#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 something 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]

Awards Night

Plot: A very important night for yourself and your close friends on who will be taking home an Emmy and changes in your life.

Word Count: 9K

Pairing: Paul Mescal x Reader

Warnings: little makeout scene, sweet "father-daughter" moments, laughter giggles, just general fluff

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Energy fills the Los Angeles air as you sit out on the balcony with a fresh cup of coffee letting the sound of traffic try and soothe your nerves, the sun has just started rising hits of orange peeking over the horizon of buildings and mountains. You hear the sliding door beside you open and can sense his presence next to you.

“You’re up early,” He comments while taking a sip of his cup of coffee and you only hum in response keeping your gaze focused on the cars below seeing there was already traffic this early. “Nervous?” He asks and you shrug.

“I guess so. My body realized what today was and didn’t want me potentially sleeping through my alarm.” You say glancing over at Paul who rests his arms on the balcony railing only dressed in a tank and sleep pants, his hands fiddling with the cup that hangs over the edge.

“It’ll be fine. Whatever happens tonight you’ll still be my favorite actress. Plus I’m sure Pedro is dying to see you since New Year's,” He says with a slight chuckle which you can’t help but join in, despite it only being a few weeks you were used to your dear co-star and father figure’s clinginess.

“Yeah I’m sure he was so sad to stay in gorgeous Malta while I had to go back to New York for rehearsals for SNL,” You roll your eyes bringing your gaze back to the LA skyline, “God this place is boring I’m so glad I stayed in New York and didn’t listen to my old manager.”

Paul lets out a snort of laughter, “You are a New York City girl it’s funny seeing you stand out back in London and West Cork.” He says while coming to sit on the floor, grabbing your free hand and pressing a kiss to each knuckle. You smile pushing his face away from you which only makes him chuckle grab your hand again and repeat the action. He stops looking up at you as you share a moment of silence before he reaches forward and smooths away the wrinkle from your furrowed brows.

“Tonight we’ll be fine and if anything we skip the after-party and just relax back here and watch movies.” He says his hand trailing from your brows to cup your cheek and you settle into it.

“Just so you can watch Thelma and Louise.” You raise your brow at him and he flushes with a caught expression.

“Hey, it’s a good film and you know it,” He defends himself before raising himself from his haunches to press a kiss to your lips which you melt into. Your free hand strokes his beard as you kiss. He pours all his love for you and what you need to soothe the pit of anxiety inside until you feel nothing but calm. Paul pulls away not before pressing one last kiss to your nose which you scrunch up.

“It’ll be fine.” His voice is soothing as you both enjoy each other’s presence before the very busy day you have ahead of you.

Frank Ocean drifts through a speaker as you sit in a makeup chair, leftovers of brunch still on the dining table in the hotel you shared with Paul and the rest of your team.  Paul in the bedroom with his team getting ready allowing you the large living room to get ready. Your amazing manager had brought you a collaboration with ELLE Magazine for a ‘Getting Ready with Me’ video, currently, the camera and sound team working fluidly alongside your hair and makeup team as you speak to the camera.

“I’ve been in this chair for about…three hours now?” You say as your hairstylist Elvira works her magic on your hair and René your talented makeup artist brings you to life with his skills. One of your hands is being painted in nudes and gold while your other hand is currently in a UV lamp being cured. “As you can see every part of my body is being handled so all I can do is just sit and listen to Frank Ocean play. I’m excited though surprised I’ve never been to the Emmys before so I do have a bit of nerves running through me.” You say shyly.

“You also have a nomination!” Paul’s voice comes from the other room making everyone in the room laugh and cheer at his comment as your face grows flush.

“Yeah…I do have one so it only heightens the nerves so I’m hoping I just get distracted during the whole time and have a drink or two as liquid courage.” You say as your hand in the UV lamp beeps ending its cycle and you use that chance to grab your smoothie to take a sip.

“Are you excited to see your friends and cast mates from previous work?” The interviewer asks and your eyes sparkle and you nod excitedly not before being scolded slightly by Elvira and René.

“Yes, most of these people I haven’t seen in months with work and life being so busy between all of us. I texted Bella this morning about how excited I was to see them since we last saw each other at the Met Gala we’ve Facetime and keep in touch but it’ll be good to see them in person.” You say as you switch hands to start curing the nail polish.

“Are you excited to see Pedro?” They ask cheekily and you smile widely.

“Oh god yes. Even though I saw him two weeks ago for New Year’s he has been nonstop texting about us seeing each other tonight. He fully freaked when he heard we had seats near each other,” You say, and almost on cue your phone gets a Facetime call the ringtone playing ‘Purple Rain’, “Speak of the devil.” You see the camera team swing around to get a view of your phone screen as you answer the call.

“Sup loser!” You greet the older man whose face is extremely close to the camera.

