#lucius verus x fem! reader

[fawninthesnow]

𐙚 Gilded Charm: Gladiator II One Shot 𐙚

Lucius Verus x fem reader!

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

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

Word count: 1.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I swear.”

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

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

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

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

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

“L- Lucius, please, your fingers.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to get fucked or not?”

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

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

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

“Mhhh!”

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

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[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.”

[radawaycunt]

Aqua Thermae

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Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

-----------

It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes. 

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone. 

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire. 

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along. 

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase. 

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along. 

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip. 

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too. 

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you. 

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements. 

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock. 

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily. 

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse. 

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression. 

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

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

[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.

[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."

[multific]

The Gladiator’s Empress

Lucius Verus x Reader

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

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

A story of determination and skill. 

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

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

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

You had a specific place where you liked to sit.

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

They were for you. 

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

Fear filled your heart when you heard the news. 

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

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

A nice piece by his side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words were unexpected, and you found yourself speechless. 

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

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

Lucius smiled faintly, his eyes never leaving yours. 

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

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

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

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

"I greatly appreciate the chance, My Lady." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Lucius. I will marry you.”

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

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

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

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

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

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

[thedancingcostumeyoungadult]

From the Grave - Lucius Verus Aurelius x fem!Reader

A man returned from the dead, a childhood ghost made flesh again

Contents: Lucius Verus x fem!Reader, childhood friends reunited, angst, comfort

Word count: 1.5k

~~

Rome is fickle, it is her way, but even then the fall of the mad twin emperors Geta and Caracalla was a sobering moment. Tyrants they were, and you were far from mourning them, but still the future lay uncertain in the hands of a mystery. The truest shock, however, came with the whisperings of a name, one from a far distant misty past. 

“What did you say?” You don’t mean to, but your astonished question startles the girl in the doorway, who draws away, apologies already pouring forth as she ducks her head.

“I’m sorry my lady I-“ 

“No, no, it’s alright,” you raise your hand in an attempt to calm her, “I just-“ your voice catches in your throat and you blink, trying to reel in your unruly thoughts. “Did you say Aurelius?” 

~

The light chill of the evening rushes over your arms as you practically run through the atrium of your house, blood pounding in your ears in time with your footfalls on the tile floor. Your hair whips around your shoulders as you look into rooms, an edge bordering on frantic coloring your voice as you call out.

“Drusus!” A door just ahead of you flies open and your brother steps out, on edge as he reaches to the sword by his door.

“What’s wrong?” You reach him in just a few more steps, grabbing his arm to pull him with you.

“We must go to Rome.” He plants his feet like an obstinate mule, causing you to whirl on him, your other hand joining the first as you give him another pull. His face is full of confusion as he studies you and you’re sure you must seem like you’ve gone mad.

“What are you talking about? Why?” Words you’d never even dreamed you’d say again crack in the air as you say them, turning his expression to one of stunned disbelief.

“It’s Lucius.”

~

So many long years had passed since you’d walked these halls, it feels like the strange echo of a dream that lingers after you’ve awoken. The attendant at your side seems to fade away, lost among the whispers of memory that tug at you from every corner and hidden nook of the house of Lucilla Aurelius. The two days’ journey from your home had given you plenty of time to turn over every memory of the boy you’d known in childhood. How many mornings and afternoons had you spent chasing back and forth over these tiles? How many mornings had dawned since? Nervous pressure rises in your chest as you get closer, to what you’re still not sure you know the nature of. How do you know he’ll remember you? Will he care? Is it even him? 

The abrupt halt of the attendant shakes you, drawing you back from the depths of your jumbling mind. Ahead of you is an open door, voices filtering through from the room beyond. The woman who had guided you here disappears as quietly as she’d walked beside you, leaving you and your thrumming heartbeat to stare at the man seated inside. TIme is like honey around you as you take him in. You don’t know this man, broad-shouldered and statuesque, cut in sharp relief by the firelight. And then you see his eyes as he smiles and yes, you do know him, somewhere deep and untouched for the lifetime that sat between you two, you know him. Something in your chest reacts, a choking sob jerking painfully from you as you step backwards, deeper into the shadows. You can’t go in there and pretend like what you’re feeling is anything less than burying you so you turn and retreat, tears flowing hot down your cheeks as you go. 

