#lucius verus x fem! reader

[fawninthesnow]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞: Part 2

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Fem Reader! 𐙚 18+

Summary: You are the daughter of General Marcus Acacius. After gaining your fathers blessing to join in at the palace, you run into a familiar face.

Warnings/contains: dom fem, f4m, teasing, pinning, size kink, praise, idealization, obsession, not proof read

Word Count: 2.5k

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“[Y/n], I would like to speak with you.” Your mother knocked upon the open door of your bedroom. You sighed aloud, taking off your jewels from the day. She moved behind you in the mirror, undoing your bun and undoing your small braids. “I will not ask why you are restless. I want to apologize to you. I know that…we *may* be more protective of you than-“

“I would call it absurd. This is absurd.” You turned to her, “I may not shop on my own! I may not take a walk by myself. Even as we speak, mother, a man watches!” You point to the guard that stood by your bedroom door. “I seem to never leave this place!”

“I know you are angry, but this is for the best!” You squinted with annoyance, throwing yourself onto your bed. “You are a beautiful young woman, [Y/n]! Moreover, you are our daughter! There are people who will want to hurt you.”

“I am aware of your worries, mother, but It is hard to believe the people of Rome know of my name, let alone what I look like!” You rolled over onto your back. Your father, General Marcus Acacius, now leaned on the post of your bed near your mother. “Now, I love you both dearly, but your words do not match your actions and I am tired of being left here to wait and rot! I am not one of your statues, Mother.” You stood in front of them now, your arms folded, and a crossed expression rid your gorgeous face.

To your surprise, your mothers’ hands clasped, and she sadly smiled. Her eyes welled, “Ahh, I am sorry. Y- you are just- you have grown so much.”

You tried not to fold under the pressure. It seemed whenever she got emotional, you found it hard to stand your ground. “Yes, yes, I have. And I want the freedoms of a woman. You say you want me to marry but the only men I have seen in the past few years were your guests, these brute guards and men of the Senate.” You said straightforward, avoiding your mother’s gaze, instead, looking into your father’s eyes.

The man sighed, holding his face in his hands. “What is it that you want?” He asked, officially surrendering to you. In that moment, you wondered if you had done this before on your 19th or 20th birthday.

“I want to follow you, Father.”

“Me? W- no! You cannot. It is too dangerous! Far too dangerous!”

You crossed your arms again and glared at him. “I barely see you as is! You will not let me join your army! You will not let me even speak in public! I want to be called your daughter. I want to follow you!”

Your Mother looked at her husband. She knew you had a point. You had a good reason to be emotional. “I do not know, Lucilla. This is dangerous.” She said nothing.

“That is all I want.” You said softer, close to your parents. “…for now.” Your father sighed.

“I will speak to you again in the morning.” He rubbed his forehead before leaving the room.

You balled your fists, looking away from the door, “Honey.” Your mother took your hand into hers, “It will be ok.”

“Does he hate me?”

“No. No, he could never. He is just tired. Do not stay up too late, ok? I love you.” She let go of your warm palm.

“I love you too.” You said as she left your bedroom. “Will you watch me change as well?!” You asked the guard who bowed his head and quickly left the bedroom.

The next morning, you were awakened by a servant with a tray of dyes for your makeup, with sage and frankincense for your perfume; separated into small bowls. “My Lady?”

“What is this?” You asked, moving the sheets from your body.

“Your father would like you to get dressed. I will do your hair today.” You tilted your head for a moment, rubbing your eyes. Another servant brought in a dress from your mother’s wardrobe from her youth.

“He said yes!?” You jumped from bed and dashed down the hall. The two servants continued to prepare you for your day as you pushed open your parents’ bedroom door. “Oh! Thank you! Thank you!” Your arms wrapped around your father’s waist. He kissed the top of your head.

“You should dress. We leave soon.”

*

Outside the home, you were helped onto your horse. “We will take the main streets.” Your father spoke, “Be sure to stay close to me. It can get crowded very quickly.” You nodded as the two of you, and a few guards who followed, entered the city. The last time you were here, you were being scolded. However, that was two weeks ago, and you never went this far in.

Your eyes flickered around at the stores and market. Children chased each other and women gathered water from fountains. Along side streets, men gambled and shouted. Inside of a cheap jewelry store, a mother bargained. Upon seeing your fathers face, people gathered around the horses, slowing down the group. “Keep your horse forward, [Y/n].” Your father spoke over the crowd. The city was rather overstimulating, and that was obvious. These people were obnoxious in your eyes. To you, this was just your father. Sure, he’s a decorated general, but this was the man that taught you math, dressed you in the mornings, learned how to braid your hair, collected flowers with you, and laid beside you when you fell ill. He was a man. Not a god. “[Y/n]?”

“Where are we even headed?” You asked as guards cleared the way for you and your father.

“To the palace.” He directed to the northeast of the path.

“The palace? Why?”

“I have business with the emperors.” You smirked. Something you adored was snooping. What a place to do so! “After, we can go wherever you please.”

“Sounds like a plan, Father.” Emperor. You hadn’t heard that title in a while. It had been weeks since that clown of a man called himself one to you. You remember that day like it was yesterday. That arrogant, short man. Just the thought him nearly made you laugh aloud. There was no way he would ever be emperor. That scrawny excuse of a man?

When you and your father arrived at the palace, he helped you off your horse; he held your palm, leading you up the steps.

A short man with his arms open greeted your father. Something about his face looked familiar, however, you had never seen him before; for sure. “Acacius! Haha! Hello, my friend!” Your father bowed to him, and you followed suit. “Ahh,” He held his own hands, admiring the face of the young woman standing beside his general. “And who might you be?”

“This is my daughter, [Y/n].”

“Ahh!” The man yelped with excitement. It was then you noticed the small animal on his shoulder. What is that? You wondered. “She is quite beautiful…mhh.” His eyes fell on your curves.

“Should we speak inside, Caracalla? And find your brother?” Your father asked, interrupting the thoughts of the emperor.

“Yes!”

He led the two of you inside, moving rather awkward without his brother. You looked at your father. “There is two, yes?” You whispered. He nodded.

You stayed outside the room as your father spoke to Caracalla. You leaned against the wall, listening in as they planned on a map. It was mostly your father speaking, and Caracalla feeding his monkey while nodding.

In the hall, the sound of loud shoes moving across the floor caught your attention. You looked over your shoulder. “Do not linger outside of there, servant.”

You frowned, turning your body to the sound of the familiar voice, “Do I look like a servant to you?” You asked, stepping closer, as did he. You face shone under the sunlight. The man stepped back and caught his breath.

“It is you! Yo-“

“Oh, shut up!” he gasped, “What are you even doing here?” You stepped closer and he moved back.

“I am an emperor! Of Rome!”

You laughed as he spoke with a nervous undertone. “Be honest, *you are* a servant, no?”

“I am the emperor! Are you ill?! Can you hear me?”

For a moment, you thought aloud, “But, isn’t the older brother supposed to be…bigger…” You circled around him like prey. He wondered if you had gotten taller since your last encounter. “…more commanding? This is rather disappointing…”

“I have had it with you. What is your business here?! Hm? Who even let you in?!”

You push him into a room across the hall. “Shut up. My father is right in that room!”

“Acacius! General Acacius!” You pulled him with you behind the door and covered his mouth, your other hand on the front of his throat.

“Say another word and I will snap your neck.” You said into his hair. “I guess you are the emperor…but that means little to me. For if my father finds out what you did in that garden, he will have your head.”

“Ahg! I did nothing. It was you!”

“Ha! You stained my dress, tiny! Even so, you speak if he’d believe your word over mine.” It was true, he most likely would not believe the emperor. You had your way with words. You had your way with threats. “Now, what to do with you…” He bit your hand before dashing from the room. You chased him down the hall and stopped him in his tracks. He gulped, looking up at you. “And where are you going?”

“Y- you cannot intimidate me! Not in my own palace!” You leaned down and held him by his chin. “T- these guards! They will stop you!”

“You are mistaken. They do not work for you. They work for my father.” The man gulped before wiping sweat from his brow. “I can do whatever I want with you. We can keep playing chase, sure.” You step out of the way, and he ran down into the field of grass, surrounded by fruit trees and such. You laughed at him, chasing him into the field before cornering him and pinning him to the grass.

“This will not work on me! Very soon, your father will catch you!”

“Oh really?” Your knee pressed between his crotch, pushing on his balls.

“Y- yes.” A feathered moan left his lips. “I- I want you t- to let go! Let go, I say!” You let go of his hands, however, he does not move.

“It seems you like this.” Your finger found its way on the wet tip of his penis, coated in precum.

“I d- do, no, I-” He said rather softly. “A- n- you are a bully! A rude woman! No man will ever have you!” You continued to tease and rub his tip, making it hard for him to speak.

“Is that so?” He bit his lip and looked down at the mess he made on your fingertips. “Look in my eyes, you pervert.”

“I am not a pervert.”

“You are a pervert.” You lean down into his ear, gently kissing and suckling on the skin. “Only a pervert likes getting bullied by a woman in broad daylight. Only a pervert likes having his body exposed in an open field…under a woman.” Your hair dangled in his face; your bosom pressed on his chest as he hyperventilates.

His eyes opened wide, and he rose from under you. “I will not entertain you any longer.”

“Come here…Geta, was it?”

“I-“ He stepped away from you once more.

“Geta.” You say, inching closer. “You are too small; you will never escape me.” He held his crotch, trying to stop his throbbing shaft from its movement. The emperor fixed his toga, only for his crown to fall off his head. He groaned, growing flustered. “Do I make you nervous or something…?” You twirled his laurel crown around your finger. You looked heavenly from his view. He felt as if he had come face-to-face with Venus herself. “This crown means nothing, you know? Do you even feel like an emperor when you wear it?” He did not reply but you knew the answer. As you moved closer, your purple dress held onto your hips and swayed with every step. You placed his crown on your head, “Do I look pretty?” You knew he would agree. You are stunning, how could *anyone* deny that? And with that gold crown over your head? It was hard to believe the gods did not hand deliver you to your parents. “I know what you are feeling…why so shy?”

“Leave me be, woman!”

“Come here, little boy.” You tilt your head, offering your palm, “I will make you feel better.”

“I- I am…the emperor…”

“Sure.”

“I wear the crown.”

“Fine, take it.” You tossed it back to him. For some reason, it seemed to lose its meaning. It did not feel as heavy as before. It felt cheap, pointless, useless. Was it really a symbol of the gods if a goddess denies it?

“Acacius…he will not be happy.”

“My Father will not know.” You giggled, twirling his hair.

“See?! I knew it! You are a deceiver!” The emperor took off his shoes and ran back into the palace before turning into the room where General Acacius and his brother leaned over the table. He caught his breath. You stood behind the man and caressed his side. He jumped, and whined, “S- she’s-“

“Oh! Emperor Geta.” Your father bowed to the man, and you did the same, smiling at him. “Good morning.”

He looked between you and your father; the resemblances were undeniable. You squinted at him as if daring him to say something to your father. Geta moved away from you. “…proceed with the meeting.” You went back to your place by the pillar, watching him from afar. He felt uncomfortable, hot under his collar. The general spoke of invasion plans to the north of India. Although you should have cared, your attention was set on the nervous mess in front of you.

The meeting carried on faster than you would have expected. The two emperors walked you both to the entrance, exchanging pleasantries. You lean towards Caracalla, and he happily kisses both of your cheeks. Towards Geta, he resentfully kisses your right cheek, “…I will see you again very soon…” You whisper.

He froze in shock, “No. No, you will not.” You smirked and he groaned, kissing your left cheek. “Stay away from me…”

“It was delightful meeting you, emperor Geta.” You spoke so condescendingly, he felt so small, like a peasant when in comparison to you. When you pulled away from him, and climbed on your horse, Geta adjusted his garments, his cock stayed hard throughout the morning. He had to admit that you were some form of a goddess; maybe it was your figure, or your personality, but something within him felt as if this connection had to be holy, divine. His hips ached, and his tip was wet with lust. He would never admit it to you, that would only boost your ego.

This part was a request! (Originally, was a one shot.) Let me know if you all want a part 3!!

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[vivwritesfics]

Smooth Is The Descent

All your father did was talk of rest, but the emperors didn't take that well. Punishing your father didn't do much, so you were punished instead. It's a shame the champion gladiator they gave you too has no interest in being anything but sweet to you

Lucius Verus x reader (general Acacius's daughter)

Warnings: sa (not explicitly written but heavily implied), Canon typical violence, use of the name whore (let me know if I've forgotten anything)

Chapter Two

You were never supposed to bear the weight of his words. You hadn't been the one to say them, to let such blasphemies leave your lips. Yet here you were, facing the punishment for them. 

"No!" Your father cried when Geta turned his attention to you. "Emperor Geta, please! The words were mine! Do not punish my daughter for them!" 

But the general was ignored and you were taken away. 

For such punishment, you would have thought it treason your father had spoken. But no, he only spoke of rest, of spending some time at home with his wife and his daughter. His wife, Lucilla. She was not your mother, but you respected her still. The woman your father had chosen to marry after your mother's tragic end. 

No more details of your punishment were given to General Acacius. The twin emperors, with sickening smiles on their painted faces, sent your father away before you could utter a word to him, before you could assure him that you would be okay, that you were strong. 

Of course, if he knew the true nature of your punishment, he would have stormed the Palace to get you back. He would have taken on every man that stood between him and the twin emperors, slain them then and there. 

Whatever your fate was, you knew no harm would befall you. Well, no lasting damage, nothing that would send you to the afterlife. For the moment your hand was placed in Death and you allowed her to lead you to a forever slumber, their control over your father would have been lost. 

But it was still a punishment. 

With your wrists shackled together, you were led away. Emperor Geta had controlled his men with nothing but the flick of his wrist and you realised that your punishment had been preplanned, prepared for the moment your father stepped out of line. 

You had no idea what awaited you. Lashings, beatings. Maybe Caracalla would have you dance for them, for their entire court, the senate, and your father, wearing nothing. That had happened before. Your face had burned with humiliation and your father had been unable to look at you. 

Instead, you were taken from the Palace. The control the twin emperors had over your father was no secret, the reason why their hold over him was so strong was no secret.  

You. It was all because of you. 

"Feed her to the barbarians," the man pushing you out of the Palace had said once you'd made it to the Colosseum. 

Feed her to the barbarians.

Suddenly, you struggled. "No!" You cried as you tried to twist out of their hold. "No, you can't!" Barbarians. Once slaves from conquered nations, now gladiators, fighting for their freedom. 

Your father had been the one to conquer their lands, the one to take them prisoner. There was no telling what would happen once they found out who you were. 

"Please," you cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Please, they'll kill me! Once they find out who I am, they'll kill me." Clutching the soldiers armours, you dropped to your knees, still sobbing. "Please," you cried. "Please." 

He kicked you away, his sandal hitting your chest. It knocked the very wind from your lungs, left you struggling for breath as you tried to get up. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut," he spat. 

The men outside of the Colosseum, the ones that had watched you pathetically sob, grabbed you and hauled you to your feet. You couldn't help they way you cried, your feet dragging and the gravel digging into your skin. 

They carried you into the darkness, the only light source being the flicking lanterns along the walls. When you were far enough into the labyrinth beneath the Colosseum, they let you go and pushed you to your knees. The dirt and the gravel bit into your palms as you were pushed forward. 

"Come and get your fill," one of the men that had dragged you called, but they weren't talking to you. 

One hulking gladiator stepped forward. The very ground shook with every step he took towards you. He crouched in front of you, fingers beneath your chin forcing you to look at him, to look into your eyes. He took in the finery of your clothing, the gold atop your head and the bracelets around your wrists. A girl of status, that was clear. 

When he smiled, you saw mostly gums. The smile was ghastly, twisted and evil. The sort of smile you had only seen the twin emperors wear. "She'll do," he said and dragged you to your feet. 

"No!" You cried again, screaming in his face as your struggled against your grip. But he pulled you against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he dragged you away. 

