking me to the pier will make everything better? That I'll suddenly forget everything and be grateful?"

"No," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I don't expect anything. I'm just offering."

The sincerity in his voice made you falter. You hated the way he could make you feel so uncertain, so conflicted. But the thought of the pier, of the memories it held, was too tempting to ignore.

"Fine," you said, your tone laced with defiance. "I'll go."

Marcus nodded, standing up. "Meet me at the front door when you're ready."

You finished your tea and stood up, taking a deep breath. You made your way to your room to change into something more suitable for the walk. As you dressed, your mind wandered back to the days with your mother, the laughter and the joy of simpler times. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

When you stepped outside, Marcus was waiting by the villa's front door. He gave you a brief nod, his expression unreadable. You walked down the steps and joined him, the air thick with tension.

"Let's get this over with," you muttered, starting down the path that led to the pier.

The walk down the small hill was silent at first, the only sounds the distant calls of seabirds and the gentle rustling of the trees. You kept your eyes forward, determined not to let Marcus see the turmoil within you.

"Did you ever come here often?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," you replied curtly. "With my mother."

He nodded, glancing around. "It's a beautiful place."

"It was," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

Marcus matched your stride easily. "You know, you don't have to be so hostile."

You shot him a glare. "I wouldn't have to be if you didn't keep treating me like some delicate flower."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Trust me, there's nothing delicate about you."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "And what exactly do you know about me, Marcus?"

"Enough to know you're stubborn as a mule," he retorted, a smirk playing at his lips.

You bristled, your temper flaring. "Well, at least I'm not a brute who thinks he can solve everything with his fists."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think of me?"

You turned to face him, your eyes blazing. "That's exactly what I think of you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, quickening your pace down the path to the pier. The sand and salt air grew stronger as you neared the shoreline, the familiar sights and sounds stirring a bittersweet nostalgia.

When you arrived at the pier, you paused, taking in the scene before you. The wooden structure stretched out over the water, the waves gently lapping against the posts. You could almost hear your mother's laughter, feel her hand in yours as you walked together.

Marcus stood beside you, his presence a steadying force despite your irritation. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the pier.

With a sigh, you stepped onto the weathered planks, the wood creaking slightly underfoot. You walked in silence, the only sound the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lapping of the waves.

As you reached the end of the pier, you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before you, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.

Marcus joined you, his gaze also fixed on the horizon. "It's peaceful here," he said quietly.

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm. "It is."

For a moment, the tension between you seemed to fade, replaced by a shared appreciation for the beauty around you. But the peace was short-lived.

You turned to leave, but your foot caught on a loose board. The world tilted as you stumbled, losing your balance. With a yelp, you plunged into the water below. The icy shock of the sea stole your breath, and you struggled to stay afloat, panic surging through you. The water was a merciless force, dragging you under. Your limbs flailed wildly, but you couldn't seem to break the surface. The salty liquid filled your mouth, choking any attempt at calling for help. Your heart pounded, every beat a frantic plea for air as you fought against the pull of the sea.

In the midst of your panic, a shadow loomed above you. Through the haze of water and fear, you saw Marcus diving in. His strong arms encircled you, pulling you upwards with a force that felt both powerful and reassuring. "I can't swim!" you wanted to shout, but the words were swallowed by the water. Instead, you could only gasp, your chest burning as you fought to breathe. Marcus's grip was unyielding, his strength a lifeline. He hauled you to the surface, your head breaking through to the sweet relief of air. You coughed violently, expelling the seawater that had threatened to drown you. Your vision blurred, but you felt Marcus's steady hands guiding you to the shore.

The sand was a rough but welcome texture beneath you as Marcus laid you down, his grip loosening now that you were safe. You continued to cough, your lungs heaving as you expelled the last of the water. You were soaked to the bone, the chill of the sea clinging to your skin. Marcus stood over you, an amused glint in his eyes despite the concern etched into his features.

"I thought you said you grew up here," he remarked his tone light but edged with teasing.

You glared at him through your exhaustion, still catching your breath. "Just...shut up," you managed to rasp, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment as you realized how helpless you'd been.

He crouched beside you, his expression softening slightly. "You should have told me you couldn't swim," he said, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his teasing demeanor.

You sat up slowly, brushing sand from your wet hair. "I didn't think it would matter," you muttered, annoyed more at yourself than at him. "And I didn't expect to fall in."

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, it's a good thing I was here to save you."

You shot him a withering look. "Don't let it go to your head."

He grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. "Too late."

You pushed yourself to your feet, shivering as the cool breeze hit your wet skin. "I need to get cleaned up," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Do you need help with that too?" Marcus asked, his tone mischievous.

You glared at him again, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not a chance."

As you made your way back to the villa, you couldn't shake the conflicting feelings that Marcus stirred in you. His arrogance was infuriating, but there was something about his confidence and the way he had jumped in to save you without hesitation that you couldn't ignore.

"Your father said you grew up here, and you can't swim?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What kind of life have you led?"

You glared at him, anger and humiliation warring within you. "Not that it's any of your business, but my mother didn't want me learning. She was afraid of the sea."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "And you? Are you afraid of the sea?"

You looked away, the memories of your mother's fear mingling with your own. "Maybe," you admitted quietly.

Marcus sighed, helping you to your feet. "You could have told me."

"And you could stop assuming you know everything about me," you shot back, refusing to meet his gaze.

He paused briefly, then chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

Standing there, dripping wet and shivering, the earlier bickering had faded, leaving behind a tentative peace. The walk back to the villa had taken an unexpected turn, yet as you gazed out over the water, a curious sense of calm settled within you.

He remained quiet, and you welcomed the respite of silence as you reached the villa. You marched inside, heading straight for your room. The maids hurried over, their eyes wide with concern.

"Prepare a bath," you ordered, stripping off your wet clothes. "And make it quick."

The maids hurried to obey, filling the tub with steaming water and adding fragrant oils. You stepped in, sinking into the warmth with a sigh of relief. The water soothed your aching muscles and washed away the sand and salt.

As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. The bickering with Marcus, the fall into the water, his unexpected rescue. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions he stirred in you, the blend of anger, frustration, and something else you couldn't quite identify. The bathwater's warmth wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax.

Just as you were beginning to feel at ease, the door to your room creaked open. Your eyes snapped open, and you saw Marcus standing in the doorway, his eyes widening as he realized you were still in the bath.

"Gods above, Marcus!" you shrieked, sinking deeper into the water and grabbing a towel to cover yourself.

He quickly turned his back, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't know you were still in here!"

"What part of the closed door didn't you understand?" you snapped, fumbling to wrap the towel around yourself.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he faced away from you. "About what happened today."

"Can it wait until I'm dressed?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed. "I suppose it could, but I thought we should clear the air sooner rather than later."

You finished securing the towel and stood up carefully, stepping out of the tub. "Fine, just... turn around and give me a moment."

Marcus nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. You quickly dried off and pulled on a simple, comfortable dress. The fabric felt soft against your skin, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

"Okay, you can come back in," you called, tying your hair back with a ribbon.

The door opened again, and Marcus entered, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't make a habit of it."

He chuckled, then grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you about learning to swim."

You raised an eyebrow. "Learning to swim? Now?"

He nodded. "Yes. After what happened today, I think it's important. You grew up by the sea, but you can't swim. It's something you should know, for your own safety."

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. "And you think you're the one to teach me?"

"Who else?" he replied with a shrug. "Besides, it might be a way for us to... not bicker so much."

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head. "You really think swimming lessons will solve our problems?"

Marcus gave you a small smile. "It couldn't hurt to try."

You thought about it for a moment, the memory of the cold water and the panic still fresh in your mind. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Learning to swim would be useful, and maybe it would help ease the tension between you.

"Fine," you said at last. "I'll let you teach me. But if you mock me, even once, I'll throw you into the sea."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "We'll go down to the beach and start there."

You gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. Tomorrow morning."

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope. Maybe this would be a step towards something better. Or at the very least, it would give you a chance to prove you weren't as helpless as he seemed to think.

You were dreaming so sweetly, the air from the balcony streaming into the room, bringing with it the scent of the sea. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of seabirds blended into a lullaby that cradled you in its arms. In your dream, you were walking along the beach with your mother, her laughter mingling with the sound of the waves.

Suddenly, a hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. "Get up!" Marcus's voice was a harsh whisper in the pre-dawn darkness.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind still clinging to the remnants of your dream. "What...?" you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"It's time to start your training," he said, pulling the curtains open. The sky was still a deep indigo, with the faintest hint of light on the horizon.

With a groan, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still half-asleep. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"Good," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Get dressed and meet me outside."

You quickly changed into a simple tunic and tied your hair back, the cool morning air nipping at your skin. As you stepped out onto the balcony, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. You made your way to the front of the villa, where Marcus was waiting, looking annoyingly alert.

"Could you be any more enthusiastic?" you muttered, stifling another yawn.

He smirked. "I'm just trying to make the most of the day. Unlike some people who would rather sleep through it."

"Some people prefer not to be woken up at the crack of dawn," you retorted, crossing your arms.

"Maybe if some people had learned to swim earlier, we wouldn't be here now," he shot back, starting down the path towards the beach.

You followed him, the cool sand squishing between your toes. "Or maybe if some people weren't so insistent on dragging others out of bed, they could have a more peaceful morning."

He chuckled. "You know, you could just admit that you need the lessons."

"I don't need them," you grumbled, "I just don't want to drown."

"Same thing," he said, shrugging.

The beach stretched out before you, the waves gently lapping at the shore. As you walked, the sound of the sea grew louder, filling the air with its soothing rhythm. The familiar scent of saltwater brought back memories of playing on the sand as a child, carefree and happy.

"Alright," Marcus said, stopping at the edge of the water. "We'll start with the basics. Just try to relax and trust me."

"Trust you," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a lot to ask."