Lucius doesn’t know if what he’d seen was a ghost, a woman draped in fluttering ruby silk, a shade that slips into the dark just as soon as she’d appeared but his body is moving before he can truly consider it, excusing himself to follow what might as well be an apparition. But he knows that face, he knows it and it’s shaken him to his core. In the hallway he catches the flash of fabric as a figure turns a corner ahead. He rushes towards it, the name he calls out all too familiar and all too strange in his voice. 

The sound of it makes you freeze, stopping dead as footsteps sound behind you. You manage to turn just as he comes into view and stops as well. Between you the hallway stretches into miles yet you burn under his gaze, your heart crashing against your ribs. His chest rises and falls under his tunic and his hands flex slightly at his sides. He stands like a warrior, you notice, but there too is a trace of hopefulness, of a vulnerability that tugs your heart.  

In turn Lucius’ heart nearly stops in his chest when he sees you, solid and living, not a shade at all but standing in his home once again like it was just days before that you’d last been there. Your cheeks shine with tears as you look back at him. He’d had a vision like this a million times after that day in the arena that had torn his world apart, a vision of you in his home, welcoming him. As the years had worn on he’d folded those ideas up and hid them away, new ones rising to take their place. His chest is full of a relieved kind of disbelief that sounds in the only words he can find.

“It’s been a long time.” 

 A smile breaks across your face for a split second and it’s as though the words turn a tide and he’s being dragged along, feet carrying him towards you as yours do the same, his eyes stinging as though from a salt breeze. You collide with him just a little too hard, driving a surprised huff from him as you throw your arms around his shoulders while his wrap around your waist, a large hand pressing between your shoulder blades as he tucks his face against your shoulder. Until then you’d been considering that you still may be dreaming, that you might wake and he would still be a distant memory. But now you feel him, strong and very, very alive, and the full weight of sixteen years floods through you. Fresh tears rush to your eyes, your throat aching as you swallow against them, reeling with emotions all jumbled together as your hand cradles the back of his head. 

“It is you.” Lucius starts at the way your voice trembles and the fitful rhythm of your breath against his palm, quickly taking you by the shoulders and holding you gently away from him so as to see your face. You cannot bring your gaze to his, suddenly overwhelmed with the loss of him all over again as though a long healed bone had been broken again to be set right. 

You want to scream, the way you had when they’d said he was dead, your legs threatening to give out just as they had then too. But his hands, warm on your shoulders even through the fabric draped around you, splint the break and you keep your footing somehow.

“I thought you were-” You suck in a ragged breath, fingers curling around his wrist like he might fade away if you don’t hold him there, “I mourned you, I-” At last you raise your eyes to his and find a sheen of tears to match your own.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wish to cause you pain.” Sincerity fills his expression and your heart breaks for him again, and then again even further when he continues, low and quiet in the torchlit hall. “I didn’t have a choice.” 

Through your tears you take the opportunity to study him up close, your hand reaching tentatively towards his face. He blinks rapidly at the barest brush of your fingertips on his cheek that knocks his breath uneven. You can see only flickers of the boy he was, but he's there in the furrow of his brow, the tilt of his head as he regards you with similar interest. Up close his eyes are older, sadder, but still his. 

“What happened?” 

“Too much.” He shakes his head at the same time he gives your shoulder a squeeze, “At least for right now.” His hands fall away from you and you miss them in the same second, feeling your stomach drop a little when he clasps your hand that was still raised by his face with both of his for a brief second. You return the squeeze, offering him a small smile. A silent agreement passes between you to leave the grief for another time. As your hand leaves his you bring it to your face, wiping your tears dry before tucking it away in the folds of your clothes. Looking back at him, a glint crosses your eye as you tilt your head to regard him with a lightly critical eye.

“When did you grow curls?”

~~

Thank you so much for reading it means so much to me I hope you enjoyed!! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Tell me what you thought I'd love to hear it ❤️

[infin1ty-garden]

How about Lucius x Acacius’ daughter

୭🧷✧˚. AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

⋆｡°✩ summary: "I’ve never kissed a emperor." Lucius sneaks away from his duties as emperor to see you ⋆｡°✩ pairing: emperor! lucius verus x marcus' daughter! reader ⋆｡°✩ warnings: * historically inaccurate * ⋆｡°✩ word count: very short ⋆｡°✩ author note: requests for gladiator II are OPEN!

masterlist.

