Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.
Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!
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ONE
A starry night, as though the gods themselves had blessed the heavens. You stand in the place where you often meet General Acacius to maintain appearances. He will spend the day attending to Emperors Geta and Caracalla alongside his wife, Lucilla. Meanwhile, your day will revolve around the gladiators—or, more precisely, their wounds. You have been summoned to tend to the gladiators who will participate in that day's opening of the games—battles they will wage against one another or against beasts. Your thoughts are divided between Marcus Acacius and Hanno, the gladiator you strongly suspect harbors intentions of avenging his wife’s death at Acacius's hands.
"Mea domina, you are here," General Acacius murmurs as he approaches, though his complexion appears unusually pale. He is dressed in a tunic that conceals most of his body, with a laurel crown adorning his head. The lateness of the hour and the absence of natural light obscure your view, but as he draws nearer, you notice a wound bleeding on his arm. You rush toward him, your concern overcoming any formality. Without hesitation, you expose the area of his injury, removing the fabric to inspect it. His skin is feverishly warm beneath your touch.
"Who did this to you, Acacius?" you ask, a wave of anger surging through your body, mingling with an overwhelming sense of concern. "By the Gods, you should have come to me sooner," you say, your voice laced with frustration as your fingers graze his fevered skin, causing him to shiver under your touch. You guide him to a nearby bench, urging him to rest. Knowing him well, you suspect he has concealed his injury from everyone, unwilling to reveal any vulnerability. Fortunately, all are accustomed to you tending to him—it is, after all, one of your roles as his lover.
"I did not wish to trouble anyone, least of all you, Y/N," Acacius replies, his tone steady as he attempts to mask his discomfort. "A gladiator loosed an arrow at me—it must have struck me somehow. Macrinus certainly knows how to select skilled men for his arena." His voice retains its commanding timbre, though his actions betray his weariness. He pulls you closer by the waist, resting his head against your abdomen, as though seeking solace in your presence.
"General, we must go to the place where Ravi keeps his instruments. I must tend to your wounds and return you, whole and well, to your wife," you say, holding Acacius' face in your hands, as if willing him to remain conscious. His deep brown eyes meet yours, their gaze uncharacteristically tender.
"But this is my time with you," he whispers, taking your hands in his and pressing a kiss to each. "And I have told you, you need not address me as General. Our relationship has long surpassed formalities," he says, his voice softer now as he finishes kissing your hands. A fleeting thought tempts you to lean down and kiss him, but before you can act, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. Guards arrive, accompanied by Lucilla and Ravi. You instinctively want to withdraw from Acacius, but his unconscious state forces you to hold him upright.
"Take my husband to his quarters. Ravi is here to see to his treatment," Lucilla commands, her tone dismissive, her gaze avoiding yours entirely. The guards comply, carrying the now-limp Acacius away.
"Y/N," Lucilla addresses you, her voice sharp and deliberate, "from this moment forward, Ravi will be responsible for Acacius' care. I trust the gladiators will suffice to occupy your attention." Her words, though polite in form, carry an unmistakable message: your role as Acacius' lover is nearing its end. Vulnerability washes over you, but you lower your head in acknowledgment, as if understanding her decree. Without another glance, she follows the guards to accompany her husband.
Ravi approaches, carrying his instruments and tools. "I need you to go to Macrinus' gladiator and tend to his wounds. Macrinus has already informed the guards of his gladiator's need for treatment, so you need not fear," Ravi instructs, already preparing to attend to Acacius himself. Fear is far from your mind. The only sentiment stirring within you is anger, directed at the one who dared harm Acacius. You nod in silent agreement and gather the necessary supplies to treat the gladiator, your resolve firm as you set out to fulfill your task.
The guards grant you entry without hesitation, their expressions indifferent. Inside the dimly lit cell, you find Hanno—his body marred by fresh wounds, his face pale but defiant. He appears battered, as though every ounce of strength has been drained from him. Anticipating the state you might find him in, you came prepared with tools to clean his wounds, at least superficially.
"The lovely healer graces me with her presence once more," Hanno mutters, his tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and faint amusement. A strained smile flickers across his lips as he clutches his abdomen, evidently in pain. "I suppose you're here to finish what the guards so generously began." His voice is hoarse and weakened, yet it retains a biting edge.
A chill runs through you as you step closer to him, fully entering his cell. The air feels heavier here, and his piercing gaze follows your every move. "They must have hurt you for what you did to General Acacius," you state, your voice measured as you kneel, setting down your tools. The mention of Acacius draws no sign of remorse from Hanno; instead, he seems emboldened, inching himself nearer to you with deliberate subtlety. As you settle beside him, his proximity becomes undeniable, his rugged presence filling the confined space. Though weakened, there’s an unsettling calm in his demeanor, as though he is testing you, seeking something unspoken within your resolve.
As you begin to cleanse his wounds, the facade of the formidable gladiator crumbles beneath the weight of his pain. Low, anguished groans escape his lips despite his efforts to suppress them. It becomes clear that he is suffering deeply, though he clings to the last vestiges of his pride.
"Ah, here we are again," Hanno murmurs between strained breaths, his voice laced with an uneven mixture of sarcasm and torment. "You, seizing the opportunity to inflict more pain under the guise of tending my wounds, and I, striving to focus on your beauty to mask just how much it hurts."
A flicker of anger rises within you, mingled with a reluctant pity for the state of his battered body. "Flattery will not grant you any special treatment," you reply sharply, leaning in closer to examine his injuries more thoroughly. "I warned you not to harm Acacius dishonorably. I thought you might exercise restraint, but I was mistaken."
With deft movements, you remove the upper portion of his tattered garment to gain better access to the worst of his injuries. He offers no resistance, watching you with an unsettling mix of amusement and interest, as if savoring the attention. "I do recall saying I would take your request under consideration," Hanno says nonchalantly, as though the matter were trivial.
Frustrated by his flippant attitude, you press a tender wound more firmly than necessary. He lets out a guttural cry of pain, his composure faltering for a moment. "Forgive me," you say with a mocking smile, your tone cold. "I must have forgotten to take your suffering under consideration."
He meets your gaze, a faint, knowing grin curling his lips as if he derives some twisted pleasure from your defiance. "If you wish to exact vengeance, then take the dagger you’ve hidden and drive it into my heart," he says, his voice low and steady, despite the evident strain. "It is the only way to shield your precious General Acacius from my wrath." Hanno leans closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, the proximity of his battered form unsettling. His observation of the concealed blade leaves you momentarily stunned, your grip tightening as the tension between you hangs heavy in the air.
"Is that what you believe I should do—kill you?" you ask, a faint trace of amusement in your tone as you marvel at Hanno's audacity. He leans closer to your face, his gaze sharp and provocative.
"If protecting him is your goal, then yes," Hanno replies, his voice steady, his eyes fixed upon yours with an intensity that borders on insolence.
You smile, intrigued by how easily he speaks of his own demise. "General Acacius is a wise and seasoned warrior. He will know how to deal with you," you say, leaning in as if accepting the challenge his very presence seems to demand.
"If you think I seek an honorable battle with Acacius solely to shield him," you continue, your voice steady and measured, "then you are gravely mistaken. Look at yourself, gladiator. To achieve vengeance, it is not merely strength or skill you require. A true fighter knows which battles are worth fighting." Your hand moves deftly to clean a wound near his neck, blood still seeping from it. He winces slightly but does not pull away, his sharp blue eyes never leaving your face.
"The way you speak, it seems as though you've developed an affection for me, healer," Hanno remarks, his tone soft but probing. "If that is the case, why carry a dagger?" He gently grasps your arm, his grip firm yet careful, as if urging you to give him your full attention.
"Because the wife of General Acacius made it clear before the guards that I will no longer tend to his care. For many of the men here, that declaration is as good as an invitation to see me as their sport," you reply, your gaze unwavering as you meet his eyes.
For a moment, something shifts in his expression—a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "I see," he murmurs, his voice lower now. "Then show me. Show me how you would wield it to defend yourself." Though puzzled by his request, you reach for the dagger and position it as you would in a moment of self-defense, your stance steady and deliberate. His eyes follow your movements with a keen focus, his lips curving into a faint, almost approving smile as he observes your resolve.
"You’re holding it incorrectly," he says, taking your hands, still clutching the dagger, and guiding them to a precise spot on the left side of his chest. "Here. Strike here on any opponent—more than once, if need be—and you’ll increase your chances of survival," he instructs, his voice steady, his grip firm but not overbearing.
You had never considered the necessity of knowing how to fight; before Acacius, your late husband had always been there to shield you. But now, an unsettling vulnerability lingers, heavy and unshakable.
"You place too much trust in me," you murmur, your gaze locked with his. "I could hurt you with this dagger right now."
His lips curl into a faint, genuine smile, weak but without hesitation. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if you did," Hanno replies, the tension between you thickening.
You drop the dagger back to its place, snapping yourself out of the moment. "Turn around. I need to apply an herbal salve to the wound on your back so I can retire to my quarters. It has been a long day," you instruct, watching as he complies without protest. His physique, sculpted as one would expect of a gladiator, does not escape your notice. But before your thoughts can wander too far, you refocus, applying the salve with care. He grunts softly at the touch, his pain audible but restrained.
"I could teach you how to defend yourself," Hanno murmurs as you finish tending to his wounds. Once done, he turns to face you, his expression expectant.
"Are you certain you wish to help me, knowing my loyalty lies with General Acacius?" you ask, genuine curiosity laced in your tone.
He lifts a hand to your face, his touch gentle as he caresses your cheek. "Something tells me you need help, and I want to offer it. General Acacius or not, this is about you," he emphasizes, pointing at you, "and me," he finishes, gesturing to himself.
You hesitate, uncertainty flickering in your eyes, but the sincerity in his gaze stirs something within you. Perhaps it would be wise to accept his offer. "Very well, gladiator," you reply, taking the hand that had touched your face and grazing it softly with your fingertips. "Teach me what you know, and I promise to mend you each time you require it."