“Happy Emmys Day!” He shouts at the camera and you can’t help to giggle, “Happy Emmys Day to you too, getting ready I assume?” You ask as he pulls back the camera revealing Coco who is working on his hair. She sends a wave to the camera which you smile in return.

“Yep! Chilling getting all dolled up alongside Lux,” He says casually and you can easily spot the lie in his tone, and even Coco gives him a look.

“Pedro, you’re freaking out aren’t you?”

“Yes! What if I trip and fall and hurt my other shoulder then I get a double sling and look like an idiot? Or I say the wrong name on the card and it’s La la Land and Moonlight all over again.” He starts rambling getting himself all worked up and stressed.

“P you’ll be fine. You’re not gonna trip and look like an idiot or say the wrong name. I’m gonna be there, your sister, Bella, Paul, heck even fucking Kieran Culkin would probably run up there and catch you,” Your comment about his fellow nominee makes him laugh but does the job of getting his mind off it.

“Thanks, chiquita,” He says and it seems like he’s trying to spot anyone in the background of your Facetime call, “Yo where’s Ireland’s princess?” The sound of footsteps coming to the double doors separating the living room to the bedroom.

“I’m here Pedro!” His voice comes through the doorway and Pedro makes a weird face and you answer his silent question,

“We’re surprising each other with our looks tonight…well one of us is trying to.” You explain. Paul was getting antsy to see you and spend time with you. He had tried coming up with excuses to come out even getting to a point where he almost opened the door if you hadn’t thrown your slipper at the door and he closed it.

“You are so weird,” Pedro comments and you stick your tongue out at him, “Alright I shall leave you be and I look forward to seeing you tonight!”

“Bye P!”

“Bye Y/nnnnnn.” The call ends and you bring your attention back to the camera crew.

“You and Pedro have a very close relationship you practically act like your blood related.” The interviewer says

“Yeah, it’s crazy I've known him over five years and he’s practically my second father like I call him or my dad for the stupidest stuff if either doesn’t reply,” You say with a smile, “My dad finds it funny and comments how he’s glad someone is finally tagging in after the ‘retirement-inducing stress’ I put him through before I joined the Mandalorian.” The crew and your team chuckle at that story.

After getting your hair and makeup completed with your hair pinned up in a beautiful updo, your fabulous stylist Juliano had somehow struck gold with your outfit even working with Paul’s stylist to make sure the pair of you look stunning together.

“We were lucky enough from the archives to get this 1998 Spring Givenchy by Alexander McQueen,” Juliano explains as the camera shoots the gorgeous dress the shimmering silk on the top down to the skirt. The flower appliques on a sheer fabric to look like they were on your skin, “We decided to keep the makeup very similar to look natural with a shine and hints of color resembling the flower embellishments. To the accessories, we decided to keep Y/n’s hands minimal with just a pair of Bvlgari statement rings on her hands, and her earrings being from Bulgari Fiorever pieces keeping the floral delicate looking continue even down to the shoes with custom So-Kate Louboutin that matches the dress perfectly and brings the whole look together.”

The camera captures your excited expression as you are now fully dressed, clapping your hands together, “I’m literally in awe. I love Alexander McQueen’s fashion and I am honored to be wearing this gorgeous piece.” The sound of footsteps coming to the double doors again.

“Are you finally done?” Paul’s voice sounds like it’s practically pressed against the door and the crew laughs and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Yes I’m done but come out with your eyes closed. I want you to have the full experience,” You say quickly closing your eyes. You hear him groan before the sound of the door opens. You hear shuffling as someone guides him to the right position.

“Can I open?” He asks rocking on his heels.

“Wait I gotta get in position!” You say almost tripping as Elvira guides you to stand a bit in front of him so you both are the first things either of you see. The camera crew gets ready, one facing you while the other is facing Paul to get both of your reactions.

“Okay on three,” You say and start counting, “One…two…three!” You both open your eyes and the crew laughs at each of your reactions. You immediately squeal seeing his attire; his blazer is a crisp white that matches the color of your dress and is embroidered on the hem, lapels, and the cuffs of the coat is a recreation of the flower appliques on your dress, he has white button-down with a black bowtie and black wide slacks with black boots, Paul has that tiny gold hoop in his ear and he’s wearing the watch you got him for Christmas. Paul’s reaction is pure awe taking in how nicely the dress fits you almost as if Alexander McQueen made the dress for you, your hair perfectly framing your face with tiny strands hanging freely around your hair and the makeup making you look completely radiant.

“Ah! You look so good Paul,” You gush rushing up to him and looking over all the tiny little details what you don’t see but the cameras and the fans who will later eat this all up is the pure love and adoration in his eyes looking down at you fawning over him.

