#marcus acacius fan fiction

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: You are forced to marry General Marcus Acacius to save your brother.]

Forced marriage, smut

(I know nothing about his character in this movie so bear with me, this is probably all inaccurate but I hope you enjoy it!)

“You will make a beautiful wife” he whispered before he abruptly put his arm around your waist and pulled you against him. You gasped as your body roughly slammed into his unexpectedly.

“You look at me when I speak to you” he demanded. You looked up at him noticing his eyes soften when he realized the fear in yours.

Henry and you were not close siblings, the hate you had for your older brother was an understatement. A gladiator who was wanted dead by many…you didn’t blame them. You never understood how he could become a gladiator after your father was murdered by one. You despised those deadly fights. You heard the rumors about your brother and things he had done which is why you chose to stay away from him….that was until he came to find you.

Being dragged into a carriage you were forcibly taken somewhere by your brother and two other men. Struggling to break free from his hold you screamed in frustration as he pulled you out of the carriage and dragged you into a place you had never been.

“What are you doing?!” You screamed attempting to pull your wrist away as he continued to pull you along.

“This is where you will stay now” he explained.

“What?” You asked in confusion before he turned to you.

“They want me dead. You’re the only thing that can save me from it. You’ll submit yourself as a wife-“

“No! No! Henry please” you screamed realizing what he was doing, realizing what his plan was.

“You will submit yourself to General Marcus Acacius. It has to be done” you stood in shock at the mention of his name.

“You are absolutely insane-“

“Shut up” he snapped.

“You know who this man is! You know what he’s responsible for!” You screamed as your brother simply ignored you.

“Henry please, whatever it is we can work something out-“

“The deal is done!” He yelled loudly just as the door opened. Quickly he stood straight and forced you to turn as you held in your tears.

General Marcus Acacius had arrived.

The man who was responsible for your father’s death.

Wearing a red and gold like cape you could feel the intimidation from his presence just as he laid eyes on you for the first time. Quickly looking away from him he made his way to your brother. He stood before Henry and with the corner of your eye you could see him look at you.

“So this is whom you’ve bought for me”

“Yes General, she is my younger sister. She now belongs to you” your heart dropping at your brother’s words.

“Very well. You may go” Henry turned to you once more before leaving the room, leaving you alone with Marcus.

Nervously you swallowed as he slowly walked towards you. You couldn’t look at him, you refused to. Standing right before you, his eyes analyzed every part of you when he noticed a single tear rolling down your cheek. Just as he lifted his hand close to your face you flinched, he didn’t move for a moment before gently brushing away your tear with his thumb. General Marcus had no idea what pain he had caused you, he did not know how you felt about him.

“My future wife” he spoke low watching as your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. He took another step closer towering over you as you almost stumbled back.

“You will make a beautiful wife” he whispered before he abruptly put his arm around your waist and pulled you against him. You gasped as your body roughly slammed into his unexpectedly.

“You look at me when I speak to you” he demanded. You looked up at him noticing his eyes soften when he realized the fear in yours.

“I’m..sorry General” for the first time he heard your voice. He didn’t let you go, his hold on you still firm before he slowly raised his hand and gently caressed your face.

“You will be taken care of. Protected by all means.”

“Yes, General” you responded obediently.

“Marcus” he corrected you before releasing you and taking a step back.

“I will have your room prepped. We are to be married before the day ends tomorrow-“

“Tomorrow?” you whispered slightly shocked.

“If you need anything please do not be afraid to ring for my servants. They are now yours as they are mine. You will be taken to your room shortly.” And with that Marcus left the room leaving you confused.

Married tomorrow? This couldn’t be happening…not like this.

After being escorted to your room and being sure you were left alone you began to pace back and forth thinking of a plan. Panic rising through you at the thought of marrying the man responsible for your pain. You had to find a way out of this even if it cost your brother his life. He didn’t deserve to live, he wasn’t a good man. Being a wife to General Marcus Acacius? Absolutely not. How dare he forcibly submit you to him…how dare he…

Looking out your window you spotted several guards monitoring the premises in the front. There had to be a way out in the back and you had to find it fast.

Silently leaving your room you looked in every direction making sure Marcus or any of the servants wouldn’t appear. Hell you had no idea your way around this damn place but you were determined to figure it out. Hearing a voice not too far you quickly froze against the wall until you heard their footsteps walk in the opposite direction. Running down the dark hallway you finally came across a large door, you were sure it led to the outside. Risking it all you quietly pulled it open to see Marcus himself in a dark room turning to you with a glass in hand.

“What do we have here?” He placed his glass down as your lips parted taking a step back.

“I um-I was just-“ you couldn’t find the words as he walked towards you, his arm reaching behind you to close the door. The flicker of the candle hanging off the wall reflecting off his eyes as he leaned closer.

“You were what?”

“I um…I was-“ your heart racing as you struggled to make up an excuse but what good was it in doing so.

“I…I can’t marry you” you blurt out as he furrowed his brows.

“Excuse me?” He took another step forward as you anxiously stepped back against the door.

“I can’t I-“

“You were trying to leave” he spoke low with a tone of realization before he turned away from you.

“I’m sorry Marcus, it’s just-“

“Do you have any idea the possible dangers you could’ve come across walking out of here on your own?!” He unexpectedly yelled loudly as he turned back to you. His response confusing you at the fact that he even seemed concerned. Yet as concerned as he may have seemed the anger was clear.

“Do you?” His jaw clenched as he looked down at you waiting for a response.

“No” you whispered.

“My future wife is to not walk freely outside the premises after the sun sets. Is that understood?”

“But-“

“Is it?” He hissed.

“I…I don’t think you heard me…-“ you spoke hesitantly shocking yourself that you even said anything at all.

“I..I can’t do this. I won’t be your future wife-“ before you could even finish your sentence he grabbed your arm pulling you to him.

“I’m afraid you don’t get to make that decision”

“It’s not fair” you whispered.

“Would you rather me leave you without protection, as I know your brother did not offer you such-“

“The only protection I need is from what’s in here” you responded in fear yet you spoke your truth. He looked at you rather puzzled yet didn’t move away.

“I beg your pardon, my dear”

“You’re a murderer” you whispered as tears began to flow.

“You think I would hurt my wife, the woman who will bear my children” he whispered in disbelief as bis nostrils flared.

“Let go of me” you attempted to pull away but his grasp tightened.

“I will not have your children!” You screamed.

“You’re a murderer! It was your fault! It was all your fault-“

“What was my fault?!” He yelled in frustration.

“Your invasion! It..it led to my father being killed, my brother leaving me…I had no one else..no one. You took them away” you cried as his eyes changed. You cried knowing whatever may have happened wasn’t going to change a thing. Marcus stood silent as he slowly released your arm, guilt in his eyes as he remembered what was done.

“I’m sorry for what you lost but I refuse to leave you without protection. I will see you in the morning, I trust you know your way back to your room” Marcus left you alone in tears as you slid down to the floor in disbelief. You couldn’t believe this is what your life had become.

Marcus angrily paced to his master room, slamming the door shut. Angry at himself with regret for all he had done, angry at himself for decisions he was not proud of and could never take back.

The next day Marcus stood beside you dressed in white and gold. A golden crown placed around his head as one was placed on yours after saying your “I dos”. You hadn’t looked at him once, you kept a straight face in front of a crowd of people you had never seen. Marcus reached his arm out to you as you silently took hold of it walking beside him. With a smile he greeted and thanked everyone hiding his true troubled feelings. You dreaded thinking of what was to come that night knowing you would have to be intimate with Marcus. Feeling defeated you showed no emotion, simply staying beside him as strangers congratulated you.

That night you were escorted to his master room where you found yourself alone. Observing the detail in the room you slowly walked closer to the king size bed with satin covers just as you heard the door open.

Marcus stood by the door closing it behind him as he watched you anxiously await him.

You looked like a goddess standing before him,

he couldn’t help but admire your beauty as much as you may have hated him. Slowly he moved closer to you as you took a deep breath simply wanting to get this over with. Unexpectedly you began undressing yourself letting your dress fall to the ground revealing your bare naked body to him. His eyes instantly falling to your breasts down to your womanhood, he pressed his lips together as if he was trying to compose himself. He knew you had never been touched by another. He was hard and eager to feel you, his fingers gently brushing up your waist as he took in the sight before him.

“You are my wife” he whispered before looking up at you.

“But I refuse to have you this way” his words shocked you.

“But…we’re supposed to…” you whispered.

“Not when my wife holds such hatred for me” he stepped a foot closer.

“In your eyes I am not a good man but I would never force my wife into bed.” he turned away leaving you shocked and confused as you quickly grabbed a robe that lay on a chair beside you.

“Marcus wait!” You rushed after him.

“Where are you going?”

“I have arranged to stay in the guest room-“

“People will know” you responded worriedly.

“It’s just for a few days. I know this all happened rather quickly, I just wanted to give you some time. I never meant to hurt you or your family. It was out of my control….I hope one day you can forgive me.” And with that Marcus left the room.

That night you found yourself with conflicting feelings, conflicting thoughts. General Marcus Acacius was not acting like the man you expected him to be, he was not acting like the man you had hated all along.

In the morning you were greeted by him having breakfast with bowls of fruit placed before him.

“Please” he pointed at the chair across from him.

“Join me” he watched as you sat down while looking at all the fresh fruit available.

“Which one is your favorite?” He asked making you look up.

“Um…strawberries” you responded softly. He delicately slid the bowl to you making you smile, something he realized he had never seen.

“Marcus” you whispered.

“Thank you…for last night.” Just as he was to respond one of the servants came in letting him know a man he had been waiting for arrived. Marcus stood up but before leaving your sight he leaned in towards you across the table with sincere eyes.

“There is nothing for you to thank me for.”

Days went by as you adjusted to your new life, your new routine along with your new confused feelings and thoughts.

You found yourself unexpectedly nervous with Marcus going to the arena. Never had you witnessed a fight with your own eyes but you always heard how brutal they could be. Of course being his wife you had a front row seat to witness it all and you didn’t know how you felt about it.

Sitting in a chair beside a few others you watched as Marcus showed himself to the crowd whom cheered loudly. You could feel your heart beating hard in your chest as his challenger came out. Marcus pulled out his sword, turned in your direction and looked you in your eyes before he began to fight. It felt as if you were holding your breath as the crowd roared with excitement. You couldn’t stand watching but you also couldn’t take your eyes away. The swords clashing together loudly until the man slid his sword against your husband’s arm. Blood instantly dripping to the ground as you stood up and gasped. The fight only getting bloodier as you continued to watch wishing it would end until Marcus suddenly drove his sword into the man’s throat. Covering your lips in shock you watched as the man fell to the ground as everyone cheered.

Just like that, your husband remained victorious.

Running downstairs to meet him inside you noticed just how bloodier he was as he got closer.

“Oh my God..” you whispered practically running to him.

“Are you alright?” You asked as you frantically looked at his arms searching for wounds until you found a large one along his arm.

“Yes, I’m-“

“Oh” you gasped looking at the wound as he watched you curiously not having expected you to be at his aid. Not expecting you to be filled with concern.

“It’s only a scratch” he assured you.

“A scratch?! You’re bleeding!” You looked up at him noticing the amused look in his eyes.

“What?” You took a step back composing yourself.

“You were afraid”

You stood silent for a moment realizing just how concerned you were from the moment the fight began. Your feelings were conflicted, why did you find yourself caring about a man you once hated?

“I’m not, I’m just-“

“You most certainly were” a grin appearing on his lips as he stepped forward.

“I’m not. We should get you cleaned up” you awkwardly reached for the towel and bowl of warm water that was left for him as he began to remove his armor. Silently he sat before you as you took the damp cloth and delicately began to clean off the blood on his arms.

“We should have that wrapped up” you spoke as you observed the wound not noticing the way he had been looking at you.

“Mhm” he agreed without taking his eyes off you. Taking it upon yourself you took some bandage and wrapped up his arm that best you could. Cleaning off the bloody cloth in the bowl you looked up and began to gently wipe his face. Your heart skipping a beat as his dark eyes distracted you. Slowly passing the cloth over his overhead feeling his curls brush against your skin you suddenly felt his hands grab your waist.

“Marcus..” you whispered knowing you would give in. He quickly stood up and pulled you in and before you knew it, his lips were locked with yours. Dropping the cloth on the floor behind him you wrapped your arms around him as he kissed you passionately. Moaning into his lips he carried you onto a table placing himself between your legs. You didn’t stop him as he caressed your face looking down at you. He knew you wanted him as much as he had been wanting you.

“What if someone comes in here?” You whispered as he leaned his forehead on yours.

“No one will” he assured you.

“Besides…you are my wife, I will have you wherever I please” he panted as he removed any clothing in his way and pushed your dress above your knees.

“But Marcus-“ you suddenly cried out as he pushed himself inside you. Grabbing onto him you panted as he held himself still. Looking into your eyes he watched as yours widened filled with shock and innocence.

“I’m sorry” he whispered roughly.

It hurt, of course it did. You had never even touched yourself to now have a man of his size break into you…yet you didn’t want him to stop. Pulling himself out he thrust his hips once again making you whimper.

“Do you want me to stop?” He whispered. You quickly shook your head pulling him closer.

“No, no, don’t. Please don’t” you practically begged brushing your lips against his as you spoke. He kissed you as he continued to move, his tongue swirling with yours as he felt your arousal with each stroke. You moaned as the pain slowly disappeared and was replaced with pleasure, he could feel it. A feeling you had never felt before, it was hard to contain yourself.

“Oh Marcus…” he kissed your neck as you rolled your eyes back. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, the pleasure built up in a way you didn’t expect.

“Marcus-“ you gasped.

“Mhm” he knew you were about to cum, he could feel it.

“Wait I-“

“No no, don’t fight it” he whispered. Something intense was happening and you didn’t think you could handle it.

“But it’s-“ you practically cried unable to speak.

“I know baby I’m right here,” he moved his hips faster feeling you tighten around him.

