#Lucius Verus Aurelius imagine

[ay0nha]

Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds | Lucius Verus Aurelius

SUMMARY: "Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?"

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader (arranged marriage for political reasons)

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, not much, mentions of alcohol, old-timey language, Google-accurate Roman empire things, dancing, arranged marriage, talks of lineage, angsty-ish, quotes from various people like Nina Simone and Octavia Butler sprinkled into dialogue,  etc. 

A/N:  I quickly wrote this in a few days with the amazing help of @astrd00. This is just sort of an introduction to my fic idea so apologies if it's a little boring. Arranged marriage trope sort of colleagues to friends to lovers. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment it really helps me to keep going! More to come, enjoy!

The Latin translates to: a water drop hollows a stone, not by force but by frequent falling.

Everyone clung to the fog of death in the air with stiff fingers, unwilling to let their proof of newly promised freedom go. They celebrated in the streets, disregarding the savagery that occurred only months ago. The public enjoyed the amnesia, looking to Lucius not solely for responsibility but as a new object to place culpability. 

Yet, the heaviness permeated Lucius’ marrow. He hid it well behind the mask of authority. Even a sharp eye would miss the way it restrained him, intentionally ignorant of a flaw in their new leader.

It might have even been seen as a strategic move, a way to humanize the gladiator who seemed to defy the Gods. Strategy outside the arena was new, different from the portrayed brute that dusted his hands with sand. What lay in his palms now was similar to that of a child’s heart, beating rapidly with a not-yet-known burden of life. It was heavy and warm, begging for unwavering loyalty from its possessor. 

Lucius remained delicate with his hold, but the heart wanted more from him. Strength and honor would soon no longer suffice. It needed sustenance worthy of devotion and destruction. His eyes were steady on this phantom heart until those around him required his attention. 

“Emperor—” A magistrate repeated, voice raising enough to tease an echo. The new title sat heavily on Lucius’ shoulders, contorting his body into a position that mimicked Atlas.   “Our suggestion should not be taken lightly, it is for the prosperity of your Rome.”

Scrutiny wasn’t found in his tone or bitterness behind the remark but rather in genuine regard. However, there was an intention behind the ownership of Rome, a hint at the generational promise.  

“The public can wonder, speculate, but they do not see beyond the issue.” He continued, watching the twitch on Lucius’ face. “You may not like the mere thought, but gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo.” The magistrate paused, his words lingering. “How much longer until Rome is hollow once again?”

“This order is a fallacy.” Lucius finally made contact, eyes surveying those around him. “There is a need for trust, yes. And yet, you ask for deception?” 

“You misunderstand us, Emperor.” Another member of the senate spoke, hoping to alleviate tension. “There would be no deception in this union, only fortification of the reigning; an image for the people to find themselves in.”

 “Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?”

—

You smiled through the wine-fueled chattering of the ceremony, appeasing those who had just witnessed your union, but your focus moved beyond the conversation and revelry.  Above you was a darkened sky that mimicked night. Rain poured down, tempting you to fall prey to its numbing hold. 

The Gods are favoring your union, you were told when the sky opened. Divine intervention.  

But you knew the Gods were fickle, always testing your will against temptation. It was a test sent for you, one that an elaborate wedding and an emperor declaring your shared existence hid well. 

So you ignored the call of the humidity, being dutiful to your new role as empress. People bowed to you and nearly cried at how beautifully you paired with your new counterpart. Even as you sat on the marble throne beside Lucius you couldn’t deny their exactness. 

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon pass out from the wine.” You spoke softly, eyes ahead at your guests as you spoke to your husband. His grip on your hand fidgeted exposing his anxiety.  

Lucius paused, determining if honesty was worthwhile. His self-awareness was enough to remind him how unfamiliar he was with the environment that consumed his senses. 

“It is for them.” You nodded ahead to the crowd. The room was hot from the amount of bodies swirling around.   “Remind yourself of this when their faith falters.”

Lucius looked at you, attention trained on your profile. Even with a soft veil over your features, you were so absolute. 

“I know my purpose here. You are still learning yours.” You continued. “All I ask of you is that when they falter you place your trust in our bond.”

“I will place it where it is due.” There was your gladiator. The defiance comforted you. 

“Those around you are untroubled by that; all they crave is to spit on the fallen. It doesn’t matter if you are one of them, they are quick to turn.” You sharpened. “Be careful; join the sinful and you will be remembered with spite and desperation.”

You spoke of hidden things, of politics that lingered like venom in the bloodstream of the empire. Lucius knew not to mistake your words for ulterior motives. You were direct in your vows to further his image of a new Rome, it was why you were chosen to be by his side. Your mind was clear. You read the room perfectly, unraveling every detail of what was inherited. 

“My legacy does not motivate me,” Lucius stated. His ears attuned to you and you only, enraptured in how deeply you spoke as if it was a common thought. “I will not look to them for fame.” 

“You will, conscious or not. And once you do, you will not be able to look away.” You smiled pitifully as though you knew something he didn’t. “Just as they watched you fight, you misunderstand the impact of what is before you.”

“You believe that little of me?” There was a swirl of censure in his chest despite the small smile pulling at his lips.  

“There is opportunity to win, but that is a fool’s goal—

“To win?” Lucius scoffed. “Even you have been mislead, then. Thinking that there is a conquest waiting to happen.”

“I do not wish to insult you.” Your thumb adjusted against his fingers. It was in your nature to be candid, but at times you placed your frustrations unfairly. You softened. “Your promise of growth will help amend this.”

Lucius wished to pull away from you. He needed to think, to be separated from the feigned festivities adjoined to love. This was love; love created not between two people, but shared by you and him for Rome. 

That was not to say you were birds of a feather. 

Your strengths were found in your experience. Although young, you were no novice to how to hold your chin high while delivering truths to the senate. You learned from your uncle, an official who raised you on the true meaning of government. You were clever. The public viewed you as such. You were of noble status and fit to stand before them. 

What you lacked was a specific connection that Lucius brought to the people. He was one of them, raised humbly, hands worn from the earth’s harvest and war forced upon him. Lucius spoke well to them, building comradery with every way of life. 

“I would never ask you to compromise your beliefs. I know better than to think you’d behave.” You teased at his rebellion, hoping the guard that was up would calm. “Besides, a well-mannered lover is an offense.”

 “We are not lovers.” It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried.

“And we are not enemies.” You were quick, reading between his words to find the insult. 

“My lord!” A raspy voice begged for attention. “My lady!” 

You stood, bowing politely to the affluent man before you. He took advantage of the night; jewels adorned every finger that pulled at the elaborate fabric of his outfit. 

“It is time.” The rasp withered when he lowered to speak to you directly. His arms went wide as if inviting a hug, but he spun skillfully to face the audience. 

“Time?” Lucius looked to you. 

The man boomed over the forgotten rain. ““It is time!” 

Standing, you didn’t release Lucius’ hand. There was resistance on his end, wanting to remain sedentary and silent to wait out the rest of the night. 

“Our dance.” You answered to his wide eyes. Your guests cheered, clearing space. “It is customary to rise together and move as one. It will complete the ceremony.”

He rose at your words, not much of a choice otherwise than to follow. 

The fabric of your dress swam behind you, kissing the floor with each step toward the middle of the marble floor. The dress looked like water cascading down your body, hiding each bend and swell of your body. Yet, it highlighted something else, something deeper. It was subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space. 

“May the rain create a river to fertility.” The man held a contagious grin that spread around the room. 

Prosperity and posterity.  This is what they wanted. Lucius alone was not enough. The bloodline was more important than a single figure. It hadn’t needed to be discussed as it was the obvious forethought for your unification. 

The officials of the republic were more concerned about your fecundity and frame than the knowledge you held. It was a typical belief, one that you expected. Your fingers itched to bring your willingness to support the new decree to play and if this was your path to it, so be it.  

You remained clinical at the thought. It was a means to an end rather than something to be meditated on. The way Lucius hardened at the man’s words told a story from another perspective where the political became personal. You did not miss the ring on his pinky that rubbed against a new gold one. 

“Does the great gladiator know how to dance?” Your voice flowed to Lucius only knowing the opportunity rarely presented itself. 

The music shifted from something fast-paced to something more melodic that would encourage you both to move swiftly but attractively. You knew your words would hit a nerve, but it was strategic to motivate Lucius’ hesitant hands. 

“It is a back and forth. A push and pull.” You guided your hand to press against his palm, meeting together as if you were to pray. “Just like the arena, no?”

Lucius’ eyebrows pinched together. Not out of curiosity or frustration. He was genuine in his response. 

“Rarely is a touch this…subdued.” Soft.  

“Shall I spin you in circles, then?” Your painted lips were easier to see now that Lucius was close. He saw as they rose through your veil with the quip. “Disorientate you to the point of submission?”

Your arms weaved behind your back still connected to Lucius’. The dance was simple, one practiced as children. There were very few steps and wistful gestures that even the familiar still enjoyed. 

“Those are my only options? Coercion or blind fealty.” 

It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset. 

It was odd to see Lucius so close, your memory had failed to cast such a strong light on him. Once overgrown hair had been trimmed to only curl at the nape of his neck. Dirt was cleared from every line of his face.  He was still rugged, but you saw through the exterior to find a boy.  

A boy who had been stripped of child-like wonderment and care. Instead, he held his broad shoulders high and an expression that lingered from his exile. Lucius’ skin perked every time your dress acted as a barrier between the two of you, a warning that whatever you offered had to be earned.  

“I do not ask much of you, Emperor...” You put it simply, knowing your worth and wisdom. You needed to be promised his word that against anything you would be beside each other.  “...so I will not ask again.”

“You are not satisfied with the trust of the marriage alone,” Lucius stated his question like an observation. “You wish I promise myself to you in ways which I may not be able to provide.” 

“Able or willing?” 

Your faces were close, noses mirroring each other as you turned on beat.  You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.  

“The past and the future press so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.” You spoke again before he could answer.  “You must decide where you belong.” 

The music returned to Lucius’ ears. Its melody weighed down your words, letting them settle deeply in his mind. His head spun with thoughts busy on reasoning.  Perhaps he was too guarded for his own good, but he’d gotten himself this far relying only on himself. He had held in a great deal. Often he felt he couldn't speak until the waters overflowed their banks and broke through the dam. 

Those around him garnered support, but this was different. You understood what freedom was; it meant no fear. Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

The music slowed coming to an end. Lucius removed his hands from your body but didn’t venture far. His calloused fingertips followed the seam of your soft veil to meet the laced end. Once there, he gently revealed your true manner. 

Your features were accentuated by an internal glow. There was no modesty in your gaze, it shattered any notion of strength. There was no insight into your emotions. What Lucius found was someone gifted. It was a marvel he hadn’t heard of you until you presented yourself as the wise option for him to marry. 

Although you ran in many circles, your name wasn’t whispered among the council. They didn’t believe beauty and wit could fit within the reach of a woman. Yet, here you stood. A new challenge to be accepted. Lucius resisted the urge to swallow quick breaths as if he were going to endure a blow from Viggo. His body agitated in preparation, but looking at you so wholly all he could muster was concession.

 “You have my word.”

[andy-15-07]

An heir of Rome

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1485

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The grand marble halls of the Palatine Hill glowed golden under the setting Roman sun. Empress Y/N gazed out over the sprawling Forum, her silk stola cascading around her like water, the fine fabric embroidered with golden laurels befitting her station. A servant entered quietly, bowing low.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” the servant said softly, head bowed, “the Emperor awaits you in the gardens.”

Y/N smiled faintly, already knowing what this would mean. Lucius Verus Aurelius, her husband and the newly crowned ruler of the Roman Empire, often found peace among the blooming flora of their private sanctuary, far removed from the relentless politics of the Senate and the demands of the people. She dismissed the servant with a wave and made her way to him.

She found Lucius standing beneath an olive tree, his golden-brown curls illuminated by the dying light of day. He wore his imperial toga loosely, the purple of royalty draped casually over his powerful shoulders. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his face breaking into a rare, unguarded smile reserved only for her.

“Y/N,” he said warmly, closing the distance between them. His hands found hers, calloused from years of training with the sword, yet gentle as they enveloped her smaller ones. “You’ve been hiding from me today.”

“I’ve been thoughtful,” she replied, her tone teasing but her gaze searching his. “Your Senate meetings are as tedious for me to hear about as they are for you to attend.”

Lucius chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “You’ve no idea. If I could abandon them all and spend my days here with you, I would.”

“You’d miss the thrill of the arena,” she countered, raising a brow. “And the glory of Rome.”

His expression softened. “Rome is nothing without you by my side, Y/N. I meant every word I said when we wed. You are my equal in all things.”

Her heart swelled at his words, though a shadow of uncertainty flickered within her. What she had to tell him now would change their lives forever.

“Lucius,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “there’s something I must tell you.”

His brow furrowed, concern flashing in his amber eyes. “What is it, my love?”

She took his hand and placed it over her abdomen, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am with child.”

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Lucius stared at her, uncomprehending, before the realization dawned. His eyes widened, and a joyous laugh escaped his lips.

“By the gods!” he exclaimed, lifting her effortlessly into his arms and spinning her around. “An heir! Y/N, you’ve given me the greatest gift of all.”

His exuberance was contagious, and she found herself laughing as well, her worries momentarily forgotten. He set her down gently but kept his hands on her waist, his expression turning serious.

“Are you well? Have you seen the physicians? You must take no risks. Tell me what you need, and it shall be done.”

“I am well,” she assured him, touched by his concern. “And I have already consulted with the palace medics. They say all is as it should be.”

He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze fierce and tender. “You must promise me, Y/N. No more long walks in the heat, no late nights with the advisors. I will not have anything threaten you or our child.”

“I promise,” she said softly, placing a hand over his. “But you must promise me something in return.”

“Anything.”

“You will not let the weight of Rome crush you, Lucius. You are a warrior, but even warriors need rest.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “As long as I have you, I will never falter.”

---

Months passed, and as Y/N’s belly swelled, Lucius grew more protective. He personally oversaw her safety, ensuring no harm could come to her. Their nights were filled with quiet moments of intimacy, his hands resting on her abdomen as they spoke of the future.

Finally, the day arrived. The palace was thrown into a flurry of activity as Y/N went into labor. Lucius refused to leave her side, despite the protests of the midwives.

“Stay with me,” Y/N whispered, her face pale but determined.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, his voice steady despite the fear gripping his heart.

Hours passed, each moment stretching into eternity. Y/N’s cries of pain tore at Lucius, but he held her hand, whispering words of encouragement and love.

At last, a sharp cry filled the room, and the midwife held up a squirming, red-faced infant.

“It’s a girl,” she announced, her voice reverent.

Lucius stared in awe as the child was placed in Y/N’s arms. Her tiny features were delicate, yet she cried with the force of a storm, filling the room with her presence.

Lucius knelt beside Y/N, tears streaming down his face as he touched the soft cheek of his daughter.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Our daughter. Our future Empress.”

Y/N smiled weakly, her exhaustion evident, but her joy radiant. “She will rule Rome one day, Lucius. And she will do so with strength and wisdom.”

Lucius pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, his heart overflowing. “She will be the greatest ruler Rome has ever known. Just like her mother.”

He held his daughter in his arms, marveling at her tiny fingers curling around his. “You have my heart already, little one,” he murmured. “I will protect you and your mother with my life.”

The room was quiet now, save for the soft cooing of their newborn daughter nestled against Y/N’s chest. The midwives had retreated to give the imperial family a moment of privacy, leaving Lucius, Y/N, and their child surrounded by the glow of flickering oil lamps.

Lucius knelt beside the bed, his fingers brushing against the baby’s cheek in awe. Her tiny features were a perfect blend of them both—Y/N’s delicate nose and soft lips, framed by the faintest wisp of golden-brown hair, like his own.

“She’s so small,” Lucius whispered, his voice filled with reverence. “And yet, she already feels like the strongest part of me.”

Y/N smiled through her exhaustion, cradling the baby close. “She’s already taken your heart, hasn’t she?”

“Completely,” Lucius admitted, his amber eyes gleaming with unshed tears. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the top of his daughter’s head with infinite tenderness. “I’ve never known love like this, Y/N. Not until you, and now her.”

He straightened, his expression shifting to one of solemnity as he looked between his wife and child. “She deserves a name worthy of her destiny. She will not just be our daughter; she will be a symbol of hope for Rome, a future Empress who will rule with wisdom and grace.”

Y/N tilted her head, her tired eyes soft with curiosity. “Have you chosen a name, my love?”

Lucius nodded, a small smile breaking through his seriousness. “Aurelia. For the golden light she brings into our lives and the strength she will carry as our heir. Aurelia Verina.”

“Aurelia,” Y/N repeated, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked down at their daughter. “It’s perfect, Lucius.”

Their daughter stirred in her arms, her tiny fingers curling instinctively around Y/N’s thumb. Lucius watched the interaction with awe before gently taking one of the baby’s hands in his own, marveling at her fragility.

“She will be loved, cherished,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “And she will know the strength of her mother’s heart.”

Y/N reached for Lucius’ hand, entwining their fingers as they gazed down at Aurelia together. “And she will know the courage of her father,” Y/N added softly. “With us, she will never lack for love.”

Lucius settled onto the edge of the bed beside Y/N, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. For a moment, the weight of Rome seemed distant, unimportant compared to the warmth of his wife and daughter in his arms.

Aurelia shifted again, letting out a small cry. Y/N chuckled, adjusting the blanket around the baby. “She already has your spirit, Lucius. Fierce and demanding attention.”