Chapter Summary: Here comes the -unfortunate time-traveller- bride! Ceremony: check, Applause: check, Sacrifice: check, Wedding band: check, Love: nah, Desire: unknown Groom: not leaving unlike the previous one
Bride: thinking about escaping.
Chapter W. Count and warnings: 11k; denial of feelings, blood, mention about sex, mention about virginity, a little fluff, angst injury, romantic comedy, ancient rome, using drugs (tranquilizer), anxiety attacks, violence, waxing, power imbalance, marriage, wedding, wedding night discussion, embarrasment, alcohol consumption.
authors note: Pronuba: The Pronuba, the matron of honor, was still married to her first husband. She is univira, a one-man woman.
Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed)
Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut
General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation
my masterlist
He looked at you, eyes wide, still glistening with tears though. "Are you well?"
You stood up angrily, still reeling from the heartbreaking story he had just shared. "What exactly was the purpose of telling me all this? Because I'm about to have an anxiety attack." Your hands trembled.
"My apologies. I wanted you to understand the weight of my brother's burdens and the struggles he faces regarding this union—similar to yours."
"I get it; he’s still got that girl in his heart. But honestly, I don’t care. It’s not a real marriage, is it? By the time I get back, it’ll all be over—end of story. I should take my pill now or I won’t be able to sleep tonight due to nightmares." You said, then turned to leave, but he followed. You raised your hand to stop him, needed to be alone—just you and your pill, your best friend.
Trying to push thoughts from your mind as you walked through the dimly lit courtyard towards the stairs was a challenge. Tension gripped you again, a reminder of how cruel this ancient world can be, and you had no clue when you’d escape this nightmare. Your head spun as you climbed the stairs; you had to take your pill, and fast.
Lost in the darkness, your senses dulled by anxiety, you didn’t notice Marcus standing on the balustrade ahead. He noticed you, but just watched you walk by, still in shock and uncertain about what to do.
Upon entering your room, your eyes immediately searched for your bag.
There it was, on the bed. You unzipped it quickly, reaching for your medicine and popping one into your mouth. When you stood to grab the water from the table, you clumsily bumped your knee on the chair.
Yes, the same knee you had hurt earlier.
“Ah, damn!” You plopped onto the bed, lifting the hem of your dress. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding a bit. You thought you should apply some hand cream to it; after all, there was no pharmacy around.
“Rosa?”
Startled by Marcus’ voice, you looked up, and he froze at the sight. Oh, right, your legs were exposed again. He averted his gaze, but not before noticing your wound.
"How can you just barge into my room like that?"
"I heard your voice. Are you hurt?" he asked, turning his head slowly, his attention fixating on your knee.
"Why? Are you worried about me now? I thought you came to cut out my tongue."
He exhaled sharply and faced you. "Forgive me, Rosa. I was a bit angry."
"A bit?"
He stepped closer, reaching out to touch your knee, but you instinctively pulled back. “Let me see,” he said, sitting beside you and gently touching your knee. "How did this happen?"
What was going on?
Why was he acting so tender all of a sudden?
"I fell, and Lucius carried me here. Oh right, you didn't bother to ask; you preferred to threaten me instead," you said sarcastically.
"Lucius," he murmured. "Are you interested in him?" His tone sharpened, hinting at something deeper.
Puzzled by his reaction, you decided to tease him. "I don't know; he’s a handsome man."
His brow furrowed. "Keep that opinion to yourself. You’re about to be married."
Ignoring his awkard-possessive tone, you reached for your bag. "Can you hand me my bag? I need some cream for my knee."
He obeyed, passing you your bag while watching intently. His gaze traveled over your face, still stunned by the revelation from earlier. He was trying to reconcile the features of the woman he loved, finding uncanny resemblances in you that sent his mind spiraling.
So this is how she would have looked like if… if they hadn’t taken her from me, he thought.
The same frown line etched on your forehead, the delicate slant of your eyes, your long, lush eyelashes framing your gaze, your perfectly sculpted nose, and, most strikingly, your lips.
Those lips.
They were exactly the same.
Once again, he was taken aback.
How had he not noticed before?
Just the sight of your lips pulled him back into treasured memories, reminding him of their first kiss—a fleeting moment that was forever seared into his mind. So entranced by your lips, he nearly leaned in to kiss you.
Almost.
“Well, I guess this will do,” you said, slipping the cream back into your bag.
Your voice jolted him from his reverie. “That photo,” he said, peering into your bag with curiosity.
“Which one?” You reached into your wallet. “Oh, this one? It’s an old picture of me as a kid. Look, I was really young here—about 11 or 12—and Liz was just five. It was her birthday.” You sighed, gazing at the photo. It held a different meaning for both of you. “I miss her so much,” you whispered.
“Your family... you mentioned that your mother has passed away and that your father is currently experiencing health issues. Is there anyone else in your family?” His serious tone caught you off guard; he seemed genuinely interested, not just asking out of politeness.
“My dad’s in the hospital, in a coma, but I guess you wouldn’t really understand what that means. I have an aunt, but we’re not on the best terms. Why do you ask?”
“Have you always lived in Rome?”
“What’s with the sudden barrage of questions?”
He remained silent, clearly waiting for your response.
“Well, no, I was very young when we moved to Italy from the States— that’s where I was born.”
“States?”
Oh right, how could he know? America hadn’t even been discovered yet; it was still thousands of years away.
“Another... well, another country. Never mind, it’s a long story. I’m not sure I can explain it to you, and honestly, I don’t think you’re ready to hear it.”
You realized he seemed lost in thought, and you wondered what was going through his mind. You broke the silence. “Okay, your turn to answer, Mr. General. Julius said..."
'that the woman you loved when you were younger had a tragic end.'
How could you have said that to him?
The thought twisted in your mind; you could scarcely bear to face it yourself.
“What did he say?”
You took a moment to gather yourself. “Well, he said you visited that place I mentioned. Is that true? Did you go there?”
Nice save.
He looked you square in the eye and stood up. “I appreciate that you informed me,” he said, leaving you bewildered.
“What does that mean—yes or no?”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with that matter now. The wedding is the day after tomorrow. Have some rest. Sleep well, Rosa.” He turned and walked out.
“The day after tomorrow?” Frustrated, you grabbed the pillow and hurled it at the door. “'Have some rest,' you say? You rest!” you shouted as you flopped onto the bed in a fury. “Please, God, help me get back home.”
It was one of those mornings again—heavy, disorienting, melancholic.
Those mornings when you open your eyes and instantly realize that both the place and time you occupy no longer feel familiar. A wave of emotions crashing over—disappointment, longing, a sense of confinement, anger...
And then there’s that other emotion, one that seems to be trying to break through: acceptance.
But surrendering isn’t an option.
No matter what happens, you tell yourself you won’t despair; you’ll find your way back.
You know you will.
Because the moment you let go, the moment you lose hope, this harsh and unforgiving world would consume you whole. You didn’t fit in here; you felt like a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong.
You pulled your phone out of your bag and turned it on, having a sinking feeling when you saw the battery down to 17%.
Just like your hopes, just like your patience, it was wearing thin.
If that weren’t enough, what awaited you in the courtyard with Julius and the others tested your limits further.
"What do you mean I have to stay in another house?" you exclaimed, your voice bouncing off the walls of the courtyard.
Julius placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, trying to soothe your rising frustration. "Please calm down. You only have to stay for tonight."
Balbina lounged in her usual spot, seemingly relishing your discontent, while Lydia stood nearby, smiling awkwardly. "Since you're an outlander, allow me to explain," Balbina started, her tone dripping with condescension. "According to Roman law, the wedding occurs in the bride's home. As patricians, we must adhere to this tradition. Since you don't belong to the patrician class, you might not be familiar with this terms."
"She will be part of our class upon her marriage to my brother," Julius stated, maintaining a respectful tone. He then presented you with a meticulously crafted leather-bound scroll. "This document signifies your new status; you are now a Roman citizen."
You took the document, untying the thread that bound it, and opened it. All you recognized was your name, along with the word 'Roman.' Beneath your name was the seal of Emperor Severus, complete with his likeness. “Well, my Latin isn't great, but is this some kind of identification like an ID?”
“Indeed, it is,” he replied with a smile.
“But why do I have to stay in another house?”
“It’s part of the ritual. You must be brought from the bride's house to the groom's house.”
“Fine, but my house...” -is in Rome in the year 2025.
"You required to stay at Claudia’s house." Balbina instructed, not looking at you. "Julius, take her there at once. We have much preparation to undertake here already."
Julius nodded and turned to you. "If you're ready, we need to leave now."
As you walked to the garden together, ensuring you were away from others, you said, “Julius, please, I don’t want to go. I’m still trying to adjust to this place.”
“You’ll only be there for one night.”
“Where’s Marcus? Does he know about this?"
“He left early for preparations. He chose Claudia’s house—it’s trustworthy and conveniently close to our house. Remember, the law dictates that the wedding must take place at that house, you need to emerge there as the bride, as if the daughter of that house. Marriages within the same family are forbidden, simply as weddings cannot occur in the groom's house.”
“A mere formality, is it?” you muttered, grimacing. Suddenly stopping in your tracks, you added with anxiety, “My bag, I left it in the room.”
“Leave it,” he said as he helped you into the carriage. “Your belongings will be moved to my brother’s chambers tonight, along with your dowry.”
“Dowry?”
He settled next to you in the carriage. “As I mentioned, Marcus is busy with the arrangements.”
It seemed that Marcus had shouldered the burden of all wedding arrangements, paying out of his own budget. Julius had made it clear from the outset that such an approach was rather atypical.
“Your mother, Balbina, asked me to stay in another house to avoid dealing with the wedding preparations she didn't want any part of, right?” you said.
Julius was silent, and you knew that meant yes.
"I'm not surprised," you replied, "after all, she doesn’t like me. But I thought Marcus was the head of the family, that he was in charge. Apparently not, huh?"
Julius chuckled lightly. “You still don’t seem to grasp the seriousness and significance of the situation.”
"What do you mean?"
"You are marrying the head of the Acacius family, and general of Rome. Just imagine how hard this must be for my mother. Soon, you’ll be addressed as 'domina' in the villa. Can you grasp that now?"