“I’m right here” he panted caressing your face, his thumb brushing across your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Let it go” he demanded when you moaned loudly as your body shook uncontrollably. He watched mesmerized as an orgasm took over you, your eyes in a trance. Feeling you cum all over his cock he could no longer compose himself. Just as your body relaxed he pushed in deeply releasing his warmth in you, a deep groan against your ear you felt his body collapse against you. Once he slid out you looked down and noticed blood on your dress.

“I’m bleeding” you looked up at him confused.

“It’s ok, it was your first time” he responded out of breath thinking of how he first entered you.

“I should’ve been more careful, I apologize”

“Don’t” you whispered as you slowly covered yourself. Marcus dressed himself and slowly helped you off the table.

“Will it always feel like this?” You asked looking up at him.

“No, I will be more careful next time you have my word-“

“No I meant…the way it felt after. Will it always feel that…good?”

He smirked looking down at you.

“What?” You raised a brow.

“I will make sure my wife always feels that way whenever I have her” he caressed your cheek with his thumb when you noticed his wound was bleeding again through the bandage.

“Marcus” you whispered brushing your fingers over his arm.

“Just a scratch. Come, help me patch it up in my room” he reached his hand out to you with a smile, you knew very well would continue in his room and with a smile you took his hand and walked along with him.

[lokischocolatefountain]

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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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

A promise

Summary: You've been in love with General Marcus Acacius, your father's most trusted advisor and friend, ever since you could remember. A kiss on the day you come of age starts an affair that would last for years before you ask him to choose between having you officially as his or not having you at all. Days after, your father the Emperor dies, and the brother who hated you comes to power, wasting no time to make arrangements to marry you off to someone you had never met before, leaving you mourning about what could have been, when Marcus finds you with a surprising solution.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: my take on the Dad's best friend trope, secret affair, age gap (not specified, but I wrote it with around 20 years in mind), death of a family member, toxic family situations (your siblings hate you), tears, feelings, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex), proposals, mentions of hair brushing, Marcus picks reader up but this is fiction so I pretend he could pick everyone up, FLUFF (do not look at me I have no idea what happened there), most likely historically inaccurate, banner as always just for the vibes, reader has no physical description apart from having hair (and if it has please let me know)

A/N: look at me, writing for a character we know almost nothing about. This is definitely not historically accurate, we're just here for the vibes. Tell me what you think cause posting for a new character makes me even more anxious than posting for old characters

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Full Masterlist // Marcus Acacius Masterlist

You had spend all your life being the perfect daughter to your loving father. 

You never complained, always having the greater good in mind. You did everything that had been asked of you, everything that was decided for you, because your father, may the gods bless his soul, the emperor of Rome had promised you that once the time came, you would be allowed to have a say in who would become your husband. 

You loved your father. 

You were the first born and his favourite. And he made sure that all your siblings knew that, leaving you with siblings, that were despising you all your life. 

But now your father was dead and his second born, your brother, had let you know not even a week after your father had been buried, that you were going to marry some Duke you had never met before, who had promised troops and gods knows what for the pleasure of getting to take you as a wife. 

When you dared to complain your brother had reminded you that you were a mere woman and should be thanking him on your knees for a suitable match, giving that he was the only one who had approached him because of you.

You did not even know how he had found the time for his search for a husband for you ever since he had been put on the throne only a week before. 

But deep down you knew, he had only been waiting for a chance to have his petty revenge of you.

Growing up, your brother never grew tired to remind you just how ugly he thought you were. How dumb you were. That the people only talked to you because you were the favourite of your father. 

He talked you down so often, you had started to believe it. 

You would probably be dead by now if it wasn’t for your Father’s most trusted advisor. 

The current general of the roman army. 

Marcus Acacius. 

Your father and him had grown up together. Fought and won wars together. 

And you?

You had the biggest crush on him since you could remember. 

He was just so strong and big and whenever he smiled you, you remembered getting this weird feeling in your belly. The older you got the more you thought about him, imagining how it would be to be with him. 

It was on the day you came of age, a big celebration held in your honour, that you drank a little too much wine and clumsily pressed your lips against his after he volunteered to get you to your room. 

You were mortified when he just looked at you, before turning away and hurrying away from your chambers. 

You didn’t know he would leave the next morning for war. 

You didn’t know that months after when he came back, the war won, celebrations held in his honour, that he would find you in your chambers and kiss you the way you had always dreamed of. 

You didn’t know that seven years later it was still you he chose to see first whenever he came back from a battle. Or… every time he could sneak away really. 

More than once you had asked him why you could not make it official. Acacius was a person of power. While maybe not holding any royal titles, he was the General of the roman armies. If he would have asked your father for your hand, you were sure he would have given his blessing. 

But he had argued against it, thinking it would most likely be seen as a betrayal of the emperor’s trust. 

It made you feel like a dirty little secret and was one of the reasons you had a big fight just days before your father died. 

You had not seen him since apart from the official events you both had to attend. 

After your brother had informed you that you were to be married within the next week so you were out of his palace you had excused yourself to your chambers, dismissing your staff to have some time for yourself. 

You fought back the tears until the doors closed behind your last maid. 

Sitting down on your bed you allowed yourself to cry. 

Cry for your father. 

Cry for Acacius.

Cry for yourself and your future. 

You did not know who this man you had been set to marry was, but it did not matter. 

Of course you were well over the age of getting married, you knew that. But your father did not care. He only cared about your happiness. 

And now here you were, about to marry a stranger, while being in love with someone else. 

Letting your tears fall freely you jumped when your door opened, hastily brushing the tears away when you noticed Marcus as he closed the door behind him. 

„Forgive me for not knocking but I had to see…. What happened?“ He asked, quickly walking towards you. He knelt down in front of you, taking your hands. 

You hadn’t been alone with him since before your father died, when you told him that you were tired of being with him in secret. That you wanted to be his officially. To love him. To marry him. To have his children. 

It may have been childish, giving him an ultimatum to choose to be with or without you, but you were tired of hiding. 

What happened in the days after was a blur. 

And now he was here, his concerned warm eyes looking all over you as if to search for what made you cry. 

„Did somebody hurt you?“ He asked again and you sobbed, leaning down so you could hug him, bringing your face close to his neck, so you could inhale his familiar scent. 

Within seconds his arms were around you and he picked your up before he sat down on your bed with you sitting sideways in his lap. His hand brushing softly over your hair. You had one hand on his shoulder, your other hand wrapped behind his back holding onto his waist, while one of his arms held you securely against him, his other hand softly stroking your hair. 

You felt him kiss the top of your head and you closed your eyes. 

You allowed yourself to relax, melting against him, any arguments you had forgotten. 

Because he was here, and even though you hadn’t parted in the best ways, there was no place in this world were you felt safer than in his arms. 

„I am to be married within the next week,“ you mumbled against his neck and you felt him tense. 

„I learned about it today. My brother did not lose any time to get me out of his sight,“ you joked weakly before you looked up at him. 

You only noticed now hat his hair was still damp. He must have come directly from the baths, wearing only a linen garment. 

Carefully you brought one of your hands up, your fingers resting on his cheek. 

The candle light made him appear like he was glowing and you wondered how you would live without ever having him this close again. 

„He cannot marry you off to whomever he chooses,“ he said and you chuckled weakly. 

„He is the Emperor now. I am afraid that he can do almost everything he sets his mind on.“

He shook his head.

„He can not,“ he said, his grip around you tightening.

„Acacius…“ you began but he shook his head. 

„Do not call me that. Not you,“ he whispered and your eyes softened. 

„Marcus. You must have known that this day would come sooner or later,“ you brushed your fingers through his soft beard. He leaned into your touch. Smiling softly you rested your head back against his shoulder, letting him hold you for a while. 

This was what you would miss most. Just him holding you, giving you comfort. 

„The day before your father died,“ he began after a while, his fingers brushing up and down your spine, „I talked to him about taking a wife,“ he continued. 

You closed your eyes, releasing a long breath. 

„He was actually happy. To be honest he had been asking me for a while if I need any help finding a suitable wife, but I never took his offer for help because I knew who I wanted to marry from the moment you kissed me first,“ he admitted. 

You softly pressed your lips against his neck and you felt it as he took a deep breath. 

„So I told him that I had someone for a while I could see myself spending the rest of my days with. I told him that I was in love and that I would die to protect her. And when he asked when he could meet this incredible woman I told him that he already has, since she was you,“ you looked up at him then, surprised that he had talked to your father. 

„You told him?“ You asked, voice quiet. He nodded. 

„You know what he said? He said that he could not ask for a better man to take care of his daughter,“ Marcus said and you closed your eyes, letting your head fall against his shoulder. 

„But two days later he was dead and your brother had been named the new Emperor. Your father had meant to talk to you, but everything happened so quickly,“ he took a deep breath. 

„Thankfully I did ask for your hand before he died and he agreed as long as you would say yes.“

„Marcus,“ you shook your head, new tears in your eyes. You felt his fingers tilt your chin up. 

„I haven’t come to talk to you earlier, because I knew your brother would plan something like he did. I had to make sure he could not succeed in taking you away from me. Because you’re mine,“ he said with a small smirk. 

„And I protect what is mine,“ he hummed and you gulped, shuddering as his eyes seemed to darken. 

„But before I can protect you the way I intend to, we have to be wed,“ his thumb brushed over your lip. 

„But how? Knowing my brother he is going to announce my engagement within the next days and has me shipped off by the end of the week,“ you said concerned. 

„That would be inconvenient, because our engagement, signed with blessings by the former Emperor, your father, will be released by the morning, with us to be wed within the next three days,“ he said and you were sure you stopped breathing for a moment as he looked at you. 

„Truly?“ You whispered and he nodded. 

Before he could say anything further you threw your arms around him, making him fall back against your bed with you above him, kissing him deeply. You felt him smile against your lips as he pulled you even closer, his hands running down your body, his fingers slipping under your dress. 

Parting from his lips you looked down at him. 

„I thought you left me,“ you whispered and he shook his head. 

„Never,“ he vowed, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. 

„Then I think you have to ask me a question, General,“ you smiled cheekily and he grinned. 

„Will you do me the honour of being my wife?“ He asked as his hands came to rest on your ass. 

„Usually the man gets on his knees to ask his intended, does he not?“ You teased and he hummed thoughtfully, before he rolled you over so he was on top, kissing your forehead. 

„You are right as always, my love. I shall get on my knees to ask you for your hand,“ he winked before he slowly slipped down your body, his lips kissing a line down your body. Parting your legs wider to make space for him you looked down just as he pulled at the sting of your dress, his fingers parting the fabric so it fell to the side, revealing your naked body to him. 

He kissed your knee and goosebumps spread over your body like wild fire. 

You sat yourself up, leaning on your elbows so you could see him properly. 

His nose brushed up your inner thigh as he settled down between your legs, his breath brushing over you wet cunt as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

„I will promise to love you,“ he hummed, his lips pressing against the skin just above your pussy. 

„To cherish you,“ he continued, slowly kissing himself down and you sucked your bottom lip in. 

„To protect you,“ his tongue licked a strip from bottom to top. 

„Until the day I die,“ he hummed before he sucked your clit between his lips. You felt his tongue move over your clit and you moaned softly while his eyes were focused on yours. One of his hands came up to grab one of your tits, massaging it. 

„I will give you everything you want,“ he said as he released your clit only to lick down towards you hole. 

„When you want,“ he licked again. 

„How often you want,“ he winked at you before his tongue entered you, making you moan out his name softly, one of your hands coming down to rest in his soft hair. He hummed against you, his tongue getting you closer and closer to the edge, his fingers pinching your nipple. 

Marcus then focused his attention on your clit, his tongue playing with it while two of his fingers slowly entered you, angling them just the way he knew had you singing his name. 

„Marcus, please,“ you moaned, your head falling back. 

„Cum for me, my love,“ he hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit while his fingers massaged your inner walls and you shattered, your back arching before you let yourself fall back against the mattress, your body shaking with an orgasm so intense you saw stars. 

Melting into the mattress as you tried to calm your racing heart, you smiled when you felt Marcus kiss your hip. 

After a moment you opened your eyes and looked down at him. 

„You still haven’t dropped to your knees or asked a question, General,“ you reminded him and he hummed thoughtfully before he pushed himself up, kneeling between your legs. He pulled his clothing down, leaving him completely naked as he gazed down at you, his eyes dark and his cock hard and leaking. 

His fingers wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping his length. 

Your tongue dared out, wetting your lips, saliva filling your mouth. 

You wanted a taste and judging by his smirk he knew it. 

„I am kneeling,“ he said with a wink. 

„I can see that,“ you sassed and he chuckled, before he released the grip on his cock and lowered his body over yours. You wrapped one of your legs behind him, your feet brushing up and down his leg, as he settled between your legs his cock notching at your hole. 

You smiled up at him as he looked at you, his strong arms resting next to your head to hold himself up. 

„I never thought I would love anyone as much as I love you. You make everything lighter, easier. I want to live my life with you by my side to make it better,“ he rubbed his nose over yours and you could feel tears in the corner of your eyes as you wrapped your arms behind his broad back. 

„Marry me, my love,“ he whispered before he slowly slipped inside of you, his cock filling you every thick inch. 

„Make me the happiest and proudest man in Rome,“ he whispered when his cock had filled you completely. You found his lips in a sweet kiss as he began to move, slowly fucking into you. 

„Marry me,“ he whispered with his lips against yours as he moved faster, his hips meeting yours with an audible smack every time his cock filled you. 

„Let me fill you with as many children as you’re willing to give me,“ he groaned against your ear while you moaned, his body moving over yours with every thrust into you. Your walls clenched his cock inside of you, making him groan. Arching your back against his chest you began to meet his thrusts, your fingers digging into the warm skin on his back.

„As many as I want?“ You asked and he nodded and you made sure to keep your leg wrapped around him, making it clear that you would not let him pull out of you today. 

„Marry me,“ he moaned his forehead coming to rest against yours as your lips parted with a long moan as you came on his cock, your eyes only closing for a moment before you opened them just in time to see his eyes when you gasped a

„Yes“

To his question, his cock almost immediately twitching inside of you as he came and filled you with his seed for the first time.

