#hanno x fem!reader

[sparklenothing]

The prophecy.

Summary: Aisa, a healer and seer from Byzantium, journeys to Rome, drawn by a prophecy foretelling the empire’s collapse and a gladiator at its heart. She encounters Lucius, a warrior scarred by battle and burdened by Rome’s cruelty. As she tends to his wounds, Aisa reveals glimpses of a future shaped by his choices—one that intertwines defiance, destiny, and the fall of the Colosseum itself. But Lucius, torn between his doubts and the weight of his legacy, must confront the prophecy head-on, deciding whether to wield his power or reject the path laid out before him. Warnings: A whole lot of nothing going on. Slow-burn narrative, introspective characters, and moments of emotional tension amidst the backdrop of ancient Rome. A/N: English is not my first language. I haven't written anything in so long, and this is probably vague and not very on character, so constructive criticism is welcomed. This might be part I, we shall see.

The air smelled of rain-soaked earth as twilight blanketed the Colosseum. Aisa slipped through the bustling streets of Rome, her hood pulled low, clutching a leather-bound satchel to her chest. Whispers of prophecy had drawn her across the seas, but the weight of her mission grew heavier with every step. Somewhere in this city lay a man tied to the empire’s fate.

She paused at a narrow alley, her gaze fixed on the towering amphitheatre. Whispers of prophecy had drawn her across the seas, but now, standing in the heart of the empire, the weight of her mission pressed heavily on her. Somewhere within these walls was the man tied to Rome’s fate.

A crumpled figure lay at the edge of the arena’s shadow, his chest heaving as if each breath were a battle. His tunic clung to bloodied skin, muscles taut with pain. Around him, the noise of the arena faded; spectators and attendants had moved on. Aisa approached cautiously, her hand slipping into her bag for a vial of salve.

"By the grace of the gods," she whispered, her voice a soft melody amidst the cacophony of the arena's aftermath. "Let me help you," she urged, her voice steady despite the unease tightening her chest. Each word felt like a gamble—offering aid without revealing the weight of the prophecy that had led her here.

Lucius stirred, his eyes clouded with pain. "Who…?"

"A healer," she replied, her tone calm but firm. "Let me help you."

The figure under the hood was Aisa Byzantine, her eyes shimmering with a mix of compassion and anticipation. She knelt beside Lucius, her deft hands working quickly, unfurling cloth and applying a cooling paste to the gash on his side. The sting brought a sharp intake of breath, but he did not pull away. For a moment, their eyes met, and Aisa’s heart quickened. There was something in his gaze—a spark, a shadow of the destiny she had come seeking.

"Who are you?" he managed to ask again through gritted teeth, his breaths shallow from the pain.

"Just a traveller," Aisa replied with a soothing smile, her voice a balm to his suspicion. "One who knows the art of healing." She applied a cool, aromatic paste to his bruises, and Lucius felt the fire in his flesh begin to ebb.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Over the following days, Aisa became a fixture in Lucius's life. Her knowledge of ancient lore and prophecy grew as she tended to his wounds, her visits becoming less about his injuries and more about their shared curiosity about the world beyond the arena's walls. They spoke of philosophies and dreams, their discussions a stark contrast to the brutal world they inhabited. Her wisdom was like a beacon in the darkness, and he found himself drawn to her, seeking her counsel on matters that weighed heavily on his soul.

"What is your name?" Lucius asked one evening, his curiosity piqued by her evasiveness. "I've told you so much about myself, and yet you remain a mystery to me."

Aisa paused in her ministrations, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "My name is Aisa," she revealed, her voice a gentle caress in the quiet of his chambers. "I am from Byzantium," Aisa began, her voice steady, though her fingers tightened around the pendant at her throat—a relic from her childhood, etched with symbols of her faith. "I have seen what happens when empires fall, and I know what it costs to build them. That is why I’m here. To guide you, so history does not repeat itself."

Her confession seemed to hang in the air, yet, she offered no more information, focusing instead on the task at hand. Lucius, intrigued but also wary, allowed the silence to linger, his gaze lingering on the way her hands moved with practised grace. He knew there was more to her than met the eye, but he was in no rush to unravel the enigma she presented. For now, he was content with the solace she brought him.

Days turned into weeks, and the bond between them grew stronger. Aisa's gentle nature began to crack the hardened exterior of the gladiator, her insights and prophecies stirring something deep within him. And on one evening, as the moon cast a silver glow through the window, Aisa's hand paused mid-air while tending to him, her eyes glazing over. Her visions had grown more frequent, and the intensity had begun to worry her. This time, however, she saw something that made her blood run cold.

"Aisa, what is it?" Lucius's voice was thick with concern as he watched her sway slightly, her pupils dilated with the weight of her vision.

The room dimmed around her, the flicker of torchlight swallowed by shadows. Aisa’s breath hitched as the vision unfolded—flames consuming the Colosseum, the sky blackened by smoke. She saw figures running, their screams echoing in her ears, but it was the sight of Lucius, standing amidst the ruin, that froze her blood. His hands were bare, his face streaked with soot, but his eyes… they were unyielding, almost inhuman.

When the vision passed, she staggered back, her heart racing. "Lucius," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "The empire falls, and you… you are its fulcrum."

Her eyes slowly refocused on him, and she took a shaky breath. "The prophecy, Lucius," she began, her voice trembling. "It speaks of your rise, of the empire's downfall. It's all intertwined, like threads in a tapestry that cannot be separated."

The room grew tense, the air thick with the gravity of her words. Lucius sat up, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt. "What prophecy?"

Aisa took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving his. "An ancient one," she said, her voice a solemn whisper. "One that speaks of a gladiator who will rise above his station and bring about the end of Rome as we know it."

"I see flames," She whispered, her voice trembling. "The Colosseum in ruins. The skies dark, choked with smoke. And you, Lucius… standing amidst it all."

Lucius scoffed, his anger flaring like wildfire. "Nonsense," he spat, pushing himself away from her. The pain in his body was suddenly nothing compared to the ache in his soul. "I'm tired of destiny! I've bled in that arena for days, and for what? To be some pawn in a cosmic game of dice? That's enough."

"You can’t ignore it!" Aisa’s voice broke, desperation lacing her words. "Every choice you make ripples outward. Don’t you see? This isn’t just about Rome; it’s about you. Your legacy."

He paced the cell, his bare feet thumping against the cold stone floor. The flaming torches cast his shadow upon the wall, elongating it like the spectre of a man bound by chains he could not see. "My father fought for Rome, and where did it get him? A glorified death. My legacy is blood and chains."

Aisa watched him, her heart aching for the pain that etched his every feature. She knew that the anger was not just for the prophecy but for the life he had been born into—a life of brutality and spectacle. She remained silent, allowing him the space to vent his frustrations, her eyes never leaving the man she had come to care for.

"Leave," Lucius finally barked, his voice harsher than he had ever used with her. "I don't want your help or your prophecies. Just leave."

The anger in his eyes was palpable, and Aisa felt the sting of his words as if they had been lashes from a whip. She knew he didn't mean it, that he was just hurt and confused, but she also knew that she had a duty to perform—a destiny to guide. "Please," she said softly, her voice a quiet plea in the vastness of his chamber. "Let me explain."

Lucius paused, his chest heaving with the force of his fury. He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for a glimmer of truth in the sea of his doubt. "What is there to explain?" he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and pain. "You're here because of some ancient text, some destiny that I'm supposed to fulfil? And all this time, you've been playing the healer, the confidante, just to manipulate me?"

Destiny. The word clawed at him, a cruel echo of the life he’d never chosen. For years, he’d been told he was a warrior, a symbol of Rome’s might. But now, this stranger spoke of him as something far greater—or perhaps far worse.

Aisa stepped forward, her hands reaching out to him, but stopping just shy of touching his heaving shoulders. "No, Lucius," she said, her voice a soothing balm to his rage. "I've been here because I care for you because I see in you the potential to change the course of history. The prophecy does not dictate your actions, but rather, it foretells the consequences of the choices you will make."

Her eyes searched his, willing him to understand. "You are not a pawn, but a player in this grand design. Your fate is yours to shape, but you cannot deny the forces that have brought us here."

Her eyes never left him, and she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently cup his cheek. "You are more than a gladiator," she said with conviction. "You are more than a son of Maximus. Your destiny is not set in stone, but in the choices you make."

He flinched at the mention of his father's name, the wounds of his past still fresh despite the years that had passed. Yet, something in her touch, in her words, resonated within him. "Choices," he murmured, tasting the bitterness of his own doubt.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Lucius stood at the centre of the Colosseum, the heat of the sun beating down on his bare shoulders. Across from him, his opponent—a hulking figure clad in iron—stalked forward, the blade glinting in the light. The opponent was a mountain of muscle. This was no ordinary match; Rome had sent a champion to remind Lucius of his place.

From her seat in the shadows, Aisa’s heart pounded. The clash of steel rang out as Lucius met his foe. Each strike was precise, his movements a blend of brute force and calculated grace. He ducked, sidestepped, parried, his movements more instinct than thought. As he fought, his mind raced. Aisa’s words echoed in his ears: Your destiny is not set in stone. 

A blow glanced off his shoulder, snapping him back to the present. His opponent loomed, raising his blade for the killing strike. But Lucius did not falter. He spun, disarmed the man with a single fluid motion, and brought him to his knees. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Lucius only heard silence. He could end it now, claim victory, and return to the life he knew. But another path beckoned—a path of defiance, of rebellion against the empire that had enslaved him.

The sword in his hand felt heavier than ever. He hesitated, his blade poised above his fallen foe. The crowd screamed for blood, but his gaze lifted to Aisa. Her eyes met his, and in that instant, he knew. With a roar, Lucius threw his sword to the ground. The arena fell silent, the weight of his defiance rippling through the air like a stone dropped into still water.

Lucius stood over his fallen opponent, the roar of the crowd a dull thrum in his ears. The victory was his, yet it felt hollow. He glanced up, his gaze locking with Aisa’s. Her words echoed in his mind: Your fate is yours to shape. He turned back to the expectant faces of the crowd and, with a roar, hurled his sword into the dirt.