You paused, realizing the gravity of his words; you never fully acknowledged how important this was. “But I didn’t ask for that.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Rosa, but your desires are beside the point. What truly matters is what my brother wants. This is the strongest way he can protect you, even from my mother.”
He was kinda right; if you compared it to the modern day, 2025, Marcus was akin to the top soldier in the army, something like a chief of staff. His wife would be both important and respected.
Yet, despite all that, it was an arranged marriage, and the bride had zero desire to marry.
None whatsoever.
The villa where Lady Claudia lived was indeed close by. It was smaller than Marcus’s but still lovely—typical for a Roman villa, modest yet charming. You felt a knot of anxiety in your stomach; staying there even for one night seemed unbearable. As you entered the courtyard, the buzz of activity caught your attention.
Slaves—poor souls—were dashing around: some were decorating with white flowers, others carried trays, while still more were busy cleaning the upper floors. It was a pre-wedding frenzy...
All for you.
Great.
When you spotted a slave who had dropped a cup while rushing along with a tray, you quickly picked it up for him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he bowed his head in gratitude before hastening back to his tasks.
“Julius.”
A woman’s voice called out moments later.
Julius replied, “Lady Claudia.”
At first, you brushed off the similarities in her voice; it had been over a decade since you had last heard it. But as you turned to look at her, shock coursed through you. Lady Claudia’s face mirrored your mother’s—warm smile intact. As she drew nearer, your body trembled, and your heart raced.
The peaceful, lifeless visage you had seen at the funeral was now alive and smiling again. After seeing your father's doppelganger, this was truly mind-blowing.
You covered your mouth, stifling a sob.
"Rosa?" Julius’s voice dripped with concern.
Claudia frowned, her expression a mix of confusion and worry. “Are you well, dear?”
You forced yourself to regain composure, feeling as if you were trying to escape from an invisible weight pressing down on you. "I- I am..." you stammered, struggling to find the right words.
Julius placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "What’s the matter, Rosa?"
You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Claudia. “Forgive me, I'm just confused. You resemble my mother, whom I lost years ago.”
Claudia smiled softly. "How unfortunate. Please accept my condolences."
Oh, she seemed like a better person than your dad's evil twin.
Overcome by a sudden yearning, you hesitated but then mustered the courage to ask, “Can I hug you?”
The slaves around looked surprised, but Claudia nodded and opened her arms. You embraced her tightly, closing your eyes and burying your head in her shoulder, filled with longing. Claudia wrapped her arms around you, taken aback by the warmth of your affection. "You loved your mother very much, I can tell." You nodded, sniffling, still resting against her. “I hope you meet her again in another life.”
Oh well, that's precisely what is happening now.
Suddenly realizing you were clinging to her a bit too tightly, you pulled back and managed a nervous smile. “Thank you.”
Claudia returned the smile. "That was a warmer greeting than I expected, wouldn’t you agree, Ennius?"
You noticed a young boy beside her looking at you with judgement. He didn’t resemble anyone you recognized, hopefully. “I’d call it slightly inappropriate, Mother.”
“Now, now, my son. Remember, she’s a woman about to marry General Acacius—show some respect. Now, come, dear, there’s much to do.”
“I must take my leave,” Julius said, glancing at you. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
You waved goodbye. "See you."
Normally, you would be in a panic right now—left alone in a place surrounded by strangers. But Claudia reminded you of your mother, not only in appearance but also in her behavior. It was almost enough to make you feel at ease, and you couldn't tear your gaze away from her.
As the hours slipped away, a growing sense of unease began to creep into you while Claudia passionately delved into the traditions surrounding a Roman bride. She described it in vivid detail, almost as if you were her own daughter. Although your grasp of history equipped you with knowledge, nothing compared to experiencing these customs firsthand.
By evening, when the slaves arrived carrying large shells look like plates, you asked Claudia about the sticky substance they held, her response left you stunned.
“Beeswax,” she explained. “Now, undress, please.”
You instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. “I don’t have any unwanted hair, I swear.” You lifted your skirts to show your smooth legs, a result of your regular laser hair removal sessions.
"I insist on seeing the rest of you," she said firmly.
At her command, the slaves began to undress you, treating your body with the indifference of peeling fruit. Despite their casual handling, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort; thankfully, Claudia exuded a maternal aura. When she glanced at your armpits and noted the absence of hair -due to the laser treatments-, she couldn’t help but express surprise. However, the pubic area was another story. You had let that grow a bit over the weeks, and Claudia’s solemn words echoed in your ears: “We must remove the hair here.”
“But I usually use a razor for that area; my skin is too sensitive for laser treatment, and waxing, I can't even think of it,” you protested.
She didn’t seem to hear you, -probably didn't understand what were you saying- and you flushed with embarrassment as the slaves guided you to sit on the lectus. “I should’ve just done it myself,” you muttered, remembering the sting of waxing in a sensitive area from a previous experience.
Shaking slightly with trepidation, you settled in. One slave held your arms while another nudged your legs apart, and a third applied the honey-scented wax to your skin, coating the hair with it.
Claudia leaned back, chuckling at your plight. “Stay still, dear. You’re a Roman lady now; all the hair must be removed. Agreed?”
Your answer was nothing short of a shrill scream, piercing the quiet, startling any birds perched nearby on the balcony.
Once the brutal hair removal was complete, pain pulsed through you, mixing with a simmering frustration aimed at Marcus. “This is all your fault, Marcus; I hate you,” you grumbled. Slaves girls and Claudia quietly laughed while leaving you alone to nurse your throbbing discomfort.
Thinking twice, maybe you didn't like Claudia that much.
As dusk settled in, you took a moment to gaze from the balcony of your new room in that villa. Earlier, you had a special pre-wedding bath in the private bathhouse, accompanied by Claudia's advice for your wedding night, which made your face turn red from embarrassment. Below, the slaves still scurried about, busy with their tasks, just as they had been all morning. The area they waxed was still a bit sore, but thankfully, Claudia, being the considerate woman she was, had sent you some soothing oil to ease the discomfort.
You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the women of this era.
When some of the slave girls entered to apply the soothing oil for you, you thanked them gratefully. It worked somehow.
"My lady," one of them giggled, "Maybe you could ask the general to help ease your pain tomorrow night when you’re alone together.”
Confused, you asked, “How?” as you rose from the lectus.
Their laughter rang out, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you realized the implication of their words.
“Don’t you girls have something better to do?” you scolded them.
They bowed their heads and apologized, still snickering as they left the room.
Once they were gone, you felt your blush deepen at the thoughts they had put in your head.
Damn estrogen.
This marriage was a sham after all; why were you feeling so anxious?
Seeking some fresh air, you made your way to the courtyard. You found a quiet corner away from the noise of the slaves and the chatter surrounding you, retreating to one of the gardens.
A wave of melancholy washed over you; you were off your anxiety pills and struggling to believe this was actually happening. Just a few weeks ago, if someone had told you that you’d be kidnapped to ancient Rome and thrust into marriage, you would have laughed until it hurt.
Yet now, you were living through this absurdity, constantly wondering, 'Why me?'
Looking up at the sky, you noted the crescent moon—perhaps two weeks until the full moon? You hoped to find a way back home then.
Suddenly, a crunching sound drew your attention. Before you could react, a large hand clamped over your mouth. You turned to see Lucius and his intense blue eyes signaling for silence.
He slowly removed his hand.
“What are you doing here? Why are you sneaking around?”
He was wearing a black robe. “I came to take you away from here.”
Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What? What do you mean?”
“I can see that marrying him isn't what you truly want. Let me help you.”
“How can you help?”
“I’m heading out of Rome tonight. I can take you back to your family, your homeland. I promise, I’ll make sure you arrive safely,” he urged, determination flashing in his gaze.
You felt a mix of emotions. “Oh, Lucius, if it were only that simple.”
“Where does your family live? No distance is too great for me. I will find a way to take you there."
Confusion clouded your thoughts. “Lucius, why would you do this for me?”
His gaze dropped to your lips as he took a deep breath. “I…” he hesitated. “You’ve changed something in me. I think I’m in love with you,” he confessed with a grin.
“What? You must be joking. Why would you fall for me? Surely, you have plenty of women around,” you countered.
He shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone like you. But that’s not why I’m offering to help. I am here because Acacius is forcing you into this marriage. I can’t allow it.”
With a heavy sigh, you conceded, “Lucius, you need to understand—I appreciate your offer, but I can’t accept. Marcus isn’t forcing me. I want to marry him,” you lied, hoping to sound convincing. After all, Marcus was your only ally in this unfamiliar world, even if he made you furious.
“Are you certain, Rosa? If it’s protection you seek, I can give that to you.”
You shook your head, your gaze steady. “I have faith in Marcus to look after me. He has promised to reunite me with my family someday. Despite the way he can irritate me at times, he’s a man of his word.”
“But you won’t find happiness with him," he murmured.
“Why are you leaving, by the way?” you asked, changing the subject.
His expression turned serious. “Things might get complicated soon. I need to leave before it does, much like I’ve done before. My whole life has been a series of escapes anyway.”
“Why?”
He let out a sad laugh. “Because I’m an unfortunate, damned prince of Rome.”
He touched your cheek, and you swallowed hard, feeling a strange connection between you. “I hope you find happiness, flower. Take care until we meet again.”
Suddenly, he leaned in and pressed a brief, light kiss on your lips. You barely had time to react before he slipped away into the darkness, lost among the trees and shadows. You stood there, stunned, your lips lingering in shock as you blinked away the moment.
As the morning sun poured into your new room, a battalion of slave girls invaded, bustling in with an eager excitement that danced in the air. One girl flung the thick curtains wide, allowing a cascade of golden sunlight to spill into the space, while another approached with the most exquisite wedding dress, placing it delicately upon the bed like a treasure awaiting its moment. A third girl laid down a long, ethereal tulle in shades of soft yellow and orange, and yet another carefully peeled back the sheet, revealing you to the ancient world once more.
Today, as the bride, you were the center of attention, and all eyes would be on you.
The time traveler bride.
