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missadangel · 3 days ago

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AMOR MEUS AETERNUS

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

Chapter 1: Sol Invictus

Summary: You are an assistant to a costume designer on a busy movie set, where the pressure is high and the work is exhausting. One difficult evening during a lunar eclipse, you suddenly spot a man in a Roman military outfit materializing out of nowhere. Chapter Word Count: 14k (sorry but I had to introduce characters properly :)) authors note: It's a bit of a romantic-comedy-drama stuff because Marcus doesn't know that he traveled to 2025, LMAO poor baby (and you know I'm a hopeless romantic). I'll explain in more detail in chapters why he ended up here and what led him to meet the reader, but I'm avoiding spoilers. And the reader will help him get back to his time but accidentally travel to ancient Rome because of something; i can't talk more, lol. Wait for the episodes, please thank youuuu. if you wanna be tagged lemme know! Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut Chapter Word Count: 14k (sorry but I had to introduce characters properly :)) Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk, 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 series masterlist

....Chapter Theme.....

**Rome, 205 AD***

"Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!"

"Saviour of Rome!"

"Hail to the new general of Rome!"

"Hail Acacius!"

The streets of Rome reverberated with fervent cheers, a tidal wave of voices rising in tribute to a singular figure: Marcus Justus Acacius.

At forty years of age, Acacius had recently ascended to the prestigious title of general, his fame forged in the fires of battle and cemented by the decree of Emperor Severus. A man of unwavering loyalty and formidable skill, he had never tasted defeat, a fact that resonated deeply with the hearts of the Roman people.

As he emerged from the shadows of the grandiose triumphal arch, bedecked in gleaming white armor that caught the sun in a dazzling display, the crowd surged forward, intoxicated by their adoration. The very air around him crackled with electricity, a palpable sense of reverence enveloping the scene.

For the citizens, he stood as a titan, almost a god among men—a triumphant commander, a stalwart soldier, an indomitable leader whose very presence instilled terror in the hearts of enemies. Joy radiated from the crowd, their faces alive with hope and gratitude, caught in the spell of the day's celebration.

High atop the temple of Jupiter, Emperor Severus basked in the same jubilant spirit, joined by the Roman princes, Geta and Caracalla, his twin sons, all eagerly awaiting Acacius's arrival. Laughter and cheer rang out like festive bells, painting a tableau of optimism for the future.

Yet amidst the fervor and celebration, one heart was not aligned with the jubilant chorus.

Marcus Justus Acacius wrestled with a storm of unsettling emotions. While the victory was undeniably sweet for Rome, a bitter taste lingered on his tongue.

Inside, he simmered with frustration and discontent. Shadows clouded his thoughts; the thrill of his triumph felt hollow. He couldn’t escape the dark fantasy that had taken root in his heart—a yearning for death, an echo of despair that whispered sweetly of peace.

He envisioned his lifeless body passing beneath the triumphal arch, believing it might convey a deeper significance than his living presence ever could.

But that notion, in this moment, felt like a cruel mirage in an unforgiving desert. What was left for him now but emptiness, a void peering back at the mask he wore for the thrumming, joyous masses?

The sword’s brutal strikes, the faint scratches from arrows, the battle scars etched upon his skin—each bruise and cut, still glistening with crimson remnants, tells a tale of relentless struggle. These visible wounds bear testament to his long, agonizing wait and evoke the depth of his longing for eternal rest.

Yet, fate has thwarted him once more.

He found himself back in this city, a paradox of breathtaking beauty that thrived, yet concealed a well of sorrow beneath its surface. He had returned as a harbinger of victory, bringing new territories and a flicker of hope, but for himself, there was only void. He was a soldier, defined purely by duty, reduced to the relentless cycle of war and struggle.

Tomorrow would bring the same grind, as it always did. Day after day, he would rise to the call of arms, trapped in this existence until his weary soul finally departed from its mortal shell. Until that fateful moment, he walked as a living ghost, haunted and hollow.

The pain of loss had transformed him, for it had been this way since the day he lost the one he loved most dearly, and perhaps it would always remain so. Deep down, he might have yearned for oblivion more than his fiercest enemies ever could. Yet, the fires of his fighting spirit, relentless and unyielding, refused to dim.

It felt as though he was cursed, damned, ensnared by divine forces that reveled in his struggle — a pawn in a game that pit him against his own fate. Mars, the god of war, must have wielded his destiny with cruel hands, stripping away his heart and filling the gaping void left in its place with a relentless tide of pain, turmoil, and unquenchable rage.

The following day, as the resonant echoes of the Colosseum games, held in his honor, continued to reverberate through the streets, Marcus found himself immersed in the elegant atmosphere of the evening banquet. The air was thick with the intoxicating aroma of spiced wine and savory roasts, yet he felt like an outsider, trapped in a performance he neither wanted nor understood. Banquets and grand gatherings had never been his domain; he was an island amidst a sea of laughter and merriment.

His social connections were tenuous at best—a woman who was his father's second wife and his half-brother shared their deceased father's vast villa. He remained a mere shadow in their presence, offering nothing of himself except the occasional nod. Only his brother, Julius, his father's son from a second marriage, was a solitary beacon of understanding in Marcus's otherwise lonely existence.

Rumors clung to him like ivy on crumbling stone, painting him as a frigid, soulless warrior. The tale of his coldness often traced back to the haunting loss of his mother in childhood, yet the truth lay deeper, buried beneath layers of unspoken grief.

"General Acacius," a voice rang out, cutting through the revelry. Severus approached him, the gleeful cheers of the crowd fading into the background as he placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder.

“Emperor Severus," Marcus replied, straightening to salute, the laurel crown still uncomfortably perched upon his brow—an ornament he detested.

"I hear the medicus has been tending to your wounds. You owe it to yourself to find rest now; no new wars loom on the horizon. Our foes cower in fear before the prowess of our expansive territories, all thanks to you, my glorious commander,” Severus proclaimed, his expectant smile radiating insincerity.

Marcus remained a stone wall, responding only with a slight nod. Nearby, the young princes Geta and Caracalla watched him, their expressions a blend of awe and envy, their ambivalence swirling around him like shadows.

“While you recover, I need you to contemplate another matter,” Severus continued, his tone shifting with purpose, eyes flicking toward the animated guests. “You’ve earned the title of general, and it is imperative that you embody that honor. I envision a worthy marriage for you—one that reflects your esteemed status.”

The tension in Marcus’s features tightened, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the emperor. “I intend to arrange a union for you with a woman deserving of a general’s stature. I have my sights set on Lady Octavia, the eldest daughter of Consul Sextus. Her family traces an illustrious lineage among the Roman patricians, steeped in history and prestige. And I daresay they boast a legacy known for producing fruitful descendants,” he added with a hint of jest.

Marcus’s eyes, cold and unyielding, settled upon the beautiful, charming woman beside the senator, her allure seemingly reduced to mere decoration.

He felt nothing.

The wine glass nestled in his hand suddenly felt far more inviting than any prospect of romance. "What say you?” Severus pressed, confidence bleeding through his words.

“I am honored, Your Highness,” Marcus responded, his voice steady yet underscored with reluctance.

“Should I take that as a yes?”

“With all my heart, no.”

Severus’s brow furrowed, caught in a limbo between amusement and frustration. “You’ve reached this age without a wife. If not now, when? Or is your heart entangled elsewhere?”

Marcus shook his head, the familiarity of this conversation wrapping around him like a well-worn cloak. There was comfort in the predictability. “I am a soldier, eager for the next battle. I would never want to make Senator Sextus’s beloved daughter a widow. Lady Octavia deserves a far richer union than I could offer.”

Severus exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon them. “Or are the rumors true? Is your heart still bound by grief?”

Then he saw a flicker in Marcus's eyes, a brief spark of something unnameable, before the mask fell back into place. “What can I say? People will always talk. As I said, I have no such intentions, nor will I. My duty lies with serving Rome, you, and your sons. That is my happiness.”

Severus drew a troubled breath, disappointment washing over his features. “I hadn’t expected such a sharp rebuttal. You remain a steadfast soldier; that much is clear.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “What about Lucilla? I thought there was some chemistry brewing between you two. Although she is no longer young enough for childbearing, that’s why I didn’t suggest her. Would you hesitate to marry her simply because she was the lover of your former commander? Surely, she would choose you as her protector; after all, she shows weakness for soldiers, I presume.”

“I would never allow such thoughts to bloom regarding Lady Lucilla, nor would I presume,” Marcus’s tone cut through the air, sharper than the gladius resting at his side.

Severus, sensing the unyielding edge in Marcus's voice, took a measured sip of his wine, the edges of his mouth curling into a sardonic smile. “Very well, so be it. As my glorious and modest general wishes, I shall not press you further on the matter.”

Marcus dipped his head in gratitude, a flicker of relief breaking through his hardened demeanor. “I appreciate your understanding, Your Highness.”

One night, Acacius, the new general of Rome, sat alone in his barracks headquarters, trying to decide whom to choose as his second in command. His restless mind, always in motion, could not bear the silence that surrounded him. It was almost unheard of for a war-weary general to return to the barracks so soon after a battle to devote himself to the drudgery of duty. In fact, it was rare, perhaps unprecedented. It was astonishing that he would limit himself to mundane duties when he could have had anything he wanted. He could have spent the evening with any number of women from the pleasure houses, or ordered his men to bring them to him, but he didn't, didn't even think about it. This bizarre behaviour led to gossip among the soldiers in the barracks, many of whom could not believe it. After all, what man, especially an unmarried, handsome general, would do such a thing? It might have sparked rumours that he preferred men to women, were it not for an earlier event that had already dispelled such notions.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the stillness outside, echoing through the dimly lit barracks. At this late hour, only a handful of soldiers remained, their slumber deep and untroubled. When Acacius noticed the lack of sentinels, an uneasy instinct stirred within him, compelling him to grasp the hilt of his sword. His instincts, finely tuned by years of combat, alerted him to danger just as a dark figure leaped from the rooftop, descending like a shadow. In a swift motion, he overpowered the masked attacker, enveloped in a black robe that concealed their identity. But Acacius was not alone in facing danger; from the depths of the night, more cloaked figures emerged, their intentions as sinister as the darkness that surrounded them, all eager to bring the general down.

It was a very despicable attack, there were about six of them and they chose the darkest hour of the night. A group obviously with military training who had come specifically to kill him. He wouldn't have had a hard time fighting against them if he hadn't been so tired. But he still managed to overpower four of them with skill and agility, with accurate sharp blows and lethal cuts.

After a long resistance his strength began to fail and he received a cut on his shoulder and one of them managed to knock him down. But even on the ground he cut another one. Then the last one, in a split-second after his attack, aimed for Marcus' chest and stabbed him with the knife he drew with his other hand. Marcus was fast, he grabbed his hand first with one hand but the knife was going deeper, piercing his armor and then the skin and strong pectoral muscle just below it.

He gasped, moaned, groaned with sharp pain, with rage.

With the instinct of survival he grabbed the attackers knife, this time with both hands, but in that moment he understood.

When the sharp metal pierced his ribs and reached his heart, when he felt the wave of blood rushing to his throat.

Even in that state he killed his attacker with a short knife, which he found by groping on the ground with his other hand.

But it was too late.

He coughed, followed by a bloody eruption from his mouth. The blood from the cut on his chest didn't stop, it was like a river.

But it was a relief, like a steady release, a fleeting moment of freedom—almost. The very moment he had long anticipated had finally arrived.

So this is what death feels like, he pondered, gazing up at the half-blackened moon suspended in the inky dark sky. The pain had been unbearable; it clawed at his insides with merciless intensity. Yet, in a strange twist of fate, he felt nothing as his body surrendered to its finality. His ears fell silent, and a profound numbness enveloped him. The pain had vanished.

A blink of an eye.

Darkness.

Another blink.

And suddenly, he felt again.

How could this happen? What did it mean?

Then he saw it—the familiar visage of someone he hadn’t encountered in ages.

Maximus.

A serene smile graced his lips, reminiscent of days long past.

“True. Elysium. I must have ascended there,” he thought.

Maximus shook his head, as if he had heard the silent longing behind his words.

“Not yet, brother,” he whispered, his voice gentle yet firm. “Your time has not yet come.”

Marcus frowned, confusion etching lines across his brow. “But why?”

Maximus’s expression shifted, dimming like a candle flickering in the wind. “Or have you forgotten your prayer, your supplication?”

The depths of confusion deepened within Marcus. “My prayer…” he murmured, trying to grasp the fading memory.

“Your prayer was answered, child.”

That voice—it was unlike anything he had encountered.

It wasn't Maximus, he was now gone at his sight.

The sound that transcended humanity; it could not be earthborn or mortal. It was an ethereal quality, a melodic and divine sound that ignited every nerve in his body, powerful enough to raise goosebumps and destructive enough to permeate every cell of his being. The tone held both confusion and promise, intertwining hope and fear.

Suddenly, light began to pour forth around him, casting everything in a radiant glow, while a gentle wind kissed his face.

Another blink of an eye.

His body felt as though it were being drawn forward, tethered to the swift pull of an invisible chariot.

But instead of pain, there was only the caressing touch of the wind.

Then another blink.