He gave you a patient look. "I know. But if you can't trust me, trust that I don't want to have to save you every time you fall into the water."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. But if you mock me, even once, I swear I'll throw you in."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

As you waded into the water, you could feel your tunic growing heavier, clinging to your skin. You paused, looking down at the soaked fabric. "This tunic is going to get ruined," you muttered, more to yourself than to Marcus.

With a huff, you turned your back to him and carefully pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it onto the shore. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you stood bare before him. You waded back into the water, feeling exposed but determined not to let it show.

Marcus watched you with an appraising gaze, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders and the lines of your back. There was a moment of silence between you, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Then, without a word, Marcus reached for the hem of his own tunic and pulled it over his head.

The sight of his bare chest took you by surprise. His skin was bronzed from days under the sun, muscles defined and powerful. Droplets of water clung to his torso, catching the sunlight in a way that made you momentarily forget your irritation. His presence was commanding yet strangely comforting, like a force of nature you couldn't resist.

You tore your gaze away, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks. "Alright, enough staring," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Marcus chuckled softly, stepping into the water beside you. "Just making sure you're not the only one feeling exposed," he remarked his tone light but tinged with something deeper.

You scowled at him, but there was a hint of a smile playing at your lips. "Don't get too comfortable," you warned, trying to regain your composure.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in the gesture. "Enough of your smugness. Let's just get this over with."

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. "Just focus on the lesson, Marcus."

He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. "Alright, let's get started then."

Marcus led you into the shallows, the cool water lapping at your ankles, then your knees. He moved with an easy confidence, his presence reassuring despite the lingering tension between you.

"First, we need to get you comfortable with the water," he said, his tone more serious now. "Can you float on your back?"

You hesitated, the memory of your earlier panic still fresh. "I can try."

"Good," he said. "I'll support you. Just relax and let the water hold you."

You lay back, feeling his hands under your shoulders and lower back. The sensation of the water buoying you up was strange, but Marcus's steady grip kept you grounded. You focused on the sky above, the blue expanse calming your racing heart.

"See?" he murmured. "You're doing fine."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "For now."

Marcus chuckled, his hands firm and reassuring. "Now, try to kick your legs gently."

You did as he instructed, the water resisting your movements. It felt awkward, but you persisted, trying to find a rhythm.

"That's it," Marcus encouraged. "Just like that. You're doing great."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. "Maybe this isn't so bad."

Marcus grinned. "I told you. Now, let's move a bit deeper."

He guided you further into the water, his grip never faltering. As the water reached your waist, you felt a flicker of unease but pushed it aside. You were determined to prove you could do this.

"Alright," he said, stopping when the water was up to your chest. "Let's try some basic strokes. I'll show you, then you copy me."

You watched as he demonstrated a simple stroke, his movements smooth and confident. His muscles rippled under the water, every action purposeful and efficient. You tried to mimic him, feeling clumsy in comparison.

"Good," he said, nodding. "But keep your elbows higher. Like this."

He corrected your form, his touch gentle yet precise. You adjusted, trying to follow his guidance.

"Better," he praised. "Now, let's keep practicing."

You continued the lesson, each new skill building your confidence. As you practiced, you couldn't help but feel a growing respect for Marcus. Despite his arrogance, he was a patient and effective teacher.

After a while, Marcus called for a break. You waded to shallower water, grateful for the reprieve. As you stood catching your breath, Marcus studied you thoughtfully.

"You're not afraid of the water, are you?" he asked suddenly.

You shook your head, surprised by the question. "No. I just... never learned to swim."

"Why not?" he pressed, curiosity lighting up his eyes.

You hesitated, the memories tugging at your heart. "My mother... she despised the sea," you began softly. "She preferred the safety and serenity of the countryside. My father, on the other hand, adored it. Most of our family's wealth came from his sea trade ventures. He built his entire empire on the waves."

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly intrigued. "So your mother didn't share his love for the sea?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "No, quite the opposite. She was terrified of it. She hated the constant worry every time he left on a voyage, the endless nights spent alone. She never understood his obsession with the sea. Their marriage was arranged, just like ours. But unlike us, they never found common ground."

"And your father?" Marcus asked, his tone gentler now.

"My father loved the sea more than anything," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "He saw it as a source of freedom and wealth. He would spend months at a time on his ships, overseeing his trade routes, and ensuring our fortune grew. The sea was his true mistress."

Marcus seemed to consider this, his expression thoughtful. "So your mother lives in the countryside now?"

You nodded. "Yes. She moved away a few years ago. Couldn't stand the sight of the sea anymore, or the memories it held. She wanted peace, a life without the constant fear and loneliness."

"Do you see her often?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.

"Not as much as I'd like," you admitted. "She visits sometimes, but my father keeps her at a distance. He's still bitter, even after all these years. He sees her as weak, unable to embrace the life he chose."

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we're both products of difficult marriages."

"Indeed," you replied, meeting his intense gaze with equal fervor. "But I don't want to be trapped like my parents."

Marcus's eyes softened as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist with a gentle certainty that sent a thrilling shiver through you. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his torso, feeling the strength of his body supporting you effortlessly.

"We won't be trapped," Marcus assured you, his voice low and steady, filled with promise. "Not like them. We'll find our own way, together."

His words, spoken with such conviction, resonated deep within you. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own, forging an unspoken bond between you.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, casting a serene glow over the water, Marcus leaned in closer. His warm breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate cocoon amidst the tranquil sounds of the sea.

With a tenderness that belied his usual stern demeanor, Marcus brushed his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with unspoken desire and the promise of something more.

You responded eagerly, your heart racing as you deepened the kiss, surrendering to the intoxicating connection between you. The barriers that had once stood firm melted away with each tender caress of his lips, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of your shared desire.

As the kiss grew more fervent, Marcus's hands roamed your body, their touch both possessive and tender. He guided you out of the water, each step a testament to his strength and control. The cool breeze hit your wet skin, but the heat between you and Marcus was undeniable, a fire that neither the sea nor the morning chill could extinguish.

He laid you down gently on the sand, the grains rough yet grounding beneath you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Would it really be so bad to at least try for a baby?" he asked, his voice a mix of longing and challenge.

You bristled at his words, your defenses rising again. "I'm a child myself," you retorted, your voice trembling with both defiance and uncertainty. "How can I bring another life into this world when I'm still figuring out my own?”

Marcus's gaze softened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No one said it had to work," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "But we can try. Together. We can make our own Path.

His words were a balm to your fears, a promise of partnership rather than domination. As he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, you felt the last vestiges of resistance crumble. The passion between you was a living thing, a force that demanded to be acknowledged.

Marcus's hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you with a reverence that made you shiver. You arched into his touch, your body responding to his in ways that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. His lips trailed down your neck leaving a path of fire in their wake.

"Marcus," you breathed your voice a mix of need and wonder. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

"We don`t have to do this if you're not ready," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "But know that I want you. I want us to have a chance."

You searched his eyes, finding a sincerity that both scared and exhilarated you. "I want you too," you admitted the words a leap of faith. "But this... it changes everything.”

"Then let it change us," he murmured, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss deepened, a blend of urgency and tenderness that left you both breathless.

You felt the rough sand beneath you as Marcus pulled you closer, his hand gripping your cheek firmly as he kissed you passionately. His touch was both possessive and reverent as if he were handling a precious porcelain doll. His hand traveled down your body, caressing every curve with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from the kiss, the sun reflecting off his body, making him glow with an almost ethereal light. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand traveled lower, caressing your upper thigh before spreading them, giving him a place to stabilize himself. You felt his length prod at your thigh, the heat of his desire palpable.

Unable to resist, you pulled him in for another kiss, feeling his hips move into your body, his erection grinding against your thigh. "God, you're hard," you murmured, pulling away from the kiss to take in his disheveled appearance.

"I've been hard as a rock since we started the lesson," he teased, his voice thick with lust. He captured your lips again, his hand wandering down to your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions.

"Marcus," you gasped your voice a mix of need and frustration.

He smirked against your skin, his lips trailing down to your neck, where he bit softly, making you wince. "You dick," you muttered, but your protest was cut short by a moan as he rubbed his length up and down your slick wetness.

Leaning over you, Marcus positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes dark with desire. "I know you want my dick," he said with a smirk, pushing into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched at the sensation, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he began to move. He lifted your legs slightly, pushing your knees to your chest, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you completely almost overwhelming.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, but they quickly turned into borderline screams as he brutally fucked into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and frantically grab at the sand for some stability. You could swear he was rearranging your insides, his cock hitting your G-spot with relentless precision.

Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense pleasure he was giving you. You didn't think getting fucked like this was physically possible, didn't think you were capable of feeling such intense pleasure at the hands of a man.

Marcus's smirk widened as he leaned down, his eyes following the bulge on your lower belly. "Yeah, feel it," he mocked, resting his forehead against yours as he bottomed out again. "Got you stuffed all the way in, huh?"

You couldn't even argue, your eyes brimming with tears as he pressed his palm harder against the bulge. Your eyes clenched shut, but his relentless thrusts only edged you further. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him. "No, you keep looking. Taking me so good, gonna—fuck, gonna have to ruin you."

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes as the pressure within you built to an almost unbearable peak. You were so close, so desperately close to the edge. Sensing your state, Marcus's gaze flicked to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Ask nicely, goddess” he grunted, picking up the punishing pace once more. "Use your manners and I'll give you whatever you want." His hands moved to your thighs, forcing them against your stomach, letting him push into you deeper. The sensation made your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening immediately.

"Please... for fuck's sake, let me cum or I'm gonna rip your stupid perfect cock off the second we're done," you managed to grunt through gritted teeth.

He chuckled breathlessly, his hand returning to your clit, pressing rough and rapid circles against it. "We'll work on that," he laughed softly, feeling you rapidly slipping towards the edge. He didn't let up on his ruthless motions, finally pushing you over the brink.