The silence that followed was deafening, heavier than any chain he’d ever worn. Lucius straightened, his voice cutting through the stillness. "I am no one’s pawn. Not Rome’s. Not the gods."

[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.”

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy! preview two

ONE

A starry night, as though the gods themselves had blessed the heavens. You stand in the place where you often meet General Acacius to maintain appearances. He will spend the day attending to Emperors Geta and Caracalla alongside his wife, Lucilla. Meanwhile, your day will revolve around the gladiators—or, more precisely, their wounds. You have been summoned to tend to the gladiators who will participate in that day's opening of the games—battles they will wage against one another or against beasts. Your thoughts are divided between Marcus Acacius and Hanno, the gladiator you strongly suspect harbors intentions of avenging his wife’s death at Acacius's hands.

"Mea domina, you are here," General Acacius murmurs as he approaches, though his complexion appears unusually pale. He is dressed in a tunic that conceals most of his body, with a laurel crown adorning his head. The lateness of the hour and the absence of natural light obscure your view, but as he draws nearer, you notice a wound bleeding on his arm. You rush toward him, your concern overcoming any formality. Without hesitation, you expose the area of his injury, removing the fabric to inspect it. His skin is feverishly warm beneath your touch.

"Who did this to you, Acacius?" you ask, a wave of anger surging through your body, mingling with an overwhelming sense of concern. "By the Gods, you should have come to me sooner," you say, your voice laced with frustration as your fingers graze his fevered skin, causing him to shiver under your touch. You guide him to a nearby bench, urging him to rest. Knowing him well, you suspect he has concealed his injury from everyone, unwilling to reveal any vulnerability. Fortunately, all are accustomed to you tending to him—it is, after all, one of your roles as his lover.

"I did not wish to trouble anyone, least of all you, Y/N," Acacius replies, his tone steady as he attempts to mask his discomfort. "A gladiator loosed an arrow at me—it must have struck me somehow. Macrinus certainly knows how to select skilled men for his arena." His voice retains its commanding timbre, though his actions betray his weariness. He pulls you closer by the waist, resting his head against your abdomen, as though seeking solace in your presence.

"General, we must go to the place where Ravi keeps his instruments. I must tend to your wounds and return you, whole and well, to your wife," you say, holding Acacius' face in your hands, as if willing him to remain conscious. His deep brown eyes meet yours, their gaze uncharacteristically tender.

"But this is my time with you," he whispers, taking your hands in his and pressing a kiss to each. "And I have told you, you need not address me as General. Our relationship has long surpassed formalities," he says, his voice softer now as he finishes kissing your hands. A fleeting thought tempts you to lean down and kiss him, but before you can act, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. Guards arrive, accompanied by Lucilla and Ravi. You instinctively want to withdraw from Acacius, but his unconscious state forces you to hold him upright.

"Take my husband to his quarters. Ravi is here to see to his treatment," Lucilla commands, her tone dismissive, her gaze avoiding yours entirely. The guards comply, carrying the now-limp Acacius away.

"Y/N," Lucilla addresses you, her voice sharp and deliberate, "from this moment forward, Ravi will be responsible for Acacius' care. I trust the gladiators will suffice to occupy your attention." Her words, though polite in form, carry an unmistakable message: your role as Acacius' lover is nearing its end. Vulnerability washes over you, but you lower your head in acknowledgment, as if understanding her decree. Without another glance, she follows the guards to accompany her husband.

Ravi approaches, carrying his instruments and tools. "I need you to go to Macrinus' gladiator and tend to his wounds. Macrinus has already informed the guards of his gladiator's need for treatment, so you need not fear," Ravi instructs, already preparing to attend to Acacius himself. Fear is far from your mind. The only sentiment stirring within you is anger, directed at the one who dared harm Acacius. You nod in silent agreement and gather the necessary supplies to treat the gladiator, your resolve firm as you set out to fulfill your task.

The guards grant you entry without hesitation, their expressions indifferent. Inside the dimly lit cell, you find Hanno—his body marred by fresh wounds, his face pale but defiant. He appears battered, as though every ounce of strength has been drained from him. Anticipating the state you might find him in, you came prepared with tools to clean his wounds, at least superficially.

"The lovely healer graces me with her presence once more," Hanno mutters, his tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and faint amusement. A strained smile flickers across his lips as he clutches his abdomen, evidently in pain. "I suppose you're here to finish what the guards so generously began." His voice is hoarse and weakened, yet it retains a biting edge.

A chill runs through you as you step closer to him, fully entering his cell. The air feels heavier here, and his piercing gaze follows your every move. "They must have hurt you for what you did to General Acacius," you state, your voice measured as you kneel, setting down your tools. The mention of Acacius draws no sign of remorse from Hanno; instead, he seems emboldened, inching himself nearer to you with deliberate subtlety. As you settle beside him, his proximity becomes undeniable, his rugged presence filling the confined space. Though weakened, there’s an unsettling calm in his demeanor, as though he is testing you, seeking something unspoken within your resolve.

As you begin to cleanse his wounds, the facade of the formidable gladiator crumbles beneath the weight of his pain. Low, anguished groans escape his lips despite his efforts to suppress them. It becomes clear that he is suffering deeply, though he clings to the last vestiges of his pride.

"Ah, here we are again," Hanno murmurs between strained breaths, his voice laced with an uneven mixture of sarcasm and torment. "You, seizing the opportunity to inflict more pain under the guise of tending my wounds, and I, striving to focus on your beauty to mask just how much it hurts."

A flicker of anger rises within you, mingled with a reluctant pity for the state of his battered body. "Flattery will not grant you any special treatment," you reply sharply, leaning in closer to examine his injuries more thoroughly. "I warned you not to harm Acacius dishonorably. I thought you might exercise restraint, but I was mistaken."

With deft movements, you remove the upper portion of his tattered garment to gain better access to the worst of his injuries. He offers no resistance, watching you with an unsettling mix of amusement and interest, as if savoring the attention. "I do recall saying I would take your request under consideration," Hanno says nonchalantly, as though the matter were trivial.

Frustrated by his flippant attitude, you press a tender wound more firmly than necessary. He lets out a guttural cry of pain, his composure faltering for a moment. "Forgive me," you say with a mocking smile, your tone cold. "I must have forgotten to take your suffering under consideration."

He meets your gaze, a faint, knowing grin curling his lips as if he derives some twisted pleasure from your defiance. "If you wish to exact vengeance, then take the dagger you’ve hidden and drive it into my heart," he says, his voice low and steady, despite the evident strain. "It is the only way to shield your precious General Acacius from my wrath." Hanno leans closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, the proximity of his battered form unsettling. His observation of the concealed blade leaves you momentarily stunned, your grip tightening as the tension between you hangs heavy in the air.

"Is that what you believe I should do—kill you?" you ask, a faint trace of amusement in your tone as you marvel at Hanno's audacity. He leans closer to your face, his gaze sharp and provocative.

"If protecting him is your goal, then yes," Hanno replies, his voice steady, his eyes fixed upon yours with an intensity that borders on insolence.

You smile, intrigued by how easily he speaks of his own demise. "General Acacius is a wise and seasoned warrior. He will know how to deal with you," you say, leaning in as if accepting the challenge his very presence seems to demand.

"If you think I seek an honorable battle with Acacius solely to shield him," you continue, your voice steady and measured, "then you are gravely mistaken. Look at yourself, gladiator. To achieve vengeance, it is not merely strength or skill you require. A true fighter knows which battles are worth fighting." Your hand moves deftly to clean a wound near his neck, blood still seeping from it. He winces slightly but does not pull away, his sharp blue eyes never leaving your face.

"The way you speak, it seems as though you've developed an affection for me, healer," Hanno remarks, his tone soft but probing. "If that is the case, why carry a dagger?" He gently grasps your arm, his grip firm yet careful, as if urging you to give him your full attention.

"Because the wife of General Acacius made it clear before the guards that I will no longer tend to his care. For many of the men here, that declaration is as good as an invitation to see me as their sport," you reply, your gaze unwavering as you meet his eyes.

For a moment, something shifts in his expression—a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "I see," he murmurs, his voice lower now. "Then show me. Show me how you would wield it to defend yourself." Though puzzled by his request, you reach for the dagger and position it as you would in a moment of self-defense, your stance steady and deliberate. His eyes follow your movements with a keen focus, his lips curving into a faint, almost approving smile as he observes your resolve.

"You’re holding it incorrectly," he says, taking your hands, still clutching the dagger, and guiding them to a precise spot on the left side of his chest. "Here. Strike here on any opponent—more than once, if need be—and you’ll increase your chances of survival," he instructs, his voice steady, his grip firm but not overbearing.

You had never considered the necessity of knowing how to fight; before Acacius, your late husband had always been there to shield you. But now, an unsettling vulnerability lingers, heavy and unshakable.

"You place too much trust in me," you murmur, your gaze locked with his. "I could hurt you with this dagger right now."

His lips curl into a faint, genuine smile, weak but without hesitation. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if you did," Hanno replies, the tension between you thickening.

You drop the dagger back to its place, snapping yourself out of the moment. "Turn around. I need to apply an herbal salve to the wound on your back so I can retire to my quarters. It has been a long day," you instruct, watching as he complies without protest. His physique, sculpted as one would expect of a gladiator, does not escape your notice. But before your thoughts can wander too far, you refocus, applying the salve with care. He grunts softly at the touch, his pain audible but restrained.

"I could teach you how to defend yourself," Hanno murmurs as you finish tending to his wounds. Once done, he turns to face you, his expression expectant.

"Are you certain you wish to help me, knowing my loyalty lies with General Acacius?" you ask, genuine curiosity laced in your tone.

He lifts a hand to your face, his touch gentle as he caresses your cheek. "Something tells me you need help, and I want to offer it. General Acacius or not, this is about you," he emphasizes, pointing at you, "and me," he finishes, gesturing to himself.