He found himself still lying on the ground, and once again, he raised his gaze to the moon, a celestial sentinel in the dark sky. This time, it was shrouded in total darkness, its edges enveloped in a halo of brilliant white light. As though awakening from a deep slumber, his senses returned in a rush; first, he felt his heart start beating once more, as if claws that had pierced him were now pulled away. Then the warm breeze danced over his skin, breathing life back into him. Control of his body surged back.

With disbelief coursing through him, he turned his head. What he saw was astonishing. Light flooded the landscape, blinding in its intensity—so much that the stars themselves seemed to vanish against its brilliance. He was taken aback when he stood up and touched his own body. His armor had tears where cuts had been, yet there was no blood—no trace of his former suffering. He could breathe easily, and a newfound strength surged through him, more potent than he’d ever known.

He was miraculously, completely healed.

It felt like…

Rebirth.

It should have been a miracle, a divine blessing. Yet he wrestled with surprise and disbelief, knowing he had seldom uttered even a single prayer in his life. Anger boiled within him for the gods; why should they reward him after all?

Was this reprieve the reason he couldn't set foot in Elysium?

How had his prayer been answered then?

It was all so strange. The Pantheon loomed nearby; some of the structures were familiar while others stood oddly illuminated, foreign and surreal.

Perhaps this was a realm of torment.

Just then, something occurred that cemented his apprehension.

He heard footsteps—soft yet deliberate—approaching from behind, followed by a feminine voice that sliced through the air with unexpected sharpness.

When he turned, disappointment washed over him like a cold wave.

This was not what he had envisioned. This was not his prayer.

Surely, this must be a punishment.

Before him stood a woman dressed in garments unlike anything he had seen before. Anger flared within him again as he noted the disdainful grimace on the woman's face; she hissed a phrase that was foreign to his ears.

“What the fuck?” the woman exclaimed, her tone dripping with contempt.

Yes, he was undeniably trapped in a place of torment, and he realized with growing dread that his suffering was only just beginning.

***Italy, Rome, 2025***

Earlier that day.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” The words tumbled from your lips as panic washed over you, eyes zeroing in on the cruelly bright numbers glowing on the clock: 7:45. You sprang out of bed like a rocket, hastily shedding your pajamas and tossing them behind you, landing who-knows-where in the fray of your cluttered room. Clothes lay in chaotic heaps, sketches of costumes scattered like fallen leaves, remnants of your frenzied creative process. You had been drowning in work on the movie set, and though you promised yourself time and again to clean up, that day didn't afford you a moment to spare. With a hasty comb through your tousled hair, you bolted for the door.

But just as you reached the door, you realized you had forgotten your bag. You backtracked, grabbed it, and hurried out again. In your rush, you slammed your sister's door twice to wake her. “Lizzie! Hurry up, or you’ll be late for school!”

The sound of a scientific discussion filled the air, coming from either the TV or her laptop: "Time is characterized as a motion; however, it is fundamentally impossible to traverse backward. Moreover, to progress forward necessitates the existence of a specific negative mathematical function. Nevertheless, from a mathematical standpoint, there is no inherent rationale preventing such movement. This phenomenon illustrates the complexities associated with the concept of time as described in Einstein’s theory…"

“Ugh, not this again,” you muttered under your breath. Your sister was a total science fiction junkie and often had those brainy shows on first thing in the morning.

“Hey, nerd! Turn that off and get to breakfast, now!” you called out.

Moments later, she emerged, phone in hand, video chatting with a friend. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy day,” she yawned, plopping down at the table. You rolled your eyes at her. Worst of all was having both a science geek sister and a best friend who was just as obsessed.

“Every damn morning...” you grumbled while munching on your toast.

She eyed the nearly burnt toast you’d made and poked it with her finger. “I’d better eat at school,” she remarked.

You had to agree; you never quite mastered the art of cooking. The more skilled you became at drawing and sewing, the worse you were in the kitchen. It was almost tragic that you couldn't even toast a simple piece of bread.

“Sorry, I was in a rush, honey,” you replied apologetically.

“You can’t give a proper toast, even when you’re not in a rush,” she replied with a smirk. “The real issue is that you just can’t let things go.”

“Hey, how about being a little nicer to your sister?” you said, trying to defend yourself.

“But you’ve been seriously cruel to this poor bread!” she teased, pretending to listen to it. “What’s that?” she joked, acting like she was having a conversation with the toast. “It says it’s going to sue you!”

You narrowed your eyes and grabbed the tongs, playfully pointing them at her. “If you want to avoid the same burnt fate, you should run to school now!”

She held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m teleporting!” she declared, leaping to her feet, snatching her bag, and sprinting out the door, making you giggle as you followed her.

You took another tentative bite of the almost burned toast and scrunched your face, nudging it away. “Oh man, the next time I walk into the kitchen, it’ll just be to tackle the dishes,” you joked, embracing your cooking woes with a laugh.

As you drove with a mouthful of croissant, you tuned into the radio, soon catching the latest world news.

“On this sunny spring day in Rome, the city is buzzing with life once again, full of energy and charm. This magnificent, romantic city never truly sleeps and is always teeming with tourists.”

You flipped to another channel.

“Tonight, around 1 AM, there’s an exciting celestial event on the horizon. Known scientifically as the ‘Total Lunar Eclipse’ and popularly nicknamed the ‘Blood Moon,’ this event will be visible from Italy and other parts of Europe. Unfortunately, folks in North and South America and Eastern Europe won’t get a glimpse.”

“Just what we need—more tourists,” you muttered under your breath.

Historic sites were already packed to the brim, a reality you faced almost daily. While most filming typically took place away from the city, a brief scene was scheduled to be shot near the Pantheon, drawing you back for three consecutive days. Permission to film at this busy location had only been granted by the Ministry of Culture after 6 PM, adding a layer of tension to the crew’s dynamic. Everyone was eager to wrap up filming quickly over those three days, leaving you with some errands to tackle before heading back in the evening.

Your first stop? The hospital.

Yes, the hospital. Your father had been in a coma for ten years following an accident—the same tragic event that had taken your mother. You visited him every day. Your family had moved from the States to Italy when you were just five, and while you adapted to the language and culture fairly quickly, the accident forced you into a dual role, needing to be both a mother and father to your younger sister.

As you pulled up to the hospital, you checked your watch—only thirty minutes left until you had to head to the set. You placed the fresh flowers you had picked up from the florist into a vase in your father’s room and began your usual update about your day. Although talking to someone who couldn’t hear you felt a bit silly, it brought you comfort. When Givorni, a member of the hospital board who knew your father, stepped into the room, he brought unsettling news.

“Look, honey, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s been over ten years now. The head doctor mentioned that the chances of him waking up are getting slimmer, and soon, you may have to make a tough decision.”

How could you let him go, your father? You stuck to your resolve, as you had every time the doctors suggested there was no hope. You wouldn’t pull the plug on him. Maybe one day he would wake up—you held onto that hope. But, of course, these decisions came at a price; paying for his hospitalization meant you had to work more than one job.

You threw yourself into work, juggling multiple jobs to keep afloat. The design gigs you found online were mostly project-based—some involved theater costumes, others were special designs for wealthy families, and a few focused on accessory design. Yet, nothing compared to working on a film set. Despite the exhaustion, the pay was decent, and you gained invaluable lessons under the head designer, essential for your career advancement. You knew that hard work was necessary to eventually rise to the role of head designer or costume supervisor.

On set, you forged strong connections with others, often reuniting for films or documentaries with similar themes. Another perk of being on set was the chance to mingle with famous actors and actresses. They weren’t always what they seemed; some were charming in front of the camera but difficult behind the scenes, while others proved surprisingly kind. However, some would overstep and forget your role as a costume designer.

You still recall that time when an actress had you rush out in the rain to grab her some coffee, only to scold you because it had gotten cold by the time you brought it to her.

Cruel bitch.

Despite being part of the cast, you chose not to watch the film afterward out of sheer annoyance.

During a break before the night scene, the other girls on set invited you to lunch. Although the food provided on set was good, space was tight, and meals were only served at 6 PM before filming resumed. So, you were relieved when they suggested stepping outside for some junk food. As you exited the trailer, you found yourself surrounded by tourists, eagerly snapping photos with their phones, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite stars. The security team was struggling to manage the crowd, a daunting challenge that would only ramp up over the next three days—all for a mere ten minutes of footage.

“Girls, check that out!” One of them pointed to a shop on the way back from lunch, its neon sign flashing: palm reading, tarot reading - book your session today.

Love, Destiny, Fate.

“What do you think? Should we try a tarot reading?” she asked, her tone pleading.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, guys, these things are a joke; they don’t really do anything.”

To your annoyance, they insisted.

“Let’s just do it for fun, please!”

“Yeah, come on! Just this once!”

You had always been a skeptic about such superstitions, especially after the tragic loss of your parents and your sister's autism diagnosis following that incident. You had more than enough reasons to doubt fate, luck, or even love.

As the girls eagerly paid for their tarot readings—a decision you thought was a complete waste of money—you decided to just watch. But eventually, their relentless begging wore you down, and you agreed to join them so they wouldn’t be disappointed.

When it was your turn, the fortune teller—a woman dressed in an eclectic manner—shuffled the cards and asked you to draw a few. As she laid them out in a specific spread, her expression changed immediately. “Oh dear, you’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed and drained,” she began. She turned over another card. “You may come off as a tough nut, but deep down, you really want to help others.” Then she revealed a third card. “Hmm, it seems like success is on the horizon. You’re working hard, and soon you’ll start to see the fruits of your labor.”

“I hope so,” you muttered.

When she flipped the next card, her eyes sparkled. “Ah, there’s a man here. He’ll enter your life in a way that he’ll soon become your whole world.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, yeah, right,” you scoffed.

“Seriously, trust me,” she insisted.

“That sounds nice,” one of the girls said eagerly.

“What’s he like?” another chimed in, excitement in her voice.

“Come on, girls,” you sighed in exasperation.

The fortune teller frowned. “Love is in the cards, okay? Let’s just enjoy this.”

Rolling your eyes again, you tried to keep your cool as frustration bubbled inside you.

She continued, flipping over another card. “Look here! Again, it’s all about this guy! Trust me, he’ll settle right in the center of your heart!”

"Woooo!"

“Oh, how lucky you are!” the girls exclaimed.

As your irritation peaked, you struggled to maintain your composure.

The woman pressed on, “This man is...,” she hesitated, as if struggling with a foreign language. “from...,” she raised an eyebrow, “the past.”

“From the what, past?” you asked, intrigued despite yourself.

“Oh, it must be your ex or something,” one of the girls guessed.

"I sure hope not," you grunted.

“Maybe, but it’s a new kind of love,” the fortune teller hesitated, seeming surprised by something.

“What nonsense is this?” you pouted, pursing your lips.

Seemingly annoyed, she replied, “My insights are always spot on, sweetheart.”

Despite your skepticism, you waited as she looked at the last card. “Ah, you’ll have to make a choice,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “You can either stay with him, or you won’t.”

Okay, that was enough.

“Again with the love nonsense? Don’t you see anything about my career?” you scoffed.

“I’m just interpreting the cards you drew, dear,” she said defensively.

You sighed and stood up. “I don’t need love. I don’t need a man; I need money.”

As the shoot finally wrapped up, it was time to tidy up for the crew, and you found yourself chatting with the girls about tarot readings while you worked. They kept inquiring about your past relationships, but you had none to share. Aside from a brief fling in high school, you hadn't been in a serious relationship. You didn’t want to bring up that one encounter, which had ended in frustration. The guy who left you at the altar would occasionally show up at your door drunk, and you’d promptly kick him out. End of story.

A man from your past, but a new love?

What the hell?

That seemed as impossible as the sun rising in the west.

Once all your tasks were complete, exhaustion hit you, and heading home felt like an uphill battle. You made your way through security to your buddy Leo. “Evening went off without a hitch, huh?” you asked.

“Yeah, just had to deal with a few overzealous fans tonight, but now that our big star's gone, they won’t be coming back,” he replied, propping his feet up on the opposite chair while sipping his beer. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. No moonlight tonight?” you quizzed.

“Didn't you hear there’s an eclipse?”

“Eclipse?”

“Yep, if you look carefully, you can see it. Guess you’ve been too busy to catch the news.”

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Story of my life.” Then you remembered that morning when you first heard about it on the radio.

You walked a bit further outside, fiddling with your phone's camera settings to capture a glimpse of the eclipse. As you focused on the moon being gradually engulfed by the Earth’s shadow, you heard murmurs behind you. Turning toward the bushes, you spotted three girls. “What’s going on? Who are you?” you asked.

They jumped to their feet, looking nervous and frightened.

“Ah, I see, you’re fans too, huh? You must’ve snuck in; good job, Leo,” you muttered. “Alright, girls, time to head out. Our big star has left. You really think he’s just hanging around in a trailer or something? He’s off at a hotel.”

Disappointed, they exchanged glances.

“Which hotel is he at?” one of them asked, grinning.

You sighed and grabbed her arm. “Move! Get out of here, fast!”

After escorting the girls to Leo and the security team, you made your way back to the trailer, where a nightmare awaited you. It was an absolute mess—fabrics and materials were strewn everywhere, and scattered papers littered the floor. Who had created this chaos?

When you asked one of your colleagues, he told you it was the props manager and his team who had left the mess behind. They must have mistaken the design trailer for another. Some papers looked ancient, clearly part of a realistic set design, with a few appearing to be genuine antiques. Recognizing they would be used as props, you took them over to the other trailer. Just as you were about to leave, a sudden gust of wind blew one of the papers from your hands, and as you bent to retrieve it, a strange sensation washed over you.