You were loud. Probably too loud. Your scream of release echoed along the shore, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Marcus followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release sending one last wave of pleasure through your already trembling body.

As the intensity of the moment faded, you both lay there, tangled together in the sand, breathing heavily. Marcus's forehead rested against yours, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

Marcus's smile widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If it feels that good every time," you added with a playful smirk, "I might not mind at all."

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours once more. Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the kiss again, a voice suddenly called out from behind you.

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The voice was stern, and authoritative.

You and Marcus scrambled to cover yourselves, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as you fumbled with your discarded clothes.

Realization dawned on the guard's face as he took in the sight of Marcus's distinctive, regal features and your own disheveled state. His expression quickly turned from stern to horrified as he realized who he was interrupting.

"I-I'm so sorry, my lord, my lady," he stammered, turning an alarming shade of red. "I didn't realize—"

Marcus, still half-naked and laughing, held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Just a little... misunderstanding."

The guard's eyes darted around, clearly trying to avoid looking directly at either of you. "I'll just... I'll just be going now," he mumbled, backing away quickly before turning and sprinting down the beach.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking the tension that had been lingering. Marcus joined in, his laughter a deep, infectious rumble that made you forget all your worries, if only for a moment.

Once the laughter had subsided, Marcus turned to you, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper, "there's always the sea. No guards to interrupt us there."

You raised an eyebrow, your own smile widening. "Is that so?" you asked, the idea sending a thrill through you.

"Absolutely," he replied, standing up and offering you his hand. "Shall we?"

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. Together, you made your way to the edge of the water, the cool waves lapping at your feet. Marcus's presence beside you felt grounding, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of the playful breeze and the gentle rush of the sea.

As you reached the water's edge, Marcus pulled you into his arms. The sea welcomed you both with its refreshing embrace, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat that had built between you. You chuckled softly at Marcus's promise, spoken against your lips.

Marcus pulled you into his arms, the sea providing a refreshing contrast to the heat between you. "I promise," he murmured against your lips, "no interruptions this time."

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juletheghoul · 2 months ago

Text

too close

a/n: Yeah. The trailer got me again. I can't help myself!!! Also - I didn't actually want to write feelings for these two but I have no say anymore. They have feelings, they are obsessed with each other and I can't just ignore it lol. Not beta’d and barely proofread- any mistakes or errors are my own. Hopefully you enjoy! (PS I did a little research on fruits in Roman times- they had no word for orange, so any shade of orange was just called red)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus eats pussy and I don't CARE, giving him that gluckgluck3000, creampie, Marcus gets hurt (hurt comfort), hand stuff from him because he's my precious man and he likes to give his girl pleasure, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus (for now?👀), **FEELINGS** let me know if I missed any!

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 5.1k (whoops!)

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

You frowned, despite your station, the confusion and slight worry breaking through the years of training your face to remain neutral. For a moment, you forgot your place.

“But-“ he turned, head tilted in curiosity instead of anger, thankfully, “I am to stay here? You do not wish me to accompany you Dominus? To pour and serve…?” You could not keep the slight hurt from your voice, much to your dismay.

“No Girl, you will stay here, at the villa.” He saw the confusion, the unabashed anguish on your face and his expression softened, “peace Girl, it is not a matter of not desiring your presence or your service.” You listened to him with a lump in your throat, a wild fear seizing your heart that he might have grown tired of you.

“I will not have the luxury of a tent, the rebellion is small enough that I can squash it and be back in less than a moon’s turn.” He came close, close enough to have your face tilt up to stare into his eyes. “I would not have you waiting for me in such a meagre camp, I would not have you sleeping in the dirt.” His hand settled on your arm, a soft offering, a reassurance but it did nothing to calm you. You have grown so accustomed to having him close, to ending up in his bed of a night more often than not before heading to your own, naked and pleasantly sore; to falling asleep with his seed trickling out of your puffy little cunt.

“I am comfortable wherever you are Dominus, I could still be of use, to light your fires-“

“I would have you here, and safe. That is my decision, and no amount of temptation will sway me from it.” He lifted your hand, pressing his lips to your fingers in silent, but firm apology. You knew there was nothing to be said, you had already pushed the matter far more than would be allowed on a normal day.

“Your will, Dominus.” You bowed your head, despite the hurt and worry swirling around in your belly. “I will pray to the Gods for your swift victory, and safe return home.”

He nodded, leaving shortly after.

Time passed, and a feeling of restlessness took firm root in your being. The house felt empty, despite the attendants and sentinels left to guard them as well as the property. The days found you listless, moving through the motions of your chores and daily duties practically numb. The days were marks on the wall of your mind, praying to the Gods to send him back to you.

Whispers travelled swiftly through the city, through the market stalls and through the villa itself, most of them rumours and it was difficult to keep your emotions in check.

He has advanced

He has killed the leaders of the rebellion

He is victorious, already on his way home

He has been hurt

He is dead

He is victorious - Rome's favoured son has triumphed once more

The moon turned, once, and then twice, finally a third time before he was home. The all encompassing relief was short lived however, that wash of relief turned to ashes in your mouth at the sight of him. One of the rumours had been true after all. A sword wound to the side had laid him low late into the battle, it hadn’t killed him, thank the Gods, but it had slowed him down and made his journey home nothing short of agony.

Your heart raced to see him weakened, every fibre of your being itched to run to him, to press your lips to skin but you refrained. You stood aside, dutifully, letting his trusted soldiers practically carry him to his bed. The older women got to work, bringing fortified wine with all manner of powders and potions to aid in his recovery while you stood next to him, the little half-moon marks in your palms from your nails barely felt like anything compared to the ache in the back of your throat.

Your eyes would not leave his face.

He looked so tired, mud and grime still marring his skin as he lay prone on his bed. To forfend the ugly thoughts swirling around in your mind, you focused on the tasks at hand.

He needs to be cleansed, after he eats something I will boil some water and move gently, leave him to gather his strength. An offering must be made so the Gods will hasten his healing-

“Girl.” His voice was soft, and instantly you rushed to his side.

“Yes Dominus, I am here.” You took his hand tentatively, your heart soared to feel him squeeze it.

“Fetch me some broth, and help me to sit up–a few pillows behind me. I would sit upright.”

You rushed to comply, happy to focus on his instructions. With soft touch, you did your best to prop him up, biting your lip to stop your eyes from welling up when he winced. Once satisfied, you set about fetching hot water and linens, as well as his broth. He sighed at the sight of it, and drank almost all of it within a few heartbeats.

“Shall I help you cleanse now Dominus?” You brought the basin closer, showing him the steaming water and he nodded.

Tentatively, you removed the soiled clothes he wore, ears pricked up for any sign of discomfort. He beared it with good grace, keeping the twinges of pain to himself, you imagined for your benefit, and you were grateful. It took time, but finally, you had divested him of everything, and he half sat, half laid on his bed, not an ounce of shame for his nakedness. It was secondary, to see him bare, more alarming was the soiled linens with the dark bloom of dried blood staining it on his side like some grotesque flower.

He was pale, weak, his injury robbing him of his normal, ruddy health. He watched you, his expression somewhere between exhaustion, and a calm content.

With gentle hands, you dipped the clean linen into the steaming water of the basin, and methodically cleaned the dirt, and dried blood from his skin. Eventually his eyes closed, soft sighs filled the air with every pass of the warm cloth across his shoulders, down the firm muscles of his thighs, his hands, until you reached the contours of his face. The lines were more defined, this battle had taken a toll on him.

Your thumbs smoothed over his brows, wiping dust and worry away with a bone deep gratitude that he had come back. He melted into your touch, and you tried and failed to suppress the smile.

“I must clean the wound, Dominus.” You reached for more clean dressings, giving him a chance to steel himself but he kept his eyes closed. You thought he might have fallen asleep, but he nodded, and so you did what needed to be done.

To his great credit, he didn’t make a sound. Even as you cleaned at the angry, but healing edges of the wound. He said nothing when you packed it with the poultice one of the women had brought, when you covered it in a clean dressing, even as he drank down the no doubt foul tasting potion to help him sleep. Instead he settled back, and sighed, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

You gathered all of the soiled clothing and discarded bandages, and moved to leave him to rest but his hand snatched at your wrist.

“Wait, Girl, stay. Stay with me–” His words were almost slurred, and he didn’t finish his thought, his hand loosened around your wrist but you stayed, taking great care to lie beside him on his bed, and watched him sleep. Your heart raced with something you couldn’t–wouldn't name, something that threaded through your ribcage like smoke, wreathing its way around your lungs and taking root in your heart. You pressed the back of your hand to his brow, thankful that no fever lurked there and once satisfied that he was indeed resting, you rested your head next to his.

Sleep took you, swiftly and without warning.

The world outside was dark when your eyes opened, and it took a moment for you to get your bearings. His warm skin pressed to your arm and you jolted with the memory of his injury.

“Peace, girl, I am well.” His voice was quiet, but stronger than before, “You did well in changing my dressings.” His praise squeezed at something in your belly, robbing you of any words you might have had. “You must be hungry, go and fetch something to eat and bring it here, I will share the meal with you.” The concern in his voice brought a smile to your lips, his thoughts on you, despite the pain he must have been in.

“Yes Dominus, shall I fetch more of the potion as well? You should rest-” He raised his hand softly to forestall you.

“I have rested enough, I would have my wits about me just now. Go on, you may fetch whatever else you need, I would have you sleeping in my bed.”

His words rung in your ears as you moved throughout the silent house. They shone through your eyes as you piled a serving tray with olives and cheese, with bread and ripe fruits. They camped in your belly as it rolled with something when they repeated over and over like a prayer in your mind as you filled a serving jug with the wine he favoured, they strengthened your grip as you carried it with the utmost care down the moonlit halls of the house, almost sharpening your eyesight to bring you swiftly back to him.