“You…are completely stunning,” He breathes and your face flushes at the genuine compliment as he takes your hands in his and fiddles with your rings a cheesy grin on his face. The team and crew ‘awe’ at the scene only makes you more flustered which makes Paul laugh wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your crown. An alarm goes off from both of your managers’ phones a cue that it is time to start prepping to leave soon.

Turning to face the camera you give it a wave, “Thank ELLE for coming and seeing us get ready for the Emmys let’s hope we take home an award,” You say crossing your fingers and making both teams cheer. Paul gives a wave and you blow a kiss before you turn facing each other and you pull a funny face and he bursts into laughter as the cameras stop rolling.

“Alright I think we got what we needed, so great meeting you guys, and best of luck tonight,” The interviewer says and you smile thanking them as they head out to pack up. Your manager comes up looking over her iPad that has the schedule.

“Alright we have a bit of time for photos and then the car will be pulling up to take us to the venue,” She says, and Paul helps guide you to the balcony as you grab the train of your dress. It’s fun and casual between yours and Paul’s team bouncing off each other. The first round of photos starts with you posing out on the balcony getting the professional photos done and throwing in a few funny poses when you see Paul whip out his film camera to take a few pictures. Then it switches to Paul who seamlessly starts posing and you take a few pictures on your phone before getting a decent one from his camera, he ends up breaking into waves of laughter as you keep hollering and sending him whistles as he poses. The pair of you do photos together some looking at the camera others looking at each other. Both your managers posting little teasers on each of your Instagram stories for the night ahead the photos already going viral.

From the hotel room to the car felt like a blur and you didn’t even realize you were pulling into the venue and entering the conga line of cars to the red carpet. Your leg shakes restlessly until Paul rests his hand on your knee making you look at him.

“Breathe,” He makes the gesture of letting out a big breath of air which you copy feeling your body stop vibrating with nerves, “It’ll be fine.”

You nod though the pit in your stomach still hasn't left now that you are so close, “I feel less nervous about the awards but this is our first time together like in spotlight public.” You take his hands playing with his fingers to help with your nerves, “Just nerves what they are gonna say is all.”

Paul nods understanding. It was a huge secret when you both first got together, not that you both were ashamed of each other but you both respected your privacy very much. Even when you were younger you were very cautious about what you put out on the internet perfectly curating posts and appearances so people didn’t have anything negative to say. It definitely freed up the older you got and the more secure you felt in your career but still, there were certain subjects you didn’t want the whole world to know. You prided yourself in keeping your relationships locked tight the only people aware of them being your family and close friends. It reached a point in some scenarios where the public and fans assumed the people you were with were just close friends given how that was the case most of the time. You were lucky for Paul to understand your hesitancy being so quiet about the two of you and it worked out in your favor. You were able to enjoy the starting of your relationship just the time together between the two of you and not the whole world focused on you all. Even telling Pedro was something you were worried about entering the relationship with Paul, he was his co-worker, some would call it a bit of an age difference with him being a few years older than you, you were still what people would consider their early 20s and him in his late 20s but neither of you noticed or cared for it. You remember it clear the day you told Pedro well more of him finding out.

It was during the time Gladiator 2 was on pause due to some production issues so Paul had decided to visit and spend the week with you in New York, this is about 3 months of you guys dating. For context you love Pedro and have such a close bond with each other that you have keys for each other and know everything about each other. What you didn’t think was him being back in New York as well and assuming he was on the West Coast or anywhere but New York. So you and Paul had just obviously given the time apart..had sex since being reunited and ordered pizza, after you showered and he was currently in the shower while you picked out a movie. The doorbell rang assuming it was the deliveryman going to answer shocked seeing Pedro there instead of holding the pizza and letting himself in.

“Luigi’s Pizza you know how to plan a dinner, I have so much to talk about Malta and Morrocco,” Pedro says and the immediate fear on your face and before you could stop the nuclear bomb that was about to go off as the familiar voice of the man you were with and an oddly familiar voice to Pedro comes from down the hall.

Paul comes around the wall with the confidence of a man who just got laid still wet from the shower only dressed in very loose sweats that hung sinfully low on his hips, “Baby did the food show u—” His words cut off as he see Pedro standing there with equally wide eyes as his gaze darts from both you and Paul the pieces quickly coming together.

Paul takes your hand placing a kiss on the back of it right as the car in front of you pulls up about to be next in line, “Ignore what they say. None of it matters, it’s just us and our friends celebrating an amazing night together.” You take in his words before nodding in agreement right as the car pulls up. Paul flashes you a smile before pressing a light kiss to not ruin your makeup.

“Ready?” He asks and you nod giving an assured smile and he returns with an even wider smile. A knock on the car before the door unlocks and the muffled sounds of the fan and the red carpet get louder. The door opens fully and Paul steps out and the crowd of fans screech he turns grabbing your hand as you scooch to the open door. Grabbing Paul’s hand you immediately see the uproar as you exit the car the scream of fans in their section. Waving at them together as your managers guide you towards the little waiting area before the red carpet. It wasn’t long until you were called next to walk the carpet.