A night of torture. That was what it was, nothing more. Torture that never seemed to end. Gladiators that never grew weary, gladiators that kept your torture going through the night. Torture that kept you from the reprieve of sleep. 

The sun might has risen, but you weren't to know. It was only when soldiers came to fetch you, threw you a cloak to hide your tattered clothing and your broken state, that you allowed yourself to breathe. 

Breathe without the foul scent of gladiator surrounding you. Breathe without tasting death. 

Your body ached as you were again shackled and taken back to the twin emperors. Geta and Caracalla revelled in pain and torture, this you knew. Even as General Acacius's daughter, you were not exempt. 

You were dragged before the twin emperors, cloak pulled from your body. Geta grinned at the sight of you, at the bruises marring your skin, at the way your legs trembled in exhaustion. At the way your clothing hung in tatters, showing too much of you. It was nothing they hadn't seen before, again down to your punishment. 

"A fitting reminder to your father of what will happen should he dare to question me again,"  Geta said and held out his hand. You couldn't help but tremble as you took it and kissed his ring. 

He pushed you away with a demand to clean up before the games. They were in your father's honour, after all. Sick and barbaric games, all for the pleasure of the emperors. Games meant to be in your father's honour, yes, but you knew how much he hated this. 

Your horse walked slowly, as if he was aware of just how much pain your body was in. Your patted his neck in appreciation as you rode towards your home. The gates opened as you approached and you rode through. You were slow as you jumped from his back and handed his reins off to your groom. 

Holding your cloak closer to your body, you headed inside. As much as you didn't want your father seeing you like this, as much as you wanted to run to the baths before your father or Lucilla could catch sight of you, you couldn't avoid it. 

There your father was, dressed all in white. Ready for the games, you realised. He wore concern on his face when he took in your appearance. "Oh, my daughter." General Acacius couldn't hide the sadness from his voice as he strode towards you. "I swear they'll pay for this." When his hands touched you, touched the bruises you were trying to keep hidden, you hissed and pulled away from him. 

"Do not speak such things, father," you said as you stepped away from him. "I will be ready for the games shortly."

You bathed as quickly as you could, desperate not to make your father late. God, you could only imagine the anger on Geta and Caracalla if you made him late, could only imagine the punishment that would be placed onto you. Lucillas staff helped you to dress, helped replace the jewellery the gladiators had stolen from you and helped you to fix your hair. 

Gathering your skirts, you joined your father and Lucilla. Things were quiet, you refusing to speak on your way to the games. Games, what a silly word for it. What a silly word for men fighting each other for the pleasure and amusement of other men. 

You sat silently, head bowed as you rode towards the games. Your father said nothing, you said nothing to him. It was better that way, better if you didn't talk about it. The less he knew, the better. The better for the both of you. 

At the Colosseum, you were led to your seats. Led to the Emperors box. Geta and Caracalla stood, observing the crowd as the games announcer announced your father. The crowd roared as your father stepped towards them at the request of Emperor Geta. A request he answered when Geta looked to you in silent threat. They cheered his name and clapped their hands. 

"Speak to them," said Emperor Geta as your father turned to return to you and Lucilla. Another request your father couldn't deny, another silent threat made towards you. 

It was hard to listen to your father as the Colosseum surrounded you. Mere hours before, you had been here, you had been tortured beneath her walls. The men that would come and fight in the name of your father had been your tormentors through the night. Your eyes stung with fresh, hot tears, but you didn't let them fall.

You were all too aware of the man sitting behind you. Macrinus, the gladiator king. The title did not come from his ability to fight, you knew, but his ability to choose. Choose the best fighters, the one that would win him the most coin. These were his fighters, you realised as your father finished speaking. He came and took his seat between yourself and Lucilla. The crowd was still cheering his name, showing him more love and loyalty than they showed their emperors. 

The barbarians from Numidia. That was what the games announcer had called them. You watched, none of their faces those of your tormentors, they they strode into the middle of the Colosseum. Their armour was minimal, some carrying swords, some carrying a sword and shield. Some pointed at the crowd tried to get their attention, tried to elicit cheers, and the rest were more concerned with what was to come. 

And one looked towards the Emperors. At least, you thought he was looking towards the Emperors. But Lucilla stilled, and polite smile dropping from her face. "What is it, my love?" Your father asked her, but she could not bring herself to answer. 

The rhino and its rider. You knew the face of it's rider, the face of the man that had taken you first the night before. Your blood ran cold as you watched. For the first time, your support when to the barbarians, to Macrinus. 

The rider pulled a weapon, something sharp and deadly. The crowd around you cheered for him. Your focus was for the Numidian front and centre, instructing the other gladiators. Unable to hear what he was saying, you sat forward in your seat. 

The rhino charged and the gladiators broke, running for the wall. The Beast kicked up sand, preventing you a clear picture of what was happening. "Do not watch the brutality, my daughter," your father whispered, but you couldn't help yourself. 

Violence and death didn't fascinate you like it did men. But to see the rider of the rhino brought to his knees? You weren't looking away for one second. 

But there was a reason he was undefeated. 

You watched the Numidian pick up the gravel and sand in his hands. The rider was focused on him, you realised. He charged but the gladiator stood there, unyielding. He was going to get himself killed. 

At the last moment, he threw the sand and it spread out around him, blocking him from view. The rhino still blindly charged, but the Numidian man leapt out of the way. Suddenly, hope soared within you. If anybody could bring down the rider...

With its horn smashed and its rider no longer on its back, the rhino sat in pain. But the two gladiators were on their feet, racing towards the sword. You held your breath as the Numidian grabbed it first, repeatedly used its hilt to hit your tormentor in the head. 

But then your tormentor twisted in his hold and grabbed the sword. He kicked the Numidian until he was on the floor and then roared to the crowd. 

No.

"The gates of hell are open night and day," Geta said with a grin as he looked down at the Numidian man. "Smooth is the..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to remember the rest of it. 

"Sooth of the descent, easy is the way." 

You tore your eyes away from the Numidian man as Lucilla stood. 

But the fight was still happening and you were entranced by it. The Numidian was given a shield to aid in his fight. You couldn't help but watch him, eyes roaming over every inch of muscle as he fought back. He was strong, but so was the rider. An even match, the end result came down to skill. 

But the Numidian was on the floor and the crowd was chanting. "Mercy! Mercy!" You heard them chant again and again. 

"Blood," Caracalla said to his brother wearing a twisted grin. Caracalla always wanted blood. 

Geta turned his attention to you. "What shall we do? Shall we show the barbarian Mercy?" No matter your answer, Geta was going to do what he liked. 

"Mercy," Lucilla said suddenly, before you could give your own answer. 

Geta brought his hand down, channelling the Gods. It was a farce, your God's wouldn't allow this. He clenched his fist, his thumb sticking out. As he did so, the crowd fell silent, waiting with trepidation. 

His thumb raised. Mercy. The Numidian man was to stay living, and so was your tormentor. Your breath caught in your throat from the unfairness, the injustice. If the Gods were out there, how could they le this happen?

"No mercy!" The Numidian man shouted as he got to his feet.

"Your life has been spared by the Gods-" 

"I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!" The Numidian shouted, interrupting Emperor Geta. Foolish, foolish man. 

But the fight resumed. The Numidian man dodged out of the way. He picked up his own sword, and the fight truly began. 

It wasn't long until his blade went through the stomach of the rider. Undefeated, yet all it took was a man from another land to end his life. As he sat there, on his knees, the Numidian man took his head from his body with a mighty shout. 

He was dead. The man that had taken you so forcefully last night was dead. Many of your tormentors were still alive down there, but not for much longer, not with this barbarian around. 

You released a choked sob as the barbarian gladiator walked away. 

Emperor Caracalla turned to you, still wearing a sick smile. "Perhaps we should give our new champion a prize," he said, lounging back in his seat. "An insensitive to keep winning." 

"You know, brother? I think you are right," Geta agreed and looked back to you. "A fitting prize for our new champion, wouldn't you say?" 

Hands gripped your arms and pulled you from your seat. "No!" Your father cried. "Emperors, please! You have no reason to punish her! We have done nothing wrong!" 

Emperor Geta levelled your father with a vicious, horrible look in his eye. "If you care about her life, Acacius, you will stay quiet." Geta snapped his fingers and you were dragged away, unable to look your father in the eye. If there were Gods, why weren't they helping you?

They dragged you to the baths and pushed you inside. You fell to your knees in front of the baths and the guards backed away from you, locking you inside. 

There he was, already in the water. His eyes tracked you as you stood up and brushed the dirt from your clothes. If you could stand to look at him, you would have seen just how beautiful those eyes were. 

"You don't belong down here," he said, 

You held your hands in fists by your sides as you watched him, waiting for him to move in some way. But he was completely still, watching you. Waiting for you to move, just as you were waiting for him. 

"You're right," you said, holding your chin up high. "I don't belong down here." 

He stood, water dripping from his skin as he stepped out of the baths. You looked at your sandals, unable to properly gaze upon, to see how much of a man he really was.

The gladiator laughed when you averted your gaze. But he got dressed, bothering with everything but his shirt. That you could look upon. The defined muscles of his chest, his thick arms. He was beautiful, you realised.

"You don't belong down here, yet you are here. Why?" He asked as he stood before you. You couldn't help but shrink under his gaze as he took another step.

You couldn't press yourself any closer to the wall. But you raised your chin, as if in defiance. "I am here as punishment."

His fingers touched your chin, face close to yours. Even after his bath, he still smelt like the Colosseum. "What did a little thing like you do to deserve punishment?"

Finally, you tore your eyes away from his intense, blue stare. "My father spoke of rest," you spat as you stepped away from him, arms crossed over your chest. "Rome is hungry, she must be fed."

The gladiator released a laugh, bitter and sad all at the same time. "Tell your emperors I don't want the general's whore." He walked away, leaving you in the baths.

Again, you were alone in the Colosseum. If last night was any indicator, it wouldn't be for long. You released a sob as you sat there and desperately wiped at your eyes. 'The general's whore.' The gladiator had no idea who he was talking to. Good.

Footsteps, sandals against the stone floor of the baths. You looked up, your eyed looking into the stormy blue of the handsome gladiator. "Come on," he offered you his hand.

Swallowing, trying to act like you hadn't just been crying, you placed your hand in his. His arm settled around your shoulders, holding you against him as he walked you through the Colosseum. The other gladiators stared at you, their eyes hungry. But you looked away, kept your focus on the gladiator holding you. "Why are you doing this?" You whispered.

"You wouldn't survive a night wandering around down here," he murmured as the door to his cell was pulled open.

You swallowed as you walked in. The door was shut behind you as the gladiator walked in. "Sit," he said and gestured to the bed.

You did what you were best at and obeyed. Sitting on the bed, you looked as he sat before you, his hands clasped together. He wouldn't touch you, not in the way the emperors intended for him to. That much was clear.

"What is your name, gladiator?"

He stared at you, unspeaking for a good long moment. It was unnerving, the way he just stared. His stormy eyes focused on you. "Hanno," he answered and turned away from you. "I was taken from my home by the general whose bed you warm."

"I do not warm his bed!" You shouted, suddenly on your feet. The notion had bile ready to rise in your throat.

Hanno laughed. "Yet you enjoy his company. You sit with him while you watch us, get sick pleasure from watching us maim each other.”

"I was there by order of Emperor Geta!" You challenged, standing up. "You act as if I have a choice, as if I want to sit there and watch men get slaughtered. No, I hate it! I don't see why you have to fight!"

He stood, too, towering over you once again. "I fight for my freedom." His voice was so low, dangerous, even. "I fight because my home was taken from me by your general. My home, my wife, taken from me because, what? Because Rome was hungry. Do not lecture me on choice."

You sat back down, tears in your eyes. You knew what your father did, but being told such details was something else. "I'm sorry," you sobbed as you pulled your knees up to your chest. "On behalf of Rome, of the general, I truly am sorry."

A sigh left his lips as he sat beside you. "It's not your place to apologise for what the general has done," he said and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Rome has been a corrupt place, long before you came along."

You blinked up at him, tears resting on your lashes. "What was your home like?" You asked and turned your head towards him.

He told you everything, told you about his wife, his home. The chickens he chased away from the crops and the harvest. The conversation always steered back to his wife.

You didn't ask what happened, didn't force him to relive the trauma so soon. But you couldn't hide your yawns, or the way your eyes were drooping. "Rest now," he said as he stood from his cot. "I will not disturb you."

You laid down, but you didn't sleep, not immediately. Your eyes were shut, but you weren't asleep. Every time Hanno moved, you opened your eyes to watch him, to make sure he wasn't going to use you. Not that you could stop him. But he didn't. He never laid a hand on you.

Eventually, you drifted off, eyes shut and breathing steady. Hanno watched you for a moment. It wasn’t your fault, what Rome had done to his land, to his home. It wasn’t your fault, what the general had done, and he wouldn't take it out on you.

a/n: definitely more parts to come! I won't lie I didn't mean to find Paul hot but his charms have bewitched me

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Aqua Thermae

Also on AO3

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!

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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.”

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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.”

[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!

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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."

[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.

———

[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 ❤️

[gothcsz]

𝐈𝐈𝐈 | Marcus Acacius x Fem!Reader x Lucius Verus Aurelius | ~13k wc (woops) | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Lucius Aurelius, the stepson of wealthy and renowned architect Marcus Acacius, falls in love with you, Marcus's personal assistant. However, you're already in the midst of a tangled affair with his stepfather. (based on)

Tags: modern!au, family drama, they're both arrogant architects with egos out of this world, reasonable age gap between marcus and reader, infidelity (sorry lucilla), porn with plot, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), spanking, oral (f&m receiving), facial, unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction be smart irl), anal, spit as lube, cum eating, creampie kink, baby's first mmf threesome, double penetration, jealousy!, possessiveness!, but the boys are learning how to share, everyone is kind of shitty, some latin (carissime/dear, praecantrix/enchantress, dulcissima/sweetest), no use of y/n, reader has long hair, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: i sense a pattern occurring with this specific pairing and i ain't mad at it! ridley scott knew what he was doing when casting these two hunks. this is for my love @almostempty, always on the frontlines of the threesome fic movement 🫡 okay, i hope you all enjoy reading and let ya girl know what you think 🖤

Marcus’s lips curl into a slow, smug smile as he watches you. “Come on, my carissime,” he murmurs, a gravelly caress against your heated skin. “You can do better than that. I know you can.” His large hand cups the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle.

He brushes the stray strands from your face, his touch tender despite the edge of authority in his tone. He wants to see you—wants to savor the way your lips stretch around the thick girth of his cock, the way your cheeks hollow as you struggle to take more of him.

Drool drips from the corner of your mouth, and your eyes flutter upward, catching his smoldering gaze. His golden flecked eyes darken as he drinks you in, and you can’t help but admire him from your position between his powerful thighs.

The streaks of silver weaving through his dark brown curls and beard catch the light, a testament to his age and masculinity.

His chiseled features, strong and weathered, are the kind you’ve explored endlessly—memorizing every dip and ridge with your lips and fingertips. 

Marcus is more than handsome; he’s devastating, a man aging like fine wine—complex, intoxicating, and wholly addictive.

He’s right, of course. You can do better. You’ve done better. But Marcus’s cock always demands a moment of adjustment, a slow surrender to its sheer size and delicious thickness. It’s a challenge you relish, evidence of your enthusiasm to satisfy.

Pulling off him with a gasp, you let your hand slide up his spit slick shaft, jerking him with gentle pressure. A web of saliva bridges your lips to his flushed, throbbing cock, and you purse your lips, spitting onto him, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room.

Marcus watches you, his lips quirking into a crooked smirk, pride and desire flickering across his sharp features.

“Look at you,” he praises, his thumb brushing along the corner of your mouth, wiping away a strand of drool that’s smudged your lipstick, dragging it across your cheek.

The adoration of the gesture is at odds with the thirst in his eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust as he takes in the way you work for him. “Messy little thing. You love this, don’t you?”

