𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐈 ║ I. Adonis ║ Marcus Acacius x Hanno's sister!reader
➣ Deliciae Imperii -> Delights of the Empire
➣ Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3 | Ko-Fi
➣ Chapter II. | Series Masterlist
Word Count: 2,9k
Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…
Chapter Themes & Warnings: POV first person, use of y/n, blood, detailed descriptions of violence, terms of endearment (anaticula, Adonis), slavery, Roman history, vomiting, angst, swearing. See series masterlist for full themes & warnings!
Song: Fight for Survival – Klergy
a/n: The original plan was for this to be a oneshot, but in the end it seemed impossible. I've got a lot planned for this story. Hope you stay tuned! 🥰
Anaticula (duckling), Adonis (god of beauty and desire)
Poem by @fairytalesques
Enjoy the read!
Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
I am a rose unfurling, winter’s bloom. Poison dripping down my throat and out of my bladed fingers. I spin stars into black holes, drive monsters to extinction in the dead heat of summer. You ever stop to think what life could have been if the poison had been potent? A lifeline in the carnage. A blessing or a curse? The flower is now festering like a disease but with Adonis I’ll be safe, he keeps the antidote.
The metallic tang of blood, thick and cloying, hung heavy in the humid air, a shroud of death as thick as smoke. It was a symphony of war, conducted by the piercing shrieks of the wounded and the barked commands of the officers. A cacophony that blurred my senses as I moved with deadly precision through a haze of silver and red.
I fought with the savage efficiency of a wild animal, yet my kills were clean and quiet, each motion honed by years of training under Hanno's tutelage. My vision tunneled to a singular, deadly focus – the annhilation of the Roman usurpers by any means necessary. In this moment, I was a force of nature, an instrument of retribution. I would purge the land of their corrupted touch if I were to die trying.
The enemy pressed on, a relentless tide. For every ten I felled, another twenty rose to take their place. Yet somehow, the more I fought, the stronger I became, as though the adrenaline that infiltrated my every tissue contained a potent elixir that invigorated my muscles and dulled their exertion.
Clashing blades rang in the air. Our two armies mingled near indistinguishably; clanging, crunshing and screaming. It would be difficult to tell friend from foe, if it weren’t for the Romans distinctive galeas, the red fur frilling atop the silver helms like beckoning targets.
Just then, the crowd parted like clouds from the sun, unveiling a figure descending the battlement steps, a silhouette of lethal grace. Donning a sable breast plate emblazoned by Sol, sprawling across his chest with a douzen golden rays, he moved with the effortless grace of a dancer, his blade a blur of silver death, his countenance molded into a rigid canvas of authority. A retinue of red fringed galeas encircled him, their bodies his shields, their presence a testament to his rank.
My gaze fixed him through the crowd as the next wave of men in their peculiar-looking helmets came charging at me. I ducked, slicing open the patellas of the first two, making them buckle in the sand. The third I dodged, sidestepping before plunging my blade into his brachial plexus. The fourth I parried, our blades screeching in unison, before I kicked under his flared skirt. There wasn’t much fight left in him after that.
Jubartha’s words echoed in my mind as I tracked the approaching entourage, “Take out the leader of your enemy, and it matters not how much blood stains your sword.”
He moved fluidly like a windless sea. His spatha whipped around him, trailing shadows in the dust-ridden air, splattering the sand with blood. His expression was a paradox. As though he would not rest until Rome had pocketed another conquest, while simultaneously longing for a different fate entirely.
Crimson trailed around him like crushed punica granatum. None breached the shield of bodies surrounding him, and those who tried did not emerge alive, like prey entering a lion’s den.
I caught a glimpse of Hanno and Jubartha atop the parapet, fending off the ruthless wave from the assaulting sea. The walls had been breached, our numbers were dwindling. A sense of desperation seized me, a reckless courage driving me forward.
There was but one choice at my disposal.