“Ready?” You ask Paul and he smiles pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Let’s go.”

Shouts and flashes of both yours and Paul’s name as you posed for solo shots. Over the scream of photographers, your gaze always finds itself back to Paul who was looking over at you too.

“Paul! Y/n! Let’s get a photo together,” A photographer shouts and it’s instant the shouts for you two to pose together and questions thrown at the pair of you. It’s easy to find one another his hand keeping a reassuring contact on your waist as you smile at the cameras. Your managers have to practically drag you two off the carpet as the paparazzi keep yelling more comments and get final photos.

“A few interviews then we’ll get you guys inside for the ceremony,” Your manager says and you nod as both you and Paul are brought to different networks to conduct interviews.

“Y/n so nice to meet you,” The interviewer from E! News greets warmly, “You look stunning tonight!”

“So nice to me you and thank you so much!” You respond holding the microphone between your hands as you speak to her.

“It seems you have caught the attention of many people tonight for one of your first Emmy nominations, especially at your age! If you win tonight, you will have become the youngest winner in your category at twenty-three, just a year younger than past winner Zendaya, who also happens to be presenting tonight for that award,” she says, and you give a nervous smile.

“I am definitely nervous now that you mentioned it,” You cringe making the both of you laugh, “But I’m so honored to be nominated, there are so many talented actresses in this category that all deserve this award. I really couldn’t tell you who it’s going to.” You speak honestly.

“Well, we’re hoping for the best for everyone tonight and even if you aren’t taking home an award you aren’t leaving empty-handed. It seems you have graced all of us who have been dying to see you and your partner in public.” She says and you laugh, “Anything to say on that?”

“Well, Paul and I are very grateful for all the support our friends, family, and lovely fans have given us.” You say a small smile. You truly were grateful for all the support those close to you have given especially with how crazy the industry is and how on-air every moment of your life has been. “Paul has also just been an amazing support in my life I’m so blessed to have known him.” You keep your piece on Paul short and sweet knowing you would ramble off on how amazing he is as a person and actor, just going off on a complete tangent.

“That is so sweet, you two are amazing together I’m sure he’ll enjoy your praise,” The interviewer coos and you chuckle.

“He’ll probably try to one-up me in the compliments he’s too humble at accepting them and so will dish a plentiful of compliments,” You retort making the pair of you laugh.

“If I see him I’ll be sure to pass off your message,” She smiles, “Thank you so much, enjoy the rest of your night, and best of luck.” You thank her before your manager guides you off to do a couple more interviewers since you are nominated in a category. As your manager leads you to the next interview you spot a very familiar figure speaking to another person.

“Lux!” You call out and she turns spotting you amongst celebrities and managers as you make your way past people quickly accepting the embrace from her. “You look gorgeous tonight!” Your praise has her smiling and she rests her hands on your shoulders looking you over.

“Says you! You look stunning and where is the lucky man?” Lux asks looking over your shoulder expecting your partner somewhere near.

“I think still doing interviews, if we didn’t meet up during the interviews we both would just head inside,” You say looking around yourself but for a different person.

“If you’re looking for Pedro he’s over there with Vanity Fair,” She points a finger over and you spot the back of his curly head, “He’s be antsy looking for you and Bella tonight.” You smile thanking her with a quick hug and plan to meet inside before having your manager already used to your antics and guide you over to Pedro. Luckily he hadn’t noticed you and his manager spots you with a friendly smile seeing the mischievous look on your face also used to your antics from the Mandalorian.

“I’m excited for tonight not even for the nomination just to be able to see friends and coworkers of mine I haven’t seen since we wrapped films,” You hear Pedro say as you slowly walk into view of the camera and interviewer who spots you. You drop your mouth and point at Pedro who is in front of you.

“Oh my god is that Pedro?” Pretending to fangirl as you mouth with faux awe. The interviewer chuckles and you don’t see Pedro’s confused expression until he turns around and sees you there with a cheesy grin.

“Pedro I’m such a big fan you are literally so zaddy!” Your voice is all shaky fanning back fake tears and the belly laugh that comes from him as he pulls you into a hug with his free hand pressing a kiss to your crown.

“Ah, father and daughter reunited!” The interviewer says as Pedro pulls out of the hug a still shocked look on his face as he takes in your outfit. “Y/n pleasure to meet you!”

“You look so beautiful!” Pedro’s praise warms you up and you flush waving him off.

“You look great too! Giving very professor vibes with the sweater and glasses,” You point at the large frames covering his face. He snorts rolling his eyes.

“Like a professor that got his ass whooped.” He says shrugging his sling arm making you and the interviewer laugh. “Thought I was gonna miss you on the carpet until we got inside.”