You hesitate, uncertainty flickering in your eyes, but the sincerity in his gaze stirs something within you. Perhaps it would be wise to accept his offer. "Very well, gladiator," you reply, taking the hand that had touched your face and grazing it softly with your fingertips. "Teach me what you know, and I promise to mend you each time you require it."

[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]

Bounded by Hope

Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Summary: You catch Lucius's eye as he fights in the Colosseum, his strength and resolve captivating you. Later that night, you sneak into the arena, where he confesses. 

The roar of the Colosseum still echoed in your ears as you lingered near the edges of the great arena that evening. 

You swore you could still hear the people cheer. 

Lucius had fought with unmatched skill earlier that day, you watched him closely, but it was the moment his eyes briefly met yours that sent your heart racing. 

You weren’t supposed to be there, but you had to be there just to see him.

The poet Gladiator. 

That was something you wanted to see.

Now, with the moon high in the sky and the city around you settling into sleep, you found yourself sneaking through the shadows, your heart pounding with both fear and anticipation.

The Colosseum was large, its arches surrounded by darkness. 

It wasn’t hard to find the gate leading to the fighters’ quarters; your feet seemed to move as if they knew the path.

“Who goes there?” a voice called softly from within.

You froze, gripping the cold metal bars. 

Lucius’s figure emerged from the shadows, his tunic loose and his hair messy. 

He had been resting, but his eyes were sharp as they fell upon you.

“It’s... just me,” you whispered, your voice soft and gentle.

“My Lady, you shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, stepping closer to you as his expression softened.

“And yet, here I am,” you replied, your fingers tightened around the bars. “I wished to see you.”

He moved closer to you, his eyes studied yours, his hands brushing against the bars opposite yours. 

“Why? Surely you know this is dangerous.”

“I saw you today, fighting in the arena. You were incredible. But it wasn’t just your skill, no, it was your heart that captured me. I’ve never seen anyone like you.” you admitted. 

He chuckled though there was a hint of bitterness in it. 

“A gladiator doesn’t usually receive such praise from someone like you, My Lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said quickly. “Not tonight. I’m just a woman standing before you, nothing more.”

“And I am just a man who fights because he must,” he said quietly. “But today... when I saw you, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time. Hope.” He said and leaned closer, the bars the only thing separating you. 

“Hope for what?” you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

“For freedom. For a life beyond these walls,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “For a chance to hold onto what I’ve seen in you.”

“Do you truly believe you can win your freedom?”

“I have to,” he said firmly. “Not just for myself, but for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“If I win, I will leave this place, and I will find you. I will make you mine, if you’ll have me.” He said, his hands gripping the bars tightly now. 

Tears welled in your eyes, you didn't even know each other. Yet a simple look was enough for you both.

“You don’t have to fight for me, Hanno,” you said softly. “I would wait for you, no matter how long.”

“Please, call me Lucius. I must fight,” he insisted. “I must earn the right to stand beside you. I must become a man you are worthy of.”

The intensity in his voice left you speechless. 

You reached through the bars, your fingers brushing against his cheek. 

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it as though it were the first kind thing he’d felt in years.

“Then fight,” you whispered. “But promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll come back. Promise you will make me yours”

He opened his eyes, locking them with yours once more. 

“I swear it,” he said. “For you, I will do anything.”

In that moment, the world around you disappeared. All that existed was him, and the bond growing between you. 

Both of you leaned in and you pressed your lips to his through the cold metal bars, the kiss was brief but filled with everything you couldn’t say.

When you pulled away, his gaze burned into yours. 

“I will see you again,” he promised.

“And I will wait for you Lucius,” you replied. "I must go now." you said as he nodded and you left just as you came.

As you walked back into the night, his words replayed in your mind. 

His vow will stay with you until the moment you see him again. 

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz @akamitrani

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3��

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

[stellabk]

I couldn’t sleep last night. May have wrote a Lucius Verus fic. Not a series, just a one off kinda thing…

May post it, may not. What do y’all think?

ALSO LOOK AT THIS FUCKIN PIC

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

--------------

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

-------------

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[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+

--------------------------------------------------------

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.”

--------------------------------------------------------

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.

[mackk122]

Tittle: Aquatinted (part 2)

Part One

Pairing~Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 24.k

Warnings~ smut;)

Summary~ part 2. (Younger Sister to the twin Emperors.As you are forced to sit and watch the games, a certain gladiator catches your attention.) Everything changes when you finally meet one another.

Notes: I’ve seen this movie 3 times already- I might have a problem.☺️ Also if there’s any spelling mistakes- ummmm….

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

After the first games, you spent all night non-stop thinking of that gladiator Hanno.

“Ugh!” I huffed out.

I had to find a way to meet this man…

It was dangerous when the sun of Rome fell into the cool shades of the night. I covered my body in an old cloak, making sure to blend in when needed. I fast walked through the city until I reached the colosseum. Quickly and quietly I made my way into the building- determined. I dodged the guards searching for the cell he would be in, that’s when I heard a familiar voice speaking.

“Lucius..” A woman spoke.

As I turned the corner to hear more, I saw Lucilla inside the cell with Hanno… or who she believed to be her son Lucius. I was intrigued by this and continued to listen, he started yelling for her to leave and I took that as my queue as well.

‘This is interesting’ I thought to myself, following behind Lucilla.

She made her way back to her house, where I would make myself known.

“Lucilla!” I whispered. She turned around, her tear stained face looked scared now.

I walked out from behind the wall, hood still concealing my face.

“Lucilla… it’s me..” I spoke softy.

“Prin-“ she began to say.

“Shhh” I held my hand to my lips. A look of concern filled her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Lucilla softly demanded.

“Is that gladiator, Lucius? Is he your son?” I whispered.

Her eyes widened, terrified of what was to happen next. “And if he was?” Her voice shaking.

“I- no worries my lips are sealed. He…I need to meet with him… Lucilla if there’s any way..” I pleaded, a noise from in the house stirred and I quickly left.

Lucilla breathed into the cool musk of Rome. Wondering why the Princess of Rome would want anything to do with a gladiator.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

*The next games*

As the day went on, your thoughts ran rampant. This was your chance to finally meet Hanno… or Lucius, you didn’t even know what was true anymore.

Everyone was sat, awaiting the sounds of the horns. The arena was filled with water and sharks. It was incredibly terrifying to see.

“Why sister, would you care for a swim?” Caracalla laughed.

“Idiot- she can’t swim” Geta side eyed Caracalla, before chuckling with him.

“Broth- Emperors… I shall like very much to meet the glorious victor from yesterday’s game” I smiled brightly.

“And why is that?” Geta looked annoyed at the idea of me even speaking.

“I believe it to be more exciting to meet him… after all he is the champion” I said innocently.

“If he lives” Geta replied.

“Oh how fun to watch him die, and see your wish not come true. WAR!! GIVE ME DEATH!” Caracalla spoke crazily.

I sighed and turned back to see Lucilla staring at me, I gave a small smile and she nodded.

The trumpets sounded and the games had commenced. Fighting brutally the boats had crashed into one another, men thrown over board were shark food and the fires of the sail filled the air of thick smoke. He fought hard, and as the boats hit the side of the wall, an arrow flew right past Geta and landed into the side of my chair, I watched as the gladiator tried to kill what seemed to be the General. I stared at him, eyes locking again. The look of disappointment and regret filled his eyes. I was confused until I felt the pain from my arm kick in, the arrow had grazed me and the cut bled down, dripping onto the floor. They ushered us out and got the games under control.

“Princess!” Lucilla reached for my arm.

“I’m fine, truly tis a scratch” I smiled.

“Emperors I would like to speak to those gladiators- find out who did this” I said sternly. Geta looked around breathing heavily at what just happened.

“Sister, the arrow struck you- Punishments will be made! Trying to shoot Us!” Geta started to shout. Caracalla had that crazy look in his eyes. From around the corner Macrinus calmly stepped up and walked the emperors down the hall, looking behind at me with a sly smile.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The thought of the arrow almost killing the princess replayed in Lucius’s mind.

“Who shot that!” The angry guard spoke.

One by one the gladiators said it was them.

“If it was me with the arrow, it would have found its way to you” Lucius spoke to the guard, before walking away.

As Lucius made his way into his cell to rest, he could here heavy footsteps approaching, assuming it was either a guard or Macrinus, he didn’t bother looking up from where he lay.

“Gladiator!” I said loud and stern. Lucius sat up, and his eyes widened a bit, not expecting the princess to be down here in a place like this.

“Princess…” he spoke dull. The keys in my hand jingled as I unlocked his cell door. I could feel his eyes burning through me, I quickly walked into where he was sitting.

Closing the door behind me, “Am I so awful you try to kill me before we could even speak?” I joke trying to diffuse the awkward tension.The blood still down my arm.

“The General…” his said blunt staring at my arm.

“Ah- For a warrior your aim, ‘tis not very good” I chuckled slightly looking down at my arm. “At last-“ I began to speak.

“Why are you down here?” He said confused, now standing up and slowly walking towards me. And yet I don’t move away.

“What is your real name? Hmm? Are you Lucius son of Lucilla or are you Hanno a slave from Romes raging war?” I look up at him, his body was an arms reach away. His face hardened at my question.

“I know not who I am, but I know the general and his armies will pay, and then your brothers..” his voice was calm yet vicious.

“And yet you still have not answered me” I walked past him deeper into the cell. I looked around, still feeling that burning stare.

“Your mother is a great friend of mine” I sighed. “We both want freed from this nightmare that has plagued Rome and its people.” I turned to look at him now. I could see debate in the face he made, most likely deciding whether or not to try and trust me.

“Right” he spoke.

“Hmm” I hummed out.

“Well I best not keep you, as you need rest, and I shall need to bandage myself ” I smiled and began to walk past him.

“Wait-“ he lightly grasped my wrist, “ I’m truly sorry for that arrow hitting you” his eyes had a soft remorse within them.