I sprinted up the steps of the opposite parapet, scaling the heights with desperate urgency. Ducking behind a wooden pole, I dashed across the platform until I reached its bosom. I leaned out over its edifice, where down below, a second protective roof had been built. I started the climb downward, the splintering wood tearing at my hands like an angry cat. I landed on the roof with a thud and crouched towards the edge. Our men were still charging through the opening of the parapet, but before I knew it, they began to slow, getting knocked back by the shield wall of fearsome Roman guards. I rose to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream. My hand found the hilt of my sword and clasped it into place. For what I was about to do, risking becoming unarmed was to invite my doom.
The chaotic shadowy flare of guards flanking the steady shadow of an unyielding assassin grew in the sand below. I filled my lungs, washing out the biting fear of death creeping around the edges.
A warrior’s oath echoed in my mind: I am Numidia.
I dipped, toes to the edge. A head of dark and silver emerged below.
What could go wrong?
I leapt.
The fall felt decelerated, as if in a dream, and all surrounding noise faded underwater. My feet met his back, and a heavy grunt of startlement escaped him as he fell forward. His body broke my fall, and I rolled with the force of the impact, swiftly regaining my footing as I turned to face him. Dazed for but a second, his face dusted with sand, he grappled for his sword. But before he managed to get a proper grasp of the hilt, I pressed my boot atop his knuckles. He groaned in frustration behind gritted teeth. The next second, my one hand had clasped the knife from my boot, while the other had gathered a fistful of his hair and snatched him backward.
In the third second, my blade was poised at his throat, ready to claim his life when, for reasons unexplained, the edge paused in his skin.
In the fourth second, I had met his eyes, and an unfamilliar current passed down my spine. They were big, and brown, and full of contradictions, staring up at me with equal surprise, malice, and admiration. But no fear. His chest was heaving. His hair was a full, tangled mess of black and silver beneath my fingers, textured from the unsettled sand. The strands of silver had leaked into his beard which covered his dark, dirt-and blood-spattered complexion. His nose was sharp, angled like the limb of a bow, and his lips were slightly parted from gnashed teeth. The wound I had inflicted seemed to defy the vision of him I had before me, bleeding red but ichor.
In the fifth second his resistance faltered, his head growing heavy against me. But before I could savour my victory, a sharp blow clattered my teeth, and suddenly my body was not my own. My vision blurred, my ears buzzed, and my fingers loosened the grip of the knife, no matter how hard I fought against it.
In the sixth second, I was laying in the sand, grasping for consciousness. I thought I could hear Hanno screaming in the distance, but it was just beneath the surface. Gathering the last ounces of strength I had left I reached for the blade laying inches away. The contours of Adonis hovered over me, as one of the guards kicked my weapon out of reach. My other hand dragged itself to my waist, half-limb, seeking to undo the clasp to my sword.
“Tsk tsk tsk...” Adonis clicked his tongue. I winced as his boot came down on my hand, pressing down. “You have some fight in you, anaticula,” his voice, laced with what I would percieve as… concern, circulated around my head like a distant echo. “Grab her.” The words consumed me, nuzzling my cognisance like a warm blanket, and as I lifted off the ground, I faded into oblivion.
_
Vae victis. Woe to the vanquished.
The declaration travelled with me between the realms of my unconsciousness, followed by the distant wails of bereaved mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters.
I awoke to the comforting crackle of the fire we used to cook our supper. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fish, and the vague neigh of my stallion drifted in from outside. I sighed, nuzzling my face into the pillow, and was captivated by the unfamiliar softness of it. Something was different. The ground beneath me seemed to shift and sway, and as I opened my eyes, the pillow under my cheek was foreign to me – vibrant with patterns winding around the fabric like climbing vines.
Reality slowly dawned. I was not home. And the crackle of the fire and the neighing from my stallion was in fact the creaking and squeaking of ship timbers.
I groaned as a sharp pain lanced through my skull. Everything came back to me. The Roman invasion. The battle. The blow to the head. Adonis …
My breath stilled when I met his gaze across the room. Clad in the same sable armor and a royal scarlet cape, he was seated at the head of a table bedecked in plates of fish, cheese, fruit and caraffes of wine. He held my stare with a distant look of interest, rolling a purple grape between his fingers before plopping it into his mouth, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
The throbbing pain pulsed in my temple in tune with my heart as I sat up on the setee. Sludge stuck to my thoughts and it felt as though my center of gravity was off the way the room kept rocking.