He stayed like that for a moment before he kissed you and rolled you around so you were resting on top of him. 

He softened inside of you, your joined release dripping into the sheets but you could not bring yourself to care. You leaned with your arm on his chest, looking up at him with bright eyes. 

„What if I had said no?“ You asked with a small smile. 

„Then I would have spend more time convincing you to say yes,“ he smiled, his fingers brushing over your naked shoulder. You pressed your lips against his strong chest. 

You knew that once word got out about your engagement, Rome would not be safe for you anymore, no matter how much influence he had with his post. 

Your brother would find a way to have his way. 

There was only one way for a chance of the happy life you both imagined. 

„If I asked you to leave Rome with me to start a new life somewhere else, what would you say?“ You asked him. 

„I would ask when you want to leave,“ he smiled before he leaned down to kiss you. 

[pedroshotwifey]

Omg guys I’m thinking ab changing my theme to fit this pfp

What are we thinking?? (Pls help I’m embarrassingly indecisive)

[missriyochuchi]

Get to know your ancient Roman armor, ladies! Those aren’t bracelets, they’re vambraces. That’s not a headband, that’s a laurel wreath or laurel crown; it’s where we got the phrase, “resting on one’s laurels,” from because they’re a symbol of military victory. Let’s do armor kink right, writers!

[bumpolantern]

The Preggo Fantasy Vault Week 1

Here's a little preview of this week's birth fic...

A Pedro Pascal Character fan fiction. General Acacius from Gladiator II.

Want to read the full story? Come join us and get exclusive access to more private birth and pregnancy content over on my Ko-Fi.

[orcasoul]

The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter summery: Condemned to a life of forced servitude by your own people, every monotonous day is a never ending cycle of despair and humiliation. But one day a mysterious Roman is brought to your village...

Warnings: Swearing, smut (eventual), threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, gore, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, protective Marcus Acacius, age gap, OFC/reader

A/N: While daydreaming of this tale I envisioned it happening in Germania (thanks to the first Gladiator movie) so Alia/reader is Germanic. She's mid 30's, has long hair and is smaller than Marcus Acacius. I have done a bit of research of the ancient Germans as well as Ancient Romans but there will, no doubt be a lot of historical inaccuracies but hey, it's fan fiction baby, so anything goes! I hope you all enjoy...

Word count: 5,173

Chapter 1 The General

The chaos is unrelenting, spreading like the roots of a weed, destroying everything it touches. The deafening clanging of steel against steel, the anguished screams of men in their last moments, the earth turning red; it's brutal and harrowing and raw, but it's necessary. It's for the glory of Rome. That truth alone is enough to drive Marcus Acacius in his rage fuelled onslaught. Body after body falls as his sword meets enemy flesh, every man put down means one less adversary for Rome.

With adrenaline and purpose flowing through him, he advances beside his men, slowly but surely, the goal seemingly just within reach. Impossible to tell if the sludgy ground beneath his feet is saturated with rain or blood. Impossible to tell the difference between the roars and wails of his brothers in arms and that of his foes. The carnage intensifies with every heaving breath, the sickening stench of iron assaulting his senses as he mercilessly ends yet another life, the heat from his victims blood steaming against the frigid air as it drips from his Gladius (sword).

A quick glance at his surroundings reveals a much more devastating encounter than Marcus had anticipated. The Gutones are a savage and ignorant people but they are cleary also very formidable. It will make the conquest all the more glorious for Rome. So, Marcus thunders on, meeting combatant after combatant in a gruelling test of strength and endurance. After dispatching his latest victim - some foolish man-child who believed he could take on a seasoned general, of all people - he turns to check over his shoulder just as a very large brute swings at his head with an axe. Marcus ducks at the last second, grinning at the now enraged man as he prepares for another swing.

Marcus counters the blow, holding his sword horizontally above his head. He throws the axe to the side, the momentum taking his attacker with it, causing him to stumble. Marcus, seizing the opportunity granted to him, spins to face the man, sword poised to deliver the final blow. In a split second Marcus is on his knees, a hot stabbing pain shooting across the back of his right thigh. Despite the throbbing and spasming in his leg, Marcus tries to stand but it's futile; all strength in his leg is gone. Looking up he's met with a sadistic and victorious smile from his assailant as he raises the axe above his head, ready to strike.

This is it! This is how it ends. In these last precious seconds of his life, Marcus becomes overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions and thoughts; what will become of his men? Will whomever succeeds him as general be worthy and commited to Rome? Will he be remembered and honoured for his steadfast dedication to expanding the empire? Marcus refuses to close his eyes for this moment; he will look his death defiantly in his cold blue eyes, refusing to show even an ounce of the crippling fear he feels right now.

Just as the object of his death swings towards him, a deep voice booms from behind him. "Alive! We need him alive!" The man before him stops mid swing, looking furiously in the voices' direction. However, before Marcus can look back the big brute flips his axe. The last thing Marcus sees is the thick, blunt handle, thrust towards his face before the world turns black.

Cold, dark, wet. That's what Marcus Acacius opens his eyes to. This is not Elysium. There's no warm sunshine, no cooling west wind, no lush green meadows with brooks of water and wine. In place of tranquillity and bliss there is only pain and suffering. Did he not lead a virtuous life? Why does Elysium not embrace him? He fights against the pull of his eyelids, rolling onto his back as his foggy mind struggles to make sense of his surroundings. It's the sudden and intense surge of pain in his leg that startles him back into reality. He's very much alive.

Wide eyed and groaning, Marcus reaches down to feel the afflicted area, fingers finding a damp and crudely applied strip of cloth. His instincts abruptly return, willing him to rise, to fight and survive. But instinct and will alone cannot overcome physicality. His vision darkens in the subdued torchlight as he tries - and fails - to push himself up, limbs aching and head throbbing furiously. He falls, landing face down on the muddy ground. Rolling over, he wipes the cold mud from his eyes and mouth, anger and frustration quickly building. His blurry vision clears only to reveal what looks like thick and rough wooden bars.

A cage! He's locked up like some worthless dog. The shame of it! Death would have been the favourable option, not this. Never this! "Well, look who's finally awake," a mocking voice jeered as the cage door swung open. Marcus gathered what remained of his strength and pushed himself up sit up, back resting against the cage bars and chest heaving from exertion. A man about his build and height wearing animal hyde and simple trousers strode over to Marcus, looking down on him like he was nothing more than horse shit. Marcus returned the sentiment by fixing him with a glare of pure revulsion.

"Who do you think you are staring at, slave!" The man literally spat at Marcus' feet. "Get in here!" he yelled impatiently while keeping eye contact with Marcus, no doubt to try and intimidate him. Marcus sat in confusion for a moment until movement behind the man caught his attention. You were quite small in stature compared to the lout barking orders at you, but that could also be due to the fact you had your head lowered and shoulders tucked into yourself, an unmistakable defensive posture. "Clean him up," his big meaty hand shoved you forward, nearly causing you to spill the fresh water from the jug you're carrying.

You managed to find your footing just before you almost fell into the prisoner. You dare not look at his face; the face of a monster. Never have you had to face a Roman before. You've heard countless stories about the "Red Demons" who consume the world, leaving death and destruction in their wake, and now you stand before one. You're not sure what to expect. Despite your best effort to remain collected, your hands begin to shake in fear. "Make sure he lives if you know what's good for you. He's no use to us dead."

Dread licks up your spine at the threat. With a lingering sneer thrown at the general, the man began to walk away, but stopped by the gate. "Careful around around that savage." You could hear the smirk in his mock warning. "Men like that always take what they like from women. It would be a shame if he defiled you, being the animal that he is." The sudden slam of the gate made you jump, the sound of the lock clicking into place causing your stomach to churn. You're trapped! Fear has you rooted to the spot.

Unsure of your next move you force yourself to at least look upon his face. His scowl send a cold shiver to every part of your being, his eyes slowly raking over your whole body and his lip curling as if the mere sight of you disgusts him. No change there then; it's how you've been viewed your whole life. His eyes, burning with hatred, settle on yours and you gulp. He says nothing; but he doesn't need to. The intensity of his glare says it all. Taking a steadying breath, you will yourself to sound more confident than you feel. "I, uh... need to clean your wound."

He remains motionless, staring you down. One uncertain step towards him is all it takes for his anger to burst forth. "Dont. Touch. Me!" he seeths as he awkwardly shuffles away from you, fighting against the ropes that bind his hands and feet. It's evident he's trying to mask the pain caused by moving. "Please...I won't hurt you." You suddenly feel ridiculous for stating the bleeding obvious. Of course you won't hurt him; couldn't if you tried. You can tell just by looking at him this man could snap you like a twig if he so desired, restraints or not. "No, leave me. I'd rather die than be a captive.'' "You don't understand," you begin to plead, stepping a bit closer. "If you die they'll blame me. They'll do terrible thi-" "I don't fucking care!" he spat, silencing you.

You know there's no point arguing; a cornered animal will always lash out. Anxiety pools in your gut. You just know you'll get hell for this. "Wigmar?" you call while you wait by the door. "Wigmar!" you shout this time. A minute later the man - Wigmar - returns looking annoyed. "What?!" he barks. "Uh... I can't... I mean... he won't let me come near," you say with a little shrug. "Please, it's not my fault." Wigmar looks at the prisoner then at you. "Useless cunt," he sneers and storms off. "Wait! You can't leave me here!" You slam your fist against the bars. You're thundering heartbeat fills your ears. Is he really going to leave me in here with him?! The thought makes you feel sick.

You open your mouth to call for Wigmar again but stop when you hear multiple footsteps approaching. He's returned with two more men. He unlocks the door and shoulders you out of the way, making straight for the general with the other two men. Grunts and snarls fill the air as the general is thrown face down and restrained. "Get on with it!" Wigmar shouts at you. For a moment you just stare, shocked at the brutal struggle taking place. "Now!" Wigmar's booming voice snaps you from your shock. Dropping to your knees beside the men, you quickly get to work, cleaning the stab wound, applying a mixture of honey, grease and herbs and wrapping a clean, dry dressing over the area. All the while the prisoner fought and thrashed on the ground.

As soon as you'd finished you packed all your supplies away, emptying the red tinted water from the jug and leapt to your feet, eager to distance yourself, even in this tiny space. The men, however, laughed the whole time, jeering and taunting the furious Roman. "Fucking animal," one of the men spat at the general as he now lay on his back, catching his breath. Visibly trembling with rage, Marcus forced himself to sit up, his eyes boring into every one of these bastards who had dared to put their hands on him. The disgraceful indignity these barbarians had just bestowed upon him only intensified the fury he was trying to contain. He has to keep a level head right now.

His focus shifted to you and he was taken aback when Wigmar viciously grabbed a fist full of your hair, yanking your head back so forcefully you couldn't do anything but yelp. Gods above. Is this how they treat their own people? "Next time handle this yourself," a red haired man stood in front of you and growled in your face. Marcus watched as you attempted to beg for release, only to have your words literally slapped from your mouth, the sound of a palm striking flesh louder than should have been possible. You continue to cry out in terror as you are bent over and dragged roughly by your hair from the cage. The gate slammed shut, locked once again, the encroaching night making it difficult for Marcus to see your retreating forms; all that remained were your desperate cries, piercing the otherwise still evening.

You couldn't get home quick enough. Not that you'd really considered this your "home" - just some dug out structure with a poorly maintained roof, once used for storage. Now said storage has a better residence than you. All that furnishes this place is a bed with a few fur blankets, a small table with a rickety stool and a few shelves that holds your clothes and very few personal items you have. The last of your tears had dried, leaving a stickyness to your cheeks, but your scalp is still burning.

This time you had lost a small clump of hair. Still, it could have been worse. With fatigue beginning to creep up on you, you take a seat on the low stool, pour some water from your waterskin into a bowl and begin cleaning the rags you had used on the prisoner when the door to your hut opened and a chill swept over you - but not from the night air. "Alia..." came a sickly sweet voice that instantly made your muscles size all over. Wincing internally you stand and turn to face your unwelcome guest. The tall intimidating figure filling your doorway slowly saunters over to where you stand. Just before he reaches you, you turn your back to him defiantly and sit down to continue with your task.

"What do you want, Bardulf?" you sigh, irritably. Bardulf grips your shouders, pulling you to your feet and spinning you to face him. "I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you!" he snarled, his stale breath invading your nostrils. You release a long breath and look up to meet his eyes. "That's better," Bardulf smirks. "Heard you were causing trouble tonight." "No," you shake your head. "The Roman... he wouldn't allow me to approach. I had to get help. What else was I supposed to do?"

Bardulf, still holding you in his iron grip looked you over and snickered, "Why didn't you just use your... influence on him and finally be of some use to us." Rolling your eyes, you shake yourself free of his hands and step backwards almost tripping over your stool. "You and I both know that's a load of horse shit. If I were a seeress, don't you think I would have saved myself from this hellhole before now?" "Careful..." Bardulf stood in your personal space now looking down at you with hate twisting his features. "One would think you're ungrateful of our hospitality." Adrenaline pumps through your body, making your hands shake. You clench your fists, trying to hide your fear. You want to scream at him, tell him exactly what you think of this so called "hospitality."

If being enslaved, beaten, humiliated and hated by your own people is "hospitality" then you have it in abundance. "Maybe..." Bardulf slowly ran his hands down your arms, his slimy touch like poison on your skin, "you'd prefer a different kind of hospitality." Disgusted, you open your mouth to protest but Bardluf's hands slip behind you, one on your back and one grabbing your arse. He slams you roughly against his body. You freeze in horror when you feel something hard press into your lower stomach. "Y... you wouldn't dare," you stammer, while trying to push him away. "Your father would have your balls!"