“Whoa.”

What was that odd feeling?

You carefully picked up the scrolls and placed them into the box, something caught your eye. Drawn to the writing, you felt an inexplicable familiarity, as though you had encountered it before. A wave of emotion washed over you, and your eyes began to well up. But why were you feeling this way?

The script was in Latin—an old form, likely dating back to ancient Roman times. Curiosity sparked within you. What could it possibly say? With no one around, you reasoned that there was no harm in taking a closer look.

You fished your phone out of your pocket and opened the language translation app you had downloaded earlier, eager to decipher the text. Aiming the camera at the writing, you waited patiently. After a few moments, the app began to translate, though the phrases came through fragmented.

“Please... accept my sacrifice... I offer you..." It was all pieces meant nothing but then you realized that sentence: "If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"

Another what? Life? Time?

“What on earth is this?” you muttered to yourself, realizing that the translation seemed nonsensical. “Stupid app.”

Suddenly, hearing footsteps approach, you panicked and accidentally tore the edge of the paper.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

Frantically, you tucked it into the back pocket of your shorts. Better to hide it than risk being caught holding it.

“What are you doing here?” the props manager snapped, glaring at you. His expression shifted to shock when he noticed the decor papers you had just brought in. “Hey, you didn’t mess with these, did you? Some are authentic; we barely got permission from the collectors' family, and they need to be delivered the day after tomorrow.”

“Are they real ones?” you asked, pretending to be innocent.

“Yes! Please don’t tell anyone—the director must have lost his mind. He asked me to use the authentic ones as props. We had no time to find replicas. You didn’t touch them, did you?”

You nodded. “No, of course not,” you lied. You had no idea why you’d even done that. “But shouldn’t these be in a museum or something?”

“No, they’re antiques, imported specially from a private collection.”

And now you’d ripped one of them.

You were really in hot water. Exiting the trailer, you returned to yours. When you pulled out the antique—likely priceless—that you had stuffed in your pocket, you felt a wave of dread.

It was crumpled and had a torn edge, but fortunately, the writing remained intact, albeit looking a mess.

But it wasn’t entirely your fault.

Why had they sent the wrong trailer?

Oh right. Wrong trailer.

Couldn’t the crew member who dropped it off have mixed it up somewhere?

Yeah, that was a reasonable thought.

At least they could believe that—until you fixed it.

You really should have contacted your friend Katie, the antiquities expert at the General Directorate of Museums, right away.

It was just Latin script on the paper with bullshit, but that didn’t change the fact that it was an invaluable artifact.

You were so fucked.

The rest of the night unfortunately took a turn for the worse after that call came in. The antique paper you had accidentally torn was missing, and everyone was turning the place upside down looking for it. But how could you admit that? Confessing it could get you fired, and it didn’t really matter that it was someone else's family heirloom. After all, it wasn't your fault. It was all the mistake of whoever had brought it to the trailer in the first place.

You tried to reassure yourself as you pretended to help with the search. While you were busy suppressing your guilt, you suddenly heard a sound. But there was no one in sight—was it one of those girls again?

“Oh, I’m really tired. Whoever you are, just show yourself now,” you called out as you walked forward. The eclipse had hidden the moonlight, plunging everything into darkness. The only illumination came from the distant lights of some buildings ahead, but it was still shadowy where you stood. As you approached to the sound, you caught sight of a shadowy figure with back turned, draped in a long black cloth.

A strange feeling washed over you. You crept closer, and the odd sensation intensified.

It was a man—yes, definitely a man—well-built, in a black robe, holding… a sword?

Your eyes widened in shock.

“What the fuck?"

He turned to face you, and the first thing you felt was a perplexing déjà vu, as if you knew him but couldn’t place him. His intense gaze and striking features seemed familiar, yet you couldn’t put your finger on it. And those clothes…

"Who the fuck are you?”

Wait a minute.

This wasn’t your first encounter with someone like him. He had to be one of those extras—probably overworked and known for causing trouble on set. He must not have bothered to change out of his costume and was relishing this unexpected role.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, but I really need you to take off that costume. I’m responsible for the outfits, and if anything happens to it, my paycheck will take a hit, okay? Didn’t anyone give you a heads-up?” You stepped closer, but he just stood there, staring at you like a statue.

Taking a closer look, you noticed the armor beneath his robe was unlike anything you’d ever seen on set. Had they started filming something new without you? That couldn’t be right—or worse, what if he had stolen it? Wonderful. You reached out to inspect it further, but in an instant, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and shoved you away like you were nothing.

“Aaaah!” You winced, clutching your sore wrist and glaring at him in frustration. “Are you out of your mind? Get that costume off now! Can’t you hear me? Are you deaf or something?”

He sighed, casually wiping his sword with the hem of his robe and sheathing it as if he did it every day. He performed the action with such style that even a seasoned actor might be impressed.

“I see you’re really into character. Nice job!” you said with a hint of sarcasm. “But as I said, I need you to take it off. Now.”

“What kind of shameless woman are you to demand that I undress?”

What the hell was that? His accent, thick and unfamiliar, rolled off his tongue in a way you had never encountered. It was as if a whisper from another age echoed through each word he spoke.

“Undressing? Oh God, what kind of maniac are you?” You sighed. “This is your last warning; I’ll call security.”

He frowned, as if hearing the term for the first time. “Security…” he muttered to himself, clearly annoyed.

Just then, you heard someone call your name. Turning around, you spotted Leo and hurried over to him, grabbing his arm. “Leo, that guy seems either like a maniac or he’s drunk. I think he might be an extra, but he could also be an intruder.”

Leo looked just as taken aback as you were. “I’ve never seen him before. Is that a sword?”

“It’s probably fake,” you muttered.

The man glared, brandishing his sword as he pointed at you. "You two, tell me where I am."

“Yeah, he’s definitely drunk,” you whispered to Leo.

Leo played it cool. “Listen, man, I need you to come with me right now. I need to figure out why you broke into the film set.”

“The film… set...” he repeated to himself in confusion.

“Why is he acting like he’s never heard of it?” Leo asked you, both of you now staring at him nervously.

“I told you he’s crazy or maybe psycho. Do you think he could have escaped from a mental hospital or something?”

“Let’s hope not. But what would he be doing here? If I could get the cuffs on him without freaking him out, we could call the police.”

“Great plan, go for it,” you urged, giving him a gentle nudge to encourage action.

As Leo pulled the handcuffs from his waistband, the strange man eyed him suspiciously, as if he posed a threat. “I’m going to put these on you now, alright?”

The man's face remained expressionless, cold yet menacing. “And what if I refuse?”

You gulped. “What are you doing, mister? He’s the security guard—don’t make this any harder.”

“You asked for this,” Leo said angrily, pulling out his baton.

You were taken aback when the man tightened his grip on his sword in response as Leo stepped closer.

“Listen, we all know that sword’s fake—”

Out of nowhere, he sliced through Leo’s baton with a swift, precise motion.

You froze for a moment, unable to process what had just happened.

Leo turned on his heels and bolted. “Police! I’ll call the police!”

“Where do you think you’re going? Wait for me!” you shouted in panic but a hand suddenly grabbed your arm. The man’s sword was still clutched in his grip, and you couldn’t help but notice the red stains on it. Could it be b-blood, real blood? Fear began to creep in, and you started to tremble.

“Look, please don’t hurt me! I’m really sorry for calling you crazy, a psycho, and a maniac. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m begging you, forgive me!” you said, almost sobbing.

"I assure you that I have no intention of causing any harm. I need to uncover the truth of my surroundings. Please, help me understand where I am, what is this place?"

What the hell? It was like he’d lost his memory or something or his mind.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to come up with a way to wriggle free.

"I find myself in a familiar location; however, the surrounding environment appears to have undergone significant changes."

You leaned closer to him. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk?”

You swallowed hard as he shot you an angry glance.

“There he is!”

“Let her go now!”

Leo and the others had arrived, guns aimed and ready.

“I suggest you surrender, sir. Just do as they say, and they’ll help you. If you really can't remember where you came from, they can sort it out,” you urged him, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

“Put down your sword now,” Leo commanded.

“They'll help me, you say?” the man muttered, his gaze fixed on them.

This might be your best chance to get him to back down. “Yes, definitely. The police will help you,” you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Police,” he repeated, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

He was behaving like a little kid, learning new words by repeating them.

“I will release this woman,” he stated, finally sheathing his sword. Everyone took a deep breath.

“He'll surrender,” you relayed to your friends, then turned back to the man. “But I need to take your sword back to where you got it.”

“The gladius is mine.” His tone was resolute, as if the sword had belonged to him for years.

However, if he had stolen it from the prop crew, you could land yourself in a heap of trouble, far worse than the mess you’d made with the paper.

“But it poses a danger to them. If they can’t trust you, they can’t help you. So, please hand me the sword,” you insisted.

He paused, contemplating your words, then took the sword scabbard from his waist and looked at you sternly before handing it to you. “Promise me you’ll protect this with your life.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “What is this? Are we filming a movie or something?”

He grabbed your arm and shook you. “Promise me.”

As soon as you picked it up, you staggered under its weight. It was a real sword indeed. With a sigh, you relented. “Okay, okay, I promise.”

As he relinquished the sword as if it were the most precious thing to him, Leo and the others looked on, intrigued, surprised.

He must’ve truly lost his mind or something. Watching him leave with the security guards, you couldn’t shake a sense of curiosity about what he’d been through. After they were gone, people who had heard the commotion on the film set gathered around you. This was far more interesting than searching the area for antique parchment, and they listened in fascination as you recounted the bizarre encounter.

As the security guards urged Marcus to speak, his gaze was fixed on the screens in the security room. He was mesmerized by the footage playing out before him. What he saw astonished him—moving images flickering in small boxes, an experience he had never imagined and could never have anticipated.

“Hey, look up here!” Leo snapped his fingers, trying to regain Marcus's attention. “What kind of freak are you? Don’t you have any ID or something on you?”

Marcus didn’t even seem to register the question; he was too transfixed on the screens. Leo took a deep breath, his anxiety bubbling over. “Listen, mate, for us to help you, you need to spill the beans. What were you doing on set? How did you manage to sneak in? And where did you get those clothes and that sword? You know it’s illegal to carry a real sword in this country, right?”

Just then, he spotted you on one of the monitors. The footage showed you walking out the outer door, leaving the premises.

“That woman,” Marcus murmured, “that woman said you would help me, and I gave her my sword in return.”

'She promised," he thought.

“Alright, we’re trying to help you, but you have to answer my questions,” Leo insisted.

“Tell me how to reach there,” Marcus urged, pointing at the screen. “Is that another life? I need to go there.”

Leo and the other guards exchanged glances, bewildered. “What did you just say? Another life? Come on, what kind of joke is this? ‘There’ is right outside, you fool!”

Suddenly, Marcus sprang to his feet, and Leo stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Hey, you’re not going anywhere until the police get here!”

With a roll of his eyes, Marcus swiftly grabbed Leo and shoved him aside, causing the guards to stumble into one another in the chaos.

“Hey! Stop!” they shouted after him as he dashed away.

You were examining the sword in your hand as you stepped off the set and into the parking lot toward your car. It was undeniably real, yet it looked so pristine. Perhaps the scabbard had been restored; its craftsmanship clearly reflected a lot of effort. You had seen replicas before, but this one was strikingly accurate, almost like a genuine ancient artifact.

However, according to the set crew, the sword wasn’t part of the props. You were supposed to take it to the museum tomorrow—maybe they would decide what to do with it. You opened the car door, placed your bag and the sword in the back seat, and shut the door. But just then, you noticed him—the crazy man. He was sprinting toward you.

That lunatic.

You quickly flung open the driver’s door, jumped into the seat, and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, Marcus approached, bewildered; he had never encountered a car door before. Taking advantage of his astonishment, you drove onto the bustling street, and to your surprise, he dashed after you, but soon he captivated by the scene.

Standing there, mesmerized, he absorbed the chaotic sight of the vehicles surrounding him—their strange forms, the symphony of sounds, and the dazzling lights. In that moment of realization, he understood: in this extraordinary place, horses were no longer needed for riding. These remarkable machines forged their own path, free from the constraints of the past time, his time.

A taxi pulled up, and the driver, who must have seen way too many movies, rolled down his window and leaned out. “Hey! Do you want to catch her?”

Marcus was taken aback but nodded eagerly.

“Jump in then, man!” The cabbie said, chuckling at Marcus's surprised expression as he opened the back door for him. He thought this strange carriage didn’t need a horse, but seeing how you had gotten in earlier made it a bit easier for him. He climbed in and followed the cabbie’s instructions, pulling the door shut behind him. He was astonished when the cabbie hit the gas and effortlessly steered the vehicle. Looking out the window, he couldn’t help but marvel at the unfamiliar street, the other cars—everything felt so foreign and unusual.

“Don’t worry, mate, we’ll catch your girlfriend!” the cabbie reassured him.

“Girl...friend…” Marcus mumbled under his breath, another strange word to add to his growing list.

“Awkward outfit choice, buddy. No wonder she ran away,” the cabbie laughed. “Did you try to surprise her like this? Maybe next time, try a Batman outfit—it worked with my girl.”

Another odd phrase and a joke that flew right over Marcus’s head.