“Ran into your sister and she pointed me in your direction,” You say and you see your manager pointing at her watch and you send a brief nod, “Well I better head before Paul sends a search party. Nice to meet you!” You say to the interviewer who repeats the sentiments. A quick hug from Pedro with a kiss on the cheek before waving them off.

“See you soon chiquita.”

“Bye P! I’ll see you inside!” You wave him off before you and your manager continue your trek once more inside.

“Alright you are all good on interviews and photos, I will see you after the show enjoy the night, and good luck!” Your manager says looking over her to-do list for tonight and you give a nervous smile, “You’ll be alright you win great, you don’t, no biggie you’re young and have plenty of opportunities,” She squeezes your hands. She looks a bit past you before she continues,

“I’m sure he’ll keep reminding you. You too have fun.” You feel an arm snake around your waist pulling you gently to lean against his chest, feeling your nerves slip away. Your manager waves before walking off joining Paul’s manager and you turn looking up at him already seeing the look on his face.

“I know…I know stop stressing and enjoy my night.” You roll your eyes and he hums satisfied with you already knowing what he is going to tell you.

“You love me.” He smirks taking your hand and guiding you to the line of celebrities waiting to be ushered to their seats. You scoff your words holding no weight.

“Ugh, you wish.”

It’s easy to find your seats finding yourself near actors and actresses you’ve heard of but glad to see you were put in seats near Pedro and Bella. Bella sat in the row in front of you and Paul with Pedro and Lux sitting behind you guys. The show went on accordingly with the categories going through cheering for the nominees and winners of each category. When the category for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama Series Pedro had you and the audience in laughter.

“It’s my shoulder, not my arm and I’m here to set the record straight,” He says so plainly, “Kieran Culkin beat the shit out of me.” You almost choked on your spit at his comment your laughter only growing louder seeing Kieran’s reaction so serious before him and Pedro break with laughter as the award is presented. When the award for Best Actor in a Drama Series was announced you reached your hand back feeling Pedro’s hand grab you as each actor is called out. Cheering loudly when his name was announced with a quick snippet of his character in ‘The Last of Us’. While his name wasn’t called out you still smile squeezing his hand before clapping for Kieran Culkin who goes up to accept the award.

“Now presenting the award for Best Actress in a Drama Series, Zendaya and Jodie Foster!” The announcement comes through the speakers immediately filled with nerves feeling Paul’s hand resting on your thigh drawing circles and calming you slightly.

“And now for the nominees,” Zendaya says into the microphone and you clap as each actress is announced.

“Sarah Snook; Succession, Sharon Horgan; Bad Sisters, Melanie Lynskey; Yellowjackets, Elisabeth Moss; The Handmaid's Tale, Bella Ramsey; The Last of Us,” You clap a cheer extra loud for them and then continue calling out the nominees, “Keri Russell; The Diplomat, Y/n L/n; The Mandolrian” You hear the cheering around you as your name along with small clips of your character Tiya is shown on screen. In your peripheral, you can see the camera capture your reaction as Paul grabs your hand squeezing it. You don’t dare move your gaze from Jodie Foster and Zendaya as they speak.

“And the Emmy goes to,” You watch Jodie Foster open the card your hand probably cutting the circulation out of Paul’s hand. Zendaya smiles before she speaks.

“Y/n L/n, The Mandalorian.”

The roar of cheers from all around you as you sit there frozen for a second before it registers to you.

You won.

You stand up as the others do looking over at Paul who has the widest grin, “Holy fuck I won!” You say to him who nods enthusiastically and you can’t help but kiss him. It’s such a quick kiss but it means everything to the two of you as you pull away turn to Pedro who is cheering loudly and instantly pulling you into a hug pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m so proud of you!” He mumbles as you pull away Lux smiles widely at you as you quickly hug Bella who’s practically jumping with joy before finally walking down the aisle as your fellow actors applaud for you. It’s an almost out-of-body experience climbing up those steps and accepting the award from Jodie Foster and Zendaya who give you brief hugs before you stand before the microphone the heavy award in your hands.

“Hi..oh my god I didn’t plan at all what to say,” That makes the audience laugh your gaze sweeping through the crowd of people finding your group. “I want to thank my amazing team who got me this job, my friends and family back at home I love you so much, to the Mandalorian Team, Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni thank you for giving me this opportunity to bring Tiya to life, there are so many people I want to thank uh Pedro,” You gaze locks with him. You already see him getting teary-eyed making your words shaky.

