#lucius verus x y/n

[whosscruffylooking]

Militiae Species Amor Est

Militiae species amor est - "Love is a kind of war."

Part II Is Up Now!

This is a story based on an original character, Iris. She has no description in regards to hair, skin color, eye color, etc. It doesn't follow any particular timeline and the events in this story extend longer than the events of the movie. I saw the movie last night and wrote this today in between appointments, so please don't judge if it's slightly messy haha. Please enjoy!

warnings:// some mentions of blood and weapons. time period typical violence.

word count: 6.7k

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The air in the colosseum was thick with noise—cheers, jeers, and the distant clang of swords meeting shields. You sat stiffly in the patrician’s box beside your fiancé, Caius, his hand possessively resting on the arm of your chair. He was absorbed in the spectacle, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement every time the sand turned red. You barely heard him as he leaned close, muttering about the skill of one gladiator. Your attention, however, was elsewhere.

“Hanno,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the crowd, and the colosseum erupted into a frenzy. “The Eagle of the Arena!”

The title was grand, but it wasn’t the name that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the description whispered about him in every corner of Rome: a fighter with unmatched presence, defiance in his eyes, and a grace that reminded you of someone you thought you’d lost forever.

Lucius.

The boy who had once been your entire world.

Your heart raced as the gates creaked open, and Hanno stepped into the sunlight. The sight of him stole your breath. He was older now, broader, his body honed by years of struggle, but there was no mistaking him. His hair, still curling the way you remembered, caught the light, and his eyes—those stormy blue eyes that had once looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered—swept over the crowd.

Lucius.

He moved like the wind, his steps steady, his posture unshaken. The arena seemed to bend to him, the crowd hanging on his every movement. He raised his sword, saluting the emperor, but you knew him too well to miss the flicker of contempt in his gaze. That small defiance confirmed it.

You didn’t realize you were staring until Caius’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“You seem unusually captivated, my dear,” he said, his tone light but edged with suspicion.

You blinked, dragging your gaze away from the arena. “It’s… he’s remarkable,” you managed, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

Caius smirked, his pride swelling as if he were responsible for the spectacle before you. “Hanno is Rome’s finest now. A true warrior.”

Your eyes drifted back to Lucius—Hanno—before you could stop yourself. Memories of your childhood together flooded your mind: running through the gardens of Lucilla’s villa, the way his laughter had filled the air like music, the nights you whispered your dreams to each other under the stars.

He had been everything to you, even though the world told you he couldn’t be. You were a servant, an invisible presence in the household of his mother, Lucilla. But to Lucius, you had been more. He’d promised you, one night under the moon, that he would find a way for you to be together.

That promise had been shattered the day Maximus died. Lucius was sent away, his mother’s grief consuming everything in its path. You were left behind, forced to grow up in silence, betrothed to Caius—a man you didn’t love, who saw you as nothing more than a beautiful possession.

Now, years later, here he was. The boy who had held your hand in secret was now a man commanding the attention of thousands, and yet he was still fighting. Not just for survival, but for something greater. For freedom.

You couldn’t look away.

As the match began, Lucius moved with the precision and grace of someone born to the sword. Every strike, every parry, every step was measured and deliberate. He fought like a man who had nothing to lose and everything to prove.

When the fight ended—his opponent crumpled in the sand, and the crowd screamed his name—Lucius raised his head. For a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and you saw recognition spark there, sharp and immediate.

He knew you.

Your breath caught, your hands gripping the edge of your chair. He didn’t look away, his chest heaving as he stared up at you. The distance between you felt both vast and nonexistent.

“Are you unwell?” Caius’s voice jolted you back to reality, his brows furrowed in irritation.

You forced a smile, your heart pounding. “No. It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was him.

Lucius.

And you would find him again. No matter what it took.

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The roar of the crowd surged like a wave, crashing against the walls of the colosseum, but Lucius barely heard it. He stood in the center of the arena, the weight of his sword steady in his hand, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the fight. The sand beneath his feet was stained red, the air thick with heat and blood.

Another victory. Another step toward survival.

He turned to acknowledge the emperor with a sharp salute, but his movements were mechanical. His body obeyed out of habit, but his mind was elsewhere, as it always was after a fight. Somewhere far from Rome, far from the sand and the chains. Somewhere warm and quiet, where he wasn’t a gladiator, wasn’t the Eagle of the Arena.

Then he looked up at the crowd, scanning the patrician’s box with a glance he’d perfected—casual enough not to attract suspicion, sharp enough to note every detail.

And he saw her.

At first, he thought his exhaustion was playing tricks on him. He blinked, his grip tightening on his sword as he stared at the woman seated high above. The sun caught her hair, and though she was dressed in the fine silks of a noblewoman, there was no mistaking her.

It was her.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The world around him blurred—the cheers of the crowd, the stink of the arena, even the pain radiating from his bruised ribs. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the woman in front of him.

She was older now, more poised, her features sharper, but it was still her. The same eyes he used to stare into when they were children, the same curve of her lips that had whispered his name in the dark corners of his mother’s villa. The servant girl who had once been his whole world.

The girl he had loved.

Her eyes widened as they locked on his, a mix of shock and disbelief crossing her face. He wondered if she thought him a ghost, just as he had often imagined her face in dreams, only to wake and find himself alone. But this wasn’t a dream. She was here.

His chest tightened as a thousand memories flooded back. Running barefoot through the gardens together, laughing as they dodged his tutors and stole food from the kitchens. Her small, warm hands brushing his as they sat by the fountain, sharing secrets no one else could know.

And then the promises. He had been so sure, so determined, swearing under a sky full of stars that he would always protect her, always come back for her. But life had taken that choice from him. His father’s death, his mother’s grief—it had torn him from her side and thrown him into a world where love had no place.

Yet here she was, staring at him as though no time had passed at all.

The man beside her shifted in his seat, leaning close to speak to her. Lucius’s jaw clenched as the man’s hand brushed hers, the gesture small but possessive. So, she was engaged. Of course, she was. A woman like her, even a servant, could be bartered into a match that served some Roman noble’s ambitions.

But when she looked at her betrothed, there was no warmth in her eyes. None of the light he remembered.

She turned back to him, and for a moment, it felt as though the years melted away. The noise of the arena faded, the weight of his chains forgotten. It was just her and him, as it had always been.

Lucius felt something stir inside him, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

Hope.

His salute lingered a moment longer than it should have, his gaze unwavering. He saw the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her chair as if grounding herself against the storm inside her.

And then the guards called for him to return to the cells. The gate creaked open behind him. He forced himself to turn, to walk away, but every step felt heavier than the last.

She was here. She had found him.

And now, no matter the cost, he would find her again.

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The barracks were dark and quiet, save for the faint crackle of the brazier in the corner. Lucius sat on the edge of the wooden bench, his head bowed, his hands idly tracing the grooves of the blade across his lap. Around him, the other gladiators had fallen into a tense silence, their usual jests and muttered complaints subdued after the day’s bloodshed.

He’d been Hanno for so long now, the name sliding easily from the lips of the guards, the crowd, the men who fought and bled beside him. Hanno, the invincible gladiator, the Eagle of the Arena. No one questioned where he had come from, why his skills surpassed so many others. They only saw what they wanted—a spectacle, a story to worship or envy.

But tonight, none of that mattered.

Her face had been burned into his mind since he’d seen her, her wide eyes locking with his in the colosseum. Every move he made since had been automatic, his body fighting and surviving on instinct, while his mind reeled with the impossible truth: she was alive.

He gritted his teeth, clenching the blade harder. For years, he’d allowed himself to believe she was lost to him, married off to some faceless noble, her life swallowed by the world of the Roman elite. He’d tried to bury the ache of it, the guilt that he hadn’t fought harder to keep her, the memories of her laugh, her touch, her whispered promises in the moonlight.

But now she was here, close enough to reach, yet still out of his grasp.

“Oi, Hanno,” a gruff voice broke the silence. One of the older gladiators, Gaius, sat sharpening his sword in the corner, his one good eye glinting in the firelight. “You’ve been starin’ at that blade like it owes you coin. What’s on your mind?”

Lucius glanced up, his expression carefully neutral. “Nothing.”

Gaius snorted, unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar. You’ve been off since the games today. Can’t say I blame you—crowds like that, they’ll rattle anyone.” He leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his scarred face. “Or maybe it was someone in the crowd?”

Lucius froze, but only for a moment. Long enough for Gaius’s grin to widen.

“Thought so,” Gaius said. “Some patrician woman caught your eye, eh? Happens to the best of us. Those fine silks and soft hands… nothin’ like the sand and blood we’re used to.”

Lucius forced a smirk, playing along. “Maybe. She looked familiar, that’s all.”

“Familiar?” Gaius raised a brow. “A patrician you’d know? From before?” He lowered his voice, his tone suddenly serious. “Careful, lad. That kind of thinking’ll get you killed. We’re gladiators now, not men with pasts.”

Lucius ignored the warning, leaning back and keeping his voice casual. “You’ve been here longer than most. You hear things. You know people. If I wanted to find out about someone—just out of curiosity—how would I go about it?”

Gaius squinted at him, suspicious now. “Depends who you’re asking about.”

“Her,” Lucius said, his tone sharper than he intended. “She was in the patrician’s box today. y/h/c, y/e/c. Engaged to some nobleman.”

Gaius let out a low whistle. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Hanno. Asking about a patrician’s bride-to-be? What, you think you’ll sweep her off her feet, carry her out of here on your shield?” He laughed, but when Lucius didn’t respond, the humor faded from his face.

“You’re serious,” Gaius muttered.

Lucius didn’t answer, his jaw set in a way that made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go.

Gaius sighed, shaking his head. “Fine. But you didn’t hear this from me. There’s a steward who works the colosseum, handles the guests in the noble galleries. Quintus is his name. He’s got loose lips when he’s had a bit to drink. You might learn something from him.”

Lucius nodded, already planning his next move. He would find this Quintus, he would learn what he could, and he would find a way to see her.

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The barracks were suffocating, the air heavy with the stench of sweat and blood. Lucius sat on the stone bench, his head bowed, hands clasped as though in prayer. But he wasn’t praying. Not to the gods, at least. If they had ever cared for him, they had long since turned their backs.

Her face haunted him—the moment he’d locked eyes with her in the patrician’s box. Everything about that instant had shattered his focus, his purpose. The games, the crowd, the blood—they had all faded in that one heartbeat when he saw her again. Iris.

The name stirred something deep within him—something he had buried long ago. She shouldn’t have been there. In this place, with him, after all this time. But there she was, sitting among the nobles, looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and recognition, as though she, too, had never forgotten their past. The girl he had loved. The girl he had lost.

He had to know who she was with now—who held her heart.

He caught Titus, one of the younger gladiators, in the corridor late that night when the air had cooled and the others were lost in their rest. The torchlight cast shadows that made everything feel like a dream.

“I need you to send a message,” Lucius said, his voice quiet but firm.

Titus hesitated, glancing nervously at the hallway. “A message? To who?”

“Quintus. The steward,” Lucius said. “Tell him Hanno requests an audience.”

Titus frowned, confused. “Quintus? Why him?”

“Just do it,” Lucius ordered, his tone hardening. “Tell him the Eagle wants to speak to him.”

Reluctantly, Titus nodded and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lucius alone again with his racing thoughts.

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It wasn’t long before Quintus arrived, stepping into the dim light of the corridor with a casual air that belied his sharp eyes. He stopped just outside the bars of Lucius’s cell, arms crossed, his usual smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

“To what do I owe the honor, Hanno?” Quintus asked, his voice thick with mockery.

Lucius moved to the bars, his grip tight. “I need information.”

Quintus’s eyebrow arched. “Information? About what?”

“Her,” Lucius said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The woman who was in the patrician’s box today. Iris.” He said her name with a careful hesitation, as though he had spoken it too many times in his head already. “I want to know who she’s engaged to.”

Quintus’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked his surprise. “Caius Livius, if you must know,” he replied, his tone as indifferent as ever. “She’s promised to him. A senator’s son.”

Lucius’s jaw tightened, anger rising like a fire within him. Caius. The name tasted bitter on his tongue. He had no claim on Iris anymore, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“And where do I find her?” Lucius asked, his voice colder than before.

Quintus leaned closer, his expression unreadable. “You think you can just walk into their life and take what’s already promised?”

“I didn’t ask for your judgment,” Lucius shot back, gripping the bars so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I asked for information.“

Quintus held his gaze for a long moment, as though weighing the consequences of giving away more than he should. “Fine ,” he said finally, his voice lowering. “The wedding is planned for the Saturnalia, and he’ll be parading around the city like any nobleman would. But you, Hanno, are nothing but a gladiator. You’re not in their world anymore.”

Lucius’s eyes hardened, his resolve set. He didn’t care. He would find a way.

Quintus sighed, seeing the determination in Lucius’s eyes. “Be careful. Men like Caius do not take kindly to those who try to steal what they believe belongs to them.”

“I don’t care about their world,” Lucius muttered, his grip still tight on the bars. 

Quintus chuckled softly, backing away. “As you wish, Hanno. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Lucius standing alone in the darkened cell.

Iris. She was still here, still within his reach. But now he had to find a way to cross the divide between the life she lived and the life he had been forced into. It would take time, cunning, and risks—he knew that.

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The days dragged on in the darkened confines of his cell, but Lucius’s mind was sharp, focused on one singular goal. Iris. Her name burned in his chest like a flame, and every passing hour only fueled his determination to find a way to see her again.

The opportunity finally came in the form of a pre-wedding celebration, a lavish event that would be held in honor of Caius Livius and Iris’s upcoming union. Lucius had learned the details from his fleeting conversation with Quintus. The nobles would gather, music would fill the air, and the festivities would overflow with rich food and wine. And what better place to make a grand appearance, to show his worth and cement his place in the arena, than there?

It was a risky move, but Lucius had long learned that risks were the only path to getting what he wanted. And he wanted Iris back in his life—somehow.

He had been pacing in his cell for days, his mind spinning with ways to gain Macrinus’s approval. The man who oversaw the gladiators was a hard man to impress, focused only on profit and spectacle. But Lucius knew something that could sway him—something that could make Macrinus see the value in letting him appear outside the arena.

When the time came, Lucius finally approached Macrinus after training. The large man stood by the door to the gladiator barracks, as usual, his eyes calculating, a permanent frown etched across his face.

“You’ve got something on your mind, Hanno?” Macrinus’s voice was rough, like gravel scraping against stone.

“I want to fight at the pre-wedding celebration,” Lucius said boldly, stepping forward, meeting Macrinus’s gaze without flinching.

Macrinus’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing as he studied Lucius with suspicion. “What do you mean? You’re already booked for the next game.”

Lucius’s voice remained calm, confident. “A demonstration. A show for the nobles. Not just a fight. A spectacle—something more than just the blood and sand they’re used to. I am worth more than that. My name is already known. They’ll talk about this for weeks. It’ll bring attention to the arena.”

Macrinus scoffed. “I’m not here to pander to noble whims. They want to see blood, Hanno, not performances.”

Lucius leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, convincing tone. “What if you gave them both? The fight, the blood, and the spectacle? You know how the rich love their games, their entertainment. They’ll throw more coin at you than you’ve seen in months. You think I’m just a tool for the sand? No. I’m a showman, too. I can be both your champion and your attraction, Macrinus.”

Macrinus studied him for a long moment, a trace of hesitation on his face. Lucius knew he had his attention. It was all about playing to the man’s greed.

“You think they’ll pay for that?” Macrinus asked skeptically.

“I know they will,” Lucius replied confidently. “You know they will.”

There was a long pause, the silence thick with the weight of the decision. Finally, Macrinus spoke, his tone begrudging. “Fine. But don’t disappoint me, Hanno. If you fail to deliver, you’ll never see the light of day again. Understood?”

Lucius gave him a single, sharp nod. “Understood.”

The deal was struck. He would appear at the celebration—not as a mere gladiator, but as an entertainer, a spectacle that would tantalize the nobles and remind them of the fierce warriors they had come to worship. But Lucius’s true goal wasn’t just to perform. It was to find Iris again.

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The night of the pre-wedding celebration arrived, and the grand estate was alive with opulence. Torches lined the paths, casting flickering shadows over the marble columns that held up the towering structure. The air was thick with the sound of music, the chatter of guests, the clinking of goblets filled with wine. Lucius stood in the center of the courtyard, wearing a costume not meant for battle but for spectacle—a fighter’s attire mixed with elaborate decorations meant to draw the eye.

The moment he stepped into the midst of the crowd, all eyes were on him. His reputation had already preceded him, and now, in the midst of this rich, noble gathering, the anticipation of the fight—his performance—was palpable.

Lucius’s heart pounded in his chest, but not because of the crowd’s gaze. He was searching for her. Iris.

It didn’t take long before his eyes found her, seated at the edge of the grand table, surrounded by the high-ranking men and women of Rome. She was seated next to Caius, her fiancé, but it was her presence that caught Lucius’s attention, her graceful posture, the way she held herself with a quiet elegance that made his heart ache.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, but Lucius knew this was his chance. He had to speak with her. He had to know if she remembered what they had shared. If she felt the same pull he did.

He played his part well, engaging in a mock duel with one of the other gladiators, performing for the crowd, his movements sharp and exaggerated. He could hear the gasps of excitement, the laughter, and the murmurs of approval. But his gaze never left her.

When the crowd finally began to thin out, when the festivities had moved inside to the banquet hall, Lucius saw his opportunity. He took a deep breath, stepping away from the cheering spectators and weaving through the courtyard, making his way toward the quiet area where Iris had slipped away from the crowd.

His pulse quickened as he neared her, and when he saw her alone for the briefest of moments, he stepped forward, his heart pounding with urgency. But just as his hand reached for the veil of the moment, a shadow fell across his path, and he froze.

“Iris.”

Her name, spoken with the weight of ownership, cut through the air. Lucius’s breath caught in his throat as Caius Livius stepped into view, his posture commanding and his eyes sharp with the kind of possessive authority that had always made Lucius’s skin crawl.

Iris’s face faltered for a split second, the mask she had been wearing slipping just enough to reveal the turmoil beneath. She turned, her eyes wide with shock at Caius’s sudden appearance.

“I was about to—” Iris began, but Caius stepped closer, his presence towering over her, blocking Lucius’s approach.