After a short drive, the cabbie brought the car to a halt, noticing that your taxi had stopped as well. “There’s your girl!” he announced.

Turning his head, Marcus spotted you getting out of the other taxi and heading toward an apartment building. He tried to recall how the taxi driver had opened the door for him earlier. The cabbie noticed his bewilderment and smirked. “Seriously? You can’t open the door? You must be pretty drunk,” he teased. “Come on, mate, you’re gonna wanna dash now.”

“I owe you one, coachman,” Marcus said, grateful.

The cabbie laughed hard. “You owe me 26 euros, that’s right.”

Once again, Marcus encountered another strange term, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The moment the cabbie shouted at him, “Hey, you haven’t paid!” Marcus felt the pressure to hurry. He pressed the door shut, but the cabbie opened his window, yelling, “You didn’t pay!”

The honking alarms from the cars behind startled Marcus, but he stayed focused. “You didn’t pay!” the cabbie shouted again.

You turned around at the ruckus, nearly fainting when you spotted him.

“No way!” you exclaimed, worried.

As you hurried toward the apartment block, Marcus pulled out a denarius from a pouch on his belt and tossed it to the taxi driver. The cabbie caught it, turning it over in his hand, recognizing the face of Emperor Severus, which he swore he had seen in a museum. “What the hell is this? A prank? Where's the damn camera?” he muttered.

How could he still be chasing you? You reached into your bag for your keys. It was late, and the streets were nearly empty, but he appeared resolute in following you.

“Stop!” you called, holding your hand up.

You pulled your phone from your pocket. “Stop, or I’ll call the police!”

For your words to be taken as a threat, Marcus had to understand their meaning, and he didn’t, he had no idea. “Give me back my sword,” he demanded.

“Okay,” you replied, opening the car door and grabbing his sword. “Just take it and leave me alone.”

He reached for his sword, examining it, while you quickly grabbed your bag. Your hand searched for the pepper spray you kept for emergencies.

While you were rummaging, Marcus noticed a parchment in your bag.

“Okay, now can you go?” you said, turning to leave. “Good night.”

“Wait.”

“What now? I gave you your sword. Please, just leave me alone,” you whined.

“That parchment—let me see it.”

He noticed it?

“Why?” you asked, wary.

“I may have seen that before,” he murmured.

You were exhausted and just wanted this absurd night to end. Reluctantly, you handed it to him. As he read, his eyes widened in surprise.

“This...” He looked up at you in awe. “Did you read or spelled any of this, by any chance?”

“Yeah, so what?” you replied defensively.

“You’re the one who called me.”

You raised your eyebrows, baffled. “What did you just say? Why would I call you? I don’t even know you!”

He took a step toward you. “Those words—this is what brought me here, I’m certain.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you shot back, taking a step back yourself. “Look, I’m done with your nonsense, okay? Just leave me alone!”

"I need to return. Whether I traveled here or was brought here, I certainly need to head back to… my own time."

You erupted in laughter.

Did he really just say that? Maybe you were stuck in some ridiculous dream. “Seriously? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Tonight has been full of absurdities. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m heading home to rest, and I warn you—stay away from me.”

Just then, you heard your sister call out from the window.

“Get inside now!” you shouted at her. Fumbling with your keys, you opened the apartment door and stepped inside. The man remained outside, but you ignored him, shutting the door firmly behind you and starting up the stairs. As you climbed, he repeatedly scanned the words written on the paper, hoping to find a way back to his own time.

But nothing happened.

Why had this girl—you—read it and made him arrive here? What was the secret to unlocking the path back?

For the first time in ages, you woke up not to the blaring sound of an alarm, but to the ping of your mobile phone. It was someone from the set, and they sounded quite anxious about the events from the night before. They informed you that a strange man had taken you hostage and assumed you must be feeling pretty shaken. As a result, you were given the day off. You felt a wave of relief; in fact, you were eager to see Katie and sort out the whole parchment mess, so this felt like a great opportunity.

After hanging up, you snuggled back under the blankets, but a sudden thought nagged at you—what if that man was still out there? He was a maniac, after all.

But could he be crazy enough to have spent the entire night on the street?

Reluctantly, you peeled yourself out of bed and peeked out the window. To your relief, there was no one in sight. However, you soon noticed a commotion below. People on the sidewalk were stopping, giggling, and snapping pictures of something. Straining to see from your high vantage point, you could only make out the awning of the pizza shop below.

“Could that lunatic be down there?” you wondered aloud.

His outfit undeniably could capture people's attention and spark their curiosity.

A voice inside you insisted, “Forget about it. You don't know him. It doesn't matter what he does.”

But your conscience nagged at you—maybe he was a mentally unwell person who truly needed help. Perhaps his family was searching for him. “Fuck it,” you muttered, sliding out of bed and throwing on your dressing gown as you made your way downstairs.

Stepping out into the street left you in shock. There he was, just as you remembered.

It wasn’t a dream or a nightmare.

He was sitting on the ground, still dressed in that strange outfit from yesterday—his Roman soldier costume. Passersby, especially tourists, were snapping pictures. He didn’t react at all; his head hung low, probably accustomed to the attention after sitting there since morning. A pang of guilt hit you, seeing him like that. You inched closer. He caught sight of your feet first, then looked up at your face, and immediately stood up, turning his head away for some reason.

“Do you really have nowhere to go?” you asked. He shook his head. People were still stopping to take photos, but you warned them off and pulled at the man's arm. “Come with me, you pain in the neck.”

Just then, you heard a familiar voice call out—Enzo, the owner of the pizza place below your apartment. “Do you know this guy? He’s the reason I’ve got so many customers today,” he said with a grin.

You glanced inside the bustling restaurant. It was packed. You smiled at Enzo and explained that he was a friend and kept tugging the psycho along.

“Where are we going?” he asked, clearly confused.

“To my apartment. Would you rather just sit on the street?”

His expression hinted that he would rather not engage. You walked in silence, hoping that Mrs. Costa, your landlady and the owner of the flat, wouldn’t spot you as you passed her door. Every glance at the peculiar man trailing behind you revealed an expression of wonder, as if he were seeing an apartment building for the very first time. When you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door and said, “Come in.”

He peeked inside, his eyes darting around. “Is this... where you live?”

“Yeah, technically.”

He seemed to avoid looking directly at you, which felt strange. What wasn’t strange about him was the real question.

“It’s not safe for a woman to let a stranger into her home,” he remarked.

You raised your eyebrows playfully. “Seriously? Wasn’t it you who followed me here?”

“It wasn’t my intention,” he replied.

“What do you mean by intentions? I'm trying to help you!”

Suddenly, you heard a door open downstairs, and instinctively, you shoved him inside. “Get in quickly, or go back to the street. I really don’t care!” you snapped.

He complied, and just as you were about to close the door, you heard your landlady's voice call up to you.

“Sweetie, is there a problem? I thought I heard a man's voice.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Costa! Everything's fine, don’t worry.”

“My ears must be deceiving me. Good morning, dear. I thought it was that man again.”

That man being your ex-fiancé, whom you'd kicked to the curb just last week.

“No, he didn’t come. He can’t come back.”

“Okay, cara mia, see you later.”

“See you.”

You closed the door and let out a deep sigh. As you turned around, you nearly collided with the psycho who had followed you right behind. You stumbled, almost losing your balance, but he acted quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist. Both of you were taken aback by the sudden closeness.

“Who the hell is this guy?” your sister Lizzie asked, staring wide-eyed at the two of you.

He quickly pulled his hands back, and you stepped away.

“Wait a minute, isn’t that the guy from last night?” she questioned.

“Don’t you have to get ready for school?” you responded, glancing at her.

“Don’t you have to get to work too?”

“Nope, I’m off today.”

“Oh, really?” She examined the man, they exchanged confused looks.

“This is my sister Lizzie, and this is... um... what’s your name again psycho?” you stammered.

He didn’t answer, keeping his gaze averted. Lizzie looked between you both, clearly intrigued by what was unfolding.

“Do women in your world always walk around with their legs uncovered?” he whispered, leaning in close to your ear.

Ah, so that’s what the sidelong glances were all about. You glanced down at your short shorts. “Do you have to get weirder every second?” you snapped through clenched teeth.

“Or is he just a friend from the film set or something?” Lizzie chimed in as she returned with her bag.

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s the outfit he’s wearing. That looks like a Roman soldier’s garb, probably a general’s,” she observed.

“Your sister is quite clever,” he said with a smile.

Your jaw dropped the first time you saw him smile.

And it was also when you realized he was rather handsome.

What on earth?

Was it really time to think that?

“Anyway, I’m late for school. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetie.” You shut the door and turned to him. “Are you seriously just going to stand there? Come inside.”

Suddenly, he grabbed his arm. “Could you hand me a piece of cloth?”

“What did you say? For what?”

He removed his black robe, and your eyes widened at the sight of blood running down his arm. “What happened to your arm?”

“A pugio grazed it.”

“A what?” you exclaimed.

“In a fight. Not here. Back in my time,” he explained.

“Here we go again,” you muttered as you headed to your room for the first aid kit. When you returned, he was in the living room, observing everything with his usual expression as if seeing it all for the first time.

You studied him before entering—his armor fit him as if he wore it daily, and he moved and spoke with a familiarity that was unsettling.

Could he truly be from another time?

Did time travel actually exist?

If so, why had you never encountered it before?

And why was it happening to you?

Shaking your head, you tried to dismiss the ridiculous thought.

Come to your senses girl.

You steered your thoughts back to logic. He was strange, or maybe just nuts; there had to be a rational explanation for this, had to be.

“Why don’t you sit down? Let me take a look at your arm.”

“What’s this?”

“First aid kit. It’s the first time you’ve seen one, isn’t it? This is tincture of iodine. We need to apply it to the wound to prevent infection. I’ll bandage it too,” you said as if explaining to a child. You reached for the supplies and began cleaning the wound. It was deep, but he didn’t flinch as you treated it. Instead, he focused intently on your face, avoiding looking down at his injury.

“Acacius...” he murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Marcus Justus Acacius, commander of the Roman Legions, having recently been entrusted with the esteemed position of General of Rome."

Your jaw dropped.

He said it in such a way that it was difficult not to believe him.

How could he pull that off?

You bit your lip, stifling a laugh. “Of course you are, and I’m Queen Elizabeth, by the way. Nice to meet you, Mr. General.” As you extended your hand, it was clear he was unsure of what to do next with the handshake. With a sigh, you stood up after wrapping up his arm.

“In this place, do you people really think everything is a joke?”

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but if you decide to go to the police, you must tell them everything. They’re the only ones who can truly help y—”

Suddenly, he seized your wrist. His rudeness was starting to grate on your nerves. “Read the parchment again. I need to get back to my own time; I’ve already lost too much of it here.”

“You can’t be serious.”

"I find myself in a precarious situation. Upon my initial arrival in this place, I believed I had entered a state of bliss akin to Elysium. However, I have come to realize that this environment is far worse than one might imagine. The Rome I once knew has vanished entirely; I am uncertain of how much time has elapsed, but it is clear that I cannot remain here. So please, read this.”

“Why not read it yourself?”

He released your arm. “I tried; it did not… work.”

“Maybe it’s because it doesn’t do shit and there's no such thing as time travel at all.”

“Listen, at this point, woman, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Read this at once. Someone betrayed me, and my brother might be in danger too. I need to return and find out. So spell it.”

“You must have a fascinating life. Fine, Mr. General. As you wish.”

You took the paper from him and reread the lines you had seen earlier.

"If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"

Marcus glanced around, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. “I’m still here.”

“Yes, you’re still here. I told you. Maybe you’ve got brain damage or something, and lost your memory or mind. There’s got to be a logical explanation though. Just come with me to the police station; the cops will help you.”

“What does ‘cops’ mean?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll see when you get there. Trust me, okay?”

He nodded. “You trusted me enough to let me into your house. I guess you’re the only one I can trust here.”

How could you have imagined things would become even more complicated once you stepped into the police station?

“No ID, no passport, no fingerprints, no phone records in your name… no family, no home, and no birth record… nothing.” As the officer spoke, you found yourself wondering just how much more surprising this situation could get.

“I was born in the year when Consul Postumius Albinus and Atilius Serranus were in power in the Senate.”

Everyone stared at Marcus in shock—officers paused their work, and even the criminals in the holding cell burst out laughing. The officer shook his head in disbelief as others struggled to control their laughter. You buried your face in your palms, mortified. The officer, clearly racked up, signaled to the other officers to seize Marcus by the arm. Then turned to you.

"Is he a refugee? Did he enter the country illegally? And let's not overlook the clothes he's wearing, which seem to match his strange way of speaking."

“Illegally? No,” You glared at the officer as they shoved Marcus into the holding cell. “Look, officer, I think this guy might be—” You gestured around your head, making a circular motion. “Have you checked the mental hospital records?”

“I told you, ma'am, there’s no record under the name he provided. I’d be surprised if there were any.”

“Are you really planning to keep him locked up?”

“He assaulted a security guard and vandalized a film set. He’s scheduled for court.”

“What if they drop the charges?”

“Then he’ll be released soon, but not without providing us with some form of ID.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He looked so out of place in the cell, standing apart from the other criminals who were looking at him like he was from another planet. You felt a pang of guilt for bringing him there.

“You said they’d help me, but now they’ve locked me up. Are they going to execute me?”