You didn't expect Lucius to even remember you, let alone wanting to keep your arranged marriage. It had been made years ago when you and lucius were only five years old, you were promised to one another. Once you heard of his return and subsequent new emperor, again the last thing you thought was an invitation to meet with him.

It must be a mistake.

"It was no mistake. I have not forgotten the promise my mother and your father had made and I intend to keep it." He takes your hands in his. His eyes were the purest blue as if you were staring at the sky itself, never ending. "If you wish it?" You were speechless, so much had happened and changed. He started to let go of your hands, only for you to intertwine your hands.

"I thought you'd forgotten about me." He shook his head. "Never."

Your father was the happiest once, he was told about your engagement. You two spent a lot of your free time together. Lucius had an annoying habit of sneaking away during the times he found most boring. He would always go to you, to a point that Lucille didn't have to worry about where he was.

"I missed you," he said as he wrapped his arms around, leaving a trail of kisses on the side of your face. "You were with me yesterday." He spun you while saying. "Yes, yesterday. Too much time apart I would say," he finally kissed you. "I would say you're spending too much time with me. You have an empire to rule."

"I'd rather kiss you," he smiled as bright as the sun. "I’ve never kissed an emperor." He kissed you yet again.

Thanks for reading & requesting!

[astrids-blog333]

Before the Fall

Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fiancé!Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

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

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

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

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 3.5k

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

But here, above it all, it’s quiet.

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

Lucius stands in the doorway, watching you.

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

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

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

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

You smile faintly. “Dangerous habit.”

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

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

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

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

You sigh, resting your hands over his.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re biased.”

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

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

You don’t stop him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say something,” you whisper.

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

“You’re thinking again,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

You feel his restraint like a coiled spring.

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t take you to bed, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t see Lucius.

Lucius sees him.

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

When you glance up, Lucius is already watching Severan.

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

Lucius exhales.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, that ran out weeks ago.”

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

“Because you’re pretty.”

He arches a brow. “Pretty?”

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

“Moodier?” He feigns offence.

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

“I prefer commanding.”

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

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

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

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

The silence stretches, but something shifts.

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

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

Lucius’s head snaps toward you.

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

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

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

Lucius roars for the guards.

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

You hear your name. Over and over again.

“Stay with me. Stay with me.”

Then darkness.

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

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

Lucius has not moved from your side.

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

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

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

Behind him, the guards wait, silent. Tense.

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

Ravi looks up.

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

The guards bow and vanish like shadows.

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

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

The palace is hushed.

Not in reverence, not in mourning. In fear.

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

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

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

Fool.

Lucius opens the door himself.

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

Of course he doesn’t.

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

Lucius says nothing.

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

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

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

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucius stills.

Then he smiles. A thin, terrible smile.

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

Severan doesn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You deserve to bleed.”

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

“No.”

Lucius cuts.

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

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

Lucius watches him fall. Watches him die.

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

Then he stands.

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

Lucius exhales once, sharp and unsteady.

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

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

And left death in his wake.

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

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

There’s a hand in yours.

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

Lucius.

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

His head jerks up.

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

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

“Lucius,” you rasp, barely a sound.

He’s already moving.

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t move-”

“I need to touch you,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

“How long?” you ask.

“Three days.”

You blink. “You haven’t slept.”

“No,” he says, without shame.

Silence falls.

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

You smile, weak but real.

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

His jaw clenches.

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

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

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

You close your eyes.

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

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

You swallow. “Lucius-”

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

“You think there are more?”

“There are always more.”

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

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

But he’s still yours.

��Come here,” you say softly.

Lucius hesitates, just for a second.

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

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

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

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

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

“I want the dress with the pearls.”

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

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

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

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

Still yours.

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

[lonewolfwriting89]

1] DIVINE EMBERS

Lucius Verus x Oracle!Reader

Summary: During a sacred ritual, you are struck by a vivid vision of Lucius Verus, a man you have never met. The vision shifts from a plea for guidance to an intimate and forbidden connection.

Warnings: Suggestive content, hints at smut, nothing too graphic.

A/N: Let me know what you think ❤️🏛️

———

Seek not to know, for knowing is forbidden by fate. Non licet, scire nefas.

