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softquietsteadylove · 2 years ago

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A Thenamesh Gladiator AU!

there are a few kingdoms. And every kingdom has 3 strong gladiators. And I think once a week or once a month there is this big competition between the kingdoms. And the winner gets a big price. So Thena is a princess in her Kingdom and Gil is one of her Gladiators. And she has a crush on him.

One day the Kingdom of Eros challenges Thenas, if he wins the competition she will marry him. If she wins she can choose who she wants to marry.

"Fetch my mother, tell her he has awakened."

"Yes, my Lady."

Gilgamesh groaned as he did his best to pull himself up on the cot provided to him. All he remembered was the last fight dragging on for far too long. The opposing gladiators were freakishly strong this year. Even he was having trouble with them. Gil startled, "d-did I lose?!"

"No," she soothed, kneeling down on a pillow next to his cot. She raised up a bowl, tilting his head to offer him water. "You won."

He let out a sigh, the relief reaching so deep it was in his bones. He was a champion of plenty of tournaments before this one, but losing this time especially was not acceptable.

"But I want you to forfeit."

Now he did shoot up in bed, although his bones and wounds screamed at him for it. He doubled over, holding his bruised ribs. His hand met bandaging, which still had some traces of blood on them.

"You see?"

Oh, did he. It seemed whenever they were together, all he could see was her: Thena.

"You were lucky to emerge alive after your last fight," she frowned at him, sitting back on her knees on the pillow (which she must have moved to his bedside herself). "If mother were not the master healer she is, I'm sure you would be in the same state as your opponent."

Gil had no sympathy for his opponent--not for the gladiators chosen by the visiting prince, nor Eros himself. He was the very reason Gilgamesh had to fight harder than ever before. "Princess-"

"Gilgamesh, I am quite serious," she persisted, pinning him under her glare, as green as the Adriatic Sea. "You are in no state to fight Kro."

Kro was quickly becoming a name in this tournament as Prince Eros' champion. He was also becoming known for his cruelty in battle.

"I'll get some sleep and I'll be fine."

"You could sleep for a month and not be ready to fight that monster," Thena argued, setting down her ceramic of water rather roughly.

Gil raised his brow at her, "I didn't realise you lacked faith in me, my Lady."

"Gil," she cut him off, and his given name was effective in silencing him. Her hands fisted in the fine, draping white fabric of her dress. "That man is a creature not of man's make. He...he will kill you. And he will make me watch."

"Hey, hey," Gil shook his head, rushing to comfort the shaken princess. He had seen her worry about him before, but he had never seen her so genuinely frightful. "That won't happen. I won't let it."

Thena lifted her head, looking at him with those eyes again. "And are you so omniscient? That you could control a man without honour or even a human heart in his chest?"

Gil sighed. His poetic princess was right, he couldn't guarantee that the fight tomorrow would go his way. He was not only exhausted and injured, but he was emotionally invested. And any expert on battle would say that it was a weakness for him to bear, not a strength.

"Please," Thena whispered, looking down at her trembling hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear falling onto her robes. "I don't want you to get hurt, Gil. I-I couldn't bear it if you were..."

It was a funny conflict of feelings, feeling overjoyed that she would care so much as to weep over him, but not wanting to see her weep at all. He reached out, tipping her chin up to look at him. "Do you remember when we first met?"

She smiled, blinking away tears a princess couldn't afford to shed. "You were walking into the Colosseum. Plenty of gladiators had looked up at us before, but you smiled, and then you waved. I suppose I found it too tempting to resist waving back."

Gil smiled as well. He did treasure that memory; the first instance in which he had seen the Thena behind the crown. And he liked what he saw. "No, I mean the next time--when we met properly."

It had been after his first fight. He was arguably the strongest of the new gladiators in training, but initiation was also to fight a lion. He had not exactly come out unscathed.

But he had also refused to kill the lion. It was cruel and barbaric he stated proudly. It wasn't that poor creature's fault that it had been captured, now forced to fight off strange men for its meals.

Thena had been the one to declare the end of that practice. She had ordered the lion's release, as well as the tending of Gilgamesh's wounds. It was then that he had first spoken to her. He was being tended to a cot much like the one he was lying on now.

The glowing princess had knelt down, as close to him as the bars separating them would allow. She was royalty, and to be so close to a lowly trainee would be beneath her, after all. But he had watched her raise two fingers, hooking them over one of the gate bars tenderly.