Lucius laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. “If she has your patience, she’ll balance it well. Together, she’ll be unstoppable.”

As the baby quieted, Lucius leaned his head against Y/N’s, his lips brushing her temple. “This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of, Y/N. A family. A future.”

“And Rome will be stronger for it,” Y/N murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.

For the first time in what felt like years, Lucius allowed himself to relax, to be not just Emperor, but a husband and father. As Aurelia drifted into sleep, Y/N leaned into Lucius’ embrace, and the three of them shared a quiet moment of peace, wrapped in love and the promise of tomorrow.

In the stillness, Lucius whispered to his daughter, “Sleep well, Aurelia. You are the light of our lives and the hope of Rome. I will protect you with every breath I have.”

And with that, Lucius tightened his hold on his family, feeling an unshakable sense of purpose. Rome’s future was no longer an abstraction—it was here, in his arms. And he would ensure it would flourish.

[multific]

The Crown’s Weight

Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: Your marriage was for politics. But he couldn't ignore your presence, especially your kindness.

The Emperor's chambers were filled with ornate details that spoke of duty and power. 

At first, that’s all your marriage to Lucius had been, a strategic arrangement, nothing more. 

Yet, over time, the lines of duty began to blur.

Lucius carried the Empire with unwavering strength, much like how he won in the Gladiator games, but you began to notice something else underneath his facade. 

At first, your moments together were brief, a quiet exchange during a meal or a passing glance. He barely looked at you. 

Slowly, something deeper began to form. Something, you didn't notice at first.

One evening, you found him on the balcony, the moonlight glowing on his handsome face. 

You hesitated before stepping closer.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

His head turned slightly, and he gave a small nod. 

“Not tonight. The weight of the Empire doesn’t lift at night.”

“It’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”

His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. 

For the first time, you reached out and touched his arm, a simple gesture that seemed to break through the walls he built around him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words quiet but genuine.

From that moment, the nature of your relationship shifted. 

Another time, you had found him alone in the library, the strain of his duties evident in his posture. 

You placed a cup of tea beside him, and his fingers brushed yours.

"Thank you," he would say. No other words were exchanged that day.

Another time, you walked through the gardens together.

A simple walk, which he invited you on.

“Which flower do you like best?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer than usual but not unnatural.

“That one.” you pointed at the lilies. "I like their colour." 

The next day, you found a vase with the same flower on your desk. He didn’t leave a note, but he didn’t need to, you it was Lucius who sent them.

These small moments developed into something deeper, even if neither of you had said the words. 

But the Empire often found its way between you, sparking tension.

After one particularly heated argument about a decision for the provinces, you paced your chambers, your frustration palpable. 

Lucius entered, his expression was wild.

“I’m trying to protect the future of this Empire!” he snapped but didn't yell.

“And I’m trying to protect you!” you shot back. “You can’t do this alone, Lucius. You don’t have to.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Then, his features softened, and he stepped closer.

“This marriage was supposed to be for the Empire,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But somewhere along the way, it became something more.”

“What do you mean?” Your heart raced as you processed his words. 

“I mean,” he said, his hands gently cupping your face, “I love you. Not just as my Empress, but as the one person who truly knows me. The real me.”

“I love you too, Lucius. It is why I worry so much." you admitted and it felt so good to say those words aloud. Because you did love him.

He pulled you closer, his hand resting on your hip as the other held your face.

The kiss he gave you was tender yet full of emotion, a promise that you weren’t just a partner in duty but in love.

When he finally pulled away, he didn't move back and looked into your eyes. 

“Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

“Together,” you echoed his words. "I have to ask you to share your worries with me. It is too much burden for you to carry. I understand you are... strong, but I'm your wife. I want to help."

"I will if you promise we will share sleeping chambers from now. We are no longer how we were when we met. I wish to sleep with my wife."

"I thought you would never ask." you smiled at this.

You always loved his strong he was. You used to watch him fight, his body was impressive. Little did you know that his mind was also like that.

But here he was now, an Emperor.

Gladiator II Collection

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[fawninthesnow]

𐙚 Gilded Charm: Gladiator II One Shot 𐙚

Lucius Verus x fem reader!

Summary: You, part of a family of visiting royalty, decide to sneak into the jails beneath the colosseum. There, you meet a charming young man, Lucius.

Warnings/Contains: f4m•semi public s3x•dirty talk •mild choking•edging•love bites•pinning •size kink• cock warming• male dominant, not proof read.

Word count: 1.5k

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Lucius sat on the edge of his makeshift bed inside his cell. He pondered as the screams and cheers from the colosseum echoes into the jails beneath. All of it made his heart ache.

He would never admit this to anyone but he was scared of--- “Wake up, you bastards!” The wardens of the jail went around to each cell, banging upon the bars, all but his. “Come eat!” Lucius stood by the door of his cell, sneering at the guards who refused to unlock his. He could only watch as the other men went to the food hall to eat.

“Hey!” He yelled after the wardens, “Hey! I’m still in here!” After being ignored, his sore ego made him sit down. Nothing here was civil, nor equal—not even the portions of slop fed to dying men. He frowned and the hall of cells fell silent.

The man stared at the sword that rested against the wall outside of his cell. He swallowed his saliva before kneeling. His arm slid through one of the bars as he reached for the steel. “C’mon…ehg!” He strained as the seconds passed, his tight muscles sandwiched between the two bars. “Dammit!” He spat.

You wandered down the hall, letting your gown drag behind you. You knew you should not be beneath the colosseum, especially as visiting royalty, but what can keep a girl from feeding her curiosity? Especially when its right in her fingertips. Besides, you were only here for two more nights—now was the time. “Ahg.” You groaned aloud. “Where are all the sweaty men…?” You asked aloud, looking in each cell.

“Eating. You just missed them.” Lucius sat against the wall of his cell, twirling wheat on his index finger.

You curiously wandered down the corridor to the sound of the man. *Oh, my.* “I don’t think so.” The two of you share a smile and you kneel outside his cell. “You are him? Hano. The talk of Rome.”

“My Lady, why are you here alone?” He looked over your royal garb. The handmade designs, and Latin woven into the indigo purple gown. “Hm?”

“I am merely looking around. Is that a crime?”

“Well, no. But if you are looking for fun, I unfortunately cannot help you.” He said softly, shaking the bars of his cell. The man smiled charismatically, attempting to focus on your eyes instead of your breasts held by loose wraps.

You pout. You were not used to getting denied what you wanted,; especially when it came to men. “But...you could die any day.” You express dramatically, his eyes on your hips as your stood.

“Yes, that is true. Have you no husband to mourn me with?”

“No.” You said sadly, bending down towards him. “I will be left to think of you all alone, Hano.”

He stood on the opposite side of his cell. “Forgive me, my Lady. My name is Lucius, yours?”

“[Y/n].” Your hand reached out to him, your fingertips pressed on his biceps, damp with sweat and humidity. They were firm, as were his triceps. “I am not convinced you can carry me.” You teased, caressing his body. He glared at the wall behind you for some reason and you turned around. A bundle of keys on a hook.

You swayed your hips for a moment, thinking. You could get in serious trouble just by talking to this barbarian. On the other hand, you’re already here, step inside at least. When you grabbed the keys and turned back to him, a look of hunger, and desire rid the man’s face. Part of you wanted to leave, go back to your place behind the emperors but it seems they haven’t noticed. “Try the silver one.” He muttered. You turned the key inside the lock and the large door groaned as it opened.

He took your palm, guiding you inside. You were a stark contrast to the environment around, however that did not discourage you from standing against him.

For a moment, he looked away from you, “I could get lashes for this…”

You whisper, trailing your shaking hands down his arms and to his hands. “I will make sure that does not happen.”

He turned back to you, his hand slid into your hair, holding onto the curly texture. “Let us hope so.” You nodded as he pulled your hair back.

“I swear.”

The man turned you around, his erection pressing above your round ass. “Hm,” He rests against your skin, holding your body against his with his strong forearm. “You can take it, it’s alright.” He moved sweaty and curly strands of your hair from your face. “Keep a lookout for anyone, love.”

You took a few deep breaths as he pushed up the fabric of your dress. His fingers rubbed circles on your ass repeatedly. He let out a soft, relaxed sigh as you stayed still. The audacity of this young woman was quite refreshing, to linger outside his cell like a common whore in heat, then come into his cell with her legs spread. This was going to be one of the best nights he’s had in a bit. His breath was hot against your neck and his grip on your body tightened. “Please…please.”

“Won’t I hurt you?” He asked in a rather teasing manner, moving one hand away from your thigh to slowly slide his fingers up to your heat. “Aren’t you excited?” He asks while resting his head against yours. He tucked his head over your shoulder, watching your breasts as the loose dress gave out, undressing you. “Oh my…”

“Lucius, we should not waste time, please.” You begged, pressing your ass onto his hard cock.

Lucius felt the power he had over you, the submission he possessed when he took and held you. He groaned, the scent of you and your perfume…it was enough to make him want your tight cunt around his cock. He could not resist anymore, kissing the back your neck roughly as his hand cuffed the front. You tried to quiet your moans but with every kiss, his right fingers gently grazed your warm and sopping clit. “Keep quiet.” You knew what he was saying was right, you were being too loud! But it was impossible. Your moans turned to whimpers, pathetic whimpers.

“L- Lucius, please, your fingers.”

“You beg a lot, [].” You shut your eyes to the sound of his voice calling out your name. “You like that?” He squeezed the front of your throat, pulling the rest of your clothing off until you stood in only your sandals. You shut your eyes. It was embarrassing being so exposed in the middle of this jail. Anyone could walk in those doors at any point! But he did not care.

Your nipples gently grazed the cold bars of his cell and your knees trembled from the stimulation.

“Aww,” He murmered in your ear, kissing the sensitive skin. Slowly, his thick digits tucked inside of your cunt, making you reel as your sensitive walls took him inside. “You’re a mess.” He said with a chuckle, pressing you tightly between the cell bars and him. There was nowhere for you to wiggle out of his grip. He gently stroked his fingers inside your pussy, pushing on your clitoris as he did so. With each pass, you shut your eyes tighter. “No, no, open your eyes. You need to keep a look out, remember? Do not close your eyes again, am I understood?”

You moaned helplessly, trying to keep yourself focused on the doors. The skin of his warm, and heavy cock pressed on your ass. Precum leaked between your ass. “I, listen, I-“

“Do you want to get fucked or not?”

You swallowed your saliva. If you leave now, you might get caught anyway. “I do.” He circled his tip against the opening to your small cunt. Slowly, he pushed his cock into your pussy. Before you could yelp, he covered your mouth with his large palm. You whimpered behind his palm, looking behind at him.

“You’re ok…” He lets go of your waist and caressed your cheek. “Shhh,” He pulsed inside your cunt as his hips bucked, pushing you into the bars. His gentle hands kept you still as your eyes fluttered closed; cries from your mouth only meeting his palm. “You want to say something?” He grunted out as you soaked his cock, your wetness dripping down to his balls.

Lost in the pleasure of your cunt, he uncovered your mouth and held onto your breast, your soft flesh and hard nipples only made him needy to come. However, he needed to last if he were going to prove a point. He held back his orgasm, turning you over on the cot. You caught your breath for a moment before he slipped back inside your cunt, stretching you as you lay beneath him.

“Mhhh!”

“Shut up,” He pushed a hand over your throat as he continued to stuff you full of his length.

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[sadprose-auroras]

'Dulcissima' - Lucius Verus x Fem!Reader SMUT

dulcissima: Latin; my sweetest

A/N: My god. I saw Gladiator 2 yesterday, and this utter filth just came pouring out of me. A major shoutout to everyone who has BEEN writing for this character, I just had to contribute my little part. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Also take a shot every time I mention his big blue eyes and massive arms like hello I'm sorryyyy can you blame me!!! Also it starts off a bit shaky but trust me stick with it! I just can't not have some kind of backstory y'know

Word count: 3.3k

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut, breeding kink, brief size kink, cumplay, vague oral fixation, brief mentions of colonisation and injury

RATING: 18+. By clicking 'read more,' you are confirming that you are 18+

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Pressing the cloth against his skin made him wince, the muscles in his arm jump, and though you typically would not, you pulled it away.

“I’m sorry, but I must,” you said gently, and it occurred to him that nobody had treated him with such humanity and sweetness in such a long time. “It will be over soon.”

You continued to clean his wound as gently as possible, trying to ignore the heat emanating off his body simply due to your proximity. To distract him, you decided to make conversation. You were no stranger to what it felt like to be a slave. For your home to be destroyed, to be dehumanised in such a monstrous way.

“Hanno, where is your home?” you ask, as you continue to work.

“My home no longer exists,” he said with a level of defensiveness, eyes lowering to the floor. “Not as it once did.”

“My ancestral lineage hail from Aduatuci. My parents, my parents’ parents, have all been slaves. We do not know any different,” you said. “But I have dreams of a free Rome, one of hope. I have heard of it, and I know it can exist. If not for myself, then maybe for my future children.”

The lilt of hope in your voice softened his shoulders immediately, and he finally made eye contact with you.

“Numidia. Numidia was my home. I was taken as a slave as they took our land. I will not know peace until I see the world you speak of.” You nodded with understanding, carefully placing your hand on his knee. His demeanour was completely different to the survival instincts you witnessed in the stadium. He was kind, gentle.

“I believe we can fight for that kind of world,” you reassured.

Once you finished tending to him, you gathered your supplies and stood up to leave.

“May the Gods bless you, Hanno,” you said. He reached out to grab your hand as you turned to leave, a lightning bolt of electricity shooting through you. You turned back.

“Wait,” he said, letting your hand go. “Will you come and see me tonight? Please? I could do with some company.” The vulnerability in his bright eyes made your heart melt.

“Of course.”

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Somehow, yourself and Hanno developed a bond. It became a cycle. Each time he was forced into the arena, you watched with a pit in your stomach, tears welling in your eyes. Each time he was victorious, the relief that flooded through you was incomparable. Afterwards, you would tend to his wounds, talking about your hopes and dreams for the future. He would speak of his life back home, tell you all about his childhood and his father.

Each night, you would sneak into his cell to talk more. It had dawned on you that he was your only friend. The only person who had ever understood you.

One night after a horrifying battle in the arena, you snuck in to see him. Drawing your hood down, you nodded to the guard at the door who allowed you through. He had also become an ally to you both, closing the door behind you and moving away to give you some privacy.

Hanno, or Lucius, as he had recently revealed to you was his name by birth, was sitting with his hands clasped together, gazing thoughtfully at the floor, a crease between his brows. When he saw you, his leg ceased shaking and he stood up to embrace you. His strong arms engulfed you, and you immediately relaxed at the familiar feeling. The prospect of losing the familiarity between you was becoming more and more frightening to you. An air of heaviness clouded this particular visit. It felt different this time.

“I am so happy to see you,” he breathed out, pulling away, caressing your arm. Casual touches between you were comfortable and common, especially considering you were required to touch him all the time when tending to his injuries. And yet, every single time, a shiver ran down your spine. Likewise, every time he pulled away, you could feel yourself physically tense once again. He made you feel like you could breathe.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you murmured, your bottom lip trembling, with what you weren’t entirely sure. It was like every time you saw him, your inhibitions were lowered more and more. You spoke without thinking, acted without speaking. It was dangerous.

“Oh now, dulcissima.” His hand caught at your chin, raising your head to look at him. Your heart immediately began racing rapidly, face flushing. The endearing term all the permission you finally needed, you gently cupped his face, gazing into his stark blue eyes, his long lashes. They stood out against the dirt on his face, the stained red blood smeared across his forehead. A shiver ran through you as his eyes flickered in pleasure.

“Han-“ you began. “Lucius,” you settled on for now. You could never decide what to call him. Either way, he was still the same. Strong, tender, solid, beautiful. Yours.

“I will always be yours, can you not see? This life and the next. You cannot lose me.”  

Unable to come up with any eloquent answer, you decided actions were more powerful. As if your lips had a mind of their own, you raised up ever so slightly on your toes to kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly. His kiss was soft and gentle as you tested out the feeling with one another, his hands moving to protectively cup the sides of your face, thumb stroking your cheek making you exhale through your nose. Your lips explored his, moving together in perfect harmony, coming up for air every few moments.

Your head was spinning with desire, everything else in the world fell away when he kissed you. His hands had moved into your hair, fingers threading through it, not quite pulling. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own, running all over his bare back, sides and chest. The feeling of the hard muscle underneath your fingertips, especially when you could feel it jump with sensitivity, made you want to lick your wet tongue all over his body. You wanted, needed, to devour every inch of him.

Hanno’s kisses grew hungrier by the minute, hands massaging and tugging your hair now, pulling it free from its style. You moaned into his mouth, which made him pull away for a moment and press a finger to your lips.

“You must be quiet, dulcissima.” You fought the urge to buckle your knees at the sound of such a sweet term in his rough voice.

“I know,” you murmured against his finger, absentmindedly scratching your nails down his back as you spoke, revelling in the way his mouth opened slightly at the feeling, eyelashes fluttering. “I will be, I promise.”

“Do you?” he asked, finger now teasing at the entrance of your mouth. You nodded ever so slightly, taking his finger in your mouth, swirling it with your tongue. You closed your eyes, coating his finger in wetness, moving your mouth up and down exploringly.

“Mmmhmm,” you moaned as an answer around his finger. The way he was watching you with hooded eyes, bottom lip taken between his teeth, was making the wetness pooling between your thighs impossible to ignore. He gazed at you as if you hung the stars, as if you were a goddess he was worshipping.