———

The temple of Apollo was silent save for the crackle of the sacred fire, its golden light casting flickering shadows against the marble walls. The incense-heavy air was thick with the weight of devotion, your body bowed low before the altar as you murmured the familiar prayers. Tonight, you sought clarity for Rome, a future shrouded in uncertainty after the twin emperors deaths and the growing unrest threatening to engulf the empire. As the oracle of this temple, it was your duty to serve as a bridge between the divine and mortal realms, a task that came with equal parts honor and burden.

You let the rhythmic cadence of your prayers carry you deeper into the ritual, the cool marble beneath your knees grounding you as you prepared to open yourself to the gods’ will. The flickering flames grew brighter, their light intensifying until your closed eyelids were bathed in gold. Then came the familiar hum of divine energy, a vibration that reverberated through your bones and signaled the gods’ presence. You inhaled sharply, ready to receive their vision, though nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

At first, the images were fragmented, colours and shapes that refused to solidify. But then, with startling clarity, a man emerged from the haze. He stood tall, his frame cloaked in a dark mantle, his features illuminated by the same golden light that surrounded you. His eyes were striking, piercing through the vision to lock onto yours with an intensity that sent an unfamiliar warmth coursing through your veins. His name echoed in your mind: Lucius Verus. You’d never met him, but you knew who he was—a rising figure in the aftermath of the twins terror, one many whispered might guide Rome into a new era.

In the vision, Lucius approached you, his expression heavy with the weight of unspoken burdens. “I seek your guidance,” he said, his voice low but rich, like the steady rumble of thunder before a storm. His words carried a gravity that made you lean closer, your lips parting to respond. But before you could speak, the vision shifted abruptly, pulling you into a new scene with a force that left you disoriented.

You found yourself in an unfamiliar chamber, one bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through sheer curtains. The air was warmer, heavier, and your heart began to race as you realized you were no longer standing. You lay reclined on a bed draped in silken sheets, your body covered only by the flimsy barrier of a scarlet cloth that barely concealed the curves of your form. Before you could process the sudden intimacy of the scene, you felt his presence again.

Lucius was there, his face mere inches from yours, his dark eyes filled with something primal and consuming. His hand cupped your cheek, the roughness of his palm contrasting with the tenderness of his touch. When his lips met yours, it was as if the air itself ignited, the kiss searing in its intensity. His other hand traced the curve of your shoulder, his fingers trailing down the line of your collarbone before brushing the edge of the sheet that covered you. The sensation burned through your blood, awakening desires you’d long buried beneath your devotion to the gods.

You should have resisted, should have pulled away, but in that moment, nothing else existed but the weight of his body and the way it pressed into yours, anchoring you to the bed. His breath was warm against your neck, his lips tracing a path along your jawline as your own hands moved instinctively to grip his shoulders. It was a dance of fire and need, your bodies entwined as though the gods themselves had written this moment into the stars.

But the pleasure did not last. The warmth of his touch was suddenly replaced by a suffocating heat, and you gasped as the chamber dissolved into chaos. Flames erupted around you, consuming the silken sheets and climbing the walls like ravenous beasts. Smoke choked the air, and the once-gentle light of the vision turned into a violent inferno. Over the roar of the fire, whispers began to swirl, harsh and accusing.

“Defiler.”

“Betrayer.”

“Doom.”

The words lashed at you like a whip, the voices of the gods filled with wrath and warning. The scene blurred and fractured, pulling you out of the intimate embrace and back into the temple with such force that you stumbled backward, your breathing ragged. You reached out blindly, your fingers clutching the edge of the altar as you fought to steady yourself. The fire before you burned calmly again, the temple’s silence now oppressive in contrast to the chaos you’d just witnessed.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the echoes of the vision still vivid in your mind. The taste of Lucius’s kiss lingered on your lips, as real as the cool air now brushing against your flushed skin. You swallowed hard, shaking your head as if the motion could dispel the heat pooling in your stomach. But the gods’ warning was impossible to ignore. The vision had been clear: this connection, this undeniable pull toward Lucius Verus, would lead to destruction. Yet how could you resist when his presence burned through you even now?

You sank to your knees, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the stone. The gods had sent you a message, but they hadn’t revealed what to do next. Should you seek Lucius and warn him of the danger, or would your mere presence set the vision into motion? The weight of the decision pressed down on you, and for the first time in your life, you questioned whether you could truly bear the burden of being the gods’ chosen voice.