Bardulf grips your face with one hand so tightly, you hear your jaw click. His thin, pockmarked face is now an inch from yours and for a moment you fear he might actually make good on his threat. "My father won't be around much longer," he warned. "And I don't fear you like he does. Enjoy your protection for now, you little whore. When he's gone..." he turns your face and licks your cheek, repulsion and shock making you cringe as you swallow the bile rising up your throat, "you're all mine." Pain bursts in your knees as he throws you to the floor and walks away, chuckling proudly to himself. You sit in disbelief, staring at the door he'd just walked through, his ominous threat still ringing in your ears, You're all mine.

Surely when his elder brother succeeds their ailing father as chief he would still enforce his fathers rule. The only good thing to come from everyones fear of you was a command that no man shall ever wed, bed and breed you, lest you produce more of your "kind". But Bardulf had seemed so sure of his words, his intentions, and it fills your veins with icy cold dread. At a loss in this hopeless moment, all you can do is pull your scuffed knees to your chest, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself while silent tears of despair begin to fall.

The sound of dogs barking jolted Marcus from a fitful sleep. A sharp jab shoots through his skull as he sits bolt upright - momentarily confused by his surroundings. The hot sting in his thigh returns and he hisses through his teeth. Then it all comes back to him; the battle, the voice demanding his live capture, waking in this cage and... the fearful looking woman who'd treated his wound and was then dragged away, screaming. Marcus propped himself against the bars of his new abode, let his head fall back and sighed. How could he have let this happen?

It would have been better to die honourably in battle. This is his greatest shame. The barking is suddenly joined by the voices of several children nearby. Marcus watches the children playing with the dogs by some huts. It's looks so... normal; people going about their daily tasks. For the most part he is ignored, save for a few curious kids who decided to push their luck with him, only to run away in fear when he greeted them with a glower. Alone once again, Marcus' thoughts retrace the events that lead to his capture.

Could he have done anything different? Did he become to complacent on the battlefield? But the most pressing issue now is how will he get out of here. He's valuable to these people; that much is obvious otherwise his head would not still be attached to his body. But what do they want from him? If it's information, they can fuck themselves. No amount of torture would ever bring him to betray his soldiers. He'll die before that happens! But maybe neither has to happen.

If he can just find a weakness in this crude looking prison. Upon further inspection it appears to have been constructed in haste. Marcus rises to his knees, swallowing down the groan as his injured leg protests his movements with waves of pain and cramping. He tests every beam, every bar, hoping to discover a weakness somewhere. To his dismay, he finds none. Even the gate is secure. Marcus slumps down, dropping his head into his hands in frustration. A noise at the gate catches his attention. He recognises you as the same woman from last night, accompanied by the same man unlocking the gate.

As soon as you enter, he slams it shut, locks it and walks away. Yet again, you both stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before you clear your throat. "I brought you some food," you say, cautiously, setting down a bowl of stew in the centre of the cage. "I also need to change your bandage," you point to his leg after setting down a jug of water. He makes no attempt to move, to speak ... or to do anything, which you find peculiar. You decide on another approach, sitting on bent legs to seem less imposing.

You take off your bag and pull out your waterskin. "You must be thirsty," you coax gently, tossing the bottle to land at his feet. Marcus looks at the bottle, then at you before grabbing it and gulping it's contents. "You need to eat." You pick up the bowl, offering it in a gesture of goodwill. Again, silence. "You have to keep your strength up if you're going to heal." "What does it matter?" he finally speaks in a hoarse voice, narrowing his eyes at you. "If you die it will be my fault. The consequences would be... awful." You fear to think of what punishment would await you.

"You are not my responsibility, girl," the hostile man before you glowers. "But you're mine," you stressed, placing the bowl back down. "It's in your best interest to obey them. Trust me, resisting never ends well. You remember what happened last night." It wasn't a question, but a warning. Marcus can tell from your grave expression that you've suffered the ramifications of disobedience in the past. "Why?" You blink at him, confused. "Why... what?" "Why do they treat their own so abhorrently? You are one of them, are you not?"

You were not expecting him to ask questions of a personal nature. You've never considered yourself to be one of them, not since... that day. "I was born to this land and this tribe, yes..." is the best answer you can give. "So why would your own people-" "These are not my people!" you declared, indignation wrapped in your words. A flash of confusion crosses his face. "So you're a slave?" "Essentially," you respond, flatly. "What's your name, girl?" he asks after a few moments of silence. His frown softens somewhat as you search his deep brown eyes. "Why do you want to know my name?" you ask, unsure of where this conversation is heading.

"Just don't want to keep having to call you girl." After a moment of uncertainty you answer "Alia. What's yours?" "Marcus Acacius, General of the Armies of the north." You nod, pursing your lips. "Well Marcus Acacius, are you going to tear my throat out if I come any closer to tend to your leg?" Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, "Do what you have to do." He clumsily slumps to his side, still bound at his hands and feet. You edge closer, bag in hand, still weary of the man in front of you. If the stories are true these monsters cannot be trusted. Marcus inhales sharply as you carefully unwrap the bandage and begin to cleanse the deep laceration at the back of his thigh.

The silence between you both is tense and charged. What only took a few minutes to clean and redress felt like aeons. The sooner you can get away from him, the better. Marcus shuffles onto his backside as you pack your bag. As you sand to leave Marcus breaks the awkward silence. "Why do they keep me alive?" "I don't know," you shrug. "Your life is clearly of value right now... but whatever the reason, it can't be good." Marcus' jaw visibly ticks as your words sink in. "Hmmm," he nods. You walk to the gate and call for Wigmar. Grunting, he comes over to let you out. Before exiting the cage you risk a glance over your shoulder and meet Marcus' eyes. It's Almost like he is studying you and it makes you shiver.

The day drags slowly for Marcus. Exhaustion still afflicts his body and mind, resulting in him drifting off every now and then, only to wake with a jolt each time. The damp ground on which he lays serves as a reminder of his newfound situation. He lays on his left side to keep his injury dry and clean. Half asleep he's suddenly startled by a yelp close by. His vision is blurry as he tries to focus, blinking heavily to clear his head. Then he sees you - about 20 feet away - caked in mud and struggling to get to your feet. A group of young women laugh and hurl insults at you, their laughter becoming hysterical as you slip and slide in your futile attempt to regain your footing and your dignity.

Marcus assumes you had just said something to them as you stood - he's too far away to make out your words - because a blond, who seems to be their leader, is now sneering in your face. He watches the whole interaction with puzzlement and also... pity? A part of him feels slighted on your behalf. You rush away, in obvious haste to put distance between you and your tormentors, eyes landing on Marcus' as he observes from between the bars. He can see, even from this distance, the redness around your eyes as you struggle to withhold the tears that threaten to spill. You quickly disappear down the bank and into a small, shabby hut as the women walk away giggling.

The fading warmth of the low sun spills across Marcus' face, the brightness intolerable even through closed eyelids. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he slowly pulls himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the bars. Footsteps once again catch his attention, his whole body instinctually on high alert. The cage door opens and three men file in, heading straight for him. He tries to fight them but it's hopeless. Two men force Marcus to his feet, both holding him up under each arm while the third holds the gate wide open. Determined to not go easily, Marcus thrashes and struggles as he's paraded through the village towards a long, rectangular building.

Marcus takes in the environment he now stands in; multiple beds with fur blankets line both walls, the wooden walls adorned with sconces, shields and various woven tapestries. Shelves in a corner at the far end hold pottery of different sizes and a large roaring firepit crackles in the centre of the room. Across from the firepit, sat in a large wooden chair draped in furs is an imposing but aged looking man wearing a dark green tunic, cinched at the waist by a thick leather belt. A fur pelt covers his shoulders and a gold band sits on his wrist. Marcus stares impassively at the man he can only assume is the chief.

Despite being in terrible pain, Marcus forces himself to stand tall, shoulders pulled back in a show of confidence and pride. The chief makes a show of giving Marcus a full once over, then with a mocking tone, says, "The General of Rome." Snide laughter arises from several men also present. "And you are...?" Marcus responds with a curl of his lip. "I am Adhelm, chief of the Gutones," the old man replied with an air of superiority. Marcus scoffed at the display of this mans self importance and for that he received a backhander from one of the men who brought him here. "Show some respect to your superiors!" he ordered in a low tone. Marcus turn his head forward, spitting blood onto the floor. "What do you want with me?"

Adhelm rose from his seat and stood face to face with Marcus, his eyes blazing with hate. "I will look into the eyes of my greatest enemy before he dies." Marcus returned the look of contempt but remained silent. "You and your scourge have bled the world dry! You have murdered, enslaved, defiled and brutalized us for so long. Now I shall have my vengeance." Adhelm returned to his chair with satisfaction written all over his weathered face. "So you spared my life just to take it?" Marcus huffed. "Exactly," Adhelm smirked. "Alia!" he barked while picking up the goblet from the arm of his chair. Marcus hadn't even noticed you tucked into the shadows by the wall.

His eyes followed as you hurried over and began filling the chiefs cup with wine, then slunk off with your head down. Adhelm continued, "Your death will send a message to your army and to Rome. At the next battle you will be presented to your men and then I will take great pleasure of relieving you of your head and limbs." Marcus felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach churning with both dread and anger. To be slain like a beast in front of his own men is unthinkable! His mere presence amongst his troops gives both inspiration and hope, so for them to have to witness the demise of their commander will significantly impact them.

But of course, that's the whole point; to crush moral and instil fear in your enemy. This piece of horse shit knows what he's doing. Marcus spat at he feet of the chief, screwing his face up in revulsion. "You're all nothing more than a bunch of barbaric heathens! You are mistaken if you believe my death will bring you victory. All you will do is bring the wrath of Rome upon you and your people to the likes of which have never been seen!" Adhelm raised his nose in the air, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. "We shall see, general. Take him back." With a wave of the chiefs hand Marcus is escorted out of the building and back to his prison.

All through the heated exchange you kept your head down, feigning disinterest while listening intently to every venomous word thrown back and forth by the two men. The silver lining to being practically invisible to these people meant you'd often overheard sensitive conversations regarding war stratagies, problems within the community, and even issues of a more intimate nature. You were never considered to be of any significance or even a threat, which is why you are now present while Adhelm dismissed all of his men to talk privately to his sons. "Kuno, Bardulf..." the chief began as he slouched back in his chair, trying to, but failing to stifle a deep, rattling cough, which resulted in him bringing up a bit of blood.

After a moment he continued, " You must both be made aware that this next battle will likely be my last." At that your head tipped up involuntarily, cautiously observing the conversation. "Father, you can't-" Adhelm raised a hand to silence Kuno. "I have accepted that I shall die soon. Either from battle or from what ails me. The future of our people, our way of life will depend on you, Kuno. You are strong and capable." Adhelm then looked to his second born. "Bardulf, I expect you to aid and council your chief accordingly. He will need all the support he can garner." "Of course, father," Bardulf bowed his head, reverently, "We will not fail you." Adhelm stood, walked over to his sons and clasped them both on their shoulders. "I am proud of you both."

You couldn't help but scoff quietly, rolling your eyes. Proud? Of what? Raising two arseholes. The second one being the cause of most of your misery for years. Maybe your reaction hadn't been as quiet as you'd thought because Bardulf is now glaring at you with pure detestation. You freeze, gulping down the lump in your throat while trying to remain calm. While Adhelm and Kuno continue to talk Bardulfs wrathful expression slowly dissolves into a sickening grin, his icy blue eyes dragging along your body, making your skin crawl. Unable to stand his gaze any longer, you drop your head down, willing the knot in your stomach to unclench. You're sure this isn't the end of it, judging by that maniacal grin; a promise that you won't get off that easily.

Series Masterlist Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Ch 4

@myownwholewildworld @imherefordeanandbones @picketniffler @h0w-1-wanna-l1v3 @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup @meetmeatyourworst @yorksgirl @joeldjarin @echo-ethe @whirlwindrider29

[pascalhowlett]

Ethereal (Chapter One)

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first time posting a novel length fan fiction on Tumblr, so be patient with me! If you would like to read this on A03, you can find that here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 1! Word Count: 5k

More parts will be added as I edit them. Please let me know what you think! :)

Numidia, a small territory on the coast of Africa, was her home. Quaint and full of life, settled on the Moulouya River, it had everything she needed. Numidia was home to her entire family, amongst them her beloved Atticus.

Her life was idyllic until Rome decided to invade the land. The attack, a nightmare that replayed in her dreams every night, remained vividly etched in her memory. The Romans burned down their homes, cast their belongings into the river, and herded them onto their boats like cattle. Some whispered that those who died had been granted a mercy that was denied to those who were taken captive.

She vowed never to forgive the man who had killed Atticus. He had been trying to save her brother, a young boy no older than ten, who had wandered too close to the burning structures. Atticus, seeing the fear in her brother’s eyes, had rushed forward, shielding him with his own body. The Roman soldier, a young recruit, panicked and fired an arrow. It found its mark, piercing Atticus's chest with a sickening thud.

Cecilia, witnessing the scene from a distance, felt the world tilt on its axis. Atticus, her lover, her protector, lay sprawled on the ground, his blood staining the earth a crimson hue. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met hers before the light faded from them. The sight of Atticus, his lifeblood ebbing away in the dust, was a wound that would never heal. The image of his lifeless body, the terror in his eyes, haunted her dreams, a constant reminder of the brutality of the Roman invasion.

"It's not your time, flower," Atticus had told her as she held his limp body close, "the sun always rises after the darkest night."

Atticus, a poet in his own right, had always possessed a way with words. Even in death, his words continued to resonate within her, an indelible mark upon her soul.

But, my dear Atticus, when will that sun rise? She asked herself that question every night.

Once the people of Numidia were taken to Rome, she was sold into slavery. No one else from her family had survived the journey. She was sold to the lenos of Rome's biggest brothel, becoming a slave to the highest bidder. She wasn't proud of the things she had done, and would do. Even now, she couldn't fully reconcile with her actions that kept her alive.

When the girls of the brothel were informed that Emperor Geta was seeking a wife, the news spread like wildfire. Every single woman who was unmarried and childless was vying for the position. Except for her. Cecilia’s thoughts never left Atticus. She was convinced she could never love another man. Marriage, especially to the murderers of her beloved, was the furthest thing from her mind. However, it seemed Emperor Geta was drawn to those who didn't immediately fall at his feet.