“Easy,” came his voice, a low rumble. His chewing ceased, his movements stilled, as if ready to rise in haste.
The ship’s rhythmic rocking intensified, the sound of waves lapping against the hull growing louder. A cold sweat broke out on my brow. My breathing surged and grew ragged, trying to subdue the rolling sense of nausea consuming me.
But it was futile.
With a violent shudder, I retched, the contents of my stomach emptying onto the wooden planks.
I stared blankly at my mess, a strange blend of satisfaction and shame washing over me. Relishing at the thought of having defiled the ship of the Roman usurpers, I was humbled by doing so in front of the man who I failed to kill. My guts were ready to spill again at the very thought.
His chair creaked against the floor as he rose. I only saw his legs as he approached, dropping to his haunches in front of me – in my vomit, and I recoiled, equally to his sudden advance as to the indignity of it. He moved with intent, the scarlet cape pooled around him, and I could not help but feel intimidated. It was like he didn’t know what he was standing in. Or rather, didn’t care. Furthermore, based off his attire alone, he was too high in station to be on his knees for a commoner like me. Even less, kneeling in a commoner’s bodily fluid.
He was so cool and calculated, from how he moved to how his gaze settled on mine, though something alive played in his dark brown eyes. Something that could snap at any second. His complexion was still riddled with dried dirt and blood from the battle, and the cut in his neck had leaked down his throat like spilt ink.
I knew not if it was the sudden uprising of nerves, his closeness, or a result of the blow to my head, but the words slipped past my lips without thought. “You’re a truly terrible commander.” I dried the dribble off my chin with the back of my hand.
A furrow etched between his brows and genuine concern flickered in his eyes, like he was contemplating whether it might be true. “I conquered your city,” he parried.
“I nearly killed you,” I retorted.
A hint of malice clouded his features. “Nearly.” His tone of voice gathered timber; that the word came off as a threat.
He stared at me. The urge to look away was so strong it itched beneath my skin. He expected me to. Though something foreign and astute made me persevere. Holding eye contact with him felt like a deadly game. But it also evoked a whisper of adrenaline, as warm as spiced wine.
Finally, his eyes drifted downward to the pool of vomit at his feet. “I’ll have someone clean this up,” he said, before leaning forward and putting his arms around me.
Adrenaline shot through me like a violent storm, and I pushed him away instinctively. His face was a mask of indifference, and he reached for me again, and this time he didn’t let go, no matter how hard I fought him. He carried me up off the settee as I kicked, squealed, grunted and clawed. My mind raced with the thoughts of what he might do to me. His breast plate was ice cold against my skin, but I was too frantic to notice. I came to my senses once he dropped me down in a chair next to the table. He glared at me, clearly unimpressed by my defiance, before grabbing a plate off the table, methodically filling it with a chaotic assortment.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking off a twig of grapes as a final touch before serving it to me, rounding the table to seat himself.
I simply gaped at him, too bewildered to respond. My chest heaved from exertion, my tense body clutching onto the wood of the chair, trembling slightly from the waning adrenaline spike.
“You need not fear me, anaticula,” he soothed. His voice was a strange blend of velvet and steel, a combination I believed to be uniquely his; calming and unsettling me in equal measure. And despite the ingrained hatred I harbored towards his people, an inexplicable, vexing trust for him began to bloom within me.
“I am General Marcus Acacius,” he boomed, as though I would have trouble hearing him from across the table. Where he came from, I’d wager men stood to attention at the mere mention of him, but I remained indifferent. Belittling him was all the power I had.
His name grew heavy in the air, silence stretching. I’d expected him to explain my fate next. That I would be sold as a slave for men to plunder as they wished, or perhaps executed for having his life at my disposal. Perhaps he’d do it himself.
“What do I call you?” he asked finally.
“Whyever does that matter?” I snapped.
“Is it so strange to wish to know the name of the woman who nearly killed me?” His voice dipped at the very mention of it.
“I’ll be dead soon enough,” I said with feigned indifference. Acacius stiffened, watching me carefully. “Or if you do not kill me, I’d kill myself before I ever become a slave.” I watched him relax slightly and continue his meal.