“What? No, of course not! Look, I thought they’d be able to find your family with your name, but I was mistaken. Are you sure you have your name right?”

He shot you an incredulous look. “Why would I lie about my name?”

"Well, it sounds ancient and a bit strange. Just like you," you muttered.

“It’s complicated. You don’t have any ID or passport. I do have a plan to help you get out of here, but you might need to spend the night.”

He gripped the iron bars, thinking. “I can wait one night.”

“If you have amnesia or something, you need to shake it off and remember your family. Otherwise, you’ll end up a refugee, and I could find myself in here with you for trying to help.”

He frowned. “I don’t have any of those things.”

You exhaled a troubled sigh. Had he really lost his mind? Based on his appearance, he seemed to have Italian roots. His accent was odd but articulate; he couldn’t possibly be a refugee.

“My bulla—why did they take it?”

"Bulla?"

He pointed to his neck. "The thing I was wearing."

“Ah, your medallion? Unfortunately, you can’t have accessories while in custody. It's good we left the sword at home, like I suggested,” you whispered, ensuring no one could overhear.

“That item is very important to me. I want you to take care of it, just like my sword, or maybe even more.”

“Look at you giving orders. I’m starting to think you really are a commander,” you joked.

But he stood there, still and serious. “It’s General,” he corrected you.

“Right, Mr. General,” you replied with a smirk, but he frowned. “Fine, I’ll take your precious medallion and head home. Tomorrow, I’ll chat with Leo, the security guard, and have them drop the charges against you. Who knows, maybe someone from your family will show up by then.”

“Will you return tomorrow?”

“Yes, don’t worry.”

He nodded. "I trust you."

You felt goosebumps ripple down your spine at that deep tone. How could he express such conviction? He truly was an extraordinary character.

When you stepped into Katie's spacious office, filled with antiques, in the General Directorate of Cultural Heritage Protection and Museums, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that yesterday had been a dream. It was all too surreal. You shook your head as you glanced down at the medallion in your hand, a tangible sign of that extraordinary day with the mysterious man named Marcus.

It was hard to believe that everything actually happened. You hadn’t come here for him, but rather to discuss the parchment you had accidentally damaged. Katie, an expert in antiquities and assistant manager, was someone you trusted implicitly. She had known your parents well and had been incredibly supportive, particularly when she took your sister Lizzie under her wing every summer. Lizzie had been diagnosed with mild autism, but her intelligence shone brightly, and you were thankful to Katie for giving her a supportive environment.

After a brief catch-up about your father's health, you finally pulled the crumpled parchment from your bag. “Please tell me you can fix this.”

Katie examined the paper closely, putting on her glasses. “Wow, this is the real deal. The keeper must have taken great care of it, despite its age.”

“Yeah, until I got my hands on it,” you mumbled, feeling sheepish.

“Well, we’re lucky it didn’t tear all the way through the writing. But you really need to be more careful; this is a rare artifact.”

“I truly didn’t mean to,” you admitted, your embarrassment evident.

“It might take a couple of weeks,” she replied gently.

“What? I need it sooner! It's only torn a little; can't you just glue it?”

She shot you a look. “This isn’t like sewing a costume, you know. First, I need to analyze the type of material. To repair tears in parchment, I’ll need to use gelatin or other animal-based products, and I have to determine the right one. As for smoothing out the wrinkles, the entire document might need to be placed in a humidity chamber.”

You stared at her, wide-eyed. “Seriously? I had no idea restoring paper was that complicated.”

She chuckled. “Parchment isn’t like your everyday paper. It’s made from animal skins, and you should be grateful it’s not papyrus, which is made from plants. Parchment has some serious advantages, like being more durable in humid conditions and allowing writing on both sides. But if you need this so bad, I can whip up a replica for you; it might just fool the decor crew.”

“Oh, that would be amazing,” you replied, relieved.

She smiled and headed to a large cupboard brimming with various papers and parchments. “Here,” she said, returning with a similar piece of parchment. “This one looks a bit like yours.”

“Katie, thank you so much,” you said sincerely.

“Anytime.”

“You can read what’s written on it, right?” you asked, curiosity piqued. “I looked it up on my phone, but you know, the scriptwriter is really after authenticity.”

“Of course,” she said, glancing at the paper. “It’s a prayer.”

“A prayer?” you echoed.

“Yep, according to this, it’s addressed to Janus, the god of beginnings and endings, who’s second only to Jupiter,” she explained, pulling out a book titled *Ancient Roman Mythology and All the Gods*.

“But Janus has two faces,” you remarked, examining the page in the book.

“Exactly—the past and the future,” she replied, shaking her head. “The prayer mention like 'another time' and 'another life', which possibly could be hinting at escape or a peaceful death. The meaning of many artifacts like this often remains a mystery, even to historians and archaeologists.”

You paused, suddenly uneasy. Could it be true what happened with Marcus?

No, that seemed impossible.

But what if it was?

“Can I ask you one more thing? I was talking to the scriptwriter earlier, and I think he could really use your help with something he’s stuck on,” you said, pulling the medallion out of your bag. “He’s trying to figure out how someone wearing this medallion could travel through time. Is that even possible, or does it sound kind of ridiculous? Does that make sense?”

Katie furrowed her brow, scrutinizing the medallion with her magnifying glass before holding it under ultraviolet light. She looked at you, astonished. “This is incredibly rare. Your scriptwriter must really be into these. But the engravings aren’t connected to time. Did he notice the sun-like symbol?” It was prominently displayed at the center of the medallion, next to the inscriptions. “That’s Sol Invictus—the official sun god of the Roman Empire and protector of soldiers.”

A wave of realization washed over you. “Did you say soldier?” your voice quivered.

“Yes, it’s an amulet or talisman designed to offer protection to the wearer against all evils. The inscriptions indicate this. It’s beautifully preserved. Most in the museum are worn down, but this one looks almost brand new,” she remarked, her admiration evident.

Yet, as you absorbed her words, a tightness gripped your chest. Part of you wished she had dismissed the medallion as a fake. Why did it have to be real?

“But I’m not quite sure how the prayer on the paper connects to time or anything like that. It seems we’ll have to do quite a bit of digging to unravel that mystery,” she added with a grin.

“Maybe it has something to do with the symbols,” you suggested, noticing the same sun sign on the necklace, which was also etched small in the corner of the paper.

“No, I don’t think that’s it. There’s no symbol on the paper—just the inscription. The purpose of the parchment serves a different role, but—”

“There it is,” you interrupted, gently pointing to the symbol with your fingertip. Katie looked at you, puzzled.

“Honey, there’s no symbol there—just some wear and tear.”

How could she not see the symbol you noticed? You glanced again to double-check; it was definitely there, but she remained firm in her denial. Or could it be that she simply couldn’t see it, while you could?

What on earth was happening?

Maybe you were truly starting to freak out. As you got ready to leave Katie’s room, a question bubbled up inside you. If, by some impossible chance, that man had traveled forward in time to your era, how would he ever make it back to his own? “Katie, let’s say—it’s unlikely, of course—but how could this time traveler, from the film, have arrived? And how would he return? Do you have any logical ideas?”

“This might sound a bit far-fetched, but if it were possible, I’d suggest a portal would have to open, and it would need to reopen in the same spot for the person to get back,” she explained.

“In the same spot,” you echoed quietly.

“Exactly. The audience would be blown away, right?” she replied. “Oh, absolutely,” you chuckled, a bit nervously.

“Just one more thing, Rose,” she said before you left the room. “It sounds silly to mention this without thorough research, but it’s quite possible that the individual who wrote that parchment and the one who inscribed the medallion could be the same person.”

You nodded slowly, “Yeah, I see what you mean. Thanks.”

You sat in the car for hours before finally starting the engine, resting your head on the steering wheel as you drifted into thought.

How was this even possible?

This man was from another time, an era long gone.

But how?

How did you end up in this bizarre situation when nobody makes films or TV series about this kind of thing anymore?

Was Marcus correct?

Did reading that parchment somehow summon him or cause him to travel in your time?

Suddenly, a wave of sympathy washed over you. It must be incredibly hard for him. Then you recalled the harsh words you’d thrown at him: “freak,” “maniac,” “psycho.”

With a deep sigh, you turned the key in the ignition. You should have freed him from the police station sooner.

When you arrived, it was a challenge to convince the officer. Fortunately, after you called Leo for assistance, the crew from the set decided to drop their complaint since no damage had been done. You signed a form acknowledging that you were responsible for knowing this stranger and agreed to return his lost ID soon. Before long, a policeman escorted him inside.

You swallowed hard as your eyes met his, still struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that he was a soldier from ancient Rome.

“You came as you promised,” he said as the car rolled away.

He still didn’t seem accustomed to the ride, curiously fidgeting with everything around him.

“Yeah, I had to—considering your obsession with promises,” you managed to murmur, your voice shaky.

“Or do you believe me now?” he asked, hopeful.

“I’m still unsure and in shock, to be honest. But I think I’ve figured out how to get you back to your time.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ll read the parchment again, in the same place,” you explained, the plan crystallizing in your mind. He nodded slowly, contemplation etched on his face. "That is a logical conclusion."

“By the way, I’m Rose,” you said quietly.

He turned to you, intrigued.

“Rose,” he repeated, your name lingering in the air. “Rosa,” he repeated again, trying to pronounce it in his own way.

“In Latin, yes,” you confirmed, your smile widening as his expression softened. “It’s a beautiful name,” he remarked, the tenderness in his voice stirring something deep within you.

“Thanks, yours is nice too, I suppose,” you replied shyly as you pulled into the parking spot.

“Here?”

It was dark now, and fortunately, Marcus had led you to a secluded spot where the set wasn’t too crowded. He mentioned that this was where he first opened his eyes.

“Forgive me for not providing you with clean clothes,” you said, noticing he had been wearing the same outfit for days.

“That’s alright. There were times when I didn’t take off my armor for twenty days,” he replied confidently.

You grimaced. “Ew. Didn’t people around you douse you with water? You must smell terrible,” you joked, laughing.

You couldn’t help but notice the flicker of a smile across his face—was he smiling?

How could he be that handsome?

“Let’s get on with this; I need to head back,” he said, fastening his medallion around his neck again. “A present from someone important?” you mocked.

He brushed off the question, his expression shifting to one of seriousness. “Spell the words,” he instructed, his tone commanding.

Where had the smiling guy gone? Regardless, he was about to leave, slipping back into whatever life he had come from, and soon he would be entirely out of your world. Why did it matter to you?

You pulled out the parchment from your bag and draped it over your shoulder before glancing down to read. “I guess this is goodbye, Mr. General.”

He shook his head. “It is.”

You extended your hand. “It was nice to meet you after all; I hope everything goes well for you.”

He looked at your hand, seemingly unsure of how to shake. You grabbed his hand with both of yours and smiled. “That’s how you do it,” you said, initiating a proper handshake. He nodded but quickly pulled his hand back, clearly eager to return. You looked back at the parchment, and shock gripped you as you witnessed the letters begin to shift.

Yes, they shifted. They fucking moved!

"This is just some magical shit," you barely muttered.

Whether they danced before your eyes, or you were losing your grip on sanity, you couldn't quite tell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing your sudden change in demeanor.

“Nothing, it’s just…” How could you articulate the absurdity of it all?

You fumbled through your thoughts without reading the text, aware that the words had morphed, and your grasp of Latin was sufficient to recognize the difference.

"If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"

In that instance, a blinding flash erupted behind Marcus, framed between the ancient stone pillars of the temple. Oh, fantastic. Everything behind the brilliance blurred, and a peculiar wind started to stir, filling the air with an unsettling energy.

“It worked,” Marcus declared, excitement radiating from him. He boldly approached the radiant light, but oddly, it didn’t seem to pull him in. He furrowed his brow and glanced in your direction. “Something’s not right.”

“Tell me about it,” you retorted, your mind buzzing like a beehive with confusion. This was all too overwhelming.

He stepped closer and snatched the parchment from your grasp. “What’s written here has changed. What kind of lesson is this, gods?” he bellowed, frustration edging his voice.

“Hey, I’ve done my best. I’m done, okay? Just go back to your own time!”

“It doesn't say ‘that person’ here; not anymore at least. It says ‘those... two," he murmured, suddenly contemplative.

“So?” you asked, regretting it immediately. You didn’t like the look on his face.

He moved toward you. "You called me, and I believe you should come with me."

You backed away. “What? Are you out of your mind? I didn’t call you! Stay away from me!” you wailed.

But he kept advancing, and just as you were about to turn to escape, he grabbed your wrist.

“Let go!”

"I assure you that I will bring you back. I must return now, for this may be my only chance."

“Let go of me! No, you can’t! Please.” But your struggles were futile, like fighting against stone. Why couldn’t anyone on set hear you, for heaven’s sake?

With a fierce determination, he pulled you toward the blinding anomaly, despite your protests. The last thing you remembered was the wash of light enveloping you.

And then, in the blink of an eye—

A strange wind giving you goosebumps.

Another blink. Marcus stood before you, a triumphant smile on his face. The bastard was elated.

But why?

You quickly grasped the reason as your eyes scanned the surroundings, the realization hitting you like a painful shock. “This is impossible,” you gasped, disbelief washing over your features. There were no skyscrapers, no trailers, no street lights—only temples, countless temples, all illuminated by the flickering light of torches lining the streets. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” you exclaimed, frantically searching for the rift or portal.

Where had it gone?