You took your mouth off his finger with a pop, and he began to trace it down your throat slowly, leaving a trail of your own spit. You trembled under his touch, lifting your chin to allow him more access. He reached the swell of your breasts, continuing down between them. You pushed your garments down off your shoulders, arched your back to close the gap between you, chest heaving in desperation. You would feel pathetic if it was anybody else. But he made you feel so safe. You could completely be yourself, express your desires.

“My Lucius, my strong one, please,” you breathed, hungry hands now tugging at his hair. “I need you to take me. Make me forget everything. I want to only remember you.”

Without warning, he swept you up in his arms, a gasp escaping your lips, as he expertly laid you down, hovering above you. You took a moment to take him in; his pink, pillowy lips, tousled hair, scruff beard, shining eyes. Not even the midnight sky, nor a sunset, or a shimmering ocean, was so breathtaking.  

“My love,” he scanned your face, causing your heart to skip a beat. “My love,” he repeated himself, beginning to kiss down your neck over your shoulder, across the top of your breasts, sucking and nibbling. Your entire body filled with goosebumps, and you briefly considered that you were not being nearly as quiet as you had hoped. It was so difficult when he was making you feel this overcome with ecstasy.

“I need to feel your skin on mine,” you whispered, tugging at his clothing. He lifted himself off you, standing before you. He removed his loincloth, tossing it aside, his erection standing before you. Your mouth watered as you took the sight of him in, face becoming impossibly hot. His manhood was proportionately large and thick, much like the rest of his broad, toned body. It made you feel so delicate in comparison. Various images flashed in your mind’s eye. A large, strong hand coming down hard on your ass. The other wrapped around your throat. His back muscles flexing as he pounded into you from behind, his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

“You are so-“ you began to say, but couldn’t find the right words. Before you could finish your thought, he moved towards you again.

“Can I undress you?” he asked, hands moving steadily down your clothed body. You nodded vigorously.

“Please,” you squirmed, fluttering your lashes at your love. He motioned for you to sit up so he could pull your tunic off your head, placing it on the floor. You were left entirely bare, and if it were anybody else in front of you, you would feel self-conscious. But the way his fingertips gently stroked your sides, his big blue eyes bore into yours with care and understanding, made you feel like a goddess yourself.

“I want to worship you,” he began, covering his body with yours, mouth covering one of your breasts. “Lay you on an altar and pray over every single part of your body,” he murmured as he took your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue. You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders for stability.

“Tell me what else,” you whispered.

“Well,” he said between wet kisses over to your other breast. “Once I worshipped you, my goddess,” he said as he began to suck on your other nipple, tweaking the first with his fingers, making you arch your back. “I would then ravage you,” he said, not giving you a chance to respond except to moan into his mouth as he kissed you, the kiss all tongue and desperation. His beard was scratching at your delicate skin deliciously. You ached to feel this on your thighs.

You began to grind against his body as you kissed, attempting to relieve some frustration. You could feel his hardness pressing into your stomach, and it made your mouth water.

“Lucius,” you groaned into his mouth, perhaps a little too loudly.

Shhhhhh, he placed his hand over your mouth, tutting at you. He kept his hand there, his other one tracing a line down your stomach. Your entire body was shaking as you spread your legs apart, drops of wetness falling down your thighs.

“Quiet, my love,” he whispered, one singular finger finally, ever so gently, tracing your folds. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, bucking up into his hand. You needed more.

He noticed his reaction, groaning to himself. He couldn’t help but give you what you wanted. He used two fingers to apply more pressure, running up and down your soaked folds, hitting your clit and making your body twitch each time. He watched in amazement as you writhed in both desperation and pleasure, guiding his hand with your bodily movements.

Something switched in you at that moment, and you pushed his hand off your mouth, flipping yourselves over so you were now hovering above him.

“I need you in my mouth, lest I die,” you said breathlessly. He looked amused at your dramatics, but you felt his cock twitch against you.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he said, and you both chuckled. Wordlessly, you turned yourself around so your pussy was over his face, his cock standing proudly in front of you. It was throbbing, looking almost painful. It made you love him even more, that he wanted you this badly.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, using your thumb to swipe the precum dribbling out of his head, licking it curiously. His deep growl was animalistic, and you felt his nails digging into your ass as he took you in his mouth, devouring you just as he promised. Simultaneously, you moaned as you licked a stripe up the underside of him, spitting a generous amount before slowly taking him into your mouth.

Being unable to see him only made you feel closer, as you could feel his mouth reacting to what you were doing. At the same time, his suctioning and licking of your pulsing clit, licking up and down your folds, was making you groan against him, the reverberation contributing to his pleasure. You began to grind your hips against his face in rhythm with your head bobbing up and down, eyes fluttering open and closed in bliss. His beard scratching against your inner thighs was painfully delicious, even more so than your imagination. You could barely breathe with how fast you were taking him in your mouth, but you did not care.

When he took your clit between his teeth and gently tugged, you gasped in pleasure, making you gag. You pulled him out of your mouth, a line of spit following. You felt the vibrations of him laughing against you. You turned around so you were face-to-face again, your legs trembling.

“Did that feel good, my darling?” he asked, unable to help himself from drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with two fingers as he spoke.

“I-Oh-So-G-Good,” you choked out.

“Would you like me inside of you?” he asked, teasing your entrance with his fingers.

“Yes, please,” you begged. He wasted no time in flipping you over once again, using his strength to pull your legs up onto his broad shoulders, your ankles intertwining behind his neck.

“I am yours, yours, yours,” he repeated like a mantra. “Yours,” the last one came out with a groan, as he swiftly entered you halfway. Your breath was taken away in the best possible way, his thickness impossibly stretching you out.

“You’re so big,” you moaned, shaking your head, inadvertently clenching around him. He gritted his teeth.

“It feels so right. So right to be this close to you. I need you every day, every night, all the time,” he rambled, as he pushed all the way into you, bottoming out. You nodded rapidly in agreeance, finding it difficult to speak.

“Is that okay?” he asked, intertwining your fingers together above your head. You nodded again, licking your lips. Your mouth had gotten a little dry from hanging open in pleasure.

“I want you to fill me up like this forever,” you answered, tossing your head side to side deliriously. “I will always need you.”

Something flickered in Lucius’ eyes. He dropped one of your hands, instead pinning both of your wrists down with one hand. He used the other hand to draw circles on your clit, as he began to move inside you. Slowly, gently at first, but not for long.

Before you knew it, it felt as it he was going to split you apart. He was grunting with each thrust, your promises to keep quiet entirely forgotten. The rhythmic sound of your wetness as he moved in and out of you echoed throughout the cell, and it was quite possibly the most melodic sound he had ever heard. You could feel him deep within you, hitting your cervix which took your breath away each time.

Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, the veins in his arms protruding out. You moved your hands so he was no longer holding your wrists down, and he complied immediately. You needed to touch him. With shaking hands, you ran your fingertips all over his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles flexing with each thrust. You worked your way up over his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair, then back down to his arms. You dug your nails into his biceps, surely leaving marks.

“Fill me up with your seed, dulcissime,” you echoed his sentiment from earlier. “Make me ripe with a child so that we may carry on a hopeful legacy for generations to come.”

He groaned, profanities escaping his mouth in a deep, guttural voice.

“Say that again,” he demanded, fingers still circling your swollen, aching clitoris.

You gripped his hair in your hands, pulling him close to whisper in his ear.

“Get me pregnant, dulcissime. I need your hot, sticky seed inside of me.”

This undid both of you. You reached for one another, mouths slotting together in harmony. You stifled your moans with kisses, as you felt him spill inside you and warm you up. The feeling sent you over the edge, as you pulled his hair even harder to steady yourself. A warmth flowered all the way from your sternum to your extremities, your pussy pulsing around him as you rode out the high. Your entire body felt like it was floating, spots clouding your vision.

“My love, my darling,” Hanno murmured, his stomach rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. You kissed again, as he cupped your face gently.

Wordlessly, he gently, achingly, pulled himself from inside of you, and you both watched in awe as the point where your bodies met were no longer together. His seed was dribbling out of you, coating you and making you itch.

“Can I clean you up?” he asked gruffly, barely waiting for an answer as you sighed out, “God, yes,” as he moved down your body so his face was crowding between your thighs. He licked a swipe up you, making your entire body twitch with aftershock. You practically screamed, the overstimulation almost too much to handle. Almost. You shoved your fist into your mouth to stifle the noises.

You watched through hooded eyes as he licked up every drop of his own seed, grinding onto his face, chasing the pleasure. You were delirious, not a single thought in your mind beside Lucius. When he was finished, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and you moaned out loud at the sight. He returned to kiss you once more, and you could taste the familiar taste on his tongue, making your stomach swoop with desire.

Pulling away for a moment, he rolled over onto his back, pulling you with him so you were folded into his side, leg draped over his, his large arms engulfing you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your sweaty temple, wildly juxtaposing his actions from mere moments ago.

He gazed down at you with those incredible eyes, sighing blissfully. He moved a piece of hair from your face as he spoke his next words.

“I hope you know I meant every word, dulcissima. I want to build a future with you, for you, for our children. I vow to always protect you.”

You pressed a sweet kiss to his lips.

“We will build our home together,” you replied. And for the first time, the future you imagined, a future full of hope and possibility, felt closer than ever before.

[astrids-blog333]

Before the Fall

Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fiancé!Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Summary: In the weeks leading up to your wedding, Lucius swears you’re his. But when a plot to kill you unfolds his protective instincts go into overdrive, and his need for revenge becomes a force that can't be stopped.

Warnings: obsessive love, betrayal, poison, dark romance, hurt/comfort, angst, death themes, violence, mention of needles/medical tools, nudity (no smut)

A/N: This is based off a request from the lovely @londonalozzy, hope its what you imagined. I really enjoyed writing this :)

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 3.5k

The city lies below you, gilded in dusk. It's a sprawl of rooftops and marble, with lanterns flickering to life one by one. You can hear laughter from the palace gardens far beneath, and the distant hush of fountains, the clink of goblets and soft strains of music carried by the wind.

But here, above it all, it’s quiet.

You lean on the balcony rail, the cool stone pressing into your hands. Behind you, the doors to your shared chambers stand open, silk curtains dancing in the breeze. The faint and heady scent of night-blooming flowers drifts on the air.

Lucius stands in the doorway, watching you.

He hasn’t said a word since he came in. Just shed his armour, piece by piece. First pauldrons, then chestplate, the belt goes, until all that remains is the linen shirt clinging to his frame.

You don’t need him to speak. You can feel him in your skin.

“You’re brooding,” you murmur without turning.

He doesn’t answer at first. Then the floor creaks under his bare feet as he moves closer. “I’m thinking,” he says, low and rough.

You smile faintly. “Dangerous habit.”

His arms come around you from behind, slow and sure. One hand flattens against your stomach, the other wraps across your chest, holding you flush against his powerful body.

“I can’t help it,” he says, and it isn’t a jest.

You tilt your head to the side as he brushes his mouth against your neck, a kiss that lingers without deepening.

“I saw the way that senator looked at you today,” he says quietly.

You sigh, resting your hands over his.

You twist slightly to meet his gaze. “I’m not a prize to be guarded, Lucius.”

His jaw ticks, eyes burning dark. “You are to me.”

There’s no apology in his voice. No shame in the way he holds you tighter, like he’s half a breath away from shielding you with his entire body.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his hair. It’s unbound now, wind-swept and silvering in the moonlight. “You’re too intense for this world.”

He huffs a soft sound that might be a laugh, or at least something close to it. “You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“You’re biased.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you fully, fingers curling around your wrist. “Utterly.”

The moment stretches, a welcome pause in the chaos of court and crowns. Then, wordlessly, he reaches for the clasp at your shoulder.

You don’t stop him.

His hand is steady, but his eyes search yours, still always asking. Even now when you’re to be his wife in days, even when your lives are tangled like roots in soil.

The fabric slips with a whisper, your gown loosening, sliding down one arm. Lucius watches it fall like it’s a sacred thing.

He helps you turn, facing him. The city is behind you now, but you can still feel it glowing on your skin. His gaze follows the light, tracing the place where your collarbone catches it, the hollow of your throat, the edge of your shoulder.

His hands come up to the other clasp, and you let him undo it, and the silk shudders as it slides down your body.

You should feel exposed. But all you feel is his eyes.

He touches your waist. Then your arms. A finger down your spine. Not lust, not hunger, something deeper.

You raise your hand and press it against his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm, a steady drumbeat. When you look up, his expression is thunderous—stormy, hungry, aching.

“Say something,” you whisper.

He shakes his head slowly, lips parted. “I can’t. You make words useless.”

“You’re thinking again,” you murmur.

His hands still. His voice is hoarse. “I don’t want anything to take this from me.”

You step closer, bare and unflinching. “Nothing will.”

But he doesn’t look reassured. He looks like a man staring at the edge of a cliff.

His thumb brushes your cheek. “I’ve known war. I’ve known loss. But this-”

You reach up, pressing your mouth to his before he can finish. It’s a soft kiss, one that asks instead of takes. He answers with a sigh, a sound that shudders through him.

You feel his restraint like a coiled spring.

When you break apart, your voice is soft. “Do you still want to marry me, Lucius?”

His eyes flash. “I want to chain the gods if it keeps you safe. I want to carve your name into time next to mine so we can never be parted. I want to wake beside you for every breath I’m given.”

You laugh, almost tearfully. “So that’s a yes?”

He kisses your temple. “Yes. And so much more.”

You stand there like that for a while, bare beneath his cloak, wrapped in arms that have held swords and shields and empires, and now only hold you.

He doesn’t take you to bed, not yet.

Instead, he carries you inside and wraps you in soft linen, his rings cool against your skin. He brushes your hair back and watches you fall asleep like you are something holy.

Like you're far, far too fragile for this world.

The feast sprawls across the garden in a blur of gold and wine and silks. Lanterns are bobbing in the warm evening air, casting lights over noblemen and generals, over perfumed women and simpering lords. Somewhere, a lyre sings.

But Lucius hasn’t left your side. He watches you like he still has his hand on your spine. Like you might vanish between one breath and the next.

You keep your smile polite, easy, soft. You let a duke’s wife compliment your gown. You lift your goblet when a toast is made. You play the part, but there’s a weight to your awareness now. His gaze presses into your shoulder blades.

“Try to enjoy yourself,” you murmur beneath your breath, turning just enough for Lucius to hear.

“I am,” he replies, voice low and unhurried. “You’re here.”

You reach for your wine again, only for Lucius to stop you, two fingers resting lightly against the stem of your goblet. Not forceful, not commanding. But final. Then he lifts the glass himself, sniffs it, and hands it to a nearby guard without a word.

“Too warm,” he says when you frown. “I’ll have another brought.”

You almost laugh. You don’t. Something in his eyes won’t let you.

Across the courtyard, past the music and marble statues and glistening tables, someone is watching you.

A young noble, tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair and a face carved for vanity. Lord Severan. You’ve seen him in passing, heard his name wrapped around gossip. His family fought beside yours long before your birth.

He doesn’t look away when your eyes catch his. He simply inclines his head, as though he has every right to look at you for as long as he pleases.

He doesn’t see Lucius.

Lucius sees him.

Your future husband doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But the space around him sharpens. You feel his fury the way you feel the storm season rolling in over the mountains, a distant thunder, the scent of earth before rain.

When you glance up, Lucius is already watching Severan.

The younger man falters. It’s slight, almost nothing, a stutter in his stance, a flicker of something uncertain in his expression. But you see it. And so does Lucius. Severan turns away a moment later, voice rising as he joins another conversation, too loud, too bright.

Lucius exhales.

You want to ask, what was that? But you don’t, because part of you already knows.

The garden has always been your secret. A place carved from stone and vines, hidden past the west wing. Lucius insisted the entrance be sealed to all others after you found it together, calling it your little kingdom.

“You should let me build you a new one,” he says tonight, low in your ear. “With statues of you in every corner.”

You hum without turning, leaning back into his chest. “Tempting. But then where would we hide when the Senate bores us to death?”

His arms fold around your waist from behind. “I could banish them for that.”

You laugh. “You say that like you haven’t already threatened half the council.”

He kisses your shoulder, grinning. “Only the slow-witted ones.”

You’re barefoot, perched on the stone bench where he’s draped a throw for you, one slipper forgotten in the grass. The vines above sway gently, scenting the air with jasmine.

Lucius pulls back just enough to press a goblet into your hand. “To your patience, beloved. And your saint-like tolerance of me.”

“Oh, that ran out weeks ago.”

He chuckles, watching you take the first sip. “And yet here you are.”

“Because you’re pretty.”

He arches a brow. “Pretty?”

“Devastatingly. Like a sculpture. One of those marble heroes. But significantly moodier.”

“Moodier?” He feigns offence.

You glance at him sidelong, smirking. “Broodier?”

“I prefer commanding.”

“Mm. You’d still look very commanding as a statue. Naked, obviously.”

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “If you wanted me naked, love, you only had to ask.”

You swat at him half-heartedly, laughter slipping past your teeth, and he grins like a man completely, stupidly in love.

You drink. A sip, no more. The wine is sweeter than before. Thicker.

The silence stretches, but something shifts.

It happens slowly. A throb behind your eyes. A warmth in your chest that doesn’t spread, just tightens. Like a band drawn too tight.

You blink once. Twice. The moonlight blurs at the edges. Your breath catches.

Lucius’s head snaps toward you.