"Geta has ordered that we present him with our finest woman," the men discussed as they pulled Cecilia aside, their eyes leering over her body like vultures circling prey. "And who better than our youngest, newest acquisition? She's fresh meat, still trembling. He'll love that.” 

“Besides," one of them added with a cruel smirk, "the other lupanars always get the best ones. It's time we showed them what we have."

Emperor Geta arrived at the brothel that evening. All the girls greeted him, flaunting their breasts and wearing nothing to attract his attention. Geta ignored them, marching straight forward to where she rested on the large bed in her gown.

"She's our best one, your highness," the lenos told Emperor Geta as he entered the room, "you won't find another like her anywhere else."

Geta's eyes met hers, and a chill ran down her spine. He was a bloodthirsty, cynical man. His eyes made that abundantly clear. Like those of a predator sizing up its prey, his eyes lingered on her lips, then slowly traced the curve of her neck, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Geta leaned closer, his voice a low growl, “Speak.”

“I have no name for you,” she spat back, her voice trembling with defiance. 

“Her name is Cecilia,” the lenos corrected, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

For a fleeting moment, she swore she saw a glimmer of adoration in Geta's eyes, as if he cared or even liked her, just for a brief instant. But that was quickly replaced by a proud snarl.

"Look at me," Geta commanded, placing his hand on her chin, "you shall be my wife. This is an honor. I paid an awful lot for you."

"I am no empress. Nor will I ever be your wife," she declared, "perhaps death would be a higher honor."

He laughed at that, sliding her gown off her shoulders. "You will be my wife. I would watch my tongue, darling. There are many women who would kill to be here in your position."

"Pick someone else," she told him, his hand roaming across her chest.

"No," he drawled, his finger tracing up to her jawline once more, "I don't think I will."

She felt herself shiver, both from the sudden chill of exposed skin and the fear that was slowly consuming her.

"I like this one," Geta said to the lenos, "I like women with a little bit of fight in them. But nonetheless, she will be tamed."

Even his hand was icy as it slid across her skin, pulling her gown completely away. She was accustomed to such exposure, but his gaze made her feel anxious, unsafe. He smiled as he touched her, as if he derived pleasure from her reluctance. "You'll do just fine," he observed, his eyes lingering on her body, "the Roman people will love you."

She remained silent. He saw her not as a woman, but as an object, a prize to be displayed, a tool to be used. He saw her as a symbol of his power, a testament to his dominance. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying aspect of it all. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor, her mind racing as she tried to ignore what was happening. Escape seemed impossible, a distant, impossible dream. But she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, of seeing him break her. 

Then, she looked up at him, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I will not rest," she said to him, her voice low and lethal, "I will fight you and your ideals until the day I die."

Geta, taken aback by her unexpected defiance, was momentarily speechless. He had expected her to cower, to submit. Instead, she met his gaze with a fire that mirrored his own, a fire that ignited a strange, unsettling thrill within him. This was no ordinary woman. This was a caged bird, desperate to break free, and she would not go down without a fight. He found himself strangely intrigued, drawn to this woman who dared to defy him, who dared to challenge his authority.

His touch lingered over her breast, then moved to run a finger over her lips. “You’re a charming little dove, aren’t you?” He asked, his voice a low growl, "But doves are meant to be caged, caged and admired."

Cecilia felt another shiver crawl down her spine, not from the cold, but from the chilling amusement in his eyes. His words, though simple, held a sinister undertone. She knew, with vast certainty, that he was not merely admiring her. He was assessing her, sizing her up, seeing just how much she could handle. 

Geta leaned closer, his breath against her neck as he placed a tantalizing kiss there. "You have a spirit," he murmured, "a spirit that needs to be…refined." He ran a finger along the peak of her breast, his touch a burning brand against her sensitive skin. "You will learn to appreciate your place, Cecilia."

She closed her eyes, the image of Atticus, his blood staining the dust, flashing before her. 

"You will learn to obey," Geta repeated, his voice hardening.

Cecilia opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a defiant stare. "Never," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Geta's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint entering their depths. "We shall see about that," he hissed, his grip tightening on her arm. The air in the room crackled with tension. The music, once a vibrant backdrop to the festivities, had faded into an eerie silence. All eyes were fixed on the Emperor and this defiant woman, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

Cecilia, trapped in his iron grip, felt a surge of adrenaline. This was a battle she knew she could not win.

She was taken to the palace the next morning. They dressed her in silk white tunics, preparing her for her marriage to Emperor Geta. A handmaiden bathed her, dressed her, and braided her hair before adorning her with gold jewelry.

She barely recognized herself in the mirror as Emperor Geta stood behind her.

"You look beautiful, Cecilia," Geta smirked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I feel like a doll," she gritted her teeth, attempting to lean away from him.

"Perhaps you are a doll, dulcissima," he whispered in her ear, "You're a puppet, my puppet. Don't forget that."

The smile he gave her in the mirror was nauseating. His words sounded like an unwanted oath, a promise to torture her for the rest of her days.

"I want you to know one name before we wed,  Geta," she said to him, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

He remained silent, awaiting her response.

"Atticus," she said, "that was the name of my lover, before you sent your men to kill him."

"You dare mention your past lover to me?" Geta asked, his voice laced with momentary anger.

“You will never be him, nor will you ever have my love the way he did,” she said. 

Geta's face contorted in a mask of fury. His grip tightened around her waist, his knuckles white. "You will not speak that name in this palace," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. 

Cecilia met his gaze unflinchingly, a defiant spark igniting in her eyes. Geta's fury escalated. He released her abruptly, his eyes burning with rage. "You will learn to obey," he growled, his voice echoing through the room. "You will learn to fear me."

Cecilia watched him storm out of the room, his footsteps heavy and menacing. She sank to the floor, the weight of her despair momentarily crushing her. She prayed for peace, for just one beacon of hope in the unrelenting darkness that seemed to be her new life.

The wedding was a spectacle of Roman opulence, a grand display of power and wealth. Cecilia, adorned in a heavy silk gown that felt more like a prison than attire, stood before Geta, her heart a hollow ache. The ceremony was a blur of Latin incantations and the clinking of gold. Geta, his face a mask of forced amusement, placed the heavy gold band on her finger, the touch of his skin sending a wave of disgust through her. 

As Geta leaned in, Cecilia felt nausea wash over her. His breath, heavy with wine and the scent of expensive perfumes, reeked of power and entitlement. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the inevitable. His lips met hers, a forceful, demanding kiss that tasted of metal and regret. His lips on hers felt more like a death wish than a promise to a lifelong commitment. She felt that he had won before she even had a chance to fight. 

Cecilia's body recoiled instinctively, but she remained frozen, a captive bird caught in a hunter's snare. Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, yet she was utterly powerless. The taste of him, the metallic tang of his wine, invaded her senses, a grotesque parody of intimacy that was on display for the people of Rome. 

A single, silent tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her cheek. It was a tear of disgust, of despair, of a love lost and a life stolen. Pure helplessness. In that moment, Cecilia felt a profound sense of violation, her spirit crushed beneath the weight of her gilded cage. Emperor Geta noticed her tear, a small smirk plastered across his face at the sight of it.

He whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “caged, little dove. Caged.” 

She was no longer just a pretty face, but one of politics and cynical tyranny.

As the celebrations commenced, Cecilia stood apart, observing the many people who congratulated Geta. She watched the revelers with a detached gaze, their laughter and cheers sounding hollow and meaningless. Then, she saw him.

General Marcus Acacius stood apart from the throng, his gaze fixed on the festivities with an air of weary amusement. He was a striking figure, tall and imposing. His face was etched with the lines of battle, and he adorned a pair of piercing brown eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world. There was a melancholic air about him, a sense of quiet strength beneath the surface. Cecilia found herself inexplicably drawn to him.

To General Acacius, she stood apart from the other women, a solitary figure amidst the swirling gowns and leering faces. Her posture was defiant, her gaze distant. Her skin, pale as moonlight, was etched with a sadness that mirrored his own insecurities. Acacius had seen many women in his life, women of privilege and women of the streets, but none had affected him like this in a mere glance. There was an ethereal quality about her, a wildness that resonated deep within his soul. It was as if he was looking at a creature from another world, a creature both fragile and fierce. A creature that must be discovered. 

He found himself drawn to her, a strange pull that defied logic. It was as if a dormant part of himself, a part he had long believed dead, was stirring to life. He watched her, mesmerized, as she moved through the crowd, a ghost of truth haunting the edges of the faux celebration.

Later that evening, while Geta was occupied with his guests, Cecilia found herself drawn towards the gardens, a place of peace and silence. She wandered aimlessly, the weight of her gilded cage heavy upon her. She took her brown hair out of the loosely woven braids, wiping the makeup from her face. And there, beneath the starlight, she encountered him again. General Acacius was gazing at the stars, a pensive expression on his face.

"A beautiful night," he remarked, his voice a low rumble to not draw attention to the two of them. 

Cecilia, startled, turned to face him. "Indeed," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

A comfortable silence fell between them. For the first time since her capture, Cecilia felt a sense of calm, a momentary respite from the suffocating weight of her guilt and fear. The one thing she had prayed for.

"You seem out of place here," Acacius observed, his gaze lingering on her.

Acacius, a man accustomed to observing behavior, recognizes this difference in Cecilia. He sees a lost spirit, a soul that yearns for something more. This, in turn, piques his interest and draws him toward her like a moth to a flame. 

Cecilia managed a small smile. "I most certainly am, I did not ask for this."

As they spoke, Cecilia noticed a subtle shift in his gaze, a fleeting hardness in his eyes that was quickly masked by a practiced indifference. Something about him, a certain arrogance in his bearing, a cruel set to his jaw, seemed strangely familiar. Then, it hit her with the force of a physical blow.

The engraved insignia on his breastplate. She had seen it before. On the breastplates of the Roman soldiers who had pierced Atticus through the chest. It was the symbol of the Third Legion, the legion that had ravaged her homeland, the legion that had taken everything from her. Panic clawed at her throat as if it were swelling shut. This man, this man who had offered her a fleeting sense of solace, was the enemy. He was the embodiment of everything she hated, everything she had sworn to fight.

Her carefully constructed facade shattered. The calm she had fleetingly experienced evaporated, replaced by a sense of dread. 

Acacius, oblivious to the turmoil raging within her, continued to speak, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl. "This city," he mused, "it suffocates the soul."

Cecilia forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice trembling slightly. "It certainly does."

But, she was unable to hide her fury. Cecilia had always been an impatient girl, who was never one to hold her tongue. “You’re the leader of the Roman army, yes?”

Acacius's eyes narrowed, the amusement fading from his expression. "And if I am?" he inquired, his voice indifferent.

Cecilia felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. The truth was out. "The Third Legion," she hissed, "The one that destroyed Numidia. You were there, weren't you?"

Acacius's eyes narrowed further, a predatory glint entering his gaze. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You think too much, little bird. I am the General of the Roman Armies, of course I was there. I ordered the attack.”

Cecilia felt a chill crawl down her spine, loss still gripping her heart. The blood drained from her face, leaving her feeling faint. The man who had offered her a brief moment of solace, who had seemed to understand her pain, was the architect of her suffering. He was the monster who had taken everything from her. Anger, cold and furious, surged through her. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tear him apart with her bare hands. But she knew better. This was not the time for defiance.

"Perhaps," Acacius continued, his voice a silken caress, "we should have a discussion.”

He reached out, his hand hovering over hers. Cecilia flinched, fear and uncertainty overtaking all of her other emotions. How could she trust him? 

“A discussion of what, General?” her voice was bitter, “how your army killed everyone I loved? And destroyed my home?”

Acacius's smile faltered, a flicker of something akin to guilt crossing his features. He withdrew his hand, his gaze hardening. "Sometimes," he said, his voice low and seemingly insecure, "the ends justify the means."

Cecilia scoffed, the sound bitter and harsh. "What ends could possibly justify the slaughter of innocents? The murder of my lover?”

Acacius remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ground. Then, he looked up, but was still unable to meet her eyes. "The preservation of Rome," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, as if his words were rehearsed. "The expansion of our empire. These are noble goals."

"Noble goals?" she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she laughed. "Goals built on the bones of the innocent? On the tears of the bereaved?"

Acacius remained unfazed. "Sentimentality has no place in matters of state," he said coldly. "The weak must be sacrificed for the greater good."

However, Cecilia sensed a dissonance in his words, a disconnect between the icy facade he presented and the flicker of something akin to regret that had crossed his features. She sensed a warmness within him that she could not quite pinpoint. He was playing a role, reciting a well-rehearsed script as if he had known it his whole life. But beneath the surface, Cecilia sensed a deeper, more complex emotion, something that hinted at a man who was not entirely comfortable with the atrocities he had committed.

Suddenly, Geta appeared in the garden, a look of enraged fury on his face. He saw Cecilia standing with the General, his wife not among the revelers as she should be. His jealousy, like a venomous snake, coiled within him.

"Cecilia!" Geta growled, his voice echoing through the garden. "What in the name of the gods is the meaning of this?!"

Cecilia's heart pounded against her ribs. This was a disaster. Acacius, however, remained stoic. He turned to face Geta, a cool smile playing on his lips. "Enjoying the festivities, Emperor?" he inquired, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness.

The tension in the air crackled as Emperor Geta ignored General Acacius’ remark.

“My dear,” Geta said to Cecilia, “there is someone I want you to meet.”

In walked Emperor Caracalla, Geta’s older brother. If she thought Emperor Geta was mad and cynical, she had not yet felt the wrath of Emperor Caracalla. Caracalla’s face was etched with a brooding intensity as he strode into the room. He was a man of imposing stature, his eyes cold and calculating just like his brother, but in a more intense way. Caracalla surveyed the room, his gaze finally settling on Cecilia.