Your answer comes in the form of a teasing smirk, your tongue darting out to swipe at his head. The salty tang of his precum dances on your taste buds, and you slap his cock against the pink muscle, the soft thud making you dizzy.

Your lips then glide over the pulsating, veined flesh of his cock and the weight of him on your tongue sends a deep pulse of heat straight to your cunt. It has you shifting slightly on your knees, your own arousal dampening the thin fabric of your panties, making you crave friction, relief—anything. 

But you know better than to touch yourself without his permission. Marcus thrives on control, his mastery over your pleasure woven into every fiber of his devotion to you.

So though the temptation to sneak a hand down to your needy clit is overwhelming, you revel in the sweet agony of denial, knowing he’ll make the eventual release all the more shattering.

His fingers tighten in your hair, tugging just enough to elicit a muffled moan. The sound vibrates around him, making his cock twitch as you hollow your cheeks again and draw a deep breath through your nose.

Inch by inch, you let him slide deeper, the bulbous tip nudging your uvula, tears pooling in your eyes, the tip of your nose brushing against the coarse hairs at his base.

“Such a praecantrix,” Marcus growls, the Latin rolling off his tongue with an edge of mockery. You love when he speaks to you in the dead language, a relic of his fascination with ancient Roman culture. It feels intimate, and you savor the way he wields it like a weapon meant only for you.

He’s told you as much—that this language, with all its history, is yours alone. 

“So eager to fall to your knees and please a married man. That’s my favorite thing about you, sweetheart. Such a dirty fucking slut.”

The degradation spills over you like molten heat, pooling low in your belly. It’s cruel and intoxicating, and it makes your pussy ache with a mix of shame and desire.

You choke on him, the stretch of his cock testing the limits of your throat, but you don’t pull back. He loves the power, the control, the sight of you struggling yet determined to take everything he gives.

Whether it’s your mouth, your cunt, or on those nights when he’s feeling particularly depraved, your ass—he relishes pushing you to the brink and watching you rise to meet him.

And so what if he’s married? You’ve justified it a hundred times over in your head. His wife should’ve done a better job keeping him satisfied. She shouldn’t have let a man like him go hungry, his appetite desires more than what’s waiting for him at home, which left him roaming, seeking out someone—you—to feed his ravenous needs.

If she couldn’t keep him, that’s not your problem. You didn’t steal him; he came willingly, like a moth to your flame.

You know your role as the other woman. You play it well. During the day, you’re his personal assistant: poised, professional, efficient. You keep his schedule flawless, his coffee perfect, and your interactions just cool enough to deflect suspicion.

But here, in moments like this—when his cock fills your greedy mouth and his filthy words drip into your ears—you’re anything but restrained. You’re his, entirely, bending to his every whim, doing whatever it takes to please him.

No love bites are left where she might see. No lingering perfume to betray you, no smudged lipstick to stain his crisp, tailored shirts. You stay in your lane, as he expects of you, and in return, Marcus makes you feel like an empress—his empress, even if it’s only in secret.

The thrill of being his secret indulgence, his escape, burns hotter than any guilt you once felt. The wrongness of it, the illicit danger of fucking another woman’s husband, only fuels the lustful fire.

You know you shouldn’t. You’ve tried to stop.

The one and only time you tried to end it, it lasted a pathetic seven days. This so-called breakup was spurred on by a friend’s misguided advice.

So, you’d sat him down over a quiet dinner in one of your usual haunts, a restaurant miles away where no one could recognize you, your stomach twisting as you broke the news.

Marcus’s reaction had been icy, his fury masked by a veneer of composure that was somehow worse than an outburst.

The wrinkles on his handsome face deepend before he stood abruptly, throwing down enough cash to cover the bill without a word, leaving you alone to call an Uber, tears dampening your cheeks as you wondered if you’d just lost your job, your lover—or both.

The following days were a cold war. At work, he was stoic and distant, his orders sharp, his reprimands cutting. He barely looked at you, and when he did, his gaze was devoid of the heat you’d grown addicted to. The sting of it was worse than you’d anticipated.

You hated it. You hated yourself for hating it, for craving the attention of a man who wasn’t yours to begin with.

Then, on the eighth day, Marcus snapped. It was late, the floor empty except for you, hunched over your computer. He appeared without warning, dragging you into his office, closing the door with a sharp click.

Before you could speak, he was on you, his hands gripping your hips, his body pinning yours against the cool glass window that overlooked the city.

“You thought you could walk away from me?” His voice was a low growl, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re fucking stupid if you think I’d let my favorite pussy go without putting up a fight.”

That night, he took you hard and fast, his words filthier than ever, his grip bruising and possessive. He made it clear that you weren’t going anywhere—not unless he said so.

And no, he wouldn’t leave her for you. He’d told you as much, his tone unapologetic, almost cruel. But that didn’t matter, not when he was deliciously buried inside your pussy, making you scream his name against the glass.

Now, here you are again—on your knees, his cock filling your throat, his hands tangled in your hair as he reminds you, with every vulgar word, exactly where you belong.

You bring your hand up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm as you keep up your rhythm, your other hand gripping the base of his cock to keep him steady.

The combination draws a sharp hiss from him, and his grip in your hair tightens, holding you in place when his hips start to move in earnest thrusts that force him deeper into your throat as he uses you for his pleasure.

You surrender completely, your body alive with need and your heart racing in sync with his labored breaths.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come,” he warns, his head tipping back against the leather of his chair. The deep timbre of his voice resonates through you. “You want it, don’t you? My good girl wants every fucking drop.”

Your answer comes in the form of a pornographic moan, your nails digging into his meaty thigh as you nod.

A dull ache spreads across your jaw as you work over his cock, bobbing eagerly, losing yourself in the head you’re giving.

You feel the familiar tightening of his balls, the telltale sign that he’s close, and it spurs you on. Your rhythm grows more frantic, more desperate, sloppy; your lips glossy with saliva as you pop him out of your mouth to lavish attention on his cockhead. You tease the sensitive ridge of his frenulum with slow, deliberate licks, kissing and sucking, worshipping this unit of a man above you.

The muscles of his thighs flex beneath your hands, his body trembling with restrained power. 

Marcus’s growl deepens and he quickly pulls you off his cock. The sharp tug makes you moan, your neck arching gracefully, putting you on display for him like a prized possession.

He stands, towering over you, his broad shoulders and commanding presence casting a shadow that feels consuming. His dark brown eyes bore into yours, appetence and dominance swirling within them.

You stare at him from your position on your knees, swollen lips parted, spit and precum gleaming on your mouth and chin. 

Your breaths come shallow and quick; you know what he wants, so you begin to jerk his cock with both of your fists, twisting your wrists with a skill honed from all the times you’ve gotten him off like this, the wet and lewd sounds of your action having you moan slightly and his grip on your hair tightens.

“Just like that, carissima, milk my cock.”

He comes with a guttural groan, his head thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing, and you gasp as thick ropes of his release paint your face, splattering across your cheeks, your lips, even your lashes.

You instinctively dart your tongue out, catching the salty taste of him, savoring his essence as though it were nectar from your favorite fruit, giggling softly.

The sight of you, defiled and glowing with satisfaction, makes his hips jerk forward involuntarily, a man undone.

You stroke him through the aftershocks, his cock softening in your hands as you lean into his touch. His grip on your hair loosens, his large fingers threading through it more gently now, brushing it away from your face as he admires his work.

“What a sight, so beautiful on your knees like this, covered in my cum.” Marcus muses, his voice hoarse as his chest heaves. He swipes through the mess on your face, collecting his spend before pressing his fingers into your mouth. You hum, sucking them clean with the same devotion you’ve given his cock.

The taste of him, warm and heady, sends a thrill down your spine.

When he offers you his hand to help you up, you accept it, your knees stiff and aching from kneeling on the rug beneath his desk.

“Your son will be here—” you start, your tone shifting back to professional, delivering the message you initially came in here for before getting… distracted.

“He is not my son,” Marcus snaps, the venom in his voice cutting through the room. He’s buckling his belt with sharp motions, his jaw clenched so tight you can practically hear his teeth grinding.

You don’t flinch—it’s not the first time you’ve seen his temper flare when his stepson is mentioned, and it won’t be the last. Instead, you adjust your tone, correcting yourself smoothly. “Lucius will be here within the hour to discuss the Anderson project.”

You smooth down your work pants, fingers brushing against the creases, and glance into the reflective surface of the nearby cabinet. You already know a trip to the restroom is in order to fix the telltale signs of his rough affection—your swollen lips, disheveled hair, the smudge of mascara beneath your eyes.

Marcus doesn’t respond right away, but the scowl on his face deepens, his broad shoulders rigid as he adjusts the cuffs of his shirt.

The tension between Marcus and Lucius is legendary, an animosity born out of years of neglect, betrayal, and a battle for control over the Aurelius family legacy.

Marcus makes no effort to mask his disdain for his stepson, and Lucius returns the sentiment with equal fervor. Their interactions are charged, each conversation laced with thinly veiled insults and simmering resentment.

Lucius’s childhood, from what you’ve gathered, had been a mess of abandonment and rebellion. Shipped off to boarding schools before he hit puberty, a move orchestrated by his mother, who, by all accounts, seemed eager to rid herself of the burden of raising a troublesome son.

The expulsions came next, one after the other, as Lucius acted out, a desperate bid for his mother’s attention. It never worked. She was too preoccupied with the luxuries of high society to care. Especially not after she married Marcus and skipped her son’s college graduation altogether, solidifying a wedge between them that even time couldn’t mend.

Years later, Lucius had returned with a vengeance, polished and poised, armed with degrees and accolades in both architecture and engineering.

He was ready to reclaim what his grandfather left behind—what Marcus had taken over when he married into the family. 

Lucius wasn’t content to sit on the sidelines. He had marched in and demanded his rightful place—a share in the architectural firm that had been in his family for generations.

You remember that day vividly, the drama unfolding like a soap opera in real-time in the conference room as lawyers from both sides tried to hammer out the details.

Lucius had made it clear that he wasn’t asking for permission—he was taking what was his. Marcus, in contrast, was a picture of barely restrained fury, his fists clenched on the table, his voice cold as he tried to shut his stepson down. 

But the younger man didn’t retract, and by the end of the meeting, he had secured his position as a partner.

For you, the spectacle was captivating, a battleground of egos and legal jargon. Sitting at the edge of the room, your notepad in hand, you watched it all unfold with barely concealed amusement. 

If anything, you’d felt a buzz of anticipation, knowing the tension would wind Marcus so tight he’d take it out on you later. The thought had made you giddy, your pen sliding between your lips as you nibbled on it, your tongue swirling absentmindedly.

You couldn’t help but fantasize about what was to come—the sharp crack of Marcus’ palm against your ass, the growl in his voice as he delivered brutal backshots.

What you hadn’t noticed at the time was Lucius’s gaze on you. Those icy eyes of his watching every flick of your tongue, every scrape of your teeth against the pen.

“Very well,” Marcus says finally, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. “Send him in when he arrives.”

As you turn to leave, his hand shoots out, catching you by the elbow. He pulls you close, his body radiating heat against yours. His thumb swipes over your swollen bottom lip before pressing into your mouth, forcing it open. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what I owe you, dulcissima,” he murmurs, all dark and seductive. “I’ll take good care of you later tonight. Midnight. Our room.”

The promise in his tone sends excitement through your veins, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

As you start to nod, your mind remembers one tiny detail from his schedule. “You have dinner reservations with Lucil—”  you begin, her name barely leaving your lips before his thumb presses down harder, silencing you with a whimper.

“Don’t say her name,” his eyes narrow, daring you to defy him, “and don’t you worry about that. I’ll be with you. Midnight.”

Midnight. Our room—a luxury suite in one of the hotels he designed, cloaked in opulence and secrecy. It’s where he comes to you after being with her, and sometimes, where he leaves you to go back to her.

The sting of it is subtle now, dulled by repetition. You’ve taught yourself not to dwell on the fact that his hands on you tonight might still carry the scent of her.

You try not to wonder if he kisses her the way he kisses you, if he whispers sweet nothings in her ear the same way he does when he’s buried inside you.

You don’t want to know. It’s easier to exist in this bubble of ignorance where you can pretend you’re the only one who matters.

Instead, you nod obediently, giving in to the charade you’ve chosen. The playful edge returns, and you bite down lightly on his thumb, your teeth grazing the skin in a way that has his lips twitching into a smirk.

Marcus leans in to press his lips against yours passionately, how you like it, lingering just long enough to make your heart ache. It’s maddening how he kisses you—like he means it, like he loves you.

And maybe, in his own twisted way, he does.

You sit behind your desk, eyes averted as she lounges in the small sitting area, waiting for him to finish his meeting.

She’s here to capture Marcus’s attention. It’s a game you’ve grown accustomed to—her attempts to reclaim parts of him she craves—the passion, the primal connection—all things he reserves for you.

And as petty as it is, part of you revels in knowing how little he gives her. What’s left of his affection after he’s spent it all on you is scraps at best.

She may have his last name, his ring, the sprawling mansion he designed and built for her, but none of it holds a candle to the way he devours you in the secrecy of your shared nights.

The door to his office creaks open, and Marcus steps out, his brow furrowed in the perpetual scowl he wears like armor.

She rises from the loveseat, moving to him as though pulled by an invisible string. Their embrace is brief but intimate enough to make your stomach churn. You keep your focus on the glowing screen of your computer, scrolling through emails that blur together as you strain to block out their presence.

Smug satisfaction only goes so far, and the familiar pang of jealousy gnaws at the edges of your confidence.

Their conversation floats toward you: lunch at the country club, a round of golf, insular activities that reek of old money and class—worlds you’ve only glimpsed from behind the scenes, arranging his reservations, managing his calendar, ensuring his whims are catered to. 

You expect him to brush her off, as he often does, leaving her deflated while he buries himself in work—or in you.

But he doesn’t.

“Clear my schedule for the day and remain on standby in case anything should arise.”

His indifference lands like a slap. You glance up briefly, meeting his gaze, and catch the slight twitch of amusement tugging at his lips before leaning in to kiss her.

He’s enjoying this, you realize. Playing you, toying with your jealousy, rubbing it in just enough to sting.

He knows you can see the way he openly parades her, the casual ease with which he can show her off to the world while you’re relegated to the shadows. Lavish gifts and extravagant outings are hers for the taking, while your rewards are delivered in hushed whispers and midnight rendezvous.

Your smile is syrupy sweet, the kind of false cheer that could rot teeth. “Of course, sir. Enjoy your day together,” you chirp, each word coated in venom he’ll detect, even if she doesn’t.

Marcus doesn’t spare you another glance as he guides her toward the elevator, his arm snug around her waist.

The pang in your chest tightens, sharper than usual. He’s not usually like this with her—so overt, so public. This new display of affection unsettles you, sends your thoughts spiraling down dark avenues.

Are they mending things? Rekindling their marriage?

A cold panic begins to rise, but you quash it down, clinging to the task at hand. You bury yourself in clearing his schedule, canceling meetings, rearranging appointments.

It’s easier to focus on the practical than to confront the gnawing fear that you might no longer hold the place in his life you once did.

Some time later, the sound of footsteps approaching pulls you from your task, and when you glance up, it’s none other than Lucius stepping into view. 

He breezes in like he owns the place—well, technically, part of it is his—and you pause the music playing through your earbuds, slipping one out as he approaches your desk.

“He’s not in,” you inform him, polite but curt. “Won’t be until tomorrow. If it’s urgent, I’m sure you have his personal number.”

He doesn’t reply immediately, instead perching himself on the edge of your desk. His fingers idly play with one of the trinkets decorating your workspace, a polished glass paperweight that catches the light and casts fractured rainbows across his dexterous hands.

You narrow your eyes at his intrusion, taking a moment to really look at him. Where Marcus is the epitome of old-school refinement, pressed suits in muted tones and custom leather shoes, Lucius is his foil.