Marcus watched your frantic search, his brow furrowed.

“We have returned to my time.”

Was he smiling???

That was the last straw. You glared at him, anger boiling inside. “We? We have returned? Are you fucking kidding me? You dragged me in here! Why did you do it? How could you?” With all your might, you punched him repeatedly in the chest.

"Stop it. I gave you my word that I would help you return in your own time. You can trust me on that."

“How? How do you plan to do that? Do you think this portal or rift or whatever it’s called just pops up everywhere, asking, ‘Hey there! Anyone want to time travel?’ I can’t believe you. After everything I’ve done to help you, you’re just a jerk, ungrateful bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” You kept punching him on the shoulders and chest, but he didn't even feel hurt; he only sighed deeply.

Suddenly, he covered your mouth with his palm. “Call me whatever you wish, but I swear I’ll keep that promise, on my life. Now, please, keep your voice down. The guards are patrolling nearby, they might hear us.”

You didn’t care; tears streamed down your cheeks as your mind struggled to comprehend this unreal situation. How? Why? The questions spiraled endlessly.

In the distance, the Colosseum came into view. It was undamaged, intact, perfectly circular. This bizarre reality only deepened your confusion, and you could take it no longer. You crumpled to the ground, unable to stand.

hope you enjoyed the chapter guys, thanks for reading ❤️

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absurdthirst · 1 day ago

Text

Shelter in the Storm {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Vaginal sex, rough sex, needy Joel, unspoken feelings, fucking your feelings away, tender sex, dirty talk, being vulnerable, typical canon violence, guns, drugging someone, JOEL DOESN’T DIE, death, anxiety, confessions.

Comments: We had to fix it. What really happens in Episode 2

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Joel?” You gasp at the sight of him on your doorstep. It’s freezing outside, the partygoers all gone to bed, but he’s standing there with this intense look on his face. You haven’t seen it before and you frown, “what’s happened?” He doesn’t respond, just pushes into your home like he owns it, and you gasp when he kicks the door shut and grabs your waist, spinning you around to press you into the wood. His hands grabbing your robe while his lips press against yours in a kiss you can only describe as equal parts hunger and desperate. You grip his jacket, letting him devour you against the front door. It’s the middle of the night but you can’t deny him anything. You never have been able to since he arrived in Jackson five years ago.

He shouldn’t have come to your door. He’s got recon in the morning. He should be in his own bed, staring up at the ceiling and drowning in his guilt, his sorrow for the mistakes that he has made. Ellie’s glare haunting him from the chair on the porch and as soon as he had gone inside, he had been heading right back out again. Knowing that she was safe for the night, he had traveled the familiar path to your door. Knowing that you wouldn’t deny him for some strange reason and needing the solace of your arms to silence the ghosts of his past from haunting him.

You’ve played this game with him for five years. Five years of late night sex followed by polite nods and small talk in the daytime. Five years of pretending that you don’t want more. Five years of trying to act like you’re not in love with him. It’s a practiced dance. Him pressing you against your door until he’s swinging you around and gruffly telling you to take him to your bedroom. A hurried rush up the stairs and he’s tugging on the tie of your robe, letting it drop to the floor to expose your pajamas. It’s freezing cold so they aren’t the sexy silk nighties you have during the summer when the air is stifling. It’s plush tartan pants and a long sleeve shirt but he still looks at you like he wants to eat you whole. His hands tear at your shirt and you push his jacket from his shoulders as soon as the top is falling to the floor to expose your tits to his desperate eyes.

You let him take control, knowing he needs this. You’ve seen the problem between him and Ellie, even if you don’t know the thing that caused it, and you simply want to be there for him. Maybe in some deluded way, you hope that one day he will realize what’s right in front of him and confess he loves you. You moan into the kiss, hands sliding down his chest to start unbuttoning his shirt. You need to touch him but he pinches your nipples so you gasp, allowing his tongue to plunder your mouth.

Joel needs this, he needs the soft acceptance, the want in your touch. You know some of the worst of him, but not all. Not the things that no one else knows but him. You still look at him like he’s a man, a human, not some kind of scary creature that is worse than the things outside. “So good to me.” Words haven’t been easy for him, not on a romantic front. Never have been, but he shows how he feels from the way he takes care of you. The way he touches you. He weighs both breasts in his hands as he kisses down your chest to take your nipple in his mouth.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, a little thinner now and streaked with more gray, but he’s just as sexy as the moment you met him when he arrived in Jackson. You moan, arching your back into his touch, and he doesn’t hesitate to hook his fingers into your pajama pants to start pulling them down.

There’s so much that he doesn’t say. Can’t say. You step out of your pants and he instinctively cups your cunt, threading his fingers through the soft hair to find your clit. Eager to hear your breathless cries of pleasure to drown out the roaring sound of silence.

You whimper at the way his calloused fingers rub your clit. He’s so rough but when he touches you, it’s like you’re made of fine china and he doesn’t want to break you. “Joel.” You moan, leaning in to kiss his scruffy jaw. “Please.” You beg, unable to stop yourself. You need him to be rough. “Just fuck me like you need to. I won’t break.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He grunts against your belly, having shifted down to his knee to kiss along your hips. “Don’t worry about that.” You beg and he wonders if you need it rough. “You want me to fuck you?” His tone deepens, dropping down to a rough octave he reserves for when he’s furious. “Make you scream?”

Your belly clenched at that tone and you nod, tugging on his hair to drag him up from the floor. He groans as his knees ache when he stands and you reach for his belt, needing to feel him. “Please. Fuck me, Joel.” You beg, needing to be there for him, to let him use your body like you know he needs to. “Make me scream so everyone in Jackson knows who’s fucking me.”

“Shiitttt.” Joel hisses when you open the fly of his jeans. Releasing a little of the pressure that has built up rapidly and he grabs your hands, yanking them above your head as he turns you towards the bed and forces you down on your knees. He’s never been the type of man to be selfish, but you are begging him to be.

You moan at how he manhandles you, loving how he takes control. "Yes." You hiss, cunt clenching around nothing as he kneels on the bed, his big hand gripping yours in one of his.

He would normally make sure you are ready for him, but now he’s shuffling to push his jeans and underwear down with one hand. Holding your hands like you are trying to escape. He’s aching with the need to feel something other than pain and he is so fucking grateful to you for being willing to let him have you. “Scream for me.” He growls, pushing into you with a sharp snap of his hips that sends him bottoming out in a split second.

You aren’t wet enough to take him like this but you don’t complain. He needs this and he stretches you out. “Fuck, Joel!” You cry out, fingers curling in the sheets as he starts to fuck you without giving you a moment to adjust but you don’t care.

Joel groans, loving how tight your cunt is clamped down around him as he starts to hammer into you. “So good to me.” He huffs, already feeling like he’s going to explode. Still his hips snap forward, again and again, only pulling back so he can rock into you and feel you grip him tight. “Takin’ my cock. Moanin’ for me.”

He's relentless, not giving you time to breathe, and you'd be shocked by the quick movement of a 61 year old man, but he's causing your mind to go blank and your jaw to drop when he pushes deep again. Your cheek rests on your sheets, eyes closed and mouth open as screams escape your lips that later you'd deny how loud you were. "Fuck! Oh shit. You're so deep, baby." You choke, tits swaying with every thrust of his hips.

He grunts, breaths puffing out from the harsh pace. It feels incredible, your walls are spasming around him and he looks down to see your puckered hole constricting just as much. “You’ll feel me tomorrow.” He promises, even though it’s technically today. You are going out on a recon too, although he wants to insist you stay in. He can’t, he doesn’t have control over you, but he can make you feel him every time you shift on your horse.

"I'll feel you for a week." You retort breathlessly, trying and failing to grind back onto him when he is gripping your hips. His hand comes down on your ass, the smack echoing in your bedroom, and you cry his name yet again. In the silence of the night, snow falling outside, you are his and when the sun rises, he won't be yours. "Yes! Yes!" You choke, getting closer, and when his hand slides around your hip to find your clit, you fall apart within a few swipes of his calloused, hard worn, fingers.

This is what he wanted, what he craved. The high pitched, pleasured cry that cannot even begin to be compared to a sound of pain. He gave you that. His thrusts slow as you shake under him and his head turns to press kisses into your shoulder. He’s not done, but the first haze of need has been stripped away, now craving your arms wrapped around him.

You thought he’d just fuck you harder and cum on your ass before leaving you to your empty bed while he goes home. That’s usually how it happens. When he pulls out of you, you frown and look over your shoulder at him. He has this strange look on his face, and you shift onto your knees, “are you okay?”

“No.” He admits, reaching out to cup your face. “But being here helps.” He lunges forward and presses you back to the bed before he pulls away to get up and completely strip down. He hadn’t taken off his boots, but they are discarded now until he is just as bare as you are.

You sit up on your elbows, admiring the glory that is Joel Miller. For his age, he's ridiculously handsome, and you sometimes wonder how devastating he must've been as a younger man. He's gorgeous and you watch him undress and when he's bare, you shift onto your knees. He frowns at you until you duck down to wrap your lips around his cock, wanting to help him relax and forget the shit show that awaits you outside the door.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, teeth clenched together as he reaches for the back of your head before he changes his mind and cups your cheek. You are looking up at him, eyes wide and seemingly innocent despite knowing you are anything but. “You were too good for me.” He murmurs honestly, eyes fluttering when you squeeze the base of his cock gently and jerk him off. “Fuuuuuck.”

You moan around him, watching him and the way his eyes flutter closed. Like the weight of the world is off his shoulders for a few moments and it has you clenching to know you can provide that for him. He caresses your cheek, feeling the way his thick cock stretches your jaw as you take him a little deeper.

His chest heaves while you bob your head on his cock. Making him feel like nothing else exists outside this bedroom. He feels normal, like before. He murmurs your name as his eyes open and he pulls his hips back. “I want to be inside you.” He explains when you frown. “Can I have you?”

His request has your heart clenching and you nod, swallowing harshly when he shifts to push you onto your back. This is intimate for Joel and he rarely fucks you like this. "You have me." You promise, eyes shining with unsaid emotion in the middle of the night.

Joel licks his lips before he slowly gathers you into his arms. Shifting between your thighs and rolling his hips as he seeks your heat. Groaning when he lines up and he presses his lips to yours gently as he sinks in inch by inch.

You whimper at the new position. He is covering your body, caging you in under his broad frame, and you wrap your legs around him, needing to be closer. His tongue slides into your mouth but the frantic need to dominate you is gone and in its place is a softer caress that makes your heart flutter.

This time, he moves slowly. Deliberately. The roll of his hips is fluid and he keeps his lips on yours, drowning in the kiss even as you anchor him. His arms tighten around you and even if the position makes his back ache, he won’t change it. Needing to hold onto you while he slowly rocks into you.

You slide your hands along his back, broad and strong, he's worked hard to survive. You rock your hips up a little to meet his, moaning when the angle changes. "Fuck. Yes." You moan, sliding your hands lower to squeeze his ass.

He huffs out a groan of his own, cock twitching but he doesn’t quicken the pace. Needing to draw this out even if he needs to sleep for tomorrow’s recon. “You feel so fuckin’ perfect.” He praises, kissing along your jaw. “So warm and wet for me.”

His words have you clenching around him, loving how he finds solace in your body when the world continues to beat him up. “Never had a guy last so long.” You confess, tilting your head so he can kiss down your neck, “most would’ve been pulling out by now.” You moan when he bites on your pulse.

He chuckles, nipping your skin slightly. “Want you to cum for me again.” He tells you. “Plus I jerked off in the shower this mornin’.” He admits, lifting his head and looking you in your eyes. “Thinking about you.”

“Yeah, what were you thinking about?” You giggle, loving how he has an almost sheepish look on his face when he admits that. “Need to watch you one time. Wanna see you jerk off.” You moan at the thought, walls fluttering around him.

He twitches inside you, imaging your eyes dark with lust as you watch him. “Why would I jerk off when you are right there with me?” He hums. “I’d just want to be inside you. Just like I am right now. Buried deep in heaven.”

You moan, loving how his voice is rough with lust at the thought, and you smirk when you slide your hands back up to his shoulders. “You can watch me too.” You promise and he smirks, “now that I’d like to see.” You giggle, sliding your hands higher to tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper hair.

Joel moans when you tug gently, loving the pressure and he presses his lips to yours again. Thrusting a little harder into you and he pecks your lips again. “Why don’t you touch yourself right now?” He suggests. “Make yourself cum by rubbin’ your clit while my cock is inside you.”

His accent has your walls fluttering around him and you obey, sliding your hand between you to rub your clit. You want to please him and you whimper when your fingers rub your bundle of nerves the same time he thrusts deep into you. “Fuck baby. Yes, that’s it. That’s it.” You squeal, loving the angle.

He’s a hard ass a lot of the time. Grumpy and mean to some of the community. Especially assholes he doesn’t like or who hurt Ellie, but he’s not selfish with you. He keeps his hips tilted and thrusts again, looking down between you to watch as you touch yourself. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He coos gruffly. “That’s it, pretty girl. Make yourself cum all over me again.”

You pant, chest heaving as your eyes focus on him as he orders you to cum for him. Your breaths mingle with little whines, his name a garbled mess as you are worked higher until you’re pushed over the edge. You cry out, thighs shaking around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut while you squeeze his cock inside you.