“I’ve worked and grown with you over five years, you’re my second dad I love you so much. I also want to thank my partner, Paul,” Your gaze moves to Paul who has the proudest look on his face and you can feel tears burning at the back of your eyes, “I love you so much, you are my rock, my best friend, I’m so grateful you are in my life I could keep rambling on until they drag me off.” That makes Paul and the crowd laugh. “Alright, I’m gonna go before I start crying.” Your voice is already shaky enough as the audience cheers hearing loud whistles from Pedro as Jodie and Zendaya guide you off. Once you disappear backstage seeing allowed paparazzi taking photos of the three of you. Your manager already backstage pulls you into a hug and you let out a shaky exhale.

“No tears or René will have my head for letting an Emmy winner ruin her makeup,” Her words make you laugh leaning your head back and blinking back tears, “Alright we’ll get some quick photos and interviews before you’ll be set to head back for the ceremony.”

It’s a blur of heading to where the other winners are to get their photos taken. You probably have the widest grin as you hold your Emmy up. The flash of cameras as they shout congratulations and where to look at. Then it was the interviews with various media outlets each hungry for the latest news of your career this Emmy win special now being the youngest female Emmy winner in your category. During a commercial break, you were ushered back to your seats a cheesy grin across your face when your friends spot your return. You’re shuffling as face as you can in your dress and heels immediately welcomed with hugs and kisses of second congratulation.

“I completely blacked out up there did I make a fool of myself?” You ask seriously making Lux and Bella laugh as you all sit down.

“Not at all. You had Pedro crying like a baby with you up there,” Bella states and you laugh leaning against Paul.

“I was not!” Pedro still red with tears defends himself and Lux shakes her head.

“It was pretty bad,” Paul says and Lux gives him a look.

“Don’t act all innocent I saw a few tears from you too mister,” She pokes his shoulder and Paul flushed with embarrassment, “I got the whole video of both of their reactions with Pedro crying and your boyfriend all teary-eyed.”

“Awww you two getting all sappy,” You tease poking your partner and making him roll his eyes, “You do love me.”

“Of course I do,” Paul scoffs looks at you and your teasing smile softens seeing the pure adoration and love in his eyes.

Bella makes a disgusted sound, “You too are so cheesy it makes me sick,” That makes you all laugh and over the speakers, it’s announced the commercial break would be ending now. As the ceremony returns with the audience applauding your hand grabs Paul giving it a squeeze that he returns.

With the awards over it was such a whirlwind of afterparties and receptions, Pedro, Lux, and Bella were going to the HBO Reception Party while you and Paul were headed to the Disney Reception Party. It was so exciting taking group photos with all the winners at the Emmys Ceremony before you all left living on that high of winning. Your thumb traces the engraving of your name on the plaque still in awe as you and Paul ride back to the hotel room.

“Congratulations!” Your teams cheer confetti bursts from party poppers as your team hollers and cheers as you and Paul enter. You smile brightly seeing some recording as you hold up your Emmy bouncing with excitement.

“I won a fucking Emmy!” You shout and your teams cheer and laugh at your very animated reaction.

“Alright!” Your manager calls out drawing all of your attention, “We got two afterparties to attend now let’s get you both all set up so you can fully enjoy your win tonight.” Both your teams quickly get to work Paul is taken to change into his after-party attire and you to change into another Alexander McQueen archival piece from the same collection. This a much shorter beautiful baby blue draped dress you wear over an ivory satin button-up jacket with a shawl collar that feels cool on your skin, paired with Givenchy ivory kitten heels. Both Elvira and René work efficiently revamping your hair and makeup when Paul comes out in his afterparty attire. It was the same outfit beside his button-down and tie replaced with a loose white scoop neckline tank showing off his collarbones. He smirks seeing you drink in his appearance from your chair as René reapplies your lipstick and he throws you a wink making you flush looking forward.

“All pretty and ready,” René puts down the setting spray looking you over with a smile.

“Thank you Elviraaaa. Thank you Renééééé.” You cheese as you stand and reapply your favorite perfume on your wrists and neck.

“We’re ready when you are, Emmy winner.” Your manager says and you check your appearance one last time in the mirror before grabbing your clutch and award.

“Ready!”

The Walt Disney Awards Party was a fun time being united with other Star Wars costars and seeing some of the other winners in other categories. Attending felt more obligational given it was the company your show was a part of it was mainly small talk and photos taken with the other winners from your network. After some time a perfectly timed call from Pedro who was heading over to the Netflix Afterparty with the others asking when Paul and you were heading over.

The van hits a pothole but that doesn’t distract the two of you preoccupied in the backseat. Thank god for the privacy divider. Paul practically devours you with his lips barely able to get a breath in. One hand is deep in the nape of his neck pulling him closer the other clutching to his bicep that is wrapped around your waist keeping you flush against him.

“You have…no idea how beautiful…you looked tonight,” Paul mutters between kisses, your award digging into your waist but you pay no mind. His other hand cups your face to pull away to catch your breath before pulling your right back in.

“Paul we’re almost there,” You try to say as he keeps kissing you only one thought on his mind.