You set it down between you on his bed, careful not to spill anything or jostle him too much and just in time too, the hunger rung out from your empty belly loud as thunder but you ignored it, your priority was to help him sit up.

“Eat Girl, you are starving. I will pick at my leisure.” He frowned, gesturing to the food and you were grateful beyond words. It was a quiet meal, but comfortable. He usually ate by himself, most of the time while in his study and with you, it was after chores and duties had been completed. Despite all of your trysts and time spent together, it was the first meal you’d ever shared.

“You do not favour the olives.” He said it without judgement. You shook your head shyly, covering your mouth to speak through bites of bread and cheese.

“My desire for them is unpredictable.” He tilted his head, “Sometimes, they are all I want. Other times, I cannot stand the sight of them.” You wrinkled your nose, confirming that this time, the latter statement was true.

He smiled, huffing out an amused laugh through his nose.

“What else do you like? I see you favour the fruit, which one do you like most of all?” It was strange to be asked about yourself, no one in your life had ever wondered about what you might of preferred, for anything.

“Figs, I think. Pomegranates too, although peeling them takes a lifetime.” He huffed again, wincing slightly, “Are you in pain? Shall I fetch–” He raised a hand.

“I am well, continue. Why do you favour them if they are so troublesome to eat?” He shifted a tiny bit, with great effort, turning to face you better. The room was dark, save for the few candles burning and the moon shining in through his window, casting stark shadows across his lovely face.

“They are worth the effort.”

He smiled, and finally reaches over to help himself to the food. Something about the darkness, about the quiet seclusion made you bolder.

“What about you Dominus? Is there a fruit you favour?” Your heart raced, fear that you might have overstepped grabbing hold of you but it was for naught, he merely frowned in thought.

“I prefer plums.” He said after a moment, “I like figs as well.” It was both exhilarating and strange to speak with him like that, in the quiet dark, almost comfortable. “Although–in my younger days we fought in Spain, and there I tasted a fruit I have never seen again, I do not know the name of it but I enjoyed it very much.”

“What was it like?”

“It was round, a strange shade of red with a thick peel but underneath it had segments like a lemon.” He continued eating, and you were content to sit with him, only moving the tray once he had eaten his fill.

“It is good to be home.” The words came out as a sigh, “I missed it while I was away, more than any other time I must admit.” He shifted slightly and winced again, “Help me lay flat, my back aches from sitting.” He held out his hand and you rushed to oblige, moving pillows and positioning him flat on his back. “That is better, gratitude Girl, let us blow out the candles and settle in.”

“Yes Dominus.”

“Have you something to sleep in? What is most comfortable for you?”

“I am content in this, Dominus.” You gestured to your tunic as you made your way around the room, snuffing out the candlelight.

“That is not what I asked you.” There was no bite in his words, but the expectation of truth was plain as day.

“Most nights I sleep in the nude, it is what is most comfortable for me.” You made your way back to the bed but he did not let you get in.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, there is no expectation from me, much as I have missed the pleasures of your body. I would have you sleep how you are accustomed.” You nodded once, undressing down to your skin before slipping into bed with him. In the dark, in the quiet, it was peaceful and the sound of his steady breathing worked it spell on you quicker than you would have thought.

“Gratitude Girl.” He said it soft, and with a full belly and heavy lids, you questioned him.

“For what Dominus?” The words were almost slurred, as the heavy press of sleep pushed you into the deep pool of blackness. You thought you heard him say everything, but you could not be sure, sleep had claimed you.

You woke with the sun, the first few rays sliding across your skin like water and it was hard to move from your place. In the night, your body had brought you close to him, seeking out the warmth of him. He was still asleep, but his legs had tangled up with yours and it was strange to lay with him like this, both of you nude as the day you were born, yet incredibly comforting.

You took the time to check over his wound, and were pleased to find it looking much better. The edges of it stitching together, thankfully without corruption.

“It does not hurt as much as it did before.” His voice was sleepy, “I will be back on my feet soon enough.”

“Let me dress Dominus, and I will fetch you something to break your fast.”

“Not just yet.” He shifted, and although you helped him, he didn’t struggle quite as much. “Come, lie with me.” He held out his arm, and you went to him, trembling like a leaf to rest your head on his shoulder. “Gods, I missed you, Girl.” He buried his nose into the mess of your hair and something inside you grew and swelled, was fed and made strong by his words and by his skin.

“I missed you, Dominus.” Truer words had never been spoken by you, the ache for him had been unbearable.

“Did you?” There was something underneath, something desperate and had it not been so early, so peaceful, he might not have asked.

“Desperately Dominus, I feared you had abandoned me, I feared you no longer desired me.” You pressed your face into his neck, breathing him in, his scent, his warmth, him- sustenance

“Come now, Girl, you know of my desire for you, it is like a thirst I cannot quench. A hunger I cannot satisfy, despite my dark moods, despite my sour face, you are a source of joy and pleasure I have not known in some time.” His hand brought your face up, his gaze burned into yours and his words affected you so that tears welled in your eyes. He wiped them away, and the tenderness was too much, a sob clawed its way out from your throat. All of the worry, all of the fear that he might have left you alone in the world, to be sold to another bubbled up and he held you as you cried.

“Do you wish to be free of me? Is that why you cry?” Something in his voice broke your heart.

“No Dominus, no-“ you wiped at your eyes, moving to look him in the eye and the expression you saw in them was almost too much to bear. “I have never been so happy in all my life, I have never felt about anyone, the way I feel for you.” You pressed your lips to his, petal-soft.

“Sometimes, the things I feel for you are almost too big for my body, I want to be with you always, I want to feel you always. I feared so much while you were gone that I could barely eat, barely sleep-” Your words were frantic, so many things to get out that you could barely speak and he pulled you close, shushing you softly.

“My heart swells to hear you speak this way.” He reached down, sliding his hand towards the hinge in your knee, to pull it over his thigh. “Peace, let us just enjoy the silence.” You nodded into his neck, letting go of a great breath in your lungs.

“If I was myself, and whole, I would be pulling every ounce of pleasure from you now.”

You laughed at the annoyance in his tone.

“Soon enough Dominus, I would have you healthy and healed.” Your hand slid up the smooth expanse of his chest, threading through the curls at the base of his skull. “Once your wound has healed, you may have me any way you please.”

“Any way?” His tone darkened, and your body responded, thighs clenching, heart racing, nipples hardening. “Any way I please? And what if I want you for a day and a night? What if I want you wet and spread for me in this bed until you’re so full of my gift it spills all over my linens?” The hand that had been softly stroking your back moved down and grabbed at your backside, pulling until the lips of your sex spread open.

A moan slipped out at the feel of his hands, and he all but growled.

“Do not make those noises Girl, not when I cannot fuck you how I wish to.” He pulled your face up, licking into your mouth with a hunger you could not satisfy, not in his current state.

“Dominus, I beg of you not to taunt me, not when we cannot indulge.” You kissed him again, despite your words and finally he pulled away, the tremble of frustration in his grip. You shifted, and felt his manhood press against your thigh, the sight of him, leaking and hard against his belly made you sigh.

“Do not concern yourself with that, I am ravenous for you, but my body cannot fulfill the wishes of my cock. Go and fetch something to break our fast. I will need you to change my dressing as well, if you could.” He sent you off with a kiss, and with desire dripping onto your thighs.

“Yes Dominus.” You smiled, and rushed off to do what needed to be done.

Weeks passed, and he healed beautifully. His wound knit together cleanly and with that, his strength came back. More often than not he stood and cleansed without your help, he left the safety of his bed and his chambers and sported a genuine smile as he made his rounds through his house.

You trailed behind him, your own smile in place to see him coming back into himself.

Things were different. He was different.

He spoke more, that was for one. Before he would keep his own council, his words were curt and his thoughts would be kept close to his chest. Some nights he reverted to his silence, but it had grown into something peaceful, something comfortable.

The biggest change though, was his attitude towards you.

For one, he refused to sleep alone. The darkness of night found you tending to his needs and after the candles had been snuffed- he pulled your tunic off and pulled you into his bed, into his arms.

At first, you thought it was his injury, a fear that he might suffer some setback in his sleep, but as the days passed on and he was well past the point of danger, he still refused to let you go.

His desire had come back too, much quicker than his body could handle. Mornings would find you in the cage of his arms, with his lust pressed hard and hot at the cleft of your ass. You would pull away so as not to tease him, and he would let you at first, but as his body caught up to him, he stopped letting you pull away.

Most mornings, he’d whisper how much he missed burying himself inside you, how he couldn’t wait to gift you with his seed while slipping his fingers between your legs and swirling them around your clit, only stopping after you’d fluttered around his fingers. Then he’d send you off to fetch food with a smile on your face and an ever-growing ache between your thighs.

A part of you fretted as to why he hadn’t taken you yet, as the days passed it was clear that he was well enough to indulge. Another part, a hopeful, possibly quite foolish part of you thought maybe he was waiting for you to ask him. That couldn’t be, could it? You ruminated on your previous encounters, yes–he’d called you forth to warm his bed, but with every recalled memory it was clear that in his own way, he'd let you decide whether to push things or not. A luxury you knew was rare. It was an intoxicating thought though, to think that you could decide when and what you wanted him to do.

So many possibilities.

When night came, you brought him his meal, and his wine and tried to keep the tremble of excitement out of your hands. You watched him move about his chambers, his strength back to normal as he dipped his hands into the fresh water in his basin. His hair had grown out a little, dark with silver mixed through and that thought struck you again, that he was some beautiful marble statue come to life. An emperor of old, standing before you in all his glory.

“Dominus-” You called to him, unable to hold back any longer. His eyes raised, finding you as he dried his hands.

“Before you take your meal, I would ask something of you.” Your voice shook, never had you openly asked him for anything before. He raised his eyebrows, more surprised than anything.

“What would you have of me Girl?” He moved towards you, eyes curious.

“I would have you–” You stopped him, guiding him to sit on his bed, “I would have you sit here, and accept my mouth.”