The girls began to dress you in a flowing white dress when Claudia entered the room. Instinctively, you smiled at her. She returned your smile warmly and tenderly touched your cheek. “Rosa, did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you, Lady Claudia,” you replied.
“Do you feel ready?” she asked.
“For what?” you said, smoothing the hem of your dress.
She laughed gently. “It’s your wedding day, dear.”
"Oh, right,” you said, nodding, trying to mask the tumult of emotions swirling within you. You didn’t want her to sense your unease.
Claudia placed her hands on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you feel about him, but I’ve known General Acacius since he was young. He’s a good man, and I’m certain he will treat you well.”
“I guess he is,” you said, pursing your lips. You wanted the day to be over as soon as possible.
It felt like you were reliving a bad dream.Your previous wedding ended with the groom leaving you at the altar, but now it feels like you want to leave the groom this time.
You wished for a way out, but there was none.
As your hair was braided, the other slave girls announced the arrival of the guests. Soft music and quiet chatter came from downstairs. Soon, they informed you that the general and his family arrived. The girls placed the long, yellowish veil on your head, so long that you had to twist it around your arm a few times. Worse still, it obscured your vision.
“Am I really supposed to wear this all day?”
Claudia chuckled. “Have you forgotten already? Your husband will lift your veil when you reach his home. But first, he’ll unveil your face to kiss you.”
The word “husband” hit you like a punch to the gut.
Claudia took your arm as you made your way down the stairs, and the music shifted to a slower tempo, the atmosphere becoming lighter. As she had mentioned, she was taking you to your groom. It was an ancient ceremony, surprisingly representing a modern one: the groom waits by the priest while the bride walks through the guests.
The only difference was that this was ancient Rome.
You sighed, wondering what Lizzie would say if she saw you like this. She’d probably laugh a lot. Smiling to yourself, realizing you had many stories to share when you returned home.
As you approached Marcus, thoughts began to spiral in your mind. What if you couldn’t go back? What if you were destined to live here forever as his wife?
How could you endure this sham of a marriage?
Would you ever come to love him?
Would he ever soften his hardened demeanor?
If you considered things from the perspective of an ordinary woman living in this era—not as a time traveler—perhaps you could find something to appreciate in him or love him. He was handsome and, despite his tough exterior, a really good man.
But you still couldn’t forgive him. He had pulled you into this situation and forced you to marry him. No matter his reasons, it felt wrong. He still had someone else in his heart, and you had no feelings for him that would ever change.
You stood directly in front of him, dismissing the curious gazes around you, while the high priest began his ceremonial speech. As you caught a glimpse of his face, you couldn’t help but stare.
He looked undeniably handsome.
When you suddenly heard the sound of the sacrificial pig, you found yourself gaping at Marcus, disbelief washing over you.
What the hell?
Did he notice you staring?
Yes, he did, and he was looking right back at you.
That smirk—damn.
Oh no.
Why was your heart racing?
Get a grip, Rose. You’re angry with him—cool your jets.
Why was there this sudden flutter in your chest, especially when you hadn’t felt an ounce of excitement since morning?
You weren't marrying the man you loved; you didn’t love him at all.
You hated him.
The high priest’s words sounded like murmurings, lost amid the cacophony of voices swirling in your head and heart. He gestured for you to raise your hands, and Claudia, as your pronuba, grasped your right hands with both of hers, intertwining them. Marcus slipped a gold ring onto your finger, featuring the image of two hands clasped together, reminiscent of the ones you’d seen in museums.
Oh great, the anxiety was creeping in again.
When he lifted your veil, it became time to recite the words you’d been trying to memorize since the night before. “Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” you said, your voice steady but avoiding Marcus's gaze, opting instead to focus on his chin.
“Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius,” he replied softly. As he leaned in for the kiss, you held your breath; even though it was obligatory, you weren’t prepared for it. Yet, his kiss was gentle and brief, and you were surprised to find his lips warm and soft against yours.
“And the contract is signed. General Acacius, this woman is now yours,” the high priest announced, his voice resounding like a solemn bell. The guests responded with a warm blend of applause and joyful laughter.
Claudia then handed Marcus a cake that one of the slaves had brought on a special plate. You swallowed hard; your stomach grumbled—hunger gnawed at you, and you couldn’t wait to eat something. Marcus made you take a bite of the cake, but he didn’t offer you much. He chuckled when you frowned at him, especially since he broke the cake over your head as part of a Roman wedding tradition.
Damn ritual cake.
You should be enjoying it in your belly, not having it drop on your head.
Fortunately, the rituals wrapped up, and the feast commenced. The food was delightful—lamb, fresh and dried fruits, bread, and, of course, wine.
Okay, the Romans knew how to celebrate.
Laughter filled the air as people indulged in food and drink, coming over to congratulate you both. If you weren’t so busy devouring everything in sight, you might have noticed Marcus watching you intently all night, but your hunger took precedence. You probably ate so eagerly on your wedding night that your appetite became the subject of conversation throughout the entire city more than your beauty did. Julius and other men approached and exchanged words with Marcus. Soon, Lucilla came over to congratulate Marcus as well. He responded to her with a cold but respectful thank you.
“That’s enough,” Marcus said all of sudden, taking your hand to stop you from reaching for the wine cup.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Isn’t this my wedding night? I can drink as I please.”
“Then I’ll stop you, as your husband.”
“I thought this marriage wasn’t real,” you muttered.
Marcus glanced around and then leaned close. “Be quiet; someone will overhear.”
His tone conveyed anger, but it felt more like a warning than a rebuke. Something had changed in him but what?
Or was he merely playing the part of a devoted husband?
After the banquet, you walked from Claudia’s villa to Acacius', accompanied by the sound of drums. To your surprise, the streets outside were crowded with people cheering for Marcus while gazing at you with wide-eyed awe. Their excitement felt genuine, unlike the women who had eyed you with envy during the banquet. As you attempted to walk beside Marcus, young men, including Julius with torches in hand, accompanied the procession. Occasionally, you stumbled over your long veil, prompting Marcus to offer you his arm. Accepting it made navigating the dark streets easier, but by the time you finally reached the villa, your legs were exhausted. After enduring a few more rituals, your patience was wearing thin.
Sure, they knew how to celebrate, but their devotion to ceremonies was grueling.
Once the fire and water rituals concluded in the villa’s courtyard, everyone suddenly turned to stare at you. You were accustomed to the typical glares from Balbina and Lydia, but the attention from even the slaves was unsettling.
Did you miss another ritual?
Marcus leaned in close, whispering, “My apologies.”
“Apologize all you want; I won’t forgive you. How dare you force me to—ah! What are you doing?”
He suddenly scooped you up, tossing you over his shoulder. Others laughter echoed as you thrashed about.
“I meant to say, ‘apologies for this.’”
“Marcus! My stomach is full; put me down now or I swear I’ll throw up! I mean it!” You struggled, but then his hand found your backside, you froze.
“Calm down; I’ll lower you down shortly.”
You couldn’t see much being upside down, but he turned left after ascended the stairs, veered a little, passed through a grand doorway, and behind a satin curtain, gently placing you back on your feet. It took a moment to regain your balance, then you took in your surroundings.
This must have been the biggest room you’d ever seen—a large bed, a big wardrobe, a hefty desk, chairs, and a passage that led to a balcony.
“Wow, so this is Mr. General's room,” you said, glancing around.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
You turned to him. “I prefer my own room, but this isn’t bad. Oh, I’m so tired; let me just sit here.” You plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Hey, this bed is really comfortable,” you remarked, bouncing slightly and testing the mattress. Although spring mattresses didn’t exist back then, this one was surprisingly soft.
Marcus approached you. “Let me help you with your veil; it seems tangled in your hair,” he offered, reaching out.
“Yeah, I’m finally getting rid of this annoying thing.”
“It suits you,” he said with a smile.
You squinted at him.
“I didn’t intend to call you annoying; it suits you beautifully I meant to say.”
“Whatever,” you yawned. “What a long day.”
“Yes, it truly was,” he murmured.
You both stared at each other in awkward silence for a moment until you finally broke it. “It feels strange, doesn’t it? The fake wedding, and now we’re pretending to be husband and wife.”
Suddenly Marcus frowned, turning away to lift the curtain and scold someone outside. “Return your quarters immediately. No one is allowed near this room."
Once he was came back, you were taking off your shoes. “What just happened?”
“Slaves. Must be Balbina’s doing.”
“What do you mean?” you asked, removing your other shoe.
Marcus let out a weary sigh. “She’s intent on finding out if the marriage has really been consummated.”
You widened your eyes in surprise. “They were actually waiting to listen? Wow, you people surprise me every single time.”
Marcus began to remove his shawl. “It’s tradition. Isn’t it the same in your time? The married couple does something different on wedding nights?”
“At least no one eavesdrops on you there, except in some narrow-minded cultures,” you replied, struggling to untie the belt around your waist. “Ugh, it’s too tight.”
He stepped closer. “Allow me,” he said, effortlessly untying the knot.
“Wow, you follow traditions so well. Are you taking this marriage seriously or what?” you said with a smirk.
But you immediately regretted the joke when he shot you a piercing look. “If I truly took this marriage seriously, I wouldn’t be standing here having a conversation with you. Instead...” He tilted his head, gesturing the bed.
You turned your head away, swallowing hard. “Okay, okay, it was just a joke. By the way, where’s my bag?” you asked, glancing around.
Marcus unfastened his belt and left it on the bed, then retrieved your bag from the wardrobe and handed it to you. “Here.”
“Oh, my bag,” you exclaimed, taking it from him and giving it a tight hug.
He laughed. “You must really have missed it.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” you admitted. “Thanks for looking after it.” You pulled out your cell phone. “Now I can finally clear my head,” you said, sitting back on the bed.
Marcus came over and perched on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?”
“I need to jot down the lunar calendar and important dates. The battery might die soon,” you explained while searching for your notebook in the bag.
“You mean you need to write? You can use my desk,” he suggested, glancing at it.
You peeked over and noticed a reed pen, ink, and parchment set up nicely. “Thanks, Mr. General, but I’ve got something better.” You pulled out a ballpoint pen and a small heart-shaped notepad.