Geta, noticing the intensity of his brother's stare, giving  Cecilia a possessive squeeze around the waist. "Caracalla," he said, "meet Cecilia, my wife."

Caracalla's gaze lingered on Cecilia, a predatory glint in his eyes. She was not sure if he wanted to touch her or kill her. He stepped closer, his voice a low growl, "So, this is the woman who has captivated my brother's attention?"

Cecilia forced herself to meet his gaze. Caracalla's eyes were unsettling, a chilling mixture of lust and desire. She felt a wave of apprehension wash over her. This encounter had the potential to be far more dangerous than she had anticipated. Caracalla did not care about weddings, he would have what he wanted.

Geta, misinterpreting her fear as shyness, chuckled. "Don't be intimidated, Cecilia," he said, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Caracalla is merely admiring your beauty."

Caracalla's smile was a wolfish grin. "Indeed," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over Cecilia's form with a predatory gleam. "You are a captivating creature."

Cecilia felt a surge of dread. This was the opening act of a dangerous game, a game where she was the prize. “I know all about you,” Cecilia said to Caracalla, “you came to the brothel every night. You’re a man of the streets, Emperor. You shared a bed with almost every woman in the lupanar.”

The room fell silent. Geta's jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. Caracalla, however, remained unfazed. A slow smile spread across his lips, revealing a set of sharp yellow teeth.

"Indeed I have," he acknowledged with a laugh, his voice a low growl. "I have my pleasures. And I have a keen eye for…interesting specimens." He stepped closer to  Cecilia. "You, my dear, are quite intriguing."

Geta, furious, stepped between them. "Caracalla! This is my wife!"

Caracalla chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Relax, brother," he said dismissively. "I merely meant to express my admiration. We did share a bed a time or two at the lupanar.”

Geta's face contorted in a mask of fury, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light. Caracalla, sensing his brother's rage, leaned back, his eyes still fixed on Cecilia, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

Cecilia, meanwhile, couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. Although the air in the room seemed to thicken, the irony of the situation was too much to bear. She was caught in the crossfire of a deeply personal and potentially explosive conflict between the two brothers, the two emperors.

Geta stepped even closer towards Caracalla. "You dare to flaunt your…associations in front of my wife? Your associations with my wife?”

Caracalla, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. "And why not? After all, we both know the pleasures of the flesh, brother. You wouldn't deny it."

But Geta’s gaze lingered on Cecilia, a possessive gleam in his eyes. Cecilia could still feel the tension in the air, the atmosphere thick with unspoken threats. She had just thrown a match into a powder keg, and she had no idea what the consequences would be.

Acacius, observing the scene unfold, remained calm. He watched the brothers gripe with a grim satisfaction. He had expected this. These two brothers, bound by blood yet driven by insatiable ambition and incontinent desire, were a powder keg waiting to explode. Cecilia, with her defiant spirit, had just ignited the fuse.

He watched, his eyes narrowed as the brothers sparred. Acacius, a seasoned warrior, understood the dynamics of power. He had seen empires rise and fall, witnessed the corrosive influence of ambition on even the strongest men. Geta and Caracalla, with their unchecked power and ruthless ambition, were a ticking time bomb. Their sibling rivalry was fueled by jealousy and greed.

Acacius knew adding Cecilia to the mix was only going to cause their empire to crumble even quicker. He had no illusions about the brothers' intentions with her. They saw Cecilia as a prize, a symbol of their power and dominance. After all, an empress would fortify their power. But Cecilia, with her quiet defiance, was more than just a trophy. She was a catalyst.

Acacius, a man weary of war and the endless cycle of violence, saw an opportunity in this chaos. He could use this brewing conflict to his advantage, to further his own agenda, to perhaps even restore some semblance of order in a world consumed by greed and ambition. He knew that playing this game would be dangerous, a high-stakes gamble. But Acacius had always been a gambler, a man who thrived on uncertainty. And in this dangerous game of thrones, he was determined to play his hand. 

Caracalla's smile vanished, replaced by a cold fury as he spoke to his brother. "She is a prize, Geta," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "And prizes are meant to be admired, to be…appreciated."

Geta's grip tightened on Cecilia's arm, his knuckles white. "She is my property," he snarled, his eyes blazing with rage. "And you will not touch her."

The tension in the room was palpable. Cecilia, caught in the crossfire, rolled her eyes. “I am owned by no one,” she said, yanking her arm away from Geta.

Geta staggered back, his face contorted in a mask of fury. He had never been defied like this, not by anyone. His eyes, blazing with rage, darted between Cecilia and Caracalla. "You will regret those words, woman," he spat..

Caracalla, however, found himself intrigued by Cecilia's defiance. He admired her courage, her refusal to be cowed by her captors. This was not the meek, submissive girl he had initially expected.

"Now this," Caracalla mused, a slow smile spreading across his lips, "is far more interesting."

Caracalla stepped towards Cecilia, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "You have a spirit, little bird," he purred, his voice a silken caress. "A spirit that needs to be… tamed."

Cecilia felt a shiver crawl down her spine. Caracalla's gaze, intense and unsettling, made her skin crawl. Geta, seeing the predatory gleam in his brother's eyes, knew he had to act. He stepped between them once again, his hand hovering near the hilt of his dagger. "This is enough," Geta growled, his voice thick with barely suppressed rage. "This is my wedding feast, not the gladiatorial arena."

Caracalla, however, ignored his brother. He reached out, his hand brushing against Cecilia's cheek. "You will learn to obey," he whispered, his voice a low growl. "I will teach you if my brother cannot."

Cecilia’s heart was pounding like a drum. She was trapped in a web of lies and deceit, a fresh target. And she knew, with an unwavering certainty, that this was only the beginning.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension, "Perhaps a little decorum is in order, brothers."

All eyes turned towards General Acacius, his face a mask of impassivity. His presence was radiating an aura of calm authority. Geta and Caracalla, momentarily stunned by Acacius's intervention, exchanged wary glances. Acacius, a respected military leader, held a certain respect even within the Imperial court.

"A wedding celebration should be a joyous occasion," Acacius continued, his voice low and measured, "not a display of…sibling rivalry."

He turned his attention to Cecilia, his gaze searching hers. "You seem distressed, my lady. Perhaps a moment of fresh air would do you good."

General Acacius  offered her his arm, his gaze challenging Geta. Geta, still seething with anger, hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. Cecilia, seizing the opportunity, accepted Acacius's offer. She placed her hand on his broad arm, feeling a surge of odd relief in his touch. Acacius, she realized, might be her only hope.

As they walked away from the tense scene, Cecilia turned to Acacius, her voice barely a whisper, "Thank you."

Acacius smiled faintly. "Consider it a…favor."

He knew this was far from over for her. The brothers, their rivalry now further inflamed, would not easily forget this incident. But for now, he had provided Cecilia with a brief respite, a moment to gather her thoughts.

“You seem troubled,” Acacius said to her, not releasing her arm. Cecilia did not pull away, but seeked refuge in the feeling of his strong bicep. 

“Very troubled,” she replied, “I did not ask for any of this. Death would be a privilege compared to what I will face tonight with Geta.”

Acacius's gaze softened. He understood the fear that gripped her, the brothers were relentless and would use her to please even their wildest fantasies. He had seen that same fear in the eyes of countless women who crossed their path.

"You are not alone," he said, his voice a low rumble, a promise whispered in the night. "I will not let them harm you."

Cecilia looked up at him, surprised. He was an enemy, a Roman general, yet he offered her an immeasurable amount of comfort, a promise of protection. It was a strange sensation, a flicker of hope in the midst of despair.

"Thank you," she whispered again, her voice barely audible.

Acacius turned his head to face her. "Consider it a…debt paid."

Cecilia's eyebrows arched. "A debt?"

Acacius's gaze met hers, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "Let's just say," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have my own reasons for wanting to keep the peace with you, at least for now."

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: You are a new maid for General Marcus Acacius.]

Dubcon smut

“Are you married?”

“Widow” you whispered.

“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then..”

What you would give to have a different life…

Constantly sold to be placed as a maid for the different rich men of Rome, except this time you were placed with someone you didn’t expect.

General Marcus Acacius

The man was a well known respected gladiator yet it was the last place you wanted to be. He was constantly buying any woman he wanted for self pleasure, you hated the idea of it. Thankfully servants weren’t meant for that type of pleasure, still, you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

Standing in a room alone you soon were met with an older gentleman who explained to you that the General would be out very soon. Why the hell were you nervous?

After what felt like forever the front door slowly opened and there he was, General Marcus Acacius. Wearing white and gold his presence made your heart skip a beat. Walking towards you he stopped just a foot before you, his eyes taking in everything he could as you looked away intimated by him.

“You must be the new servant”

You swallowed nervously looking back up at him.

“Yes”

His eyes trailed over you as if he was expecting something else..someone else.

“Is there a problem General-“

“Marcus” he quickly corrected you.

“Marcus” you whispered slightly hesitant, it wasn’t common to be on a first name basis as a servant.

“Nothing is wrong at all. You are just not what I expected..” not for a servant anyways, he thought.

Maybe a mistress, a prostitute but not a servant. Servants were usually much older women in their seventies who strictly were made to clean and cook.

“I apologize if-“

“Don’t apologize. I’m not disappointed” he assured you.

“One of the other servants will come find you and explain your duties and where you will be staying, I expect to see you bright and early in the morning”

“Yes, Marcus.” You nodded and quietly bowed before he took one last look at you and left the room.

Marcus went on to his duties for the evening and that night was welcomed in a room by a group of young women. The women bought for him as a gift from a man that felt he was in debt to him. Gifted with women was a usual thing for Marcus, yet was never spoken of.

Miriam was the servant who introduced herself to you and explained everything that would be needed from you. She warned you that you may encounter ‘certain female guests’ from time to time. It didn’t surprise you, that’s what these men did.

Miriam explained to you that Marcus liked his food a certain way, his room set up a certain way and his warm baths at a certain time.

She explained that some times when entering his room he might be with certain guests in view but she reminded you to ignore it.

“You do not look, you do not speak to him, you knock, you walk in and you walk out. Understood?”

“Yes” you nodded as she handed you things that you needed to leave in his room and patted your back before walking away.

Taking a deep breath you knocked on his door and anxiously waited to hear his voice.

“Come in!” He called out. Quickly you opened the door and just as you were warned, there he was on the bed with three women. Instantly you froze feeling awkward as you rushed to the other end of the room and placed his belongings down. Hearing the women laugh together you turned your back to them and continued your duties. Never had you been in a situation like this, the only time you had ever been sexual with a man was with your husband whom died years ago. You couldn’t understand how women enjoyed being sexual peasants to these men, of course the luxury that came with it must’ve been nice but you despised men for this. For a moment you turned, your gaze catching him sticking his finger in a woman’s mouth. Whatever he was doing you could tell he liked, the look on his face almost hypnotizing you. Something seemed so erotic about General Marcus when suddenly his eyes caught yours. Quickly you turned away ready to leave before accidentally tripping over your own foot and falling to your knees. Marcus quickly sat up slowly pushing the woman to the side as you gathered what you had dropped and quickly stood up walking towards the door. Yet, just before you could reach it, he caught up to you.

“Are you alright?” He tilted his head looking down at you.

“I apologize I was just-“

“Are you alright?” He repeated his question sternly.

“Yes” you answered without looking up at him.

“I didn’t mean to…interrupt”

“You didn’t interrupt anything” he assured you. Marcus could tell this wasn’t something you were familiar with in any way yet before you he could say another word you quickly excused yourself and bowed. Marcus watched as you ran out closing the door behind you while one of the women from the bed stood up and came up behind him.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” His attention elsewhere.

“Not tonight” his response taking them by surprise.

“Seek another” the women knew they couldn’t argue. Quickly grabbing their clothes they ran out of the room unaware of where to go.

Standing in the kitchen with Miriam you watched as the women whom were just naked in the Generals room came running down the hall and out the front door.

“That’s a first” she uttered under her breath when Marcus appeared at the door.

“General Marcus” Miriam quickly stood up straight nudging you with her elbow. With your chin up beside her you stood still as he walked towards the both of you, stopping right before you.

“May I have a moment alone with my dear new servant?” He looked at Miriam whom seemed rather shocked by his request but quickly she obliged and left the room.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” You asked anxiously. His eyes squinted as he stared down at you, a smirk slowly appearing on his lips.

“Did you want to join us?”

Your eyes widened by his question.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“I saw you looking-“

“And I-I apologize for that. I will never do that again, it was a mistake and-“

“You were curious” he sounded amused.

“No” you attempted to defend yourself but you didn’t even sound convincing to yourself. Marcus took another step closer, his body an inch away from touching yours.

“Tell me..” he slowly tilted your face up to him.

“Are you married?”

“Widow” you whispered.

“Ah…I take you haven’t been touched in some time then”

“Excuse me” you moved your face away from his hand.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help but notice when a woman is lacking physical touch-“

“I am not” you lied. God, it was like he could see through you.

“Is that so?” His large hand took hold of your face again as you looked up at him. Your lips moved but you didn’t make a sound, yet you didn’t have to. Marcus smiled and slowly brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. Never had you experienced this in any other place as a servant, it wasn’t suppose to happen. You would be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tingly sensation in between your thighs, a form of excitement you hadn’t felt in years and you couldn’t control it.

“Would you like me to make you cum?” His question snapping you out of your trance. You instantly took a step back and gasped.

“Excuse me- what do you think I’m here for?”

“To serve me, yet here I am asking to serve you” you shook your head in confusion. Confused that he spoke to you like if you were a mistress, more confused that part of you wanted to say yes.

“I have to go” you panted before running off to your bedroom not caring about any rules when leaving his presence. General Marcus was left with amusement and didn’t say a word.

The next day you woke up thinking over and over what Marcus had said to you the night before. You found yourself having a dream of him that you didn’t expect to have, a dream that left you…aroused. Why the hell were you so turned on by this man? This wasn’t like you in any way.

Meeting Miriam in the kitchen she looked over at you curiously as you prepped for the day.

“Good morning”

“Morning” you uttered softly.