He’s all rich silken shirts in bold colors, stylish sneakers, and enough jewelry to make him gleam under the office lighting.

Rings adorn on his fingers, chains glint at his neck, and his pierced ears and tattoos add that touch of rebellion he’s infamously known for.

He’s hot, undeniably so, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed before.

There’s always been a charge between the two of you, a flirtatious undercurrent in the way he looks at you, the subtle innuendos in his words.

You’ve never acted on it—how could you, not with a man like Marcus whispering promises of ruin and rapture. Your secret lover waiting behind closed doors.

But today… after the way he flaunted her in front of you, the bitterness curdling in your chest craves a taste of some sort of retaliation. It’s irrational, you know, but something inside you itches.

And maybe, just maybe, Lucius is exactly what you need to scratch that itch.

“Then why are you still here?” He finally speaks, partially amused, as those piercing blue eyes lock onto yours. They’re sharp, assessing, and your cheeks warm slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“A busy man like him has a busy schedule that precedes him,” you reply, keeping your tone professional. “It doesn’t organize itself.”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, one that makes your body hum. “Ah, ever the dutiful assistant. He’s lucky to have someone like you keeping his chaos in check.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalant air, though his attention feels like a spotlight. “It’s what I’m being paid to do.”

He tilts his head, the movement almost predatory, gaze giving you a not so subtle once over. “It must be exhausting, though. All work and no play makes for a dull life. When’s the last time you took a break?”

Your brows pinch together. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” he drawls, leaning closer, his cologne—a mix of citrus and something spicier—hitting your senses, “I don’t think someone as pretty as you should spend her days buried in schedules and emails.”

“Flattery doesn’t work on me.” A damn lie.

“Oh, I’m not trying to flatter you.” He smirks, his confidence maddening. “I’m simply stating a fact.”

Before you can form a retort, he straightens, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. “Join me for lunch,” he says, and it’s not quite a question. “You look like you could use a little indulgence.”

Your brain immediately shouts no, warning you of all the ways this is a terrible idea, but your pride, bruised and still licking its wounds from earlier, nudges you forward.

“Lunch?” you ask, raising a skeptical brow. “You and me?”

“Why not?” he replies, his grin boyish but undeniably charming. “Unless you’ve got a better offer.”

You know agreeing to this is risky, a slippery slope, but thinking of Marcus coming back to find out you’ve been out with his stepson stokes a spark of defiance you can’t quite ignore.

“I don’t. And if you’re paying, there’s this new place I’ve been dying to try,” you’re playful with it, standing and grabbing your bag, ignoring the little voice in your head screaming at you for potentially girlbossing a little too close to the sun. “If this ends up being a waste of time, I’m billing you for the hour.”

Lucius gives you a smug smile, his satisfaction evident as he steps aside to let you pass. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you moan, your breath hitching as your orgasm crests, fingers gripping the edge of the counter tightly.

Between your spread thighs, Lucius works you with his mouth, his tongue sliding through your folds with obscene skill. His strong nose nudges your clit, each brush sparking jolts of pleasure that leave you trembling.

The cold mirror at your back is a sharp contrast to the heat that’s overtaken your entire being, a reminder of where you are—some ritzy bar’s fancy men’s restroom, the door locked behind you.

Lunch had been harmless enough—until it wasn’t. A few drinks at the bar loosened both of your tongues, flirtatious words became heated looks, and before you knew it, Lucius leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I think we both know how this is going to end.”

You hadn’t argued when he tugged you toward the restroom, your body tingling with the thrill of doing something so reckless, so delectably wrong. But that’s kind of what you’re into, isn’t it?

The moment the door clicked shut, his mouth had been on yours, kissing you with a fervor that made you forget about everything.

“Been wanting this for so long,” Lucius mutters now as he pulls back, licking his lips, glistening with your sweet slick. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider as his darkened blue eyes flick up to meet yours. “Not fuckin’ fair that he gets everything.”

You’re too far gone to care about his words, your head lolling back against the mirror as his lips press a trail of kisses up your inner thigh. “Fuck, Lucius,” you pant, your hands reaching for him, needing more. Your fingers find his dark curls, tugging lightly as he stands, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s all heat and desperation.

His tongue slips past your lips, and you moan at the lingering taste of yourself there. Your hand slides down between you, palming the thick length of him through his pants, and he groans into your mouth, his fingers returning to your pussy, teasing your puffy clit until you’re a whimpering mess.

“Are you going to fuck me right here?” you ask breathlessly, biting your lip as you look up at him through heavy lashes.

He groans, his large hand cradling your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him. “What do you think? Turn around.”

He relinquishes his hold on you, stepping back just enough to give you room, and you obey, spinning to face the mirror, your reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and eyes hazy with lust. Behind you, Lucius’s hands are already lifting your skirt, one you’d chosen specifically for Marcus this morning, knowing how much he loves you in pretty, feminine things.

But he had barely spared you a glance before he left with her, and now the thought of him feels distant, unimportant.

He lets out a low whistle, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass, admiring the sight of you bent over for him.

You shut your eyes, willing away any lingering thoughts of Marcus as his fingers trace the slick seam of your pussy before dipping inside, his touch confident and practiced.

“Look at yourself,” he commands, his free hand pressing firmly on the small of your back, arching you further. “Eyes on the mirror.”

Your lashes flutter as you meet your own reflection again. His fingers pick up their pace, his chest brushing against your back as he frees himself from his pants. Your breath catches when you feel the thick head of his cock glide through your folds, replacing his digits at your entrance.

You wag your hips playfully, earning a sharp smack to your ass, the sting blooming with heat, and it makes you giggle, the sound light and sultry.

“Are you always this giddy to get fucked?” Lucius teases, his tone dripping with amusement as he lines himself up.

“Only when it’s someone who knows what they’re doing.”

He laughs, a deep, wicked sound, before gripping your hip with one hand and guiding himself inside you with the other. The stretch is exquisite, stealing the air from your lungs as he sinks into you inch by inch, his girth filling you completely.

He’s not as thick or as large as Marcus, but the way he feels inside you is undeniably satisfying, and judging by the expert way he used his mouth, you’re eager to explore the rest of his talents.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his head falling forward, his nose nuzzling into your hair. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

You cry out, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the marbled counter as he starts to move with pure vehemence.

Every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, his pace building until you’re nothing but a mess of moans and desperate gasps.

The sight of him fucking you from behind, his mouth agape, brows furrowed, has your pussy clenching around him. His strokes are deep and hard, each one making the edge of the countertop dig into the front your thighs, but you don’t care. It feels too damn good.

The universe has an impeccable way of fucking with you, and it does so spectacularly when your phone buzzes in your purse.

The ringtone you’ve assigned to Marcus echoes through the luxurious restroom, shattering the moment and flooding your veins with icy dread.

“L-Lucius, stop,” you whine, your voice betraying how little you actually mean it. His thrusts are hitting just the right spot, and you can barely think straight, let alone care about the consequences of missing Marcus’s call.

Lucius pauses, though not in the way you hoped—or feared. He slows, grinding himself against you, his length pressing deliciously into your g-spot.

Leaning over your bent form, he rummages through your purse until he retrieves the still-ringing phone. “Go ahead,” he holds the device out to you with a cocky grin. “Answer it. Wouldn’t want to upset the boss, now would we?”

You hesitate, staring at the phone like it’s a ticking bomb.

The position you’re in—physically and metaphorically—feels impossible to navigate. When the ringing threatens to stop, instinct gives way, and you snatch the phone from his hand and answer, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?” Your voice is shaky, breathless, and you pray he doesn’t notice.

“Where the hell are you?” Marcus’s tone is sharp, tinged with irritation.

Your breath hitches. He’s back at the office? He said he’d be gone all day. Panic bubbles in your chest as Lucius’s hips roll lazily, burying himself deep inside you as if to prove a point, and you fight not to moan.

“I-I went out for lunch and to run a few errands,” you stammer, gripping the counter for dear life. In the mirror, Lucius’s smirk deepens. His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts over your blouse as he pulls you upright against his chest.

He moves your hair aside and starts placing soft, teasing kisses along your neck, his facial hair grazing your skin and adding to the maddening sensations.

“How long are you going to be?”

“Not much longer,” you manage, biting your lip as Lucius’s fingers find your clit. “Do you… need something?” The slow, torturous circles make your knees buckle, and you have to mute the phone to let out a strangled moan.

“Yes,” Marcus replies, oblivious to your plight. “I need you back here. I ran into a client while I was out, and…”

Whatever else he says fades into static as Lucius speeds up his ministrations, his fingers and cock working in perfect harmony to unravel you. Your free hand flies to his wrist, a silent plea for mercy, but he just grins against your neck.

“Just let me finish this call,” you whisper, your voice desperate and pleading.

“No,” he growls through gritted teeth. “You’re going to come all over my dick while you’re on the phone with him.”

Before you can protest, he presses you back down against the counter, resuming the relentless rhythm that slips a film of haze over your vision. Your hand trembles as you unmute the call, your brain scrambling to form coherent words while Lucius fucks you like he owns you.

“...so get back here to pull the prints,” Marcus finishes.

“Okay,” you rasp, tightly holding the edge of the counter, the sound of skin meeting skin threatening to echo over the line. “I-I’ll be there soon.”

There’s a long pause, and your heart pounds in your chest, more from the overwhelming sensation between your legs than Marcus’s impending suspicion. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you blurt out, squeezing your eyes shut as his fingers press harder against your clit, tipping you dangerously close to the edge. “I—I have to go. I’ll see you at the office.”

Without waiting for a response, you hang up and toss the phone onto the counter.

Finally, you let go, your high pitched moans spilling freely as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clamp down around Lucius’s cock, and you throw your hips back to meet his thrusts, chasing every last bit of pleasure.

“Oh fuck me, I’m coming!” you cry out, your voice echoing through the restroom.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he delivers a few final, punishing thrusts. “There we go,” he practically purrs, satisfied.

He pulls out at the last second, stroking himself until his release coats the supple skin of your ass. He exhales sharply, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he watches you shudder beneath him.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing. Then, he chuckles, stepping back to grab a few tissues. “You’re a fucking masterpiece,” he murmurs, gently cleaning you up.

You let out a weak laugh, your legs still trembling as you brace yourself against the counter. “That was way too close.”

He shrugs, tucking himself back into his pants and leaning against the sink, watching you fix your skirt and smooth your hair in the mirror. “I don’t really give a shit,” he replies, his tone so nonchalant it borders on arrogance.

“Yeah,” you give him a sidelong glance. “I figured as much.” You straighten your appearance, making sure to fix every little imperfection and evidence of what just transpired. 

“When can we do this again?”

You hadn’t thought this far ahead, too caught up in the heat of the moment to consider what might come next. His proposition is tempting, dangerously so, and you hesitate, weighing the risks.

Marcus is married after all, and while he’s never outright told you not to see anyone else (not that you wanted to, either), the possessiveness in the way he fucks you and how he treats you when it was just the two of you makes it clear he wouldn’t be thrilled. 

It’s not necessarily the smartest move to hookup with his stepson, considering the messy family history, but that’s really none of your business.

And the alternative? What, meeting some awkward Tinder match with a small cock who can’t get over his ex? No, thanks. You’d pick Lucius any day of the week. 

“You tell me,” you concede. What Marcus doesn’t know won’t kill him. “I don’t want Marcus to know about us. He’d pop his lid—and as fun as that would be for you, I don’t need that drama in my life right now.”

He reaches for you, his hand curling around your waist to pull you closer until you’re standing between his legs. His hands rest lightly on your hips, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your skirt. “It shouldn’t be any of his business who you fuck.”

You bite down on your tongue, gently pushing his hair back, running your fingers through the soft curls. “I know, but that man is complicated. You, of all people should know that.”

“Right,” he takes in your features, noting how beautiful you are, getting lost in your eyes. “Doesn’t matter much to me, but for you, we can keep this low-key.”

“I’d appreciate that,” you give him a small smile, leaning forward and brushing your lips softly against his in a kiss that lingers just long enough to make your pulse quicken again.

He grins boastfully as he pulls back, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a small, teasing motion. “Come on, I’ll take you back. We’ve probably hogged the washroom long enough.”

You nod, letting him guide you toward the door, though the weight of your choices lingers. For now, though, you push it all aside. One mess at a time.

Juggling these two men feels like a balancing act you’ve somehow mastered. Each fills a different part of your life, balancing out the deficiencies of the other like two halves of a very complicated equation.

Marcus is raw power, the kind of dominance that leaves your soul humming and your heart racing. He’s harsh, unapologetically entitled, and he takes what he wants with a certainty that has you willingly offering yourself up. 

You crave his intensity, the way he makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously exhilarating.

Lucius, though, is the warmth you never knew you needed. He’s attentive in ways Marcus never could be, the type of lover you’d believed only existed in fiction.

He doesn’t just fuck you—he worships you, like you’re the only person in the world when he’s with you. He makes you laugh, makes you feel seen. He treats you like you’re the prize, not some stolen treasure.

And yet, you’re the one hiding him. He’s eager to show you off, to take you to lavish galas with his Ivy League crowd, or whisk you away to some foreign paradise.

But a stubborn part of you clings to Marcus, to the ridiculous fantasy that one day he might wake up and finally choose you.

That he’ll leave her and realize you were what he wanted all along.

It’s an illusion, of course. And you know it—especially when Marcus mentions that he and his wife are starting couples counseling.

His tone is so nonchalant. It’s like he doesn’t even register what that means for you. But you do. It’s a dagger to the heart, a confirmation of the insecurities that have been simmering on your side of the affair for as long as it’s been happening. 

The beginning of the end. If he’s putting in the effort to save his marriage, you’re the obvious sacrifice.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That it’s good he’s fixing things because it means you can finally walk away. 

That night, you cry—gut-wrenching sobs that wrack your body as you curl up on your couch.

The tears aren’t just for him. They’re for you, for the mess you let yourself fall into, for the heartbreak you practically handed to yourself on a silver platter.

You didn’t realize how much of yourself you’d given to him until it was too late.

In what world does the mistress ever get a happy ending?

Determined, you decide that your time together is up. For real this time.

The sessions with his wife have already put distance between you—less frequent rendezvous, fewer late-night texts. And when you are together, the connection feels fractured.

Sure, he still fucks you like he always has, still uses that ancient, sweet language that once made you feel special. 

But now, everything he does cuts like glass because you know it’s just an act, a hollow currency to keep you around, to keep you looking at him like he’s your moon and stars.

Tonight is supposed to be the last time. You’ve planned it out—how you’ll say it, how you’ll walk away. The usual hotel room feels like the right setting for closure, neutral and familiar enough to weather whatever fallout may come.

You arrive early, as always. The room is pristine, the bed’s crisp linens beckoning. But it’s the item sitting in the center that draws your attention.

A white box tied with a vibrant red bow, your name written elegantly on a card tucked into the ribbon.

Knew these would look divine on you the moment I saw them, my carissime. I haven’t been the most attentive lover as of late, and for that, I apologize. - M

Your heart stutters as you slip the bow free and open the box. Inside lies the most exquisite set of lingerie you’ve ever seen, delicate lace and fine silk in a shade that complements your skin tone perfectly.

It looks so luxurious, you’re almost afraid to touch it. Two smaller boxes rest alongside it. Curious, you open them to reveal earrings and a matching necklace, adorned with your favorite gemstones.

Damn him. He’s making this so hard. The rational part of you knows better, but the temptation is too strong.

What’s the harm in one final night of indulgence? One last chance to revel in his attention, to let him taste you and remember exactly what he’s losing?

You slip out of your clothes, carefully donning the lingerie. The way it hugs your curves, accentuating every dip and swell of your body, makes you feel like a goddess.

You glance at your heels from earlier, slipping them back on—they match perfectly, adding the final touch to your look.

A small, knowing smile graces your lips. If this is goodbye, you’ll make sure it’s a goodbye he’ll never forget.