“You were about to what?” Caius’s voice was calm, but there was a hard edge to it. His gaze flicked briefly to Lucius, a look of recognition passing between them before he returned his attention to Iris, his hand subtly resting possessively on her arm. “You should be with your guests, Iris. This isn’t the time for wandering off.”

Iris stiffened at his touch, but she said nothing, her eyes darting briefly toward Lucius.

“I just… needed a moment,” Iris murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She pulled her arm away from Caius’s grasp, the coldness of the gesture unnoticed by him, though Lucius felt the tension between them all the same.

Caius, however, didn’t miss the unspoken exchange. His eyes narrowed, and his tone sharpened. “I’ll take her back inside. It’s better that way.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he placed a firm hand at the small of her back and guided her away, leaving Lucius standing frozen in the shadows of the courtyard, the words he longed to say locked behind his teeth.

As they disappeared into the throng of nobles, Lucius’s gaze remained on Iris, heart sinking as the distance between them grew. He had come so close—too close—and yet fate had thrown him back into the same endless fight.

This was far from over.

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The atmosphere in the grand hall was suffocating. Candles flickered in golden sconces, casting long shadows along the marble floor. The chatter of the guests—nobles and dignitaries alike—filled the air, but Iris barely heard any of it. Her mind was elsewhere, her heart somewhere far from the lavish feast unfolding before her.

Tonight was supposed to be a celebration—a night to honor the union of herself and Caius Livius. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped. She had played her part in the arrangements, had donned the gown of a bride and smiled for the guests, but everything felt like a dream she couldn’t wake from. Caius, standing at her side, had not noticed the distance growing between them. His attention was fixed on the guests, on his own image as a future senator, as a man who had already secured his place in Roman society. But for Iris, it was all just a gilded cage, and she was desperate to escape it.

Her gaze drifted toward the center of the room, where the gladiators—Lucius among them, disguised as Hanno—stood, their presence an odd contrast to the aristocratic crowd. They had been invited for spectacle, for entertainment, to make the celebration more “authentic” in the eyes of the nobles. But Iris only saw the man she had once known—Lucius.

There, in the corner of the hall, he stood with his fellow gladiators, their grim faces betraying nothing of what Iris felt in her chest. The way he moved—like a predator, every inch a warrior, but still, something about him seemed so familiar, so painfully alive.

Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. It was brief, a moment suspended in time, but it was enough. He hadn’t seen her as a noblewoman. He hadn’t seen her as the fiancée of Caius Livius. He saw her, Iris, the girl who had once run barefoot through the gardens of Lucilla’s estate with him, the girl who had watched him train and fought by his side in secret. And in that instant, she could see the same longing in his eyes—the same recognition that told her he had never forgotten her, either.

Her heart raced, and she felt the familiar tug of old emotions threatening to pull her back to him. The years apart, the choices they had made, all seemed so distant now. But standing there, in the same room, everything she had tried to bury came flooding back.

“Iris?” Caius’s voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the reality of the celebration. She turned to face her fiancé, whose eyes were sharp with suspicion. “You’re not listening.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, offering him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I was… distracted.” She forced her gaze away from Lucius and back to Caius, though the effort felt like a betrayal. “I need to step outside for a moment,” she added, the words tumbling from her lips before she could think better of it.

“Outside?” Caius raised an eyebrow, his face hardening. “Why?”

“I just… need air,” Iris said, her voice trembling. She couldn’t explain it to him—not in this moment, not in front of the guests. She didn’t even fully understand herself.

Caius’ frown deepened. “We’re in the middle of a celebration, Iris. You can’t just—”

“I must go,” she interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended. She could feel the weight of the room, the pressure of everyone watching, and it made her skin crawl. “I’ll return shortly.” She didn’t wait for his response, turning away and heading toward the door before he could say another word.

She had already rehearsed this moment in her mind a hundred times—slipping away unnoticed, making her way to the stables where the gladiators were kept. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but the pull of Lucius—the pull of him—was stronger than any duty she had.

Tonight, of all nights, he would be transported separately from the others. She had learned of his arrival through whispers, and she knew the gladiators would be kept in the cages, awaiting transport to the barracks after the night’s festivities.

But Iris didn’t want to wait. She needed to see him again, to know if it was truly him.

She had paid off a guard earlier, sliding him a small pouch of gold, instructing him to turn a blind eye to her movements. He had agreed, eyes gleaming with greed. She knew it was risky, but she had no choice.

She made her way to the small courtyard behind the villa, where the cages awaited the gladiators. It was dark here, the shadows stretching long and deep, and Iris felt the safety of being hidden, away from the scrutiny of the celebration. The night was still, save for the sound of distant chatter from the main hall.

Iris crouched low behind one of the larger cages, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew they’d arrive soon, and she had one chance—just one. The cage was meant to carry the gladiators back to their quarters, but Iris had found a way to be there first. She slid inside one of the empty cages, curling into the corner where the shadows would hide her. She had to remain out of sight. If anyone saw her, if anyone knew she was here, it would be over.

The cage door creaked open, and the sound of boots on stone grew louder. She held her breath, knowing who it was. When Lucius—or Hanno—finally stepped inside, his form battered, bloodied, and worn from the fight, he stopped, pausing in the doorway. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling, his posture slightly hunched from exhaustion. But even in this broken state, there was no mistaking him.

He didn’t see her at first, his gaze on the floor, but then his eyes flicked up, and they locked. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Iris…” His voice was low, hoarse, almost disbelieving, as if he had to convince himself that she was real.

She swallowed, heart in her throat, and stepped forward. The air between them was thick with unsaid words, but neither of them moved. Not at first. “It’s me,” she said softly, almost in a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell between them.

Lucius’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of her. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, but still, there was something holding him back. He paused, just a few feet away, as if trying to process the impossible truth of the moment. His eyes searched hers, as if looking for something—some reassurance that this wasn’t just a dream.

“What are you doing here, Iris?” he asked quietly, his voice rough. “You shouldn’t be here. You—” He glanced toward the entrance, where the guards had started moving around, no doubt expecting him to leave soon. “You should be with your fiancé. This is no place for you.”

Her heart stung at the mention of her betrothed. But she couldn’t turn away now, not when he was standing here in front of her, so close and yet so far. She took a tentative step toward him, her fingers brushing the cold bars of the cage, wanting to feel him, to know that he was still the same.

“I couldn’t stay away,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just needed to see you. To know that you’re still here. That you’re still alive.”

Lucius’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away from her. His eyes were filled with something she couldn’t quite place—sorrow, regret, and something deeper, something that made her heart ache with a longing she knew she couldn’t act on.

“I’m not who I was,” he said, his voice quieter now, filled with a mixture of pain and something more. “I’m not that boy anymore, Iris.”

Iris closed her eyes for a moment, her hand still gripping the bars, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside her. She knew the truth of his words. They both knew that nothing had changed—except everything had. The life she had once known with him was long gone. She was promised to another. Lucius was a gladiator, shackled by the life he had been forced into.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she said, her voice breaking as she opened her eyes to meet his. “I just wanted to see you. To know you’re still fighting. To remind myself that you’re real.” Her hand trembled slightly, reaching out. She could barely make herself do it—touch him, feel the reality of him. She just needed to know he wasn’t a memory.

He stood still, watching her, his own hand coming up as if he reached for her, but he didn’t. There was an unspoken understanding between them now—one that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. They couldn’t change what had happened, couldn’t undo the time that had passed. The distance between them now was unbridgeable.

“You have to keep fighting,” Iris said softly, her voice full of quiet desperation. “You have to win these battles, Lucius. Not just for your freedom—but for yourself.”

He nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in his chest. “I’ll keep fighting,” he said, but his voice was strained. “But what if I don’t win? What if there’s nothing left for me once this is over?”

“You have to try,” she said, shaking her head. She felt her throat tighten, but she held it together, taking a deep breath. “For you. For the chance to have something more than this. I can’t change what’s already been decided. But you…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “You can still change your life. You can change Rome. The emperor’s reign terror over us all. The very thing Maximus fought to destroy has been reborn. This…this could be Rome’s second coming. You could change everything!” 

He stood still, eyes narrowed as she spoke, her voice growing more urgent, more pleading. The hope in her words was thick, almost suffocating. The weight of her expectations settled onto his shoulders, heavier than any armor he had ever worn in the arena. She was asking him to be a symbol, to be something more than just the man who had been torn apart by the brutal hands of fate. To rise up, to fight—not for his life, not for his freedom—but for something else, something bigger than them both.

The bitterness swirled inside him, bitterness he couldn’t quite shake, even though he knew it wasn’t fair. He wanted to pull her close and ask if she had really come here for him—or if she had come because she needed him to be more than the gladiator she saw. Was she still seeing the boy she once knew? Or had the weight of Rome’s problems and the brutality of their world transformed that image into something else?

“You think I’m here to save Rome?” His voice was low, thick with disbelief, and maybe something sharper, something closer to anger. He took a step closer, his breath quickening. “Have you really come to ask me to fix a city that’s rotting from the inside? To fight in the name of some grand idea, as if that would change anything?”

He could see the shock in her eyes, the way she stiffened at his words, but the feeling that burned inside him wouldn’t let him soften his tone. “I was a boy who used to laugh with you. Who dreamed of something better. And now, I’m here, in chains, fighting for my life like some beast in a cage—and you expect me to change the world? To fight for a cause that wasn’t mine? To be your hero? What do you even want from me, Iris?”

The sharpness of his words hung in the air, and he regretted them almost immediately. He knew it wasn’t her fault. He knew the weight of everything she had said came from a place of fear, of wanting him to be the person he used to be—the person she wanted him to be. But something inside him twisted in frustration, the lingering taste of his own disillusionment clouding his thoughts.

“You don’t even know what it’s like in here,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but still edged with that underlying anger. “What it takes to survive. I’m not some gladiator who can just rise up and change the world, Iris. I’m just a man trying to get through the next fight. And if I die in the arena tomorrow, what’s left of me? What good does it do Rome?”

His fists clenched at his sides, but his gaze softened just a little, though he didn’t allow himself to look away from her. “I know what your life is supposed to be. I know you’ve got your future planned out, with your betrothed and your family. You don’t need me. You don’t need this.” He gestured toward the cage, the arena that held him captive. “You don’t need someone like me anymore.”

There was silence between them now, and for a long moment, Lucius simply stared at her, the weight of his words still hanging between them. It wasn’t anger he felt—not entirely—but frustration, confusion, and something deeper that he couldn’t put into words.

"You do not get to ask me to be someone I’m not anymore.”

Iris stood there, her hand still gripping the bars, her body trembling slightly under the weight of his words. She hadn’t come here to convince him to save the empire. She had come to see him, to remind herself of who he was before he became Hanno—the gladiator. But Lucius, had taken it another way.

Maybe it was too much for him to hear. Maybe he didn’t know what to do with her presence here, what she expected from him, what he was still capable of giving. And maybe he was right to be angry, right to wonder what had brought her here tonight.

But Iris, standing in the cold dark of the cage with him, wanted to say that she didn’t care about all the politics, the battles, the blood. She didn’t care about Rome or her betrothed or the life that had been set out for her. She just wanted him. The boy she had known, the one who had made her laugh and dreamed of a future together. The man standing in front of her now, in chains, so far from the man he had once been.

But she didn’t know how to tell him that. Instead, she stepped back, slowly, her heart breaking with each movement. She had come here to see him, to remind herself of who he was—but now, as he stood there, unable to see past the fight that consumed him, it felt like all of that was slipping away again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She turned away, the weight of his words still echoing in her ears. “I didn’t mean to ask you to be someone you’re not.”

And with that, she walked away, the door of the cage closing behind her with a final, resounding thud. Lucius watched her go, his chest heavy with regret, but no words came. The cage was cold. The night outside was full of laughter and light, and yet, it felt impossibly far away.

[moonlight-prose]

wip wednesday!

it's thursday i know but i forgot to do this yesterday. plus i wasn't writing yesterday so i shall just pretend today is the correct day. thank you to @ovaryacted @sceletaflores & @lubdubology for the tags! this is my gladiator fic for lucius cause i'm obsessed (but also cause i haven't started the marcus one yet).

strength and honor

The tang of copper hung in the air as blood splattered across coarse sand. It burned the harder he fell, scrapes and gashes decorating bronzed skin with the line work of a sculptor. He could feel it burrow under the blunt shape of his names now tainted red. The body of his opponent split open with the edge of a steel sword clasped in his hand.

Raucous cheers and roars of glee splintered through the air loud enough to deafen his already pulsing ears. He can hear his own heart, the blood coursing through his veins. Focusing on it was easy as another man comes into his line of sight—their weapon at the ready and hungry for his death. He sucked in a breath, readying himself for a fight; yet another act of senseless violence for a false promise of freedom.

Steel clanged against armor, his arm still bleeding ached with the need to rest. It wouldn’t be long now. He swiped at the man’s chest with a snarl—the tip of his sword catching on the prominent bulge of a collarbone.

“You will die today!” The stranger roared with a fury large enough to rival the Gods.

Swallowing another mouthful stained in the tang of copper, he charged. He’d never forget the sound of death. The echo of his sword finding a home in the man’s throat, tearing it free. A horrific silence that destroyed any peace he might have housed in his body at one point. He was a man haunted. Grief his only language—a fluency that left him thrashing in the middle of the night. Desperate for reprieve.

The fight ended with a boisterous chant of a name he felt slip off his shoulders the longer he was parted from her. His path to forever.

Each night echoed with the afterlife, the entrance to Pluto’s kingdom. But his passage was denied—his soul not yet a viable piece to bargain—and he’d wake with a thumping headache, body sore and weary from another fight won. He could have lost. Given up and resigned the sword with a harsh stab into the sand, but fighting was second nature to the survival he’d endured since childhood.

He was born a son.

Until they forged a warrior from his brittle bones, handing him a blade already dripping in his late father’s blood.

Swiping at the blood on his chest, he felt the warmth of it seep into his fingers—staining his skin with yet another death. A notch on the armor that clung to his chest. He’d take a knife to it later, inscribing the line of a man’s final breath, the ending note of a story he didn’t bother to learn. He can see them when he closes his eyes, their glassy eyes lifeless and open to the underworld. Already handing over the coin to their reaper, their passage set—destination unwavering and true.

Oh how he longed to join them.

tagging: @guiltyasdave @cavillscurls @silverskyeline @outercrasis @superhoeva @zloshy

[andy-15-07]

An heir of Rome

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1485

Paul Mescal Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fawninthesnow]

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞: 1 | Maternal! figure | Caracalla & Geta

Summary: You visit the young princes in the palace.

Warnings: Fluff, (slight) angst

Work count: 400~

a/n: Keep in mind they are around 14-16 here and orphaned already. After looking through some deleted scenes from the script, I found that all the boys want is to be adopted and loved. Here is something short for that with the holidays and all.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

Caracalla hovered over his brother's slumbering form in bed and gently shook his arm. “Is she coming?” The young man nudged him harder. “Are you awake?”

Geta groaned and turned over. “I am now.”

“Is she coming?”

“She said she would, but I am unsure.” He groaned in the dark of his bedroom. He reached for a candle, “You need to go back to bed. Come on.” Caracalla trailed behind his brother as they made their way down the hall. A noise emanating from the emperor’s foyer piqued their interest. The two boys cautiously approached the source of the sound.

You stood in front of the fire, removing the fur coat from your back. “Yes, that would be perfect.” You replied as a servant offered tea. “Are the boys asleep?” The two peeked into the room from the corridor.

“Yes, the princes are still in their beds.”

“She is here early.” Caracalla whispered with a giggle.

“I can hear you two.” Your voice was rich and velvety as you called the two out. The two brothers stepped out from the shadow of the pillars. “Come here.”

                                                          ****

You held Geta to your bosom as Caracalla lay on your lap. Your fingertips buried in the eldest son’s hair; your opposite hand rubbed Caracalla’s back. “They treat us like we are our father.” Geta murmured.

“The people of Rome should be grateful for you two.” Caracalla turned up, staring at you. “Rome, she will soon see, my boys.”

Geta closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet aroma of lilies and vanilla that surrounded you. Your skin was smooth and sun-kissed, reminiscent of freshly harvested honey. Caracalla nestled against your thigh, soaking in the warmth emanating from you. “The people are now celebrating with their families.”

“Yes, the winter solstice.” Caracalla leaned close, speaking softly into your clothing. Meanwhile, his brother stepped outside onto the open veranda, gazing down at the bustling city square below. The square was alive with people—some joyful, some inebriated, and others lost in dance.

“You both used to celebrate with your parents, yes?” The two went silent. Your fingertips cupped Caracalla’s face. “Well, you can celebrate with me.” Geta accepted your soft gaze finally, looking into your eyes. “Ah, I nearly forgot. I brought gifts from home!” You stood and Caracalla followed you.

From your trunk, you take out a few velvet boxes. “I, I have been reading your…your letter at night.” Caracalla fished for a worn paper from his robe.

“Aren’t you cute…” You present the two of them with a variety of gifts. “I have missed you both so much.”

Part 2 <3 Happy holidays, everyone!!

More on my Master list!

follow & like pls

[multific]

Bounded by Hope

Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

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

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

You swore you could still hear the people cheer. 

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

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

The poet Gladiator. 

That was something you wanted to see.

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

The Colosseum was large, its arches surrounded by darkness. 

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

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

You froze, gripping the cold metal bars. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? Surely you know this is dangerous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The intensity in his voice left you speechless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you pulled away, his gaze burned into yours. 

“I will see you again,” he promised.

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

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

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

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

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

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

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

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

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

[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

[infin1ty-garden]

୭🧷✧˚. VERITAS CURAT

⋆｡°✩ summary: you help patch up Hanno after a fight ⋆｡°✩ pairing: lucius verus (hanno) x doctor! gn! reader ⋆｡°✩ warnings: ✩ GLADIATOR II SPOILERS ✩ historically inaccurate, needles & injury ⋆｡°✩ word count: 457 ⋆｡°✩ author note: a bit short but wanted to publish some Lucius x reader

masterlist.

✩ GLADIATOR II SPOILERS AFTER THE CUT ✩

After winning the fight for the emperors' entertainment, Hanno was set to get treated for his wounds by a doctor under the employment of Thraex. He was taken to a room, like any other. The only difference being two chairs set up in the middle of the room along with a table filled with medical supplies and herbs. "Take a seat." He did as told. "Your hand?"