“What happened last night?” She asked distracting you.

“Nothing, why?”

“I didn’t see you again after General Marcus spoke to you and he has specifically requested for you to prep his bath after he’s finished training in the evening”

“Isn’t it suppose to be you today?”

“Mhm” she nodded.

“Just don’t say too much, don’t look him in the eyes and make sure you always address him as the General” she whispered unaware that Marcus had already strictly approved you calling him by his first name.

“Yes, thank you” you whispered with a nod as you began your duties.

As the day went on you couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, you couldn’t stop thinking about what he could possibly want later on that evening. The thought of facing him made your heart race, were you suppose to act as if he hadn’t asked you such a vulgar direct question?

That evening you decided to get a head start and have his room prepped trying to find a way to avoid seeing him.

Of course, that didn’t work.

Humming to yourself you placed his freshly clean clothes on the bed as he walked in the room silently. Slowly walking towards you he waited until he was just a foot behind you and cleared his throat. With a loud gasp you jumped with your hand on your chest.

“Marcus!” You turned to him not expecting him to have been in the room let alone so close. He chuckled with his hands behind his back, moving closer, towering over you.

“Did I frighten you, my dear?” Your eyes tracing over his armor he wore ready to train.

“N-no…I just…I wasn’t expecting you just yet”

His tongue sliding slowly between his teeth as he looked down at you analyzing your every feature, taking in your every breath.

“Marcus…I believe there was a misunderstanding last night”

“Is that what you think?” He bit his bottom lip with a smirk.

“I am simply your servant, no more than that.”

You spoke hesitantly taking a step back.

“Then answer me this question” you took a deep breath wondering what his question would be.

“Did you feel something…between your legs when I spoke to you last night?” He moved closer, his question making it hard to catch your breath.

“Did you feel an ache to be touched..” his words somehow once again making that very same feeling form.

“Stop it” you whispered practically rolling your eyes back.

“I haven’t even begun” his lips brushed against your temple, searching for yours when he suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you. In shock you whimpered unable to push him away. Once he pulled away he left you gasping for air, a look of confusion as your heart raced.

“What are you doing?!”

He pulled you against him as you placed your hands on his chest attempting to push him away. The more he touched you the weaker you felt, he knew you wanted him just as much. But you couldn’t let this happen, the only man to ever kiss you and touch you was your husband. For seven years since he died, you had never wanted another. This wasn’t right to want this, let alone with a man who only wanted to use you. Once again you attempted to push him away but his hold was much stronger.

“I will not be one of your whores!” You yelled when he reached behind you and grabbed a chunk of your hair, with a hard tug he made you gasp. He didn’t say a word, forcing you to look up at him you felt his hand slowly make its way beneath your dress.

“What are you doing?!” You whispered as he parted your legs with his foot.

“I’m gonna make you cum-“

“No” your hands attempting to reach for his but he tugged at your hair harder making you scream. His hand brushing along your inner thighs until he slid his fingers beneath the fabric that covered your womanhood. His eyes focused deeply on yours as they widened feeling his finger slide between your folds. He moaned deeply once he felt how aroused you already were.

“Marcus..please-“

“Shhh” he slowly began to move his finger in a circular motion on your clit watching as you became hooked on the feeling he was giving you. A soft moan escaping your lips before you once again attempted to push his hand away but again he yanked at your hair making you whimper. Moving his hand faster he felt your legs grow weaker, his legs holding yours against the wall as you began to pant uncontrollably.

“Marcus wait-“ your hands now grabbing onto him as he stared down at you serious waiting for you to explode. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to, he breathed heavily moving his hand as fast as he could when your legs suddenly bent and gave out. A feeling you never thought you would feel again taking over your entire core, you moaned loudly as Marcus held you balanced between him and the wall.

“Oh my-“ your legs shaking not allowing you to stand straight as the electric waves of pleasure ran through your body down to your toes. Attempting to catch your breath Marcus unexpectedly picked you up and sat you on the near by windowsill immediately removing his armor.

“Wait, we’re not suppose to-“ aggressively he grabbed you by your legs and pulled you towards him.

“Marcus!” You gasped just as you felt him plunge into you. Both of his hands dug into your hair as he gritted his teeth and continued to slam himself into you. Locking eyes with you he made you take all of him deeply. You couldn’t speak, your mouth open as your body felt something it hadn’t felt in years.

But it was different.

Why did it feel so intense?

“Fuck!” Sweat beginning to form on his brow and the center of his chest, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him pulling him closer. His hands moving down your waist pulling your body to the edge as he kissed you erotically, you were about to cum again and he could feel it.

“You’re gonna cum again aren’t you?” He whispered roughly out of breath.

“Oh-oh-“ he grabbed your face watching as your eyes rolled back, your hips jerking against him as you felt as if your body was floating. You cried out in pleasure as he waited for it to move throughout your entire body before he’d let himself cum. And when he did he made sure he spilled every drop of himself inside you, with a groan he pushed your body against the window and held himself in place.

Out of breath you could feel him throbbing inside you, you hadn’t expected him to release himself in you yet you didn’t say a word at first.

Marcus slowly pulled himself as he grabbed a towel and dried his face. Slowly letting yourself down to your feet you grabbed onto the wall feeling how your legs felt like jello. Fixing your dress you watched as he wrapped a towel around his waist silently before you found the courage to speak.

“You…you finished inside me” your words making him look up at you.

“Of course I did” you looked down slightly disappointed making him slowly walk to you and tilt your face up to him.

“You didn’t like that?”

“No- I mean yes- I mean no- I…look I’ve only had sex with my husband, I’m not used to this. I never had children-“

“Are you afraid to be with child?”

Silently you swallowed nervously unsure how to answer his question, it was something you never thought of.

“We shouldn’t have done this” you whispered.

“May I be excused” Marcus stared down at you silently noticing the tears you held back, a hint of guilt forming in his chest. Without saying a word he moved aside motioning with his arm for you to pass and you quickly did…

[freakrenaissance]

Yasssss Marcus! Get me pregnant! 😆 I looooove that she didn't let him off the hook when he came home, & oh this was soooo sweet & hot! 🤤

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.”

Fic notifications blog

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Masterlist Marcus Acacius

updated: July 14th 2024

A promise (E)

You've been in love with General Marcus Acacius, your father's most trusted advisor and friend, ever since you could remember. A kiss on the day you come of age starts an affair that would last for years before you ask him to choose between having you officially as his or not having you at all. Days after, your father the Emperor dies, and the brother who hated you comes to power, wasting no time to make arrangements to marry you off to someone you had never met before, leaving you mourning about what could have been, when Marcus finds you with a surprising solution.

[joelslastofus]

I think this is my new favorite pic 😩

[orcasoul]

Welcome to my Pedro Pascal masterlist. I'm still fairly new to fan fiction and have never attempted creative writing until last year, so please go easy on me, people lol. I currently write for Din Djarin, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius and Pedro Pascal himself. Comments and reblogs mean the world to me. It lets us know if we're doing a good job or not. I hope you all enjoy.....

💔= Angst 💘=Fluff 🔥=Smut 🗡= Violence

A03 Link

Din Djarin Masterlist

Remember Cyar'ika Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡

You and Din hunt bounties together, but you get injured and have Amnesia. Will his love help you regain your memory?

Priceless Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡

You and Din miss Grogu terribly after he leaves with Luke Skywalker. After confessing your feelings to each other Din leaves to track down a quarry. While waiting for Din's return you are abducted by slavers. Din saves the day!

We don't talk anymore 💔 💘

You are afraid Din doesn't want you around anymore since Grogu has been returned to his people. After an argument yours and Dins' true feelings come out.

Warm or cold 💔 💘 🔥 🗡

You and Din track bounties together. During one hunt the quarry gets the upper hand and tries to kill you in order to escape. Din makes him pay. No one hurts his Cyare!

Catch Me If You Can 🔥 💘

You'd better run. The Mandalorian is hot on your heels....

That Time Again 💘

You've bled through but Din panics, thinking you're injured...

Across an Ocean of Stars - Coming Soon WIP

Broken Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡

Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

A Beskar Dress for Dins Cyare 💘 🔥

Just a little scene I've conjured, inspired by a chainmail dress.

Din Djarin Head-canons

Din Djarin Imagine

Joel Miller Masterlist

Am I Too Late to Love You? Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡

Joel breaks you heart when you confess your love for him. You get into trouble whilst on patrol, causing Joel to accept his feelings and leave in a desperate search for you.

Reckless 💔 💘 🗡

You are a bit too headstrong and impulsive for Joel's liking. After purposely putting yourself in danger he let's you know just how much you mean to him.

When I wake up I've lost something A 💔 🗡

Joel is finally happy and in love but when he wakes up.....

The swimming lesson 🔥 💘

You are close friends with Joel and Ellie. You can't swim, so Ellie gets Joel to teach you at a secluded lake. All the sexual tension and pining for each other becomes too much....

Twelve days of Christmas 💔 💘

For twenty years Joel never had to think about Christmas. Painful memories of past Christmases with his daughter were easier to bury in the depths of his mind. But now Jackson's festivities are in full swing and an unexpected meeting might just give Joel a reason to embrace the holiday once again.

Every Last One of Them 💔 🗡

Abby is about to kill the man you love. You can't let that happen so you make the ultimate sacrifice....

I'll Come Back For You 💔

Letting go is hard to do for both of you. But as they say, if you love someone, you have to let them go.

Not My Man 💔💘

You are furious when you learn that Joel is suspected of hurting you.

Joel Miller head-cannons

Joel Miller Imagine

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

The Lesser of Two Evils 💔💘🔥🗡

Series Masterlist

Rome is the enemy but so are the people you've spent your whole life with. When faced with a desperate choice of life or death which enemy should you choose?

What We Do In Life Echos In Eternity - Coming soon

Marcus Acacius headcanons - coming soon

Marcus Acacius Imagine

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Oh Baby Masterlist 💔 💘

A baby is the last thing you and Pedro expected but life has a way of surprising you for the better...

Forever a Winner 💘

It's the night of the Golden Globes awards and you're there to support the love of your life, Pedro Pascal.

The Plus one 💔💘

You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?

Stay tuned for many more stories to come. I've made a physical note of every story I want to create and there are so many it's always so hard to chose the next one, especially when new ideas pop up all the time! 😆😜 I'm looking forward to one day having them all written and posted for my and your enjoyment 🤗😘

[pascalhowlett]

Ethereal Chapter 2

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first time posting a novel length fan fiction on Tumblr, so be patient with me! If you would like to read this on A03, you can find that here!

This is chapter TWO, you can find chapter one HERE.

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut (eventually)

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 2! Word Count: 3k

All Parts Here

The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the distant trickling of the Moulouya River. Cecilia lay sprawled on the bank of the river. Beside her, Atticus traced lazy patterns on her back, his green eyes gazing at her lovingly.

 "Tell me a story, Atticus," she pleaded, her voice a soft murmur.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "A story?" he smiled, his voice a low, hypnotic rhythm as he tucked a loose strand of hair away from her face. 

“Once…there was a flightless bird, who dared to defy the gods..."

He wove an intricate tale of a mythical bird, imprisoned in a gilded cage, who yearned for freedom. He spoke of courage, of resilience, of the power of love. As he spoke, Cecilia felt a sense of peace course through her, a sense of possibility and hope.

"Who inspired this little bird?" she asked Atticus softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Atticus looked at her, his gaze filled with a tenderness that took her breath away. "Perhaps a lady," he said, his voice husky, "a certain young woman, with eyes as bright as the stars."

Cecilia, blushing, playfully pushed him away. "Atticus!" she chuckled, but her heart soared. Atticus always knew what to say, even if it made her cringe. He knew her, truly knew her. Atticus saw the fire within her, the spirit that rumbled.

He leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek. "You are more than just a woman, Cecilia," he whispered, his voice soft, reassuring, and loving. "You are a force of nature, a storm waiting to break free. My darling, I thank the gods everyday that I fled Rome. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Cecilia smiled, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His words made her stomach flutter as he fortified a confidence in herself that she hadn't known she possessed. She ran her fingers through his silky black hair, her other hand resting on his broad chest, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his tunic. His salt and pepper beard tickled her skin, showing his age. But she did not care, for she loved him all the same. In fact, the lines etched around his eyes, the silver strands in his hair, only served to deepen her affection. They spoke of a life lived, of experiences shared, of a wisdom that came with age.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. He deepened the kiss, his hands moving to cup her face, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. Cecilia surrendered to the kiss, pulling him closer in a haze of desire and need.

The memory, vivid and poignant, washed over her. She could almost feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, Atticus’ lips against hers. Then, with a jolt, she was brought back to the present, the rustling of the bed sheets bringing her back to reality. 

She rolled over in the bed, seeing Emperor Geta sleeping soundly and reminding her of the harsh reality she was facing.. She was bare, cold and shivering from the events of the night. The scent of his cologne, a cloying, nearly sickening mixture of musk and spice, clung to the air, a constant reminder of the violation she had endured. Every inch of her skin seemed to burn with a feeling of regret, a feeling of guilt for something that wasn’t even her doing.

Geta awoke shortly thereafter, blinking against the morning light. He looked around the room, his gaze finally settling on Cecilia, who lay beside him, seemingly asleep. A slow smile spread across his face. He loved seeing her like this, vulnerable, bare, and defenseless. 

He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Good morning, my dove," he murmured, his voice a low caress. He was attempting to be romantic, as there was still a glimmer of hope in him that Cecilia would fall for it somehow.

Cecilia feigned sleep, her heart pounding against her rib cage. She could feel his gaze upon her, a predatory glint in his eyes as he mapped out her naked body. He reached out, peeling the covers back to expose her as he traced the curve of her waist.

"You are so beautiful, little dove," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "Time to awaken," he murmured, his voice a purr. "The day awaits."

"I wish not to go with you today, Geta," she murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow.