You try to speak, but the words catch. Your chest rises too fast, then too slow. The goblet slips from your hand and crashes to the stone.

Lucius is on his feet. Hands on your arms, your face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer, you can’t. The garden sways around you, your vision warping. You grip his tunic for balance and feel your body sag against him.

Lucius roars for the guards.

There’s no mask of Emperor now. No calm authority. He lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing and turns toward the palace, already shouting orders. The corridors blur around you, columns and frescoes and startled faces. Lucius is yelling for Ravi, voice like thunder crashing through marble.

You hear your name. Over and over again.

“Stay with me. Stay with me.”

Then darkness.

A few hours later, Ravi works in near-silence.

His hands are stained with herbs and tinctures, sleeves rolled back to his elbows. A bowl of tainted wine stands on a side table, half-emptied for testing. A copper basin is dark with water and blood.

Lucius has not moved from your side.

You lie on his bed, pale and still, your lips parted as though caught mid-breath. Your skin gleams with sweat. There is a mark on your arm where Ravi injected the antidote, a desperate gamble on what he believes is poison from the south, rare, expensive, slow to kill but brutal.

“She’ll live,” Ravi says at last, voice hoarse. “It was close. It still is close. But I think we caught it in time.”

Lucius doesn’t respond. He only nods. His hand wraps around yours, cold, trembling slightly. His thumb strokes your knuckles like a litany.

Behind him, the guards wait, silent. Tense.

“Find out who brought the wine,” Lucius says quietly.

Ravi looks up.

Lucius doesn’t look away from you. “Every hand that touched it. Every link in the chain. I want names.”

The guards bow and vanish like shadows.

Lucius leans closer, his breath stirring your hair. He brushes it back from your brow and presses his forehead to yours.

“I swear to the gods,” he whispers, “I will find them. I will tear the world apart if I have to.”

The palace is hushed.

Not in reverence, not in mourning. In fear.

Lucius walks the halls like a spectre, draped in crimson. His jaw is locked, his stride steady. The guards who follow don’t dare speak. The scent of iron follows him. His hand is still stained red from the last interrogation.

He reaches the chamber at the end of the east wing.

They'd dragged Lord Severan here after Ravi confirmed it—the poison traced to the noble's house, hidden in a shipment of rare wine, sealed with his signet.

Fool.

Lucius opens the door himself.

Severan turns at the sound. He stands in the centre of the room, straight-backed, still dressed like a man of title. His tunic bears a pale smear of dust, but his eyes are sharp, unreadable. He does not kneel. He does not beg.

Of course he doesn’t.

“Your Majesty,” he says, voice even. “I trust this is a misunderstanding.”

Lucius says nothing.

He steps inside, and the door shuts behind him with a soft click. No guards. No audience. Just the two of them.

Severan lifts his chin. “I’ve served the Empire faithfully all my life. My family-”

“Thought I wouldn’t notice,” Lucius says, low. “Or care.”

A pause.

Then Severan’s face twitches, just slightly. “I’ve no idea what you’re implying.”

Lucius is across the room before Severan can blink, one hand slamming into his chest, shoving him back into the stone wall. The crack of it echoes like a gunshot. Severan grunts, breath knocked from his lungs.

“You poisoned her,” Lucius snarls. “You put your filthy hands on something that wasn’t yours.”

“She was never yours to begin with.” The words spill out before he can stop them, bitter and sharp. “Your engagement is recent. Our families have been allied for years. I expected-”

“You expected?” Lucius’s voice is low, dangerous. “You expected her to fall into your lap like land and cattle? Like shes property?”

“I would have treated her with dignity. She would have been safe with me.”

Lucius punches him. It’s fast, brutal. Bone cracks beneath his fist. Severan chokes on his own blood.

“She was safe with me. The only reason she is not anymore, is you.”

“She nearly died,” Lucius growls, fist curled tight. “She still might. Do you know what it feels like to watch someone you truly love suffocate in your arms?”

Severan coughs, lips wet with red. “She would never have been yours if she had a choice.”

Lucius stills.

Then he smiles. A thin, terrible smile.

He steps back. “On your knees,” Lucius says.

Severan doesn’t move.

Lucius draws his dagger. “On your knees.” This time, Severan obeys. Slowly. Jaw clenched.

“You think you’re the first man to covet her?” Lucius circles him. “You think you’re the only one to look at her and wish she belonged to you? Well you're not.”

His voice darkens. “But you’re the only one foolish enough to try to take her from me.”

The blade gleams in the torchlight. Severan’s breath comes in short, ragged bursts.

“I’m the Emperor,” Lucius says, voice almost soft. “I could have stripped your title, dragged your name through the dirt. But that’s not what you deserve.”

He kneels beside him, dagger at Severan’s throat.

“You deserve to bleed.”

“Wait-” Severan tries, voice hoarse. “Please-”

“No.”

Lucius cuts.

The blade slides across Severan’s throat with surgical precision. No hesitation.

Blood spills fast, warm and thick, soaking into the marble.

Lucius watches him fall. Watches him die.

His face is blank, empty, but his hands are shaking. He stays there a moment longer, crouched over the body.

Then he stands.

Ravi is waiting outside the door, eyes wide, breath held. He nods. “She’s breathing. Still weak, but stable. She’s asking for you.”

Lucius exhales once, sharp and unsteady.

Then he walks. Not like an emperor or a man victorious.

He walks like someone who nearly lost the only thing that ever made him feel human.

And left death in his wake.

You wake to the sound of breathing. Slow and steady. Not your own.

Everything aches. Your bones feel waterlogged, your skin too tight, your lungs not quite yours. The world is heavy and blurred, but not empty anymore.

There’s a hand in yours.

Warm, large, calloused. Gripping so tightly it’s almost painful, as if letting go might kill him.

Lucius.

You don’t say it aloud. You try, but it comes out as a whisper of breath, just enough. A ghost of his name.

His head jerks up.

He’s slumped in a chair beside you, his hair mussed, eyes bloodshot, his tunic stained with something darker than dust. There are bruises along his knuckles, dried blood in the grooves of his rings. But none of that matters.

Because the moment your eyes meet his, it’s like the whole world crashes into place.

“Lucius,” you rasp, barely a sound.

He’s already moving.

He doesn’t shout, doesn’t call for servants. He just presses forward, sinking to his knees beside the bed, wrapping both hands around yours like he’s trying to feel your pulse with his whole body.

“You came back to me,” he breathes. His voice is hoarse, wrecked. “You- fuck sweetheart, I thought I lost you.”

You manage a faint smile. “You’re the one who looks like death.”

He huffs a sound that’s almost a laugh. But his eyes are wet, his shoulders trembling as he bows his head against your arm.

Your fingers twitch, reaching, despite the fire in your muscles. You reach for him, your hand dragging against his jaw. He lifts his head instantly, eyes wild.

“You shouldn’t move-”

“I need to touch you,” you whisper.

Lucius leans into it, closes his eyes as your fingers brush the side of his face. His stubble scrapes your skin. He’s so warm. Solid. Alive.

“Ravi said it was close,” you murmur. “I remember his voice.”

Lucius nods slowly. “You stopped breathing. Twice.”

He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. You can see it in him, in the smudged shadows beneath his eyes, the twitch in his jaw.

“How long?” you ask.

“Three days.”

You blink. “You haven’t slept.”

“No,” he says, without shame.

Silence falls.

Then, quietly, “You don’t get to die before I marry you.”

You smile, weak but real.

You glance at him properly now. The blood on his sleeves. The state of him. “You found out who it was.”

His jaw clenches.

“I didn’t just find him,” Lucius says softly. “I made him confess. I made him beg.”

You don’t ask for details. You don’t need to.

But he gives them to you anyway. “Severan thought you were promised to him. His family assumed your hand would be theirs by alliance. No contract. No vow. Just... pure entitlement.”

You close your eyes.

There’s a pause. You open your eyes to find him watching you, ruthless, wrecked, and so full of love it almost hurts.

“I didn’t kill him quickly,” he says. “I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to feel what it means to steal what’s mine.”

You swallow. “Lucius-”

“No. Don’t ask me to regret it.” He brushes your hair back, gentle as a prayer. “If I hadn’t been holding your hand when you woke, I’d still be out there, finding the rest of them.”

“You think there are more?”

“There are always more.”

You study his face. The darkness in it. The desperate, burning edge that hasn’t softened.

He’s not the same man who teased you on the balcony. Not quite.

But he’s still yours.

“Come here,” you say softly.

Lucius hesitates, just for a second.

He climbs onto the bed carefully, lying beside you atop the covers, his arm beneath your neck, drawing you gently into his chest. You can feel the tension still thrumming through him, like a wild animal only half-caged.

You press your face into his throat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He holds you tighter. “You’d better not.”

“I’ll marry you,” you whisper, half-dreaming. “Even if you look like a ghost.”

He chuckles into your hair. “Then we’ll make it soon.”

“I want the dress with the pearls.”

“You’ll have it,” he murmurs, lips at your temple. “You’ll have everything.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of his heartbeat, steady against your cheek. The warmth of him. The safety in it.

And the sense, finally, that the worst is over.

But even now, as you drift, his grip doesn’t loosen. He’s still watching the door. Still ready to kill.

Still yours.

I had a lot of fun writing this, please comment/like/reblog is you enjoy, and as always requests are open <3

[pinterestanddaydreaming]

Chapter 1: A City of Timeless Beauty - Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: Y/n is a college student in Rome majoring in Roman History and Archaeology with her friends Priya and Alaya. Her mentor offers her the opportunity of a life time, to work at a dig site that could possibly hold the ruins of a Roman emperor's palace. The excavation starts in summer and it would mean that she can not go home to spend it with her family. Will she do it?

Author's Notes: Hey everyone! I know that I have posted a collage earlier for the reader's aesthetic but this collage accompanies this chapter. I personally like to make these to also help myself visualize the things I write about. Please know that y/n does not have to look like the girls in the picture, you can visualize her in any way and form you want to. Another thing, this story will be slow burn and I have not decided what the ending is going to look like so read the series at your own risk. This is my first time writing so the quality itself may not measure up the other very talented writers in this fandom, please know I am working on it!

Warnings: None!! It's just a bunch of girls being smart and lovely! If you hate girls stay away please and thank you! 🤗🙏

The golden hour blanketed Rome in a glow that seemed to blur the line between past and present. The streets buzzed with life, and y/n strolled through them with an air of calm curiosity. Her bag was tucked under her arm, brimming with essential beauty items and notes from her class on the history of Roman politics. She allowed herself a moment to bask in the sounds of the city, the distant hum of traffic mingling with the laughter of tourists and the occasional snatches of conversation in Italian. 

Y/n looked at her wrist. She still had about forty minutes to get to the restaurant where she planned to meet Priya and Alaya for dinner after their classes. Y/n, Priya, and Alaya had grown up together in London, and their business-owner parents were more than happy to let their daughters move to Rome to pursue their passion for studying history and archaeology. 

After nearly a year in Rome with Priya and Alaya, y/n felt at home. She had become familiar with the city and she loved living here. As y/n walked, she thought about the internship offer from Professor Marino, her professor who teaches Archaeological Field Studies. Y/n has been taking the class with Priya and Alaya and they all have gotten close to Marino. She has become a mentor for y/n and she has chosen Marino to be her senior thesis advisor. She is a renowned archaeologist and has been working on finding a royal palace of a Roman emperor for the past ten years.

When y/n talked to her earlier this week, she sounded sure that she had discovered the site for a royal palace. Marino had invited her and her friends to meet her at a local café to discuss an internship opportunity.  

“You see,” Marino began, leaning forward, her cappuccino momentarily forgotten, “this isn’t just any site. I believe we’ve found the remains of the imperial palace of Emperor Lucius Verus—a palace and man we have lost to history and time.”

The warm aroma of coffee and fresh pastries enveloped the small café where Y/N, Priya, and Alaya sat with Professor Marino. The professor, a striking woman in her late forties with sharp features and an air of quiet authority, gestured animatedly as she explained the significance of her latest discovery. 

“Lucius Verus?” Priya asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “He ruled after the mad twin emperors, Geta and Caracalla, right? We don’t have a lot of material culture from the time.”

Marino nodded, a smile curling her lips. “Exactly. And that’s what makes this find so extraordinary. If we can excavate and study this site, we might find details that reshape our understanding of who this man was.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “This could rewrite history, ladies.”

Alaya, who had been quietly sipping her espresso, finally spoke. “How sure are you about the location, Professor? I mean, after ten years of searching, it must feel incredible, but what evidence do you have?”

Marino smiled, clearly pleased with the question. “Preliminary scans have revealed a structure consistent with the layout described in ancient texts. We’ve also uncovered fragments of frescoes and inscriptions that point to a residence of significant importance.” She paused for effect, letting the weight of her words sink in. “But we need to confirm it. And that’s where you come in.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re asking us to join the dig?”

“Not just join,” Marino said, her voice lowering as though sharing a secret. “I want you three to be part of the core team. I am not sugarcoating when I say that you three are the sharpest students I have had in a while. You are all familiar with Roman history and have taken more than enough credits on archaeological field methods. I really think you can get something out of this experience.”

The trio exchanged another glance, excitement buzzing in the air like an unspoken agreement.

Priya leaned forward, her excitement barely contained. “When would this start?”

“Summer,” Marino replied, her expression turning serious. “It’ll be a demanding schedule—early mornings, long hours under the sun, meticulous cataloging. But I promise, it will be worth it. What you learn and contribute could shape your careers.”

The discovery of a potential royal palace sounded exciting to y/n and she has loved spending her summers in Italy. But working at the dig meant postponing her return to London and spending time with her family.

As she turned a corner, a small shop caught her eye. It was sandwiched between two bustling cafés, its entrance almost hidden beneath climbing ivy. The antique shop’s name, "Eterna Treasures," was scrawled in faded gold letters above the door. Y/n hesitated, feeling an inexplicable pull toward it. Her feet seemed to move on their own, and soon she was pushing open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, the shop was dimly lit and smelled faintly of sandalwood. Shelves overflowed with curiosities: ornate goblets, faded maps, and statues worn smooth with age. Behind the counter stood a woman who could only be described as eccentric. Her gray curls were untamed, her dark eyes sharp and knowing, and she wore a patterned shawl draped over her shoulders like a queen surveying her domain.

“Ah, there you are,” the woman said, her lips curling into a sly smile.

Y/n blinked. “Sorry, do I know you?”

The woman waved her hand dismissively. “Not yet. But I know you.”

Y/n laughed awkwardly, taking a small step back toward the door. “That’s… not creepy at all.”

The woman chuckled, a rich sound that filled the tiny shop. “Oh, child, don’t be afraid. I simply have an eye for people, and you, my dear, are no ordinary girl.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Is that so?”

The woman leaned forward, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have the face of someone out of place. A beauty so timeless it doesn’t belong in this world. No, you belong in another time. A time when Rome wasn’t just ruins but the beating heart of an empire.”

Y/n tilted her head, unsure whether to laugh or feel unnerved. “Well, I do study history. Maybe you’re picking up on that.”

The woman ignored her, her gaze seeming to pierce straight through y/n. “Such eyes… deep as the Tiber itself. They’ve seen more than you know. And you have a dimple!—ah, men would have crossed oceans for a smile like that. Some might still.” She sighed theatrically. “You could change history, my dear. Bring a man to his knees.”

Y/n stared, caught somewhere between discomfort and fascination. “Okay… that’s very poetic and all, but I’m just a history student. No one is crossing oceans for me.”

The woman snapped her fingers suddenly, her tone shifting to something brisk and businesslike. “Well, never mind all that! Let me show you something.”

She disappeared behind the counter, rummaging through a glass display case. When she resurfaced, she held a small velvet box containing a gold ring and a matching necklace, each adorned with a ruby so vivid it seemed to glow from within.

“These,” the woman declared, her earlier intensity replaced with a saleswoman’s enthusiasm. “These are perfect for you. Look at the craftsmanship! Ancient, regal, and absolutely meant to be yours.”

Y/n hesitated, eyeing the jewelry warily. “They’re beautiful, but I wasn’t really planning to buy anything…”

The woman scoffed, thrusting the box toward y/n. “Nonsense! Try them on. You’ll see.”

Y/n sighed and picked up the ring, slipping it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, the ruby catching the faint light and gleaming like fire. The necklace felt cool and strangely heavy as she clasped it around her neck.

The woman clapped her hands, her grin widening. “See? They were made for you. A perfect match.”

“They’re… nice,” y/n admitted, still unsure. “But I’m not sure I need them.”

“Need?” The woman leaned closer, her voice dropping back into its earlier, cryptic tone. “They aren’t about need. They’re about destiny. Some things find you, not the other way around.”

Y/n frowned. “You’re really good at making this sound ominous, you know that?”

The woman only laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ominous? Perhaps. But it's true.”

With a resigned smile, y/n pulled out her wallet. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt compelled to buy the set. Maybe it was the allure of the pieces themselves, or maybe it was the woman’s strange, magnetic energy.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the small bag the woman handed her.

“May they bring you fortune,” the woman replied, her voice soft and enigmatic. As y/n turned to leave, the woman added, almost as an afterthought, “And perhaps… a bit of the past.” 

Y/n paused at the door, glancing back at the woman, who was now humming to herself as she rearranged trinkets on a nearby shelf. Shaking her head, she stepped back into the bustling streets of Rome.

The city was glowing in the last light of day, but y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. The ruby ring felt warm on her finger, and the necklace rested against her chest like a weight she hadn’t noticed before.