You kneeled before him, staring up at him with your lip caught between your teeth. Your hands landed on his knees, sliding up to pull his tunic up to expose his manhood. For a moment, he stared at you with wide, surprised eyes.

“I have missed our times together, I have missed you filling me of a night and as much as I treasure your fingers in the morning, I would have you feel pleasure at my hand–or, my mouth.” He did not stop you from exposing him and heat flooded your body to see how quickly his cock responded to your words, to the soft exploration of your hand.

“You would do this?” His palm landed on your shoulder, sliding up to cup your cheek. “You have no obligation, I would not command you to do this should you not want to.” You spit onto your palm and grasped him in hand and despite his words, he shudderred to feel the way you stroked him.

“I dream about this Dominus, I desire you so deeply that I ache for you–” You opened your mouth and took the blunt tip of him into your mouth. He moaned, slack-jawed at the sight of you. You placed open mouthed kisses at the tip, and the sensitive underside, stroking at the base of him. His thighs spread, making room for you and you relished the warm strength of them under your arms.

He tasted like the ocean.

“God’s above Girl-” You pulled away, smiling as you continued to stroke him, he barely fit in the palm of your hand and with his passion dribbling out and your spit the sounds were loud and slick. Your own arousal unspooled between your legs, the ache intensifying as he tensed underneath you, hissing when you pressed soft kisses to the scar at his side, to the softness of his belly, to the firm golden thighs bracketing you to his hips.

“Open your mouth.” His confidence resurfaced, and then his hand wrapped around yours, guiding you to stroke him the way he liked. He guided the reddened tip into your mouth. “Look at me when you take me in your mouth, open wide, I want to touch your throat.” You moaned around him, taking him deeper, breathing through your nose in an attempt to stay calm.

“That’s it Girl, Gods be damned-” His tone was filthy as he held you there, eyes watering until you pulled away, sputtering and messy.

“If you continue, I will spill in your mouth.” he guided your hand still, slowly stroking himself against your lips, smearing your spit and his salty arousal onto your lips. Never in your life have you felt that powerful, that beautiful, with tears spilling down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. He held himself suspended in his pleasure, awaiting your word.

“Would you like to spill in my mouth Dominus? Or would you like to fill my cunt?” You held out your tongue, letting him rub the tip of himself against it while he decided. Your heart soared to see the conflict on his face.

“I would fill your cunt, I have missed it terribly.” You smiled and rose with a final kiss to his cock and once you did, he ripped the tunic off your body. The loud tear of it made you squeal with a mix of shock and excitement.

“I promise you, I will not last.” He all but tossed you onto his bed, spreading your legs wide for his gaze. “Greedy little cunt, so wet for me.” He spoke in a daze, staring at the place that ached at the mere thought of him. He slipped down and it’s with a shock that you watched him dip down to spear into you with his tongue. Never had anyone used their mouth on you and the sight of it was almost too much to bear.

It’s with a greedy, filthy groan that his lips dragged up to latch around the pert little pearl of you, his tongue stroking, stroking, stroking while his mouth suctioned around it. Your body was a taut string, legs shaking under the strong grip of his hands, holding you to him tight enough to hurt. Your breathing came in pants, the climax was already there, balancing on a knife's edge, so close you could almost taste it.

His hands moved, sliding up to pinch at your nipples and the wave crested. Your hands gripped into his curls, both holding him close, and desperately pushing him away while you fluttered into his mouth.

You felt the strong muscle of his tongue slide down, drinking you from the source.

He made his way back up, your slick shining on his face and on his whiskers. You’re almost too shocked, and too shy to look into his eyes.

“I confess, I have wanted to do that for a long time.” He pulled his tunic up and off as you lay under him, boneless. “I know it’s not something commonly done, but I enjoy it. Did you enjoy it? I felt you flutter.” He raised your leg, wrapping it around his hip while his cock slipped inside you without any resistance. You let out a relieved sigh, finally, he was home.

“Yes Dominus–” You almost whispered, half-shy as he dropped down, his arms holding himself up on either side of your skull. “No one has ever–Oh–” He snapped his hips hard, unable to hold himself back and already, the need built in your core, robbing you of any coherent thoughts.

“No one but me ever will.” He kissed you, making you taste yourself and it was so perverse, so exhilarating you held him close, wrapping your arms and legs around him to feel as much of him as you could. His cock pushed and pulled, hitting that special place he owned and with a handful of thrusts, and a punched out groan he filled you with his gift. Finally.

He watched himself pull out of the mess he'd made, watched in silence as his gift dripped out and onto his linens.

Things felt different this time, there’s a vulnerability, an intimacy that is almost overwhelming. You pulled his face up, and pressed your lips to his softly, praying that you conveyed the feelings swirling in your chest. He kissed you back, his hand gliding up to wrap around your neck. When you opened your eyes, his brow was furrowed, the same feelings shining back at you through his dark eyes.

Seconds passed, and the feeling did not disperse. Before he would have sent you away, but he held you close. Wordlessly he pressed his lips to yours over and over, he stroked at your skin, your shoulder and your thigh high on his ribs, your breast, your lips. He moved off, and went about dampening a cloth to clean himself off of you. Once he was done, he brought the food you’d served him and fed you from his own hand.

You accepted the food, smiling shyly as he watched you, something like affection, like love shining out through his eyes.

“Thank you Dominus–” He shook his head, a small frown at your words.

“Call me Marcus.”

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rainy-day-gracie · 2 months ago

Text

wedding night (1)

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."

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius smut #general marcus acacius #general acacius #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fic #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x y/n #marcus acacius fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction

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panakinthedisco · 4 months ago

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𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓇼 HEAVEN | MARCUS ACACIUS X F!READER MASTERLIST acacius' mother forged a blood pact with the goddess of love, vowing to safeguard and elevate her son, while dedicating her life as a delphi in return. through all general acacius' triumphs, you as the daughter of venus deftly orchestrated his victory as promised but then gradually nurturing a forbidden attachment.

important notes: warnings of mature content will be stated to the specific chapter, so if you're under 18 pls dnr! also, just letting you all know that english is not my first language so if you come up any typos or wrong grammar, sorry in advance!

dove png is from @png-heaven

this mini-series is also available in my ao3 account

scan code to listen the spotify playlist for this mini-series or visit my account

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓇼 TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART 1 | daughter of venus

PART 2 | savior complex

PART 3 | the pearl of rome (wip)

PART 4 | rapture grows

PART 5 |

PART 6 |

☆ MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS

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umadosedepascal · 28 days ago

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MEET ME AT THE SET | Pedro Pascal X f!reader | one shot

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @missyorkswhore

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro is THE GENERAL, babe!

wc: 1.3k

rating/warnings: [oral sex m receiving] [cum in mouth] [light fingering] [Overstimulation]

a/n: @missyorkswhore wrote her first solo fic by herself! Kudos to her!!! That’s what a horny gal does staring at new stills of Pedro in Gladiator II

The shootings has been intense, Pedro tells you by messages how busy and exhausting it is, they start recording as soon as the first rays of Sun appear and only at night he returns to the hotel.

This has been your relationship, messages, backstage pics and some calls during the night.

You miss him.

"I miss you, I hope you're having fun, General."

You send him a message, hours later his phone vibrates, it's already dawn, you pick up your phone, your eyes burning with the brightness of the screen.

"Hey, I miss you too. God, I'm exhausted and happy, I have good news! It's the last week of shooting, come here, we can enjoy a few days together. Are you coming?"

You smile and type a huge YES. You talk for a few minutes and Pedro sends your flight info and hotel to your email.

Three days later you are on your way to the set, Pedro couldn't pick you up at the airport, but arrange a car to take you immediately to the set.

You enter through the back of the set, producers and employees everywhere, and in the background you can see the huge arena they created, you feel as if you were in two eras, on your left ancient Rome, on your right the current world full of cameras, phones ringing and people walking back and forth.

You walk between the trailers, looking at the doors that indicate where each actor is, a few more steps and your eyes meet the sign "Pedro Pascal -Marcus Acacius" you knock on the door but your jaw drops as soon as the door is opened. Pedro has one hand on the door and the other on his hip. He is incredibly beautiful, a white outfit with golden details, the golden drawings highlighting the middle of the white armor. Your eyes go up to Pedro's face, he wears a golden laurel crown.

-Wow... sorry, I thought it was Pedro's dressing room...

Pedro laughs and pulls you by the hand

-No love, Pedro is unavailable at the moment, only General Acacius now.

He kisses you and you feel his taste, the taste you were searching for. His right hand goes to your waist pulling you against his body, his left hand on the back of your neck, lightly pulling your hair making your head tilt back.

-God, I missed that so much.

He murmurs as he runs his lips down your neck leaving soft bites that make you shiver and moan softly.

You push him until Pedro falls sitting in the armchair behind him, he smiles as he watches you kneel slowly at him.

-I heard that in ancient Rome after battles men went for a bath place, is this the name?

And they were very well taken care of... and you're so exhausted, aren't you general?

Pedro laughs softly and caresses his cheek with his fingers going down the sensitive skin of your neck, he nods and whispers

-Yes, so exhausted.

You run your hands down his legs, the skin hot, the muscles getting tense under the palms of your hand. You don't stop looking at him, seeing how his lips become half open, his eyes getting darker and darker.

You raise your hands until the tips of your fingers meet his underwear, feeling the heat of his cock.

You pull his underwear down, taking them off by the legs and throw them on the floor.

Pedro looks hypnotized, he smiles and you go up the fabric of his clothes until his cock is fully exposed, the wet pink tip, the lateral vein pulsating while he whispers.

-Is that what you want?

He smiles debauchedly.

You nod your head, your right hand holding by the base feeling it pulsating, Pedro's eyes close quickly. His breathing changes when you lick the drop that accumulates at the tip, his thumb goes up to your lips spreading the liquid, you suck his finger, biting and making Pedro gasp his hand going straight to your hair.