He gave you his injured hand. You inspected the cut. "You're gonna need this," you handed him a glass of wine. "For the pain." He took your advice and downed the cup. "This is gonna hurt more than the cut," you said as you got the needle and thread ready. "I'm sure it will." You looked at Hanno finally as you took his hand in yours. He nodded, signalling he was ready.

The needle entered his skin and you tried as quickly and tourolly to sow it closed. His other hand was making indents on the chair. He was as still as he could be. "You weren't lying."

"I usually don't," you were almost done with the stitch. The moment you finished, Hanno let you a sigh of relief. "If you plan on anymore stitching up. I'm gonna need some more wine." You obliged his request as you were far from done. It took you an hour to finish all of the stitches and check his condition. You made small talk with Hanno and got to know each other a bit.

When you announced to the guards you finished healing him, he was assured away to Macrinus, you assume. You thought you'd never see him again. Only hear of his achievements in the arena. When you were called to the coliseum, one night. You had never visited, your job required you to be near Thraex's estate at all times, but I guess there were exceptions.

You were shown to Hanno's cell or room? It was more of a cell anyways, with the smallest window imaginable. Barely any light to see what you were doing. At Least they had the courtesy to give you a lantern. "Why did you call for me?" He didn't answer. You did your best, with the limited supplies you brought, to patch him up. You were getting ready to leave but he grabbed your wrist. Pulling you back towards him.

"I'd lost a lot and you were the first person to make me feel something other than rage or sorrow. I care for you, in what way, I am not certain how yet but I wish to see you again." You slowly moved your hand so it was holding his. "Take all the time you need. You know where to find me," with that you left.

Thanks for reading!

[dumbbitchenergy17]

BTS: Where the Wild Things Are

Plot: An audition leads to unforgettable moments on a hit show.

Word Count: 6.3K

Pairing: Paul Mescal x Reader

Warnings: fake fight scene, protective Paul and Pedro, fluff, potential spoilers to Where the Wild Things Are [read here]

—————

The cityscape was something you welcomed, honking traffic, people shouting in the streets, and the chaos and beauty that came from living in New York. Your partner on the other hand was still adjusting, having moved in about 4 months ago. In that time so much has occurred, hosting SNL, attending premieres for films you both starred in as well as attending award shows that you had the honor of presenting an award at one. The most recent event that passed was the Met Gala and your birthday was now on the latest agenda. You hear the front door unlock over the light music and traffic from outside before clicking shut.

“I got bagels for the birthday girl,” Paul calls out coming from the entryway to find you curled up on the couch watching Hannibal the last show on your binge list. He comes from behind the sofa and you pause to lean back and look at him upside down as he gives a charming smile.

“How was your run babe?” You ask accepting the sweet kiss he gives before coming around easily sinking into the couch. His headphones around his neck, he’s dressed in a cap, a sleeveless t-shirt, and those shorts he loves.

“I found this runner’s route about 3 miles and got to see some of the sights around here before I got hungry for food,” He says while pulling out the two sandwiches, “Made sure it was an everything bagel before I left.” He passes yours over you smile quickly feasting on the treat.

“Wow my order is finally right, it’s a birthday miracle.” You tease and he rolls his eyes eating his sandwich.

“Ran into these two nice girls as I was leaving and got a picture they also said happy birthday. I was surprised they even recognized me.” He comments and you poke with your free hand his bare sweaty thigh.

“It’s those damn shorts, they’re a magnet to any Paul Mescal fan in a 20-mile radius.” Since he moved into your cozy apartment in Greenwich Village those shorts have become a staple in his New York City lifestyle. You’ve never seen more paparazzi photos of him in shorts since he moved here.

He smirks leaning close to you, “Are these shorts a magnet to you?” He flirts as he raises a brow only making you snort. The moment is cut off by your phone ringing seeing it is a call from your agent. Paul groans at the name, “Don’t they know it’s your birthday that means no work.”

“Oh hush, they’re probably calling to say happy birthday,” You say getting up to enter the home office. You knew most likely it was that but also something you’ve been sorta keeping from Paul and also Pedro and Bella. So during that interview, the year prior involving a certain video game that had a book it was mentioned of a potential fan-casting involving you. You joked about being involved just to appease the fans of the hit show. It was only after the Emmys with your win that news came out of the hit video game book Where the Wild Things Are was being adapted into a spin-off series from The Last of Us. Immediately the world blew up, with fan-casting and speculations of when what, and who. You were excited to see a novel you enjoyed being adapted but it was only when you got an email sent from your agent and told to record a self-tape that you recognized the scene and what was being asked of you. That was a month ago when you sent in the tape and it was only this week you heard back that you got the job. Luckily Paul was busy with his projects and promotions so it was easy to be at virtual meetings or having to fly out to LA for negotiations with The Last of Us team and your team under the guise of negotiation for the latest Star Wars film you were meant to start in.

“Hey Cathy,” You answer while closing the office door behind you.

“Happy birthday Y/n I hope you’re enjoying your day,” She greets you.

“It’s been good relaxing, definitely mentally preparing myself for whatever Paul and Pedro have planned for tonight.” That makes her laugh. It was good with everyone in the city for the Met Gala they planned to remain for your birthday. It was all planned out with spending the day with your childhood friends the day before as a pre-celebration. You weren’t sure what they had planned but with Pedro involved it could only be as crazy as your twenty-first.

“Well be safe tonight, but I just got off the phone with Jeanine. She says Craig and Neil are all good on their end with the paperwork. We’ll send you an email in regards to obtaining your script and any upcoming schedule. News of your casting will be drafted up soon to be published,” She says and you smile, “But tonight enjoy your night with your friends and family.”

“Thank you so much, Cathy. Guess now is a better time than ever to tell them I auditioned and got it.” You hear her gasp on the other line.

“You haven’t told them you auditioned?!” You shrink pacing the office looking over the collage you have on the wall at your desk. Photos of your friends and family, but also photos on sets, from your earliest projects to even now. Your favorite is of you and Paul in Malta exploring the city together. You had tried getting a nice photo of the two of you until a kind couple offered to take it for you. You guys weren’t even looking at the camera as it's taken mid-laughter, your head thrown back mid-laugh while Paul has a cheesy grin having just told a joke to get you to smile.

“I was gonna tell them when I knew I got a callback, then it just felt right to surprise them. So now here we are, I’m gonna see them all tonight so best time to tell them.” You say with a laugh and you hear her sigh on the other end.

“Well enjoy your night and congrats again!”

When your friends and family let your boyfriend and second father-figure to plan your birthday you had to know they had something crazy planned. When you first got with Paul your birthday was only shortly after you made it official so you didn’t do anything insane with him. You guys had a nice dinner with live music together and he got you a gift card to one of your favorite stores. But with you know a year together and knowing each other you’re not sure what he has in mind.

It was immediately swept away by your glam team who completely pampered you with your favorite rituals, cocktails, and Frank Ocean. Elvira keeps your hair in its natural style leaving it down, René creates this sultry look with accents of pink glitter across your lids.

“Guys what hell,” You gasp when Juliano reveals a gorgeous pink set from Brielle that you’ve been dying to wear, from the lace leggings, the asymmetrical mini skirt, the off-the-shoulder gloved top with squared jewels as the button of the opening at your wrists and on the skirt, to the scarf with a large gem buckle. Even down to a new pair of shoes that match perfectly.

“Don’t look at us, this is all your lovely boyfriend’s doing we just made sure it was in your measurements,” Juliano says and your eyes start watering up about to cry.

“No! None of that I just did a sickening eyeliner just for you to ruin it!” René scolds you fanning your tears away and you force yourself to suck them back.

“I’m sorry okay,” You take a deep breath before giving a big smile, “I’m all good I swear no tears I promise.”

The three of them pull you into a hug, “Alright go get dressed, enjoy tonight!” Juliano says pressing kisses to your cheeks.

You give them all looks, “You have any idea what those two have planned?” They all give devilish smiles completely aware.

“We have been sworn to secrecy for this,” Elvira locks her mouth before throwing away the key. You groan making the three laugh before they all head out to let you get dressed. Deciding to add a pair of square diamonds to match the whole ensemble when you hear a knock on the door.

“Come in,” You call out seeing from the reflection Paul enters freshly showered and dressed in a casual black suit the first few buttons undone. You can see him drinking up your appearance as he slowly stalks over as you put in one of your earrings.

“Hi, handsome.” You smile as his hands rest your hips pressing featherlight kisses across your shoulder slowly creeping up to your neck. “Thank you for the outfit.” He just hums continuing his path of kisses you hear him inhale slightly the scent of your perfume as you put your other earring in.

“I kinda regret planning this whole elaborate birthday night,” He mutters into your skin and you can feel his body heat against your back fully pressing up against you wrapping you up in his arms, “Just wanna rip these clothes off and give your birthday gift.” He bites at the crook of your neck drawing a gasp mixed with a laugh from you.

“Down boy,” You spin in his arms leaning against your dresser letting your fingers twirl the curls at the base of his neck, “As much as I would enjoy your gift. I intend to take this pretty outfit out at least once to celebrate my birthday with our friends and family before you quote ‘rip these clothes off’ end quote.” That makes Paul chuckle pressing a kiss to your lips before sighing and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Fine let’s go see all our friends and make you happy,” He grabs your hand and guides you out of your apartment.

You laugh as you follow after your sulking boyfriend, “Don’t act like you’re not gonna enjoy whatever crazy shit you and Pedro planned.” You're unsure whether to be excited or scared about what they have planned.

It started with a nice dinner just between the two of you. Nothing too crazy a simple romantic dinner with a drink or two. You were getting nervous as the night continued letting Paul lead you through the streets constantly glancing at his watch for the time.

“You’re making me nervous, Paul, " you say as you cross the street, your heels clacking against the pavement. You hold his arm, guiding him out of the way of other people walking, his gaze glued to his phone.

“We’re here!” He stops abruptly in front of a building that looks very pretty. He leans you inside before speaking briefly to the receptionist who scans you in before entering an elevator and pressing the roof floor.

“Paul, what do you have planned?” You give him a questioning look as the floor number increases and he only gives a bright smile.

“Don’t worry,” He presses a kiss to your temple as you reach the top floor exiting and are immediately bombarded by loud confetti cannons go off as you both turn the corner.

“Surprise!” A chorus of people shocked to see so many people there, your family, college friends, coworkers, actor friends, and people from all aspects of your life. The entire place is decked out in decorations, an open bar, and a DJ playing your favorite songs. There’s a cheesy grin on your face spotting Pedro beside Oscar Issac with party blowers in their mouths. A good portion is reuniting with people you haven’t seen over music and drinks, finally making your way to your core group. Bella practically tackles you with a hug most definitely a few drinks.

“Happy birthday gorgeous,” They cheese and you return an exactly as bright one.

Pedro quickly gives a bear hug pressing a kiss to your temple. “Happy birthday chiquita.”

Bella claps their hands, “Wait picture!” they pull their phone out and you roll your eyes striking a peace sign while Pedro gives a kissy face. Paul stands beside Bella laughing at your antics. The beginning of ‘Thinkin' Bout You’ by Frank Ocean comes on and you grin.

“I love this song,” You start dancing but Bella shakes their head.

“No hold still the last one was blurry,” Holding up their phone you return to your pose with Pedro, how you didn’t spot the mischievous looks on their faces until it was too late.

“A tornado flew around my room before you came,” Frank Ocean's live voice comes through the speakers and your jaw drops. Immediate laughter from them and cheers from those around you as you whip around to see the DJ booth behind you. “Excuse the mess it made, it usually doesn't rain in South California.” There he was in all his glory Frank fucking Ocean singing at you.

“Holy Shit!” You scream fangirling at this point. You cover your face with your hands in shock, feeling someone come from behind pulling your hands down.

“Happy birthday,” Paul whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss. You’re glad he held you as you sang along, or you probably would’ve collapsed. You’re practically floating once he finishes, wishing you a happy birthday, hugging you, and taking a picture! Fourteen-year-old you can die happily now.

“How the fuck did you do that,” You ask still in awe cradling the custom birthday cocktail made for you. They had pulled out all the stops.

“Pedro cashed in a favor to Omar who’s friends with him,” Paul says and you spot Pedro over with his singer friend Omar Apollo who is speaking to Frank.

“Paul this is insane…like this has to be the best birthday ever.” You say.

Oscar comments in passing, “Better than your twenty-first?” That makes you burst out laughing. The infamous 21st birthday was one in the history books even if you have zero memory of it, only videos and photos serve as it.

“Seriously this is ridiculous. I love you so much.” You kiss him and he doesn’t reject answering it in kindness.

With more music and drinking the party was well celebrated but soon winded down with your core group and family there. You were sorting through the gifts received as music plays.

“Shut up P, the fuck is this?” You laugh holding what looks like a bouquet but instead of flowers, it is gift cards taped onto sticks.

“A bouquet of gift cards duh,” He says while sipping his beer, “All your favorite places from father number 2.” That makes your parents laugh and your father claps Pedro’s shoulder.

You put the gift off to the side, “Thank you, Pedro these will be gone in the week.” Paul rubs circles on your shoulder as you lean into him.

“I have something for you as well,” You look at him surprised.

“Paul you're kidding, right? You’ve already done so much tonight.” He shakes his head getting up.

“You’re my girlfriend. You think I’m not going to get you a gift. Now close your eyes” he says before heading off behind you. Bella and your sister make gagging noises and your mother shushes them.

“Paul if it’s a dog or something like that. I am not ready to be a mother,” your comments make the others laugh. Paul's chuckle comes close again and you hear the clunk of something resting on the outdoor coffee table.

“Okay open.” Opening your eyes you see a case immediately recognizing the familiar shape.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Paul teases as you frantically fumble to open the latches with your gloves revealing a gorgeous caramel acoustic guitar. Pulling the guitar out of the case someone moves it to the side looking over how beautiful it is.

“This is exactly what I wanted.” You look over at Paul with teary eyes and he swipes a stray one before it falls, “Thank you.” You pull him into a hug and you hear your mother coo to your father at the two of you.

“That's so sweet of you Paul.” She smiles as you pluck at the strings already in tune.

“Funny enough, I have something to tell you all,” you say resting the guitar to the side. A bit of nervousness crosses your face being around your closest people.

“You're pregnant.” Your sister blurts out making your parents gasp, Bella’s eyes widen, Pedro half spits out his drink and Paul chokes on his.

“No!” You see those all around you sag in relief, “I am very much not pregnant you just saw me drink all night.”

“Oh yeah.” Your sister nods forgetting that key detail.

“Like I was saying,” You give her a look before continuing, “I’ve been holding onto this news for a bit waiting for the right moment and if it was all confirmed. I auditioned for a television series and they hired me as the lead.”

“Oh sweetie that’s great.” Your mother squeezes your hand and your father nods in agreement.

“That’s amazing kid,” Pedro says and Bella nods excitedly.

Paul squeezes your arm a wide grin on his face. “That’s incredible babe.”

“What show is it?” Your sister asks those around you nodding in wonder. You try to suppress a grin as you speak.

“It’s an HBO series…called The Last of Us: Where the Wild Things Are.”

There’s a beat of silence before absolute chaos.

“We’re gonna be working together?!” Bella jumps up and down shaking a shell-shocked Pedro’s arm.

“You’re gonna be a part of The Last of Us. Oh my god, my friends are gonna freak,” Your sister screeches. Your father tries calming her down.

Your mother cries, “Oh my god honey that’s wonderful,”

Paul is just staring at you who has a sly grin across your face. “It worked out getting the guitar. I was gonna buy one to start practicing.” You shrug smugly and he just laughs shaking his head.

Your family’s reaction to the news was well-received; once it was revealed to the public, it was an explosion in media. The other projects worked on leading up to the shooting were filled with questions about this spin-off show from such a hit series. It was stressful once you got to shooting balancing being in Calgary and then flying down to California for The Mandalorian and Grogu but your team made it all possible. While you already knew some of the cast through Pedro and Bella, working on it was a completely different experience. The crew and cast were all so welcoming having these new components added to their production.

“This is weird,” Pedro says when he sees your new hair for the first time. You flash him a look. “I’m not going to be able to recognize you with your new hair.” You laugh alongside your hairstylist as she tweaks some flyaways.

“I hope you can recognize me I’m meant to be your daughter,” Craig and Neil had reached out on your opinion about dying your hair to make Pedro minus the grey aging and you had been completely on board. You weren’t concerned about getting your hair to that dark brown that would match your co-star and were honestly excited about the transformation.

“How has Paul reacted to this change? " he asks as you head to the wardrobe together.

“He likes it, definitely pushed the allegations of me being your long-lost child,” You say with a laugh and Pedro gives a concerned look.

“I don’t think I could’ve handled a child at twenty-five I could barely handle myself.” He has the most concerned look on his face just imagining being a father and you laugh.

You see two men before you one you recognize as the man you let go, Trevor or whatever the fuck his name was. The other next to him you’ve never seen but the two did look like similar brothers maybe. The revolver is aimed at the Travis guy you do know and you see the older man raise his rifle at you while the man with the gun pointed at him makes no move with his own. “I fucking told you I would kill you if I saw you again.” You hiss trying to shift your weight letting a hiss from the burning pain in your side. Thomas looks down at your side and sees your hand pressed against its blood soaking the fabric.

“You’re hurt.” He takes a step forward and your finger rests on the trigger while the other man has a clear shot at you, “Drop the gun girl.” The older man hisses and you barely glance at him as you speak.

“You’re in my fucking house dickwad don’t tell me shit.” You say before you open the chamber showing there are no bullets left, “If you’re here to get your shit back, it’s all gone or used to kill this fuckers.” You wave the empty gun to show the damaged room and the two bodies that are with you.

“Like I said before, get the fuck out of here and let me die in peace. Better yet toss me a bullet and let me finish the job.” You spat leaning your head back against the wall, waiting to hear them leave or maybe give you a way to bite the bullet.

At that moment you shift, acting as if you were bleeding out when your back seizes and you’re unable to hide the true pain.

“Holy fuck my back is seizing,” You yelp, and Pedro and Gabriel break and you can hear the laughter from the crew and camera team. “Y’all this isn’t fucking funny I’m literally dying.” You hear Craig yell cut and Pedro comes over to your hand desperately grabbing a section of your lower back.

“Jesus kid way to make us feel old as hell,” Pedro says before helping you lay down fully on the ground instead of propped up in the corner.