“I know, I saw in the arena” I smiled. “Well I shall see you tomorrow then, after all I should get to know the man who shot me” I chuckled. Lucius smiled at the remark, He assumed all of Rome was evil but he was wrong.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The days would pass and the princess and Lucius would meet in secret. They shared their lives and their passions. And each time she was about to leave, the longing from both filled the cell with thick tension and yet no one acted on it…

The keys in my hand jingled slightly, trying to keep quiet. It was the night before the third game, and I was worried if Lucius was going to survive.

“Lucius?” I whispered through the door.

“Carissima” he spoke softy leaning against the cell, each arm hanging out, face close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“You flatter me” a slight blush on my cheeks. I smiled a his words ‘Dearest’ the nickname earned after the second night of our meetings.

“Well Lucius… hopefully we don’t get caught” I said with a sly smirk.

“Oh?” His eyes blazing.

“Come with me…” I looked up and slightly pushed the door, he took the hint and stepped back.

“Leave..? Are you trying to kill me now?” His eyes widened, and yet he chuckled.

“We just can’t get caught” I grabbed his hand and lead him to a dark corridor, I picked up speed and we were running through the moonlight of Rome. I came to a halt once we made it to the palace.

“This is how you get revenge for a scratch carissima?” His shoulder gently bumped mine.

“Shhh… and I figured a change of scenery would be good for you… unless you want to go back to a cold lonely cell?” I said looking around innocently.

“Lead the way” he spoke. I grabbed his hand and took him through hidden doors and eventually we made it to my room.

“This is where I stay” I let go of his hand, and turned to smile. I was surprisingly shy at the thought of a man in here let alone the man, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with. He walked over to my bed, feeling the soft fabrics and carvings of the bed frame.

“Fancy..” he jested sensing I was a bit nervous.

“Too fancy” I smiled back, making my way over. “Promise me you wont die tomorrow!” I blurted out. My eyes widened in embarrassment.

He took my hand, “I cannot… But I promise to fight for you.” He took a step closer, still holding my hand, he gave it a soft kiss.

“Lucius” I whispered looking up at his face. “I can’t loose you” I took a deep breath.

“I’m right here carissima” He bent his face down slightly, looking from my eyes to my lips. It felt like we were the only people on this world at the moment and i never wanted it to end.

“Lucius” I said again at a loss for words. My voice was breathy, and our bodies kept getting closer.

“Princess… I don’t think you know what you do to me… when you say my name like that” Lucius said with such raw lust. All I could do was look in his eyes, until he closed the gap between us.

The kiss was light, as our lips danced Lucius picked me up gently. He sat down on my bed and I straddled his lap.

“I need you” I said pulling away for air. The look in his eyes turned primal, and like a predator hunting his prey, the second kiss was harsh. He moved from my mouth down to my jaw and then paraded kisses down my neck. I’ve never felt so alive, my hips started moving back and forth longing for something more. His grip on me tightened, Lucius’s hands roaming my body as they made their way down to squeeze my hips. I could feel how hard he was as he pushed my hips down harder and a soft moan escaped my lips.

“I need you” a breathy sigh came out from me.

“Not yet princess, you’re doing so good.” he smiled,continuing to kiss my neck and keep a steady pace with my hips.

“Please… Lucius I need you..” I breathed out, my hands found their way to his hair, lightly tugging on it- he moaned at the action. The sound he made, made my stomach fill with butterflies. I started to move faster, my body craving more and more. He took note and picked me up, laying me on my back. He crawled on top of me and basically tore my dress off. At the sight of my naked body laid before him he spoke “ you are perfect”.

My face flushed at his words and he slowly began to take his clothes off. Once we were both naked he lower his body down kissing me again.

“You look so good under me” he smiled, he lowered his hand, rubbing my clit. A jolt shot through my body and moans started escaping my lips.

“Lucius…” I moaned.

“Do you like that princess?” He said as he inserted his finger into my opening, still continuing to rub circles around me. He pumped in and out and then added another. I was a mess underneath him, and he enjoyed the slight of Royalty melting under his touch. My hips started bucking up wanting more but with his free hand he held me down.

“I need more” I cried. He smirked pulling his fingers out completely.

“Lucius- wha” I began to speak, that’s when he lifted my lower half with ease, lining himself up and inserting himself into me completely. He gave me a moment to adjust before rocking his hips back and forth. He let out moans and praises as he thrusted into me.

“Feels so good” I said.

He picked up the speed our bodies slamming into each other. It felt like a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up. I started to feel a knot in my stomach, and my moans grew louder. He knew I was reaching my high point and continued to thrust harder.

“Lucius-“ I moaned, as my release came out. He continued to rock through my orgasm and then let out his.

He pulled out of me, breathing heavily and our bodies sweaty, he smiled and put his forehead to mine. We spent some time laying beside each other before he had to return back. Our eyes locked for a moment and Lucius began to speak.

“Your body was sculpted from the heavens, and yet..put into the hands of me, I swear on what good is left in this life, if I survive tomorrow..” he spoke.

“I’m yours Lucius, now kiss me before you leave..” I said before he could finish, and we both smiled.

Part.3…..? Lemme know:)

Check out the playlist too 🫶🫶

[cwritesforfun]

Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: Escape pt 2

Link to Part One ~> READ FIRST!!!

Y/N = Your First Name & L/N = Your Last Name

They will not follow the Roman style of speech - it will be written in modern language.

*I do not own the Gladiator 2 characters or plot* I do change some of the plot!!!

Masterlist

GIF from @freckledjoes - thx! @helsa3942 had some good ideas, too!

Y/N’s POV

You lead Emperor Geta to the bedroom and help him undress as you fill the bathtub with warm water. You have him wait in the bathroom as you request night clothes for him, food for both of you, and his things to be delivered to your room. You also ask for privacy. You have no idea if Geta will divulge any other information or what you two will be up to.

You receive a scroll with the latest news at night if something bad occurs. You open and read the words, "Emperor Calla has died. Macrinus seized power shortly after. Hanno, who is actually Lucius Verus Aurelius, has taken control and now leads Rome." You need to tell Geta, but when? He seems so fragile, and what if he wishes to return to Rome?

You walk back into the bathroom and see Geta in the bathtub. You walk over, bend down next to him, and say, “You look peaceful, Geta.” He looks at you, softly smiles, and says, “You should get in with me.” You reply, "Fine, since you asked nicely." You feel his eyes tracking your movements as you change and step into the tub with him. You lean your back against his chest, and he wraps his arms around you. You both talk softly before you wash each other. You notice small cuts and bruises across his skin, but you don't ask him about them yet.

You dress in new clothes, and Geta takes your hand as you walk to the bedroom. You see the food and lead him to the couch so you can eat a little. He sits next to you, and you both eat some food.

You lay down on your bed and pat the space next to you for Geta. He climbs in bed and collapses with his head on your chest. He picks it up to kiss you on your hand and says, "Let's never be parted again, love. I don't think I can bear it. You complete me." You reply, "You can stay as long as you wish. You're always welcome here." He softly asks, "And what if I never want to leave?"

You ask, "What really happened in Rome, Geta? You told me that you faked your death and how your brother thought he killed you. But, I also see the cuts and bruises on you that tell another story." He answers, "It started a few months ago when General Acacius came home after taking over Numidia for Calla & I. I could tell it was different this time because I could see we were losing the support of the General. However, I didn't voice these opinions to Calla because he had enough on his plate, or I thought he did... I needed a release, and I was tired of everything, so I invited a girl back to my bedroom. She was a nobody, and I accidentally confided in her. I don't know what I was thinking. The next morning, I woke up to Calla and Dundus standing there. They attacked me, and the guards did nothing. I should have left and come here then ... but I hoped there was still some good in my brother. I was wrong. The fights at the Coliseum were getting louder, and the Romans were rooting for this guy named Hanno." He takes a deep breath and continues, "I heard rumors that General Acacius and others were plotting against my brother and me. We locked him up for treason, and Calla started acting out more. I tried to keep the peace, but it just wasn't working. This man, Macrinus, started showing up and whispering in Calla's ear about me. That's when I set my escape plan in motion. One of the good things about being Emperor is the endless resources that you have at your disposal. At first, I wanted to make my head out of cake, and he's crazy enough that he'd think it was real. But I knew Macrinus would know something was up. So, I did something that I'm not proud of. I found a guy who looked like me who was up to compete in the Coliseum, and I told him to just sleep in my bed to pretend to be me. I told him all he had to do was sleep there, and I'd pay him handsomely. I gave him some of my clothes, and that night, I snuck out. I threw on a brown cloak that some soldiers wear, and I went near the water to the safe house you told me about. The man, Titus, kept me hidden for the rest of that night and the next day in his small home. We set sail the next night, and by then, we'd heard that everyone was claiming I was dead and that my head was brought to the Senate meeting. I feel horrible for the guy in my place, but he was going to die anyway in the arena... You know the rest. The journey was long and cold, but I'm here."

You're shocked. Horrified. Terrified. Stressed. Sad. Angry.

Geta sits up and asks, "Hey uh Y/N, is everything okay?" You answer, "Uh I have something upsetting to tell you." He asks, "What?" You grab the scroll and hand it to him to read. His eyes widen, and he looks in shock. You say, "I um... I understand if you have to return home." He asks, "What's left for me in Rome but my enemies and a land of disease? You are my home and my future. Rome means nothing to me, especially now that you're in my life." You place your hand in his and ask, "When did you get so romantic?" He moves closer to you and answers, "When I realized I let the love of my life return to her home, and we were not together. I had to read poetry and other works to better express my love for you." You reply, "Well I love you too, Geta. I always have." He leans in and you both kiss.

You stay up late talking until you're both yawning.