-Don't play with me like that or-

Before he can complete the sentence you put his cock in your mouth, as much as you can, his bittersweet taste on your tongue, the lateral vein pulsating, the unique smell of his skin invading your nostrils.

Pedro moans and you look at him and can't hold back the moan with what you see. Pedro with his eyes almost closed, his mouth open, his breath starting to get panting and the damn laurel wreath. He looks like a fucking Greek God.

You swallow it all feeling it hit your throat. Pedro lets his head fall back and a hoarse moan comes out of his throat, his hand grabs your hair firmly, conducting as he wants, how hard he wants to fuck his mouth.

You continue the up and down movements, swirling your tongue at the tip, you can't look away, his vision with the white armor.

Pedro takes his left hand to your head, both hands guiding you, making you take him so deeply.

He bites his lip, you know he wants to moan and curse, but now it takes a little silence, only small hoarse moans escape his lips, his eyes wandering between his mouth and his eyes.

-If it continues like this I'll cum in your mouth...fuck! - he moans loudly when he feels you masturbate him while your tongue passes through the tip provoking him, you whisper

-Is that what you want, general? - you gently run your tongue over the tip of his cock, provoking the sensitive skin that makes his legs tense.

Pedro growls and pushes his head making your mouth swallow his whole cock.

-Damn, yes...don't stop, please.

Pedro's right hand finds yours on the inner of his thigh, his fingers intertwining yours, while the left hand holds your hair, preventing the strands from hindering his vision of you sucking it.

You suck for a few more seconds until you feel Pedro squeezing your hand hard, his legs shaking, moans escaping from his lips, so low that they seem growling. You swallow every drop, licking until Pedro has spasms and pulls you to his lap.

He sticks his forehead to yours, panting, he kisses your lips pulling between his teeth and smiles.

-I missed you so much.

Pedro unbuttons your pants, his fingers dipping inside your panties and feeling how wet you are.

-Shit, I need to feel you on my tongue now.

He says while biting and licking your neck.

A knock on the door catches your attention, someone says that Pedro's scene is the next one to be shoot. He throws his head back, frustrated and you laugh.

-All right, go soon General... I'll be at the hotel waiting for you.

Pedro kisses you, his middle finger dives into your pussy and he takes it to his lips, sucking while moaning as if he were tasting the best dessert in the world.

-Now I can go...wait for me at the hotel, I'll be there in a few hours.

He kisses you, fixes the clothes wearing the underwear again. He looks at you and smiles, he hugs you and kisses your forehead and then your lips.

-I really missed you.

He turns around, puts on his sunglasses and opens the trailer door, and leaves.

You can't wait for the day to end.

——————————-

Thanks for being here and read our delusional fics, likes are appreciate, comments even more. If you want to ask anything, blast it!

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myownwholewildworld · 5 days ago

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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.

taglist: open.

word count: TBD.

series warnings: 18+, mdni. 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 (SNEAK PEEK) - 🤕🩸 ii. faber est suae quisque fortunae - 🤕 iii. flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo - 🤕🩸💢

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 1 month ago

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Elysium - Chapter 1

General Marcus Acacius x Reader

In Rome, three things are known. War must be won. Caesar is supreme. And women are useless if not bred and wed. Though you have been shielded from this longer than most, your clock has run out. You must be wed lest you be exposed to a life of poverty. You need a husband. And the General needs a bride.

A/N Hi Friends!!! I know the hype died down… but I’m still on it I’m sorry!!! Anyway I kinda miss this space. Hope you all are doing well!!! All my love!! -Mo

Before I was truly able to understand such things, I watched my father marry his second wife, Alba.

My mother died giving me life, and my father grieved for her for the first seven years of my little life. My tiny heart knew only of harsh words and tear filled apologies for those first seven years. But when Alba came, becoming the second wife, she became my first mother. The first soft smile and soft hand I knew.

I remember so clearly that day, when I snuck into Alba’s room to watch her prepare for her marriage to my father. We had only met each other once before, the morning she was promised to my father. She saw my timid eyes behind the door, and she laughed before calling me in.

Her laugh sounded like bells on a ceremonial horse. Light, tingly on my skin, and a harbinger of celebration. Her skin was , and still is, soft as silk and fragrant of rich lavender. She was draped in white linens and dripping in gold, with pearls strung in her hair.

She picked me up to put me in her lap, even though I was keenly aware of the wrinkles I would give her. She gently put a stray hair back behind my ears, “Thank you for letting me be your mother child. I want you to know that I am honored to care for you and your father in this life.”

Their wedding ceremony was a simple affair. I stayed close to Alba’s side, and never strayed far from either her or her friends who came to the wedding. I watched my father, who smiled and laughed when needed, but I could still tell there was an underlying ache. An ache which he would later… many years later… confess that he was worried about how I would respond to Alba… and if I would ever forgive him for the grief he allowed to eat him alive.

Alba was the perfect mother. An even better friend and wife to my father. She has actively campaigned for an extension of my maiden hood, to allow me to study and be youthful, to have those days she couldn’t have. And I thanked the Gods for a mother to take care of me for my time on earth.

In the garden, behind the grand house of my father, my mother Alba tended to wonderful flowers. Like diamonds they glittered amongst the vines and shady leaves. My father was never a man for many words, but he took care to bring back a plant from any foreign lands he visited on a campaign. Even if they couldn’t be planted, it was the sweet smile that Alba gave him that was medal and honor enough. I would often sit with Alba, reading to her as she tended to her garden, the fruits and flowers and herbs that created a beautiful tableau of creation. Alba could not read… she was not permitted to… and perhaps that was why she sweetly and quietly championed for my education to my father, placating him with sweet words and touches when he worried about my lack of marital prospects.

Now, Alba is not as youthful as when she came into our home. Her jet black hair has a small streak of gray, framing her soft face. There’s small creases in the corner of her eyes when she smiles and laughs. She is somehow more beautiful than ever before. But in recent months, she looks more somber…contemplating… wondering.

And it is in our daily strolls in her gardens, when she grabs my hand, stopping in the farthest corner, “Little dove… we have always been honest with each other yes?”

I pause, having to look down due to her short stature. “Yes mother, of course. Have I done something to upset you?”

She shakes her head vehemently, “No never my dove. But, there is something your father had asked me to keep from you but, I do not think I can any more. Not from you.”

I sit on one of the stone benches placed in the garden, “Mother, please, speak plainly. Are you ill? Is father ill?”

Alba looks around, seemingly checking for prying eyes in the garden, before turning to me, “Your father… he has-“

I hear my father’s booming voice from across the way, from the house. My head and Alba’s whips up, to see my father. Imposing and strong, with his large beard, threaded with silver and black. Beside him, stands a man who I’ve seen many more times in the past few months. General Acacius, one of the most decorated generals in the history of Rome, has become a frequent phantom in my father’s house. He has never said anything, or done anything more than nod at me when I pour his wine at the direction of father. When I play the lyre in the corner of the room, I feel his heated eyes on me , making me flush and sweat. He is handsome. Certainly. But he is more terrifying. He does not have the booming voice of your father. Rather it is the terse nature, the breadth of his form, and the low rumbling of his voice is what makes me gaze at him quietly, guarded and wondering.

Alba nods at me, single handedly holding a dam of secrets, close to breaking. We make it to the steps, and I am keenly aware of the subdued finery of General Acacius. I bow my head, “General Acacius, thank you for blessing my father’s house once more. It is good to see you. “

He bows his head, “It is an honor to be received here my lady. The blessing is mine… to see you.”

My head shoots up, unladylike entirely but the sudden lack of air that makes me want to claw at my neck. Something is wrong. Alba is gripping my father’s wrist and my arm. My father nods, “Let us go into the atrium, wine is served for our purposes today.”

General Acacius offers his arm, and I can’t help but feel I’m being brought to the slaughter. I’m lead to the atrium. There on the table, wine, fine cups, and jewelry. I am seated next to Alba, facing my father and the General. My father leaned forward, grasping my mother’s hand, “Smile child. This is a joyous day.”

I look to the General, who does not seem to share such a sentiment. To my father I say, “Forgive me father… I must be ignorant to the day.”

My father speaks, “It’s the day of your engagement, the eve of your marriage.”

I feel heat rush up my neck. The sweat beginning to trickle down my back. Marriage? To..

“My lady. This is indeed a rushed courtship. You will want for nothing. I have brought bracelets and pearls indicative of my intentions and surety.”

I glance at the table carrying wine. And surely… I have never seen such finery. It’s even more beautiful than the treasure of my mother’s. I look tentatively at the

General, trying to calm my heart, “General Acacius… I am flattered and honored by your gifts… but I did not think you knew me other than my ability to play music or pour wine.”

“Silence Child.”, my father booms, though I do not even look at him. General Acacius puts his hand up, “Peace Old Friend. Your daughter is right. And surely she is not a child anymore,” he turns to me, dark eyes boring into me, “… and she is right. I had yet to make my intentions known till this afternoon. My apologies.”

He shifts in his seat, as if adjusting his fighting stance, “My friend, and my lady, may I have a moment with my bride alone?”

My father and Alba nod standing to leave. My father nods at me, Alba kissing my cheek. They walk arm in arm out into the garden, leaving the General and I alone, save for the two servants in the corner. General Acacius moves with an otherworldly grace to stand beside my own lectus, “May I?”

I nod gently, keeping my eyes trained on his form, taking note of every move. Though I can hardly stand it. Like looking into the night lamps for too long. He commands the air around him, and suddenly I feel like I am lounging on his throne. He faces me, palms facing upward as if holding an offering for me to inspect.

“My lady. I wish to apologize. I did not make my intentions known to you before this day.”

Before I can reign it back into my chest my voice tumbles out, “You’re in need of a breeding mare Dominus?”