“You guys need to kill me I can’t deal with this,” You’re left at the mercy of Pedro who doesn’t hesitate taking embarrassing photos of you stuck on the ground that ended up as a y/n on the floor meet and greet. The internet found it very hilarious to see a picture of Pedro, Craig, and Neil all posed above you as you give a double middle finger from the floor.

With Paul working on his projects it was a bummer not having him around, especially with the time differences it was either staying late up at night to be able to talk with him briefly before you crashed or the other way around. So when he had breaks between productions he had flown to Calgary to visit you and see you in action on set. When he first saw you on set was during the fight sequence between Derek and the other boys. There were lots of pauses given this fight ends pretty bloody in the end. The SFX team dabs a bit of blood from the cut on your temple and makes sure the blood looks fresh on your knuckles.

“Awww aren’t you so pretty,” Bella coos standing beside Isabela who plays Dina while in the scene but not as active just witnessing the fight break out. Pedro and Paul stand more off to the side since he is needed in the scene. You smile at them with your split lip as they finish up your makeup letting you pop in a capsule as the actor playing Derek finishes up.

“Alright camera and sound roll,” Craig calls out from video village as you shake out your hands hoping to get the blood rushing as your scene partner smirks, “Action!”

Seeing Derek with blood pouring down his nose fire in his eyes as he holds his fists up.

“You fucking bitch!” He hisses and blood coats your teeth as you grin more sliding down your temple and you bring your fists up waving at him to come at you. With a roar, he swings a fist and you dodge landing a shot right at his kidney. A sharp gasp from the sudden pain as his hands go to grab his side not able to block his face as you drive your fist forward. The punch brings him to the ground as you pin him down your fists slamming into his face and beating the crap out of him.

He lands on the crash mat while you land behind camera taking a knee while he’s fully on his back. “Cut!” Craig calls out as the crew gets to switching things around for the new setup as you pull your scene partner to his feet. Sauntering over to Paul and Pedro off to the side as your assistant helps pull your parka at least around your shoulders keeping you warmer than the thinner coat your character wears.

“I don’t know how you like all that stunt works,” Pedro complains from his chair with Paul sitting beside him in your seat, “Makes me want to kill myself.” That draws a chuckle from you and Paul.

“I find it fun. It’s like my personal stress reliever,” You say unaware of the mildly concerned looks from Paul and Pedro.

“That sounds mildly concerning…” Paul says from beneath his scarf. Compared to most on the crew he was bundled up the most from a thick parka, gloves, a heavy-duty scarf, beanie, and probably layered up underneath.

“You all cozied up babe?” You tease and you can see his eyes roll his nose a flush to it from the cold.

“I don’t know how all of you aren’t fucking freezing,” Paul shudders as the wind blows onto the set.

“Well honestly I’m sweating from this scene so I’m protected,” You comment.

“How are you handling the New York cold,” Pedro questions.

You laugh loudly, “He hasn’t experienced it yet, currently, his attire is t-shirts and shorts. I’m surprised you even wanted to come up when it’s so much nicer back home.”

“I wanted to see you, of course, I’d deal with this cold for you,” He says, pressing a kiss gently so as not to touch the blood. You give a big smile and both Paul and Pedro grimace, “I completely forgot your mouth was bloody that was frightening.”

“Would you still like me if I looked like this?” You question.

“I think I’d be concerned why you’re beaten but yes I would still date you,” Paul confirms and you’re called back onto the set.

Whenever Paul was able to visit your spirits and energy on set were doubled. Even the day before he would arrive you’d have a skip in your step the only thing on your lips, “Did you guys know Paul is coming?” “Paul’s flight gets here in about 4 hours.” “I’m so excited to see Paul.”

It was so nice filming and not worrying about the snow as the majority of the show takes place during the winter. You had the absolute joy of meeting and working alongside the two young actresses performing the younger version of your character and Lila your half-sister. The two girls were sisters so it was plenty of fun meeting them during the read-throughs and them coming on set the first time. Your younger counterpart Haley, and your half-sister Deliah were absolute gems and the three of you grew quite attached. Even when you didn’t have shoot days coming in to see Haley, only twelve destroyed her performances and kept her occupied during breaks much to her parent’s delight. With Deliah, it was such an easy bond with this young eight-year-old playing on sets, and having lunches together. Pedro with his father figure magnet quickly pulled the two girls under his wing and his welcoming personality those kids ate it up. There was one picture you treasured during a rehearsal for the playground scene where she sees Joel again after joining her parents. Deliah has taken the rehearsal as an opportunity to play given the context of the scene. Haley had been on set that day for a costume fitting and to see her little sister, so when the crew found you, Haley, Pedro, and Deliah on a couch in a greenroom all passed out the teasing and photos pursued. Your head rested on Pedro’s shoulder with his head on top of yours, Delilah on your lap curled up into your chest, and Haley on Pedro’s side tucked under his arm asleep against him.

Some set days were better than others, especially given the topic and character development she goes through. You thought it was a skill to be able to deeply dive into these characters to create an authentic performance but sometimes it felt like a curse how it had started to take its toll against you.

“Kids go,” Joel says and Jesse and Dina nod, starting to trail away he sees Ellie look at him hesitant before she too leaves. Joel takes a step into the clearing, the crunch of snow makes you whip to face him and he raises his hands like taming a wild beast. Your chest heaves as you eye him with sharp panicked eyes. Tears stream down your flushed cheeks as you continue making that pained noise.

“I’m not gonna do anything kid,” Joel says calmly as one of your hands that grips your hair moves to your flannel clutching your collar as if it’s choking you. Joel rushes as you drop to your knees with an unhuman cry like this tidal wave of emotions finally takes over. He pries your blood hand from your hair to stop harming yourself allowing you to death grip his sleeve as you scream this gut-wrenching sound. Joel squeezes you close to his chest as your screams muffle in his coat soon it turns into a heartbreaking whimper. He has to look up to the sky to blink back the burn in his eyes holding you close to him, his hand stroking your hair to soothe you.

“It’s okay…I got you,” He says as you tremble in his hold, weak sobs and hiccups as you break down.

“Cut!” Craig calls out and Pedro pulls back and is a bit surprised seeing you’re still crying this time with your head in your hands.

“Kiddo….Chiquita,” Pedro calls out to you softly, his hand stroking your back before flashing a concerned look to Craig who quickly understands the situation.

“Let’s take ten!” He yells to the crew who look in concern at you crying with Pedro trying to soothe you but their instruction from their boss offering semi-privacy.

“Y/n you’re okay,” He whispers, “Breathe.” He forces you to notice your erratic breathing pattern borderline a panic attack. A PA rushes over with a foldout chair and some water which Pedro quickly takes. He helps guide you to sit instead of being in the cold snow, your breaths shaky but follow his calming voice. It didn’t take long for Paul who happened to be on set that day to come running over with your assistant hot on his heels. Practically skidding to his knees Paul replaces Pedro who stays by your side rubbing a strong hand up and down your back.

“Baby, what happened?” Concern in his eyes as he holds your face wiping away the tears that slide down your face. “You’re alright, you’re safe with all of us.”

“I’m sorry,” You hiccup, swiping at your face and smearing some of the fake blood on your face. Your breathing had significantly calmed still a stutter with each inhale, “Oh my god this is fucking embarrassing,” You curl up into the chair and the three people around you immediately disagree with your comment.

“Stop it you just got in your head a bit, you’re alright,” Paul reassures you, cracking open the water bottle for you, helping you take a sip until you take over drinking to hydrate yourself. Paul nods to your assistant and they head over to speak to Craig and the team. “You’re okay baby, take your time.”

“I thought you were crying because my acting was that bad,” Pedro comments and that makes a smile cross your face and a light giggle. His hand squeezes your shoulder, “Take your time kid until you’re ready. You nod grateful for them and the crew. After a minute or so of drinking enough water that you don’t feel dehydrated, you nod letting them know you were good.

Craig comes over, “Are you good to go? We can give you more time.” You are grateful for his concern and you shake your head.

“Thank you but I’m good to go, I’m so sorry for that I just got so far in my head for the scene,” You apologize and Paul shush you while Craig gives you a look.

“Don’t apologize, we wanna make sure you’re good. It’s a complex role I can understand getting that deep in that headspace.” He says before heading to the crew as they prepare.

“Are you sure you’re good,” Paul looks you over, swiping away stray tears at your waterline.

“I’m good I’m sure thank you,” You promise him and he nods, pressing a quick kiss letting you know he was there for you.

“I love you,” He says and you respond in kind. Paul heads off camera though staying near in case you needed him. Both you and Pedro return to the ground and he squeezes your shoulder as a reassurance before you two hop back into the emotional scene.

You and Paul sit at one of the lunch tables watching Haley and Deliah being chased around by Pedro. The two young girls squeal as they weave through tables too fast for him as he takes breaks to catch his breath.

“Jesus Christ they’re fast,” Pedro hunches over his hands on his knees as Bella laughs from their seat. Delilah rushes over to you and Paul.

“Hide me!” She yells and you let the two girls crawl underneath the table hidden behind your knees as Pedro comes over with a playful look.

“Hmmm, I wonder where Haley and Deliah are..” He stalks by your table and you can hear the muffled giggles from underneath.

“I guess I have to take Y/n hostage!” He grabs you and you play into the bit getting up from the table.

“No! Someone help me!” You fight against Pedro as he laughs like an evil villain and you hear a faux gasp from Paul as the girls pop up from under the table.

“Y/n!” They cry out rushing over to save you. Haley jumps onto Pedro’s back and he acts like it wounded him deeply while Deliah pulls you away.

“Oh no you defeated me,” Pedro closes his eyes and Haley rushes over to you.

“We saved you!” The two cheer and you smile dropping to your knees letting the two girls hug you.

“Oh my heroes what would I’ve done without you!” You praise them and the two girls are already thinking up a new game when their mother calls for them to lunch. They groan that the fun is over but listen rushing over to their mother yelling goodbyes to you all. Returning to your table Paul has a very gentle look though his mind is a bit elsewhere.

“All good?” You ask leaning against him and returning to your food and he nods, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah, you’re just good with kids.” He says and you smile up at him. You were always good with everyone but seeing you, especially around children or younger fans you have such a light to you. Speaking at their level instead of above them willing to talk about what runs through their active minds. Any other person wouldn’t sit and have an hour-long discussion with an eight-year-old about what crayons would look best for their picture but you would.

“I always liked kids. Even as a kid I also wanted a younger sibling to look at so I always loved spending time with my younger cousins or my friends’ young siblings.” You hum taking a sip of your water, “I’d want them someday, they would be so cute as babies then growing up I would spoil them rotten.”

When you talked about children he pictured you as an amazing mother, teaching your kids to respect others but also themselves, nurturing and loving them with everything in your being. As he pictured these kids running around they shared a mixture of features from both you and himself. Would they have his eyes and your hair, maybe your smile but his humor?

“You’d be a good mom to them.” He says and that makes your insides all warm as you press a kiss to his cheek.

“You’d be a good dad to them too.” He looks at you in a bit of shock, surprised that you imagine that life. With the kids and raising them but with him as their father. A smile grows on his face and you laugh at the flush that crosses his face.

“I think we should have two.” He says with all seriousness and you laugh out loud in shock but he keeps pushing, “Keep it even so one is too lonely and three is an uneven number for everything.” He had thought this all out for your imaginary family together.

“Christ Paul I’d need a ring first before even thinking about a kid.” You chuckle keeping the air light but he just nods at you, his face sincere but certain.

“I can do that.”

[ladybirdswritings]

HUNTRESS, FIC — emperor geta x reader.

DESCRIPTION: the blood of the emperor’s brother is on your hands, a betrayed huntress facing death in the colosseum. your every move watched by the vengeful emperor who loathes you as much as you despise him. but amidst blood, betrayal, and survival, hatred begins to twist into something dangerous. NOTES - little enemies to lovers fic !! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

The thrum of hundreds of drums cocooned your ears in an awful medley, vibrations snaking like vines across your very skin.

Here and now, standing before scorching iron twisting into mangled gates, you allowed a chill to kiss your skin.

You were afraid—very afraid—and for good reason. But even so, gladiators didn’t cower before their fate.

It was a good thing that wasn’t what you were.

This was all just an unfortunate consequence of one painfully violent decision.

For my brother… you had whispered into the chill of the winter season as you plunged a gold, ornate blade into the chest of the wrong ginger.

Sure, the younger one was no better than the older. Even so, it was not his crimson you had wished to coat your hands with, for he had not killed Pietro. Geta had.

And Geta would kill you too. Whatever growled beyond these iron gates was no better than a gruesome death.

“Huntress,” Lucien called, clad in bronze armor and pleated wraps. You winced.

“Don’t call me that.”

But he paid you no mind as he stepped forward, wrapping your lanky arm in a cuff of gold.

“It’s what you are, what you must be, if you intend to slay whatever beast lurks beyond these gates. Listen to me: do not be foolish in there. Do not give them a show. You run, and you hide in the very dirt if you must. Here.”

With a worried glance toward the guards, he hastily pulled out three violet berries and pressed them into your palm. His calloused skin guided your hand to wrap around them.

“This is poison. You squeeze, and it erupts into a sea of death. Use these, and you may survive.”

May.

It was too awful a word—too insignificant.

“Bring out the girl!” a horrid, broken voice roared to his many peasants. The iron groaned in deep complaint as the gates began to part.

It was then that you felt every bit the weak, fearful girl you truly were. Your doe-like eyes locked on Lucien’s. His palms gripped your biceps, a huff of frustration escaping him as he scanned your face—perhaps to remember it. Then he leaned forward to press a warm kiss to your forehead.

He was saying goodbye.

“You will survive,” he murmured against your skin. All you could do was nod with a gulp as he pulled away.

Facing the liquid gold rays of the sun now blinding you, you stepped through the gates.

Despise was not a strong enough word to describe just how much these people loathed you.

So destroyed over the death of half of their precious emperors. You scowled at the thought—the same emperors who kept them on pretty leashes.

Slickened tomatoes crushed beneath your boots as you limped forward. You were no better than Pietro here, and it seemed as though history was only going to repeat itself.

Bruised beneath the bronze armor, thirsty and starved, they had purpled your skin, nearly dislocated your hip, and robbed you of any sustenance that could aid you in this impossible battle.

They had cheated, just as they had with your brother in this awful colosseum.

You would die on the very same dirt as your brother had—your twin.

Even so, a vicious grin tugged at your lips when your eyes locked on the lone ginger emperor scowling down at you. His jaw was taut, his arms littered with veins, but his eyes—they gave him away. Dark. Exhausted.

Even if you were to stain his dirt with your blood, he would remain as you were now: a lone twin. His brother in the dirt, too.

Perhaps your revenge had not been such a disaster after all.

“Traitorous whore!” he screeched at you, and the peasants roared in agreement.

His words were no bother. You’d fight well enough—and when you died, you’d die with a smile.

“Bring out her death!”

Vibrations crawled up your calves as you squeezed the oak wood bow clasped in your hand—your only weapon.

The gates opposing you parted, welcoming two awful horns held back only by frayed rope and a growling man atop the beast.

“He shall impale you as you impaled my brother!” Geta growled from his castle above, his voice guttural and animalistic.

“BEGIN!”

His roar was so vicious you swayed on your feet.

Perhaps the bow was meant to deter you from survival, but you were grateful for it now. With your weak bones, you had no chance of surviving close battle. No chance of escaping a sword fight or a seething rhinoceros.

But your bow—you could fight from afar.

Thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum. The beast neared closer, working into a charge so vicious it drowned out the crowd’s excitement. You could feel Geta’s eyes scorching your skin.

He did not simply want you dead. He wanted you mangled.

“HUNTRESS—KILL THEM!” Lucien roared from behind the gates, snapping you back into the present moment.

Your purpled hands trembled as you grabbed an arrow and loaded your bow. You had to treat this as any other time—locked away in the forest with just you, the glades, and your bow.

A rhinoceros could be no different from a fawn, right? Animals—all the same. And you were starving now, just as you had been all the other times you hunted.

Closer, closer. You steadied your rapid breaths best you could— imagining doe-eyes approaching as opposed to horns and squinting as you found the place between the beast’s brows.

Closer.

Even closer.

A moment more and you’d lose your shot, so you released the tension-bound arrow.

Laughter—cruel, cold, and entirely at your expense—rattled the stadium.

Your eyes fell to the ground, where the arrow landed not two feet away from your boots.

No, no, no.

Your fingers trembled against the string. It was loose.

Bastard.

Your eyes flicked to Geta’s, cold and swimming with satisfaction. He had rigged your bow.

And the beast was still charging.

“HUNTRESS!” Lucien’s cry was lost on your ears as you steadied your feet. Your heart hummed like a bird in your chest.

You hissed as sharp pain licked the flesh of your wrist. Violet trickled from your cuff.

The berries.

Crying out in exasperation, you shook the berries free.

You would be impaled in a moment, but at least the poison would piss the wretched thing off.

With a cry, you crushed the berries in your palm, tossing the violet liquid into the air just as the horn grazed your bronze armor.

And you waited.

No darkness or light found you.

A screech so awful it could have burst your eardrums shook the colosseum. The beast reared back, thrashing in a violent dance before collapsing to the dirt.

Its tongue slack, its eyes white, it crushed the man commanding it.

You breathed then. For the first time.

As your eyes lifted, you found a flicker of awe in Geta's gaze-beyond his rage.

The colosseum roared in disbelief as Geta flipped the fruits and wine before him, storming away.

And you breathed.

Alive.

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.3

Chapter Three: Where Passion Meets Insane, Where Pleasure Kisses Pain

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, HEAVY SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Virgin Reader, PWP,

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: I was like… HRMMMM, do I write more canon plot or… and then I realized what was gonna happen in the next few chapters LMAO so here’s a little smut breather and very little plot. HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YA’LL!! Hope you are all safe and warm!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: “Slut!” (Taylor’s Version) (From the Vault) By Taylor Swift

gif by @pedrohub

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

LUCILLA'S VILLA – NIGHTFALL

The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips, intoxicating and relentless, as if Marcus had poured every unspoken thought, every repressed feeling into the way his mouth moved against yours. His words echoed in your mind—I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you. It sent a shiver coursing down your spine, igniting something deep within, something you couldn’t deny any longer.