At some point, in the cold, dark night, you wake up to feel fidgeting next to you, and Geta seems to be fighting a nightmare. He is whispering out loud, "Stay back. Don't hurt me. Don't hurt her." You lightly shake Geta and say, "Geta, love, you're safe." He turns quickly and you say, "Geta, love, everything is okay." He pulls you close to him and says, "I thought someone was going to execute us together for loving each other. Everyone was mad at you for liking me and they were mad at me for Rome." You softly rub the back of his hand in circles and reply, "You're okay, and I'm okay. No one will be mad at us for loving each other. Even if they are, I'm the Queen, and they cannot influence who I choose to love. My guards are loyal to me and always working, so we're safe. I take several precautions for my safety, and the safety of my guests." He replies, "I bet your people love you as the Queen." You reply, "They do, and they will learn to love you with time. We can talk about that after you get to rest, though. You had a long journey and need to sleep more." He replies, "I love you." You say, "I love you too."

Taglist: @ziggeddie & @helsa3942

Should I write a part three after he adjusts to a new land and new position ???

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

FANFIC: LUCIUS VERUS X READER X GENERAL ACACIUS

Author's Note: As a test to see if this fanfic might appeal to anyone other than myself, I decided to share a preview with you all. If you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment—I haven’t yet decided if I’ll continue writing it. The characters do not belong to me but rather to the Gladiator II universe created by Ridley Scott.

one

PREVIEW

Gladiators fighting for their lives in the most savage of manners. The savagery does not startle you; you are accustomed to it. Your late husband often had to fight, quite literally, with tooth and nail to survive. He perished as he fought, dreaming that one day you both might escape. Left alone, hollow within, you were spared by General Acacius.

General Marcus Acacius delivered you from the fate of becoming a courtesan to Emperors Geta and Caracalla. In an act of calculated benevolence, he claimed you as his concubine (concubinatus), securing your liberty through this arrangement. For this, you harbor a profound sense of gratitude each day of your life. From that moment forth, you and the General Acacius have maintained the appearance of a romantic entanglement. He graciously granted you leave to serve as an attendant to Ravi, the steward responsible for tending to the wounded gladiators.

"I have heard that you are Macrinus' new gladiator. It seems the battlefield has taken its toll on you," you remark, approaching the gladiator. Hanno—that is what you heard him called. His blue eyes fix upon you, studying you as though he seeks to unravel your very essence.

"I belong to no one," the gladiator replies, his voice strained as he winces in pain. "But I do appreciate your company. Ravi may be a skilled healer, yet nothing compares to the presence of a beautiful woman." His words are accompanied by a grimace, his arm bearing a wound, likely inflicted by the blade of a sword. Positioning yourself before him, you reach for one of the tools Ravi uses to stitch the torn flesh of gladiators. With steady hands, you then lift a cup of wine laced with opium, offering it to the gladiator to ease his suffering.

The gladiator drinks the wine greedily, allowing the liquid to trickle down his lips. "If my appearance pleases you, I suggest you focus on that," you remark coolly. "For what I am about to do will bring you little satisfaction." Without hesitation, you begin stitching his wound, prompting him to release several groans of pain.

"You seem to take pleasure in causing me pain," he mutters between groans, a chuckle escaping him despite the agony etched across his face.

"Do not misinterpret me so gravely. I take pride in being of service to the recovery of gladiators," you reply while continuing to stitch his wound. "I lost my husband to one of the games orchestrated by Emperors Geta and Caracalla. So rest assured, my dedication lies entirely in aiding you." As you work, his expressions shift, the pain visibly dulling—likely the effects of the wine and opium taking hold. Yet, his hand from the uninjured arm suddenly grips your leg firmly, near your thigh. The gesture appears unintentional. You glance at him, startled.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, withdrawing his hand swiftly, your silent gaze alone conveying your disapproval. "I believe I lost control of my actions for a moment." You offer no verbal response, but the unspoken understanding in your exchange pleases you.

"There are rumors circulating that you have come in search of something," you say, your gaze lingering on the ring adorning the gladiator's finger. "I wonder if what you seek is vengeance—or perhaps a love lost." He lifts his eyes to meet yours, as though carefully crafting the right response.

"Vengeance for a lost love," he finally admits, his voice laden with the fury of grief. "My wife perished under the command of the General." The intensity of his words is mirrored in his eyes, now burning with a hunger that seems insatiable.

A fleeting discomfort stirs within you as his words settle. You owe much to General Acacius; your life, your freedom, and perhaps even a part of your heart are tied to him. He has been nothing but an honorable man in your eyes, despite his marriage to Lucilla. A genuine affection for him lingers within you, though you respect the boundaries of his union.

"Since you do not know me, I feel compelled to warn you—should your vengeance be aimed at General Acacius, you will find no ally in me. I am among the many who will not stand idly by should harm come to him," you declare, finishing your care for his wound.

"Ah, and we have only just met, yet I seem to have displeased you already," the gladiator replies, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "But allow me to ask—if you had the chance to kill the one responsible for your husband's death, would you not take it?"

His gaze is unwavering, piercing into yours. You avert your eyes, exhaling slowly before stepping closer to him. "When my husband died, vengeance had no place in my heart," you say firmly. "I was consumed with fear—wondering which emperor I would be forced to lay with to survive, or whose entertainment I would become. Fortunately, General Acacius spared me from all those fates and ensured I was kept far from the gladiator who killed my husband." Your eyes meet his with an intensity that demands understanding, your voice steady and resolute. He listens in silence, his focus unbroken.

"Then you are indebted to General Acacius," the gladiator remarks, his tone probing as he holds your gaze. You step away, irritation rising within you, though you refuse to admit it aloud.

"You could say so—I am indebted to General Acacius. Does that make you angry with me?" you ask earnestly, taking a cloth soaked in wine and carefully pressing it against the gladiator's wounds.

"No, I do not feel anger toward you," he replies, his voice steady despite the sting of the alcohol against his skin.

"Gladiator, you are ready to fight once more. Should you suffer any wounds in the future and prefer Ravi's care, I will not take offense," you say, finishing your work.

He smiles softly, gradually regaining his composure. "My name is Hanno. You may call me that, and I would like to keep you as the one responsible for my care." Hanno says, taking your hands as if in gratitude.

"I am Y/N, since we are introducing ourselves," you reply. "And since we are being friendly, I will ask a favor of you. If you plan to seek revenge, do it properly. Confront General Acacius in a fair manner, that one of you may die an honorable death."

You hold Hanno's rough hands, hoping to appeal to his sense of reason. "I will take your words into consideration, but I cannot guarantee anything," Hanno responds, his gaze never leaving you.

"I recommend you rest before being taken to your cell. Surely, we will meet again soon," you say as you step away, gathering the healing supplies Ravi entrusted to you.

Hanno bids you farewell, settling down in a corner of the place where you had been tending to him. You leave him there, knowing he will soon be escorted to his cell. Meanwhile, you make your way to General Acacius, as he often summons you when he returns from his campaigns, and you follow him without hesitation.

"Mea domina, I have waited so long for you to come to me..." Marcus Acacius' voice fills the space around you. The setting is a private garden within his residence, shared with Lucilla.

You approach him, adjusting the stole around your body. He moves toward you slowly, holding a goblet of wine in his hands.

"I had to attend to the treatment of one of the gladiators," you speak softly, drawing nearer to him. He extends the goblet to you, and you drink from it. Then, he rises slightly and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I have a wound as well; I would like you to tend to it," General Acacius says, his fingers brushing lightly against his lower lip. Gently, you rise toward him, pressing your lips to his in a kiss so soft it could scarcely be called one. It is delicate, restrained—you have no desire to overstep any boundaries.

"Our charade may now conclude, General Acacius. I believe any servant or guard lingering nearby has been sufficiently convinced by our display of affection," you say, fully aware that this romantic gesture is but a performance to solidify the illusion that you truly belong to him.

"Just a little longer, mea domina," he murmurs, placing his hands gently on your face and pulling you into another kiss. This time, it is more fervent, as though he is intent on committing the feel of your lips to memory.

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!

one three

TWO

Days, perhaps more, have passed. You and Hanno have been meeting in secret, seizing moments when there was no sign of General Acacius. All that you were permitted to know was that he was recovering in the company of his beloved wife, Lucilla, who made it clear she wanted no trace of your presence near her husband. The absence of Acacius weighed upon you more than you cared to admit. To be denied access to him felt akin to holding your breath for far too long. Yet, your clandestine encounters with Hanno had proven to be a welcome distraction, enough to keep your mind from lingering too deeply on what you could not change.

"Your gladiator is requesting your care, Y/N. And while we are on the subject, your encounters under the pretext of physical care will soon spark rumors," Ravi remarks as he steps into the chamber where he keeps his healing tools. "General Acacius will be the first to rage if he learns of your escapades. Should Emperors Geta and Caracalla grow suspicious, they may presume you are seeking a new lover. Not to mention the possibility of Macrinus taking offense at your growing closeness with his gladiator." You remain crouched, organizing a collection of herbs, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Hanno needs you—or rather, he has summoned you for yet another session of personal defense training.

"Ravi, believe me, I am well aware of the risks I take in daring to draw close to Hanno. Yet, I choose to take them—something no one of sound mind would do. General Acacius will not always be there to save me in the future. Lucilla has made her stance on my involvement with him abundantly clear. You do not see him here, concerned for me, do you? Precisely for that reason, I must think of the future." You speak as you search for the garment General Acacius once left at your disposal, should you ever need to fight.

"Since you are so determined to take such risks, be cautious. The guards will bring Hanno to be treated, and you will have only that time to practice—whatever it is you two practice," Ravi warns, much as he does each time you and Hanno meet, repeating the same cautions.

"I shall change my attire. If you would, dear friend, make Hanno comfortable until I return," you say, rising and moving toward the exit of the space where you and Ravi have tended to countless gladiators. "If all goes well today, I shall be one step closer to becoming more than a healer or a lover. I shall be the closest thing to a warrior I can aspire to be." Ravi nods, though a hint of worry lingers in his expression. He is the closest thing to an ally you have.

Time rushes by when one is on the brink of doing something forbidden, but you no longer concern yourself with the consequences. You are resolute to take control of your destiny, even if that control is but a sliver. Once dressed, you secure the dagger Acacius once gifted you in a hidden compartment of your attire. It is your small but vital secret, and you are steadily improving in its use.