His lips are soft and warm but fierce as he bites your lip drawing a sharp gasp and allowing him to slip his tongue inside. Your body is searing, your heartbeat in your ears letting him complete control gripping his coat tighter.

“If we didn’t have to go there are so many things I want to do to you,” His words light your body on fire a light whimper comes from the back of your throat as he pulls back letting you catch your breath. “But,” He starts pressing another kiss to your lips.

“I want you to enjoy tonight you deserve.” He pulls back looking down at your flustered appearance chuckling slightly fixing your hair slightly, “I think I took it a bit too far…” He gives a sheepish look and your jaw drops seeing the stain of your lipstick on his lips quickly whipping out your phone and seeing your smudged lips.

“Paul Colm Mic-” You start but he quickly kisses you mumbling ‘I’m sorry baby,’ and you quickly pull away opening up your clutch and pulling out travel makeup wipes and the lipstick shade, “You are so lucky you’re hot Paul,” You say using a wipe to clean his face before he takes it himself to allow you to fix your lips. He chuckles slightly at the pout as you clean yourself up and reapply your lipstick. Thank god René gave you an extra lipstick. He had to have known you’d do something stupid like makeout with your ridiculous attractive boyfriend before going to a party.

“I love you Y/n.” He says pressing a kiss with his clean lips against your temple as you give a final swipe of color to your lips. He moves to press another kiss to your lips but you swerve pressing a finger to his lips.

“Yeah no…you are like banned the entire night from kissing me and messing up my makeup more.” You see him pout and at that moment the car stops having arrived at the party.

“Seriously?” He asks and you give him a look saying ‘I’m so serious,’. He groans letting his head fall back on the headrest but quickly fixes himself as the door opens and he’s quick to plaster a forced smile as you both exit the car.

This afterparty was a lot more freeing allowing yourself to let loose, one hand was your award the other a drink as you stood beside Lux who had her drink of choice watching Paul dance with Bella twirling them around, Pedro off somewhere to mingle or getting himself into trouble. Paul catches your gaze his face reading to spare him but you only raise your glass as a toast making him throw his head back with a sigh before returning his focus to Bella.

“What’s got him looking like a dog in the doghouse,” Lux asks as you both take sips of your drinks.

“He fucking ruined my lipstick on the car ride over so he’s now banned for the rest of the night.” You explain and Lux bursts into laughter at the confession.

“The car ride over you naughty girl,” She slaps your shoulder and you flush gulping your drink and feeling the alcohol settle in your stomach.

“Chiquita!” You hear Pedro's voice call out easily spotting him as he heads over, “Look who I found!” You smile widely seeing Giancarlo Esposito following behind Pedro.

“There’s the winning lady!” Giancarlo says as he hugs you, pressing a kiss against your cheek, and you return one. “Alright, let's see it.” You smile before showing off the award, and he lets out a whistle, and Pedro gives a small whoop.

“Congratulations you deserve this with all your hard work.” He praises and you return a sincere smile from his compliment not just from a coworker but a well-esteemed actor.

“It looks like a party,” Bella says, bounding over and grabbing her drink from the hightop you all stood around. Following behind is Paul, who smiles and slides to be at your side.

“Ah, the infamous boyfriend. You know I’m basically her uncle,” Giancarlo says, shaking Paul’s hand, which makes you snort and roll your eyes.

“Real funny guys,” You say making them all laugh as Giancarlo bids goodbyes to you all. Paul’s arm is over your shoulder drawing circles into your arm while taking a sip from his drink.

With a sigh, you rest your award on the table, “God this thing is heavy as fuck. I’m supposed to carry it around all night,” You groan.

“If you’re giving it away I’ll gladly take it,” Pedro creeps towards it and you bat his hand away.

“Klepto! I don’t need you stealing more of my shit,” You point at him and he holds his uninjured hand in the air in defense.

“It was one time!” He retorts not wanting to go down this rabbit hole of a conversation again. A new song comes over the speakers making Bella perk up recognizing it.

“I love this song, who’s joining?” Bella the youngest of the group holds their hand out looking at each of you expectedly. Pedro groans grabbing his shoulder in fake pain.

“Ah my old bones can’t take a dance,” Bella rolls their eyes moving to the next person there Paul holding his hands up having already been subjected to dancing. Lux rolls her eyes finishing her drink and taking Bella’s hand who smiles widely.

“Come on leave the old men to their groveling,” She holds her hand now out to you expectedly and you chug your drink needing the liquid courage to dance will many people potentially watching you.

“You old men have fun,” The sudden rush of alcohol makes you giggle as you lean up quickly pressing a kiss to Paul. You slip away before he can deepen the kiss he’s been craving laughing as you join Bella and Lux on the dance floor. You let the young actor twirl you around having to bend slightly to turn under Bella’s arms Lux laughing recording the pair of you on her phone. The two men watch at the table where the drinks and your award are seeing the enjoyment from all of you.