Maybe the eccentric woman was right. This wasn’t just simple jewelry.

End of Chapter 1

tags - @bad-grammer

I don't have an official taglist yet! But I can create one if you guys would like, please don't hesitate to reach out to me and let me know if you would like me to either create one or just tag you in the next chapter!

[chloe-skywalker]

Gladiator II Masterlist

By ~ @chloe-skywalker

* = Requested

⭐️ = Favorite

Main Masterlist

Lucius Verus / Hanno :

~ Coming Soon. . .

Marcus Acacius :

~ Coming Soon. . . .

Emperor Geta :

~ Coming Soon . . .

[renren-006]

Original Masterlist!

Started: 7-29-22 Updated: 4-20-2025 Story count: 77

❀Stories❀:

(*** Means it is a requested story) In order: Ryan Gosling characters Ethan Hunt Daryl Dixion Henry Cavil Lucious Verus Marvel: Wanda, Bucky, Peter Parker(AG), Steve Rogers, Frank Castle Other: Bruce Wayne(Bale), Jeffery Dean Morgan, Dean Winchester, Fezco, Theseus, Alicent(HOD), Draco Malfoy

Ryan Gosling ✧

ONE SHOTS

Officer K

Heart of Gold

Driver

Get Away Driver

unworthy goodbyes

Sebastian Wilder

La vie en Rose

Sierra Six/Court Gentry

Double Trouble ***

Turning Tides ***

Rematch ***

Prince Charming ***

Protection Squad ***

Homework Problems ***

Polaroid

The Spy Next Door ***

Jealous Reader ***

SONG INSPIRED

Sierra Six/ Court Gentry

Loved *** (You Are Loved by Taylor Swift)

SMUT

Sierra Six/Court Gentry

Far Away

All you had to do was ask

Shy Boy ***

Ethan Hunt✧

ONE SHOTS

Promises

Reckoning ***

Lazy Saturdays ***

Falling in Love in France ***

Complete ***

Fallowing Along

Guard Dog ***

Daryl Dixon✧

ONE SHOT

Jealousy ***

Prisoner and Savior

Sunshine Optimist

"I Know"

Savior

Over the Years

Rainy Night Kisses

Y'all Didn't Know? ***

Gates

Angel ***

Helmets and Leather Jackets ***

DRABBLE

Keep her Safe.

KHS pt. 1

KHS pt. 2

SMUT

The Hearts Want

After

ABC

Henry Cavil ✧

ONE SHOTS

Geralt Of Rivera

Sleepovers

Wounds and Kisses ***

Preference ***

Clark Kent / Superman

Photo Worthy

Lucious Verus ✧

ONE SHOT

Familiar Eyes

Emperor Lucius

Doctors Magic

Amor Fati ***

MARVEL:

IMAGINS:

Bucky and Steve:

The boys comforting you about your ex

Wanda✧

ONE SHOT

Magnets

Love Knot

I Knew you in another life

Red Strings (Visualising)

Bucky✧

ONE SHOT

Car Troubles

The Book

Pain Tolerance

RAMBLE

Remember

SONG INSPIRED

Pickin Boys (Slim Pickings by Sabrina Carpenter )

Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield)✧

ONE SHOT

Skyscraper

Steve Rogers

ONE SHOT

Reading Nook(Visualization)

DRABBLE

Time

Frank Castle

ONE SHOT

Hells Kitchen

Savior

Other

Bruce Wayne✧

ONE SHOT

The Love of a Bat

No More Secrets

Jeffry Dean Morgan✧

Negan

ONE SHOTS

Prisoner and Savior

To Love and Trust

SERIES:

Love Lost

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3?

John Winchester

ONE SHOT

Hunt

Dean Winchester✧

DRABBLES

Deans Playlist

ONE-SHOTS

Fezco✧

ONE SHOT

Anger and Love ***

You Did a Bad Thing Twice ***

Theseus Scamander ✧

SMUT

Magic Hands ***

JJ Maybank✧

ONE SHOT

Bruises

Alicent Hightower✧

ONE SHOT

From the Castle Walls

Draco Malfoy✧

ONE SHOT

Taken

[ay0nha]

Does this need a part two?

Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds | Lucius Verus Aurelius

SUMMARY: "Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?"

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader (arranged marriage for political reasons)

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, not much, mentions of alcohol, old-timey language, Google-accurate Roman empire things, dancing, arranged marriage, talks of lineage, angsty-ish, quotes from various people like Nina Simone and Octavia Butler sprinkled into dialogue,  etc. 

A/N:  I quickly wrote this in a few days with the amazing help of @astrd00. This is just sort of an introduction to my fic idea so apologies if it's a little boring. Arranged marriage trope sort of colleagues to friends to lovers. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment it really helps me to keep going! More to come, enjoy!

The Latin translates to: a water drop hollows a stone, not by force but by frequent falling.

Everyone clung to the fog of death in the air with stiff fingers, unwilling to let their proof of newly promised freedom go. They celebrated in the streets, disregarding the savagery that occurred only months ago. The public enjoyed the amnesia, looking to Lucius not solely for responsibility but as a new object to place culpability. 

Yet, the heaviness permeated Lucius’ marrow. He hid it well behind the mask of authority. Even a sharp eye would miss the way it restrained him, intentionally ignorant of a flaw in their new leader.

It might have even been seen as a strategic move, a way to humanize the gladiator who seemed to defy the Gods. Strategy outside the arena was new, different from the portrayed brute that dusted his hands with sand. What lay in his palms now was similar to that of a child’s heart, beating rapidly with a not-yet-known burden of life. It was heavy and warm, begging for unwavering loyalty from its possessor. 

Lucius remained delicate with his hold, but the heart wanted more from him. Strength and honor would soon no longer suffice. It needed sustenance worthy of devotion and destruction. His eyes were steady on this phantom heart until those around him required his attention. 

“Emperor—” A magistrate repeated, voice raising enough to tease an echo. The new title sat heavily on Lucius’ shoulders, contorting his body into a position that mimicked Atlas.   “Our suggestion should not be taken lightly, it is for the prosperity of your Rome.”

Scrutiny wasn’t found in his tone or bitterness behind the remark but rather in genuine regard. However, there was an intention behind the ownership of Rome, a hint at the generational promise.  

“The public can wonder, speculate, but they do not see beyond the issue.” He continued, watching the twitch on Lucius’ face. “You may not like the mere thought, but gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo.” The magistrate paused, his words lingering. “How much longer until Rome is hollow once again?”

“This order is a fallacy.” Lucius finally made contact, eyes surveying those around him. “There is a need for trust, yes. And yet, you ask for deception?” 

“You misunderstand us, Emperor.” Another member of the senate spoke, hoping to alleviate tension. “There would be no deception in this union, only fortification of the reigning; an image for the people to find themselves in.”

 “Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?”

—

You smiled through the wine-fueled chattering of the ceremony, appeasing those who had just witnessed your union, but your focus moved beyond the conversation and revelry.  Above you was a darkened sky that mimicked night. Rain poured down, tempting you to fall prey to its numbing hold. 

The Gods are favoring your union, you were told when the sky opened. Divine intervention.  

But you knew the Gods were fickle, always testing your will against temptation. It was a test sent for you, one that an elaborate wedding and an emperor declaring your shared existence hid well. 

So you ignored the call of the humidity, being dutiful to your new role as empress. People bowed to you and nearly cried at how beautifully you paired with your new counterpart. Even as you sat on the marble throne beside Lucius you couldn’t deny their exactness. 

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon pass out from the wine.” You spoke softly, eyes ahead at your guests as you spoke to your husband. His grip on your hand fidgeted exposing his anxiety.  

Lucius paused, determining if honesty was worthwhile. His self-awareness was enough to remind him how unfamiliar he was with the environment that consumed his senses. 

“It is for them.” You nodded ahead to the crowd. The room was hot from the amount of bodies swirling around.   “Remind yourself of this when their faith falters.”

Lucius looked at you, attention trained on your profile. Even with a soft veil over your features, you were so absolute. 

“I know my purpose here. You are still learning yours.” You continued. “All I ask of you is that when they falter you place your trust in our bond.”

“I will place it where it is due.” There was your gladiator. The defiance comforted you. 

“Those around you are untroubled by that; all they crave is to spit on the fallen. It doesn’t matter if you are one of them, they are quick to turn.” You sharpened. “Be careful; join the sinful and you will be remembered with spite and desperation.”

You spoke of hidden things, of politics that lingered like venom in the bloodstream of the empire. Lucius knew not to mistake your words for ulterior motives. You were direct in your vows to further his image of a new Rome, it was why you were chosen to be by his side. Your mind was clear. You read the room perfectly, unraveling every detail of what was inherited. 

“My legacy does not motivate me,” Lucius stated. His ears attuned to you and you only, enraptured in how deeply you spoke as if it was a common thought. “I will not look to them for fame.” 

“You will, conscious or not. And once you do, you will not be able to look away.” You smiled pitifully as though you knew something he didn’t. “Just as they watched you fight, you misunderstand the impact of what is before you.”

“You believe that little of me?” There was a swirl of censure in his chest despite the small smile pulling at his lips.  

“There is opportunity to win, but that is a fool’s goal—

“To win?” Lucius scoffed. “Even you have been mislead, then. Thinking that there is a conquest waiting to happen.”

“I do not wish to insult you.” Your thumb adjusted against his fingers. It was in your nature to be candid, but at times you placed your frustrations unfairly. You softened. “Your promise of growth will help amend this.”

Lucius wished to pull away from you. He needed to think, to be separated from the feigned festivities adjoined to love. This was love; love created not between two people, but shared by you and him for Rome. 

That was not to say you were birds of a feather. 

Your strengths were found in your experience. Although young, you were no novice to how to hold your chin high while delivering truths to the senate. You learned from your uncle, an official who raised you on the true meaning of government. You were clever. The public viewed you as such. You were of noble status and fit to stand before them. 

What you lacked was a specific connection that Lucius brought to the people. He was one of them, raised humbly, hands worn from the earth’s harvest and war forced upon him. Lucius spoke well to them, building comradery with every way of life. 

“I would never ask you to compromise your beliefs. I know better than to think you’d behave.” You teased at his rebellion, hoping the guard that was up would calm. “Besides, a well-mannered lover is an offense.”

 “We are not lovers.” It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried.

“And we are not enemies.” You were quick, reading between his words to find the insult. 

“My lord!” A raspy voice begged for attention. “My lady!” 

You stood, bowing politely to the affluent man before you. He took advantage of the night; jewels adorned every finger that pulled at the elaborate fabric of his outfit. 

“It is time.” The rasp withered when he lowered to speak to you directly. His arms went wide as if inviting a hug, but he spun skillfully to face the audience. 

“Time?” Lucius looked to you. 

The man boomed over the forgotten rain. ““It is time!” 

Standing, you didn’t release Lucius’ hand. There was resistance on his end, wanting to remain sedentary and silent to wait out the rest of the night. 

“Our dance.” You answered to his wide eyes. Your guests cheered, clearing space. “It is customary to rise together and move as one. It will complete the ceremony.”

He rose at your words, not much of a choice otherwise than to follow. 

The fabric of your dress swam behind you, kissing the floor with each step toward the middle of the marble floor. The dress looked like water cascading down your body, hiding each bend and swell of your body. Yet, it highlighted something else, something deeper. It was subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space. 

“May the rain create a river to fertility.” The man held a contagious grin that spread around the room. 

Prosperity and posterity.  This is what they wanted. Lucius alone was not enough. The bloodline was more important than a single figure. It hadn’t needed to be discussed as it was the obvious forethought for your unification. 

The officials of the republic were more concerned about your fecundity and frame than the knowledge you held. It was a typical belief, one that you expected. Your fingers itched to bring your willingness to support the new decree to play and if this was your path to it, so be it.  

You remained clinical at the thought. It was a means to an end rather than something to be meditated on. The way Lucius hardened at the man’s words told a story from another perspective where the political became personal. You did not miss the ring on his pinky that rubbed against a new gold one. 

“Does the great gladiator know how to dance?” Your voice flowed to Lucius only knowing the opportunity rarely presented itself. 

The music shifted from something fast-paced to something more melodic that would encourage you both to move swiftly but attractively. You knew your words would hit a nerve, but it was strategic to motivate Lucius’ hesitant hands. 

“It is a back and forth. A push and pull.” You guided your hand to press against his palm, meeting together as if you were to pray. “Just like the arena, no?”

Lucius’ eyebrows pinched together. Not out of curiosity or frustration. He was genuine in his response. 

“Rarely is a touch this…subdued.” Soft.  

“Shall I spin you in circles, then?” Your painted lips were easier to see now that Lucius was close. He saw as they rose through your veil with the quip. “Disorientate you to the point of submission?”

Your arms weaved behind your back still connected to Lucius’. The dance was simple, one practiced as children. There were very few steps and wistful gestures that even the familiar still enjoyed. 

“Those are my only options? Coercion or blind fealty.” 

It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset. 

It was odd to see Lucius so close, your memory had failed to cast such a strong light on him. Once overgrown hair had been trimmed to only curl at the nape of his neck. Dirt was cleared from every line of his face.  He was still rugged, but you saw through the exterior to find a boy.  

A boy who had been stripped of child-like wonderment and care. Instead, he held his broad shoulders high and an expression that lingered from his exile. Lucius’ skin perked every time your dress acted as a barrier between the two of you, a warning that whatever you offered had to be earned.  

“I do not ask much of you, Emperor...” You put it simply, knowing your worth and wisdom. You needed to be promised his word that against anything you would be beside each other.  “...so I will not ask again.”

“You are not satisfied with the trust of the marriage alone,” Lucius stated his question like an observation. “You wish I promise myself to you in ways which I may not be able to provide.” 

“Able or willing?” 

Your faces were close, noses mirroring each other as you turned on beat.  You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.  

“The past and the future press so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.” You spoke again before he could answer.  “You must decide where you belong.” 

The music returned to Lucius’ ears. Its melody weighed down your words, letting them settle deeply in his mind. His head spun with thoughts busy on reasoning.  Perhaps he was too guarded for his own good, but he’d gotten himself this far relying only on himself. He had held in a great deal. Often he felt he couldn't speak until the waters overflowed their banks and broke through the dam. 

Those around him garnered support, but this was different. You understood what freedom was; it meant no fear. Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

The music slowed coming to an end. Lucius removed his hands from your body but didn’t venture far. His calloused fingertips followed the seam of your soft veil to meet the laced end. Once there, he gently revealed your true manner. 

Your features were accentuated by an internal glow. There was no modesty in your gaze, it shattered any notion of strength. There was no insight into your emotions. What Lucius found was someone gifted. It was a marvel he hadn’t heard of you until you presented yourself as the wise option for him to marry. 

Although you ran in many circles, your name wasn’t whispered among the council. They didn’t believe beauty and wit could fit within the reach of a woman. Yet, here you stood. A new challenge to be accepted. Lucius resisted the urge to swallow quick breaths as if he were going to endure a blow from Viggo. His body agitated in preparation, but looking at you so wholly all he could muster was concession.

 “You have my word.”

[andy-15-07]

newly engaged couple actressxpaul do the puppy interview?

Puppies, Promises, and Pure Joy

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1177 | requests are open

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The Puppy Interview is one of the most beloved staples of celebrity culture. There’s something about seeing big-name stars cuddling with bundles of wiggly joy that makes even the most reserved fans swoon. So, when BuzzFeed announced that newly engaged couple Y/N, the rising star actress, and Paul Mescal, the award-winning Irish actor, would be participating in the segment, social media went into a frenzy.

The scene opens in a cozy studio, soft ambient lighting casting a golden hue over the carpeted floor. A large white playpen dominates the space, adorned with toys, blankets, and bowls of treats. Off-camera, faint yips and barks echo—the stars of the show are ready.

Y/N and Paul sit side by side on the floor, leaning against a fluffy couch. She’s dressed casually in an oversized sweater and jeans, her engagement ring catching the light as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Paul, in a simple t-shirt and joggers, radiates his usual easygoing charm, though he’s clearly excited. Both are grinning like kids on Christmas morning.

“Right, let’s get started,” Paul says with a laugh, clapping his hands together as the first batch of puppies is released.

A litter of golden retriever puppies bounds into the room, tails wagging furiously. The couple’s faces light up as the puppies swarm them, tumbling over each other in their excitement.

“Oh my God, look at them!” Y/N exclaims, scooping up a particularly tiny pup with floppy ears. “You are so small! How are you even real?”

Paul laughs as a more adventurous puppy climbs onto his lap, gnawing on the drawstring of his joggers. “This one’s already causing trouble. You’d fit right in at my family’s house,” he quips, scratching behind the puppy’s ears.

The interviewer, speaking from off-camera, begins with a warm greeting. “Welcome, Y/N and Paul! How does it feel to be surrounded by this much cuteness?”

“Overwhelming,” Y/N replies, her voice soft as she cuddles her puppy closer. “But in the best way. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Paul nods in agreement, holding up the puppy on his lap so they’re eye level. “I mean, look at this face. How could you not feel pure joy?”

The interviewer chuckles. “We’ve got some fan-submitted questions for you two. Let’s dive in. First up: What’s the best part about being engaged?”

Y/N and Paul exchange a quick glance, their connection palpable. Y/N speaks first. “I think for me, it’s just knowing that we’re building something together. Like, we’ve always been a team, but this feels like… the next chapter, you know?”