Alone in the sacred stillness, your whispered prayer broke the silence. “What am I to do?” But no answer came, only the faint crackle of the flames and the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin.

———

[pinterestanddaydreaming]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n blinked. “Sorry, do I know you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End of Chapter 1

tags - @bad-grammer

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

[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

[radawaycunt]

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.”

------

[andy-15-07]

The Emperor's Healer

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 3616 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The midday sun cast long shadows across the marble courtyard of the palace. Y/n, her hands stained with herbs and her brow beaded with sweat, knelt beside a wounded legionary. Her fingers, deft and gentle, probed the angry gash in his arm, tracing the path of the barbarian’s blade. She murmured soothing words in rapid Latin, her voice a balm to the man’s pained whimpers.

Lucius Verus Aurelius, heir to the Roman Empire, watched from the shaded portico. He had seen many healers in his time, men and women skilled in the art of mending flesh. But there was something different about Y/n. It wasn’t just her skill, though that was undeniable. It was the compassion that shone in her eyes, the unwavering focus on the patient before her, the way she seemed to pour her very essence into the act of healing.

He had been drawn to her from the moment he first saw her tending to a fallen gladiator in the arena infirmary. The brutal spectacle of the games usually left him cold, but her presence had been a spark of humanity in the midst of the carnage. He had found himself lingering, watching her move with a quiet grace amidst the chaos, her face a mask of serene concentration.

Now, as he observed her in the courtyard, a strange restlessness stirred within him. He was a man accustomed to command, to the weight of empire resting on his young shoulders. Yet, in the presence of this unassuming healer, he felt… lighter. As if the burden of his destiny could be momentarily set aside.

He straightened his toga and descended the steps, his sandals echoing on the marble. Y/n glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. She recognized the imperial insignia on his tunic.

“Your Highness,” she murmured, rising to her feet. She kept her voice respectful but without the excessive deference he was used to. It was a subtle difference, but it intrigued him.

“Please, continue your work,” Lucius said, gesturing towards the wounded soldier. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting.”

Y/n hesitated, then nodded and returned to her patient. Lucius watched as she resumed her ministrations, her touch feather-light as she applied a poultice to the wound.

“He will recover,” she said quietly, without looking up. “The wound is deep, but not fatal.”

“You are skilled,” Lucius observed.

“I have had good teachers,” Y/n replied, her voice neutral.

Lucius leaned against a nearby column, crossing his arms. “And what of you? Where did you learn your art?”

“From my mother,” Y/n said. “She was a healer in our village.”

“And your father?”

“He was a farmer.”

Lucius nodded slowly. He sensed a reticence in her, a subtle barrier she had erected. He was intrigued, not deterred.

“Tell me,” he said, changing tack. “What is the most challenging aspect of your work?”

Y/n finally looked up, her gaze meeting his. “The most challenging?” she echoed thoughtfully. “It is not the wounds themselves, Your Highness. It is the… the spirit. Sometimes, the body heals, but the spirit remains broken. That is the hardest thing to mend.”

Lucius considered her words. He had seen firsthand the toll that violence and hardship could take on a man’s spirit. He understood what she meant.

“And how do you mend a broken spirit?” he asked.

Y/n smiled faintly. “With kindness,” she said. “With compassion. With the understanding that even the strongest among us can be vulnerable.”

Lucius found himself drawn to her, not just by her skill and her compassion, but by her quiet strength. She was a woman of simple origins, yet she possessed a wisdom that surpassed his own.

He began to seek her out. He would find her in the infirmary, tending to the sick and injured. He would encounter her in the gardens, gathering herbs and flowers. He would even contrive to be “injured” – a minor scrape on his hand, a sudden “illness” – just to have an excuse to speak with her.

At first, their conversations were formal, constrained by the rigid protocols of the court. But slowly, as Lucius persisted, a fragile connection began to form between them. He learned about her life in the village, her love for her family, her dreams of one day establishing her own healing practice. She, in turn, learned about his struggles with the responsibilities of his position, the loneliness that often accompanied his imperial mantle.

One evening, Lucius found Y/n in the palace library, poring over a scroll. The library was his sanctuary, a place where he could escape the pressures of court life. He was surprised to find her there.