“That’s not going to happen,” he muttered inbetween chews.
My gut flared with anticipation, “Which part?” I demanded.
He looked up at me. “What’s your name?” he asked, deliberately ignoring my question.
“Y/N,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.
He repeated my name, the sound rolling off his tongue like honey while he fixed me with his eyes dark like amber. I grew strangely warm and restless, and a sudden urge to flee seized me, a wild beast gnawing at my nerves.
“Where is my brother?” I blurted out, rather raggedly, a note of desperation creeping in, but as I did, I recalled I had not seen Hanno since the start of the battle. Was he even alive?
“Your brother?” he asked, like the notion I’d have a family was aberrant to him, a fleeting spark of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He swallowed sharply, picking at the salted fish on his plate. “With the other prisoners,” he muttered.
“So,” I began, molding myself out of the rigid posture I had assumed, and leaned forward. “Why am I here?” I asked, casting a disapproving look around his opulent cabin.
He stopped and fixed me with a gaze ice-cold. “For safe keeping,” he said sternly. “You nearly killed me today, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to find out what else you’re capable of.”
Vague images flickered before my eyes – chaos, then darkness. “You talk as if it’s some big feat,” I scoffed.
His eyes, twin pools of lethal venom, bored into me. “I assure you,” he hissed, resting his bracers against the edge of the table, a hint of admonition lingering in his voice, “It is.”
My face heated at the thought of having impressed him, but the word ‘nearly’ was a nettlesome creature.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue.
Acacius cocked his brows in recognition and poured wine. “Why didn’t you?” he asked, raising the cup to his lips.
The question caught me off guard, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. I recalled myself hesitating. I had the blade at his throat. I could have ended the battle there and then, declared Numidia victorious against the power of Rome. But I couldn’t do it.
“I-,” I don’t know, I thought.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence, and a sentry entered the room, bowing slightly. “General Acacius,” he spoke, his voice laced with duty and reverence. “Rome awaits.”
Chapter II. | Series Masterlist | Chapter III
Make sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed this chapter, thank you! 🥰
➣ Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3 | Ko-Fi
➣ Deliciae Imperii -> Delights of the Empire
Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Hanno’s sister!reader x Emperor Geta
Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…
Themes & Warnings: 18+ (MDNI!), POV first person, use of y/n, references to Gladiator 1 & 2, Roman history, blood & violence, angst, slavery, mentions of suicide, slow burn, enemies to lovers, implied age gap, misogyny, swearing, political corruption & instability, yearning & longing, mutual pining, sexual inexperience, smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, dry humping, terms of endearment, pet names, praising, creampie, voyeurism, oral f&m, orgasms, orgies, sexual guidance, dirty talk
Acacius calls reader anaticula (duckling)
Enjoy the read!
Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
Hi! I'm Lola, a vet student who writes as a hobby! All my works are written in POV first person unless stated otherwise.
Happy reading! 🍿
Keys:
1️⃣ ~ Oneshot
📑 ~ Series
📖 ~ Story
🔞 ~ Minors DNI
❤️ ~ Personal Favorite
🔥 ~ Popular
🎉 ~ New!
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON
Duty Is Sacrifice [Cregan Stark x Velaryon/Strong!reader] 1️⃣ 🔞 🔥
Synopsis: Queen Rhaenyra sends you to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. In him you find not only an ally, but something deeper as well…
His Darkest Secret [Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader] 1️⃣ 🔞 ❤️ 🔥
Synopsis: In Madam Sylvi’s absence, the care of the Targaryen prince that frequents your brothel is left in your good hands. His needs, you find, are unlike anything you’d ever encountered…
Prince Regent [Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader] 1️⃣ 🔞 ❤️ 🔥
Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.
A Dragon's Lullaby [Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader] 1️⃣ 🔞 ❤️ 🔥 🎉
Synopsis: Aemond’s fury is a challenge to contain, but it withers beneath the touch of his wife.
One-Eye & the Dreamer [Aemond Targaryen x OC!Aylana Velaryon] 📖 ❤️
Synopsis: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.
Written from Aylana & Aemond's POV.