Marcus frowned. “You’re going to write with that thing?”
You chuckled. “Oh, I’m sorry; you don’t know about this invention, do you? It has a little reservoir for ink, so you don’t have to keep dipping it.”
He examined the pen and scribbled something on the paper. “If I’d known about this earlier, I would have written my letters faster.”
You took the pen back from him. "Just be careful; you might change history in a dangerous way."
You both smiled.
He stood up and grabbed some fruit from the table while you continued to write on the notepad.
“Care for a taste? Or perhaps you've had your fill after the banquet,” he asked with a teasing glimmer in his eye, lifting a luscious grape to his mouth.
“Yeah, I’d love some grapes, please.”
“You certainly possess a much appetite for a woman,” he teased, placing a plate of grapes on the bed.
“Hey, it says here that the next full moon is in six days,” you remarked, focused on your screen while popping a grape into your mouth.
Marcus seemed to enjoy watching you. “Six days,” he echoed, and a strange sensation pricked at him. He didn’t like the thought of you going back home in six days; it stung.
“Yeah,” you replied cheerfully. “I hope it works this time,” you said with a grin.
“And what if it doesn’t?”
You frowned at him. “Hey, let’s steer clear of negative thoughts; we need to stay positive.”
He couldn’t fault you for that; he understood. He had already promised to help you return, yet he found it increasingly challenging to let you go, as the mere thought of it hurt him.
“Oh shit, no fucking way.”
“What happened?” he asked, bending down to look at the phone's display.
“My battery's almost dead, the phone's going to shut off,” you said sadly.
“This little device was everywhere in your time; every individual was holding it. It must hold a lot of significance.”
“Yes, very much so. Some people walk around never putting the phone down. You can keep up with the news, chat with your friends, get recipes, take notes, anything you can think of.”
"It allows you to send messages and speak with each other, it does not?"
“You are a good observer, general. You know, you could have called the barracks with it,” you laughed at the prospect. “Of course, first you'd have to have a cell phone and a cell tower nearby."
He laughed softly. "It could've simplify things."
“Yeah. You know what I say? Since the battery is running out, I might as well look at the photos for the last time. I miss my sister. Do you want to take a look? After all, you're stuck here with me tonight.”
“True, I have nothing else to do,” he said, smiling nervously.
He asked you a lot of questions as you showed him the photos from the gallery, he didn't look amazed like Julius, just observant and detailed. When you mentioned that Claudia looked like your mother, he was surprised and even more surprised when you showed him an old picture of your mother.
And then he was lost in thought.
When you paused at a picture, he realized that your face had fallen.
“I should have deleted this photo,” you said angrily. And you deleted it and threw it in the trash.
“Why?”
“I mean, I tore that stupid wedding dress and seeing it again made me angry.”
“You never mentioned that you were married before.”
“I wasn't, the asshole left me on my wedding day.”
"What kind of man would do such thing," he muttered.
“Someone who's not a man, obviously,” your voice cracked.
He touched your shoulder. “Rosa,” he whispered. You looked at him, his brown eyes were intense, sparkling. "He is not worth your sorrow; do not allow yourself to feel sad because of him."
What the hell?
Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage like a drum—thump thump thump thump.
“Thanks, Marcus,” you said, feeling warmth spread through you at his kindness. His hand lingered on your shoulder, igniting a flutter of nerves within you—not in a bad way but in a thrilling, electric way as he looked you over, his features undeniably charming.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated, and then the screen went dark.
“Shit,” you said and threw the phone across the room.
Marcus picked up the phone from the floor. “It might be broken now,” he said.
“Forget it,” you said, standing up. “There's no electricity anyway, I can't even charge it, so it doesn't matter.” you said, pouring the wine decanter on the table into a cup. Then you took your pill out of your bag and were about to pop one in your mouth when Marcus came up to you and stopped you by grabbing your wrist. "You have consumed enough wine already, and I've noticed you reaching for that medicine too frequently."
“What, have you decided to pretend to be my husband?” you asked sarcastically.
He took you in his arms without breaking his serious expression. You gasped. “Hey Marcus, I was joking!”
He approached the bed and laid you on it. You opened your eyes wide when he leaned over you, but he was bending down to pull the covers over you. “Sleep now, you must be tired.” he said, turning around to extinguish the oil lamp.
“But where will you sleep?”
“Here,” he said as he lay down on the lectus.
You sat up on your elbow and looked at him. “Hey that thing looks pretty uncomfortable.”
He smiled and put his arm over his face.“I’ve endured far brutal conditions during the war. This is comfortable option compared to that one.”
“Hmm, okay then,” you murmured and lay back down. “Good night, Mr. General.” As you closed your eyes, a wave of unexpected drowsiness washed over you, and you drifted into sleep almost instantly.
Marcus shifted his arm from his face and turned to watch you slumber, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Good night, Rosa,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet darkness.
Marcus awoke before you, the remnants of a restless night still etched on his face. He had spent countless hours watching you sleep, captivated by your peacefulness, while thoughts of you swirled in his mind. In an attempt to quell his overwhelming desire to reach out and touch you, he had paced the room like a caged animal, frustration simmering beneath the surface. A nascent anger bubbled up within him—for your inability to remember him—but he quickly quelled those feelings, aware that neither of you held the power to change things.
It felt as if the gods themselves were casting a mocking smile in his direction.
As you stretched in bed, you were pleasantly surprised to feel refreshed when you opened your eyes. It had been a long time since you had slept this well. Marcus's bed was far more comfortable than you had expected.
But where was he?
You sat up and scanned the room, yawning.
Just then, he lifted the curtain and walked in, his face lighting up with surprise at the sight of you awake. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.
"Yes. You won't believe it, but I actually slept great," you replied. He approached the bed and lifted the covers, which caused you to startle. "What are you doing?"
When you spotted the dagger-like knife in his hand—an instrument used by Roman soldiers—you instinctively pulled back and curled your legs up. "Marcus, are you out of your mind?"
“Easy now, I won't hurt you,” he reassured you. “The slaves will be here shortly to collect the sheets."
He pressed the knife into his palm. You were shocked that he didn't even flinch when he cut himself. He placed his hand firmly on the sheet and clenched his fist, few drops of blood trickled down and stained the fabric. You looked at him in confusion, but he seemed completely at ease, as if he were completing a task.
"Geez, we should have poured some wine or something. Did you really have to cut yourself?"
"Balbina would have noticed."
"What is she, Sherlock Holmes or something?" you muttered, wrinkling your nose in disgust at the sight of blood on the sheet.
As he wiped the knife on a piece of cloth, you stood up, reached for his hand, and examined it. The cut was deep, but it was nothing Marcus would worry about. "You're quite determined to cut yourself, aren't you?"
He frowned at the insinuation in your voice.
“Julius told me you were willing to die.” He looked into your eyes, waiting for you to continue. You sighed before you spoke again. “He also mentioned why that is.”
You both locked eyes in a moment that stretched on, the air thick with unspoken words. “Do you really feel that way? Do you want to die so badly because it would take away your pain?”
He didn't answer, he was still looking into your eyes, but he wasn't angry, as if he had a lot he wanted to say but couldn't put it into words. He looked at the piece of cloth again and picked up the other one, but you took it from him. “Let me do it,” you said as you wrapped it around the cut on his hand.
He watched you intently as you worked, swallowing hard, captivated by the sight of your eyelashes and the beauty in your eyes. Resisting the urge to touch you, to kiss you... Such a strong urge that it felt far more challenging than facing an enemy on the battlefield. He knew he would have to learn to cope with it.
“Don't die,” you whispered, not taking your eyes off his hand as tears began to trickle down the sides. "If anything happens to you, I can't go back. You're the only one I trust here. I need you." When a tear fell on his palm, he surprised, took your face in his hands. “I assure you that I won't. I no longer have a desire to die, so please, do not cry.”
You smiled and wiped your tears, sniffling. “We have a deal.”
He smiled and wiped the other tears with his thumb, nodding.
"Besides, you promised to help me back. You can't die without keeping your promise." you said, teasing him.
He nodded again. "You have my word."
And at that moment there was a knock at the door. Marcus withdrew his hand and returned to the bed. He picked up the sheets and walked to the slaves waiting at the door. Then he came back. "I have some duties in the barracks and need to leave soon. You shall have this room—and the entire villa—as your own home now. Feel free to indulge in whatever pleases you."
You looked around. “Okay, I'm sure I'll find something to do.”
"And please, don't go out unannounced. Now that you are my wife, you can put me in a difficult situation, you understand? It's essential to consider the reputation of your general husband."
With a playful salute, you nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He chuckled and took one last look at you before leaving the room.
After he left, you sat on the bed. It felt peculiar; something had changed within Marcus—he was softer now, more open than before. Even when you brought up the past with him, he didn't get angry or avoid the subject. Maybe he felt sorry for yelling at you last time, who knows.
Later in the day, the slaves entered the room to change the sheets and dress you in your new attire. You walked around, feeling uncomfortable in the elaborate attire. Sewing and designing appeared to be easier than actually wearing it. The gold bracelets on your arms and the necklaces and earrings around your neck clinked with every movement. Typically, you weren't fond of wearing so much jewelry, but it seemed that being a married woman in this era came with such expectations.
How lovely.
Your heart sank when one of the slaves informed you that Balbina wanted to see you. You hesitated, dreading the encounter with her, but you had no choice; your step mother-in-law called for you. Sooner or later, you would have to face her, given that you lived in the same house.
As you descended the stairs, you stumbled a few times, struggling with the stola while trying to keep the shawl wrapped around your arms. Balbina was seated in the courtyard with Lydia and Claudia. Once they spotted you, all heads turned in your direction. You smiled at Claudia, you were pleased to see her. She stood up and greeted you, “My lady.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Me?”
She chuckled. “Now that you’re the General’s wife, you must be treated with respect.”
Lydia looked away, while Balbina stared at you intently. “What wife? Your husband left the villa early, it seems he’s not quite satisfied with you. You obviously failed to please him.”
You rolled your eyes, trying hard not to say anything bad.