“You read?” he asked, approaching her.

Y/n looked up, startled. “Your Highness,” she murmured, quickly rising to her feet.

“Please,” Lucius said, waving his hand dismissively. “You needn’t be so formal when we are alone.”

Y/n hesitated, then sat back down, though she remained tense.

“I… I learned to read from the village priest,” she explained. “He was a kind man.”

Lucius nodded. He picked up the scroll she had been reading. It was a treatise on medicinal herbs.

“You are dedicated to your craft,” he observed.

“It is more than a craft, Your Highness,” Y/n said quietly. “It is my calling.”

Lucius looked at her, his gaze lingering on her face. He saw the passion in her eyes, the unwavering commitment to her work. He saw something else there as well, something that stirred a warmth within him.

“Y/n,” he said softly, using her name for the first time. “You are a remarkable woman.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed slightly. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

Lucius reached out and gently took her hand. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his touch.

“I… I have come to admire you,” he confessed. “More than you know.”

Y/n finally looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Your Highness…” she began, but Lucius placed a finger to her lips, silencing her.

“Please,” he said. “Call me Lucius.”

From that moment on, their relationship began to change. They spent more time together, sharing meals, taking walks in the palace gardens, talking for hours about everything and nothing. Lucius found himself falling in love with Y/n, with her intelligence, her compassion, her unwavering spirit.

He knew that their relationship was unconventional, that it would raise eyebrows and cause whispers in the court. But he didn’t care. He was the heir to the Roman Empire, and he had finally found someone who saw him not as a prince, but as a man.

One starlit night, Lucius led Y/n to a secluded balcony overlooking the city. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of the city.

He turned to her, his heart pounding in his chest. He took both of her hands in his.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice husky with emotion. “I… I love you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Lucius,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I…”

“Don’t say anything,” he said, interrupting her. “Just… let me say what I need to say.”

He knelt down on one knee, much to her surprise. He pulled a small, intricately carved wooden box from his tunic. He opened it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Y/n gasped. She stared at him, her eyes filled with disbelief and joy.

“Lucius,” she finally managed to say, her voice choked with emotion. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

Lucius rose to his feet and slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. He pulled her close and kissed her, a kiss that spoke of love, of longing, of a future they would build together.

The announcement of Lucius and Y/n's betrothal sent ripples of shock and excitement through the Roman court. Some whispered in disapproval, citing Y/n's common birth and lack of noble lineage. Others, more pragmatic, recognized the genuine affection between the couple and hoped for a positive influence on the young emperor. Lucius, however, remained resolute. He would not be swayed by the murmurs of discontent. He loved Y/n, and that was all that mattered.

The preparations for the wedding began swiftly. The palace buzzed with activity. Seamstresses worked tirelessly on Y/n’s bridal gown, a masterpiece of shimmering silk, embroidered with delicate silver thread. Jewelers crafted a diadem of interwoven flowers and leaves, a symbol of Y/n’s connection to nature and healing. The grand hall of the palace was transformed into a breathtaking spectacle, adorned with garlands of fragrant blossoms and illuminated by thousands of flickering candles.

Y/n, despite the whirlwind of activity, remained grounded. She was grateful for the love and support of her family, who had been brought to Rome for the occasion. She missed her mother dearly, but she knew her spirit was with her. She also found solace in the company of Lucius. He would often steal away from the official duties to spend a few quiet moments with her, reassuring her and calming her nerves.

“Are you nervous?” he asked one afternoon, finding her in the palace gardens, amidst the fragrant rose bushes.

Y/n turned, a soft smile gracing her lips. “A little,” she admitted. “It is all so… grand.”

Lucius took her hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. “It is grand because it is for you,” he said. “You deserve all the beauty and splendor this world can offer.”

Y/n squeezed his hand, her heart swelling with love. “All I need is you, Lucius,” she whispered.

Lucius smiled, pulling her close. “And you have me,” he promised. “Always.”

The day of the wedding arrived, bathed in the golden light of the Roman sun. The streets leading to the palace were thronged with citizens, eager to catch a glimpse of the imperial couple. Inside the palace, the atmosphere was electric with anticipation.

Y/n, radiant in her bridal gown, walked slowly down the aisle, her father by her side. Her gaze was fixed on Lucius, who stood at the altar, his eyes filled with love and admiration. He was a vision of imperial splendor in his ceremonial toga, but it was the warmth in his eyes that truly captivated her.