The door clicks open, and Marcus steps inside, the heavy weight of his presence commanding the room.

He pauses, taking in the sight of you sprawled across the bed, legs kicking up lazily, your chin propped on your palm. The thin strap of your bra slips down your shoulder, revealing more than enough to stoke the embers of desire in his eyes.

His gaze rakes over you with the intensity of a predator. “Dulcissima…” he breathes, the word oozes like molasses, thick and sweet, curling in your ear and making you wet.

You tilt your head, giving him your best doe-eyed expression, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Hi, Marcus,” you sing-song, your tone sweet, teasing, knowing exactly what it does to him.

He steps closer, his eyes lingering on the curves accentuated by the expensive lingerie he gifted you. “I was right to assume you’d look fucking sexy in this,” he says, his voice lower now, his fingertips grazing up your spine.

The faint touch sends a delicious shiver across your skin. His eyes devour you, the glint of the necklace he’d bought you sparkling against your throat like a declaration of ownership.

You turn slowly onto your back, stretching out lazily like a kitten, letting him take in the full view, and he exhales sharply through his nose, his control visibly fraying.

His gaze dips to the way the bra pushes your breasts together, the soft curve of your stomach, the jewelry catching the light.

“Did you like your gifts?” he asks, leaning down to press his lips against your bare midriff.

The kiss is hot, possessive, and you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin. Your stomach flips under his touch.

“Mhm…” you hum softly, keeping your tone light and coy.

His kisses trail higher, his mouth brushing over the swell of your breasts, the faint scrape of his teeth and beard sending a tremor through your body. When he bites down gently, your shaky exhale gives you away, and he chuckles, pleased with himself.

“Good,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin. “Couldn’t let my favorite girl forget how much I care about her.”

The word “favorite” grates against something inside you, even as the heat of his mouth distracts you. You let him keep talking, let him spin his meaningless webs.

You know this will be the last time, but you’ll let him play his game a little longer—for now.

Your fingers slip into his salt and peppered hair, pulling him up to you. His lips crash against yours in a fiery kiss, all teeth and tongue, his need barely contained. Your hands slide down his shoulders, body arching against him.

His hands move below you, skillfully undoing the clasp of your bra, the fabric slipping down your arms—when a sudden, sharp knock at the door splits the air.

Both of you freeze. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pull back, looking at Marcus in confusion.

His expression mirrors yours, his brow furrowing in annoyance as he glances toward the door.

The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent. Then, a voice—deep, familiar, furious.

“Open the door. I know you’re in there.” A pause, your name spoken with quiet venom. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Lucius.

Panic flares in your chest. Your stomach twists as the full weight of what’s about to happen sinks in. You scramble off the bed, your hands shaking as you grab your bra and hurriedly fasten it, your mind racing.

Marcus straightens, his countenance hardening as recognition dawns. His entire demeanor shifts, his shoulders squaring, his jaw tightening.

Everything is going to come to a head now, and you’re not ready for the chaos about to unfold. Marcus is seconds away from finding out about you and Lucius, Lucius uncovering your affair—and there’s no way to stop the inevitable collision.

He stalks to the door, throwing it open with a force that rattles the frame.

There stands Lucius, his expression a storm of anger and betrayal.

His sharp gaze cuts past Marcus immediately, landing on you. He matches the stance of the other man as he takes in the scene: your disheveled state, the lingerie, the necklace glinting on your chest.

“So it’s true.” He storms into the room, “I knew you were sleeping around. My mother did too—just not with who. I should have fucking known it was her.” His words strike like daggers. “It’s always the gold-digging, whorish assistant.”

The insult lands hard, but you refuse to flinch.

Marcus steps forward, spitting out his name. His lips curl into a snarl, his broad body taut with controlled aggression. “What is it that you want? And don’t bullshit me.”

Lucius doesn’t back down. “To see you fall.”

The room goes deadly quiet, the tension is a living thing now, crackling with the threat of violence. You stand frozen, both men squaring off like animals about to tear each other apart.

“Once my mother hears about this, she’s going to divorce you. She’ll take everything. The firm will be mine. She,” his gaze shifts to you, and it’s like being pierced with ice. “Will be mine.”

Marcus lets out a laugh—dark, guttural, dangerous.

“You are an entitled little shit,” the insult makes his disdain clear. “You think you can waltz in here, throw a tantrum, and get what you want? You think I give a damn about your threats?”

“I don’t need threats,” Lucius snaps. “I have the truth.”

“What truth?”

Lucius fucking smirks, stepping away from him and closer to you, rounding your body until he’s right behind you, his words melting into your skin. “She’s not just your dirty little secret. She’s been fucking me too.”

The words drop like a bomb, shattering the fragile facade of control in the room.

Marcus’s body stiffens, gaze snapping toward you with a look you can’t quite decipher—shock, anger, betrayal all dancing in his dark brown eyes.

“Is that true?” He demands, his eyes bore into you, demanding an answer.

Your throat goes dry, panic rising like an avalanche threatening to drown you. “Marcus, I—”

“It’s true,” Lucius interrupts, his tone triumphant and venomous, wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you flush against him. “She’s been playing both sides. Isn’t that right?” His lips trail over your neck, and you hate the way the throbbing at your pussy begins to pulse. “Tell him. Tell him how you’d come running to me every time he wasn’t enough for you. How you let me fuck you while he was on the phone.”

“That’s enough,” Marcus growls, stepping closer, his larger frame looming over the both of you. His anger is palpable, but there’s something else simmering beneath it—arousal.

Lucius laughs, the sound bitter and taunting. “What’s the matter, Acacius? Is the truth too much for you? Or is it the thought of this pussy creaming all over my cock that’s got you so worked up?”

His hand presses against you, his fingers teasing through the damp fabric of your panties, and a soft whimper escapes your lips despite yourself. You bite down on it too late, and Marcus’s gaze sharpens, locking onto you like a predator.

“She’s a liar,” Lucius continues, his voice a deadly purr. “And a cheat. Just like you.”

The accusation tantalizes a reaction out of Marcus, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his eyes fall to where Lucius’s hand moves between your legs, then back to your face.

Slowly, deliberately, he steps closer until the barest inch separates the two of you.

“You’re dripping,” Lucius observes with a smirk, his tone triumphant. “She likes it when we talk to her like this.”

“I know she does,” Marcus replies, razor-sharp. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his fingers digging just enough to make you gasp. “She always gets off on being called out for what she is—a filthy, nasty little slut.”

“Oh my god,” you breathe, the words slipping out unbidden as Lucius begins to circle your clit. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your body betraying you with every twitch and moan.

“No, darling,” Marcus commands, tightening his grip on your face and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

You blink up at him, your lashes damp with unshed tears of humiliation and need. His gaze is scorching, consuming every inch of your face.

“Why?” Marcus demands, his voice steady but deadly. “Why both of us? What’s in it for you?”

Your lips part, the truth clawing its way to the surface. “Because I can,” you finally admit, your voice trembling but defiant.

The confession hits the air like a spark to kindling. Marcus’s lips morph into a cold smirk, and Lucius lets out a low chuckle behind you.

“Say that again,” Marcus orders, leaning in until his forehead almost touches yours.

“I had two powerful men doing everything for me,” your admission is louder this time, emboldened by the heat of their attention. “Showering me with gifts, meals, and good cock. Why the fuck would I give that up?”

Marcus’s grip on your jaw shifting to trail down your throat, gripping it just enough to make your pulse race beneath his fingertips.

“You’re perfect, my carissime.” There’s this softness to his tone that surprises you, and it only amplifies the pleasure you feel as Lucius slips two fingers inside of you, your mouth falling open as you let out a breathy moan. “So beautiful.” He’s not furious—he’s consumed by the same fire threatening to burn all three of you alive.

“Tell us,” Lucius demands, his voice a smooth drawl as his digits curl just right, pressing onto the spongy, sensitive spot that makes your desire flare. “Tell us what you really want, or we’ll stop. Maybe leave you here all wet and needy.”

Marcus can feel the way you harshly swallow against his palm, brows twitching with amusement as he watches you intently, anticipating your answer. “I want both of you,” you confess. “I want you to ruin me, together.”

The air between you is laced with shared lust and hostility. Marcus shakes his head, a bitter, haughty laugh escaping him. “You really are a whore,” he says, his free hand gripping your chin again to force you to look at him. “And you’ll take whatever we give you. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you whisper, the word a plea as Lucius withdraws his fingers only to bring them to your lips. He smirks when you part them willingly, sucking his fingers clean with a moan that makes Marcus’s eyes darken further.

“You’ve got her trained well,” He taunts, his gaze locking with Marcus’s over your shoulder.

“Enough talking,” Marcus snaps, his patience finally snapping, “Get her on the bed.”

Lucius doesn’t hesitate. He guides you backwards, sitting at the edge of the bed with you on his lap, undoing your bra and slipping it off your shoulders.

Your legs spread instinctively, your body already responding to the charged dominance of the two men using you.

Lucius’s lips claim yours in a kiss that’s as punishing as it is passionate. His hands roam freely over your body, kneading your breasts, pinching at your nipples while Marcus watches, his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned but still on.

He strokes himself slowly, his gaze fixed on the way Lucius toys with you.

When Lucius pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips. He smirks, attention turning to Marcus. “She’s all yours. For now,” his tone drips with challenge.

Marcus steps forward, gripping your thighs. “Been thinking about tasting her all day. You’re not about to fuck that up for me.”

Then, with a confidence that makes your heart stutter, he drops to his fucking knees.

The motion is almost reverent, but the hunger in his eyes tells a different story. He hooks his fingers into the delicate lace of your panties, dragging them down your legs until they hang precariously from the sharp tip of your heels. His breath ghosts over your sticky, swollen folds, making your thighs quiver in anticipation.

“Fuck,” Marcus mutters under his breath, the words guttural, as if the sight alone is enough to wreck him. His mouth descends, and the moment his tongue laves over your folds, devouring you with reckless abandon, you cry out, your back arching instinctively against Lucius.

“Oh!” The exclamation is ripped from your throat, and Lucius grunts in response, his hands tugging at your sensitive nipples while his lips and teeth nip at your neck, leaving stinging kisses.

It’s overwhelming, the sensation of being worshipped and claimed by both of them.

The heat, the hands, the mouths—everything converges until you’re dizzy with pleasure. Your trembling fingers fumble behind you, reaching for Lucius’s pants, desperate for more.

It makes him chuckle low in your ear, the sound both amused and darkly approving.

“Impatient,” Lucius murmurs, helping you by undoing his pants and freeing his thick cock. You wrap your shaky hand around him, earning a hiss of pleasure as he hardens further under your touch.

Meanwhile, Marcus’s lips wrap around your fleshy pearl, sucking it into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. His tongue flicks against the sensitive nub, your hips grinding against his face.

He doesn’t stop you—if anything, he encourages it, absolutely pussy drunk, groaning against your cunt as if your taste alone could sustain him.

Your juices smear across his lips and beard, the rough bristle of it adding another layer of sensation that makes your vision blur. The heat coils tighter in your core, your thighs trembling as Lucius’s cock twitches in your hand.

You have a devious idea. With a soft call of Marcus’s name, you draw his attention, your voice breathless and needy.

His dark eyes flick up to yours, his lips glistening with your slick. Without a word, you extend your hand, palm up, quirking a brow in silent request.

Marcus smirks, his smugness dripping with sinful intent, and spits into your hand. The obscene mixture of his saliva and your syrupy arousal pools in your palm, and you return to stroking Lucius’s cock with it. His sharp intake of breath tells you he appreciates the added slickness.

“Fuck,” Lucius curses, his hips jerking forward into your grip as your lips reconnect with his. Marcus, undeterred, dives back between your legs, his tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm.

The wet, lewd sounds of your hand on Lucius’s cock and Marcus devouring you echo through the room, an indecent symphony pushing you closer to the edge.

Your breaths grow ragged, your body taut like a bowstring. “I—I’m close,” you manage to stammer, your voice barely audible against Lucius’s mouth.

“Then come,” Marcus commands, his voice muffled against your heat but no less authoritative. “Come all over my tongue, darling. Take it.”

His teeth graze your clit just right, and the sharp sensation sends you careening over the edge. You scream his name, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashes over you, your release drenching Marcus’s face.

He doesn’t falter, drinking you greedily as though you’re the sweetest ambrosia. The fountain of fucking youth.

You collapse against Lucius, your body trembling and spent, but the men aren’t done with you. Not even close.

Marcus rises to his feet, his shirt already discarded, his chest heaving as he toes off his shoes and sheds the rest of his clothing. Lucius holds you close, his hands gentle as they trail over your skin, his lips pressing soft, almost tender kisses to your shoulder.

Then you’re maneuvered, heels taken off and bent over the edge of the bed.

Lucius scoots back just enough to rid himself of his remaining garments, his cock standing proud and throbbing as it brushes against your cheek. He cups your face, his thumb stroking your flushed skin as he guides the bulbous head to your lips.

Marcus leans down to kiss the back of your shoulder, his lips hot against your skin. “Show him what that pretty little mouth can do.”

You moan softly, your lips parting to take Lucius in. “I know exactly what she can do,” he says cockily, his voice dark with jealousy. “Don’t I, baby?”

Marcus growls from behind, envious, his large hands sliding over your ass, squeezing possessively as he lines himself up with your dripping, fluttering entrance.

You whimper, nodding weakly, but any response is cut off as Marcus thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one unrelenting stroke.

You cry out, the stretch of him almost too much. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, his hands gripping your hips as he sets a punishing pace.

Lucius gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, holding you steady as he begins to rock his hips, driving himself deeper down your throat. “Goddamn,” he rasps, his face contorting in bliss.

The intensity of it all—the exhilarating roughness of Marcus inside you, the weight of Lucius on your tongue, the heat and dominance radiating from both of them—sends your mind spiraling.

Your body is a conduit for their pleasure, and the way they claim you, together, makes the ache in your core unbearable.

“She’s so fucking tight,” Marcus growls, his nails digging into your skin. “Even with two cocks, she could take more. Couldn’t you, carissima?”

Lucius pulls you back with his firm grip on your hair as he forces you to answer. “Y-Yes,” you stutter, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer intensity. “Both of you—however you want me.”

The words spark something feral in them both. Marcus spanks you hard, the sharp sting making you cry out, while Lucius smirks, his gaze burning with approval.

“She’s about to come again,” Marcus announces, his thrusts growing erratic. “I can feel it. Shit, I shouldn’t let her, but she looks so goddamn beautiful when she does.”

Lucius chuckles darkly, his hand stroking his cock as he watches you fall apart. “She really is something when she’s like this.”

Marcus’s hand cracks against your ass repeatedly in a rhythmic cadence, heightening the pressure building deep within you. Each spank forces a moan from your throat, your body yielding completely to him as he drives you closer to the edge.

When your orgasm hits, it’s shattering. Your muscles lock, trembling as you cry out his name, the intensity leaving you utterly spent. Your release coats Marcus’s thick cock, the mess dripping down between your thighs.

Lucius, ever the observer, watches with an almost languid fascination, his lips curling into a sly smirk.

He doesn’t try to reclaim your mouth, instead captivated by the way your features twist in pleasure.

The sounds leaving you are primal—animalistic—and you’re too far gone to care. Your body screams for respite, muscles quivering from the relentless pace Marcus set, but your desire eclipses your exhaustion.

You don’t want it to stop; you crave more, as if their touch is the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth.

Your pussy flutters around Marcus as if unwilling to let him go, and for a moment, he hesitates, groaning at the way you cling to him.

“Could die in your sweet cunt,” he sighs, pulling out reluctantly. His cock, glistening with your combined juices, twitches at the loss of your warmth. “But I want to see you bounce on his cock now. Go on—show me how well you can follow instructions.”

The command is firm and your body responds before your mind can catch up.

Lucius shifts back against the headboard, his expression one of lazy satisfaction as he pulls you onto his lap. His hands guide you with surprising gentleness, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your hips as your lips meet his.