His hands, rough from years of battle, cupped your face as if you were something delicate. But there was no gentleness in the way he kissed you now, no hesitation in the way he pressed his body against yours, backing you against the cool stone wall. The chill of the marble was a stark contrast to the feverish heat building between you, and it stole your breath, made your head spin.

“Tell me to stop,” Marcus murmured against your lips, though his hands betrayed him, sliding down your sides, mapping every curve with reverence. His voice was raw, his breath heavy. “Tell me, and I will.”

But you didn’t want him to stop. The storm of emotions you’d been carrying—the fear, the anger, the longing—crashed over you, and for once, you let yourself drown. You pulled him closer, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his tunic, desperate to feel the solidness of him beneath your touch.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the admission barely audible but heavy with meaning.

Marcus groaned, a low, guttural sound that reverberated through your chest, and his restraint seemed to snap. His lips found yours again, more demanding this time, his teeth grazing your lower lip before he soothed it with his tongue. Your knees threatened to buckle under the weight of it all, but his strong arm slipped around your waist, holding you steady, keeping you pressed firmly against him.

His free hand moved to the tie of your tunic, his fingers working deftly to loosen the knot. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a whisper of silk. The cool night air kissed your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Marcus’s touch as his hands roamed, calloused yet gentle, reverent as they traced the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe. His forehead pressed against yours, his dark eyes searching your face as if memorizing every detail. “You don’t even realize, do you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were stolen by his lips, trailing a searing path down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was deliberate, lingering, as if he was savoring the taste of you, the feel of you. You gasped as his teeth grazed your collarbone, a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue that followed, soothing the sting.

“Marcus…” you whispered his name, a prayer and a plea, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him look up at you. His gaze burned, dark and smoldering, filled with a hunger that made your breath catch.

“Say it again,” he urged, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Say my name.”

“Marcus,” you repeated, your voice trembling, and the way his name fell from your lips seemed to unravel him completely.

He lifted you effortlessly, his hands firm on your thighs as he carried you across the room. The faint flicker of the lantern cast shadows on the walls, dancing in time with the pounding of your heart. He laid you down on the soft cushions of the divan, his body covering yours in an instant, his weight grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

The room was cloaked in the soft glow of lantern light, their flickering flames painting golden shadows over the marble walls and silk-draped furniture. Outside, the distant chirping of cicadas filled the balmy Roman night, but inside, the air was heavy, dense with an unspoken need that had simmered for too long.  

Marcus knelt before you, his strong hands resting on your knees, thumbs brushing your skin with a reverence that made you shiver. His armor had been shed, and in its absence, he was entirely human—scarred, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly vulnerable in the dim light. His dark eyes, which had once commanded armies, now looked up at you with quiet devotion.  

"Do not hide from me," he murmured as you instinctively tried to press your legs together. His voice, roughened by years of shouting orders in battle, softened into something low and coaxing, almost tender. With a deliberate motion, his hands slid higher, spreading your thighs once more. “Where do you think you’re going? There is nothing about you I do not wish to see. Nothing that is not worthy of my adoration.”  

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation, as his words wrapped around you like a silk thread. “Marcus, I—” you started, but he silenced you with a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, trailing higher with each one.  

“Don’t be shy,” he said, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your thigh. “Not with me. Never with me.”  

Each kiss he pressed to your skin was deliberate, each touch of his hands a quiet plea for you to trust him. “Do you know how many nights I have lain awake, tormented by the thought of you?” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “I have fought battles, stared death in the face, but nothing has ever made my heart quake as you do. You are more than perfect—you are divine.”  

Your breath hitched as his lips traveled closer to your center. His hands slid beneath you, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself, his gaze locked onto yours, unyielding in its intensity. “I’ve been wanting to taste you,” he admitted, his voice husky and low, like a prayer whispered in a temple. “To know the sweetness of you, like honeyed figs kissed by the sun.”  

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

His answering smile was tender, his lips brushing against the crease of your thigh as he spoke. “More certain than I have ever been of anything. Let me worship you, my love.”  

And then his mouth was on you, and the world around you ceased to exist. His tongue moved with slow precision, tasting, teasing, as if savoring every moment. The first deliberate stroke sent a shiver through you, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark curls.  

“Marcus,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea.  

“Speak my name again,” he murmured against you, his lips curling into a smile before he kissed you there once more, his tongue delving deeper. The sounds he made���low hums of satisfaction, quiet groans of need—mixed with the sinful wetness of his mouth on you, creating a symphony that left you trembling.  

“You taste of the gods’ own nectar,” he said between strokes, his voice rough yet reverent. “Do you feel how your body responds to me? Do you see how beautiful you are in this moment?”  

Your legs wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, holding him in place as your hips moved of their own accord, chasing the pleasure he so expertly provided. His strong hands gripped your thighs, his thumbs pressing into your flesh as he guided your movements, his tongue unrelenting in its worship.  

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice muffled but insistent, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.  

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice cracking with desperation.  

“You are magnificent,” he praised, his lips glistening as he spoke. “Every part of you—every sound, every tremble, every gasp. You are shaped by the gods themselves, and I am but a humble man, unworthy of such a gift.”  

His words were your undoing. The wave of pleasure built steadily, cresting higher and higher until it finally broke, crashing over you with an intensity that left you gasping for air. Your back arched, your cries echoing through the villa, shameless and unrestrained.  

When you came down, Marcus was still between your thighs, pressing gentle kisses to your skin as if soothing you, his hands rubbing slow circles over your hips. He rose then, his broad form towering over you as he began to untie the fastenings of his tunic. The fabric fell away, revealing his body in its entirety—sculpted muscle, battle-worn scars, and a thick, throbbing length that left your breath hitching anew.  

Your gaze faltered, nerves creeping in despite the intimacy you had just shared. “General—” you began, your voice trembling.  

Marcus knelt beside you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes softened. “What is it, my love?”  

“I…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “I’ve never… I’m a virgin. My maidenhood—it’s still intact. I’ve never been with anyone before.”  

A flicker of something passed over his face—surprise, perhaps, followed swiftly by understanding. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “My Carissima,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “You honor me with your trust. I will not hurt you, I swear it. If this is too much, if you wish for me to stop—”  

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I want this. I want you. I just… I don’t know what to do.”  

He smiled then, a small, reassuring smile that melted your fears. “You need only let me guide you,” he said, his lips brushing against yours. “Let me show you how deeply I cherish you.”  

Positioning himself between your thighs, Marcus moved with painstaking care. His hand guided himself to your entrance, his other hand cradling your hip as he pushed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense, the fullness overwhelming, but his murmured reassurances kept you grounded.  

“You’re mine to touch,” he groaned, his voice rough with restraint as he stilled, giving you time to adjust. “And no one else’s. My Carissima, my heart, my everything.”  

When you nodded, he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, building a rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure racing through you. The intensity of it all—the closeness, the way his body fit against yours—was almost too much to bear.  

“You feel like heaven,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your temple as his pace quickened. “The gods themselves could not have fashioned a more perfect being.”  

“Marcus,” you moaned, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure built once more. “You’re… so good. You feel so good.”  

“And you,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion as he thrust deeper, “are mine. Forever.”  

As your release swept over you, his followed, his body trembling as he spilled into you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours as the world faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the quiet aftermath of your love.  

"You are everything to me," he whispered, his voice a soft rumble. "And I will spend the rest of my life proving it."  

The air in your quarters was warm and hushed, the faint sounds of the countryside drifting through the open window. The two of you lay tangled together on the soft linen sheets, your head resting on Marcus’s chest, the rise and fall of his breathing a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His arms wrapped securely around you, one hand stroking lazy patterns along your back while the other cradled your hand against his heart.  

It felt as though the world had paused just for the two of you. Yet, even in the quiet, questions tugged at the edges of your mind. You shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him.  

“Marcus?” you murmured, your voice soft.  

His dark eyes, softened by the glow of the nearby lantern, met yours immediately. “Yes, Carissima?”  

You hesitated, unsure of how to frame the thoughts swirling in your mind. “Earlier,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “When you said… when you spoke of marrying me. Did you mean it?”  

His brows furrowed, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Of course I meant it,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “Do you think me a man who speaks empty words?”  

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. “No, it’s not that. I just… it’s hard to believe.”  

Marcus shifted, propping himself up slightly on his elbow so he could better look at you. The hand on your back moved to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. “And why is it so hard to believe, my love?”  

“Because you’re… you. A celebrated general, a man of honor and renown. You’ve seen the world, led armies, stood before emperors. And I’m just…”  

“You are not just anything,” he interrupted firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are extraordinary. You are kind, brave, intelligent, and more beautiful than even the gods could have imagined. The stars themselves dim in comparison to you.”  

Your cheeks flushed at his words, your fingers toying nervously with the edge of the blanket. “You make me sound like a goddess.”  

“To me, you are,” he said simply.  

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound lightening the weight in your chest. “Marcus, you could charm the toga off anyone.”  

He grinned, his hand sliding down to rest against the curve of your waist. “And yet, it is only you I wish to charm.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “Do you always speak so eloquently, or is this a skill you’ve honed just for me?”  

“Only for you,” he admitted with a teasing smirk. “Though it seems my words are not enough to convince you.” His expression turned serious again, his gaze locking with yours. “Let me make it clear: I meant every word I said. I do not take such vows lightly. If you would have me, I would make you my wife, not just in words but in every sense. I would bind my life to yours, as surely as the gods bind the heavens and earth.”  

Your heart swelled, his declaration filling you with a warmth you couldn’t describe. “You really mean it?”  

Marcus leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I swear it,” he said softly. “I am a man of honor. And I will honor you for the rest of my days, if you’ll let me.”  

You reached up to trace the line of his jaw, your fingers brushing over the faint stubble there. “You’re serious,” you said, more to yourself than to him.  

“Deadly serious,” he confirmed, his lips quirking into a small smile.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes. “You’d really want to marry me?”  

“By Jupiter, woman,” he said with a laugh, his head tilting back in amusement. “How many times must I say it before you believe me?”  

“Well, you’ve had a long career of convincing people to follow you into battle,” you teased, unable to help yourself. “Maybe you’re just good at persuasion.”  

Marcus grinned, his fingers tracing circles along your hip. “It seems I’ll need to work harder to persuade you of my love. Perhaps I should start planning the wedding now. Lucilla will help, I’m sure. She’ll insist on flowers—too many, knowing her taste.”  

“Marcus!” you exclaimed, laughing as you lightly smacked his chest.  

He caught your hand easily, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “What? It’s only practical. We’ll need to secure a date, find a priest…”  

You shook your head, your laughter bubbling over. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet, you love me,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and certainty.  

You sighed dramatically, though your smile betrayed you. “I suppose I do.”  

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. “Good,” he murmured against your hair. “Because I love you. And I’ll spend every day proving it, until there is not a soul left in Rome who doubts how much you mean to me.”  

The two of you lay in silence for a while, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm embrace. Eventually, your voice broke the quiet.  

“What about the villa?” you asked, a playful glint in your eye.  

“What about it?” he replied, his tone light.  

“I think we woke everyone within a mile,” you said, your cheeks flushing slightly at the memory.  

Marcus laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Let them hear,” he said, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let them know that the gods themselves would envy what we have.”  

You laughed softly, curling closer to him. “You truly are impossible.”  

“And yet,” he said again, his voice low and filled with love, “I am yours. Entirely.”  

You smiled against his chest, your doubts melting away in the warmth of his embrace.

The morning light streamed gently through the open window, casting a golden glow over the room. The scent of olive oil and faint lavender lingered in the air. You stirred slowly, the warmth of the sun on your face a quiet beckon to wakefulness. But what truly brought you back to consciousness was the solid, comforting weight wrapped securely around your waist.  

You fluttered your eyes open, greeted by the sight of Marcus’s bare chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. His strong arm was draped over your side, holding you close to him, as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. The golden rays of dawn played over his tan skin, highlighting the faint lines of battle-worn scars and the softer edges of his relaxed expression.  

A slow smile spread across your lips as you tilted your head slightly to take him in, his dark hair tousled, his face softened by the peace of slumber. For all his strength and stoicism, here, in the quiet sanctuary of the villa, he looked impossibly serene.  

Careful not to disturb him, you shifted slightly—but not enough, it seemed. His grip around you tightened instinctively, and you heard his voice, rough with sleep, murmur against your hair.  

“Where do you think you’re going?”  

A laugh bubbled from you, light and soft as you turned to face him. “I didn’t realize I was trapped,” you teased, raising a brow.  

His eyes opened lazily, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You are, Carissima. And I’m afraid I cannot let you escape.”  

“Oh? And what if I must escape to eat? Or bathe?”  

His smirk deepened, and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his stubble brushing against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. “I’ve already anticipated your needs,” he murmured, his lips moving against your skin.  

“Have you now?” you asked, feigning skepticism.  

“I have,” he confirmed, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. “I’ve asked the servants to prepare a bath for us. And breakfast.”  

Before you could respond, your stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the intimate moment. You froze, wide-eyed, as Marcus let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through his chest.  

“Ah,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “It seems your body agrees with me.”  

You groaned, hiding your face against his chest. “How mortifying.”  

“No,” he said, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “How adorable.”  

You gave him a playful glare. “You’re insufferable.”  

“And yet, you’re smiling,” he pointed out, his thumb brushing over the corner of your lips.  

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in your chest couldn’t be denied. “Perhaps because you spoil me.”  

Marcus’s expression softened, his hand cupping your cheek. “It is no less than you deserve,” he said, his voice low and earnest.  

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned up to kiss him. It started soft, a gentle press of lips that carried the unspoken gratitude and affection you couldn’t quite put into words. But as his hand slid into your hair and his other arm tightened around you, the kiss deepened, a shared warmth spreading between you.  

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier. His forehead rested against yours, his lips curving into a small smile. “Your smile,” he said quietly, “is brighter than the sun itself. How could I not kiss you?”  

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his shoulder. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”  

“It’s a skill,” he admitted, his tone light with humor. “One I intend to use often to keep you smiling.”  

Your stomach grumbled again, and you couldn’t help but laugh, burying your face against his chest. “Perhaps we should take advantage of that breakfast you mentioned.”  

“Agreed,” he said with a grin, shifting to sit up and pulling you with him.  

He pressed a quick kiss to your temple as he rose, his hand sliding down to help you to your feet. “Come, Carissima. A bath awaits us, and after, I’ll ensure you’re well-fed. Today, I will spoil you completely.”  

“And tomorrow?” you asked, teasing.  

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. “Tomorrow, I’ll do the same. And every day after.”  

Your heart felt impossibly full as you let him lead you toward the promise of warmth and comfort, his hand never letting go of yours.

LUCILLA'S VILLA, COURTYARD — DAY  

The courtyard was bathed in sunlight, the warmth of the morning offset by the gentle breeze rustling through the olive trees. The scent of fresh herbs and blooming flowers mingled with the distant hum of the villa’s daily activity. Marcus held your hand firmly in his as you walked together, his presence as steady as the ground beneath your feet.  

Several servants paused in their tasks to glance your way, their gazes filled with curiosity, but none dared to linger under Marcus’s protective glare. A few exchanged knowing smiles, their approval subtle but apparent.  

You leaned closer to Marcus, your voice low. “They’re looking at us.”  

“They will look,” he replied simply, his tone resolute. “But they will also understand. Let anyone question our bond—I will silence them with ease.”  

You smiled at his fierce protectiveness, but your attention was soon drawn to the sight ahead. In the center of the courtyard sat Lucilla, resplendent in a flowing gown of pale blue, her golden hair catching the sunlight. Across from her was Macrinus, impeccably dressed and deeply engaged in conversation with the former empress.  

You hesitated, your steps slowing. “Did you know they were here?” you murmured to Marcus, keeping your voice just for him.  

His brow furrowed, the faintest hint of annoyance flashing in his dark eyes. “I did not, Carissima.” His gaze lingered on Macrinus, and you could almost hear the unspoken tension in his silence. “I wonder what Lucilla is plotting this time.”  

As you approached, Lucilla’s sharp eyes flicked up to meet yours, her expression poised and welcoming. “Ah,” she said, her voice smooth as honey. “The villa’s esteemed healer and our dear General Acacius.” She gestured gracefully to the table. “Do join us. It is not often we are graced with such esteemed company.”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his grip on your hand remained firm as he guided you to the table. Lucilla’s greeting was pointed, her choice of words deliberate. She seemed to delight in the subtle power play, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as she gestured to the seat beside her.  

“Good morning,” you said politely, offering a small smile as you sat. Marcus settled beside you, his movements measured and deliberate, like a lion circling its prey.  

“Good morning,” Macrinus said, inclining his head toward you both. His tone was polite, though his gaze lingered a fraction too long on you before flickering uneasily to Marcus.  

“Macrinus,” Marcus greeted curtly, his voice a low rumble. He did not bother to hide his displeasure at the man’s presence.  

Lucilla sipped delicately from her goblet, her smile as serene as ever. “Macrinus was just sharing his thoughts on the upcoming games and his gladiators. Always such a wealth of information.”  

“Indeed,” Marcus replied, his tone flat, his focus unwavering on the man before him.  

Sensing the brewing tension, you leaned in slightly toward Marcus and murmured, “Play nice.”  

He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “For you, Carissima, I will try.”  

Macrinus, perhaps sensing the unspoken battle of wills, rose from his seat and bowed politely. “I should take my leave. My gladiators await.”  

Lucilla stood as well, her expression betraying nothing but grace. “I’ll see you out, Macrinus.” She turned to you and Marcus, her gaze lingering for a beat longer than necessary. “Enjoy the courtyard. I’ll return shortly.”  

The pair departed, leaving you and Marcus alone amidst the tranquility of the courtyard. You exhaled softly, feeling the tension dissipate with their exit.  

“Did I seem too harsh?” Marcus asked after a moment, his voice quieter now, reserved just for you.  

You shook your head, smiling. “Not harsh. Just… protective.”  

“Good,” he said, his tone resolute. “Because protective is precisely what I mean to be.”  

His fingers brushed against yours where they rested on the table, a subtle but deliberate gesture that sent warmth coursing through you.  

“You must really dislike him,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.  

Marcus huffed a small laugh, leaning closer. “I simply dislike anyone who looks at you longer than they should.”  

“Jealous, General?” you asked, tilting your head to meet his gaze, your smile playful.  

He smirked, the tension from earlier melting away. “I am a man, Carissima. And you are far too radiant for anyone to gaze upon without desire. My jealousy is merely… natural.”  

You laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, and Marcus leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. “Your happiness,” he murmured, “is all I care for.”  

As you reached for the bowl of ripe fruit in the center of the table, your stomach growled audibly, breaking the tender moment. You froze, cheeks warming, and Marcus chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made your heart flutter.  

“I see your appetite is as fierce as your wit,” he teased, plucking a honeydew slice and offering it to you.  

“You’ll never let me live that down,” you said, accepting the fruit and taking a bite, the sweetness bursting on your tongue.  

“Never,” he agreed, his smile softening as he watched you. “But only because I adore every part of you.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. Marcus reached for another slice, his movements unhurried and deliberate, as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here, with you.

“Lucilla’s plans will wait,” he said again, his voice softer now, as if solidifying his earlier declaration. “The world can plot and conspire all it likes. Right now, my only concern is you.”  

The table before you was laden with fresh fruits, warm bread, honeyed figs, and steaming bowls of spiced porridge. Marcus sat beside you, closer than necessary, his every movement deliberate and steady, as if he had all the time in the world.  

You reached for a piece of bread, but Marcus intercepted, plucking it from the platter himself. He smeared a generous layer of honey over it and held it to your lips, his expression unwavering.  

“Open,” he commanded softly, his tone leaving little room for argument but still laced with warmth.  

You arched a brow, smirking. “Am I incapable of feeding myself, General?”  

“No,” he replied, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “But where is the pleasure in that? Let me serve you for once.”  

You gave in, parting your lips to take a bite. The sweet honey melted on your tongue, and Marcus watched you intently, his gaze darkening as if committing the moment to memory.  

“Perfect,” he murmured, as if to himself.  

You swallowed, tilting your head at him. “You’re staring, Marcus.”  

“Am I?” he asked, unabashed. His tone was rich with amusement, his eyes never leaving yours. “Forgive me, Carissima. I’ve spent a lifetime studying maps and battle strategies. I never imagined something—someone—could captivate me so utterly.”  

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a warmth that had little to do with the sun. You plucked a ripe fig from the table and held it to his lips. “Your turn, General. Or is it only the conqueror who gets to indulge?”  

His smirk widened, but he leaned forward obediently, his lips brushing your fingertips as he took the fruit. The touch was deliberate, lingering, sending a shiver through you. “Bewitching,” he said after swallowing, his voice low and reverent.  

“You keep saying that,” you teased, though your cheeks warmed.  

“And I will say it again,” he replied, turning slightly in his seat to face you fully. “The gods and goddesses must have woven you from starlight and fire, Carissima. How else could you hold a man like me captive with just a glance?”  

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You, Marcus? A captive? Never.”  

He reached for your hand, his fingers rough but careful as they laced with yours. “Oh, but I am,” he said, his voice dipping into something almost vulnerable. “Do you think me a man who often takes what he desires for himself? My life has been devoted to duty, to others. But you… you are different. For the first time, I am conquering not for Rome, but for myself.”  

Your breath caught as he leaned closer, his other hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “And what will you do once I am conquered?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

His lips twitched into a smile, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Cherish you,” he said simply, his voice heavy with promise.  

Before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was consuming. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were something fragile and precious.  

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he sighed softly. “You undo me, Carissima. Do you know that?”  

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. “And here I thought I was merely feeding you breakfast.”  

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Breakfast, perhaps. But your very presence sustains me in ways I cannot explain.”  

Your stomach growled again, breaking the moment with a comical twist. You covered your face, laughing, and Marcus threw his head back, a genuine, hearty laugh escaping him.  

“I see my attentions have distracted you from more pressing needs,” he teased, reaching for another slice of honey-drizzled bread. “Eat, my love. I’ve already asked the servants to prepare more if this is not enough. You must be well-fed.”  

“You’re relentless,” you said, shaking your head but smiling brightly as you accepted the bread.  

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice soft. “Only for you. Always for you.”  

As you ate, he continued to feed you bites of fruit and bread, his gaze never straying far from your face. The affection in his every action was undeniable, and you felt your heart swell with a happiness you hadn’t thought possible.  

And as the sunlight warmed the courtyard and the day unfolded, you found yourself thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, the gods had indeed had a hand in your meeting this remarkable man.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — EVENING

The quiet evening air carried the scent of lavender and olive oil from the flickering lamps. You stood in the middle of Lucilla’s villa, the cool stone beneath your bare feet grounding you. Marcus’ hand gripped yours tightly, his calloused fingers steadying both of you as you awaited the news Lucilla had summoned you for. The stillness between you felt heavy, the weight of anticipation palpable.  

Lucilla stepped into the room, her hooded cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. She paused as if collecting herself, then removed her hood, revealing a face etched with worry and something deeper—a mother’s anguish. Her eyes flicked between the two of you before she looked heavenward, her lips moving silently, perhaps in a prayer to the gods for strength.  

When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but thick with emotion. “Lucius is alive.”  

The words struck like a thunderbolt. You inhaled sharply, your hand instinctively tightening around Marcus’. His brow furrowed deeply, the weight of her statement sinking in. “Are you certain?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.  

“I know my son,” Lucilla said firmly, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I spoke to him tonight.” She stepped closer, her composure faltering as she added, “He may be lost to me for what I’ve done... but he lives.”  

You glanced at Marcus, his jaw tight as he processed her words. His grip on your hand became almost protective, pulling you a step closer. “The third day of games is tomorrow,” he said grimly. “Most fighters won’t survive.”  

Lucilla nodded, her tears now spilling freely. “Acacius, you must help him.”  

Marcus’ expression hardened. “Help him?” he asked, his voice measured.  

“Yes!” Lucilla exclaimed, her desperation breaking through. She looked at him imploringly, her hands trembling as she clutched at the fabric of her cloak. “I failed him then. I know I did. But I cannot fail him now.”  

Marcus stood rigid, his silence heavy with conflict. “The army is in Ostia,” he began, his tone even but his words deliberate. “If we wait a few days—”  

“He could be dead by then!” Lucilla interrupted, her voice cracking with urgency. She stepped closer, her hands reaching out as though trying to physically pull him toward her cause. “Acacius, I would willingly give my life for Rome, but I will not give my son’s.”  

Her words hung in the air like a plea to the gods themselves.  

You finally found your voice, stepping forward just slightly, your free hand reaching out to rest gently on Lucilla’s arm. “What is the plan?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the strength of someone who understood both loss and resilience.  

Lucilla turned to you, her expression softening but still filled with despair. “There is no plan,” she admitted. “Only hope. Hope that you will do what I could not.”  

Marcus let out a slow exhale, his eyes narrowing as he considered the weight of the task ahead. “If we are to act,” he said, his voice firm, “we act now. No hesitation, no missteps.”  

You looked at him, your heart swelling with both admiration and concern. “Marcus…”  

His gaze shifted to you, softening for just a moment. “I will not stand idly by while an innocent man dies,” he said, his tone resolute. “Especially not Lucius.”  

Lucilla nodded, a flicker of hope returning to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.  

Marcus turned to you fully then, his hand releasing yours to cradle your face. “I will do this,” he said, his voice low but unyielding. “But you… you must stay safe.”  

Your eyes searched his, seeing both the unshakable general and the man who had claimed your heart. “And if I said no?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze remained serious. “Then I would spend the rest of my days ensuring your safety, even if it means carrying you out of harm’s way myself.”  

You couldn’t help but smile despite the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. “Then I suppose I shall try to stay out of trouble,” you said softly, though a glint of defiance sparked in your eyes. “But I will help you, Marcus, and you cannot stop me.”  

His expression flickered with something between amusement and frustration, but it softened almost immediately. “Carissima,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, like honey drizzled over flame. “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met. And I have led legions.”  

His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. His gaze bore into yours, not with the command of a general, but with the quiet reverence of a man hopelessly, irrevocably smitten. “But I would not have you any other way,” he added, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.  

The tenderness of the moment struck you like a warm tide, soothing yet unrelenting. You closed your eyes, feeling the press of his lips against your skin, a silent promise that spoke louder than any oath.  

When he pulled back, his fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the curve of your jaw before dropping to your shoulder. His touch was grounding, steadying you amidst the chaos swirling around you both.  

Lucilla’s voice broke through the quiet, calling your attention back to the task ahead. Yet even as you turned to face her, your eyes found Marcus’ once more.  

As the three of you moved through the villa, the air seemed charged with energy. Fear and uncertainty hung like a shroud, but beneath it all was something more profound—a determination, an unspoken bond tethering you to him.  

You glanced at Marcus, the firelight dancing across his features, his profile sharp and commanding. But it wasn’t the image of the general that held your heart—it was the man beneath. The one who had whispered your name like a prayer and held you as though you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.  

Where passion met insanity, where pleasure kissed pain, you felt the pull of something greater, something that transcended the fleeting world of men. If the oceans roared and struck, if the Elysian Fields itself lost its light, you knew without hesitation that you would stand at his side.  

You let your breath hitch for a moment, clinging to the fragile, beautiful thing you dared to call love. And in the stillness of that resolve, you tightened your grip on Marcus’ hand, silently vowing to meet whatever came with him, no matter the cost.

[princezzleia]

I have an idea about Lucius Verus x reader and Marcus Acacius x reader. Let me explain. Reader is secretly in relationship with Acacius and Lucius is her childhood friends(reader is senator's daughter) and her marriage with Lucius had been planned since they were children. Reader doesn’t have any feelings for Lucius more than a friend. When he was missing, reader felt sorry for Lucilla but now he had returned as a gladiator and claimed his right as an emperor. Marriage plan with Lucius still valid and now he needs a consort to complete his position. Lucius has a feeling for reader since he was a child but he knew when he was looking into her eyes, he knew that she has someone else claiming her heart already. Reader doesn’t know what to do if anyone ever knows she’s with Acacius, he would be in danger. She doesn’t trust anyone even Lucius. However, Lucius knows who it is. He doesn’t ask anything more from reader. He just wants the title not her heart even though it hurts him. Very angst. I don’t think there’s gonna be smut. 🥹

p.s. 1 Marcus Acacius and Lucilla are not lovers in this trope. However, they are good friends.

p.s. 2 post-Gladiator 2

p.s. 3 if interested you can ask me to tag you when the fic is done! Or you can just like this post and i will tag you when it’s done.

[whosscruffylooking]

Militiae Species Amor Est II

Militiae species amor est - "Love is a kind of war."

Re-read Part I Now!

a/n: if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know in the comments!

warnings: // a small threat of violence is made between Iris and her partner, but no physical contact is made. canon typical violence.

word count: 4.2k

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You step cautiously into the grand halls of the estate, the place you once roamed as a little servant girl, where your bare feet had once echoed softly against the cold marble. The air is thick with the weight of memories, each one pressing heavily against your chest. This was the house where you had grown up, where you had once been invisible, and where your life had irrevocably intertwined with his.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts. It rings out, familiar and poised, yet carrying a tension you haven’t heard before.

“Iris. It has been quite some time.”

You turn sharply, your breath catching as you face Lucilla, the mistress of this house—and the mother of the man you’ve spent a lifetime aching for. She stands before you, as elegant and commanding as you remember, her beauty untouched by the years. For a moment, you falter, caught between the awe she still inspires and the fury simmering just beneath your surface. But there’s no time to linger on reverence. Not now.

“We need to help Lucius escape,” you say, your voice steady despite the fire raging in your chest.

Lucilla’s expression hardens, her posture as composed as ever. “You are in no position to plot something like this. An engaged woman. A woman of low birth who has risen to a place of promise.” She steps closer, her gaze piercing, as if to drive the point deeper. “It isn’t safe for you.”

Her words land like a blow. You bristle, your hands curling into fists at your sides as anger floods through you. “You mean to insult me? When you know—when you must know—that I have loved your son since childhood?” Your voice rises, trembling with the weight of years left unspoken. “Do you truly believe that I could ever forget him? Forget the way we laughed, the way we cried, the way you sent him away as if he were nothing but an inconvenience? I have not had a single night of peaceful rest since that day! Not one!”

Lucilla’s carefully composed mask cracks, but you don’t stop. The words pour out, sharp and unrelenting. “And you? As his mother, do you feel nothing? No anguish, no torment? Or do you simply find it easier to look away, to let him suffer alone? Now he’s here—he’s here, Lucilla—and you expect me to sit back, to watch him fight the same fight that took his father from him? With no attempt to save him, no attempt to shield him from even more pain?”

The silence that follows feels deafening. For a moment, Lucilla looks at you as though she’s been struck. Her lips part, trembling with words that won’t come. Then, to your shock, her face crumples, and tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

She crosses the space between you in an instant, wrapping you in an embrace that is both unexpected and suffocating. Her voice shakes as she speaks. “I subjected one child to a life of pain. I—I couldn’t bear to see you suffer the same. Don’t you see? I’ve only ever wanted you to find peace, Iris. Contentment. That’s why—” She pulls back, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “That’s why when Caius’ father approached me, I agreed. I thought he could give you the life you deserved, one free of sorrow. I never meant to make you feel betrayed.”

You push her hands away, stepping back as the weight of her confession settles over you like a leaden cloak. “Peace?” Your voice is bitter, sharp as broken glass. “Do you truly believe I could ever find peace without him? All I ever wanted was your son. Not your pity. Not a life designed to ease your guilt.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You straighten your spine, your voice unwavering. “If you truly cared about me, you would have sent me with him. Instead, you left us both to live lives filled with nothing but longing and regret. So save your excuses, Lucilla. If you truly care now, then tell me—” Your voice hardens, each word a command. “Tell me the plan to rescue Lucius.”

And she does. Through trembling breaths and tear-filled eyes, Lucilla tells you the plan—how her husband, Acacius, will orchestrate Lucius’s escape from the prison. She explains the carefully laid steps, each one steeped in risk, each one reliant on precision. But there’s one missing piece.

“Someone needs to warn him,” she says, her voice wavering as she meets your gaze. “He has to know what’s coming, or he’ll resist. He won’t trust it.”

The moment hangs heavy between you, her words an unspoken plea. You don’t hesitate.

“I’ll do it,” you say firmly, the fire in your chest burning brighter now. “I’ll warn him.”

Lucilla’s eyes widen, her lips parting as if to protest, but you shake your head, cutting her off before she can speak.

“No one else knows him like I do,” you continue. “He’ll listen to me. He’ll trust me.”

For a moment, Lucilla studies you, her expression a war between doubt and something that almost looks like hope. Then, finally, she nods, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her choice.

“Be careful,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. But you’re already turning away, your mind focused on one thing: reaching Lucius.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The corridors of the barracks stretch before you like an endless void, every shadow a whisper of your guilt, every creak of the stone beneath your feet a reminder of what you stand to lose. Wrapped in a dark cloak, the cool air bites at your skin, but the ache in your chest burns hotter. You cling to the cover of night as you make your way toward Ravi, a gladiator-turned-medic who once saved soldiers from the edge of death. Tonight, you hope he’ll save you in a different way.

When you reach his room, you knock softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Ravi.”

The door creaks open, his wary eyes scanning the hall before they settle on you. “What are you doing here?” he hisses. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”

“I won’t tell you the details,” you reply quickly, your voice trembling. “If anyone questions you, I don’t want you to lie on my behalf. All I ask is that you point me toward Hanno—let me speak with him privately.”

Ravi’s expression hardens, torn between caution and compassion. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he nods. “You shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs, but he leads you through the labyrinthine halls. When he stops outside a cell, his voice is heavy with warning. “He’s in here. Be quick.”

Ravi pushes the door open slightly, just enough for the man inside to hear. “Someone is here to see you, Hanno,” he announces.

Lucius turns at the sound of his name, his face hardening the moment he sees you. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing before he looks away sharply. “I have nothing to say to her,” he bites out, his voice rough, almost broken.

Your heart twists painfully at his words, but you nod at Ravi, signaling for him to let you in anyway. He hesitates, but when he sees the determination in your eyes, he steps back, locking the door behind you as you slip into the dimly lit cell.

Lucius stands with his back to you, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His silence is deafening, but you don’t let it deter you. You step closer, the ache in your chest swelling with every step. Tears sting your eyes as you finally find the words you’ve been rehearsing in your mind since the moment you decided to come here.

“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “For how I treated you. For what I said.”

He doesn’t move, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders. You press on, desperate to reach him.

“I never should have assumed you would return to this place—to the pain, to the life you’ve fought so hard to escape—and risk everything for the very place that destroyed your family. It was selfish of me to ask, selfish to think I had that right. I suppose these emotions, these feelings I’ve tried so hard to bury, have clouded my judgment.”

His breathing slows, the air between you thick with words left unsaid. You take another step, your voice breaking now.

“But know this, Lucius: you are far more than just a gladiator. Even before I saw you in those cursed games, you were so much more to me. You always have been. You were the boy who gave me his last piece of bread when I had nothing. The boy who made me laugh when the world felt too heavy. The boy whose soul captured mine long before I knew what love even was.”

His shoulders slump slightly, and though he doesn’t turn, you see his hand tremble. The silence stretches, heavy with everything you’re too afraid to ask. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, raw with pain.

“And yet you stood there, questioning who I was,” he murmurs. “Doubting the choices I made to survive. Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love look at you as though you’re a stranger?”

The words cut deep, sharp as any blade, and tears spill down your cheeks. You move closer, desperate to bridge the distance, to close the chasm that has grown between you.

“I was wrong,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I was so wrong. But I swear to you, Lucius, I have never stopped seeing the boy you were. And I will never stop loving the man you’ve become.”

Lucius stares at you, his eyes swimming with emotions too tangled to name. The air between you crackles, heavy with unspoken words and the years of longing that have built into this single, fraught moment. You search his face for a sign that your words have reached him, that the wall he’s built is beginning to crumble.

Lucius's gaze burns into yours, his expression a tempest of anguish and desire, before he moves. His hands are on you in an instant, rough but careful, as though he's afraid you'll vanish if he doesn't hold tight enough. He presses you against the cold, damp wall of the cell, the chill of the stone seeping through your cloak and biting into your skin. It's grounding, sharp against the heat that erupts between you as his lips claim yours.

The kiss is everything you've imagined and nothing like it all at once-wild, desperate, and unrelenting. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize the feel of you. His lips are firm, demanding, pouring years of suppressed longing into the kiss. You can feel his ragged breaths mingling with yours, and the faint taste of salt from your shared tears lingers between you.