The ceremony was a blend of ancient Roman traditions and personal touches. The high priest officiated, reciting the sacred vows. Lucius and Y/n exchanged rings, symbols of their eternal commitment. And then, they were pronounced husband and wife.

A roar of approval erupted from the assembled guests. Lucius took Y/n in his arms and kissed her, a kiss that sealed their love in the eyes of the world.

The celebrations that followed were lavish and joyous. Feasts were held, music filled the air, and dancers twirled in vibrant costumes. Lucius and Y/n moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and best wishes. They were the picture of happiness, their love radiating outwards, touching all those around them.

As the day drew to a close, Lucius and Y/n slipped away from the festivities, seeking a moment of quiet together. They found themselves on the balcony where Lucius had first proposed, overlooking the city bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight.

“It is beautiful,” Y/n murmured, gazing at the twinkling lights below.

“Yes,” Lucius agreed, wrapping his arms around her. “But not as beautiful as you.”

Y/n leaned her head against his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips. “I still can’t believe it,” she said. “I am your wife.”

Lucius chuckled softly. “Believe it,” he said. “Because it is true. And it is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

He turned her to face him, his eyes filled with tenderness. “Y/n,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I promise to love you, to cherish you, to honor you, for all the days of my life.”

Y/n’s eyes welled up with tears of happiness. “And I promise to love you, Lucius,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “With all my heart, for all eternity.”

They kissed, a kiss that spoke of their deep and abiding love, a love that had defied convention and blossomed against all odds. They were Lucius and Y/n, emperor and healer, husband and wife. And their love story, a testament to the power of the human heart, was just beginning.

The wedding feast dwindled, the boisterous music softened to a gentle melody, and the last of the well-wishers offered their congratulations. Lucius, his arm possessively around Y/n’s waist, felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with a tender affection. He glanced at his bride, her eyes sparkling with happiness and a hint of shy nervousness. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Are you ready, my love?”

Y/n blushed, but nodded, her hand tightening on his. She was nervous, yes, but also filled with a deep longing for the man she now called her husband.

They slipped away unnoticed, hand in hand, and made their way to the imperial bedchamber. It was a lavish room, decorated with rich tapestries and furnished with a magnificent four-poster bed. But tonight, it was not the opulence that mattered, but the intimacy it represented.

Lucius closed the door behind them, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. He turned to Y/n, his gaze filled with warmth and desire. He reached out and gently untied the intricate fastenings of her bridal gown, his fingers brushing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

Y/n stood still, her heart pounding in her chest, as Lucius slowly undressed her. She felt a mixture of shyness and excitement as his eyes traveled over her body, lingering on her curves. When she was finally free of her gown, she stood before him in a delicate silk chemise, her skin glowing in the soft candlelight.

Lucius’s breath hitched. He had never seen her so beautiful, so vulnerable. He reached out and gently cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks.

“You are breathtaking,” he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Y/n’s eyes met his, and she saw the depth of his love reflected in their depths. She reached up and touched his face, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

“And you are magnificent,” she replied, her voice soft and breathy.

Lucius leaned in and kissed her, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of the deep connection between them. It was a kiss that promised passion, intimacy, and a lifetime of love.

He broke the kiss and gently lifted her into his arms. Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his. He carried her to the bed and laid her down gently.

He undressed quickly, his movements urgent but careful. He didn’t want to rush this, but he couldn’t deny the burning desire that consumed him. He wanted to possess her, to merge with her, to become one with her.

He lay down beside her, his body close but not touching. He wanted to give her time, to let her adjust to this new intimacy. He reached out and took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.

Y/n nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and desire. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want this, Lucius. I want you.”

Lucius smiled, relief washing over him. He leaned in and kissed her again, this time with more passion, more urgency. His hands moved over her body, exploring her curves, awakening her senses.

Y/n moaned softly, her body arching towards him. She had never felt so alive, so desired. She reached out and touched him, her fingers tracing the contours of his body.

Lucius groaned, his control slipping. He could feel the heat rising between them, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. He wanted to take things slowly, to savor every moment, but he couldn’t deny the burning need that consumed him.

He moved on top of her, his weight supported on his arms. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with love and desire.