With purpose in your stride, you make your way swiftly to where Hanno is awaiting you. When you arrive, his eyes brighten at the sight of you. "I see your delay is justified; you look prepared for battle. Let us see if you can land a blow," Hanno says, advancing toward you with a predatory gait meant to intimidate.

You meet his gaze with an unflinching smile. "Save your words for when we’re truly facing off, gladiator," you reply, following him to the familiar training grounds. It is the very arena where countless gladiators sharpen their skills, preparing for the moment they will stand before the emperors in the grand coliseum.

As soon as you step into the center of the training grounds, Hanno strikes without warning. His sword arcs toward you, narrowly missing as you instinctively step back. At the start of this combat practice, both of you wield swords, though your grasp on its use remains novice.

"Have you lost your sanity, Hanno? I wasn’t ready," you exclaim, fixing him with a glare of irritation. He advances on you again, silent and relentless, as if transformed into a stranger intent on attack. His gaze is unwavering, his resolve sharp.

"When you’re defending yourself, no one will wait for you to be ready, nor will they show you mercy. I want you to see me as you would see any foe who dares strike at you," Hanno declares, his sword slashing toward you again. You react, relying on your defensive maneuvers, retreating step by step until a strategy for counterattack begins to form in your mind.

"I’m not so sure; you seem to be enjoying this far too much," you retort, timing your movements before landing your first offensive strike. It catches him off guard, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face. The gap between you narrows, charged with the thrill of the fight and something deeper, more electrifying.

"I am enjoying it just as much as you enjoy patching me up with that brute strength of yours, healer. Now, focus," Hanno says, parrying your blow with unnerving precision. It’s like a dance—each movement perfectly countering the other. You attack; he defends. He strikes; you block. The rhythm between you is almost hypnotic, an eerie harmony born of tension and skill. But then, in a risky maneuver, Hanno manages to disarm you. Your sword flies from your grasp, landing far out of reach. Now standing mere steps apart, your eyes meet, both of you breathing heavily. It feels like the end for you, so why not take a chance?

With a surge of reckless determination, you rush toward him, channeling all your strength into an attempt to topple him. In your mind, it isn’t Hanno you’re facing—it’s an enemy, someone who would do you harm. Your unexpected move catches him off guard, and he falls to the ground. By sheer luck or fate, his sword slips from his grip as well. Now, you find yourself on top of him, both of you unarmed. The air between you is charged, your breaths mingling as silence envelops the space.

"It seems I have bested the great gladiator of Macrinus," you say, pressing your body lightly against his, a triumphant smile on your lips. Hanno smirks, his hands firmly gripping your waist as he swiftly reverses your positions, pinning you beneath him with effortless strength.

"Do not be deceived, healer," he murmurs, his piercing gaze locking with yours. But you are not so easily subdued. With a practiced movement, you draw the hidden dagger from your vestments and press it against his neck, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "Your presumption is touching, gladiator," you retort, your tone both teasing and sharp.

"What will you do next, healer?" Hanno asks, his breath warm against your face. The tension between you ignites instantly, palpable and undeniable. Before you can respond, he pulls your face closer to his, his lips capturing yours with a fervent intensity, as though he means to consume you entirely. At first, you almost resist Hanno’s kiss—it feels forbidden, a boundary you should not cross. Since your husband’s passing, Acacius was the only man you had kissed. Yet, as Hanno’s tongue ventures into your mouth, you find yourself surrendering, the kiss quickly becoming mutual.

In truth, Hanno is devouring you, but you refuse to let him take the upper hand so easily. You tug at his hair with force, pulling him closer, demanding his full attention. The kiss deepens, its intensity increasing to the point of no return. You want him to feel your hunger, to know that you wish to consume him just as much. For all its forbidden allure, you crave this moment—not because of duty or obligation, but because you want it. You want to know what it feels like to kiss someone you shouldn't, to rebel against every expectation tethering you. Your husband was not forced upon you, but your marriage had been a safeguard. Becoming Acacius’ lover served a similar purpose. But with Hanno, nothing feels safe. And perhaps that is why you let this moment unfold. There is no security here, no veil of protection. If you and Hanno are caught, Acacius could kill him, both the Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla could execute you, and the repercussions would be endless. Yet, none of that matters as your lips clash with his in this reckless, intoxicating dance of defiance.

The kiss is all-consuming, so intense that, for a moment, it steals your breath. You pause, pulling away to recover the air you desperately need. Yet Hanno seems unsatisfied, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that threatens to unravel your resolve.

His hand cups your face, fingers tracing over every detail as if committing you to memory. When his thumb brushes over your lips, he murmurs softly, "Your lips remind me of hers, my beautiful Arishat." Reality strikes like a sharp blade. He is with you, yet his mind lingers on his late wife. The weight of that truth is unbearable. As he leans forward, seeking your lips once more, you push him away, creating the distance you now desperately need.

"I will not be her replacement," you think, your resolve firm. "Nor Lucilla’s substitute." Avoiding his gaze, your shame and frustration burn within you. Rising quickly, you make your way toward your quarters. You and Ravi must always be prepared to tend to the wounded, so your rooms are close to where the gladiators train and where Ravi keeps his healing tools.

"Healer," Hanno calls out behind you, his voice firm yet laced with something softer. He follows after you, refusing to let the moment end so abruptly.

"Gladiator," you say, turning to face Hanno. Your body nearly collides with his, but you take a step back, halting the chase that had ensued. "Our training is done. I think it would be wise for us to part ways now, so as not to confuse..." You pause, searching for the right word to define what you might be confusing, only for Hanno to step abruptly closer, almost closing the space entirely.

"I am not confused about anything, healer," he says, his tone firm yet sincere. "I was lost momentarily in a memory, but I assure you, I knew exactly who I was kissing." He takes another step forward, his presence overwhelming.

"The act itself is already a problem, gladiator," you reply, struggling to maintain composure under his intense gaze. "We should not have kissed." Before he can respond, both of you hear footsteps approaching. In an instant, Hanno’s hand moves to your waist, pulling you behind him as though to shield you from whatever danger may come. Ravi appears, nearly running toward you, his face etched with worry.

"General Acacius has been seen heading this way," Ravi announces, his voice hurried and panicked. "The guards are murmuring that he’s coming to see you, Y/N. I suggest we get Hanno out of here immediately, and you prepare yourself to receive him."

The mention of Acacius sends a cold dread through you. Him encountering Hanno now would spell disaster. "Tell the guards who brought Hanno to retrieve him from here," you instruct, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. "Hanno and I will change out of these combat garments, and I’ll distract Acacius while the guards take Hanno back to his cell. Ravi, I’ll need your speed."

Without hesitation, Ravi nods and rushes off to summon the guards. You, in turn, push Hanno toward a secluded area where he can change out of his training gear. "Change in there and wait for me," you instruct firmly. Noticing the swords in his hands, you swiftly take them from him despite his protests. With no time to spare, you carry the weapons back to your quarters while Hanno remains in the area where you and Ravi usually tend to injured gladiators. In the quiet urgency of your chambers, you hastily change your attire, your mind racing with the precariousness of the situation. Hanno waits silently, the gravity of the moment clear to both of you.

"Do you fear what might happen should General Acacius discover your association with the gladiator who recently sought his life?" Hanno asks as you enter the room where he waits patiently to be taken back to his cell.

"I do not fear for myself," you reply, adjusting your tunic with calm precision. "I fear that if you and he meet, there will be unnecessary bloodshed. As I’ve told you before, if you wish to kill him, do so in a duel—before the people of Rome. Sate the appetite of Emperors Geta and Caracalla as they watch you strike at each other in a frenzied battle for glory in the name of the gods."

Hanno listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he steps closer. Without a word, he helps you smooth the folds of your tunic, his touch deliberate yet gentle. "Will you tell him of our association, then?" he asks, finishing his adjustments and letting his hand linger briefly as it grazes your cheek.

"What is there to tell?" you counter, meeting his gaze with resolve. "Our association is no one’s concern." A smile spreads across Hanno’s face, slow and satisfied, as if your answer pleased him greatly.

Moments later, Ravi appears, his expression tense. "The guards are near," he informs, his tone clipped. His gaze shifts between you and Hanno, briefly noting the closeness between you, though he chooses to remain silent. With a small nod, Ravi turns to Hanno, gesturing for him to follow. Hanno casts you a lingering look before allowing Ravi to lead him toward the guards, leaving you behind with the weight of the encounter still pressing on your chest.

You wait patiently for General Acacius to arrive, though his delay stretches longer than anticipated. The thought suddenly strikes you—he might already be in your quarters, as he has been on previous occasions.

"Would you care to explain," his voice calls out, smooth and laced with quiet reproach, "what reasons led my beloved healer, whom I hold in such high regard, to abandon me to the care of Ravi instead of tending to me herself?" Turning toward the source, you find him stepping into view, pulling back the mantle that had concealed his face and form. His approach is measured, deliberate, and his gaze briefly flickers to the swords you had left behind without considering they might draw his notice.

"You should have sought explanations from your wife, General Acacius," you reply, your tone calm but firm, though the effort to keep it so is greater than it seems. "It was she who instructed me, in the presence of the guards no less, to withdraw from tending to your care." His footsteps pause near the swords, his attention drawn to their gleaming edges. The air between you grows heavier as his eyes shift back to yours, narrowing slightly as he regards you. You remain steadfast, though the distance you keep from him feels tenuous, as if he could close it with the simplest of steps.

"I was not informed of such a decision; I would never have allowed my care to pass from your hands to another's," General Acacius speaks softly, his tone a mixture of calm and yearning as he moves toward you with deliberate caution, yet there is a palpable hunger in his eyes.

"General, whether you authorized it or not is irrelevant," you reply, holding your ground though the weight of his presence begins to press upon you. "Lucilla no longer wishes for us to remain close. Surely, you remember that when all this began, you told me that if your wife were ever to object to our association, even if it was merely for appearances, it would end."