(part 1 ~ part 2 ~ part 3 ~ part 4 ~ part 5)
WORLD ON FIRE
Diagnosing Desire [Tom Bennett x nurse!reader] 📑 🔞
Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.
(part 1 - part 2 [in writing])
GLADIATOR II
Deliciae Imperii [Marcus Acacius x Hanno's sister!reader] 📑 🔞 🎉
Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…
𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐈 ║ III. Somnium Romae ║ Marcus Acacius x Hanno's sister!reader
➣ Deliciae Imperii -> Delights of the Empire
➣ Somnium Romae -> The Dream of Rome
➣ Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3 | Ko-Fi
➣ Chapter II. | Series Masterlist
Word Count: 2,1k
Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…
Chapter Themes & Warnings: POV first person, violence, misogyny, angst, yearning & longing, slavery, pet names, mentions of sexual inexperience, swearing, mentions of sex. See series masterlist for full themes & warnings!
Anaticula (duckling)
Enjoy the read!
Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
I’d never thought I’d feel so subservient. So utterly susceptible to somebody else’s whim. Neither would I have believed that one simple action, taken in a mere second, would’ve unravelled a path that would crumble my whole world. Only to be put before an impossible choice that could inevitably grant me my freedom.
Though, it wasn’t really much of a choice. I needed to do it. For myself, and for my honour.
What felt like an eternity of silence had passed, before Acacius’ timber startled me, “What say you?” he whispered, like he was afraid of how I would respond to his instruction. I realized he had as much to fear as I did - relaying this sort of information to me. What nearly escaped me was just how much power he had actually placed in my hands. I was of no importance to the Roman Empire.
I wouldn’t even have to kill him myself. One breath to the emperors about Acacius’ schemes and I could have his head on a spike come dawn.
It was a dangerous game, a gamble with stakes far higher than I could have imagined.
But I’d sworn my allegiance. In my world, that meant something. And I believed that it did in his as well.
He pierced me with his gaze, his eyes the color of dark, swirling pools in the dim light of the atrium.
If I were to do this, I needed answers.
“Why do you wish to kill them?” I finally breathed.
Acacius appeared to wrestle with his thoughts, a torrent of emotions and events which I supposed could not be captured by mere words.
Finally, he sat down on the stone rim of the pond, one hand resting atop his knee. He proceeded to tell me everything.
About his departed wife, Lucilla, and their relentless pursuit of the dream of Rome, inherited by her father, the revered Emperor Marcus Aurelius. A dream that was slowly, agonizingly slipping away. He spoke of Emperor Geta and Caracalla – about their hot-headed tyranny; slowly bleeding the country out in pursuit of their own fame and glory.
“The bloodshed will not end with Numidia,” said Acacius solemnly. “These brats want to take it all. Persia. India. All the while their own people starve in the streets.”
The memory of the festering city swam up before me. The so-renowned city of Rome, in actuality, reduced to such a pathetic spectacle.
“Is that not the way of the world?” I asked.
A furrow of despair etched between his brows. “It does not have to be,” he said, his voice filled with a sincerity that I yearned to believe. “Change needs to begin somewhere.”
A strange warmth bloomed within my chest. Despite my reservations, I was beginning to realize that Acacius wasn’t inherently a bad man.
“And you wish to start this change with an assassination?” I queried, taking a seat beside him.
“An assassination that will help save the lives of thousands,” he implored, before rising from his seat and pacing the atrium, twisting the armilla around his forearm.
“And you wish me to perform this?” I posed. The notion was unfathomable to me. As a General, he surely had legions of loyal soldiers at his command. Men who wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t question. Wouldn’t fail...
“That’s right,” he drawled, the sound blazing a path down my spine of velvet and steel.
My eyes, drawn to his face, studied him intently. His skin was tanned, and slightly aged. He could not have been older than fifty. His lips, the faintest shade of cherry, formed the shape of a heart at rest. A perpetual frown etched his brow, which I supposed had come naturally from extensive warfare, but it did nothing to intimidate me, nor did it mar him. An old scar traced his right cheekbone, and the one I’d made on his neck was just beginning to heal.
“Why?” my voice was barely a whisper.
The question hung heavy in the air as he approached me slowly. “Because you will be able to get close enough to them.”