God, you’re beautiful. Your cunt is squeezing him like a vice and soaking him with your juices. Making him groan and his thrusts sharpen. Chasing that perfect ending for himself as he fucks you through your orgasm. Pumping into you a half dozen more times before he’s pulling free and wrapping his hand around his cock as he kneels between your thighs. “Watch me.” He pants out and making your eyes spring open. Stroking his cock two times before he’s spurting hot ropes of cum across your belly and tits with a low groan of your name.

You watch in rapture as he cums on your skin. Jaw that’s scattered with salt and pepper scruff clenching as his dark eyes focus on you. Grunts escaping his lips as he paints your skin and he looks fucking gorgeous. “Joel.” You moan, reaching up to caress his chest, “so fucking sexy when you cum for me.”

He huffs out a sound of amusement as he relaxes, letting go of his cock and reaching for your thigh to stare down at the mess he made of you for a moment. “You look good covered in my cum.” He murmurs, wishing for a moment he had gotten snipped before the world ended so he could fill you up.

You smile, biting your lip as you relax into your pillows. “I wish we didn’t have to get up early tomorrow. We could stay in bed, forget the shit show going on outside and enjoy the warmth.” You sigh, shifting back, “I better clean up.” You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, standing up only to collapse back when your legs are shaky. Joel has the audacity to chuckle and you turn your head to glare at him playfully, “yeah yeah. This is your fault.”

He smirks. “Lay down.” He orders roughly as he gets off the bed and walks towards your bathroom naked. “I’ll get you a rag.” Normally aftercare isn’t his strong suit but he doesn’t want to leave just yet. He glances at the mirror as he grabs a rag and twists the hot water knob to wait for the water to warm up. Reaching for the soap to clean up himself in the cold water while he waits.

You stare up at the ceiling, listening to him clean up, and moments later, he appears with the rag. He’s gentle as he wipes your folds before he cleans off your belly, moving fast to toss the rag in the sink. You half expect him to be pulling on his pants but he stands there and you shift onto your knees, shuffling towards him. “Do you wanna stay?” You ask softly, tilting your head towards him.

“You don’t-“ he swallows harshly and nods. “Yeah.” He murmurs, feeling relieved when you pat the bed beside you. Shuffling over to the spot and lifting the covers to let you under before he slides in beside you. “Too late to go back home.” It’s a flimsy excuse and you know it, but he settles down before he lifts his arm around your head to offer you a spot against his side.

You are shocked but don’t waste a moment as you shift closer, throwing your leg over his thigh and snuggling close so you can place your hand on his chest, your head in his armpit. “Night, baby.” You murmur, kissing his side after you close your eyes, heart pounding at having this rare moment with the man you love.

It apparently doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, your breathing changing and your body getting heavier against him as you drift off. Joel doesn’t immediately fall asleep, spending nearly half an hour slowly caressing your back as he listens to you start to quietly snore. Smirking to himself in the dark before he closes his own eyes, feeling like he’s not alone for the first time in months.

****

You get up before Joel which surprises you. Usually he’s up at sunrise and beats most people to the meet up point for patrol. You hum as you pour some coffee into your thermos for Joel. Dressed and ready for patrol, you look out at the sky, the snow falling and you sigh, knowing that today is gonna be a tough day on patrol in that weather.

It takes him a moment to realize where he’s at when he opens his eyes. Feeling rested and amazing, he frowns when he reaches over and doesn’t feel you next to him. You’re out of the bed. The first little rays of light have started filling the room and he groans as he sits up to swing his feet to the floor. It’s a new year but things still have to be done. He murmurs your name before standing up, groaning as his joints protest and he shuffles to the bathroom. The need to pee is urgent and he gets that taken care of before he calls out your name, wondering where you are.

You hear him call your name and you say “in the kitchen!” He appears a few moments later, dressed, and you smile at the sight of him standing in your house in the morning. It feels right and you know you’d scare him if you ever confessed that. “Morning, handsome. Made you coffee for the road.” You hold up the thermos, “and there’s some muffins I made yesterday.”

“Thank you.” He walks over to you and takes the thermos and leans in to drop a kiss on your lips. A small thank you for last night. “You still goin’ out today?”

You nod, surprised that he kissed you during the daylight but you won’t question it. “Yeah. With Ellie and Jesse.” You explain and he nods, “be careful. It’s gonna be tough weather. Any sign of a storm and you come right back, ya hear? You don’t let Ellie railroad you into doing anything else.” He orders and you nod, “yes sir.”

He wants to tell you to stay here, not to go out, but you wouldn’t listen to him. He moves over to where he had tossed his coat down and picks it up. Reaching inside to hand you his thick gloves. “Here.” He shoves them in your hands. “It’s gonna be fuckin’ freezin’ today.” He has extras, but these are better and he wants you to protect your hands.

You accept the gloves, your heart fluttering as his care for you shines through and you nod, “thanks, baby.” You murmur, “you ready to go? I’m all ready to head out. Please be careful, Joel. Don’t take any risks.” You warn him, knowing what he’s like.

“I’ll be fine.” He promises. “You just worry about yourself.” He raises his brows. “Ya hear?” He bites his lip and glances out the window. “Maybe we should get going.” He suggests. “Quicker we get the route done, the quicker we get back inside where it’s warm.”

You nod, putting on your coat, scarf, gloves, hat, even more needed in this freezing weather. You leave your home and shiver when you’re outside. Ellie isn’t at the stables when you get there and Joel grunts, “I’m gonna head out early with Dina. Leave Ellie to sleep for a bit. Go find Jesse.” He orders and you nod, wanting to kiss him but you’re outside and people are already out in the streets. He offers you a small tilt of his lips and you take a slow walk to find Jesse before you head to get Ellie ready for patrol.

Joel tears his thought away from you, checking over his horse and rechecking Dina’s before heading out of the North Gate to make his way towards the mines. “You look smug.” Dina smirks as she glances over at him. “Got lucky last night, didn’t you?” She demands, making Joel grateful that his cheeks are already red from the cold. “Could say the same about you.” He shoots back, humming when she squirms in her saddle. “Finally kissed her, huh?” He looks back towards the road. “Bout time.”

You knock on Ellie’s door, standing beside an impatient Jesse who is checking his watch. “It’s fine. She needed her sleep.” You nudge him and when he gives her shit about Dina, you smirk because you know he’s messing with her. “Come on kids, time to go.” You order and walk to the stables. “Shimmer!” Ellie coos, stroking the horse and you smile, swinging your leg over your own horse.

“Shut up!” Dina huffs, throwing him a playful glare and Joel chuckles. “You’re one to talk.” She snorts and he shakes his head. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout?” Dina says your name and for a split second, Joel freezes. She giggles, watching him and she looks around again. “You should have danced with her last night.” She tells him. “Women like when someone they love dance with them.” It’s Joel’s turn to snort, completely sure you ain’t in love with him. “Hurry up.” He grunts, motioning his horse to pick up the pace. “Storm’s movin’ in faster than I expected.”

You and Ellie and Jesse are riding through the storm when the radio tells you to seek shelter. You frown, not liking the storm rolling in, and you tell the kids to take shelter. Jesse knows a place so you follow him and grin when you recognize it. “Eugene told you about this place?” You ask after you get the horses in the garage across the street, walking into what was a 7-Eleven. Jesse nods, “back when I started doing patrols with him.” Ellie grins, excited by the sight of the weed as soon as you walk in and you chuckle, “I’ll have to take some back for Gail.” You’d give it to Joel to help him pay for his sessions. “Shit. It’s freezing.” You choke, rubbing your arms and even Joel’s gloves struggle to keep the chill from your skin.

“We need to go back!” Dina’s voice is carried by the wind and Joel looks back over his shoulder. “We’re too far out.” He shouts. Down in the valley, the weather is starting to turn. “Head towards the mine!” He knows that things will get bad and Ellie will kill him if he lets anything happen to Dina. “We can take shelter there!”

You watch Ellie hold the homemade bong mask to her face and you snort, knowing Joel would be snatching it out of her hand and lecturing her which would make her lash out. She doesn’t see how much he’s trying to protect her but she’s a typical teenage girl. “So are you and Joel…?” Jesse tilts his head and you shake your head, “it’s complicated.” You answer and Ellie looks at you after lowering the bong to put it in her pack. “You’re too good for him.” She says and you shake your head, “we are all fucked up, Ellie. You need to soften up on him.” You sigh and Jesse nods in agreement. The radio crackles and you hear Amy asking where Joel and Dina are. Your heart immediately drops and you look at Jesse and Ellie. You all scramble, grabbing your packs, “fuck.” You hiss, hoping that nothing has happened to them.

“Can you run?” Joel sees the girl is in shock, his tone harsh but this is life and death. He hadn’t even imagined someone would be out here, but she is and she’s near in age to Ellie and Dina. She says she can and Joel shoves her towards the door, covering her as he kills a few of the infected as they both rush for the cover of the building. The door closes and he latches it, although he knows it won’t hold. Not with the sheer number that are out there.

“Joel!” He watches the door as Dina shouts his name. “Joel!” “Up here. I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” He walks over to the girl, leaning against a pole and looks down at you. “You good?” She doesn’t answer and he doesn’t have time to coddle her. “Hey kid!” He barks, making her flinch but she finally answers. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” “Any bites?” He demands, still holding his gun to put her down if he needs. She’s breathless when she says no, staring at his gun, but she shakes her head. “Then let’s go.” The door bangs, moving on the hinges. “Now!” He reaches down and grabs her to drag her to her feet. Both of them running to were Dina is still on her house and waiting with his. “What do we do?” Dina demands. “We leave!” Joel’s blunt but he always is. “Back to Jackson? It’s too far. We’ll freeze before we get halfway there.” Joel answers as he swings up onto his horse. “I’m aware.” His mind is racing, but there are no good options right now with this storm. “Where the fuck did they even come from?” Dina asks, turning towards the girl still standing in front of the horses. “Where did you come from?” She’s amazed anyone has been out here and stayed alive. “The mountain.” She answers, shifting from foot to foot. The hoard beating on the door gets louder, distracting them for a moment. “Okay Joel, if we stay here, we die. If we go out there, we die.” She is starting to panic and Joel doesn’t want her to die. She can’t die, not when she’s important to Ellie. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m thinkin’!” Joel snaps. The answer comes from an unexpected place. The girl. “The lodge.” She gestures outside. “My friends are holed up in a lodge halfway up the mountain.” Both Dina and Joel turn to look at her. “Not far. If the infected are down here, maybe there aren’t anymore up there.” The banged on the door and the lock gets louder, making Joel twist around in the saddle as he makes his decision. “Fuck it. It’s all we got.” He decides before he looks back at the girl. “Are your friends armed?” He demands. “Yeah.” He is relieved. “Good. We’re gonna need them.” He holds out his hand to help her onto the back of his horse. “Get on.” She mounts up behind him before they turn and race the horses out of the protection of the building into the storm.

Your heart is pounding, glancing around the mountains as you search for Joel and Dina. You are terrified that they have gotten stuck in the wilderness. You glance over your shoulder, gasping when you see the fire blazing at Jackson. You want to ride back but you need to find Joel and Dina. "Fuck." You choke, riding higher up the mountain, the wind whipping your face, and Ellie and Jesse ride behind you. "Five minutes then we head back." Jesse orders and you want to protest but you need to protect them despite your need to find Joel.

His hands up, Joel could fucking kick himself for trusting the kid. They had managed to make it to the lodge, the hoard of infected had shifted and through the large glass windows, he had watched Jackson start to burn. Until things had shifted. Dina stands with a gun to her head and his mind races. He can’t risk her, too many weapons are out and he can’t let her get hurt. He won’t risk her life. The girl, Abby, has a chilling look on her face as she asks him what they look like. He glances around, taking stock of the gear, the thigh holster he hadn’t questioned. “Military.” He answers, wondering if he’s run into them before but they are young. “Fireflies.”

"We need to go back!" Jesse demands and you shake your head, "no. Take Ellie. Take shelter. I need to find them. Go!" You demand, kicking the side of your horse to continue riding up the mountain. Your heart is pounding and ice is in your eyelashes, making you blink rapidly through the incoming storm.

Joel presses his lips together, trying to control his breathing and not let the pain cloud his vision. Dina is laying on the floor, drugged and helpless. His knee is shot, blown out with a fucking shot gun by the bitch he had saved. He watches the medic as she kneels down to apply the tourniquet, she’s uneasy with the way this is happening. He can tell from the guilt and apology in her eyes, the unease of the boy closest to him. Joel cries out when she cinches the belt down, unable to hold back as she restricts the blood flow. He’s not getting out of here, even if he could overpower someone, he can’t walk or run. He’s going to die here. She starts talking, droning on like the villain in a bad movie and Joel snaps. “Oh just shut the fuck up and do it already.” She doesn’t do it quick, she wants him to suffer.