The kiss is slow, a stark contrast to the brutal pace Marcus had set, but it’s no less intense.

You feel Lucius’s cock slide through your swollen and used folds, the head teasing your oversensitive entrance before he thrusts inside.

You gasp into his mouth, wincing at the overwhelming sensation, but the pleasure quickly drowns out the ache as you adjust to him.

“Lucius,” you whimper, your voice high and pleading as your hips begin to rock. The friction makes you shudder, your body melting against his as he matches your rhythm.

“Just like that,” he groans, his head falling back against the headboard. His praise is genuine, his tone dripping with admiration. “Fuck, you’re amazing. Keep going—ride me, baby.”

You obey, rolling your hips with increasing determination before bouncing on him, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. You cling to him for support, your sweat slick tits pressing against his as he moves with you.

The bed dips, the shift pulling your attention away just as Marcus reappears, his towering figure imposing. His cock, messy with your release, bobs enticingly in front of you, making your mouth water. 

You don’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you press a teasing kiss to the base of his shaft before dragging your tongue up the length of him, from his heavy balls to the sensitive tip.

You repeat the action, savoring the salty taste of yourself on him before finally taking him into your mouth.

The room is a haze of sweat, lust, and the raw, carnal need radiating between the three of you.

Marcus curses above you as your mouth devours him, your lips dragging from his throbbing, veined shaft down to the soft weight of his balls.

You let your tongue explore, slurping and licking, his sparse pubic hairs tickling your cheeks.

“Shit,” he groans, his large hand resting at the back of your head, letting you work at your own pace. “You’re so good at this, you know that? Worshipping me like you’re fucking made for it.”

Your throat is hoarse from the cries you’ve let out and the sheer volume of cock you’ve taken, but you press on, sucking and tonguing at him.

Lucius’ nails dig into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks, leaving faint crescents in their wake as he thrusts upward into your drenched pussy, the force of his movements making your entire body jolt.

“Keep bouncing on it,” He spreads your ass cheeks wider, his fingers teasing your other hole, brushing lightly against the tight ring.

The sensation makes you gasp against Marcus, your pussy clenching hard around the cock inside of you.

Marcus lets out a low laugh, his thumb swiping over the sheen of sweat on your temple.

“You’ve been in this tight little ass before?” Lucius asks, his tone laced with curiosity and lust.

“Plenty of times,” Marcus replies smoothly, gripping your face to guide your mouth back onto him. “She takes it so well. Always does. Don’t you, dulcissima?”

You gurgle around his length, your throat convulsing as he pushes deep, cutting off your air supply.

The world starts to dim, stars dancing at the edges of your vision, but the dizzying combination of Marcus’s cock down your throat and Lucius’s relentless thrusts makes you shudder with pleasure.

Marcus finally releases you, pulling out with a slick pop, and a mess of saliva drips down your chin, your chest, mixing with the sweat already coating your skin.

You cough, your body trembling as you try to catch your breath, and when you look up, your face is a wreck—puffy lips, smeared makeup, eyes glassy.

“Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice broken but no less keen.

Marcus tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing your spit-slick lips. “So fucking dirty,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you sloppily, uncaring of the mess between you.

His lips are selfish, his tongue curling against yours, his large hand cradling your face as if you’re his salacious treasure.

Lucius slows his thrusts, letting Marcus take over once he’s finished kissing you.

You’re pliant, boneless, too fucked-out to do anything but submit as Marcus positions himself behind you.

Your body is sandwiched between them, the heat of their skin against yours making your head swim. The room reeks of sex, their natural musk mingling with the sticky-sweet scent of your arousal.

“You got what you wanted, huh?” Lucius whispers against your ear, his lips brushing your neck.

“Both of us at the same time,” Marcus answers for you, his tone dripping with amusement as he strokes himself, the other hand spreading your ass.

His thumb circles your puckered hole, pressing just enough to make you moan.

“Fuck yes,” you pant, a smirk pulling at the corners of your swollen lips despite how utterly wrecked you feel.

The two men exchange a look—a silent agreement passing between them.

Marcus spits, the warm glob of saliva landing perfectly on your tight hole. His cock, wet with your earlier attention, glistens as he smears the spit across himself, preparing you.

“Relax,” Lucius coos, his hand brushing your hair back. His lips press against your jaw then the corner of your mouth. “Take it like you always do.”

Marcus pushes in slowly, the stretch almost unbearable, and your breath hitches, eyes rolling back as your body adjusts to the intrusion.

The sensation of being completely filled—Lucius’s cock buried in your pussy, Marcus’s girthy length breaching your ass—is overwhelming.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your nails digging into Lucius’s shoulders as Marcus inches deeper, his pace agonizingly deliberate.

“Always so tight, and ready” Marcus growls, his voice thick with restraint.

Lucius lets out a low chuckle, his hands roaming your body, one moving to your breast to tweak a sensitive nipple. “She always is. And she loves it, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your voice trembling, desperate. “I love it.”

They move in tandem, their cocks filling you, stretching you, driving you mad with pleasure as they fuck you mercilessly.

You’re lost in it all; the pain, the rhapsody, the sound of their grunts and groans mingling with your cries as your body is pushed to its limit.

It’s all a blur of sin. Both men push you closer and closer to the brink of oblivion.

Marcus drives into your ass, his fingers leaving bruises on the meat of your hips, while Lucius pistons upward from beneath you, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside your pussy that makes your vision white out.

The thin barrier of flesh separating their cocks as they thrust into you sends jolts of ecstasy coursing through your body, your nerves raw and exposed.

You feel alive—every touch, every degrading word, every deserving thrust driving you closer to the precipice.

Their voices are a cacophony in your ears, their sharp remarks intertwining with your own ragged moans.

“Look at her,” Marcus sneers from behind you, his hand coming down in a sharp slap against your ass, forcing a yelp from your lips. “She’s fucking loving this. Such a filthy little thing, taking both our cocks like it’s the only thing she’s good for.”

You can’t form words, your head lolling between them as their bodies claim yours. Every stroke blurs the line between pain and pleasure, their belittling words fanning the flames in your gut.

“Slut,” Marcus taunts, his voice dripping with mockery as his hand slides up your back, pushing you further down against Lucius’s chest.

Lucius’s hand snakes between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit.

The added stimulation is too much. With a strangled cry, your final orgasm explodes through you, ripping a scream from your throat as you convulse around them.

“Fuck!” you shout, your voice cracking as your body arches and you reach blindly for the both of them to anchor yourself. “Marcus! Lucius!”

“That’s it, scream for us,” Marcus mocks, his voice rough as he continues pounding into your ass.

Lucius grips your waist, holding you flush against him, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he murmurs darkly, “Gonna fill this pussy up, and you’re not going to waste a single drop, you hear me?”

You nod weakly, your body limp against him as both men drive into you, their relentless rhythm dragging you through the haze of overstimulation.

“Poor girl is out of it,” Marcus taunts, slapping your sore ass again. “Come on, hang on a little longer.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. It is almost too much, and for a fleeting moment, you consider tapping out. But the way their bodies command yours, the sound of their growls, and the sheer force of their presence keep you in the game.

Marcus’s breathing grows labored, his hands clutching your hips right above where Lucius is holding you as he thrusts into you wildly a few more times before he freezes, his cock pulsing deep inside you.

“Fucking. Take. It,” he snarls as his release floods your ass in hot, thick ribbons.

Your body twitches against Lucius’s as Marcus lets out a satisfied grunt, and he is the last to follow, as he forces you down onto his cock entirely, holding you there while he empties himself into your pussy. 

You’re spent, your body trembling and boneless as they finally slow, their brawny hands roaming over your skin as if soothing the raw, frenzied mess they’ve made of you.

The exhaustion finally catches up, an almost unbearable heaviness dragging at your limbs as Marcus and Lucius pull out of you.

You barely register their murmured words or the gentle way they clean you up, your body too drained to offer anything more than faint whimpers.

When your head hits the pillow, lying on your back beneath the linens, sleep claims you almost instantly, as though your body has surrendered entirely.

You don’t know how much time passes before you stir again. The room is still dark, save for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Everything is quiet—no voices, no sounds of movement— and you blink, fully groggy and disoriented.

Every inch of you is sore, your legs leaden, your pussy and ass throbbing with the aftermath of their brutal attentions. Shifting slightly, you wince, and the movement stirs a dull, lingering heat in your core.

“Carissime,” the familiar endearment pulls you fully from the fog of sleep, your heart skipping as you feel large hands seeking you out, pulling you into a broad chest that you recognize all too well.

“Marcus,” you croak, your throat burning with the effort, the rough sounds of earlier cries and screams still lingering in your vocal cords.

Your words devolve into a coughing fit, and Marcus shifts immediately, reaching over to flick on the lamp beside the bed.

Warm light floods part of the room, making you squint and illuminating his strong features, softened with concern as he hands you a glass of water he must have prepared.

“Drink.”

You gulp the water down greedily, the coolness soothing your parched throat. When the glass is empty, you lower it shakily, only for Marcus to take it from your hands and set it aside.

His hand slides to your back, stroking it in slow, deliberate circles.

“What…” you start, your thoughts tangled, unsure where to begin.

Marcus hushes you, tipping your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, his dark eyes boring into yours. “You made a mess of things, you know that, right?”

You can only stare at him, your lips parting in confusion as he holds your gaze captive.

“You know I don’t like sharing,” he continues, his voice deceptively gentle. “And you still went out and found some other dick to hop on... Not just with anyone, either, but with Lucius.” His lips curl into a wry smile, almost amused at the irony.

The mention of your other lover makes your heart race.

“My sweet girl,” Marcus goes on, stroking your thigh beneath the sheets with his free hand. “This is my fault, really. For not prioritizing you the way I should have.”

There’s a flicker of guilt in his expression, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears. “But it could never be that way. You know this. I told you from the start I’d never put you at the forefront. And I meant it.”

His words sting, soft though they are, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You don’t know where he’s leading this conversation, but it feels like he’s holding your heart right in the palm of his hand.

“I convinced the boy to keep our secret,” Marcus continues, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as he watches you intently. “But you’re too much of a temptation to keep around. I should fire you. Let you go.”

Your breath catches, panic surging momentarily until his hand moves higher, cupping your cheek.

“But I’m a selfish man that craves your cunt,” he admits, his lips curling in a predatory smirk. “Your mouth. Your body.”

His hand presses firmer against your thigh, as if to emphasize his claim, while his thumb continues its tantalizing stroke over your lip.

“So I’m—we’re—keeping you around,” Marcus declares, the weight of his decision settling heavily in the space between you.

You should feel insulted, degraded even. But instead, the ache between your legs throbs with want, remembering how he and Lucius took you apart.

“It’s the only way I can make this work without losing you. It’ll kill me to know you’ll roll around in bed with him, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to keep seeing your beautiful face every day. To keep my share of the firm.”

So this is what it’s all about—it isn’t about love, it’s about men and their entitlement, their rivalry, their need to possess and control.

Marcus tilts his head, studying you as if waiting for your response. “That is, if you want it,” he adds. “I have no interest in keeping you here against your will.”

The opening is there—the chance to leave this mess behind. To reclaim some shred of dignity and walk away from the entanglement of lust and rivalry these men represent.

But then the delicious ache in your body pulls at you, reminding you of how good it felt to have both of them claim you, how intoxicating it is to be the center of their desire, their depravity.

You don’t ask about his wife or any of that other bullshit. Instead, your lips curve into a saccharine smile, and you nod, your voice steady despite the chaos in your mind.

“I want this,” you say simply.

Marcus’s eyes darken with satisfaction, his smirk growing as he cups your face and kisses you—messy and bruising, claiming you once more.

If you’re a bad person for choosing this, then so be it. Bad people always find their place, and yours is right here, tangled in their dangerous games.

[mackk122]

Tittle : First time (part 1).

Part.2

Pairing~Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 5k.

Warnings~ none :)

Summary~ Younger Sister to the twin Emperors.As you are forced to sit and watch the games, a certain gladiator catches your attention.

Notes: This is just a build up to the next part. Raw, next question…

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

As I sat there awaiting my brother’s speech to announce the general, my mind wandered off searching in the crowd.

‘How could so many people sit here and enjoy these brutal games?’ I thought, I could hear the commotion but cared less of what was being spoken.

Still lost in my thoughts I jumped at a hand being placed on my shoulder- it was Lucilla.

“And where does the mind of the young princess of Rome, wander off to?” She spoke softly smelling the little bundle of flowers in her hand.

“Ah, just thinking about the games” I gave a fake smile. I had to be cautious about what I said or did, for my twin brothers didn’t take criticism lightly.

She smiled and gave a soft nod, understanding where I was coming from. All of the sudden the sound of horns and the crowd’s cheers erupted, drawing me out of my mind. The gladiators all came out, these men which have not felt peace since before their homes were taken.

I noticed very quickly a young man in the center of them, from what I could see he was a natural born leader, and very handsome. He commanded the gladiators as if it were his own personal army, when he moved they moved at his discretion. As the game went on I could barely stomach the man getting throw into the pillar. I turned away only for Caracalla to speak.

“Sister you must watch, isn’t it magnificent?” He grinned devilishly. I didn’t respond, for fear I would vomit because of the gore.

“YOUR EMPEROR IS SPEAKING TO YOU!” He shouted staring at me as if I was the crazy one.

“Brother! Our sister doesn’t mean to offend, remember it is but her first time sitting here to watch” Geta replied calming our brother down. As Caracalla turned back around amused at the center of the arena, Geta gave me a warning look.

As all of this was happening the rhino then slammed into the wall, and the two gladiators began to fight. My stomach began to turn, I prayed the man I saw earlier would not be slain.

As he fell to the ground and the bigger man stood above him asking the crowd for mercy or death, my heart sank.

The crowd began to cheer ‘Mercy’, and my brother stood to his feet, he turned to Lucilla who looked as if she was terrified for this man’s life.

“Shall I spare him?” Geta asked.

“Yes!” I shouted before Lucilla could answer her face slightly confused.

“Spare him” she spoke strongly to the Emperor.

With his body now facing the crowd and arm stretched out, he began to speak the words muffled in my head only focusing to the stranger on the ground, the crowd cheered and I looked up to see he had granted him mercy, I took a breath of relief.

“No mercy! I would rather die by the sword than receive mercy from the Roman’s!” Lucius shouted as he was on his hands and knees.

My eyes widened and I turned to Lucilla, she equally fearful for this young man. And they began to fight again, this time Lucius took victory. The crowd erupted into applause at the sight of this gladiator. He looked up into where we were sitting, and our eyes locked for a moment before he walked out of the arena.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

“Lucilla” I said softly, catching up to her and the general. She turned to me with a soft smile but I knew something was wrong.

I pulled her into a hug, “That man, who is he?” I whispered in her ear. The manner of tone she used for him to be spared, was almost as if she’d known him.

“I’m afraid I know not what you speak” she spoke back pulling away. “Princess” she nodded and they continued to walk.

‘There is something she knows’ I thought to myself. I began to walk back to my brothers only for them to have left me at the colosseum.

“Fantastic” I breathed out.

“Ah, Princess” Macrinus spoke.

“Oh!” I turned stunned, not expecting him to be there. “Your gladiator is really something, what was his name?” I smiled.

Macrinus gave a sly look before responding, “He goes by Hanno…” he looked at me head turned slightly, “huh… princess” he said before leaving.

‘Hanno..’ I thought and a small smile appeared on my lips. ‘I will meet this man’ I thought to myself determined to speak to him.

.·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺𓆟༻¨*:·.

As Lucius sat at the table getting stitched up, his mind kept wandering to the woman, behind the Emperors.

“What is on your mind gladiator?” Ravi asked him.

“That woman… not the generals wife- the other one, she is the princess… correct?” He asked staring at him.

“Yes… and why do you care?” Ravi smiled his brow raised. Lucius gave a look before it turned into a smile. Macrinus appeared

From around the corner congratulating him.

“Keep doing well and you’ll get what you want” he spoke.Lucius stopped him before he walked away.