Claudia joined you on the same lectus, making herself comfortable. “Come now, Balbina, isn’t that typical for the first night?”
Lydia let out a sarcastic laugh. “Lady Claudia is right mother. It’s quiet impressive they even managed it.”
They all burst into laughter.
What the fuck?
Were you really being interrogated about your wedding night? And worse, being ridiculed for it?
What was wrong with these people?
The rest of their conversation was nothing short of appalling, filled with discussions about blood on the sheets and other cringeworthy topics. It seemed normal to them to make the newlywed woman feel embarrassed, part of their tradition.
Before she take her leave, Claudia discreetly spoke to you in the garden by the fountain. She not only resembled your mother but treated you like one too, almost. “I noticed the sheets. Are you in pain or bleeding?”
You sighed, feeling annoyed. “No, I’m fine, really.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. Try to gather strength for the next time you’re together. I know it’s tough, but I assure you you’ll adjust in time, Each time, it will get easier."
Your face flushed, but you felt irritated. Remembering your first time, you hadn’t even thought about it, much less discussed it. It was just a fleeting memory. Yet, in this era, it seemed to carry immense weight. But it was hard to listen to her, not only because you are not inexperienced but because you and Marcus are not really husband and wife, and you had not done it but pretending like you did.
“To earn Balbina's admiration and respect, you must bear a child. If you give the General a son, you’ll earn the highest respect in this villa.”
You pursed your lips, still pretending as if you cared. “Does it really matter that much?”
“Indeed. When you’re together, after he finishes inside you, I advise you to lie back, stay still, and place a pillow under your hips—it will help."
Oh, damn, you were well aware of all this and more, coming from a modern era.
But how could Claudia have known? You wouldn't blame her for that.
You nodded, your cheeks burning. “Well, thank you,” you replied nervously.
What she suggested got something stirring inside you; it had been so long since you last hooked up that it was hard not to feel anything.
Yet, there was no fucking way you were going to sleep with someone in ancient Rome.
“Damn it,” you sighed softly as you sank onto Marcus's bed in the dim light of the evening, squinting into a small mirror you had fished out from the depths of your bag. The roots of your hair stood out starkly against the golden caramel hue, begging for attention. Your natural color contrasted sharply with the caramel hue. As you fidgeted with your hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, Marcus stepped into the room. He caught sight of you—holding the mirror in one hand, your fingers tugging at the offending roots with the other. He couldn't help but smile as he observed you from behind the curtain. “Is it your hair that’s making you so angry?”
You turned to face him, noticing he was wearing his dark red tunic. You hadn’t seen it on him before because he usually kept it hidden under his armor. That’s right—you were in his room, and you were technically his wife, so he felt at ease around you.
“As soon as I get back, I need to get it root-dyed again,” you sighed.
“The color of your natural hair is more beautiful,” he said.
You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, but you're not helping. And my French nails are a disaster, too. I need to get those done as well. You have no idea how tough it is for someone who goes to the salon every week.” You stretched out your hand to him.
He took your hand , observing. “I think your nails are perfect."
"Why am I even asking for your opinion?” you complained.
“How was your day?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed.
"It was a bit dull. It’s so hard without my phone."
"I am considering forgoing my duties at the barracks tomorrow. Would you be interested in joining me for a horseback riding excursion?"
You raised your eyebrows. “Really?”
He smiled, and for the first time, he enjoyed saying the word from your time: “Really.”
"That would be fantastic, Marcus. So you can skip work whenever you feel like it?"
"Not quite," he smirked. "Julius and my second-in-command will be present in my absence."
"Your second-in-command? Since you're a general, is he a lieutenant general, major general, or something? I’m not great with military ranks."
"I do not understand the terms you are using. A second-in-command is called Optio."
“Hmm.”
A peculiar silence fell between you.
Normally, as newlyweds, you should have been preoccupied with other activities during your alone time at night, but this wasn’t a real one. You both exchanged anxious smiles that lingered until the silence became nearly unbearable.
You finally broke the stillness.
“Marcus, I just had a great idea. Since we have some time to sleep, why don’t we play a game? It would help us get to know each other better. What do you think?”
“A game?”
You stood up. "A drinking game—It called 'I Never.'"
He frowned. “I am uncertain about what that is.”
You set the wine decanter and cups on the tray, returned to the bed, and placed them down. “It’s quite simple,” you explained as you settled cross-legged in the middle of the bed. "You say 'I never,' and finish the sentence. If it’s something you did, you drink; if not, you don’t."
Marcus positioned himself more comfortably at the edge of the bed, facing you with his arms crossed. “It doesn’t seem to make much sense.”
You rolled your eyes. "That’s why it's called a game. Learn by example. I’ll start: I never killed a man. Now you drink, because you did, right?"
"True, I killed many." He smiled slightly as you poured him some wine. “I think I understand the logic now.” He took a sip.
"Yes. Now, Mr. General, your turn.”
Pursing his lips, thinking. “I never had a phone."
You laughed. “You’re getting the hang of it.” Pondering your next move, you continued, “I never fell in love.”
He met your gaze.
You shrugged. “I thought I was in love with that jerk, but I was mistaken.”
Marcus took another sip of his wine, clearly enjoying what you just admitted, a smirk playing on his lips as he spoke. “I never dyed my hair.”
You chuckled. “I'd pay to see that.” You considered the things you were curious about him. “I never slept with a woman.”
Marcus shot you a look. “Do you think I’m pure?”
“Okay, let’s put it this way: I never slept with a whore.” You raised your eyebrows, waiting for his response.
He sighed, taking a sip of his wine sheepishly.
“Aha, not quite so innocent, are we?”
"I never claimed that I am an innocent man," he explained, smiling.
"Wait, are you actually playing or just saying?"
"Just saying," he echoed your words, looking at you piercingly, which left you blinking and swallowing.
“I’m not judging. I don't care who you slept with or... how many." You cleared your throat. "It’s just a game. Okay, your turn.”
“I never slept with a man.”
You rolled your eyes. "Come on, really? You know I’m not a virgin."
He tilted his head curiously. “The game, you said.”
“Fine.” You squinted and took a drink. “Just one man, and you know who.”
He nodded in understanding.
And the game continued on.
By the time the jug of wine was empty, your head was spinning. “I think I’m getting drunk,” you admitted, feeling a bit woozy. "I guess you won," you said, laughing uncontrollably as you clapped your hands and leaned your head on his shoulder.
He wrapped his arm around you gently. "Are you well? Rosa?" He lowered his gaze, checking your face, but your eyes were closed—unconscious. Brushing the hair back from your face, he sighed softly.
"I regret having made that promise. How can I endure watching you leave?" His fingers gently caressed your hair. "After all these years of yearning, how can I allow you to slip away once more?" He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on your temple.
"When will you truly remember, my love?”
“It’s beautiful here.”
As the midday sun bathed the landscape in a golden glow, Marcus led you to that enchanting spot he had spoken of. The meadow unfolded like a green carpet, vibrant and alive, with a shimmering pond nestled at its center, reflecting the azure sky above. You eagerly took off your shoes, walking barefoot on soft grass that tickled your toes as you stepped onto the earth.
“What are you doing?” Marcus asked, astonishment written all over his face.
“Earthing. I’m just savoring the feel of the soil,” you replied.
“Be careful, Rosa—you might step on a thorn."
But then, a realization struck him; this moment felt oddly familiar.
“Relax, I’ll be fine. It’s good for your feet and body; it helps you unwind, lowers the stress. Just give it a try, Marcus.”
'Come now, Marcus. Try.’
He smiled.
The way you pronounced his name was like music to his ears, just as she used to say it. In that moment, he realized that no one else could say his name quite like you did. He had brought you here hoping to spark some memories, but he felt uncertain.
This was where he had first met her—a sanctuary, a place of refuge where they had spent countless moments together. Now, as he heard that familiar phrase from you, it ignited a flicker of hope in his heart. He needed to try something different.
He removed his sandals. “It might be a bit challenging to fasten these later. Would you be able to lend me your assistance?” he asked, his heart racing in anticipation, waiting for your answer.
The response he received wasn’t what he expected—not even close. “What am I, your babysitter, old man?" you laughed while reaching for an apple on the tree. "'Ain't your mama. Oh, I love that song. I wish I could listen right now.” you kept murmuring the song unaware of Marcus' feelings.
He frowned, feeling annoyed.
Still, he shook off the momentary disappointment; he was determined to keep moving forward. While you dipped your legs into the cool pond, he wandered through the meadow, gathering a bouquet of wildflowers bursting with colors—bright yellows, violets, and whites. He returned to you, presenting the vibrant collection with a hopeful smile.
“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out,” you said, your eyes wide in surprise.
He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
“Because you’re being way too nice to me.”
He took a breath and said, “I realize I haven’t treated you as kindly as you deserve. How about these flowers I collected for you? Will you accept my apology?"
“No, but it’s a step in the right direction, I guess,” you said with a wry smile as you accepted the flowers.
“Which one do you like more?”
“Hmmm. The daisy. It’s simple and lovely, just as it is. Plus, it doesn’t have a scent, which is perfect because I’m allergic to pollen.” Just then, an itch made you sneeze.
He frowned. “What about jasmine?”
“No way, the smell will make me sneeze even more,” you grimaced in response.
Marcus was taken aback; this was different—she had loved jasmine. What was it that made you so uniquely distinct, yet somehow mirrored her in so many ways?
As the days went by, that day finally arrived; the radiant full moon loomed ever closer on the horizon. You and Marcus had agreed to head to the temple that evening together, so you found yourself anxiously waiting for him all day. But he never arrived; in fact, Julius was nowhere to be seen either. You ventured down to the courtyard and glanced around. Balbina and Lydia were in their usual spot, chatting with some other women. Ah, those curious ladies again—the type who scrutinize you with interest and pepper you with questions about your family, homeland.
Luckily, they didn’t notice you slipping away.
On your way out, you spotted one of the slaves and told him you were headed out to meet Marcus. It wasn't a lie; he would have suspected you were at the temple anyway. You could no longer bear staying cooped up, especially with your phone out of battery and only two anxiety pills left.