Your hands find his chest, trembling as they trace over the worn fabric of his tunic and the hard planes of his body. His heart is pounding beneath your palms, as wild and erratic as your own. When your fingers curl into the fabric to pull him closer, he growls low in his throat—a sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

The cold wall presses unyieldingly against your back as he leans into you, his body a solid, unmovable force. The contrast of cold stone and his scorching heat sets your senses ablaze. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could somehow fuse the two of you together, and the pressure of his touch ignites a fire that consumes you whole.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you both struggle to catch your breath. His lips hover near yours, as though the distance is too much to bear, and his voice, rough and low, brushes over your skin.

 "Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. "Do you see what you've done to me? You've been the only thing keeping me alive, Iris. Even when I hated the world, I still loved you."

Your tears spill freely as you clutch at his tunic, your voice trembling. "I see it, Lucius. I see it, and I feel it, because l've loved you just as fiercely.”

He tilts your chin up, his dark eyes softening, and his thumb brushes tenderly across your jaw. "Then let there be no more fear," he whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is softer but no less consuming, filled with a desperate hope that perhaps the two of you, against all odds, can still claim the love that's been waiting for so long.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sun blazes mercilessly as the crowd fills the arena, their cheers deafening and bloodthirsty. Your seat offers a clear view of the sand-covered pit, where the fighters enter with stoic faces and heavy chains. Among them is Lucius. Even in the sea of bodies, your eyes find him instantly.

He walks with his head held high, his shoulders squared. You can see the fire burning in him now—a determination that wasn’t there before, knowing that people are ready to rescue him. The weight of hope, of knowing freedom waits just beyond the reach of this hellish stage, has reignited something in him. Yet, the sight of him under the watchful eyes of guards and the jeering crowd still twists your stomach with dread.

Your fiancé, Caius, sits beside you, oblivious to the storm raging within you. His hand rests possessively on your arm as if to remind everyone—and perhaps himself—of who you belong to.

When the fight begins, Lucius is relentless. His movements are sharper, faster, more focused than ever before. You watch in awe as he disarms one opponent and dodges another’s blade with a grace that feels almost otherworldly. But it’s not enough to calm your nerves. Every strike, every blow he lands only tightens the knot in your chest.

And then it happens. A spear slices across his shoulder, leaving a vivid trail of crimson in its wake. He stumbles, his hand instinctively going to the wound, and for a moment, your world stops.

You stand without thinking, your breath catching in your throat. “Lucius,” you whisper, though the name escapes like a prayer rather than a call.

Caius turns sharply to you, his grip on your arm tightening. “What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice low but sharp. “Sit down, Iris.”

But you can’t. Your heart is pounding too loudly, drowning out his words. All you can see is the blood staining Lucius’s tunic, the grimace of pain that briefly flashes across his face before he forces himself back into the fight.

“Iris!” Caius snaps, his voice rising now. “This is unseemly. People are watching!”

You don’t care. The moment the fight ends and Lucius is escorted out, you wrench free from Caius’s grasp and run. His angry protests fade behind you as your sandals slap against the stone corridors leading to the medic chambers.

When you burst through the door, Ravi looks up in surprise. Lucius sits on a stool, blood dripping from his shoulder as Ravi prepares to clean the wound. His gaze snaps to you, and for a moment, he freezes, the stoic mask slipping to reveal something raw and unguarded.

“What are you doing here?” Ravi asks, his tone filled with warning.

But Lucius speaks first, his voice low and strained. “Iris.” Your name on his lips feels like both a question and an anchor.

You cross the room in a rush, ignoring Ravi’s protests and Lucius’s raised brow. “Let me,” you say softly, reaching for the cloth in Ravi’s hand. Your fingers tremble as you press it against the wound, but you don’t flinch.

Lucius watches you, his gaze piercing. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but there’s no anger in his voice—only concern.

“And you shouldn’t be out there,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But here we are.”

His hand rises, hesitating for a moment before it brushes against yours, smearing your skin with his blood. “I’ll be fine,” he says, though his eyes betray him.

“No, you won’t,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Not if I lose you.”

Ravi clears his throat awkwardly, stepping back. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he mutters, leaving the room.

Lucius exhales shakily, his gaze never leaving yours. “Iris, you have to be careful. If Caius—”

“Let Caius think what he will,” you interrupt, your voice trembling with conviction. “I won’t sit by and do nothing while you suffer.”

In the space of a breath, his restraint snaps. "Damn Caius," he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, just before his lips capture yours.

The kiss is wild and desperate, like a clash of wills—a battle neither of you is willing to lose.

His hands tighten around your waist as yours tangle in his hair, the metallic taste of blood faint on his lips, a reminder of the wounds he's endured. He kisses you with the fervor of a man who's fought too long to deny what he feels, each movement urgent and unyielding.

He lifts you onto the nearby table, the rough wood cold beneath your legs as papers and tools clatter to the ground, forgotten. You gasp against his mouth, but he doesn't falter, his body pressing into yours as if to prove something-to you, to himself, to the world that's tried to keep you apart.

Outside, the sound of footsteps halts, followed by a frustrated sigh. Ravi's voice mutters something inaudible, and you know he's standing there, trying to give you privacy while also likely cursing your recklessness.

Lucius pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space between. "This is madness," he whispers, his voice rough and thick with emotion.

"Then let it be madness," you reply, your voice just as unsteady. Your hands trail down to his face, cupping his jaw as your thumbs brush over his cheekbones. "Because l'd rather have this moment than a lifetime of silence."

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss even fiercer than before, as though he's pouring all the words he can't say into the connection. His hands linger around your thighs, gradually pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher up your leg.

“Lucius, I—” Ravi’s voice cuts through the haze, and you pull back abruptly, your chest heaving.

Lucius turns toward the door, his body instinctively shifting to shield you from Ravi’s view, though it’s already too late. Ravi stands in the doorway, his face a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.

“I left you alone for mere minutes,” Ravi mutters, crossing his arms as his eyes dart between the two of you.

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you hold your ground, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. “I was helping,” you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

“And clearly you’ve been very thorough in your assistance,” Ravi replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Lucius steps forward, his voice low but firm. “Enough, Ravi. You’ve said your piece.”

Ravi exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anyone finds out about this, it’s not just you two who’ll pay the price. Keep that in mind.” He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath as he leaves.

The door clicks shut, and silence settles over the room once more. Lucius looks at you, his eyes clouded with both regret and longing. “I’ll deal with him,” he says softly, though his hand lingers at your side, as if reluctant to let you go.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The door slams shut behind you as you step into the quiet of your home, the night air still clinging to your skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the events that transpired just moments ago. You barely have a chance to steady your breath before Caius appears in the hallway, his sharp gaze locking onto you as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, hair slightly tousled, your dress still crinkled from the tension of the night.

“Where have you been?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, an undeniable undertone of suspicion that you cannot ignore.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, a familiar lie already forming on your lips. “I was just out for a walk,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a slight quiver in your voice that betrays you.

Caius takes a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing, scanning you with unsettling precision. He glances down at your dress, and for a split second, his gaze lingers on a small stain of blood near the hem. His face hardens.

“That doesn’t look like the mark of a walk,” he says, voice tight with suspicion. “Where did you get this from?”

You freeze. The blood—it wasn’t from you, but from the hurried touch you had shared with Lucius. His words echo in your mind, Damn Caius. You can feel the weight of that kiss, the dangerous closeness, and the desperation in his touch. It lingers in your skin, like a brand that you can’t erase.

“Nothing happened,” you lie again, your heart racing in your chest. You want to scream, to tell him the truth, but fear clamps down on your throat. “I helped Ravi again, like I used to.”

Caius isn’t fooled. His eyes flicker with recognition, and before you can take another breath, he’s stepping toward you, his hand gripping your wrist tightly. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, his voice low and threatening. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you? The Eagle of Rome.”

The mention of Lucius sends a shock of panic through you, freezing you in place. No—you try to deny it, but the truth is already written across your face. “I haven’t—” you start, but the words falter. You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip tightens, pulling you closer.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice a razor’s edge, the anger seeping through each word. His fingers are like iron, digging into your skin as he pulls you toward him. “I saw the way you looked at him in the stadium.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as the weight of his accusation hits. Lucius—the name lingers like a forbidden prayer. “I was helping all of the warriors today. I promise you, I didn’t even touch him,” you snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and guilt, but the words feel hollow, like a lie you want to believe but can’t.

“Stop!” Caius interrupts, his voice rising now, each word thick with rising fury. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? That I haven’t seen how you’ve been sneaking around? How you’ve been lying to me?”

His words hit you like a slap. In an instant, his frustration boils over, his anger flaring in his eyes. He moves toward you, forceful and sharp, and you stumble back into the wall, trying to escape his grasp. You gasp, your heart pounding as you try to steady yourself.

But before you can recover, Caius is right there, his face inches from yours, his breath ragged with fury. “You have no idea what kind of reproach you’re bringing against our family,” he spits, his voice dangerously quiet now. “Your actions make us a mockery. The choices you’ve made—make us look like fools.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart aching in your chest. His words cut deeper than you expected, and guilt rises in your throat. He’s right—this has always been the choice, between him and Lucius. Between duty and love. But you couldn’t let go—not when Lucius needed you, not when you were the only one who could do something for him.

“Let me go, Caius,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if asking for the smallest mercy. “Please.”

But there’s no mercy in his eyes now. Only betrayal, and the realization that whatever it is that’s come between you, whatever feelings you’ve tried to bury, are on the cusp of release. He stares at you, and for a moment, you think you see something softer in his gaze—but it’s fleeting. He lets out a jagged breath, his grip still tight on your wrist.

“I never wanted this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that, because you feel the same way. Every word from his lips is a weight pressing you into the wall, and yet, you can’t escape it.

“Clean yourself up,” Caius says, stepping back. His eyes linger on you, raw and unrelenting. “And can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

Caius turns away, his shoulders tense with unresolved anger, and the silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken truths. As he walks out, leaving you standing alone in the dimly lit room, you feel the weight of the choice you’ve made—and the painful certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tag list: @willowpains

[astrids-blog333]

Beneath the Silk - Chapter One

Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Chapter One Summary: A political marriage to Lucius is forged to secure the empire’s fragile peace. Though emotionally distant, Lucius is drawn to your quiet grace, while you struggle to navigate the undercurrents of power within the Roman court. But even the smallest kindnesses draw his gaze, leaving you both uncertain of where duty ends and attraction begins.

Warnings: angsty, slow burn, injury/blood (mild), anxiety and stress, manipulation, power imbalance, alcohol consumption.

A/N: This is a three-part fic I've been writing, and I'm hoping to get all three parts out in the next day or so, FYI Chapter Three will be 18+. It is set post Gladiator II, and there are slight deviations from the original plot (i.e he never married and is emperor). PLEASE PLEASE comment/like/reblog it really does help. I love the Gladiator movies so much, and I love him so much. Anyways, hope you enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

WC (Chapter One): 3.8k

chapter two - chapter three

The halls of the imperial palace stretch far before you. You’ve been in this palace many times, yet today it all feels different. Your feet feel heavy, and every step you take seems to echo off the marble floors, louder than the last.

A summons to the Emperor’s court, a marriage proposal from Lucius Verus himself, does not go unanswered. As the daughter of a senator with ambition for more power, more influence, you have a duty to follow his wishes.

This meeting is not just an opportunity; it is the beginning of a marriage that will secure your family's future, a political alliance forged in the name of power and stability.

Your family’s future.

The door ahead opens, revealing a room bathed in golden light, its shadows stretching far along the stone floors. From it, a servant steps forward, bowing low. “My Lady, the Emperor is expecting you.”

With a nod, you move forward, your nerves hidden behind a composed exterior as you step into the room.

You are struck by the sheer presence of the man before you.

An Emperor.

He sits tall, his posture regal, yet there’s an edge to him, something dark that seems to pull the very air towards him. His gaze lifts as you enter, his eyes sharp, cold, but also appraising. The moment your eyes meet, you feel an unsettling stillness settle over you, the kind of quiet that could erupt into a storm at any moment.

He says nothing at first, his gaze lingering on you, as if taking measure of your very soul. The corners of his lips curl into something that could almost be mistaken for a smile, but there’s a coldness to it that sends a shiver down your spine.

"My Lady," he finally speaks, his voice smooth. "I’ve heard much about you." You hold his gaze; this is a game of power, of politics, and you are determined to play it well.

“I’m honoured to meet you, Emperor,” you reply, your voice steady even though your heart is racing inside your chest. You’ve heard the rumours, but now, standing before him, you understand.

Lucius Verus Aurelius is not just a man.

"You are just as your father said," He continues. “A woman of duty.”

For a moment, his expression softens, a flicker of something more human crossing his features. But soon it's gone again, replaced by that same cold, calculating gaze.

“The court is full of men and women who are all too eager to present themselves,” Lucius adds, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “But it is rare to find someone who doesn’t seek the approval of others.”

Lucius looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing across his features. Then, without another word, he turns and gestures to the throne beside him. “We shall see how you fare in Rome, My Lady."

The days following your first meeting with Lucius have blurred into a single long string of formalities, discussions and countless meetings. The whispers around the court grow louder, as does the weight on your shoulders. This marriage, your marriage, which was once discussed in vague terms, is now an inevitability. Your father has spoken on your behalf, assuring the Emperor that you are prepared to fulfil your duties.

This marriage is not simply a union of you and Lucius; it is a bond that must strengthen the empire, settle the mounting tension between factions, and solidify his reign. The senators, the generals, and the noble families all have their eyes on this union, their agendas clear.

It is political. It is power. It is survival.

You stand by the window of your quarters, gazing out over the sprawling city below. The weight of this arranged marriage presses in against your chest, and the reality of what it means is finally sinking in.

You are not marrying Lucius for love. You will never marry for love. The two of you, bound by the will of those in power, are being forced into unity, and regardless of the greater good, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Lucius, you’ve learned, is a man who does not easily show emotion. In your brief interactions with him, you’ve seen the icy exterior he wears like armour.

The few words you’ve exchanged with him since your first meeting have been curt, formal. There has been no warmth, no kindness, no hint of empathy. He seems determined to keep things strictly business.

The door to your chambers creaks open, and your father steps in, his expression as unreadable as ever. His presence fills the room, and for a moment, you feel as though you are being suffocated by his expectations.

“They’ve confirmed the date,” your father says, his voice low. “The wedding will take place in two weeks. Everything is now in place, finally.”

Your throat tightens, but you hold your composure. “Two weeks? That is quite soon, is it not?”

He nods, his eyes calculating. “It’s necessary. The tensions between the eastern provinces have been growing. The marriage will solidify our alliance with the eastern legions and quell any dissent within the senate.”

You nod, but inside, a cold knot begins to form. You are a pawn in this game. Your father, the Emperor, the senator, all of them are using you as nothing but a tool.

As your father speaks of the preparations, you can’t help but wonder about the man you are to marry.

The thought lingers in your mind, but you push it away. There’s no room for feelings in this arrangement.

Only duty.

The door closes behind your father as he exits, leaving you alone once again. You stare out at the city as the last light of the day fades into the dark night.

You know that there is no turning back now.

The grand hall is filled with the soft murmur of conversation, the clink of shining golden goblets, and the rustle of expensive, fine silk. The air is heavy with the scent of roasted meats and perfumed wine.

This is the atmosphere of celebration, of happiness, but you feel anything but celebratory, or happy.

You stand near the edge of the room, your sharp gaze occasionally drifting to Lucius, who is surrounded by the usual assortment of nobles, advisors, and foreign diplomats seeking favour with their ruler. His posture is far too perfect, his expression unreadable, as it has been all evening. He is, as always, a flawless picture of regal composure.

But something about him tonight seems different.

Your marriage ceremony had been short, almost perfunctory, with little fanfare or flourish beyond the required vows and rituals. Now, as tradition dictates, you find yourself at the centre of a sea of well-wishers, all of whom are eager to congratulate you on your new role as Empress.

You watch Lucius from a distance. He stands in a circle of powerful men, but his gaze keeps drifting toward you. It’s subtle, a brief flicker of his eyes before he turns away again, agreeing with a senator or nodding to some advisor's boring anecdote.

You don't envy this part of his job, of his duty.

But the glances, those you catch. You catch the way his jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, how his fingers grip his goblet just a little too tightly. He’s noticing you, even if he’s trying to hide it from both you and himself.

You take a sip of your wine, your nerves beginning to settle as the alcohol warms your insides. You’re not sure if it’s the drink or the fact that everyone’s watching you that makes you feel so exposed. You can feel their eyes on you, their judgement lingering on you like a shadow.

You look to Lucius again, this time locking your eyes with his. This time, neither of you looks away.

You can’t put your finger on it, but you sense the conflict within him. The coldness he wears so effortlessly seems at odds with the tension in his gaze.

The music plays on, and slowly, the crowd around Lucius begins to thin. The revelry continues, but you remain rooted in place, watching him. But then he turns towards you again and starts through the crowd in your direction.

Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly, your palms feel clammy. The warmth of his presence envelops you, his scent intoxicating, a fine balance of rich leather, smoke, and something darker, more primal.

For a short moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches. The world around you fades into a dull hum as you lock eyes with him. The tension is so thick it’s almost suffocating you where you stand.

“I hope you’re enjoying the festivities,” Lucius finally says, his voice low and even, betraying nothing.

You can’t tell if it’s his disinterest or something else, but you know you’re being measured, evaluated. “I am,” you reply. “But I do find myself wondering what happens after all this. Once the celebration ends, once the court has gone, what is left for us?”

Lucius tilts his head to the side slightly, intrigue crossing his otherwise stoic features. “That remains to be seen, My Lady.” His words are polite, detached. “Marriage is a... business arrangement. Nothing more.”

The words sting, but you manage to keep your composure. It’s what you expected, what you have been prepared for your whole life. A loveless marriage with a man who wishes not to be with you, who wishes for nothing to do with you.

“Perhaps,” you say, taking a small step back, giving yourself some space to breathe, “but even some business arrangements can be... complicated.”

His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Complicated, yes of course.” His voice deepens. “But I don’t believe you are the complication I expected.” The words hit you like a stone to the chest, and you can feel the sudden weight of everything pressing down on you.

He doesn’t touch you, but the intensity of Lucius's stare almost feels like physical touch.

Before you can even think to reply, he steps back, his posture relaxing slightly as he adjusts the clasp of his cloak. His gaze lingers on you for one final moment.