I snap my mouth shut, with my eyes bulging wide. To my horror and relief, a small smile shows itself on his face, causing creases in his eyes, a chuckle is coughed out. “Your father said you were a handful, I’m glad to see he wasn’t exaggerating.”

He faces me more, looking for my steeled facade to crack, “My lady… I am not here simply for children. I am reached an age of maturity where my lack of wife is troubling to my advisors and staff. I am in need of a wife to manage my properties. A intelligent person who I can trust. And… your father has described to me that you have yet to find a husband.”

My shoulders straighten out, a feeble attempt at taking up more space on this shared lectus. “Do you think I need a husband Dominus?”

“Would you rather I lie to you for your comfort?”

“No.”

“Rome will one day see no need for a woman to be married. I’ve known many a woman to be more competent than the men around her. Even I. But unfortunately… Rome has not seen that yet.”

A beat. A breath. General Acacius sighed, “I do not think you need me. Not really. If this was a different world. But as it stands… I need a wife for stability and you need a husband for security.

My lady… you will want for nothing in my house. The grounds, yours. The staff, yours. The title, yours. My wealth, yours. Continue to study in my house, and use your education to manage the house and money how your see fit. All I ask, is that you be loyal to my house.”

I feel a big swoop in my chest, like I’m standing on the ledge of a great precipice. I feel my skin on fire. Though he is this great man, a most decorated general… he kneels before me. He needs a wife.

I did not envision a husband for myself. I imagined myself passing under the eyes of any man who came across me, covered in a gossamer veil of anonymity. I did not ask for love. I did not ask for a husband. In the corner of the room, I see my father staring intently.

I may not want to be married. But I will be. One man or another. Rome does not deal with unmarried women.

General Acacius turns, and sees my father. He turns back to me. His voice rumbling like a summer storm, “The burden will be light. Though I cannot force your hand.”

Burning embers stare from behind thick lashes. I slide my hand into his waiting palms, “I accept your offer Dominus. May our union be merry.”

His whole body slackens, closing his eyes for rest that finally seemed to come. He reached to the box, pulling out a golf arm band, engraved with laurels and a mighty horse. He presents it to me, “The symbol of my house. Wear it, and all will know you are the focus of my eyes.”

I nod, and I gasp at his touch caressing up my arm. As if I am made of glass he slides the arm band up, cool and firm. Though I stare at the band and its subtle richness, I feel his piercing gaze on my face. I whisper, “Thank you Dominus.”

He stands, gently beckoning me to stand, my hands in his. General Acacius presses my knuckles to his lips, the softness surprising me, “Thank you.”

My mother and father approach, my father joyous and self satisfied at his match. My mother embraced General Acacius like a new son, before turning to me. She kissed my cheek quickly whispering, “You will be blessed. The Gods see you.”

In a solemn recitation of contract, and the sharing of wine, I am promised to General Marcus Acacius, most honored General of Rome. There is no laughter. No giggling and peeking behind doors. There is no one to share it with.

Once the contract is settled, we see General Acacius out. In swift and powerful motion, he mounts his horse. His gaze passes over my father and right to me, “I will be back in three weeks to fetch you. My servants will be here in a weeks time to assist in preparation for the marriage banquet. They will have my purse, spend whatever you wish. I will see you soon my lady.”

Without another word, he takes off with the speed of the wind. My father grunts walking inside, calling for his servants to begin preparing for my wedding feast. I hear Alba speaking, but it is all rushing water over me. All I can hear is the pounding of his horse in the distance. All I can see is my husband riding home. My new home.

#general marcus acacius x you #general marcus acacius #General Marcus Acacius x reader #General Marcus Acacius x y/n #general Marcus Acacius fanfic #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n

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lokischocolatefountain · 4 months ago

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home in three days, do not wash

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: age gap, mild choking, mentions of child death, hurt comfort, breeding kink, lactation, reader has children, taboo for the time oral sex, talk of war. Word count: 3.6k words Summary: Your General returns home ravenous for you and you cannot decline him, even if any exposure of his act would bring him great shame. A/N: Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the awesome graphics. Napoleon said 'be home in three days, do not wash' and what was I supposed to do? Not use it for our big thicc roman general returning home from war to fuck us? I did research and shit and came to know that eating pussy was a big no no back in the day. dj Khaled would love to be an ancient roman ig. also learned that rich ladies didn't breastfeed and used a wet nurse but they knew that breastfeeding could help and some women did it. Outside all that research, it's just depravity, baby. Anyway, validate my depravity with some comments pls.

Laughter echoed through the hallways of your palatial home and you stood at a balcony with the best view from atop the hill. The campaign that had taken your husband away had finally come to an end with victory for Rome. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, you were always one of the last people to receive the latest news of importance. This time was an exception to the rule.

Home in three days. Do not wash.

All you wanted when you received the message was to run in the direction of the roads that would bring your beloved home. Three days were too long. You wanted to curtail the long wait, run to him so you would be in one another’s arms in a day and a half.

But you chose the more realistic path and prepared the home for his arrival. The servants polished every surface, your handmaiden ensured you had all your most preferred clothing— that which he loved to see on your body. The kitchen was busy preparing every meal that the master loved. Your two older children with your general busied themselves recollecting everything they learned from their private tutor to impress their father.

Your youngest, your first son, was still so young he had never met his father. He was the child your dearest had longed to have for so long. For all the luck the gods had given him in the battlefield, they had given very little in the way of children to carry his legacy. In his heart, he was father to seven daughters and six sons. The gods had only allowed four daughters to live. Two of his sons passed in infancy, one passed in birth, taking his mother with him. One other was taken by disease and another killed in battle.

He now had only one son and he hadn’t yet the joy of holding him in his arms. Everyday that Marcus was in the battlefield was torture. Babe on your breast and fear in your heart over whether his father would live to see him. Fear sometimes subsided for anger to have its way. That very anger remained in your chest, prepared to unleash on him the moment he stepped into the home.

When the sun dimmed, night crept in and so did Marcus. You refused to greet him at the door. A warm welcome was reserved for men who told their wives where they were going before they left. You had half a mind to ask for a bath to be prepared. To wash yourself with milk and fragrant oils in front of him so he could see your defiance in action.

But you remained in the balcony, eyes set on the moon who served as your companion when he left you. For all the fury you had for him, there was also an ache of sympathy. You wouldn’t sour his mood the moment he entered. He must see his son first. Then you would see to that he groveled at your feet for his cruelty.

Just as you thought, you had a long time to relax on the settee. He always went to his children first. Be it after months away on the battlefield or a mere day in the city. You asked for your son’s crib to be moved to your daughters’ room so he would be able to see them all at once, saving him the battle of choosing between his great loves. You’d sent word to him on the battlefield after you gave birth, sent him the name of his son so he would know to include him in his prayers.

You heard whispers of his voice conversing with a servant. Your heart quickened its pace, each thud against your ribs matching the thuds of his feet against the floor. Oh how you wanted to turn around. It had been so long since your eyes were blessed with him. His towering height, broad frame, the pink of his lips and the curls you so loved to comb through with your fingers. You trembled, the cold breeze reminding you how devoid you’d been of his warmth. Yet you were resolved to not give yourself up to him so soon. You stayed in place and closed your eyes.

He stopped behind you and your name spilled from his lips like honey. It had been so long since anyone spoke your name so… The servants called you mistress and your children called you mother. Your birth family only wrote your name in their many letters. He was the only one who spoke your name, leaving you without hearing your own name since his departure. But you stayed, did not turn, did not open your eyes. He spoke it again, his voice gentle but louder as he stopped at your side.

“Open your eyes, dearest.”

“Where have you come, General?” You asked, your voice cold enough to be the envy of the winter breeze.

“General?” He asked, a hint of amusement playing at his lips.

“Are you not a General?” You taunted, finally opening your eyes. He looked weary from battle and travel. You longed to take him to your chambers and strip him of his armor to count his wounds, kiss each one be it new or old. His hair was grayer than when he left, his skin duller, but his eyes were still the soft brown that gave you peace when you first saw him as his young bride.

“Your General,” he said with a small smile as though his words were supposed to make you forgive him at once and shower him with kisses. It only strengthened your resolve. If he wouldn’t treat you as a wife, you wouldn’t give him the respect of a husband.

“You have a son,” you said, stretching your legs out in the settee just as he made to take his seat there. His hand wrapped around your ankle and you kicked it off, daring him to make another attempt at moving your legs so he could sit. He smiled softly, conceding as he moved to stand by your head.

“He is beautiful, mellilla,” he said, caressing your cheek. You slapped his hand away. All of Rome may fall at his feet and welcome him back with praises of his victory. He was deserving of course, not only for his achievements but for his undying loyalty to Rome. If Rome were a woman, she would be his principal wife and you— you would only be a tavern whore he fucked and left in the dead of night.

“You block the moonlight, General Acacius.”

“Marcus,” he said, moving to allow you sight of the moon once again. He sat in the little remaining space on the settee and looked down at you. Despite the toll war had taken on him, he was incredibly handsome. Bold nose, pink lips and graying curls that only made him look ever so slightly more distinguished. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You did not return the kiss, but you did not push him away. There was an limit even to your anger. You placed a hand on his shoulder, the act of denying yourself the joy of your lover weighing heavy in your heart.

“I’m afraid I haven’t such an honor.” You bit down on your lip, annoyed at yourself for the trembling of your voice as you spoke. Your anger for him had a foundation of pain after all.

His face fell and he sighed. He looked down at his lap and you hoped it was from shame.

“If you have nothing to say, you may leave. If you need it, you may summon the servants for your meal. But I am sure the emperor did not send his best general hungering for food or cunt,” you spat, rising to sit up on the settee. Hand as strong as iron wrapped around your wrist, coupling with his strong torso that trapped you in place to keep you from getting up. You squirmed in his grasp, but he did not budge.

“Listen to me.”

“Is that an order?”