"Are you hurt?"

Every time hearing her voice was like hearing it that first time; he never tired of it.

"Nah," he had chuckled, taking on such a casual tone with the princess that the medics tending to him had gasped in horror. "Not so bad."

But she had smiled.

Thena looked up at him now, a long way from that first night she knelt by his side in the bowels of the Colosseum. "I asked what I might do to help your healing."

"And I said?" he raised a brow at her, still relishing the feeling of her skin against his thumb.

Thena dropped her eyes, offering exasperation with her reluctant smile. It was faint, but it was true. "My smile was help enough."

"See?" he chuckled, letting his fingers pull away from her oh-so reluctantly. Maybe he could keep the feeling of touching her in his mind as motivation. "I'll be better before you know it."

She shook her head at him, her golden locks tousling beautifully around her shoulders. "Mother will not let you go back into battle because of a smile."

"And I'm not going to let that ingrate marry you."

Thena sighed, as if she could have somehow forgotten about the outlandish circumstances of this year's prize. Her hands folded on her lap again. "I suppose I have no desire to fulfill that agreement either."

"So it's decided," Gilgamesh said with absolute certainty, regardless of the pain in his side or the burn of his hands from gripping his sword. "I'll fight tomorrow. And I'll win."

Thena stared down between them, neither agreeing nor having another argument in her against it.

"I'll win, Thena," he insisted, reaching down to take one of her hands in his. The golden bangles around her delicate wrists clinked in contrast to the leather guards that sat around his. "I promise you. You'll be no one's prize."

She managed another smile, giving his hand the faintest squeeze in return. "Are you saying I am no prize?"

Gil inhaled. He knew that she was offering a joke to lighten his mood in return. But he couldn't resist; he raised her hand to his lips. "No, you are not the prize. The prize is getting to live, just so I can see that smile another day."

The princess stared at him, silent after a little poetry of his own. "Gil-"

"Gilgamesh," the queen greeted as she walked in, although she blinked when her daughter rushed to stand so quickly she swayed to gain her balance. Ajak tilted her head, "Thena."

"Mother," Thena greeted her, sounding breathless as if she had run here as well. Her hand toyed with her luxurious golden hair. "I was--we were awaiting your arrival."

"Right," Ajak muttered, going to the gladiator's side to check his wounds. There was already a pillow at his bedside (how convenient).

Thena watched quietly, her hands perched on the edge of the cot.

Ajak kept quiet as Gilgamesh's fingers snuck ever so subtly over to just barely brush against Thena's. She could choose to ask them about it, if she so desired. She was the queen, after all. And she had witnessed her daughter's fondness for this warrior in particular before.

But hopefully the fight tomorrow would go well. And she would have to be silent no longer about Thena's obvious love for the Champion Gladiator.

#Thenamesh AU #Thenamesh Gladiator AU #I know gladiators are roman #just hear me out...gladiator. au.#the first time she ever sees him #she's just like huh now that is a warrior #and he gives her this big bright smile and a dorky wave #and people are like dude don't look at the princess what are you thinking #but she smiles at how charming it is #even waves back just a little #Ajak beside her can't believe her eyes #and from then on Thena takes more interest in the tournament of champions than ever before #and every fight Gil is in Thena is beside herself with worry #quietly but yeah #he gets healed by Ajak every time #and every time Thena is like I'll just check on him #sits beside his bed and holds vigil in a longing way #she doesn't even know the name of the other two fighters

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ienjoywritingfilth · 5 months ago

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the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn."

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him.

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly.

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together."

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago.

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his.

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying.

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins.

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body.

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come.

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you.

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure."

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours.

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore."

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large.

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine.

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress. You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air.

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast.

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game.

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once."

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves.

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress.

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you.

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting.

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders.

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man.

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy.

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue.

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him.

You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again.

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill.

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back.

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good.

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt.

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat.

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish.

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him.

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees.

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself."

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his. You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks.

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great.

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind.

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all.

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth.

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done."

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back.

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb.

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would.

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders.

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name.

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him.

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim.

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs.

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle.

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars.

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest.

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll.

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you.

"Say it."

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust.

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face.

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire."

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt.

"Say it."

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking.

"I am . . . I am. . ."

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is.

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!"

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum.

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it.

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair.

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls.

"Are you satisfied?"

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth.

"I am, wife."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #trope #forced marriage

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