Paul nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, it’s like this little promise we’ve made to each other. It’s not about the ring or the labels; it’s about choosing each other every day. Also, she’s already started calling me her fiancé in random conversations, and it’s…” He pauses, grinning. “It’s the best thing ever.”

Y/N laughs, nudging him playfully. “Don’t make me cry. There are puppies here, Paul.”

The next question comes as Y/N tries to stop a particularly wriggly puppy from climbing onto her shoulder. “If you could describe each other in three words, what would they be?”

Paul leans back, pretending to think deeply. “Okay, for Y/N… I’d say passionate, hilarious, and… luminous.”

Y/N freezes, clearly touched. “Luminous? That’s such a good word.”

“It’s true,” Paul says earnestly. “You light up every room you walk into.”

“Stop it,” Y/N whispers, hiding her face behind the puppy in her arms. “Your turn.”

She takes a moment, her gaze soft as she looks at him. “Grounded, kind, and… soulful.”

Paul raises an eyebrow. “Soulful?”

“Yeah,” she says with a small shrug. “You feel things deeply, and it shows in everything you do—your acting, the way you treat people. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

For a moment, they’re lost in each other’s eyes, the puppies around them forgotten. The interviewer clears their throat, breaking the spell.

“All right, next question: What’s the weirdest thing you’ve learned about each other since living together?”

Y/N bursts out laughing. “Oh, I have so many answers to this.”

“Be nice,” Paul warns, though he’s grinning.

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding up a hand. “Paul has this… very specific way of making tea. He’ll boil the water, pour it into the mug, then immediately pour it out and boil fresh water again because he swears the first batch isn’t hot enough.”

Paul laughs, shaking his head. “It’s called precision, Y/N.”

“It’s called madness,” she teases. “But I love you for it.”

Paul grins, then retaliates. “Well, Y/N has this habit of talking to inanimate objects. Like, if she bumps into a chair, she’ll apologize to it. Or she’ll thank the fridge for keeping the milk cold.”

“That’s called being polite,” Y/N says, feigning indignation. “You should try it sometime.”

They’re interrupted by a tiny yelp as one of the puppies tumbles into Paul’s lap. He immediately picks it up, cradling it like a baby. “You okay, little one? You’re stealing the show here.”

The interview continues with more fan questions, ranging from their go-to karaoke songs (“Toxic” by Britney Spears for Y/N, and “Dreams” by The Cranberries for Paul) to their guilty pleasures (“Cheesy reality TV,” they both admit simultaneously, laughing).

As the session wraps up, the interviewer asks one final question. “If you could give one piece of advice to your younger selves, what would it be?”

Y/N’s expression turns thoughtful. “I’d tell her that it’s okay to take risks, even if they’re scary. And that the right people will love you for exactly who you are.”

Paul nods, his gaze steady. “I’d say something similar. I’d tell him to trust himself more and not to be afraid of failing. Every mistake leads you to where you’re meant to be.”

Just as they think the interview is over, the puppies—now more comfortable and mischievous—cause a delightful chaos. One puppy manages to steal Paul’s sock, prompting a playful chase around the playpen. Y/N, laughing uncontrollably, tries to wrangle two others that have decided her hair is the best chew toy.

“This is a disaster,” Paul says breathlessly, finally retrieving his sock.

“This is heaven,” Y/N counters, sitting cross-legged with two puppies curled up in her lap.

As the crew steps in to gather the puppies, the couple’s reluctance is palpable. “Can we adopt all of them?” Y/N asks, only half-joking.

Paul wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s start with one and see how we manage.”

The interviewer, sensing the perfect closing shot, asks, “Any final words for your fans watching?”

Y/N smiles warmly. “Thank you for all the love and support. And if you ever get the chance to be in a room full of puppies, do it. It’s life-changing.”

Paul adds, “And adopt, don’t shop. These little guys deserve all the love in the world.”

As the couple waves goodbye to the camera, their hands intertwined, the internet collectively swoons. The Puppy Interview has once again proven to be a heart-melting success, but this one might just be the most adorable yet.

[multific]

The Gladiator’s Empress

Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: He choose you, and you had no other choice.

Lucius’s rise from a skilled gladiator to Emperor was a tale told across the Empire. 

A story of determination and skill. 

You first saw him in the Colosseum, his fierce presence captivating the crowd, though it wasn’t the adoration of the masses he desired, it was you.

He became obsessed, his eyes finding you in the sea of faces each time he fought. 

After a while, he didn't even have to look.

You had a specific place where you liked to sit.

Though you didn’t know it at the time, Lucius’s victories weren’t merely for glory or freedom.

They were for you. 

When he became Emperor, his first rule was one that surprised you, he wished to marry you.

Fear filled your heart when you heard the news. 

Lucius was known for his ruthlessness in battle, his unyielding will, and his obsession with victory. 

You imagined a cold, authoritative man who would force you into a loveless marriage, one where you would be nothing more than a trophy.

A nice piece by his side.

Your parents were thrilled by the chance, a union with the Emperor would elevate your family beyond anything they had dreamed. 

But you, with uncertainty in your heart, didn’t share their enthusiasm.

The day you were summoned to the palace, you braced yourself for an encounter with a tyrant. 

Instead, you found Lucius waiting for you in a beautiful garden, surrounded by blooming flowers. 

He rose from his seat when you arrived, his expression softening at the sight of you.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said, his voice gentle, surprising you. “I have no intention of hurting you. I only wish for you to give me a chance.”

His words were unexpected, and you found yourself speechless. 

He wasn’t what you had imagined. His eyes were intense and yet they held a warmth you hadn’t expected.

“Why me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucius smiled faintly, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Because from the moment I saw you, I knew there could be no one else. You made me want more than battles and blood. You made me dream of a life beyond the Colosseum.”

His honesty surprised you, but your fear didn’t vanish overnight. 

Still, you agreed to get to know him before making any final decision.

"I wish to get to know you first. If you truly care about me as you claim, you would understand."

"I greatly appreciate the chance, My Lady." 

In the weeks that followed, Lucius showed you a side of him that the world rarely saw. 

He was patient, never demanding more than you were willing to give. He walked with you through the palace gardens, listened to your thoughts, and even laughed at your sharp wit.

One evening, as the sun set behind the palace walls, you found yourself alone with him in the grand hall. The flickering light of the torches cast a warm shine over the room.

“I was wrong about you,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “I thought you were ruthless and cold. But you’re not.”

"I’ve fought many battles, but winning your heart has been the greatest challenge of all.”

A smile played on your lips, and for the first time, you didn’t feel fear when you looked at him, you felt something far deeper.

The night he proposed again, it wasn’t as an Emperor demanding a bride but as a man asking the woman he loved to spend her life with him.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, holding out a simple ring, his voice trembling slightly. “Not because I’m Emperor, but because I love you.”

“Yes, Lucius. I will marry you.”

The wedding was a grand affair, but despite the grandness, all you could focus on was Lucius’ unwavering stare and the love shining in his eyes. 

He had proven you wrong in every way, turning fear into love, doubt into certainty.

As his wife and Empress, you stood beside him, not as an unwilling partner but as someone who had fallen deeply in love. 

And in his arms, you found the warmth and safety you had never expected, but always longed for.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[fawninthesnow]

𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝 & 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝: Pt 1, Sands of the Conquered

Lucius Verus x fem!

Summary: Former Gladiator, Emperor Lucius, takes his rightful property-- the wife of his conquered enemy.

Warnings/Contains: fem character, slow burn, f4m, smut, unprotected sex, spit as lube, cock warming, public hum!l!, h@nd jobs, no proofreading, etc

a/n: slowburn warning!

SPOILERS for GLADIATOR I, II

Follow, like & Reblog pls

She had not known of the terror down in the city square. All she saw was smoke. A single, continuous line of smoke coming from miles away. The woman held her robe and squinted harder. The warning flame? No, who would come here. Through rain and drought to the East of Africa, Somalia. Any man, any army would be a fool to do so.

In her slumber that night, she tossed around in cotton sheets, hotter than usual. Slick and sticky sweat stuck to her skin, and her mouth was agape, breathing harshly to cool herself down. Hooves clomped on the pathway and bright torches held in the hands of savage men, forcing themselves onto her property. The shout of a command echoed through her open foyer. The woman rose from bed, gasping for air. “We are here on account of the Holy Roman Emperor and Court. Any man, woman or child! Show yourself!” The woman left her bed and with her infant daughter, slipped into her wardrobe, trying to calm her breath. “Show yourselves or we will burn this home to the ground.” As they shouted, making her ears ring, she shut her eyes. From the shelf inside the wardrobe, she grabbed a bottle of orange liquid.

“Please forgive me.” Into her daughter's mouth, the woman spilled a bit of the medicine. The girl fell into a deep sleep and rested on the young woman’s bosom.

“I can hear your breathing.” A voice, deep and unwavering, spoke into the small gap of the wardrobe doors. “I hear two.” He said playfully. Chills ran down her spine as he stood only a few inches from her.

The mother shut her eyes. “I- I’m so sorry…” She said softly. The emperor opened the wardrobe and helped her out by hand.

They sat together on plush cushions. Her bench was across from his. “This is a beautiful home…”

“Thank you, emperor…” Her gaze stayed on the floor. Even in her peripheral vision, all she could see was his feet.

“I am…not here to kill you.” His men waited outside each entrance, watching over the quaint home. “Your husband, he did something bad. You seem young so I’ll explain things softly.” She nodded, his accent coating his words. “He betrayed the people of Rome, my people. He was a murderer and a manipulative man. Unfortunately, your husband died by my hand outside of the city.” She cried onto her child’s clothing, holding onto the baby tightly. “I am aware he has many wives…and you are the youngest.”

“If you are here to hurt my baby or strip me of my titles, please spare us.”

“I am not here for that. How old are you?” The young woman did not speak for a few moments, “I asked you a question.” Emperor Lucius said sternly.

“I am seventeen.” Her voice just above a whisper.

“Not yet twenty-five. Excuse me, Miss.” She nodded. He stood and stepped outside. After a while of words and laughter, he came back inside. “I’ll have you.” He said in the foyer of her home. For the first time, she raised her head to him, the gold, leather and bronze armor on his body, the golden laurels on his head, the rings on his knuckles, although rough and scarred from battle. “Put her on a horse with the child. We leave now.” The young woman rushed to grab a wrap for her baby, enveloping herself inside of it before they raised her up on a horse behind the emperor.

With each hour, the men would offer her bread, cheese, fruits– exotic and domestic, pastries, and soups, all to which she declined. When they would stop at dining halls, she stood in the corner, rocking her child. She peeled the skin off grapes with her teeth before feeding it to the girl. She did the same with rye bread before offering the little girl water from the flowing drinking fountain outside the dining hall. After, the woman gently caressed the baby’s cheek before giving her the sedative again. Soon, the baby rested on her shoulder as she sat on the side of the fountain.

The men were rowdy, mostly drunk. Swords, spears and other weapons were thrown about carelessly and armor was left on horses and against the wall. “You need to eat.” The emperor brought the woman a plate.

“I am not hungry.”

“She can’t be the only one that eats.” The woman took the plate from his hands and sat it to the side. “You must understand, you are my responsibility now. I killed your husband, so now you are my property. You need to eat.”

She spitefully sucked her teeth before standing, “I am my own woman. I have been for months.”

“Your breasts are but tender buds, and you nearly fell off the horse more times than I can count. You are not nearly a woman.”

“My husband made me a woman! How dare you.”

“Your husband gave a child to a child.” The young woman’s lips pressed, and her gaze fell. “Yes, you are mature, in many ways, no doubt. However, you are what I say.”

She raised a hand to the guard and servant he assigned to her. “If I am yours, why should I be watched over by these men. Why-”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” He lifted her chin to allow his eyes to bore into hers. His were a shade of dusk blue, seductively terrifying. “They are here to protect you, not babysit. But if you’d like, I will dismiss them.”

“I- I,” She looked around the town at the commoners watching the campaign of men and the emperor. Their clothes were but scraps, and their frames were frail. Over by the entrance to the dining hall, armored men threw food towards a herd of people, desperate and savage. She held her baby tighter. “They may stay.”

“So be it.” He spoke softly, stepping closer to the young woman. “Her name?”

“Yasmeen.”

“May I hold her?” The woman hesitated before offering the baby to the emperor. The man held her in his arms gently as if her skin were made of wet paper and her bones of thin glass. “She’s beautiful. What a creation…you should be proud.” His thumb traced over her cheeks and forehead before his hand enveloped her small head. The child nuzzled in his palm; a bit of her saliva went down her cheek as she rested. “I was told you had a son when I set out. Macrinus, he didn’t live to see the birth of her, I guess.”

“Nearly all of us, his wives, were left with girls.” She nervously looked over the child’s expression.

“Baby girls are just beautiful…he should have been grateful.” His fingers rub the child’s soft hair and kiss her forehead before offering the child back to her mother. “Eat or I'll take her away this time.” He would never do such a thing, but it made her obey him.

At dawn, she was awoken by a servant, “The Emperor needs you outside now, the men are ready.”

Emperor Lucius gathered his men, some stood by their horses, others sat on top. The young woman left the sleeping quarters in a gown and shawl, her long curls flowed down her backside and towards the floor as she cradled her child in her arms. “How did you sleep?” He asked after helping her onto his horse. She began to wrap the baby to her breasts using long cloths in order to use her hands to hold sturdy onto his sides.

Pt 1: End <3

Follow, like pls

[thetormentita]

ad astra per aspera - chapter 2

Dulce et decorum est pro cor cupiditatis mori.

Pairings: Ofc! Princess x Lucius Verus, Ofc! Princess x Marcus Acacius.

A/n: Julia seems to know well how to enjoy the time bro Caracalla is out. Haven’t seen the movie yet, but I prefer Lucius to not stick to the so famous “arma virumque cano” 😌

Warnings: smut, blood, mentions of slavery, mentions of prostitution, mentions of abuse.

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Tagging list: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen @mmkkzz

They have to be quick and act before the arrival of their eldest brother—he will have enough time to throw a tantrum and even display his anger at them both if it is his wish. Repalandecent and magnificent, they enter the box covered by the dais and this time Julia takes the seat originally belonging to Caracalla, throwing a side glance at Geta as any possible comment is masked by the people of Rome gathered there to witness the first day of munera, carefully scheduled to match with General Acacius’s celebration for his triumph.

“Princess” greets Marcus when he approaches her, taking her hand between his with care and leaving a soft kiss on the back, his brown eyes always upon hers. “Or maybe I should call you ‘Augusta’.”

She smiles, polite, observing the face of Rome, his dark locks carefully kept in place, grey hairs here and there giving him even a better look to her taste, more of a seasoned commander and experienced strategist.

Somehow, she has always liked that man.

“This may be my only chance to not lay under the shadow of nobody, legatus.”

“Then I must encourage you to enjoy it.”

She nods as her brother stands up, arms stretched as if he wants to reach all the corners of the amphitheatre, and starts with the usual speech for the opening of the season. With her back straight, she observes all her eyes can reach, and for a mere moment she gives herself the chance to imagine herself there usually, of people addressing her as ‘Augusta’ and not ‘princess’, of being the matron Rome needs and not the daughter she was assigned to be.

It had taken her quite a lot of work to convince Geta to contribute to the ludus with gold from the imperial treasury, pushing him to believe the great victors of before were celebrated by Rome, making herself put Marcus Acacius in the same sack as Scipio Africanus, Julius Caesar or even Marcus Aurelius.

What a fool.

She knows she has to enjoy the time without her brother present to work hard, with Aeneas and her dear Hala going here and there with messages and donatives to different personalities of the city, the pain from the last encounter with her eldest brother still lingering upon her body, making it an obligation to take revenge against him.

Once the duels with the beasts have taken place, with her answering vaguely the comments that flow from Geta’s lips as he gives up to his thirst for blood and looks like a part of him truly enjoys the show, her eyes are upon the gladiators, observing them with curiosity, and perhaps a hint of admiration.

“Are these new, Macrinus?” Julia finds herself saying, feeling Acacius’s sharp gaze upon her as if trying to decipher her thoughts from afar. The bustling arena around them fades into a dull roar as she waits for her question to be answered.

“Yes, princess. Prisoners from General Acacius’s last campaign.”

“Numidians.”

“Exactly. Strong and fierce, they make excellent contenders in the arena. It is believed that their spirit and resilience add to the spectacle,” Macrinus replies, his voice carrying a note of pride, as if the ferocity of these prisoners was a personal achievement.

The princess’s eyes sweep across the sand-strewn arena, and she can swear the man in chains from the general’s triumph is among them, stern face as he observes her again, his gaze unwavering, almost challenging. The memory of their brief encounter outside the gates of the palace flickers in her mind—the intensity in his eyes, the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him even then, bound as he was. It was a moment that had left an indelible mark on her consciousness, a spark that refused to be extinguished despite the layers of royal duties and decorum that demanded her attention afterward.

“Maybe you can claim one for yourself later, dear sister” murmurs her brother, a sharp gaze upon her as he realizes her distraction. His words, meant in jest, carry an undercurrent of truth that resonates within her. She quickly masks her fleeting emotions, almost forcing a cackle, her cheeks fighing their best to not blush.

“We can share if you wish, Augustus.”

Brother and sister exchange a look, long enough to show the rest of the people gathered with them that she still is the pliant sister, the one to comply to her brothers’s wishes, the one to bend but not break under the weight of tradition and expectation. Yet, there is a glint in her eye, a silent promise of rebellion, a hint that she is not as compliant as she appears.