The soldiers at the gate hesitated to let you leave alone, insisting one of them accompany you to the temple. You had no choice but to accept their escort; the general had given strict orders not to let you wander off unaccompanied.
Minutes felt like hours as you arrived at the temple, and yet, no one awaited you there. The soldier lingered on the stairs, while you gazed into the stillness of the temple. Suddenly, you heard the familiar sound of a horse's neigh, and Julius arrived. He instructed the other soldier to return and approached you with a serious expression. “Rosa, it would be better for you to leave right now.”
“What do you mean?” you replied, confusion twisting in your gut. “Marcus said we were to meet here.”
“Emperor Severus has been poisoned. Prince Geta and Caracalla are preparing to seize the throne.”
“What?”
“We’re keeping all soldiers on high alert,” he continued, glancing around as if the shadows held unseen threats. “We’re prepared for an uprising at any moment.”
“Julius, I need to go back. The full moon is up there; it'll be even more prominent at midnight. This time, I know it’ll work.”
Julius sighed, troubled. “Marcus is gathering a force to counter the praetorians' threat. However, If he promised to arrive, he will. My orders are to control the city’s entrances. Stay hidden. I’ll try to return shortly.”
“Okay. Just be careful, Julius.”
He smiled reassuringly and hurried down the stairs. You settled into the quiet of the temple, waiting, but no one came. The silence felt suffocating. You couldn’t go back to the villa; your patience had worn thin.
Just then, you heard the quick gallop of horses outside. You instinctively hid, unsure who rode by. Another minute passed; this time, footsteps echoed on the stairs. You glanced up to see not Marcus, but a young boy who gazed at you with curiosity. "Lady Acacius?"
You tensed but nodded.
“The general is wounded and sent me to deliver a message. He said 'if I don’t make it in time, you should leave without waiting for me.'”
The boy glanced over his shoulder before dashing down the stairs. You wanted to ask how he was hurt, but he was gone in an instant, swallowed by the shadows.
What was happening?
Why was he wounded?
You pulled out the parchment, reading the words just to try, shock washing over you.
It had worked.
Your mouth fell open as a wave of joy surged through your body. Instinctively, you took a step toward the rift of bright light, but then stopped. The last time you saw Marcus was that morning, and now he was hurt, maybe close to death.
Panic tightened your chest.
How could you abandon him like this?
What if something happened to him?
No, you couldn’t let that happen. The rift would have to wait. You couldn’t leave without seeing him safe and sound. Determined, you knelt by one of the temple pillars and prayed—both to your god and to all the Roman gods.
Fear crept into your heart. For perhaps the first time, you found yourself crying for him.
If it was before weeks ago, you wouldn't care about his well-being and would jump at the chance to leave here.
But now...
Now you couldn't leave without seeing him.
Had you truly fallen in love with him?
You pushed the questions aside, focusing only on your desire to see him safe.
A little later, you peeked over the pillar as hoofbeats approached. When you saw him, you quickly stood up.
“Rosa!”
You scrambled down the stairs to meet him, your heart fluttering. “Marcus!” you wailed, throwing yourself into his arms. He caught you, his warmth enveloping you, but the moment was cut short as he pulled back to gaze intensely into your eyes. “You were awaiting?” His eyes widened in disbelief as he noticed the pulsating rift shimmering within the temple. "You managed..."
“Forget that. Where are you hurt?” You noticed the rag wrapped around his calf, which was stained red with blood.
“It’s nothing—”
Suddenly, an arrow flew from nowhere, piercing the air, striking him in the shoulder. He stumbled toward you, and you cried out in shock, “Marcus!”
“Acacius is here!” someone shouted, followed by the clamor of more horses approaching.
He shielded you behind him and drew his sword. “Run into the temple! Leave now, while you can!”
“No!”
Struggling but determined, he grabbed your hand and urged you into the temple. “Rosa! I said leave! I can’t let anything happen to you!”
“I won’t leave you in the middle of this chaos! Come with me. That wound looks serious; you need modern treatment!”
Just then, several soldiers arrived, clashing with the guards as the sounds of swords echoed around you. “Leave now! I can’t abandon my men!” Marcus yelled.
“No, I can't leave you like this!”
Suddenly, another arrow flew through his stomach. Then, another one, from behind, all from behind, dastardly, cruelly.
Another arrow plunged into his chest. Marcus spat blood from his mouth yet forcing himself to stand. You froze, shuddering with terror.
“NO! Marcus!” you screamed.
You forced your brain to think.
As soon as Marcus sank to his knees, struggling to catch his breath, you slipped under his arms and hoisted him up with every ounce of strength you could muster, ignoring the sting in your muscles, ignoring your dress covering in blood, his blood. You focused entirely on saving him. "Come on, Marcus, don't die, please! You promised me! Don't die!“ You cried out as you pulled Marcus toward the rift. "Please, God! Don't let him die! Help me! Marcus, I can save you. Please don’t die; the doctors can help you. You have no idea what they are capable of. Please, just stay with me!"
“Amo te, Rhea,” he murmured, his voice barely escaping his lips as he surrendered to the darkness, closing his eyes. You heard that name for the first time, but you didn't care. Panic surged through your veins. "Marcus, open your eyes, damn it! Don’t you dare slip away from me!”
You dragged him into the light, leaving his blood painting everywhere, and then something happened.
A blink.
A blinding light, intensely bright.
An unusual wind, chilling and invasive, seemed to seep into every cell.
And then, once more.
A blink of the eye.
And darkness.
But not just any darkness—the deep, enveloping darkness of the night. Rain poured down, heavy yet warm. You stood up in shock, taking in your surroundings.
Tall buildings loomed over you, street lamps flickered, the car horns filled the air alongside the tangles of wires on electric poles.
You were back.
Tears of joy streamed down your face, blending with the rain. Then you came to your senses, you had just been crying—for him.
For Marcus.
You turned around, frantically scanning the area, searching the ground. The shadows from the trees cloaked everything in darkness.
But there he was.
Marcus lay there, motionless.
You rushed to him, heart pounding.
"Marcus! What the fuck-"
There was no blood on him, just a few scattered drops. You ran your trembling fingers over his armor. The holes in his armor were visible, but the arrows had vanished along with the wounds they caused. Placing your head on Marcus's chest, you listened intently. His heart was beating.
His face was wet from the fall of rain. As you gently brushed your fingers against his cheek, you felt warmth.
Not dead.
He was alive.
It was absurd, impossible—even miraculous—but he was alive.
Your jaw dropped, then a grin spread across your face.
And then he opened his eyes, blinking as raindrops fell on his eyelashes. Relief washed over him as he saw you, yet confusion clouded his gaze as if he couldn’t believe it was happening again.
You smiled at him, “Marcus, I know this sounds crazy, but you’re not dead. We’re back. Together.”
hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️
synopsis: You come out of the shower and apply lotion. Marcus wants to help.
w/c: 2.8k
warnings: 18+ (MDNI), unprotected pnv sex, established couple, slight (legal) age gap, v fingering, pet names, slight religious imagery, p pronouns, breeding kink?, size kink, rubbing?
a/n: my wip list is so fkn long but I cannot get this man out of my head. This is a continuation of the same universe as this fic.
If you’d like to hear more about these (almost) love birds/ more modern!acacius pls let me know and I can tag you next time. This is unbeta’d and barely proof read.
Read on AO3
Steam chases you from your en-suite bathroom. Smells of coconut and jasmine trailing closely behind. Your hair is bundled into a towel which is precariously balanced on your head, not helped by the jiggling as you brush your teeth.
There’s nothing that you enjoy more than coming home after the gym to use your own shower. The rainfall setting on the shower head acts as a masseuse and works out the knots on your back.
As always after a workout, your body is tired but your brain is playing pinball with all of the endless tasks that await you tomorrow. You thought a shower would wipe those out but to no avail.
A black, terry-cloth robe is tied loosely around your waist, creating a v between your breasts as you saunter into your closet. You pinch the silken material of your pyjamas between your fingers, holding your toothbrush steady in your mouth as you walk again through to your bedroom.
Without realising it, you're murmuring to yourself. It almost sounds melodic. The white foam around your mouth threatens to spill out from the sides as you set your pyjamas onto your bed before returning to the bathroom to wash it all away.
Marcus sits upright in your bed. Cheaters perched on the bridge of his beautiful nose as he glances at you over his paperback. It’s something historic, war-related. He allows the book to fall softly to his chest, his attention piqued as your return from the bathroom. Your robe has become more undone, exposing the full curves of your body and your hair is still damp, creating a slight chill on your neck.
He takes a deep, audible breath and then releases it. He enjoys watching you exist within your own space as if he wasn’t there. For so long, he had partners who relied on him for so many things that by the end of it, their personality faded to what they thought he wanted from them- but not you.
Your routine was impacted minimally from this new situation that you found yourself in. For the first time in your adult life, you had swapped keys with someone, allowing the other access to your homes.
Despite having shared every inch of each other's bodies, this was somehow the most intimate thing you think you’ve done with this man. Eyes catching in the mirror as you brush your teeth; ironing his shirt because you were ‘doing yours anyway’; a call from the other end of the apartment that there was a ‘band-aid emergency’. Domesticity had shown you the soul of this man and you were falling hard.
Over by your vanity, you retrieve a bottle of your coconut body oil. You undo the tie of your robe, which was already hanging by a thread, and allow it to slip off your shoulders to the floor below. You pump the oil into your hand, set the bottle back on the side, then rub your hands together, warming the liquid. Lifting your leg to the small stool in front of the vanity, you start at your ankles, rubbing deep, thorough circles up your calf, shin and then knee.
“If I could have a picture painted on the back of my eyelids forever, it would be this.”
You glance up at Marcus. The paperback is closed, to one side of his bedside table. His head is cocked as if trying to get a better view of what you’re doing. His smile is lazy, eyes hooded from a long day at work but there’s a spark in them that tells you that something’s about to explode.
The circling doesn’t falter as you pump more oil into your hands, beginning to knead your plush thighs. “Mmmmm, I’m sure there are a million other things you’d rather look at than me putting lotion on…” your idle hands continue.