“Y/n,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion. “My love.”

Y/n reached up and pulled his head down, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was both tender and urgent. She wanted him, she needed him, she craved the feeling of his body against hers.

Lucius broke the kiss and looked down at her, his eyes filled with a burning desire. He knew that she was a virgin, that this was her first time. He wanted to be gentle, to make it as painless as possible.

He kissed her again, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. He moved his hand down her body, exploring her curves, awakening her senses. Y/n moaned softly, her body arching towards him.

He reached between her legs and gently touched her, his fingers finding her center. Y/n gasped, her body tensing. He knew that she was close, that she was ready.

He moved his hips against hers, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Y/n cried out, her nails digging into his back. He felt her tighten around him, her body convulsing with pleasure.

He continued to move, his pace quickening, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt himself reaching the edge, the pleasure building to an unbearable intensity. He cried out her name, his body shuddering as he reached his climax.

He collapsed on top of her, his body heavy against hers. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, her breath coming in short gasps. He kissed her softly, his lips lingering on hers.

They lay there for a long moment, their bodies intertwined, their hearts beating as one. The silence was broken only by the sound of their breathing.

Lucius rolled onto his side, pulling Y/n with him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He kissed her forehead, his heart overflowing with love.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/n snuggled into his arms, her head resting on his chest. “I love you too,” she whispered back.

They lay there for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The world outside faded away, and they were alone, just the two of them, bound together by the intimacy they had just shared. Y/n, still nestled against Lucius's chest, felt a profound sense of peace and belonging. She traced lazy patterns on his chest, her fingers finding comfort in the warmth of his skin.

"Lucius," she whispered, her voice soft and drowsy.

"Hmm?" he murmured, his hand stroking her hair.

"That was..." she paused, searching for the right words. "Wonderful."

Lucius chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "It was, wasn't it?"

Y/n lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. "I never imagined it would be like that," she confessed.

"Like what?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"So... intense," she said, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "So... consuming."

Lucius smiled. "That's passion, my love," he explained, his voice tender. "It's the fire that burns between us."

"It was a bit frightening at first," Y/n admitted, "but then..."

"Then?" Lucius prompted, his fingers gently tilting her chin up.

"Then it was like... like being swept away by a wave," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Like losing myself in the current."

Lucius leaned down and kissed her forehead. "That's what love does," he whispered. "It sweeps you away, carries you to places you never knew existed."

Y/n sighed contentedly. "I love you, Lucius," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

"And I love you, Y/n," he replied, his voice husky with emotion. "More than words can say."

They fell silent again, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with the unspoken language of love. Y/n snuggled closer to Lucius, her body molding to his. She felt safe and secure in his arms, as if nothing in the world could harm her.

"Lucius," she said after a while, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, my love?"

"Do you think... do you think we'll have children?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

Lucius smiled. "I hope so," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I would love to have children with you, Y/n. Children who inherit your kindness and your strength."

Y/n's heart swelled at his words. She closed her eyes, imagining a future filled with children's laughter and the warmth of family.

"I would like that very much," she said softly.

Lucius leaned down and kissed her, a long, slow kiss that spoke of their shared dreams and hopes for the future. He held her close, his body a protective shield around her.

"We'll have a family, Y/n," he promised, his voice filled with conviction. "A family that will defy all expectations, a family that will be a testament to our love."

Y/n smiled, her eyes filled with tears of happiness. She knew that Lucius would keep his promise, that he would always be there for her, that their love would endure through all the trials and tribulations that life might throw their way.

As the first rays of dawn crept through the window, painting the room in a soft golden light, Lucius and Y/n lay entwined in each other's arms, their bodies exhausted but their spirits soaring. They had found love in the most unexpected of places, a love that had defied convention and blossomed against all odds. And as they drifted off to sleep, their hands clasped tightly together, they knew that their love story was just beginning, a story that would be told and retold through the ages, a story that would inspire and uplift generations to come.

[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.

[multific]

The Crown’s Weight

Lucius Verus x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitated before stepping closer.

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

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

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

“It’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”

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

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

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

From that moment, the nature of your relationship shifted. 

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

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

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

Another time, you walked through the gardens together.

A simple walk, which he invited you on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucius entered, his expression was wild.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here he was now, an Emperor.

Gladiator II Collection

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