You see the lodge ahead, Joel and Dina's horses tied up, and you are quick to tie your horse up, walking quietly to the entrance at the bottom of the lodge. Your heart is pounding and when you enter, you hear voices. Your rifle in your hand, you are slow to move until you hear Joel scream. That kicks you into action. You rush up the stairs, aiming and firing your gun without a second thought. You take out the man holding his own rifle, then turn to take out the second man, leaving three women. A bullet whizzes past your head and you turn to see Joel on the floor, bloodied and knee shot out. You scream, anger at these assholes for hurting him overwhelming you, and you fire your gun in quick succession, taking out another woman. The gun fires and you cry out when a bullet enters your shoulder. You refuse to let the pain linger and you move fast to take out another woman, leaving one standing there with a golf club in her hand. "Did you do this to him?" You yell at her, shooting her in the knee and she cries, falling to the floor. "You fucking bitch!" You scream, wasting no time shooting her in the head. Your shoulder is numb but you don't care as you look around to see Dina on the floor. You rush over, checking her pulse. She's still alive. Within seconds, you scramble over to Joel, cupping his cheek, "Joel, baby. Stay with me. I'm here. I got you. I got you." You promise, stroking his bloodied hair. "I love you. Please stay with me. Stay with me. I love you." You choke just as Ellie and Jesse come rushing into the room.

“Joel! Shit, Joel!” Despite the anger, the animosity she had been feeling towards Joel, Ellie is running to where he is laying, dropping to her knees and frantically trying to assess the damage. “Goddamnit! What did they do to him?” She screams out, pulling out her knife and sinking it into the body closest to Joel. Some girl. “You bitch!” She howls. “Fuck you!”

You look at Jesse, “we need to get him back to Jackson. He needs surgery. Now.” You choke, knowing Joel has lost a lot of blood but his eyes are moving and his pulse is there. Ellie kneels down beside him again, “get up Joel. Get up. You gotta get up.” She chokes, tears running down her cheeks and you reach for her shoulder. “He’s alive. She didn’t kill him. Come on. Let’s get him home.” You want to break down and Dina grunts as she comes back to consciousness, Jesse kneeling beside her to check her.

“Wha-what happened?” She manages, her voice heavy with whatever drug they had pumped into her system. Jesse helps her sit up and she blinks several times, confused before she spots Joel. “Joel!” She scrambles over to him and gasps when she sees his bloody and bludgeoned face.

You want to cry, hug him, and wish that you were still in bed together, but that's not reality. Right now you need to get Joel back to Jackson. "Come on, we need to move him. He's gonna be in agony but if he stays here, he dies." You try to be rational, your breakdown can wait until later. You look around the lodge, seeing bedsheets and sleeping bags and you have an idea. "He's gonna be freezing, but we won't be able to get him on a horse." You think you can pull him along in the sleeping bag using the sheets so he can remain on his back.

“You want to drag him behind the horses?” Jesse’s eyes widen and he glances at Ellie like he expects her to attack you. She frowns and looks down at the man who had been her protector, her family, even when she thought she didn’t need it. “Let’s do it.” She huffs, wiping her face and stands up to grab the bags. “Fuckers here won’t need them.” She hisses, spitting on one of the bodies.

It takes too long to get Joel from the lodge after putting his coat on and gloves. He cries out weakly and you apologize, feeling your heart break, but he’s still alive. He’s still here. You manage to lift him between the four of you out of the lodge and place him in the snow on the bed sheets. You zip the sleeping back up so he is covered, his head cushioned, and you caress his neck, “I’m so sorry, baby. This is gonna hurt but we gotta get you home.” You lean in to press a kiss to a spot on his jaw that isn’t bloodied. It doesn’t take long for you to get on your horse, taking a slow ride back to Jackson, looking over your shoulder every minute to check on Joel.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Joel relives that day. The numbness he had felt, killing those fireflies. They had stood between him and Ellie. A bright spot of hope in his life that was worth more than a cure. She was the reason he had gone on. It was worth ever bullet fired and ever life taken. He would change a thing and he doesn’t, except killing the nurses who had been in the room. Leaving no evidence of who had eliminated the group. His pained moans are weak but he doesn’t open his eyes.

When you arrive back in Jackson, there’s more bodies than you can count, people crying and screaming, and it’s been a massacre but it appears like the danger is gone and in its wake is a town destroyed. “Fucking hell.” Ellie gasps and you are shocked but your mind is on Joel. You see Tommy as soon as you enter the open gates and he gasps, “what the fuck happened?” He asks, seeing the sleeping bag and he panics, thinking Joel is dead. “He’s hurt. Like bad. He needs the doctor now.” Ellie answers her proxy uncle and he nods, knowing that most of the people who are injured in the battle are dead either from the infected or being killed mercifully by their compatriots.

Joel doesn’t wake up as he’s moved. Doesn’t cry out when the sleeping bags are lifted and used as a gurney to rush him through the devastated streets to the hospital. Tommy shouting orders as they hurry.

Your heart is pounding, praying he makes it after such devastating injuries. You pull Ellie close when she starts to cry as soon as Joel is carried into the doctor's surgery. "He will be okay." You promise even though you have no guarantee of that. You have tears in your eyes as you hold Ellie close while she cries into your coat.

Dina shuffles guiltily, knowing that she should have fought harder, should have tried to escape. She’s the reason Joel didn’t fight them, the gun to her head and the threat of being hurt. “She tricked us.” She tells you. “Joel saved her, Abby, and we had nowhere to go. She told us they would help us get back to Jackson to fight.”

“They’re dead now. They got what they deserved.” You answer and Ellie pulls back, shaking her head, “no. They didn’t. They deserve to be tortured like they did to him.” Dina nods in agreement, “I’m so sorry.” She says to you and Ellie and you pull her close, hugging both girls.

Tommy gives orders to the doctor. “Whatever you need to do, just fix him.” He demands, looking down at Joel with guilt and worry. He had been supposed to go out on patrol with him today, but there had been a change to the schedule. The town had needed him to stay back. Maybe if he had gone with him, he wouldn’t be hurt like this. “We can’t lose him.”

You finally remember that you were shot in the shoulder, your adrenaline fading as Joel is safe and being taken care of. You silently pray he is okay and you hiss as you struggle to remove your coat. “Oh shit. You’ve been shot.” Ellie says and you nod, “it went through. I’ll be fine.”

“You need to get it patched up.” Dina huffs. “Last thing we need is for you to get an infection.” You are about to protest but she adds, “Joel would want you to take care of yourself. And you need to be healthy to take care of him.”

You nod, knowing she’s right but you really don’t care about yourself right now. You find yourself sitting down while one of the nurses who was hiding in one of the basements tends to your wound. Your mind is focused on Joel, wondering how he is. Once you’re stitched up, you ask Ellie how he is. “They are still working on him.” She says and you nod, your heart aching. “You love him.” She declares, tilting her head at you and you nod, “yeah. Yeah. I do.”

“That’s cool.” She wrinkles her nose though. “But he is really old.” She’s joking and after she delivers the joke, she grins for a second when you laugh. It fades away into the now familiar worry. “He’s gonna make it, right?” She asks, her voice small and she suddenly looks younger, lost and scared. “I mean, he’s Joel. He has to make it.”

You tilt your head, knowing she’s been hating him for so long because of reasons unknown to everyone except them. “I hope so.” You answer, not wanting to lie to her, “he’s strong.” You murmur, your shoulder now aching but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your heart. The doctor comes out a few moments later and you and Ellie look at her with anticipation. “He’s made it.” She reveals, “but he has a long recovery ahead.”

“Oh thank fucking God.” Ellie huffs out a moment later, eyes closed so she doesn’t cry. “Did- did he keep his leg?” She asks quietly after a moment, aware Joel wouldn’t want to be a burden on the people he loves.

The doctor nods, “I patched him up as best as I could. He’s gonna need a lot of time to heal and even then I’m not sure if it’s gonna be okay.” She confesses, “time will tell.” You nod, feeling like you can breathe again.

“He’s gonna be okay.” Ellie repeats, focusing on the positive rather than what could happen. He’s still here and she can talk to him. Suddenly the issues they had don’t seem so monumental. They aren’t important. “Can we see him?” She asks, needing to make sure she’s not being lied to. Seeming him looking like he was dead nearly broke her.

The doctor nods, “he’s a little out of it. I gave him as much sedative as we have. He should be able to hear you but he’s got a long road ahead.” You nod, knowing Ellie needs to see her adoptive father before you do. She swallows harshly as you both stand and make your way into the room where Joel is in a hospital bed. Machines that are decades old beep and beep to show he’s alive. You let Ellie rush forward, knowing she needs to speak to him first.

“Joel.” He looks horrible, cuts and bruises are contorted by the swelling, but at least he’s not bloody anymore. His fingers twitch when she threads her fingers through his. “You’ve got to get better.” She murmurs softly. “I- I need you. I need to say I’m sorry.” She confesses. “I’ve been an asshole. A total bitch, and when I thought -“ she chokes up, squeezing his hand tight. “You just can’t leave me, okay? You can’t.” She huffs, feeling overwhelmed and she looks over at you. “And someone else needs you too.”

You step forward, reaching for Joel’s other hand, “we both need you. You can’t die like that. You don’t deserve that. You deserve to be old and laid up in bed, warm and just fall asleep. And that won’t happen for years to come.” You reason, trying to be commanding but your voice cracks. “You need to watch Ellie fall in love and grow up, and get married if she wants.” You shift to bring his hand up to your lips, “and I need you. I can’t - I can’t imagine this life without you, however I can have you. Even if you can’t love me, I can love enough for both of us.”

Joel’s brow twitches, furrows slightly as he frowns. Fighting sleep and the deep weariness that of pain that has been pushed away by the drugs. “Love.” He grunts, all he can manages as he tightens his grip on your hand. Then he relaxes and goes back under.

You are relieved that he’s alive. Tears stinging in your eyes, and you lift his hand to place a kiss on the back of it. “Love.” You murmur, glad he heard you. Ellie blinks and tears fall down her cheeks, “I’m gonna make it up to him.” She nods, “I’m gonna make this right.” You nod, reaching for her other hand, “he’s here. That’s all that matters. We survived.”

Joel doesn’t come to until the night. His body desperately needs the rest and the nurses slowly wean him off the drugs overnight. His hand twitching in yours is the first sign, making you stir from the chair beside him. It takes several long minutes, but eventually, Joel opens his eyes. They are swollen, nearly unable to open, but he cracks them enough to see the light and he hisses slightly, his head pounding but he needs to see if he had dreamed of you being with him, or if you were really here. His throat is dry, and his voice raspy as he croaks out your name.

You lean over him, “Joel.” You gasp, cupping his cheek to see his eyes slowly open. “You’re awake. Take it easy. It’s okay. You’re safe.” You choke, tears in your eyes. It’s the middle of the night. You sent Ellie home with Dina to get something to eat and rest. “You’re in Jackson. You’re okay. Ellie’s safe. Dina’s safe. We are okay.” You reassure him, needing him to know.

“Safe?” He struggles to look around, feeling like he’s been tossed around by a bloater for the better part of a day. Not seeing anyone else and then looking back at you. “Ellie? Dina? They- they’re-“ you nod and he exhales roughly, wincing when the sharp pain of the broken ribs hits him. “Shit.” He hisses.

"Just relax. You - shit - you were shot and then she - you had surgery. It's gonna be awhile before you can do it." You murmur, brushing his hair from his sweaty forehead. "I'm so glad you're alive. I thought - I thought she'd killed you." You choke, tears sliding down your cheeks despite thinking you'd cried all your tears.

“Where is she?” He demands, leaning back and wondering if they had fled the lodge or if they had been killed. “The girl- she- I killed her father.” He confesses quietly. “The fireflies.” He looks up and he sees your tears, making him frown as he reaches for you. “Don’t cry.” He murmurs.

You smile, reaching up to wipe your tears so you don’t upset him anymore. “She’s gone home. It’s the middle of the night. She - her and Dina went back to the house.” You reveal and he licks his lips so you get him some water, helping him have a drink. “You stayed.” He rasps after you set the water down. “I stayed.” You answer, “there’s nowhere else I’d be.”

He remembers the word love. It had filtered through his mind, playing over and over again. “They hunted me down.” He tells you. “Was gonna kill me. I knew that.” He admits. “As long as they didn’t hurt Dina, didn’t find Ellie, didn’t capture you to torture for information….as long as they didn’t hurt anyone I love, I was fine with dying.” He squeezes your hand gently.

You look down at his hand in yours, annoyed that he was okay with dying when you couldn't lose him, "I killed them." You confess, "one of them shot me in the shoulder." His eyes widen but you rush out, "it was in and out. I'll be fine. I just - I killed them all. I wanted to drag it out for the girl. Wanted to see her suffer like you did but that didn't help you survive so I killed her and got you back to Jackson. I couldn't lose you. Ellie couldn't lose you." You choke, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of it.

He doesn’t know how he feels about you killing for him. He’s not worth it. His frown is natural but he turns his hand to cup your cheek. “I love you.” He murmurs softly, knowing that he can’t keep his feelings to himself. Not after coming so close to dying. Not when he realizes that he has started living instead of just surviving. You freeze and your eyes flicker up to meet his. “I love you.” He repeats, wanting you to know he means it. “I thought I imagined you. Wanting to see your face one last time. Because you are the first person I want to see in the morning and the last face before I fall asleep.”

You choke on a sob when you hear his confession. Joel is a man of few words but you know how he is. He doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I love you. So much. I’d fight to the death for you.” You promise and he caresses your cheek, “I love you, baby.” You lean in to place a soft kiss to his lips. “The threat is gone. It’s gonna be a long road to recover but I’ll be here every step of the way. Loving you.” You vow, glad that you were able to save Joel from his death. You can’t even imagine a world without him and now you never will. You’ll be by his side until he dies peacefully in your bed at the age of 78, surrounded by Ellie, Dina, Tommy and the people who love him.

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