Slowly, he pulls off his round-rimmed glasses, folds the arms inwards and places them alongside his book. He peels back the covers from the lower-half of his body, revealing the fact he’s wearing nothing but a pair of briefs, swings his legs out of bed and floats over to where you stand.
He picks up the bottle of body oil and waves it under his nose. Eyes fluttering, he knows this is one of the undertones of you. The coconut mixes so well with your warm muskiness which elicits a Pavlovian response in him. Marcus feels his cock twitch from the tight fabric he’s confined in. He hums, vocalising his appreciation for the smell before placing it back down, exactly where he found it.
“Can I help?” He looks down at your hands with pouty lips, then flits back up to your heavy-lidded gaze. Under the soft glow of the bedroom light, the oil makes your skin glimmer and shine. It almost makes it look wet.
Marcus prides himself on being a man of strong wills. Able to wait and savour the moments of anticipation that make the moments of pleasure even more heightened. But looking at you here, warm and slick, anticipating the feeling of you under his touch, is making his strength falter.
He tries to keep his mind on the here and now, but viewing you in all of your naked glory, Marcus’ mind begins to conjure up the most carnal of images as his cock becomes harder than stone.
Narrowing your eyes at the man towering above you, you remove your foot from the soft cushioning of the stool then gesture for him to sit on the vacant seat, which he does so obediently. His dark eyes somehow grow larger as you now stand above him, like he’s just been presented with a giant present to unwrap.
The size difference between your hand and Marcus’ is laughable, as you take his in yours, turning it so his palm faces the ceiling. Reaching behind him you pick the bottle up once more and pump the liquid into his palm. He cups his hand slightly, moving it so the oil doesn’t escape.
Neither of you move for a moment. You can feel the heaviness of his gaze as it roams across your full, heavy chest, down to the curve of your stomach and waist. Under his gaze you are a goddess; something to be revered and worshiped.
You grab both of his wrists and force his palms together. His eyes don’t drop from yours as he warms the oil in his praying hands. He is ready to sink to his knees at your alter. “There is no better sight than you.” His lips curl upwards, he hasn't moved from the position you manoeuvred him into.
Spinning, you present him with your back. Rolling your shoulders deeply, you try to keep your heart steady and your brain relaxed as his strong, wide fingers find the indents of your hips. “I feel like you may be a little biased, given I’m all naked and lubed up…” you chuckle, looking down at him from over your shoulder.
“I cannot do your beauty justice with words.” He starts, spreading his fingers wide and rounding them back and forth, kneading your cheeks. The movements he makes are not soft but also not punishing; calculated and steady. You can’t bare to look away from him, though his eyes follow his hands as they push and pull at your body.
“Every part of you surrounds me and fills up each of my senses so that I lose control…” he slowly moves his thumbs in circles until they reach the small of your back. He increases the pressure, knowing that you have trouble with that area.
“I see you, and I’m in awe.” His grip is unrelenting, he rises from the stool so that your back is to his chest. “When I touch you, my whole body burns.” He holds you as he pushes his hips forward, you can feel the warmth of his cock. A hum passes your lips and you can’t help but to push your slicked ass back into him.
A throaty moan turns into a chuckle as Marcus realises that you are just as ready for this as he is. His lips hover at your ear and you can feel him smile against you. “To smell you…” he inhales, the soft breath tickles the fine hairs on your neck and shoots goosebumps all down your arms which he smooths over with his oil-slicked palms before they settle on your rib cage.
“To hear you…” his hands travel further up, cupping your heavy breasts and squeezing them roughly, eliciting a sweet whine from your lips. The oil from his hands has all but depleted but with what’s left he spreads all over your tits, pushing and pulling with his calloused hands.
“Mmmfuuuuck” you allow your head to roll back onto his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed as he twists and yanks at your hardened nipples, his breathing deepening.
“But d’you know what makes me lose it the most?” He rolls your nipples in between his thumb and fore fingers as the rest of his hands move the heft of your tits with his palms.
Your brain is still two moves behind him, nerve endings still firing off from the sensation of the body oil swirling under his relentless fingers.
A faint rumble at your back paired with stilled hands on your chest brings you back in the room. Marcus nips at your earlobe before soothing it with his hot mouth. Gently, he lets your punished bosom fall from his grasp as he turns you by the shoulders to face him.
Heavy-lidded, panting, and jaw-slacked is how Marcus finds you. He bites the inside of his cheeks, trying to hide how giddy your pliancy makes him. Lifting your chin with his knuckle, he ensures your gaze meets his and stays as he guides you backwards to the bed.
“What makes me lose it the most, the thing that taunts me every day when I’m sitting at my desk, daydreaming about coming home to you…” he lowers you to the pillowy softness of your comforter, hovering above you so that the tip of your noses are touching. “The thing that makes me run faster every morning?” Maintaining eye contact, you can feel him slowly walk his fingers from your kneecap up to the crease between your thigh and pussy.
Sucking in your cheeks, you bite down hard, trying to keep your breathing even. Marcus’ thick first digit swipes slowly up and down your drenched core spreading your wetness. “Fuuck, Marcus-“
“Ohhhhh, there she is.” He sucks in a deep breath as he adds his second finger rubbing slow, deep circles around your clit. “Tasting your sweet cunt is the first fruit since winter.” He pushes both fingers inside of you, his own eyes flickering closed as your tightness wraps around them. Marcus fucks his fingers in and out of you with careful precision, his honey-glazed eyes half open and staring deeply into yours.
Steadily, he slides his fingers from you. Leading a trail of wetness up your naked body, across your tummy, circling your poor nipples, before bringing them inches from your faces. His lips envelop his digits, a throaty rumble passing through him as you feel him rut his covered cock against your inner thigh.
Extending your neck, you lick at Marcus’ fingers and tongue, needing to know the taste of you in his mouth. He appeases you for a moment, licking a swirling his own tongue against both his fingers and grazing it past your own before it all becomes too much. “I need to be inside you.” He mumbles after removing his fingers from both your mouths.
Marcus shucks off his light grey briefs now stained a darker tone from his leaking cock. Holding himself up on a forearm, he takes length in his hand, pumping himself back and forth allowing his flushed tip to caress your clit, before notching himself at your entrance, pushing in half an inch.
Rapidly, he sucks in air through his teeth, trying so desperately to keep his eyes open and on you. “Your cunt is so greedy for me, sweetheart.” He dips his head to look at the point where your bodies are meeting.
He pushes in a little further, licking his lips as he does so. “Mmmmmfuck, look at us.” He brings himself out of you just to push forward again, only his tip inside. The wet sound of your soaked core bouncing off the walls, only highlighting how feral this man makes you.
Following his instruction, you brace yourself up onto your elbow, you look down to see Marcus’ thick, weeping cock tease in and out of you.
Surveying the toned roundness of his stomach, your man puts on a show for you. He allows the swollen crown of his dick to catch your opening, stretching you with the giant girth of his tip, only to pull out again.
It is obscenity at its finest. The heady sounds and smells of you both perfume the air, all with the sweetness of coconut oil.
At the same time, you look up, holding each other there in the moment. The older man pushes himself in, inch by aching inch as you wrap your legs around his waist and push down on his lower back, trying to feel him even deeper. Finally, he is seated within you, the burn of his stretch only adding to the carnal desire.
“You Goddess; you take me so fucking well.” Marcus’ head falls in the space beside yours, his breath hot and ragged as he stills his hips. You can feel yourself flutter and squeeze against his giant cock, willing him to move. He does, but only circles his hips, savouring the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him like a fist.
Just when you think you can’t take anymore, the broad backed man takes pitty on you, pushing your left leg back and up over his shoulder as he starts his legato movements.
In all your years you have never been fucked in a way like this. College boys with the stamina of Olympians have nothing on the animalistic urge that you awaken in one another.
“Do you like it when I stretch you out?” Marcus’ deep timbre brings you back into the room as he licks at his lips. His eyes snake slowly from your own to the point where his giant cock is testing your limits and then back up again.
“Hmmm?” He goads, a smirk slowly developing as he feels you tighten around him over and over. “Feel us together, sweetheart. Feel how my cock stretches your tight little pussy.” He takes hold of your wrist and brings it down to the fusing point.
With a sly smirk of your own, you grab the base of his dick and slowly pump the part of him that can’t quite fit. A deep throaty moan rumbles from his chest as his deep eyes turn a darker espresso colour. “Fuck, you stretch me so much…keep going, please.” You can feel the faint twitch of his dick as you know you’re both not going to last long.
“You play with that swollen clit but don’t you dare come yet. I need to feel you squeeze around me as I’m filling you with my cum.” You should feel embarrassed as the type of moan that passes your lips, breathy and deep, but you don’t have the brain function to care. This man is fucking you dumb.
As any good soldier would, you follow your clear instructions from the man in charge as you roll your clit in quick, tight circles. “That’s it, my sweetness, you like the idea of me filling you right up don’t you?” His thrusts become faster and deeper. The leg that was up on his shoulder, now fallen slightly but hooked over his back as his relentlessness never falters.
Marcus smiles down at you, his bright pearly whites unable to be hidden as he peers directly into your soul. Slowly, he brings his lips down to yours, your body almost folded in on itself as he fucks up into you.
The warm heat of his tongue glides and smooths against your own as you hear him moan into you which is the thing you both need to push you off the edge.
Your tongues become sloppy but never still as you feel his cock jerk inside of you, filling you in the way that you need him to.
The sound of your heartbeat rings in your ears as you both continue microscopic movements of your hips, only prolonging your highs as the hormones rush through your bodies.
Marcus throws his broadness and takes you with him as he rolls onto his back and manoeuvres so that you straddle him.
Too exhausted to sit up, you press yourself to him, chest to chest. The deep thudding of his heart brings you both back down to earth.
After a while of soft touches and lingering kisses, Marcus can hear your breathing even out, a whisper of a snore coming from you. He presses a kiss to your, nearly dry, hair. “I’m falling in love with you…” he whispers to the otherwise silent room. The confession that will be heard on another day.