“I want to meet the princess as well” he said stern. Macrinus chuckled and continued to walk.

[fadedmunson]

like him | l. verus

pairings ; lucius verus x fem!reader

summary ; you find once he's captured. you attempt to strip away the gladiator mystique and find out who he really is.

genre ; kinda angsty-ish buuuut cayoot ending

notes; shocker! i watched gladiator II and it was complete eye candy soooo i finally got the paul mescal hype ><

wc ; .7k words! sorry so short :,(

"aren't you a sight for sore eyes," you purred at the unknown man

he blankly looked at you, feigning a look exhaustion you mistake for annoyance

you pout at his expression, slumping on the stone next to his sweaty and bruised body

it had to be around 35° celsius in rome; the hot sweltering sun beating down on the dehydrated gladiators that had them dropping like flies left and right

many of the roman "call girls" would linger around these parts, you being one of them

"tell me gladiator," you began

"what did they take from you?" you gently asked, while poking at his chestplate

he didn't reply, just stared blankly at your figure, before adverting his gloomy gaze

he thought you seemed gentle and sweet, nothing like someone would call a common "whore"

obviously the life you're living was chosen for you, he wondered who made that decision

you laughed at his lack of response

"ah, so you're the stoic type? we've had many of those," you reminisce

"they come and go so quickly," you breathe out, "a real shame."

"i've become well versed in losing the things i love. i'm sure someone like you has as well." he surmised quietly

you whipped your head to look at him clearly

he face was completely wiped of emotion, oh he's serious

you dawn a wry smile, "i have."

he leans in further into the conversation, almost like his desire is to actively listening to you

you notice this and pull back a little

"you're a busy man," you nervously noted, "shouldn't you be training?"

he looks around for a minute, seeing everyone else occupied on some other mundane exercise

"i think i can push my training by a couple minutes," he suggested, wearing a cheeky grin before giggling with you

oh gods above please never let this moment end

you talk for what felt like forever, come to find out it had only been mere minutes

"there's someone about him," you tell one of the girls in the brothel

"yeah, like what? his phallus?" she jeers playfully

you stay silent and just shake your head gently while helping her

there was a part of you that had yearned for a connection,but instead you're here, helping naive girl fix their makeup for men who do not deserve them

you stand up suddenly, confusion written on all their faces

"i'll be out until dawn," you say sharply

they all look at you with an unspoken agreement lingering in the air

you take a hooded cape and be on your way, you have to see your gladiator

in the dead of the night, you had arrived to the prison chambers that held the fighters

it was dirty and filled with little creatures, rusted blood on the metal, only illuminated by some rickety lanterns, you could hear the almost silent cry of some of the men, wishing they could return to their homes,

you were hastily let in, a loud BANG! heard before the gates shut completely

his stature completely melts when he sees your eyes, he knows it's you underneath the covering

you take a seat right next to him on his uncomfortable mattress, and you look at him deeply while he takes off your cloth hood

"i want to know you.."

"lucius," he whispers, his eyes moving all over your face to analyze every littlest feature

you hold his face in your hands and swipe your thumb over his cheeks "i desire to know you lucius."

"it feels like we've known each other a lifetime," he completely melts into you hands, placing his over yours

gently kissing your knuckles, he looks to you for comfort in an empire that wants to see you both dead

your eyes well with tears at the love you feel, its gentle and sweet, no malice or underlying lust

it's overwhelming and all you can do is stare at his while he admires you, treating you with such kindness that you think it's turning you nauseous

he confided in you, about his father, his life in numidia, and his desires in life

his eyes lit up thinking about what his future life could've been if it weren't for the literal chains that restricted him

your silence spoke volumes as you ran your hands through his rugged hair, nodding your head at every little thing he had to say

for the first time since being in rome, he's felt solace. only with you

[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

More fanfics on my Master list!

Follow & like pls

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.

Follow & like pls

[vivwritesfics]

Easy Is The Way

He made it very clear that you would entertain his company, but little else. He would no fall for you, but he would not be cruel to you. He would be kind to you, he would care for you, but he would not let himself fall for you

Lucius Verus x reader (general Acacius's daughter)

Chapter One

"What did he do to you?" Your father whispered once you had gotten home.

"Nothing," you said quickly, shaking your head. "Father, he was not cruel to me. He did not lay a hand on me. He allowed me to rest." Your arms were crossed over your stomach, holding your sides as you looked at the floor.

Your father wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. "I will put a stop to this," he whispered, a tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek. "Even if it ends me."

You swallowed, your mouth dry as you stepped back, as you walked away from him. The baths. You just wanted to wash. Wash away the Colosseum, wash away all of it.

Hanno. His home had been taken from him by your father. His life had been ruined by your father. His wife, murdered at your father's command. He had no reason to be kind to you, had every reason to wrap his hands around your neck and watch you die.

It was the revenge he so deserved. Take the life of Marcus Acacius' daughter, avenge his wife.

Something was going on with Lucilla.

As you bathed, you heard whispers. Things that the staff had overheard, that they were sharing amongst themselves. But they weren't sharing it with you. You tried to listen in as you soaked in the warm waters of the private baths in your home, but they were keenly aware of you.

The information was not for your ears, that was clear.

Your father was being secretive, quiet. Whatever was going on with Lucilla was shared between them, not for your ears. You gritted your teeth and tried to not let the frustration show on your face.

No matter what room you entered, it fell silent as soon you did. Even if you tried to creep, you were unable to keep yourself hidden. Your fathers trained ears were able to pick you up the moment your sandals hit the stone floor.

You couldn't hide that it frustrated you. Not knowing, being left in the dark.

The next day of the games. You didn't expect your gladiator to survive. But he wasn't your gladiator, was he? He was just a gladiator who happened to be kind to you.

Maybe the Emperors would make another example out of you. Maybe they would send you down to the Colosseum again if he won, send you to be his prize. You could spend time with him, get to know more about him and his home.

The colosseum was full of water. It looked beautiful, but you knew that it was deadly. Water full of sharks and, soon, the remains of gladiators.

Seated beside your father, you watched as the ships emerged. There was little you could hear over the cheer of the crowd, but Hanno's voice rang out. You couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was clear as day that he was leading his men.

Whilst everyone cheered, while the twin Emperors grinned down at the scene in front of them, the scene that had been carefully curated for their amusement and pleasure, you shut your eyes. The violence and blood and gore of men fighting men had already been too much for you.

This was another level of barbaric.

The same air of unease settled over Lucilla and your father. She held his hand, unable to breathe as the flaming arrows were shot towards the gladiators.

The sail was on fire as the two ships headed towards each other. Muttered prayers left your lips, not loud enough for anybody to hear over the noises of the crowd. This wasn't real to them. Some game to fill their afternoon.

The first gladiator fell into the water. You could only hope that the arrow piercing his armour got to him before the shark did. The beast grabbed him, tore him apart as the water around his body turned red.

Your heart beat erratically as you searched for Hanno. There he was, still commanding the gladiators. You released a breath, sitting back in your seat.

They used the ship like a battering ram, splintering the hull of the other one. Immediately, Hanno began running. He leapt onto the other ship, taking two men down with him.

Another man fell into the water. The sharp immediately grabbed him and dragged him to his death.

In a way you were grateful for the smoke that obscured your view. You couldn't see the danger, couldn't see the brutality happening before you.

You couldn't see if Hanno was stabbed. You couldn't see if he was tossed into the water and torn apart by the sharks. In a way it was a blessing.

But you didn't know what was happening. It had unease settling in your chest as you desperately tried to see what was going on. The glimpses, not long enough to see which gladiator was which, did nothing to settle you.

The ships moved closer, oars splintering against the Colosseum walls. They were in front of you now, close enough that you could hear every time their swords clashed, every grunt that left their lips. You couldn't look away.

Suddenly, you caught a glimpse of Hanno. He grabbed the crossbow and raised it as the other gladiators fought. For a moment, one moment where your anxiety had spiked so high, you thought he was pointing it at you. But his eyes were trained on you, he hadn't even looked your way.

Your father. He wanted to kill your father. If it wasn't for the gladiator that knocked into him, he would have. He loosed the arrow as the other gladiator touched him and the arrow embedded itself in Emperor Geta's seat.

You couldn't stop the way you gasped. For a brief second, while he picked himself up, he looked at you. Geta shouted. You didn't know what he shouted as you sat forward in your seat. Your father stood, pulling Lucilla up with him. It wasn't safe, that was clear.

Your father pulled you to your feet, but you shrugged off his grip, desperate to see more. Hanno would not hurt you, you knew that much.

Geta and Caracalla ran, their tails tucked between their legs. But your father was still, unable to look away from the gladiator that had threatened his life. Did he know that he was the real target? That the arrow was never meant for Emperor Geta?

"In the name of the Emperors!" The games master shouted, drawing out every word "The victor is Hanno!"

Macrinus stood, and you did the same. You raced out ahead of him, heading the way they took you the day before, when you being given as a prize, as a punishment.

They didn't stop you as you moved through the colosseum. Everybody beneath the colosseum cheered, beat their chests as Hanno as his army (because really, what else were they? They were willing to follow him to the ends of the earth) walked through.

You watched, hidden behind the men as they stopped. "Who did this?" Somebody shouted, but you couldn't see who. You didn't move around too much, desperate to keep yourself hidden until you could get to Hanno.

Nobody answered. The cheering stopped, all eyes on the gladiators that had just finished competing. The ones that had made it out of there alive, anyway.

"WHO DID THIS!"

"It was me!"

"I did it!"

"I did it!"

"I did it!"

There were shouts from every direction, making it impossible to pinpoint the true culprit. But you knew, you had seen it first had. It struct you then how close you were to losing your life at Hanno's hands.

"Geta will want retribution for all of you." He approached Hanno as each word left his lips, seemingly punctuated by his steps. "Did you learn to shoot the same place you learnt to recite poetry?"

"Be glad it wasn't me or that arrow would have found you." Hanno's deep voice echoed throughout the Colosseum. Low and deadly, reverberating through you. But the laughs of the gladiators drowned it out.

He turned away, moved through his fellow gladiators until his eyes landed on you. His eyebrows went up, but he said nothing as he grabbed you and tucked you into his side.

It wasn't a move of affection, a move to keep you safe from the other gladiators. "I was not aiming for you," he said quietly, the words meant only for you.

"I know," you replied as he sat down. "You were aiming for the general, weren't you?"

He nodded and your fingers worked to strip him of his armour. He sat still, staring up at you as you tugged the leather. His injuries weren't as bad as they were the game before. The wounds that Ravi had closed up previously had remained closed through the game.

"I don't blame you for wanting to kill the general," you whispered, rocking on your feet. You didn't realise that you were doing it until he grabbed the backs of your thighs to still you.

The both of you were still, unmoving as you stared at each other. Hanno blinked at you, searched your face. You didn't know what he was reading in your face.

You wanted to touch him, wanted to reach up and wipe the blood from his cheeks. You wanted to touch his shoulders, feel the muscles there. He could easily cage you in with nothing but his arms, and it would leave you feeling nothing but safe.

"You watch the games with him although you hate it," he said, eyes still searching your face. You didn't move didn't react. "You are there as punishment. Just as you are here as punishment."

You shook your head and let go of his armour, letting it drop to the floor. "Yesterday, the emperors sent me here to set an example for my father. To show him what they can do should he threaten to disobey. Today, I am here of my own volition."

You stepped back as Ravi approached, letting him check over your gladiator. But still, Hanno was looking at you. "Why?" He asked.

Swallowing, you looked at your sandals. Ravi glanced at you for a moment, only a moment, and turned his attention back to Hanno. Did he know who you were? He must have. You could only pray that he didn't reveal you.

"I had to know," you whispered, breath catching in your throat. "I had to make sure they hadn't killed you for what you have done."

It took you by surprise when Hanno laughed. He let his gaze drop to his lap as he continued to laugh. "I will not be slain by a Roman sword," he said and Ravi stepped away from him.

Standing once again, Hanno grabbed it. It wasn't harsh, pulling you close once again to lead you through the Colosseum. No other gladiator dared to look at you when Hanno, the champion, had a hold of you.

It was a night much like the first. This time, Hanno sat closer to you as you. Your words were hushed, whispered between the two of you. To anybody looking into his cell, it would have looked like a sweet moment, two lovers, sharing their affection between each other.

But it wasn't that. You spoke of Rome, of a dream that had died when Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla took power. The dream of Lucilla's father, of Lucilla. You didn't mention her name in front of Hanno, didn't mention the wife of the general.

Hanno echoed back your thoughts. He, a man from Numidia, had the same dream of Rome. A free Rome, a Rome for the people.

"You speak such fantasies," you whispered as you laid down on his bed, forced to lay against each other by the size of it. "You speak of it like you how great Rome can be."

He let his arms wrap around you, pull you close so that you weren't hanging from the edge of the bed. A more comfortable way to lay, that was how the both of you justified it to yourselves. He moved closer and you realised why when he started speaking. So quietly, you wouldn't have been able to hear it if his lips weren't pressed against your ear.

"I am from Numidia, yes, but I was not born there," he said to you, lips kissing your ear with every word.

Hanno gave you no more information. But you took in his words, a secret you would keep close to your chest. He brushed your hair back, laying your head down on his bicep. "Sleep now," he said to you, and you shut your eyes.

But you didn't sleep right away. "Hanno?" You whispered, shuffling closer to him. You opened your eyes as he grunted, meeting the one eye he had open to look at you. "What will you do once you are a free man?"

Hanno let his eye fall shut and furrowed his brow. "The Colosseum does not lead to freedom. I will die in there, killed by another man or worn down by exhaustion, struck down by an infected wound or a disease."

You felt yourself deflate, your hand on his bare chest. "I do not wish that for you." His lack of response, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingertips left you to believe that he had fallen asleep.

***

You were not there, not in his house. Not in the palace, either. Wherever you were, your father just had to hope that you were safe.

General Acacius was doing this for his wife. He didn't want you mixed up in it. There was no telling what the Emperors would do to you if they found out what Acacius was doing.

He prayed to the Gods before he set off to the Colosseum, his most loyal men following him. Cloaked and under the cover of darkness, they rode to the Colosseum. Acacius was privy to the Emperor's plans for their praetorians, where they were stationed.

It should have been safe.

His men surrounded him as they marched into the Colosseum, holding their torches high. They walked through the stone corridor, heading towards the gladiators sleeping quarters. He didn't know that you were there, sleeping soundly against the gladiator that had tried to kill him.

Suddenly, his men dropped, arrows embedded into their necks. Their arrows hit their marks, leaving only the General Acacius standing.

No.

The Emperor's guards were not supposed to be here. This wasn't right. How could they have known about a plan hushed between husband and wife?

A guard used his sword to push the hot from Acacius's head, revealing his face. He kept a look of defiance on his face has he stared at the guard. But inside, he was screaming.

Somebody had betrayed them. Because of that, he was going to lose everything. His wife, his co-conspirator, would be punished in much the same way he would be. Death.

You were innocent in all of this. You didn't know what Lucilla and your father had been planning, yet the Emperor's would punish you. Punish you to hurt him one last time before he was put to death.

Your life at risk because of him. He would never forgive himself.

a/n: i'm hoping to do just one more part for this mini series, but I am loving it, i must admit - also, do i change my blog theme to lucius?

taglist:

@barcelonaloverf1life

@lefroggie

@tsunchani

@bxm-1012

@nicolebarnes

@whoopie6995

@shelbyteller

@saragrx

@ariesandwolves

@biapascal

@rrrrussosstuff

[ihavemanyhusbands]

for a lucius fic/blurb maybe he was betrothed to a girl before he was sent away and them reuniting after the events of the movie

OMG YES THANK YOU!!! This is divineeee im gonna make it a lil angsty (with happy ending though)

———

In all the years he’d been gone, he had never stopped counting the days until he saw you -- his betrothed, the love of his life -- again. Both of you had been young when your engagement was arranged, meant to marry when you were of age. You were the daughter of a senator who was close to Emperor Marcus Aurelius, his grandfather, and you had been friends since infancy.