Your words are firm, yet the truth they carry sinks heavily into your own heart. You know now, with certainty, that the chapter of your life entwined with Acacius is nearing its inevitable conclusion.

"Those words were spoken before we became what we are today," Acacius responds, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet intensity. "Surely you know I have no intention of abandoning you." He steps closer, his gaze unwavering, his nearness suffocating in its allure.

"Do not worry for me. Your pity is no longer necessary, Acacius," you say, though the ache in your chest betrays the pain these words bring. Deep down, you have long feared that what he felt for you stemmed from nothing but pity.

"I have never pitied you," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with conviction. "Perhaps I felt empathy for your pain in the beginning, but after that—everything was real. Your presence makes me a better man." His hand reaches up to touch your face, tenderly tracing its contours as if to soften your resolve. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, an intimate gesture meant to draw you back to him, to coax you into his embrace once more.

"You owe your loyalty to your wife, not to me," you say, your voice faltering slightly under the weight of his gaze and the warmth of his touch. "We must no longer allow ourselves to feel anything beyond what is proper, Acacius." Even as you speak, your resolve weakens beneath his touch, his words a balm and a temptation all at once. He seems heedless of your protest, intent only on closing the distance between you.

"Lucilla has my loyalty, but you... you have my protection. I will not leave you unguarded," Acacius says, his lips almost brushing against yours, his voice weighted with emotion.

"Then you should know that my loyalty is no longer yours exclusively," you reply, steadying yourself as you deliver the words. You feel the sharp recoil in Acacius as he steps back, his expression hardening, though disbelief flickers in his eyes.

"I am involved with another," you continue, forcing the lie to your lips with a strength you did not know you possessed. "It may mean that I will no longer require your protection in the future." Your words are a dagger you wield with precision, for you know that to continue as his lover would jeopardize his marriage—a risk you cannot allow, no matter the desires that linger within you.

"Who would dare attempt to claim you, knowing that you are mine?" General Acacius demands, his voice edged with irritation that betrays a rare crack in his calm demeanor. His gaze narrows, his presence no less imposing, but the fury brewing beneath his words sends a shiver through you. You realize the fire you have kindled within him may burn brighter than you anticipated.

"Someone who does not fear the wrath of General Acacius," you say, your voice steady despite the undeniable pull of his proximity. You desire him, undeniably so, but you know you must not have him.

"It is clear that our involvement must end—now. Before it concludes in disaster," you declare, watching as Acacius processes your words, his gaze shadowed with an intensity that seems both pained and unyielding.

"Then let it be clear to you," Acacius responds, his tone laced with an unwavering authority, though no threat lies in his words. "Whoever dares to encroach upon what is mine will meet the edge of my sword without delay. Our bond will not be severed while either of us draws breath, Y/N. Keep that in mind." His declaration is resolute, not spoken as a plea but as a statement of his immutable commitment to you. It leaves you breathless, the weight of his words pressing against the fortress of your resolve.

"You cannot protect me forever, Acacius. Just as I cannot heal you forever," you murmur, stepping closer, your desperation palpable as though silently begging him to release you—to let you go before you both reach a precipice from which there is no return.

"Mea domina," he whispers reverently, stepping closer and pulling down the fabric covering your shoulder with deliberate care. His lips press softly against the exposed skin, lingering as if to seal a silent vow. The tenderness in his touch conveys more devotion than desire, a gesture that leaves you caught between longing and regret.

"I would die if necessary, but I will not abandon those I hold in the highest esteem. You and Lucilla are my priorities, and I will relinquish neither of you. If you place so much faith in this new interest of yours, let him come to me bearing a sword, and he shall find his end," he declares, his voice unwavering and resolute, his words resonating like a solemn oath.

Acacius lifts his hand to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his lips trace a path of soft kisses along your temple, down to the curve of your jaw, and finally your forehead. His lips linger as if memorizing each contour of your face, avoiding your mouth deliberately—a clear boundary, or perhaps his way of expressing silent reproach for the words you have spoken. The kisses feel like a claim, yet also a farewell—his way of both cherishing and punishing, of reminding you of his commitment while withholding the one intimacy he knows you yearn for. The intensity in his gaze as he pulls back speaks volumes, as though he is willing you to see the depths of his resolve. "At times, it feels as though battle is all you truly understand, Acacius," you say, holding his gaze with a penetrating look, as if unraveling the depths of his thoughts.

"I am a man of honor," he replies, his tone firm yet measured. "I will not seek out the man who dares to involve himself with you, but neither will I stand idle should he attempt to take what is rightfully mine." His presence remains close, commanding and resolute, as though he seeks to claim not just the space but the moment itself. With deliberate care, Acacius reaches out, his hand brushing your face in a touch that is at once gentle and laden with unspoken meaning. It lingers, as if he wishes to commit every contour of your features to memory.

Without another word, he steps back, retreating from your chambers with the disciplined stride of a general accustomed to carrying the weight of empires. His departure leaves the room heavy with unresolved tension, the air thick with the echoes of what cannot be spoken. Alone, you are left to ponder the tangled web of emotions and loyalties binding you to both Acacius and Hanno. The weight of your entanglement bears down upon you, as inevitable as the arena’s call to blood and glory.

[pascaloverx]

GLADIATOR MASTERLIST

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

AO3 LINK

PREVIEW

ONE

TWO

THREE

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!

two

THREE

Something ominous looms on the horizon. For days, you have been meticulously avoiding both Acacius and Hanno—a strategy that, while effective thus far, has been anything but easy. The rumors reaching you suggest that Hanno has been pestering Ravi incessantly, demanding your presence once more. Ravi, clearly exasperated, has taken to openly complaining about being forced to mediate between your "amorous entanglements," as he puts it, since your self-imposed distance began.

You had thought your withdrawal would carry no real consequences, yet this morning proved otherwise. A messenger from the emperors arrived at your doorstep, summoning you to attend the games at the Colosseum. Apparently, Emperor Geta himself wishes to extend his gratitude for your exemplary work in tending to the gladiators—his and his brother's greatest source of entertainment.

"If you wish, I could say you are unwell," Ravi murmurs as the two of you make your way toward the Colosseum.

"I cannot risk displeasing the emperors while my standing with Acacius remains fragile," you reply, touched by Ravi's unwavering support.

"You should consider mending things with one of the men in your life, for your own sake," Ravi suggests, his tone serious, ever the wise counselor.

"Hanno remains tethered to the memory of his late wife, while General Acacius refuses to release me from our former arrangement. It seems there is no simple resolution," you respond, your voice carrying the weight of your predicament, as the imposing silhouette of the Colosseum looms ever closer.

"It would be far simpler if you weren’t so stubborn. General Acacius may no longer be the ideal choice, but you and Hanno share more in common than you’re willing to admit," Ravi says with an irritating air of wisdom.

"It would be far simpler if you ceased your obstinance. General Acacius may no longer seem ideal, yet you and Hanno share far more in common than you are willing to acknowledge," Ravi remarked, his tone laden with that infuriating wisdom he so often wielded. However, the truth stands—your union with your late husband was forged more upon the bonds of friendship than the fires of passion. Before his commitment to you, he was entangled in an affair with Emperor Caracalla. That, above all, is the most profound distinction between yourself and Hanno. You grieve the loss of a cherished companion who became your husband by circumstance, whereas Hanno mourns his wife, who was, perhaps, the great love of his life.

"I shall take your counsel into consideration, my old friend, yet I beg of you to help me survive at least this day," you say, casting an apprehensive glance toward Ravi. He halts before you, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead.

"Years ago, I vowed to your husband that I would care for you, and I shall not falter now. May the Gods watch over us," Ravi murmurs solemnly, his voice a quiet prayer as the two of you resume your path toward the arena, where the gladiators are already assembling for the commencement of the games.

Your gaze instinctively searches for Hanno, betraying a desire you would rather not acknowledge. His eyes, almost alight amidst the throng of gladiators, lock onto yours, his expression that of a man consumed by fury. You and Ravi did not take the same path as the gladiators, so it would not be prudent for you to approach him. Yet, from afar, you watch him with a quiet intensity. The courage you lack to bridge the distance is overshadowed by the boldness he possesses to close it himself.

"I shall give you a moment," Ravi murmurs, stepping aside as if sensing the gravity of the encounter. "Do not forget—Hanno may not leave the arena alive today. Be mindful to show kindness, for this could be your last exchange with him." Before you can fully process Ravi's warning, Hanno reaches you with surprising swiftness, all but sweeping you away with his commanding presence.

Hanno swiftly seized your waist with firm hands, nearly lifting you off the ground, and guided you to a secluded corner. His fury was unmistakable, reflected in the dominant grip he maintained on your waist, his hold firm enough to suggest he had no intention of letting you escape. "Have you lost your senses?" you demanded as he pressed you back against one of the great columns of the coliseum.

"I could not allow you to slip away from me again," Hanno replied, his voice low but resolute, his eyes scanning your surroundings with the precision of a predator ensuring no one dared approach.

"Our separation was necessary," you say with some difficulty, the closeness of Hanno's body to yours a maddening temptation that clouds your thoughts.

"Your master forbade you from interacting with me, and you simply obeyed, didn’t you?" Hanno says in a low, furious tone. His anger is not just visible but palpable, almost suffocating.

You seize his face with your hand, your nails pressing dangerously close to his neck. "Say once more that Acacius is my master, and I shall tear your throat out," you threaten, your voice laced with an inexplicable fury. Yet, Hanno seems to relish this, for he steps even closer, his lips curling into a wicked smile.

"I missed you, healer," Hanno replies, his eyes holding an unusual tenderness just moments before he claims your lips in a tumultuous kiss. It is as though he is consuming you, devouring you with his kiss, seeking to capture you entirely while his hands map your body with desperate reverence.

If the two of you were caught, it would mean your undoing, the end of both your lives. Yet, some part of you whispers that it would be worth it. In truth, if death awaited you for this, a kiss alone would not suffice. Each second his tongue dances with yours stirs a longing so deep it borders on madness. You yearn for him to take you, right here and now, for the feel of him within you seems the only desire worthy of risking everything. "Do not die today, gladiator," you murmur against his lips as they part, allowing you both to catch your breath.