The mumbling behind her fades as the gladiators fight, blood and sand mixing in a ballet of violence and spectacle. The crowd roars, a beast made of a thousands of throats, hungry for the spectacle, the carnage. But her thoughts are elsewhere, her eyes upon the man whose gaze had burned inside her soul. He fights now, his movements a dance of desperation and skill, each strike a testament to his will to survive, to prevail. She watches, heart pounding, as he navigates the chaos, a warrior poet amidst the brutality of the arena. His blade glints under the merciless sun, a flash of silver in a sea of red. With every opponent he strikes, her admiration grows, intertwining with a fear she refuses to acknowledge.

“That man should be leading armies, not risking his life for the amusement of the masses,” she muses quietly, her voice lost in the cacophony of cheers that erupts around her. The intensity in his gaze does not falter, as if he hears her thoughts amidst the noise.

“And I thought you did not like the munera, sister” Geta groans, amused. His enthusiasm for the games had always been more pronounced than Julia’s, who finds the violence distasteful, yet intriguing in a manner she couldn’t quite explain. It is the strategy, the skill, the sheer human will to survive that captivates her, not the bloodshed.

They both approach the edge of the arena, their eyes drawn to the spectacle below. The gladiators move with a grace that belies their deadly intent, each maneuver a dance of death and survival intertwined. Julia watches, fascinated as the man with the defiant gaze beats every man who comes before him, his movements almost poetic in their brutality. There is an elegance to his violence, a beauty in the way he anticipates and counters his opponents. The crowd roars with every fall he executes, their cheers fueling the fervor with which he fights.

Only with the deaf thump of the last body on the bloodied arena, the gladiator turns to the box and raises his sword to it, like a sort of offering to those who had gathered to witness his might. Julia feels a chill run down her spine, her heart caught in the thrall of the moment. The intensity in his eyes, even from this distance, seems to pierce through the crowd, connecting with hers in an unspoken acknowledgment of his victory.

“You must be proud, Macrinus. The ludus will receive much renown from this victory. Your gladiator has proven himself exceptional,” the magistrate by her side comments, breaking the spell of the moment.

Julia nods in silence, her eyes on the man who now stands as the epitome of victory in the arena.

“That is no Numidian” she mumbles, feeling the presence of Lucilla near her, the matron’s hand upon her lower back, a gesture of support and solidarity among the women of their stature.

Numidians were praised five centuries ago, when they took part of the Carthaginian army who dared to defy the power of Rome. After that they fell into oblivion, more a people prone to take care of their crops and fish their meals rather than learn to swing a sword with such dexterity.

“Where are you from, gladiator?” Geta’s voice booms across the arena, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen over the crowd. The gladiator, standing tall and proud in the center of the sand-covered arena, turns to face Geta, his expression unreadable. The sun glints off his armor, a testament to his battles fought and won, yet his eyes hold a depth of sorrow that belies his formidable appearance.

“Obstipuit primo aspectu Sidonia Dido, //

casu deinde viri tanto, et sic ore locuta est: //

“Quis te, nate dea, per tanta pericula casus //

insequitur? Quae vis immanibus applicat oris?”

The gladiator’s voice is rough but clear, echoing off the stone walls that encircle the arena. The spectators, a motley assembly of citizens and nobles alike, fall into a hushed silence as they strain to hear the words exchanged in the center of the arena. A sigh escapes Julia’s lips as she recognizes the verses, his bright eyes not losing her face among the people gathered in the box.

“We have a poet fighting among gladiators, such a novelty!”

With a gesture of her hand Julia shushes Geta, letting the words of the gladiator wash over her, a poignant contrast to the violence that is expected to ensue. The man, armored only in the scars of past battles and a simple leather tunic is forced to leave the arena, his departure is marked by a hushed reverence, a collective breath held by those who had come expecting bloodshed.

“Princess” Senator Gracchus greets her by the entrance of the tunnel to leave the amphitheater once the munera has finished, his expression one of cautious respect mixed with a hint of curiosity. The man had shared a part of his political career with her father when they were young, serving under Marcus Aurelius “Such a way to start the season.”

“Nobody could have expected to have a gladiator quoting Virgil, that much is true.”

Around them an escort with Praetorian guards encircles them discreetly, offering them a sort of privacy. Julia’s eyes go to the senator’s, her mind still replaying the spectacle they just had witnessed.

“That man is hiding something.”

“I am afraid I don’t follow you, princess.”

She takes a deep breath, her fists clenching at her sides as she tries to set her own thoughts in order.

“No uneducated slave knows about Virgil.”

“Well, let us say that man is Roman, so what?”

“Senator, please indulge me and go to the markets yourself and ask how many commoners can recite the Aeneid out of thin air.” Gracchus throws a glance at her, big eyes hiding behind a veil of skepticism. The princess's insinuation bears a gravity he hadn’t anticipated, and Julia knows it. “Exactly.”

Roman nobility had always enjoyed a good fight between skilled gladiators, but it would be a stupidity to search for glory in a place like the amphitheater, close to death every moment there, seen like less than a commoner by the rest of the people, not allowed to even have a proper rest after the arrival of goddess Nemesis.

Or that man is the biggest fool on the Empire or he has something important to hide.

…

“Domina.”

She turns to observe her companion as she closes the door of the room, careful.

“Did you gave her the parchment?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Good.”

If there is somebody she can fully trust it is her sweet Hala, her confidante since childhood, the only one who has been by her side constantly, almost since the beginning, since Caracalla had started to hit her out of nowhere. The servant smiles at her, softly, when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a familiar gesture brimming with affection.

“What would I do without you, my dearest?” Julia mumbles, closing her eyes when Hala takes her wrist and gently kisses its inner part, raising goosebumps on her skin.

“I can soothe your troubles, Domina.” Hala’s voice is sweet, grounding, her lips fluttering against the soft skin of Julia’s arm.

“Hala” her voice catches in her throat, the whisper a plea caught between desire and hesitation.

“Just let me do.”

Julia is about to give up and surrender to the proposition when somebody knocks at the door, disrupting the moment between them. Any hint of desire gets trapped as she opens the door, one of the soldiers of the imperial guard standing still at the other side, his eyes on the front, as wanting to avoid her gaze, possibly thinking that she could have a nature as volatile as her brothers.

“You gave order to tell you when the meals had finished.”

“Is the emperor busy?”

“Yes, princess. The scorti are keeping the emperor and the rest of the guests entertained.” The guard’s voice is cautious, aware of the delicate nature of the news.

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

She closes the door as the soldier leaves after standing to guard, and she has to take deep breaths to keep herself composed. It is the perfect time to take advantage and play her own cards. In order to gather any courage and take her interrupted arousal a bit farther, she cups Hala’s face and brushes her thumb gently across her cheek, only to kiss her afterwards, almost devouring her, as if trying to reclaim the moment lost. Hala responds with equal fervor, her hands threading through Julia's hair, pulling her closer.

Only when their lips part she takes a deep breath and with a reassuring nod from her companion she leaves her quarters, her feet carrying her through the corridors of the Domus Flavia with one target in mind, soldiers of the Praetorian guard stationed at both sides of the corridors, the safety of the imperial family as their priority.

Her target is lying on a triclinium as his eyes observe the scene before his eyes with a hardly concealed grim upon his face, half hidden behind a golden cup.

“Enjoying the views, Legatus?”

If he is surprised by her presence, he hides it neatly.

“What else can you offer me, Augusta?”

Augusta. Any of her brothers could cut his tongue for it.

“What about a walk? I want to speak with you.”

A last glance at the bacchanal before them is enough for the general to stand up as he nods, signaling his compliance with her request. She leans and takes the cup he has been drinking of and takes a sip from the wine left behind, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her as she turns, to which she answers with a raised eyebrow.

Julia Septimia is fully aware of the potential of the man who is strolling the hallways with her, of the obsession her brothers have with him and his ability to inspire and command, to fight and slaughter, but she also knows that there is something deep down him that mismatches with the ambitions of the emperors.

“I know Numidia has left a sour feeling in you, my brother thinks of it as a trifle, but the only bloodshed he knows comes from the munera.”

She feels empowered. She knows that her time is limited, and that there are huge chances that Caracalla may retaliate against her for anything, the wine and the teasing from Hala run through her veins almost fogging her common sense, blending with the echo of the verses of the Aeneid still lingering in her mind. She has to risk everything if she wants a chance to win.

And it starts with Marcus Acacius.

As they walk through the sprawling palace corridors, Julia’s thoughts race with possibilities and strategies, always with her nephew in mind, a way to get things back to normal as they should have been from the beginning.

“My duty is with Rome, princess. If I am needed to lead my legions against the Parthians, so be it.”

She scoffs.

“I am not my brothers, so please do me a favour and do not woo me.”

“Princess—“

“I can offer you something in between. I have started to talk about it with my brother, so it would only take the other bastard to accept it.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.”

A smirk curves the edges of her lips as they come into the gardens with the big marble fountain in the middle, resembling an oasis.

“This is my territory. The people you see here are loyal to me.“

She wishes she could fully trust it, to have somebody ready to protect her at all costs.

They make their way to the library, far enough from the bacchanal to be able to speak freely. Here and there there is a soldier, or a servant, making their best to ignore them but, at the same time create a diversion in case it is needed. Those were her father’s people, the ones who had kept their place for so many years that the brothers even thought some of them to be a bunch of fools.

“You called me Augusta by the amphitheater.” A pair of brown eyes observe her. “Why?”

A smirk tugs from the corners of Marcus Acacius’s lips, matching the confidence in his eyes.

“Look at me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t do better than your brothers.”

“It is my nephew’s right to sit upon one of those horrid golden eagles, not mine.”

Julia’s voice falters slightly with the weight of her words. She has told nobody about her wishes, and she cannot tell if she truly thinks the general is a trustworthy man or her impulse is talking instead of her brains.

“They are truly disgusting. I think your father fancied a throne much… Discreet.”

It isn’t needed an invitation for Marcus to sit once they have arrived to their destiny, and he observes him with a thoughtful pout upon his face, lost in contemplation.

The library is vast, lined with ancient scrolls and volumes, shadows from the flickering lamps casting patterns on the walls. One of the most important sources of knowledge in the entire empire, only accesible to a handful of people.

“Caracalla murdered our brother. Gaius was more fit to rule” she clenches her jaw as she speaks, pacing in front of him like a caged lioness. “He was wise and impetuous. He would have been a proper ruler after my father…” she raises her eyes to Marcus as she stops in front of him. “How was the empire before?”

Both know the answer well enough.

“I cannot grant you the temporary retirement you seek, but I can name you commander of the Praetorian guard. I need someone I can trust, someone not corrupted by the allure of ambition. Help me put my nephew on the throne and you can spend the rest of your active time in Rome close to your wife, and your retirement with a handsome pay being a lazy fuck in your villa along your loved ones.”

“Princess…” his voice wavers for a moment, struggling to keep steady. He considers her proposal, the weight of the decision pressing on his shoulders, and for a moment Julia is afraid of a negative answer.

“Somebody told me once that there are people outside this walls by my side, ready to support me if I choose to take action,” she continues, eyes glinting with a mixture of determination and desperation as she comes closer to him, looming over him despite her being smaller and thinner than him, easily beaten by him. “You called me ‘Augusta’ in front of my brother, knowing he could have had your tongue for it.”

He tilts his head to look at her, eyes half narrowed in the dim light of the room, and Julia can observe his features properly, shaped by the dancing lights of the candles around them, her eyes tracing the shape of his nose, the way the scruff on his cheeks adds a layer of shadow to his face, how he licks his plush lips as his gaze goes over her figure, the flickering lights playing with her garments and softly revealing her curves hidden under them.

“I am afraid I have lost my fidelity to Rome, princess.” He mutters, softly.

“I am not asking you to be faithful to Rome, but to me” she takes one of his hands, rough and big, and encouraged by something she cannot name drives it to her calf, letting his fingertips brush a yellowed bruise on her skin. “I need somebody to protect my nephew, legatus.” His touch goes further as her hands drive his up her body, and she ends up sitting on his lap, her breath mingling with his as she whispers, “The gods seem to see fit that I may not be able to do so for much longer” as she speaks, she reveals fading marks upon her body, silent witnesses of the outbursts from both of her brothers.

She leaves his hand free as she cups his face with both hands, her thumbs softly caressing his cheeks as he strokes her waist over her robes. His eyes search hers, filled with resolve and a newfound purpose.

“Princess, I cannot…” she leans over him and he lets her do, accommodating her on his lap, his free hand roaming under the clothes, his rough touch finding delight with the soft of her thigh “Your maidenhood—“

Julia’s lips find his jawline, leaving small kisses and teasing nibbles along it, her hips grinding against his, tempting him. When they kiss, he feels her urgency, her desperation for solace and strength, mingling with her desire, and a part of her mind betrays her and imagines she is not sat upon the lap of the most acclaimed general of his time, but the man with the piercing gaze and a hidden secret who prefers to fight in the arena and recall the tragic queen Dido of Carthage.

“That is something long gone” she whispers against his lips, her fingers roaming free in his dark and grey curls as he gasps when he finds how her folds are getting wetter with her arousal. “Fuck Rome if you please, Legatus. Fuck me under my brothers’s roof—“ she whines as his fingertips start to tease her, a rough digit rubbing long circles over her clit “Swear to me that you will do whatever it takes to keep the boy safe and your name will be remembered until the end of time.”

Her lips go down his neck as she awaits his answer, her mind half hazy with a desire half faked. One of her hands grasps his tunic as a way to ground herself into reality as the other tugs from his hair, earning a soft grunt from him, pushing him to tilt his head to leave her more space. A half pretended moan escapes her lips as the teasing digit comes into her, quickly meet by another one, and her hips go up and down them at their own pace, searching the bliss nobody but her lovely Hala had made her reach.

“I will do it” he pants, quickly removing his fingers from inside her and taking his erection to coat it with her arousal before teasing her folds again, making her whimper in need. “I swear to do all I can to protect you and the boy.”

[astrids-blog333]

Call Me Husband

Guard!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Summary: Your father sent his most loyal guard to protect you. A man twice your age and owned by your house. And this week, he has to pretend to be your husband.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, age gap, loss of virginity, jealousy, power imbalance, mild exhibitionism, period-typical misogyny.

A/N: In this kinda combined a bunch of my fav fic tropes, like forced proximity, age gap, enemies to lovers situation, fake dating...yeah you get the idea. It's purely self-indulgent 🤭

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 4.1k

The carriage pulls to a slow, creaking stop in front of Lord Aldryn's estate. Sunlight glints off the polished stone, warm and golden, but your skin is already prickling before you even step down. This place is grand, older than your father’s home.

Lucius hops down first.

You expect him to offer a hand, which he does, but it's forced, rigid. His jaw is tight, but you take his hand anyway, forcing it, curling your fingers around his rough palm like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

You smile up at him sweetly. “Darling.”

His eyes cut down to you, a warning simmering just under the surface. “You better behave,” he mutters.

You only grin wider. “We’re supposed to be blending in, you're supposed to be my Husband, remember?”

You're here on your father’s orders, representing the family at this summer gathering, a week of hunting, feasting, and mingling. But your father couldn’t attend himself, so he sent you.

And Lucius, your guard. A man at least twice your age, who has killed for your family more times than you can count, and who is pretending to be your new husband of two weeks.

The steward greets you before Lucius can argue. “Lord and Lady,” the man beams. “Welcome. Lord Aldryn is delighted you could join us. We’ve prepared your chambers.”

You open your mouth, Lucius beats you to it.

“Thank you,” he says curtly. “We’re honoured.”

The steward leads you through the estate. You feel Lucius’s eyes on your back, burning a hole through your dress.

Your chambers are beautiful. High ceilings, tall windows, a carved bed in the centre of the room.

The steward chuckles as he sets down your cases. “Privacy for newlyweds is important, yes? I remember the first time my wife and I- well, never mind.” He bows and disappears before you can say a word.

Lucius stands frozen.

The dining hall is already buzzing when you arrive. Candles flicker along the long table. Nobles laugh and drink, the room full of too many eyes, none of which seem to notice Lucius’s hand resting just barely against the small of your back.

You slide into your seat beside him. You’re seated as a pair. Of course.

The host, Lord Aldryn, raises his goblet. “To new marriages!” he declares. “May you enjoy this week of peace, and of pleasure.”

There’s laughter. A few raised brows aimed at you and Lucius.

You don’t miss the way he stiffens.

You lean into him. Just enough for your lips to brush the edge of his jaw. “Loosen up,” you whisper. “You’re supposed to be in love with me.” His hand curls into a fist under the table.

Lunch begins. Roasted meats are brought out, still sizzling. There is fresh fruit, honeyed wine, and you behave for exactly ten minutes.

Then you pick up a fig from your plate, soft and sweet, and turn to Lucius with a slow smile. “Lucius,” you say aloud, “you’ll like this.”

You lift the fruit to his lips, but he doesn’t open his mouth.

Your smile doesn’t falter. You lean closer, brushing the fig against his lower lip. “Come on.” Lucius stares at you like he’s about to strangle you.

But he opens his mouth. Bites. Chews.

The table around you coos.

“How sweet,” a woman says. “Such devotion,” another murmurs.

Lucius doesn’t say a word. His jaw moves tightly, and his hand is now gripping the arm of his chair like he’s holding himself back from slamming it into someone’s face.

You just hum and turn back to your food, satisfied.

You’re playing with fire and you know it.

You’re not supposed to wear this.

The gown is too fine, too fitted, and the colour so deep, it's almost sinful. You’d chosen it carefully. Lucius had said nothing when you laid it out on the bed. He’d just glanced once, jaw hard, eyes unreadable.