I stared into his eyes, dark and fathomless like polished obsidian, searching for any hint of jest. But his resolve was as clear as the dawn breaking over the horizon, and the weight of his request began to settle upon my shoulders.
“To get close,” I repeated, contemplating the actual enormity of this task when cold vexation flashed my nerves. “Enough of these vague concepts,” I said curtly, “What are you truly asking of me? I will need details, Acacius,” I said, rising to my feet, “Strategies, routines, vulnerabilities. I’ll need to know it all.”
His jaw ticked, and his expression hewed into something apologetic, a fleeting emotion that sparked an ill foreboding in my bones. He released the armilla and allowed his arms to drop to his sides. My eyes followed his path as he moved to a corner of the room, pulling out one of the elegant curule chairs from a round mahogany table. “Please, sit,” he said, before placing himself in the opposite curule. “You must be starving.” He poured wine into two glasses while I stood rooted and hesitant. But the agonizing hollowness in my stomach could not be denied. I had not eaten for two days, and though it did not sound like a lot, it felt like an eternity.
I walked myself toward the corner, pacing myself to not seem too eager, and cautiously seated myself. The small table offered a modest spread: a bowl overflowing with fruit, a dish of walnuts, a bowl of olives, and a sliced loaf of bread. I plucked vigorously, each bite feeling like a touch of heaven, and when my tongue tasted the wine, I found myself envying him.
When I looked up, he was watching me, his eyes a deeper shade of brown, almost black, as he sipped his wine slowly, deliberately. I spat an olive pit into my hand, and watched his eyes grow darker still beyond the rim of his glass.
I dried my mouth on the back of my hand, leaning back in the chair as he refilled my glass.
“Tell me everything,” I said, my voice firm with a newfound resolve. “I’m ready.”
Acacius leaned back, the palm of his hand stroking the dark, bristling beard of his chin as he appraised me. “Very well,” he began, his voice a low murmur that seemed to carry the weight of centuries and fixed me with eyes almost imploring.
He took a moment to gather himself, before he leaned toward me, and my breath slowed with apprehension.
“There will be a celebration in my honor. Tonight,” he said, and bile rose in my throat while a million questions and scenarios erupted in my mind like a flurry. “I need you to accompany me.”
Repugnance penetrated my veins at the thought of attending a celebration of my people’s demise. An overwhelming feeling struck me, like I was back in that cage, and the only way to set myself free was to chop my own arm off. I gritted my teeth against the rising tide of despair, pushing back the tears. “I fucking hate you,” I hissed below my breath, but the brief pause in his narrative confirmed he’d heard me.
If only I’d contemplated how much worse it could get.
“Now,” he continued, his voice softer, “The emperors’ parties are no mere gatherings. They are spectacles of power, displays of decadence, exercises in control... and sex.”
The last word snapped me back to attention, my pulse quickening, ice settling into my stomach – fear.
“They are designed to intoxicate the senses, to break down barriers, and expose the deepest vulnerabilities of those who attend,” he proceeded, and I prayed he didn’t notice how I’d gone pale.
A shiver, cold and profound, snaked down my spine, my entire body quivering from dread of the heart of his plan.
“During this party, I want you to get close to the emperors. Either one, preferably both.” His eyes held mine with such intensity that I could feel how the muscles in his body contracted. “And assassinate them.”
He made it sound so easy. I nodded, attempting to digest his every word without completely losing my mind.
“And,” I uttered hesitantly. “How would I...” I didn’t want to know the answer. “...get close to them?”
“You will have to seduce them.”
I shuddered, his words echoing in the silence of the atrium. I didn’t have a single notion of how to do that. Though, if I somehow did manage it, what then?
I was starting to feel dizzy.
“What if I get caught?” I asked, annoyed that I could not keep my voice from trembling.
“You won’t,” he said assertively.
“What if I get caught?” I repeated, my voice hardening, “Spare me the platitudes.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair; one hand placed firmly upon the mahogany table. “Follow my plan,” he said. “Get them alone. And I’ll ensure you won’t get caught.”