He remembered playing in the gardens together, chasing butterflies, picking flowers for your mothers, and feeding the fish in the vivarium. Endless days of laughter, without worry of what the future might bring. At least you had each other, and there was comfort in thinking it would be for the rest of your lives.

But everything changed after the death of Maximus, the gladiator who had slayed his uncle, Emperor Commodus. Staying in Rome as a youth was far too dangerous, as many would attempt to assassinate him for the throne. His mother Lucilla's last act of love was to save him, even it it meant there was a possibility he would never come back.

Unfortunately, though, that meant he did not have time to say goodbye to you; to vow his everlasting fidelity. In Numidia, the breeze blowing in from the sea whispered your name, and he swore he could almost see your face -- as he remembered it in youth -- where the sky and the water met on the horizon.

The resulting rage and guilt fueled him as he started training, becoming stronger and more cunning over the years. He vowed his revenge against the Roman armies, fiercely defending the country that housed him.

Their arrival had been both a curse and a blessing, but only because they took him back with them. In the sands of the Colosseum, he fought harder than ever before in order to prove himself.

It was torture being unable to find you, wondering day and night where you might be in the great city. But once again, he let it fuel him, hellbent on taking down any enemy that might stand in his path.

It wasn't until the first game he participated in that Fate seemed to smile upon the two of you, and you saw each other across a great distance. Him in the arena and you sitting on the second tier with your father.

Your eyes widened in recognition and you couldn't look away. You almost stood but stopped yourself in order not to bring any unwanted attention to yourself. You absently grabbed your throat, your heart thundering fiercely with a maelstrom of emotions.

"Lucius..." you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Did you say something, dear?" Your father asked, glancing at you curiously.

You shook your head, but an icy dread spread throughout you as beasts were released into the arena. Lucius nodded at you just barely before he had to tear his gaze away, his sword at the ready. The way he fought was precise and ruthless, reminiscent of his father, Maximus.

You anxiously looked towards the Emperor's box, seeing Queen Lucilla come to the same realization. You desperately hoped you would be able to speak to her, so the two of you might find a way to speak to Lucius.

You sat at the edge of your seat the entire time, watching him fight his way to victory. You couldn't help but cheer with the crowd, immensely relieved, but covering it up with infectious enthusiasm. Lucius looked to you once again before he was forced to leave the arena, silently vowing to get to you, no matter the cost.

Under the cover of night, and with some help from General Acacius, some of your father's guards accompanied you to the underground cells where Macrinus kept his gladiators.

The gate to Lucius' cell was opened and you stepped in, making him immediately stand from his cot. Tears sprang to your eyes, a sound that was half sob and half laugh escaping you.

"Lucius!" you said as he embraced you, kissing you desperately.

You kissed him back as tears of happiness tracked down your cheeks. You pulled apart to look at each other, taking in the evidence of time on your features. Your hands cradled his face tenderly, seeing the boy you remembered beneath the man that now stood in front of you.

"I can't believe you're here," you said as he kissed your palms. "We have to get you out."

His jaw clenched in rage and frustration. "I have to earn my freedom in the arena, it is the only way for me."

You let out a sound of despair, trying not to break down sobbing. "But surely General Acacius can--"

He shook his head. "No one can know who I am. At least, not yet. There is too much at stake."

You grabbed both of his hands and held them against your chest.

"My heart belongs to you, Lucius Verus Aurelius," you said solemnly. "I have always been yours, and I intend to marry you no matter your status."

He swallowed thickly, pulling you in for another kiss as he realized time was running out. He leaned his forehead against yours, holding you as close as possible.

"I love you," he said. "Nothing could keep me from you.”

“Then promise me you’ll live.”

He promised, intending to see it through. There simply was no other way. Even through the most grueling trials that followed, losing one too many people in his life, he prevailed. He rightfully claimed the throne of Rome, ridding it of the threats that almost were its downfall.

And his first act as Emperor was to marry you in the palace’s gardens under the night sky, with only the Gods as witnesses. The way it was always meant to be, your fates written in the stars.

————-

[joelmillerisapunk]

This is my first time making one of these, and I feel like I should have done it a long time ago. There's been so many amazing fics I've read this past month. This month alone, I've done more reading and reblogging than I ever have, so buckle up 'cause it's about to be a long one. There's roughly 40ish fics here

A big thank you to every single author on this list for taking the time to write these and for the privilege of letting us read these and for free might I add. Your hard work, blood, sweat and tears has not gone unnoticed.

Please read the warnings before you indulge in these wonderful fics 🥰 enjoy!

Acacius

ᯓ★ Foxglove Downs Masterlist - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader

Summary: In the exclusive realm of elite show jumping, where wealth stretches as far as the polished estates, Marcus Acacius and Lucius Verus are locked in a fierce competition that reaches far beyond the arena.

ᯓ★ cosmic love - @kedsandtubesocks

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

ᯓ★ Wardog - @studioghibelli

Pairing: Marcus x reader  

Summary: the twin caesars were cruel, twisted, bad, unfit to rule the sweet empire of rome. but they pale in the shadow that you, their older sister, leaves behind. general acacius sees your hunger for power, your thirst for blood, your drive for ambition- it disgusts him. unfortunately, he cannot resist the temptation that is you. 

Dave York

ᯓ★ Law of attraction series - @baronessvonglitter

Pairing: Rom Com AU - divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring club owner!Javier Peña) 

Summary: Attraction isn't an easy thing to ignore. Especially when you and Dave find yourselves entangled in each other's professional and then private lives. 

ᯓ★let them feel - @guiltyasdave

pairing: Dave York x f!reader with a side of whichever Pedro boys you want x f!reader

summary: @/luxurychristmaspudding posted this poll with the compelling question in a room full of p boys, who is getting you off (in front of everyone else 👀)?, which led to the lovely daphne @/sizzlingcloudmentality posting let them see (go read that asap!), which then led to me asking "hey do you mind if i continue this?" and then writing 2k words in a state that i can only describe as possessed. enjoy <3

ᯓ★Fear & Delight - @pedgito

Pairing: Dave York x Reader

Summary: Dave's one last contract to tie up before the holidays proves to be more difficult than he expected.

Din Djarin

ᯓ★For the first time - @sawymredfox

pairing: Din Djarin x fem able-bodied reader

summary: The decision is made, it's time to do it. Hopefully, he'll survive the pain.

Frankie Morales

ᯓ★ Be My Baby - A Very Frankie Christmas - @schnarfer

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

Summary: Will you be my (Christmas) baby?

ᯓ★ The Layover - @magpiepills

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f reader x f reader’s friend x Santi Garcia

Summary: you and your friend meet a couple guys on their way back to Florida from Colombia. One thing leads to another and you end up at a motel.

ᯓ★ More Than Letters Series - @almostfoxglove

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Summary: You've tried long distance once: in college, after meeting your childhood pen pal Frankie in person for the first time. It didn't work out. More than a decade later, your mom calls with news: a letter has shown up for you with a familiar return address.

ᯓ★ nut vid with the sound on - @syd-djarin

Pairing: frankie "catfish" morales x f!reader

Summary :You accidently send Frankie a text that he wasn't supposed to see.

Javier Peña

ᯓ★Unscripted Desire - @gothcsz

Pairing: pornstar!javixreader

Series summary: you’re a camerawoman that shoots pornos. javier peña is the pornstar you can’t stand. why is it that you’re always so affected by him? Explicit. Minors DNI. 

ᯓ★Touch Tank - @thundermartini

Pairing: javier peña x f!reader

Summary:Javier helps you get over a little self-confidence crisis.

ᯓ★Branded - @sawymredfox

pairing: Javier Peña x fem! able-bodied reader

summary: Javier acknowledges something in the middle of the jungle.

ᯓ★The Constant - @milla-frenchy

Pairing: Javier Pena x fem reader

Summary: Javi wakes up after a nightmare

ᯓ★ FYBF- @almostempty

Pairing: Javier x f! reader

Summary: javier takes you home to prove that he can fuck you better than your boyfriend

Joel Miller

ᯓ★A Christmas Miracle - @punkshort

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Years of tension after a failed hook-up attempt with Joel boil over at your office Christmas party, but not in the way you expect.

ᯓ★texas red - @studioghibelli

pairing: joel miller x reader, 18+

summary: Joel ain’t used to lovin’ like yours.

ᯓ★ guilty pleasure: a fic in fetlife messages @wintrwinchestr

pairing: joel miller x f!reader oneshot

summary: joel is a freak and is tired of keeping it to himself. he finally decides to make himself a fetlife profile and finds just the type of girl he's been looking for to match his freak: you.

ᯓ★Phonophilia - @ozarkthedog

Pairing: Joel miller x f reader

Summary: Joel Miller loves how responsive you are.

ᯓ★Loopholes series  @yxtkiwiyxt

pairing : Joel Miller x f reader 

Series Summary: After a recent layoff from your job, you're now facing the end of your work visa in the U.S. which is set to expire soon. Tommy needs to access his trust fund before turning 35 or by marrying, so he presents you with a proposition: pretend to be his fiancée. In return, he’ll sponsor your work visa by putting you on the payroll for Miller Construction. But things get more complicated when you meet Tommy's older brother, Joel, who is skeptical about your fast-tracked engagement.

ᯓ★Fixation - @mssalo

Pairing: joel x f reader

Summary: You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy. 

ᯓ★Precision - @mrsmando

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel lets you trim his mustache. 

ᯓ★But he's the one i want - @wheresarizona

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

summary: All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch. 

ᯓ★Bad Santa - @baronessvonglitter

Pairing: sleazy mall Santa!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Frantically seeking relief during the Christmas rush, the Santa at your local mall is the last person you'd expect to help.. and the only one who can.

ᯓ★it means something - @jolapeno

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show; they make you glow, and feel like something worth choosing.

ᯓ★HARDER THAN YOU THINK - @aurorawritestoescape & @milla-frenchy

Pairing:Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It’s your first day at work and you feel nervous. But what can go wrong if your boss is your dad’s best friend, a person you’ve known and trusted for years? 

ᯓ★Lie to me - @strang3lov3

Pairing: dark+joel x f reader

Summary: Joel catches you red handed

ᯓ★dance away your cowboy blues - @kedsandtubesocks

Pairing: Country Singer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: who knew the man with the voice of an angel could break your heart this bad? 

ᯓ★ The Wold You Feed Series - @arcanefox207

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

ᯓ★Fallin' - @probablyreadinsmut

Pairing: Joel Miller X Afab!Reader

Summary: Reader is Joel's neighbour, a mid to late twenties pastry chef, who finds herself running on fumes. You're married to your high-school sweetheart Matt and for the longest time you were happy.

The loss of his job a few months prior changed him and before you knew it, the man you'd married didn't exist anymore. Replaced by a volatile stranger, it was him, but it wasn't him.

Joel Miller finds himself at the centre of it all and when the world ends, the trouble for him, doesn't end with it.

ᯓ★The Mrs Clause - @probablyreadinsmut

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Afab!Reader

Summary: You and Joel are Patrol partners who have been dancing around your feelings for each other for the longest time. Tommy has had enough of it and decides to intervene, setting Joel and you up as Santa and Mrs Claus.

ᯓ★ Steal Your Girl - @evolnoomym

Pairing:Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Joel shows you good time after some dude makes you feel very disappointed.

ᯓ★ A good grade - @itwasntimethatdidit40

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader

Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade?

ᯓ★ cherry thrill masterlist - @hellishjoel

Pairing: tattoo artist daddy dom!joel miller x virgin sub f!reader

series summary: Trust and devotion. Ink meets innocence. Your tattoo artist, Joel Miller, shows you what it really means to give up control. Reeling from the loss of your job, you’re running out of options, until a passing comment from Joel and a video camera give you just the right idea.

Reed Richards

ᯓ★That Shit wont end well - @sanarsi

Pairing: reed richards x f reader 

Summary: An affair with the most famous inventor of your time? What could possibly go wrong?

[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.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Saw you were taking Lucius Verus requests 👀

Perhaps something along the lines of Lucius rescuing reader from trouble. Hurt/comfort? I just know those biceps could hold me all day…

(if you write this can you tag me pls)

Oooooh thanks for requesting!!

(For the sake of this scenario, let’s say Lucius was allowed to walk the streets of Rome. Tw // mild violence)

————

“Fifteen denarii? For this?” You raised your eyebrows at the textile merchant, pointing at the swath of fabric you’d been sampling. “You must take me for a fool."

He frowned, his screwed up face uglier and even less friendly than before. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"For the quality, this is ten at best! And that’s being generous!”

"How dare you!" He spat, causing the stall's guard to take a menacing step forward. "This is genuine Tarentum wool!"

"I own such wool, and it doesn't feel nearly as coarse as this," you scoffed, tossing the fabric back at him. "You are scamming people with fakes."

"You forget yourself, woman," the guard said, his voice gruff.

He raised a large, meaty hand with the intent to strike you across the face and you flinched, trying to cover yourself with your hands. You grit your teeth in anticipation...

But the startling pain never came. You dared to look up as you heard the guard's confused grunt, and you saw that another man had caught his wrist.

"I would really advise against that," the man said, a dangerous edge to his tone.

"And who are you!? This does not concern you!" The merchant said, turning his glare away from you. "She was trying to tarnish my business!"

"Not without good reason, I suspect."

The guard tried to shove him off, but the man swiftly spun away from from his reach and punched him square in the face. You clambered backward as a full on brawl broke out between them, breaking the table where all the different pieces of textile were displayed. Your first instinct was to flee, but as you turned to run, a hand caught your arm.

"And just where do you think you're going?" the merchant sneered, his grip tight enough to bruise. "Look what you have caused!"

He backhanded you harshly, and at your cry, your savior knocked the guard unconscious and whirled around. There was fury in his gaze as he saw you cradling one side of your face with your free hand, and he took up the fallen guard's sword.

"Let go of her," he said slowly, pointing the tip of the sword at the merchant. "Or I'll cut off your hands."

Begrudgingly, the merchant let you go, and your savior nodded at you to get behind him. You hurried towards him without a second thought, instinctively holding onto his tunic. The two men stared at each other for a tense moment, poised to strike.

"I should cut them off anyway, so you may never strike a woman again," he spat, but lowered the sword.

"Get the fuck out of here," the merchant growled, his teeth clenched. "If I ever see either of you around here again, I'll have you killed."

Your savior did not even react to the threat, instead glancing at you over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

He tossed the sword on the ground and led you away, hovering close behind you to make sure no one else tried anything. Out in the busy street, he stopped you so he could examine your face, frowning. His thumb traced your cheekbone ever so lightly, which was just beginning to turn faintly purple.

You looked at him more closely, as well, pinned in place by the concern in his crystalline blue eyes. He was handsome in an almost divine way, like the personification of the god of war, Mars. He certainly fought like him, too, an undercurrent of violence under the flex of his muscles.

But you were not afraid of him, instead just awed that he had done it all in your defense.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You shook your head. "Just a dull throb now. Won't look so pretty for a while, though..."

"You needn't be concerned about that," he said, his hand retreating.

You swallowed hard, your face heating up at the insinuation. "I--Thank you for saving me, um..."

"Lucius, he said. "Lucius Verus."

"Thank you, Lucius," you said. "Surely I would be worse off if it hadn't been for you. Aren't you afraid he might call the Praetorian guard?"

"He won't. He would have to answer too many other questions that I'm sure he would prefer not to, especially about his business practices..."

You nodded, letting out a breath as you felt a little more relieved. You felt the urge to hug him, but instead you took both of his hands and squeezed them appreciatively.

"May the Gods bless you always, Lucius Verus."

He squeezed your hands back and smiled, inclining his head graciously.

"And you," he said, then glanced around at the busy crowd of the market. "I should like to be your personal guard for the rest of the day, if you'd let me escort you."

Your smile widened. "Well, I would never dream of declining such generous offer."

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