"It will not be I who dies today, healer," Hanno says, his voice steady, before capturing your lips once more, this time with tenderness rather than desire. His grip on you tightens, as though he wishes to sink his hands into your very being, to keep your body close to his for all eternity.

"I only hope you can forgive me for what I am about to do," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. Before you can respond, one of the gladiators calls his name, and he steps away. An unease settles in your chest, fear creeping in as you wonder what he might be planning. Yet, the weight of your obligations presses against your thoughts—you must make your way to the emperors without delay.

"For what reason is the healer present here?" Lucilla, seated beside Acacius, questions sharply as you approach the section where they, the emperors, and other guests await the spectacle.

"The healer is my guest, Lucilla," Emperor Geta interjects swiftly, extending his hand toward you in expectation. Dutifully, you step forward and kiss it. Moments later, Emperor Caracalla mimics his brother’s gesture, and you lean in to kiss his hand as well.

As you rise, your gaze catches the familiar figure of Dondus, the small monkey, bounding toward you with recognition in his bright eyes. Memories of the time you were compelled to remain near the emperors, so Caracalla could indulge his desires with your late husband, flood back unbidden. "He still remembers you," Caracalla exclaims, his voice carrying an unusual note of delight as he grasps your hand.

"It is an honor to be here," you reply evenly, though the weight of his touch stirs emotions you work hard to suppress. Behind your composed words lingers the haunting memory of the cold efficiency with which Caracalla and his brother had ordered your husband's death—right here in this very arena.

"We have been separated by the misfortunes imposed upon us by the Gods, but I believe a new chapter is now opening for us, as your skills as a healer have not gone unnoticed. Hands as talented as yours deserve to care for the well-being of emperors, my dear," Geta declares, his gaze lingering on you with a fervent intensity that borders on desire. You struggle to mask the fear swirling within you, wondering what fate the Gods have in store for you next.

The weight of his words settles heavily on your chest, but before you can gather your thoughts, General Acacius rises abruptly and moves toward the two of you. Your hand lightly grazes the fabric of his attire, halting his approach. "Is there a matter of concern, General?" Emperor Caracalla inquires, his tone laced with an air of amusement, as his fingers idly stroke Dondus, who appears entirely at ease in his presence.

"There is no matter of concern, Emperor Caracalla," General Acacius responds, his hand firmly clasping yours against his chest beneath the folds of his vestment, his piercing gaze directed at the two emperors with the weight of an unspoken warning.

“Our most illustrious general appears perturbed that we extended an invitation to his mistress to grace these games in our company without first seeking his counsel,” Emperor Geta declares with an air of calculated provocation, his words laden with mockery. The faintest smirk curls his lips, as if relishing the tension he seeks to sow.

"Ah, brother, such concerns would trouble him only if he were entangled with her. Yet rumors abound that they no longer seek solace in each other's embrace and that she is no longer charged with tending to the wounds of our noble General," Emperor Caracalla remarks, his words clearly meant to provoke. However, his statement seems to have unsettled Lucilla, who shifts restlessly in her seat.

"Brother, remember that we ought not lend credence to idle gossip," Emperor Geta interjects, rising with an air of authority. "If our esteemed General Acacius insists that we disregard his lover, let him convince us that their bond remains intact. Otherwise, let him return to his rightful place beside his wife, and allow my brother and me the honor of tending to the fair healer." As Geta’s words echo, Acacius turns his gaze toward you, his eyes locking with yours in a silent exchange. Without hesitation, he pulls your face toward his, as though intending to kiss you before the eyes of all assembled.

"Do not sacrifice your marriage for me," you murmur, your voice trembling as the weight of the moment threatens to bring tears to your eyes. The inevitability of what you feared is now unfolding before you—Acacius can no longer shield you.

"You are worthy of such a sacrifice, mea domina," General Acacius murmurs near your ear, his hand gently caressing your face. His touch carries a tenderness that momentarily threatens to weaken your resolve. Yet, you grasp his hands, steadying yourself, and move them away from your face, refusing to yield to the moment. There is a depth to your bond with Acacius, a connection forged in unspoken understanding, but you cannot bring yourself to jeopardize him.

"Perhaps it would be wiser to let the healer decide where she wishes to remain," you say, your voice steady, masking the longing within you to leave this place with Acacius. Turning toward Emperor Geta, who now sits observing the exchange with keen interest alongside his brother, Caracalla. Without hesitation, Geta seizes the opportunity, pulling you onto his lap with a self-assured ease that leaves no doubt of his authority.

Your gaze meets that of General Acacius, whose displeasure grows ever more evident. His clenched fists and the tension in his posture betray the storm brewing within him. "I believe the games are about to begin, dear General Acacius," Emperor Geta states with a sly smile, his hand firmly resting on your waist to solidify his claim. "It would be most appropriate for you to take your seat and enjoy the spectacle." His words carry a subtle provocation, a challenge cloaked in politeness.

Acacius lingers, his body taut with restraint as though weighing the consequences of striking an emperor in defense of his pride. Just as the tension threatens to boil over, Macrinus approaches, his demeanor lively and oblivious to the undercurrents. "Ah, are we all ready to witness the might of my beast? My gladiator returns to the arena today!" Macrinus exclaims, his excitement cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade.

Acacius hesitates, his head tilting as though he is torn, unwilling to move from your side while you remain seated on Emperor Geta’s lap. Yet, Lucilla intervenes, her steps measured as she approaches her husband. She takes his hand with a quiet resolve, guiding him back to her side. A flicker of disappointment stirs within you, faint but undeniable. What else could you have expected? Acacius has always belonged to her, to duty, to the empire. He has never truly been yours.

The tension lingers only a moment longer before the spectacle claims everyone’s attention. The gates to the coliseum creak open, and the gladiators march into the arena. Yet something is amiss. Their faces are obscured, smeared with what appears to be blood, masking their identities. For those with inattentive eyes, it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish one from another. But not for you. No, Hanno’s eyes—those piercing, tempestuous eyes—are burned into your memory like the sharp point of a blade embedded deep into flesh. Even amid the chaos, they find you, unyielding and unforgettable.

"Macrinus, what are the gladiators scheming?" Emperor Caracalla asks, his words slurred as he drinks from his goblet, already appearing too inebriated to speak coherently.

"My esteemed Emperor Caracalla, I have no knowledge of their schemes, but I trust it is all in service of your entertainment," Macrinus responds, his gaze fixed intently on the gladiators below. He observes them with a sharpness that contrasts Caracalla's indifference, his expression unreadable.

Your eyes instinctively seek out General Acacius, silently willing him to understand that something is amiss. He meets your gaze, his brow furrowed as though catching the silent warning you convey.

"You seem unsettled, healer," Emperor Geta murmurs into your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "I am not accustomed to watching gladiators face one another, Emperor," you reply, steadying your voice. "I am more familiar with mending their wounds when they survive." The truth, however, weighs heavier on your mind—Hanno is planning something, and whatever it is, it may cost Acacius his life. A fate you cannot allow.

"Do not fret," Geta coos, lifting your chin with a deliberate gentleness that feels almost mocking. His eyes search yours, a predator relishing his control. "Guards, increase vigilance near the gladiators!" he commands suddenly, his voice sharp and resonant, slicing through the murmurs of the spectators.

"Emperor, it may not be wise to leave yourself so unguarded," General Acacius interjects, his tone firm yet controlled as he observes the guards dispersing to obey Geta's orders.

"And what greater protection could Rome offer than you, General?" Geta retorts with a smug smile, his grip on you tightening slightly, as though to assert his dominance. The tension is palpable, yet it is quickly eclipsed by the spectacle unfolding in the arena. The gates groan open once more, and three lions emerge, their emaciated forms a testament to their hunger. Their roars echo across the coliseum, a feral sound that sets the crowd alight with excitement. The gladiators ready themselves, their movements deliberate, each one measured and precise.

Your heart tightens as Hanno shouts to the other gladiators, "Remember our plan! Our enemy lies far beyond the arena!" Surely, he is plotting something, yet his precision in leading the gladiators against the lions is extraordinary. It is as if Hanno is channeling his spirit animal, his movements instinctive and deliberate.

Blood is everywhere—some gladiators brutally slaughtered by the lions. Two of the beasts have already been defeated when a revolt begins, chaos erupting as the third lion aids the gladiators in breaking through the arena gates. Suddenly, the tension in the air thickens. Panic spreads as the guards scramble to escort the emperors away from the scene.

Caught in the fray, you find yourself swept along with Emperors Geta and Caracalla, fate conspiring against you. In the madness, you lose sight of Acacius amidst the swarm of guards and gladiators. The tumult escalates into full-blown chaos until a voice pierces through the din, crying out, "Protect the Emperor!"

Before you can react, you feel the sharp pain of a blade slicing through your skin—or perhaps plunging into it. You cannot tell. Dazed, you glance down to see your blood staining your garments, and when you lift your gaze, you meet the eyes of your assailant. Hanno's eyes. You are certain.

The attack meant for Emperor Geta has struck you instead, delivered by the very man who has awakened feelings you dare not name. Tears well in your eyes as you feel your strength waning, your consciousness slipping into darkness.

[pascaloverx]

WARNING

Happy to announce that the fanfic starve and babyboy will receive more chapters soon, I hope you continue reading them. Also let me know your thoughts about one or both the fanfics, I want to know if the fact that you are getting a love triangle in "starve" is interesting OR if the fact that maybe you will get to be a lover for Nicholas in "babyboy" can be good or... you know.

comment here if you are reading any of these fanfics

[andy-15-07]

Paul Mescal Masterlist

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

Lucius Verus

An heir of Rome

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

Paul Mescal

A Night to Remember

Movie Night Comforts

Two Souls, One Heart

Puppies, Promises, and Pure Joy

Whispers in the Dark