It wasn’t much reassurance, but I supposed at this stage, I only had myself to blame. The moment of the battle flashed before my eyes, and instead of hesitating, I made sure Acacius spurted blood. It gave me momentary reprieve from the crushing weight of my predicament, my mind attempting to relieve my agony. But the torment only escalated once reality dawned once more.
Stupid, stupid girl.
“What am I to you?” I asked, my voice faltering.
Acacius paused and studied me cynically, clearly uncertain of the inference of this question. “You’re my slave,” he said then, and my guts twisted into a knot.
“I mean, at this party,” I managed, choking back tears, “What will I be to you?”
Silence stretched, and the furrow between his brow etched deeper, his gaze growing solemn and cold.
“I believe you already know the answer to that question.”
A tear spilled from my eye, not from grief, but from indignation, and I clutched onto my rags so hard they nearly ripped.
“Listen,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “Nothing needs to happen if you play your cards right. You’ll get through this,” he said placating, but somehow it only made me resent him more.
Dread coiled beneath my skin at the prospect of intimacy. My sexual experience was limited, non-existent, in truth. And the idea of having to pretend to know what I was doing – to make it believable enough, while simultaneously plotting the emperors’ demise, made me feel vertiginous, like I was teetering on the edge of a precipice.
“B-but,” I stammered, my fingers trembling as I tried to school my racing heart. “Will the emperors not deem a girl already... pledged to another as... off limits?”
“On the contrary,” he said derisively. “They enjoy the hunt. They like feeling powerful, and desirable. It’s important that you make them feel as such,” he explained.
I was starting to feel delirious, and out of breath.
“They’re not only tyrannical, but extremely vulgar.”
“Enough,” I gasped, and rose from the curule, needing to escape the unbearable weight of this imminent affair.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” came Acacius’ voice from behind.
I walked into the atrium, and found myself drawn to the pond, watching the fish swirl and dart, their serene movements a stark contrast to the turmoil within, pacifying me.
“You need to be prepared,” he said gently, something akin to compassion penetrating his silken drawl.
I filled my lungs, slowly and deeply.
I would survive this, I thought. I had to. This was not merely about my freedom; it was about freeing the world from the suffocating grip of the Roman tyranny.
I turned back towards Acacius, who was now upstanding, watching me with a determined, cautious look. His demeanour, a peculiar mix of empathy and resolve, offered me the slightest hint of relief.
It could’ve been worse. Acacius could’ve been a tyrant too. Or I could’ve been somebody else’s slave forever, with no opportunity of escape. Acacius had offered me a chance to change something for the better. To make my life mean something. In this moment, partly to ease myself into the reality of the situation, I decided to be grateful. I decided to trust him. I couldn’t afford to falter now.
I met my reflection in the water of the pond and recoiled. I certainly couldn’t go anywhere like this. I turned to him. “What should I wear?”
He smiled gently, to my surprise, and offered me his hand. I took it. “Come with me,” he said, as he led me out of the atrium. “I have just the thing.”
Series Masterlist
Make sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed this chapter, thank you! 🥰
i just wanted to say that your writing is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever read. i fell in love with cregan stark and just HAD TO pull up a fanfic - read one of yours and now i’m here STARVINGGGG for more cregan stark in your writing 😭😭 send thoughts and prayers please cause i’m not surviving after this.
Oh my goodness… That’s such a MASSIVE compliment thank you so much!!❤️❤️❤️❤️
I will aspire to write more cregan x reader in the future to satisfy your cravings 😘
So after a hiatus borne of farwells, moving countries, setting up, starting a new job and getting my computer fixed, I think (I hope) I'm back on track to continue and finish writing my latest fic, Hot Mikado, which is up to 5 chapters out of a probable 9 or 10 in total.
Link to LJ
Link to FF.net
It is a world of AU because I started writing it in January and refuse to write within the fucktarded canon that came with the Finchel engagement, Michael and OMW.
SUMMARY: Kurt has been approached by the Gerber baby and his doppelganger to help them put on a community production of Hot Mikado. There’s just one problem…
I'm going to write it all before posting to avoid annoying people anymore if I have to put a hold on it again for RL. There are 9 "scenes" left, which will probably be four chapters, but sometimes my characters talk for too long so I cut chapters off sooner and end up with more :)