He wrapped an arm around you and held your cheek in his hand. You looked up at him, giving him biting fury to his firm yet gentle gaze. “If it is the only way I will have your obedience, then yes. It is an order.”

“You may speak, but you cannot make me listen and you most certainly cannot make me respond.”

“I am your husband.”

“A husband doesn’t leave for a year long war at the dead of night with no explanation to the woman swelling with his child,” you screamed, fist slamming against his chest. It didn’t affect Marcus. Nothing affected the great General Acacius, you thought with derision. You hit him in the chest again, tears brimming in your eyes and clouding your vision.

“Forgive me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You ceased your attacks as his apology coupled with the pain in his eyes reduced you to tears. You’d kept everything in for so long, put on a brave face for your daughters and hid your heart in your letter to your father. It was only with Marcus that you didn’t need to hide. He always tore your fears down and pulled you into the safety of his arms.

“I wouldn’t have been able to leave had I said goodbye.”

“I was so afraid,” you confessed, leaning into his chest. Every pretense of strength and composure left your body as you let him hold you to his chest. The gold earrings you wore to please his eyes pressed cold against your skin under his hand. He moved next to your hair and then you neck, the hand that held swords and spilled blood only to return home to love you.

“Carissima…You were all I could think of after I left. Forgive me,” he begged, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to each finger.

“Later. I have missed you. Marcus,” you whispered, craning your neck to kiss him. He returned your kiss in an instant, arms cradling you as you devoured each other. He smelled of war— blood, soil, sweat, and leather. It was far more pleasing to your senses than any fragrant oils and flowers. Your Marcus and his distinctly masculine scent was above all but the fragrance of your newborn.

You whined as he retreated. He laughed and returned to scatter kisses along your jawline like Rome scattered rose petals along the steps of the Colosseum for his feet. He reached under your layers of silk and linen, making you tremble and press yourself closer to his chest.

“So soft…”

“I need you, please.” It was all he needed to hear before he walked up to the doors of the balcony and slammed them shut. What he did with you, for you, wasn’t for anyone else’s eyes but your own.

He unlatched the gold clips that held your palla to your shoulders and set them aside. Your stola and tunic followed, piling up on the marble floor. Cold air caressed your bare breasts, bigger and fuller now as you nursed your son yourself. You traced your hand up his arm, feeling his vambrace before finding his muscular arms. You whimpered from just how big he was in your hands. You squeezed, feeling the hard muscle and rough skin.

Your General knelt before you and you sat up straight, confused by his action. He couldn’t be… You sought his apologies and regret, but by no means would you ask him to humiliate himself for you. Such a man, superior to you in every way.

“Dominus!” You shrieked, reminding him who he was even when he came home.

“Shh…”

“Are you going to—?”

“Lick you cunt? Yes. Sit back, now,” he said as he guided you to lean back on the settee. You shook your head from side to side, appalled by the circumstances and confused as to how you were supposed to stop him. He spread your legs wide, planting your feet upon the seat. He licked his plush lips and looked up at you, his eyes those of a ravenous beast.

“You cannot. I only want you to understand the torture you put me through, not debase yourself in front of me. It’s not right.”

A corner of his lips curled up slightly. He spat on his hand and rubbed it into your cunt. You arched into his palm, your cunt chasing any contact you could have with your beloved. “Tell me, who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Speak fully and speak my name.”

“I belong to you, Marcus.”

“Correct. Why do you think then, that you can tell me what I can and cannot do with you?”

He parted your cunt lips and slid a finger inside you. “You belong to me. All of you. This cunt belongs to me. Does it not?” You nodded as he pumped his thick finger in and out of you. It had been so long since you’d been touched that even his finger felt a little much for you to take. You shuddered as you thought of his cock, promising the virility that came with such a size.

“Speak,” he commanded, every bit the fearsome General who led men into battle. When even warriors couldn’t defy him, how could you?

“It belongs to you, Marcus.”

“Mmm,” he rumbled, curling his finger inside you, making you whimper. “If I want to lick this cunt then, do you have any right to stop me?”

“N-no,” you cried, grabbing his wrist and imploring him to slow down for you couldn’t take such intoxicating pleasure. “If peo— Marcus! If someone knew—”

Then he dove into your core and licked the nub above your cunt, eliciting a squeal from you. He looked up at you from between your legs, tongue still licking you as he smirked. It was sinful, the sight and the act of a man serving a woman. You shook your head, your senses already addled from being so close to him after a long year. It was wrong. Wrong. But oh gods, he made all the wrongs feel right and who were you to deny him?

Tears rolled down your cheeks, no longer from the agony of separation from your dearest but from the building pressure in your core.

“Marcus…” you said, unable to say anything else. You reached your hand towards him, needing to be anchored to the Earth as he flew you to the heavens. He enveloped your hand in his and gave a small squeeze. His other hand and his lips were unrelenting, giving him new ways to torment you.

How did anyone deem it submissive for a man to kneel and lick cunt? Your Marcus still looked as majestic as ever. The picture of victory that Rome worshiped. The Marcus Acacius who slew and killed was home and ruthless in his conquest of you. Even as he licked your core, he was the one with all the power in hand. This was but a new way for him to take you.

You gasped inaudibly as he inserted another finger in your cunt, stretching you in preparation for his cock. You felt your unraveling come closer. He pulled you deeper into whatever spell he had you under whenever he touched your cunt. You squeezed his hand tighter, saying everything your lips couldn’t. Hold me, keep me safe, never let me go.

The waves crashed against the rocks on the shores of the beach as you came crashing down from the heavens. Marcus kept his wordless promise. You tightened your legs around his head yet he held you in place and kept you safe.

When you came to, you found your fingers tangled in between his dark curls. You loosened your grip on him but did not let go, needing to feel him even if it was just his hair.

“I should not have liked that.”

He laughed and gave your cunt another lick, smirking as he watched you shudder.

“But you did,” he said, getting up at last. “I knew you tasted divine, but having you directly from your cunt is something else, melilla.”

“I have not washed in days because of you. I am sure I taste horrendous.”

“Good girl, following orders well. But you are wrong. You taste and smell like a woman. Not a perfumed woman. This,” he said in a low voice as the tip of his nose traced up your neck. He inhaled your scent and moaned. “This is nothing you can find in a vial. This is your true scent,” he said, stopping at your ear and placing a kiss.

“I would recognize it anywhere.” He reached under his pteruges and toga and retrieved his cock. Your cunt clenched at the mere sight of him.

He was far too covered. As much as you loved to see your General in his armor, you loved more to see him bare. You needed to run your fingers over his bare chest and dig your fingernails into his shoulders as he wrung his pleasure out of you. You found the ties that held his armor in place and began to undo them.

“Impatient girl,” he chided as he aligned himself with your cunt.

“Help me out then,” you snapped back as you struggled with the knots. He ignored your request and continued on his path of destroying you, plunging his length inside you much too quickly. You cried from the pain and pleasure of being stretched out by him once again.

“Marcus!”

He bent forward and whispered your name against your lips before claiming them. You moaned into the kiss as you rubbed yourself against him for friction. You were loath to pull away from his cock even the slightest as you ached for him too much to part from him. You wrapped your legs around him and pressed your heels down on his back, pulling him deeper inside you.

He wrapped a hand around your throat, tightening and loosening every now and then. “Day and night, I longed for you,” he whispered, his breath mixing with yours. “Dreamt of the day I would be inside you again.”

You echoed the sentiment, but he quickly silenced you with a hard thrust that you felt in the deepest part of your core. He wasn’t the gentle Marcus who treated you like you did your fine silks but the General who conquered every land he set foot on. He rammed in and out of you, reclaiming you as his. Your cunt opened up to take its master, molded itself around him like it did each time since your wedding night. He had taken you, his young bride, and shown you a world only he could. He’d taken and taken, made you a woman by showing you what your body could do for you.

He licked up your neck, growling like he was tasting the finest delicacies from the emperors’ table after being starved for months. “You smell sweet, Carisimma.”

“You lived in tents with men for a year. I’m sure a pig would smell sweet to you now,” you said, making him laugh even as he wrecked you. He reached down to your breasts and grabbed one in his hand. He pinched your nipple between his fingers and tugged, making you cry out in pain.

“Marcus!” Drops of milk trickled from your breasts and he swiped it with him thumb before licking it.

“I only regret that I could not see you grow bigger with my seed.”

“You ha- you have seen it before.”

“Yet I am not satisfied. I need more, I need to fill you up with my seed, keep you full with my children in perpetuity.”

“Marcus! Please…”

“What do you beg for, girl?”

“Give me sons, Marcus. Let me give you heirs,” you cried, overcome by the need to become his in that primal way. It was more than just your duty as his wife. It was an innate desire. As frightening as pregnancy was, you wanted it again and again at the hands of your husband. To give him sons carry his name and daughters who would control the great General with their laughter.

“Give me sons,” he repeated, the hand around your neck squeezing tight. This time, he did not relax, holding your air hostage as he used your cunt for his carnal desires. You gasped for breath. Your cunt squeezed around him, keeping him in so he would give you his seed and refusing to let go even for a moment.

Every thrust after sent delicious ripples of pain. You knew that you would wake the next morning unable to walk as usual. You would hear your servant girls giggle when they thought you couldn’t hear. He would wreck you day and night, make you scream for all the house to hear. He would take you to high places in the city, an arrogant smile on his lips as he showed you off, rounded again with his child.

As though he could read your thoughts, he spilled inside you with a cry of your name. You held him close, afraid he would part from your body and rob you of his warmth.

He showered you with kisses, beginning as a downpour and ending with a drizzle. You melted into his arms, the tension in your muscles leaving now that you had your Marcus home. You were no longer alone, he was here and he would take care of everything.

“Am I forgiven now?”

You smiled, burrowing into his chest as draped your discarded silk over you and picked you up in his arms. “I will consider it if you make sure I don’t bleed this cycle.”

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed. A kiss on the top of your head.

“As you say, melilla.”

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