As quickly as he appeared, Lucius turns away, his figure swallowed one again by the crowd.

You exhale, not realising you’d been holding your breath the entire time.

The palace is a maze, and you can feel the harsh looks follow you down the corridors. Today, you have the chance to walk through them, away from the crowd of courtiers and their insistent chattering.

The hall stretches before you, lined with columns that give the space a sense of grandeur, but the silence, which is only broken by your footsteps, is almost unsettling. You are alone in your thoughts, but there is no real solitude here, not when you can feel the eyes upon you at all times.

As you round the corner, you spot a young girl struggling, trying to steady herself while clutching at her side. It's such a subtle shirt in her stance you nearly miss it, but you can see the discomfort in the way she winces as she tries to carry on her task.

You slow as you watch her. It is a brief interaction, just a glimpse of vulnerability, but enough to catch your eye. You can’t possible ignore it.

Without thinking twice, you approach, stepping carefully so as not to startle her. “Are you all right?”

The girl, startled by the sound of your voice, looks up. Her face is flushed, and she quickly straightens, hiding her discomfort behind a forced smile.

“I’m fine, my lady,” she replies, her words quick, too quick. There is a slight tremor in her voice that betrays her. You study her for a moment, something isn’t right.

“I don’t believe you.” You keep your tone even so as to not scare her, but your eyes are sharp, persistent. “Let me see.”

She hesitates, glancing down at her hands, before finally lifting her sleeve. The sight of the deep gash in her arm catches you slightly off guard. It isn’t too serious, but it has clearly been left untreated to long as blood has begun to stain the fabric of her tunic.

“Why hasn’t someone seen to this?” you ask, lowering your voice.

The girl's eyes dart to the side, refusing to meet your gaze. “I didn’t want to trouble anyone, my lady,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Sit,” you instruct, your words firm but gentle as you gesture to a nearby chair. “I’ll have it cleaned.”

As you move to tend to her wound, you feel the air shift. The sudden silence is broken by footsteps approaching from the other end of the corridor.

You don’t need to look up to know who it is. Lucius’s presence, even without words, seems to fill the space.

Without a word, he appears in the doorway. His eyes briefly flick over the scene before locking onto you. His brow furrows as he observes you kneeling beside the girl, your attention wholly focused on her.

For a moment, there is no movement, just the quiet exchange between you two. Lucius takes a step forward. His voice, when it comes, is low.

“You would... help those beneath you?”

It isn’t an accusation. It is a question, a quiet observation wrapped in the careful tone of someone trying to understand something they don’t quite grasp. Perhaps he refuses to believe that you, a Lady of the Roman Empire, who was born into wealth and prosperity, would even think to help a lowly servant girl.

You don’t look up immediately, your attention still on the maid as you clean her wound. “Everyone has a place,” you say, not pausing in your task, “but kindness should have no rank.”

Lucius is silent for a moment. When you finally look up, you address him, "Would you not agree, Emperor?"

You catch the brief flicker of something in his eyes. It isn’t exactly surprise, but it isn’t disregarded either. For the first time since your marriage, you see a different side of him, something unexpected that seems to make him seem faintly protective.

He nods, his gaze softening for the briefest of moments before his expression shifts back into something guarded. “I’ll have someone fetch a healer,” he says, his tone returning to its usual clipped edge. “Stay here.”

You don’t have time to dwell on it, though, as the girl's soft voice interrupts your thoughts. “Thank you, my lady. I... I don’t deserve this.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face as you finish cleaning the wound. “You do. We all deserve kindness, even when the world sometimes forgets it.”

Lucius pauses for a moment in the doorway, watching, listening, before disappearing down the hall again to carry out his command.

The night has long since fallen, and the grand halls of the palace are quieter now, the hum of courtly chatter and the heavy clang of armor replaced by the soft rustling of distant servants and the occasional glimmer of torchlight reflecting off the polished marble. It is the kind of night that promises solitude, a rare gift in a world so full of eyes, all pointed towards you. You find yourself walking the halls alone once more, needing nothing more than the silence to clear your thoughts.

You had spent the better part of the day in meetings, your role at the heart of Rome’s politics growing clearer with each passing day. The weight of your new position, all of the alliances, the shifting balances of power, and the many expectations are all beginning to wear on your mind and body.

The only place you can find any peace is in the gardens. They have become your sanctuary, so you find yourself slipping away from the palace’s watchful eyes to find some reprieve among the trees. The night air is cooler here, and the stars overhead shine brightly.

The sound of footsteps draws you out of your thoughts. At first, you think it’s just another guard or servant going about their duties, but as the figure comes closer, you realise it is him.

Lucius.

His presence is a shadow before it becomes a figure, tall and commanding, moving with purpose even in the utter stillness of the night. He doesn’t say anything as he approaches you, his eyes scanning the garden briefly before settling on you. You’ve seen him in many situations, in the heat of power struggles, in the midst of grand gatherings, but in this, this stillness, this quiet, he is different. It is almost as if you can hear the thoughts churning beneath his calm exterior.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here,” you say, your voice softer than usual, unsure of how to read the situation.

Lucius says nothing for a long moment. He merely looks at you. His lips part slightly, as though he might speak, but then he chooses not to. Instead, he takes a step closer, and you notice, almost imperceptibly, that he is giving you space.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, the words escaping before you can hold them back. It isn’t an ordinary question; this isn’t about politics or alliances. It is more personal, an invitation into the silence he carries with him, the part of him he keeps locked away. You wonder whether one day he will share them with you, his wife.

His eyes flick to yours, and for a second, there is a hesitation, a hint of something that makes you wonder if he’ll answer truthfully.

“Nothing worth saying,” he finally replies, his voice cool. He is always in control, always aware of what he reveals, to whom and when.

But tonight, it seems, something about the air between you has changed. Perhaps it is the quiet, the absence of everyone else, or maybe it is the sheer weight of the responsibilities that both of you now carry. Some of these responsibilities you now carry together.

“I don’t believe you,” you say softly, your gaze not leaving his. It isn’t defiance, it’s just the truth. You’ve learned enough in your time here to know that Lucius is a man of many layers, many masks, and that some things can be seen even if he never speaks them aloud.

His jaw tightens, but there is no anger in his features, no sharp rebuke. Just the unshakable, steady gaze that has become his trademark.

The only sound is the gentle rustling of leaves in the night wind.

Finally, he breaks the silence, "I've seen you in the gardens before, what draws you to them so?"

You pause, thinking for a moment before answering. "The night reminds me of home." He looks at you, raising an eyebrow slightly, prompting you to continue.

"I have never lived anywhere but my childhood home, so coming here has been...difficult, to say the least." You pause, unsure of how to continue.

"I found that even though my whole life has been turned upside down, the night sky has not changed. The stars are in the same place they have always been, so when I look up to them, I can forget everything else, and I could just as easily be home again."

His eyes narrow, as if measuring your words. "You don't seem as disillusioned as most would be," he observes. "Most would be angrier, most would resent being used as a pawn in the empire’s games."

You tilt your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "And yet, here I am. No resentment, simply...remembering." You pause, glancing down at your hands, seeing they tremble slightly.

"Just doing what I must."

Lucius steps closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor drawing your attention. "And what if your duty requires something more than you expected?" His voice drops, a thread of vulnerability threading through his usual detached tone. "What if you’re asked to choose between what’s right for the empire and what’s right for you?"

The question hangs in the air like a challenge, but you meet his gaze without any hesitation. "Then I will choose both, Lucius. I will find a way."

He speaks again, softer this time.

"Earlier, when you helped the servant..." He pauses, his voice a little quieter, almost as if uncertain of his own curiosity. "Why did you do that? It was nothing more than a small injury, but you treated it as if it were life or death."

You bite your lip, the memory of the servant’s injury still fresh. It had been a simple cut, nothing that would have warranted a second glance from anyone else. Yet, something in you had insisted on helping. It had felt… right.

"You see, Lucius," you say, carefully choosing your words, "in a place like this, where everything is always about power and control, it's easy to forget the little things. The ones who are dismissed, the ones who are invisible. It's not much, but I can't help but think that if we forget them, we lose something essential to who we are as people."

He is quiet for a long time, his gaze never leaving you. There is something unreadable in his expression, something buried deep beneath the surface.

"You're different," he finally says, his voice low. "Most would never think twice about such a thing. They would walk past, their eyes trained on the bigger picture, and yet..." His gaze softens, though he quickly masks it with a brief glance away.

You swallow hard, "I just... I just want to do what’s right."

A fleeting silence passes between you two, heavy. The moment feels fragile, like something could shift at any moment, pulling you closer or pushing you apart.

Lucius steps closer again, the distance between you shrinking even further. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the power of his existence wrapping around you like a clock.

There is a stillness in the air, a charge that hums between the two of you, and then, almost unnoticeably, his hand brushes yours. It is so light, so momentary, that you almost think it is an accident. But the sensation of his skin against yours sends a jolt of something through you.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moves. His hand hovers just a fraction above yours, as if unsure whether to pull away or linger. His gaze flickers between your eyes and your hand, and you can see the battle within him, something he isn’t willing to show, but still cannot completely hide.

But then, just as quickly, he pulls away, his hand falling back to his side.

"I should go," Lucius says, his voice returning to its usual coolness. "There are matters to attend to."

You nod, though the tightness in your chest makes it difficult to breathe. "Of course."

As he turns to leave, you can't help but watch him, your thoughts swirling. For all the power he wielded, for all his control, you know there is something more to that man.

all parts of this series are out now, hope you enjoy 🫶

[andy-15-07]

newly engaged couple actressxpaul do the puppy interview?

Puppies, Promises, and Pure Joy

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1177 | requests are open

Paul Mescal Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul raises an eyebrow. “Soulful?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fawninthesnow]

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞: 2 | Maternal! figure | Caracalla & Geta

Summary: You visit the young princes in the palace; While teaching, you tell them a folktale of a wolf and its two creations.

Warnings: Fluff, (slight) angst, english is not my first language, foreshadowing, spoilers

Work count: 1k

a/n: Keep in mind they are around 14-16 here and orphaned already. After looking through some deleted scenes from the script, I found that all the boys want is to be adopted and loved. This series is for that.

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“Give it to me! I want to read it!” The boys tugged at the letter, snatching it back and forth between them. Finally, Geta managed to wrest it from his brother's grasp and held it high above his head. “You can barely read her writing. Let me read it to you!” Caracalla folded his arms and listened.

Hello, my loves. I’m writing to you from Germania. I miss you both more than words can express; my heart aches at the thought of you being alone in that palace. However, I take comfort in knowing that you have each other. I eagerly await the day when I can hold you both in my arms again. I’ve written two letters, so please, for my sake, stop arguing over who gets to keep the paper.

Caracalla took the envelope from the table; the boys sit beside each other, reading from the papers.

When I get back, we can get to your studies. Hopefully this time without much of a fight—Geta.

Caracalla nudged his brother.

If you are reading this, I should be on the coast of Corsica.

The two turned to each other, “That means she is only a day away, Calla!” His brother excitedly beamed, holding onto the letter in his hands with a careful yet tight hold.

Each moment feels like a journey around the sun without both of you. Please know that my love for you exceeds what I can express and what you can ever imagine. With all my love, Lady [Y/n].

The boys stayed awake that night, eager not to miss your arrival. Typically, it was Caracalla who would stay up late or rise before dawn to spend more time with you. However, since they hadn’t seen you since the holidays and with the new year already upon them, neither wanted to waste a moment away from you.

Geta held a small torch in his clutch, his brother’s hand in the other. “Calla, stay awake.” He sighed as his brother nodded off while standing. Geta led his brother to his room and tucked him in bed.

“Where are you going?” Caracalla asked as he regained some consciousness.

“I will stay with you.” He laid his head back onto the pillow.

You glanced into the bedroom when you heard their voices. The two were facing each other, unaware of your presence. As you stepped inside and smiled, Geta instantly stood up and rushed into your arms. “He is sleeping?” Geta nodded, his head buried in your clothes. “Are you tired?” He didn't need to agree; it was evident. You climbed into bed with Caracalla and carefully lifted Geta, bringing him in as well. In response to your scent, Caracalla turned toward you and wrapped his arm around your side. On your other side, Geta mirrored the gesture. You pulled the blanket over all three of you. “I love you both so much.”

***

“Grab it, Caracalla!” His brother yelled as he jumped back into the fountain. His brother continued to laugh, taking his time with the slithering creature. “Caracalla! I swear!”

The boy picked up the snake in his two hands and inches closer to his brother. “…oh, Geta?”

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell [Y/n]!”

“Tell me what?” You left the palace and joined them in the overgrown courtyard. Upon seeing the snake in Caracalla’s hands you frowned, your hands on your hips. He looked down at his feet and placed the snake back into the bushes. Geta ran to your side and held onto your clothes. “You know better.”

“I know.”

“You know your brother hates snakes too.”

“I know.” He repeated. You did not need to tell him to apologize. “I am sorry, Geta.”

“If I see another snake in your hands, you will go to your room.” The boy groaned, “Wait…why are you both out here? You should be inside with your studies.” The two brothers looked at each other.

Inside, you read from a scroll and the two boys took notes, “Beyond the oaks in Germania, Gray wolves are carnivorous and primarily hunt ungulates such as deer, wild boar, and even smaller mammals; ready to traverse for several miles. Do you recall the ways they communicate?”

“Howls, body language, and scent marking.” Caracalla said, rather doubtful of himself.

“That is true! Good job.” You cuffed his cheek. “Wolves have a special place in German literature; representing wilderness and the untamed spirit of nature.” You gaze fell on the two and cleared your throat. “Would you both like to hear a story?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, please.”

You took a few of Caracalla’s wooden toys; a wolf, two boys and two rather worn figures. “There once were two people…although they tried, they never could tame this wolf.”

“Hm? Why didn’t they just give it away?” Caracalla asked.

“Well, it is an animal that cannot be disposed of. Now, others would come to their home and would give the two all kinds of advice! ‘Just hit it, it will listen.’ ‘Let it be, it will listen.’ ‘Put it outside, it will listen.’ Nothing worked. The wolf would always come back…rowdy, violent and disobedient.”

“It is a wild creature! Why would they invite it into their home to begin with?” Geta asked and leaned forward, rather invested.

“Some things come inside without an invitation.” The two brothers looked at each other. You pushed the two figures away, leaving the two boys and the wolf. “And the two people…they had two children soon after, leaving the wolf with them.” The boys looked rather puzzled, sad---

“As the children grew, the wolf would linger around the home. Eventually, the children grew fond of it. They shared a bed, food. Soon, they built a home just for the wolf, visiting it every day.”

“They should kill the wolf.” Geta spat.

“That is a very big task, Geta.” You said softly, looking him in his brown eyes. “What do you think, Caracalla? What would you do?”

“I am not sure…I would treat it like a wild animal. I would never make a home for it.”

You squeezed their cheeks. “Alright. That is enough for today.”

Part 3

A/n: Wolf is in reference to the movie but does not mean the same thing. <3 After doing more research on the actual twin emperors of rome, I am now aware Caracalla is older yet loved his brother very much; I will be going off of their real stories instead of the movie! I love the movies dearly lol but I prioritize my writing.

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[divainecstasy]

Momentary Blissness (L.V)

Summary: After a brutal fight, Hanno is left severely wounded — needing the assistance of a certain healer, who not only tends to him, but also shows him something he had only ever dreamt of before.

Word Count: 617

Warnings: Violence & Blood

The shouting of the crowd echoed throughout the arena as the last slice of the sword rung out. 

"Give it up for Hanno!"

The applause grew tenfolds as he scanned the masses, lifting his sword in victory with a stern, yet pained frown. 

She watched from the sidelines, noticing the gash on his side. It looked horrid, blood slowly yet steadily seeping through the cotton beneath his chestplate. 

"I must excuse myself. I ought to tend the wounded, make sure they're ready for the next spectacle, right?" She spoke with a dry laugh and tightlipped smile, overshadowing the worry in her words.

She had always been fond of Hanno, since the beginning. He was strongwilled with a pure heart, she could tell. His eyes glimmered with something she had never seen before, hope underlined by unbearable pain. 

Yet she had never truly interacted with the gladiator before, only glances and soft murmurs of greetings. In a way he was lucky, not having to get tended to yet. 

But he sure as hell would need to now. His teeth clenched together as he hissed, softly limping through the hallways of the Colloseum.

"I was looking for you!" A voice sounded as he reached the quarters.

He looked to his left, her figure standing under the arches to her chamber. She held the curtains open, urging him to come into the small refuge.

He just loosely nodded before following her lead, tiredly crashing down onto the seating with a groan.

"It will be alright..." she whispered out softly before removing the chestplate in a smooth motion. The cotton underneath shone burgundy in the dim lightning. Her fingertips lifted the fabric, revealing the deep cut into his side.

Hanno hissed as the cold air hit the wound, his breathing ragged as he looked down at her. His vision was blurry, the harsh racing of his heart filling his ears.

"I will have to stitch this... Inhale deeply, it will make the procedure more bearable." she spoke tightly, holding up a dosage of opium for him to breathe in.

His blue eyes glistened with a hazy expression, yet he managed to hum out in agreement as he sniffed it in. Ease filled his being at the drug, too distracted to even noticed the cold sting of the needle piercing his skin, followed by eight more to close the gouge.

"All done..." she mumbled out, gently rubbing over the stitches with soiled cotton, disinfecting the wound.

He smiled as he watched every move, each smoothing motion of her hand. It was a softness he had never felt before, her fingertips slipped like satin along his skin.

"You were great out there, Hanno. Truly grand." she whispered into the air, her eyes catching his glance.

"Thank you..." he hummed out, pain still ringing through every word.

"You can stay here for the night... In case of emergency, there is always a danger of the gash opening up again. Besides, my cot is more comfortable..." she laughed softly, her eyes crinkling at the last comment.

"Truly? You would let me? I don't — I ought not to filthen your sheets." 

"Hanno... It is fine. Please, for me — I insist." she spoke tenderly yet earnest.

That night, Hanno hadn't felt restless like the ones prior. With her by his side, he felt close to what heaven promises to be. A tender and graceful place — found in the confinements of her chamber. 

In his life as a warrior, slave and gladiator, filled with brutality — softness was a foreign ideal, one he could only dream of in his rest. Yet he had found it somehow, and he did not intend to lose this momentary blissness. Not now, not ever.