Now, hours later, you’re walking through Lord Aldryn’s gardens with a crystal goblet in one hand and every eye in the party on you. Or rather, on the gown. On the skin it reveals, the shape it clings to.

But only one pair of eyes matters.

Lucius is posted at a distance, dressed in a dark, understated tunic. A blade at his hip. Standing guard, as always. You can feel his stare from across the lawn, like pressure against your spine.

You don’t look at him. Not yet.

Someone else approaches first.

“Lady,” a voice says smoothly, drawing close.

You turn. Lord Aldryn's eldest son, handsome, far too confident, and just drunk enough to think he stands a chance. He bows low before you. His golden hair gleams in the torchlight.

“My lady wife,” you correct lightly.

He laughs, bold. “Ah yes, the quiet brute you came with. I saw you feeding him. Must be exhausting, trying to draw affection from stone.”

"Yes, my lord husband,” you correct, lips curved.

You force a laugh and try to step back, but he follows. Closer.

“You should smile more,” he says, lifting a hand to brush a lock of hair from your shoulder. “Someone like you shouldn’t waste time on someone so...cold.”

His fingers graze your bare skin.

You feel it before you see it, the shift in the air. Your breath hitches.

Lucius is moving.

Across the garden, his posture changes. His stance widens, shoulders drawn back, hand resting at the hilt of his sword.

You look up at him, offer a smile that’s more of a warning. “Excuse me,” you say tightly, stepping to the side.

But the boy follows, still talking, still grinning. “Come now, don’t be shy. We’re all friends here.”

You glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with Lucius.

It’s the first time you’ve ever begged him silently.

And gods, does he respond.

Lucius appears beside you like a storm on legs. Not saying a word, not drawing his sword. Just there, towering, broad, eyes black with rage. He doesn’t touch the boy. Doesn’t need to.

The noble flinches, retreats half a step. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “Didn’t realise your husband was the possessive type,” he quips, trying for humour.

Lucius smiles. A slow, terrible thing.

He steps forward. Just one step, but the boy flinches like he’s been struck.

“Try again,” Lucius says, voice soft as ash.

The boy's face goes white, and he slowly backs away.

As he leaves, Lucius turns to you. He doesn’t speak, just watches you.

And you can’t breathe.

Later, back in the room, the door clicks shut behind you. The silence is thunderous.

You move first, walking to the vanity to untie your gown. Your fingers tremble slightly, but you keep your chin high, spine straight. You don’t look at him, but you feel him, his presence swallowing the entire room, coiled like a storm held back by sheer will.

“You’re angry,” you say softly, unclasping the back of your necklace.

No response.

You glance in the mirror and see him, still standing by the door, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling in long, deliberate breaths. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid beneath his dark tunic. His eyes, when they catch yours in the reflection, are unreadable. Dangerous.

“You didn’t stop me earlier,” you murmur.

Still nothing.

“Lucius.”

That does it.

He crosses the room in three strides. You turn just as your back hits the wall with a quiet thud, the cool stone jarring through the fabric of your gown.

He doesn’t touch you.

His hands slam into the wall on either side of your head. His breath is hot and ragged, his chest brushing yours with every inhale. His eyes burn into yours, and yet he still holds himself back.

“He touched you,” he growls, voice rough and low, vibrating through your bones.

You don’t flinch. “He thought I was available.”

“You let him think it.”

“You let him think it.” A sharp inhale “Are you jealous, Lucius?”

Lucius barks a short, humourless laugh. His teeth flash in the dim candlelight, more snarl than smile. “Your father owns me. I am here to guard your life, not ruin it.”

You don’t look away. “I don’t feel ruined.”

“I do,” he snaps.

The words land with force.

But still, you don’t break. “Then why didn’t you step in?”

“I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He leans in. So close now. The wall cold against your back, his body a furnace in front of you. His voice is a breath away from vicious. “Because if I’d put my hands on him, I wouldn’t have stopped.”

A beat of silence. You swallow. “And if you put your hands on me?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. His self-control shudders, visible in the tense line of his jaw, in the way his knuckles whiten against the wall.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whisper.

Lucius exhales through his nose, slow and tight. “You should be.”

You reach for his belt.

His hand shoots out, seizing your wrist mid-air. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds. He could crush you. He doesn’t.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m not a child.”

His grip tightens. “No. But you’re still soft. Untouched. Reckless.”

“I’m not reckless,” you say, breath catching. “I’m choosing this.”

Lucius stares at you, something furious and protective and almost...devastated flickering behind his eyes. “You think that makes you ready? You think you know what it means to be with a man?”

“I know what I want.”

"You don't want a man like me."

"I do. I know I do!"

“You want danger. You want control taken from you and handed to someone who knows better.” His voice is a low rasp now, eyes flashing. “You want to be ruined. And I-” he cuts himself off, jaw clenched. “I’m trying not to give in.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You try to pull your wrist back. He doesn’t let go.

“You’re playing games,” he breathes. “But I don’t play. I take.”

You tilt your chin up. “I want you to.”

His eyes flick down. To your mouth. Your neck. Lower still.

“No you don't,” he murmurs.

“If you don’t touch me right now, I’ll scream.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I’ll beg." Lucius exhales sharply. Like he’s been struck.

His grip loosens, then releases. He steps back but he doesn’t leave. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Like he’s fighting for his soul and losing.

Then he says, rough and quiet, “Get on the bed.”

The mattress dips beneath you as you climb onto the bed, knees sinking into soft linen. The silk of your gown shivers over your skin. You sit back on your heels, hands folded in your lap, eyes fixed on Lucius.

He watches you.

His chest still rises and falls with that same coiled restraint, but his eyes… his eyes are wild. Dark. Unforgiving.

“You look like a lamb waiting for slaughter,” he mutters.

"Then be the blade, Lucius. Just don’t leave me waiting." You smirk at the muscle that ticks in his jaw.

He crosses the room in slow, heavy steps, his boots loud against the floorboards. He stands at the foot of the bed and looks down at you, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

Then he reaches for the leather straps of his armour, tugging them loose with practised ease. One by one, pieces fall away. His shoulder guards go first, then the chestplate, and the belt at his waist.

When his tunic comes off, your breath catches. Not just because of the body, which is broad and strong and marked by battle, but because for the first time he looks like a man, not a soldier.

He steps forward again, kneels one knee onto the bed, and grabs your ankle gently, guiding your foot forward so you’re flat on your back. You let him move you. His hand is warm, calloused, rough in all the right places.

“You want to be mine,” he murmurs, voice low, rasped, eyes dragging over you.

“I already am,” you whisper.

Lucius makes a sound in his throat; half laugh, half groan, and leans over you. One hand plants beside your head. The other brushes down your side, fingers skimming the silk of your dress. When he finds the ties at your hip, he doesn’t yank. He pulls. Slow, deliberate, dragging each ribbon loose with maddening precision.

Your skin prickles as the fabric shifts. One shoulder bare. Then the other.

He drags the neckline lower with the back of his knuckles. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“I want you to show me.”

That earns you a sharp, quiet laugh. “Gods help me,” he mutters, and leans in to kiss your throat.

His lips are warm, mouth hot as he trails lower. You arch beneath him without meaning to. His hands slide under the fabric of your gown, pushing it up, higher and higher, until it bunches at your waist.

His eyes flick to yours. “Lift your hips.”

You do.

And he pulls the gown over your thighs, down your legs, off.

You’re bare beneath him.

Your face flushes, but you don’t hide. You don’t cover yourself. You look at him, this man who is older, stronger, and dangerous.

Lucius groans quietly. “You are going to ruin me.”

He moves slower now, like he’s memorising you. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs pressing gently into your skin. His mouth finds your collarbone, your breast, lower still. Each kiss is reverent. Every touch is earned.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and you believe him.

You reach for him, grabbing his hand, his wrist, whatever you can hold. Needing something solid.

He guides you gently, shifting your legs apart, fitting his body between them.

Then he moves.

His fingers first, slow and careful, coaxing sounds from you you’ve never made before. He watches every reaction, like he’s studying you. Learning what you like. What you can take.

Your breathing turns ragged.

Lucius kisses you hard. “Look at me.”

You do.

“Good girl.”

You whimper and he keeps going, steady and slow, until you’re shaking.

Then he stops. Only for a moment.

You gasp when he pulls away, ready to protest, but he’s already undoing the ties of his trousers. You’re bare, trembling, and breathless.

And he is going to ruin you in the best way possible.

Lucius kicks off the last of his clothing, and your breath stutters. It's the way he looks at you, like you’re something sacred. Like he’s already in too deep.

He comes back over you, his body bracketing yours, heat radiating from his skin. One hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “Tell me again.”

“I want you.”

“No,” he breathes, dragging his nose along your jaw. “Tell me you want me inside you.”

You swallow hard, spine pressing into the mattress, thighs shaking. “I want you inside me.”

He groans like the words cost him something. Like he’s barely holding himself together.

Then, finally, he pushes inside.

You gasp, hands flying to his shoulders. The stretch burns, but his touch grounds you. He doesn’t move right away. He watches your face, studies your every reaction like it’s the only thing that matters.

"So fucking tight-" his jaw tightens, eyes wild, "so bloody innocent, what are you doing to me?" His hand clenches in the sheets beside your head. "You’ve never done this before." You shake your head, cheeks flaming.

"Tell me no one’s ever had you. Say it."

"You're the first Lucius."

That makes him groan again, lower this time, deep in his chest. “You should hate me for this.”

“I don’t.”

His hand covers yours where it clutches at his shoulder. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

So you do. And when he starts to move, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s afraid you’ll break. You cling to him, your body gradually adjusting to his size, to the overwhelming fullness of him.

He presses his forehead to yours, his rhythm deliberate and steady. His other hand slides beneath your thigh, lifting it higher, deeper.

“Doing so well,” he mutters, kissing your cheek, your throat. “So brave. Gods, you feel like heaven.”

You whimper his name.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re mine now, sweet girl. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Lucius.”

His hips snap harder, once, and your breath catches. He chuckles, low and dangerous. “Good girl.”

Every thrust sends you spiralling. The sting of the first few moments fades into something molten, dizzying, unbearable in the best way.

You wrap your legs around his waist. Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“I won’t,” he says, mouth at your neck. “Not until you’re shaking for me.”

And you do.

It builds slowly, unbearably, the pressure mounting in your belly until it breaks. You cry out as your release crashes through you, body trembling beneath him, back arching off the mattress.

Lucius groans, lips at your ear. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You’re still gasping, trying to recover, when you hear footsteps. A shuffle outside the door.

Your eyes fly open in alarm.

Lucius doesn’t stop.

He reaches up, hand over your mouth, holding you still as he keeps moving inside you. His rhythm stays measured, deliberate.

He leans down, voice rough against your ear. “You started this,” he growls. “Now you’ll take everything I give you.”

Your eyes roll back. “Quiet now,” he murmurs. “Be good for me.”

You moan under his palm, helpless, hips twitching beneath him.

Even when the footsteps pause outside the door, Lucius doesn’t break pace. His hand tightens gently. His eyes stay locked on yours.

And still, you can’t look away.

Whoever’s out there moves on. The sound fades.

He keeps the pace slow for a few more strokes, teasing you, until your nails are digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling around his waist.

And then, something in him snaps.

His rhythm shifts. No more gentleness, no more mercy. He pounds into you, deep and unrelenting, and you sob out a sound you didn’t know you could make.

“Tell me you can take it,” he growls.

You nod, desperate, wrecked. “I can...I can Lucius-”

It hits like lightning.

The tension in your belly coils impossibly tight and then detonates. Your body clamps down around him, stars bursting behind your eyes. You cry out, shaking beneath him, your entire body seized in ecstasy.

He curses against your neck, voice breaking. “Fuck. That’s it. Just like that.”

You’re still convulsing around him, riding the waves, when he groans again and thrusts deep one last time.

Lucius stills. And then you feel him hot and thick, spilling inside you, his mouth catching your moan with a kiss. His whole body trembles with its force, arms locked around you like he’ll never let go.

It’s primal. Unrestrained.

Perfect.

He doesn’t move right away. Just breathes. His forehead presses to yours, and you feel his pulse hammering in his throat.

“That,” he breathes, “was never supposed to happen.”

Then slowly, reluctantly, he pulls out. He kisses you, softer now. Gentle. His thumb strokes your cheek where his hand had silenced you.

“You alright?” he murmurs.

You nod.

Lucius doesn’t speak as he moves to help you. His hands are gentle and careful as he dresses you, the soft laces of your nightgown slipping through his fingers with a reverence that seems almost out of place after everything.

But then, his voice cuts through the stillness. It’s hard, jagged. “You know this changes everything.”

You want to say something, but the weight of his words settles in your chest like a stone. You don’t need to ask what he means. You already know.

Before you can gather your thoughts, there's a knock at the door.

You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest. Panic flares in your stomach, but Lucius, ever calm, is already on his feet. His movements are swift, efficient, like a predator on alert. He doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate.

In a few seconds, he’s dressed, the sharp edges of his military demeanour snapping into place as he approaches the door. The sound of the knock feels like it echoes through the room, and you hold your breath, waiting.

Lucius opens the door like he owns the godsdamned world.

And maybe he does, because when Lord Aldryn’s son looks up, all cocky confidence from earlier is gone. The boy freezes.

Lucius is shirtless, his chest still rising and falling from exertion, his skin sheened with sweat. There’s a faint red mark trailing down his neck. Probably your teeth, if the boy’s smart enough to notice.

He doesn't move aside.

“She’s resting,” Lucius says, low and deliberate.

The boy shifts, glancing past him. His gaze lands on the tangled bedsheets, on your bare legs disappearing beneath them, on the bruises blooming along your throat, the kind only one man gets to leave.

Lucius watches him take it all in. Watches the exact moment that hope dies in his eyes.

“Ah,” Lucius murmurs. “So now you understand.”

The boy swallows hard. “I- I didn’t mean to intrude-”

“But you did,” Lucius cuts in smoothly. He leans against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest, utterly at ease. “You came to try. That’s what stings, isn’t it?”

The noble’s son flinches, colour rising to his cheeks.

Lucius smiles. It’s not kind. “Next time, don’t mistake a look for an invitation. She was never yours to chase.”

The boy stumbles over some half-formed apology before retreating fast down the hall, boots echoing like a retreat from war.

Lucius shuts the door with slow satisfaction. Then he turns back to you.

His eyes roam over your skin, your lips, the marks he left. And when he speaks again, it's with a dark, amused glint in his eye.

“He thought he could touch you,” he says. “Thought he might steal something that already fucking belongs to me.”

He grabs the discarded blanket and joins you back on the bed, pulling it over you both. You’re still trembling, still trying to believe it happened.

Lucius shifts beside you, propped on one elbow. “You don’t get to flirt with boys anymore.”

You smile, dazed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

His fingers trace lazy lines down your side. “Good.”

There’s a beat of silence before you whisper, “You’re going to pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Lucius meets your eyes. “No.”

You blink.

He brushes a kiss to your forehead. “But you should.”

You fall asleep wrapped in his arms. Spent. Claimed. Safe.

And completely, utterly his.

The next morning, you wake tangled in the sheets, Lucius’s body still close to yours. His arm is draped across you, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

The door to your room creaks open, and a servant’s voice breaks the stillness.

“Your father arrives tonight, My Lady.”

The words hit like a sudden gust of cold air. Your stomach drops. Lucius stiffens beside you, his muscles tensing as if someone had struck him. His gaze hardens, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move. His face is unreadable, but his eyes betray him; there’s panic, yes, but something darker beneath it.

The room is suffocating now, and you can feel the tension coil between you like a wire stretched to its breaking point.

Lucius’s body shifts, but he doesn’t speak at first. His jaw clenches, and his fists twitch at his sides. His gaze doesn’t leave you as he stands, moving to dress swiftly, his hands more methodical now, almost mechanical in the way he pulls on his clothes.

He’s slipping back into the role of the soldier, the guard, the man who is bound to your father, but there’s something there, something that fights against the ease with which he assumes that persona.

You look at Lucius. He looks at you.

The danger is real now.

But despite that danger, despite the weight of the consequences that hang in the air, you both remain silent. Neither of you moves to leave the room, nor do you speak, as if the world has stopped turning for just a moment.

Finally, Lucius steps toward you. His eyes are intense, burning with an emotion you can't quite place, possessiveness, anger, fear. His voice is low, gravelly, but there’s a tenderness in it that wasn’t there before.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” he says, his words quiet but firm. “No one will take you from me. Not even him.”

I really enjoyed this, that's all I have to say 😅

[pinterestanddaydreaming]

the vibes of my reader for the first project i am working on

heyy everyone! i have had a lot of ideas about fics and i guess this is me talking about first one that i am working on. it will be about lucius verus aurelius, i don't think i have seen enough fics about him sadly even though he was supposed to be the main character of gladiator ii. hopefully, i am not the only one who wants to read more fics about him. it won't be an oc fic but because i am south asian, the reader will not be white and will be a woc. it won't be the center of the fic but she will have the features that i imagine her to have and hopefully my fic won't make it too hard for you guys to change those preferences and imagine whatever you want. sorry i got off track for a second, but anyway this little collage is a way for you guys to imagine the reader in the new fic that i am writing. this fic will NOT be set in the modern time. it will be a time travel fic and the reader is from the 21st century. this collage is a way for me to plan out my vision for the reader. you guys are free to use your own collages if you don't like this.