Geta knew what she was referring to – the games. In celebration of General Acacius' conquest over Numidia, Rome was holding a special series of events at the Colosseum. A spectacle of brutality and bloodshed designed to impress the masses and solidify Roman dominance. In Cecilia’s opinion, a waste of time, money, and precious resources.

"You must go," Geta said, his voice unrelenting, "they will expect to see the Empress there."

She shook her head, her back still turned to him. "I will not support pointless bloodshed, nor will I be considered an empress."

Geta rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, clearly annoyed with her petulance. "You will go, little dove," he said, stroking her back gently, "this is not up for debate."

"And if I don't?" she asked bitterly.

Every action or breath that came from Geta only made her defy him even more. There was no love present, just his drive to conquer. Geta's smile vanished. "Then," he said, his voice a low growl, "you will learn the true meaning of regret."

"I already know the meaning of regret," she said, silent tears forming and hitting her pillow, "for I have to lay with you."

Geta was taken aback by her words. He had expected defiance, perhaps even a plea for mercy on her soul. But this…this was different. This was a raw, unfiltered expression of her pain. He saw the tremor that shook her body, the way her shoulders slumped in despair. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to remorse crossed his features. But it was quickly extinguished, replaced by a calculating resolve.

"You will learn to enjoy it, little dove," Geta said, his voice hardening as he pulled her close to his chest, "or you will learn to suffer the consequences."

She closed her eyes, letting more silent tears fall as her body was pressed tightly against his. She craved comfort, the arms of someone who actually cared for her. A handmaiden entered the room, bearing their tunics and robes for the day. Geta, startled by the interruption, released Cecilia abruptly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

Cecilia, seizing the opportunity, quickly slipped out of his grasp, her eyes fixed on the floor. She felt a surge of relief, a momentary escape from his suffocating presence. She thanked the handmaiden, taking their clothes and handing Geta his cloaks.  

Geta’s eyes roamed her body once more before he took his clothing and muttered, “get dressed. We must be at the Colosseum within the hour.”

Cecilia, shivering despite the warmth of the room, quickly pulled her gowns over her body. She felt violated, not just physically, but emotionally. He had used her, not just as a political pawn, but as a doll for his deepest desires. 

————

They sat in the box on the south side of the colosseum upon their arrival. Along with them sat the Imperial court and General Acacius. 

General Marcus Acacius sat behind her as Geta and Caracalla addressed the people. Cecilia sat in her chair, unable to comprehend the vastness of the crowd that had gathered. These people had come to watch others die in celebration of a forced wedding and the killing of innocent people. And she, Cecilia, was a part of it.

"Welcome to the games! A grand tournament," Caracalla announced, his voice booming across the colosseum, "a contest of champions! The victor will be rewarded with riches beyond measure, and perhaps, freedom!”

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd. This was not a celebration; it was a barbaric spectacle for unsolicited entertainment.. The tournament, with its promise of wealth and power, would undoubtedly attract the most ruthless and ambitious gladiators in the Empire.

Geta sat down next to Cecilia as the match began. "Wipe the frown off your face," he whispered in her ear, "you will smile and acknowledge the people in such places as the colosseum."

She sat up a little straighter and tried to plaster on a fake smile. She turned around and locked eyes with Acacius once again. He didn't say anything, but his gaze was warm and inviting, just like the looks they shared the evening prior.

"I've never been to the games before," Cecilia said to Acacius, trying to avoid looking down at the gladiators who were about to be slain.

Acacius’ face contorted at her words as he turned to Geta. "Perhaps this isn't the best place for the lady if this is her first viewing of a fight."

Geta frowned at her, then back at the General. "She'll be just fine. I'm sure she's seen far worse in the brothels."

Cecilia looked at Acacius, shame overcoming her emotions as the truth behind Geta's words stung. She really was born from nothing, and had nothing to show for the life she once lived in Numidia. She had been used, exposed for the pleasure of any man with gold in his pockets. The truth stung, it made her realize how different she was than the people sitting around her.

"They might be able to put the finest gowns on me," she said to Acacius, her voice low, "but they will never change what I am."

She could have sworn she saw a small smile spread across Acacius’  lips.

Emperor Geta slapped her for her smart remark. "From now on you will not speak unless you are being spoken to."

Acacius looked surprised at the act of sudden aggression. Her face stung, a burning ember hue shining where Geta's hand had struck. She simply nodded and turned back around, focusing on the gruesome spectacle unfolding before her. The roar of the crowd, the smell of blood and fear, it was all too much for her ro handle.

“I am speaking to her,”  General Acacius spoke out to Geta, his voice firm yet laced with a hint of concern.

Geta, his face a mask of fury, scoffed. "You have no business speaking to my wife, Acacius."

Acacius' eyes met hers, a flicker of something else unreadable passing through them. "Are you alright, flower?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, a stark contrast to the brutality of the arena. He gently touched her cheek. Cecilia flinched at first, but then found solace in the warmth and unexpected kindness of his touch.

"A slap gives no pain like what I endured last night, General," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Acacius's hand tightened slightly on her cheek, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, the depths of what she had been through in one night with the Emperor. He had seen things that would curdle the blood of the strongest men, but somehow he knew whatever she had been through was much worse.

He looked away, his gaze sweeping across the arena, where the gladiators battled for their lives. "You are stronger than you think," he said, his voice low and gruff. "You have survived this long. Most could not."

Cecilia looked at him, a flicker of hope igniting within her. Perhaps, just perhaps, this man was someone who held her ideals.

"Just think," Geta smiled at her, bringing her attention away from Acacius, "your family died for you to be sitting here with royalty. You've been blessed by the gods, little dove."

Cecilia clenched her jaw. "Sounds more like a curse to me," she muttered.

Geta smacked her once more, and she sighed, holding her cheek that now felt like it was on fire. "Lose the attitude before I throw you into this match myself," Geta said.

Acacius handed her a glass of wine in a desperate attempt to remedy the situation. "Thank you," she murmured to him, taking that as her signal to straighten up and watch the match.

The fights were brutal. Cecilia had never seen so much pointless bloodshed in her life. Bouts of men fought for the entertainment of bloodthirsty politicians. Geta shared drinks with his brother as Cecilia sat in her chair, posed like a doll, a grim spectator to the carnage. Cecilia could have sworn she saw Emperor Caracalla gaining immense, intimate pleasure with himself  as the fights ensued.

"Watch your breath around your husband," Acacius whispered in her ear, his voice low and cautionary.

"I'd rather die than conform to his beliefs like a puppet," she replied.

Acacius's eyes met hers, a flicker of passion passing through them. "Then don't conform," he murmured, his voice low and encouraging.

Cecilia felt a surge of unexpected warmth. "I won't," she vowed, her eyes fixed on the gladiators, but her gaze burning with a fierce determination.

"Meet me at the east corridor tonight," Acacius said matter-of-factly.

"Are you trying to lay with me, General? I may be from a brothel, but I am married now, General," she smirked softly, trying to play around with him.

General Acacius liked her attitude and her clear distaste for tyranny. He smiled at her wit. "Not lucky, my lady. I just want to help you."

Cecilia nodded at him as Geta interrupted and pushed her face forward towards the match, an aggressive hold on her cheeks. "Look at them, dove," Geta chuckled, "a fight. Bloodshed, celebrating Rome."

Match after match went on before her, all to please the hungry crowd that continued to cheer it on. The General was the only man who seemed to see the uselessness of it all. "I would like to go to our quarters, please, Emperor," she said quietly to Geta after she felt she had seen enough.

He chuckled, "Not in the middle of a match, little dove. You must stay for the entirety of the games.”

Cecilia sighed, running her fingers over the rigid pattern carved into her wine glass as a sort of grounding mechanism. The glass alone cost more than anything she had ever owned. It was hard to comprehend how these cynical men had everything while people were dying from starvation and illness in the streets of Rome. Not only that, but the poor were the same men they were pitting against each other for entertainment.

"Another glass, my lady?" Acacius asked, his fingertips brushing against hers as he took the cup from her.

"Please, General," she murmured, gratefully accepting the drink.

If she couldn't go to bed, she wanted to drink away the memory of all this useless, pointless death. Acacius filled her glass, still not breaking his eye contact with her.

"May I sit with your Empress, Emperor Geta?" Acacius asked, motioning towards the empty seat next to his own. 

Geta, engrossed in the battle, waved Cecilia off to sit with Acacius, not even realizing what he had agreed to. Cecilia let out a small sigh of relief as Acacius took her hand gently, helping her into the chair that was next to him.

"Thank you," she whispered. She realized she found herself thanking the General an awful lot. 

"I don't like it either…the games," General Acacius said, "it's not worth the men we lose, potential soldiers if you ask me."

"Soldiers for your army of killers?" she sipped her wine, her voice low.

"I do not expect you to understand, my lady," Acacius said, "but this, the territory Rome conquers, is bigger than you could ever imagine it to be."

"Perhaps you could show me. Maybe you could show me what my lover died for," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and challenge.

Another soft smile spread across his lips. "East corridor, flower. Don't forget."

Each time he mentioned the corridor, he spoke quietly, more secretively. Cecilia dared not breathe a word about it to Geta.

"East corridor," she whispered back to him as he clinked his wine glass to hers, giving her a swift wink.

General Acacius was intriguing to her, even with her knowledge of who he was. He was like a game she wanted to play, a puzzle begging to be solved. All the while, he was also warm, inviting, something she had never experienced from a man before. Well, something she had never experienced in someone besides Atticus. 

Around the time their glasses met, an arrow went flying between the two of them, landing in the pillar that rested behind their chairs. Screams erupted from the crowd as General Acacius pushed Cecilia down towards the floor, taking her arm to quickly escort her out of the arena.

“General!” Geta yelled, his voice filled with rage. “You do not protect her, you protect me and my brother!”

But his fit was no use. Acacius was already leading Cecilia away, his gaze unwavering as he navigated through the panicked crowd. He had anticipated the danger, it seemed.

Emperor Geta, left alone with his brother, could only watch as Acacius disappeared into the throng, taking Cecilia with him. Cecilia, heart pounding, clung to Acacius's arm. She had never felt so grateful to anyone in her life. He had saved her, just as he had promised.

"You have paid your debt, General," Cecilia told him as he continued to escort her away from the Colosseum, her chest heaving. "Although I am still unsure as to what that debt is."

Acacius paused, his gaze fixed on the chaos unfolding behind them. "Let's just say," he said enigmatically, "I will never be able to pay off the debt I owe to this man.”

Cecilia felt a shiver crawl down her spine. His words were chilling, the implication clear. She was not simply a woman in need of rescuing, Acacius had known she was more than that from the moment they met. 

“Who do you owe this debt to?" she asked, her voice quivering, her heart pounding in her chest. She feared she knew the answer, the breath leaving her lungs.

Acacius pulled her into a shadowed alleyway, away from the chaos of the fleeing crowd. "I owe a debt to Atticus Claudius," he admitted, his voice low and somber.

Cecilia froze, her blood running cold. She shook her head, "How... how do you know him?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, disbelief washing over her. She pushed Acacius as she sobbed violently, "How dare you speak his name?"

Acacius's eyes hardened. "Atticus," he began, the word catching in his throat, "was a close friend before he fled Rome. We served together. We faced down barbarian hordes together." He paused, his gaze fixed on the gravel below. "He was a good man, a brave man. He would have hated this."

Cecilia shook her head. Atticus, her beloved Atticus, had served alongside this man, and had faced war together. But it all didn’t make sense. She knew Atticus had fled Rome, but not that he was an experienced soldier, a soldier strong and memorable enough to have known the General.

"Then why did you let your people kill him?!" Cecilia cried, her voice rising in anger as she pounded against the General’s chest plate.

Acacius flinched, his face hardening as he grabbed her hands gently. "It was war, Cecilia," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "War is messy. There are always casualties."

"But you could have stopped it!" she argued, her voice trembling with rage. "You could have refused the order, you could have…"

She trailed off, the weight of her own grief and anger momentarily overwhelming her. Atticus, her beloved Atticus, died at the hands of the very man who now claimed to mourn his loss.

Acacius remained silent, his gaze fixed on her as he held her wrists. He knew she was right. He could have protested, he could have refused to participate in the slaughter. But ambition, duty, and the weight of his own ambition had clouded his judgment.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and regret. "I… I failed him," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I failed them all."

Cecilia, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes, felt a surge of unexpected sympathy. He was not just a ruthless general; he was a man haunted by his own failures, a man who carried the weight of his past on his shoulders.

"We both failed him," she said softly, her voice filled with a shared grief. "We both failed to stop this madness."

As Acacius released his grip on her wrists, her hands fell to rest on his chest. She let out a quiet sob, leaning into his broad figure. She found a strange comfort in the hardness of his chest against her bruised cheek. “What must we do, General?” she cried, “how does one stop this pain?”

It was a comfort born from shared grief, from a recognition of the shared pain they both carried. Acacius, surprised by her sudden embrace, hesitated for a moment, then gently wrapped his arms around her, offering a silent comfort. 

"We fight back," he said, his voice low and grim. "We find allies, we build a resistance, we expose the corruption that lies at the heart of this empire."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "Are you with me, my lady?"

Cecilia, her heart pounding, met his gaze. "I am," she whispered, a newfound resolve hardening her voice. 

"We find others who see the injustice of it all," he said, "People who are tired of this bloodshed, tired of living in fear. We build a resistance, a network of those who believe in a better future."

Cecilia, looking into his eyes, saw a flicker of passion she once saw in Atticus. In that moment, she realized this was about something bigger, about fighting for a better future, a future where people were not mere pawns in a deadly game played by ruthless men such as the Emperors. 

He took her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "We may be few, but we are not alone. There are others out there, others who see the rot at the heart of this empire. We'll find them, I'm sure of it."

[fluffykittensox]

See it posts like this that make tumblr. Also they’re 100% correct.

Get to know your ancient Roman armor, ladies! Those aren’t bracelets, they’re vambraces. That’s not a headband, that’s a laurel wreath or laurel crown; it’s where we got the phrase, “resting on one’s laurels,” from because they’re a symbol of military victory. Let’s do armor kink right, writers!