“You’re good for her you know,” Pedro says suddenly making Paul look away from you dancing under the colored lights to look at the older man.

Paul shrugs at the compliment swirling his drink with a self-deprecating tone, “I try not to mess things up.”

“Mess things up? You’re perfect for her, Paul. I’ve seen her in relationships where she wasn’t happy and this is far from that. You too are honestly nauseating with how into each other you are,” Pedro groans making Paul laugh slightly both their gazes focused on the dance floor where you are. The pair cringe at your very bad dance moves but you don’t seem to care, completely focused on the music and being with Bella and Lux.

“I appreciate that Pedro,” Paul says genuinely, “She looks up to you a lot, and always finds a way to mention you somehow.” That makes Pedro chuckle slightly but feel all warm inside at the information.

“Seems like she has a habit of always talking about the men she cares for in her life,” Pedro responds, “She’s always gushing over you like some lovesick teen.”

Paul flushes at that taking a sip of his drink to quell his nerves. “I only hope I can keep making her as happy as she makes me.” There was so much he wanted to do with you in his life. Maybe a few things that still needed time but had he already pictured them yes now just waiting for the right moment. Pedro rests his hand on his shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze.

“You are,” He says before raising his drink in a toast, “To you guys and your futures together.” Paul smiles clinking his glass against Pedro’s both looking back at you cheering on Bella as they dance your gaze darts to Paul a smile naturally crawls up your face as you mouth to him, ‘I love you,’ which he responds in turn with his own.

‘I love you more,’

The night quickly wanes to a close as you bid goodbye to your friends barely stifling back a yawn the liquor tiring you out. You give Bella a big hug that they return with equal amounts.

“When you are back in New York we’ll try to meet up,” You say and they nod excitedly but still a bit tired. You then move onto Lux who hugs you pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Bye, pretty lady.” You smile at Lux’s comment before moving over to Pedro as he easily scoops you in his free arm his warmth making your eyes droop.

“Night P, I’ll you in a few days.” You say and you hear him hum pressing a kiss to your head.

“Looking forward to whatever you have planned for SNL chiquita,” He pulls back chuckling as you blink slowly grinning.

“It’s gonna be sooooo good,” You slip into the valley girl's vocal fry making him belly laugh giving you a final hug and sending a look over at Paul who holds your award in one hand. He comes over coaxing you off Pedro as you rest against his side stifling a yawn.

“Bye, guys love you!” You give your last bits of energy as they wave you and Paul off as you head to your ride to the hotel. Your head rests in the crook of Paul’s neck during the car ride home his hand tracing circles into your scalp only making you doze off even more. Paul has to guide you through the hotel as you try waking up enough to get to your hotel room.

Once back in your room the energy from the whole day completely wipes you, standing in the middle of the room with your eyes closed. Paul laughs seeing you sleeping while standing up.

“Come on let’s get you ready for bed,” He says guiding you to the bedroom and helping you with your nighttime routine. You give him a sleepy smile as he helps from taking off your shoes to removing the pins in your hair and groaning as he massages your scalp with your hair now free from the updo. You’d fix yourself completely tomorrow with a shower letting your hair be a mess. Sitting on the bathroom counter you lean into his touch he uses a cloth with makeup remover to take off your makeup.

“You’re amazing you know that,” You mumble as he gently wipes your eyeshadow off your face his other hand holding your chin to keep you steady. He hums as he removes the last of it pressing a kiss to your tired lips.

“You can say that more often,” He smirks even in your tired state you still roll your eyes at his comment. He’s a godsent going through your nighttime skincare his hands soothing and delicate as he goes through each of your steps. Guided out of the bathroom he helps you out of your clothing with soft hands and kisses along your shoulders as he dresses you in one of his shirts and a pair of your shorts before settling you into bed. It’s almost instant as you knock out the events of the day draining and the bed quickly drawing you to sleep.

You blink open still seeing it dark from the digital clock on the nightstand reading almost four am. Rolling over to cuddle with Paul you find his side empty and cold. Sitting up vision is still blurry trying to wake up fully to find your boyfriend when you spot the curtain covering the balcony door moving slightly in the breeze.

Paul leans against the balcony railing letting the smoke rest in his lungs before slowly breathing it out, tapping away the ash from the cigarette. Despite the time the streets still seem busy the roads filled with lights of car traffic.

“You’re up late,” Your voice drifts through the night as he glances behind him seeing you stand there rubbing your bare arms from the slight chill in the air. He holds his arm out and you come over instantly feeling the warmth from him as he holds you close. It’s quiet between you two as he continues to smoke with you in his arms.

“Are you alright?” You ask looking up at him a bit of concern in your eyes that he finds comforting.

“I’m good just a few things on my mind,” He says before taking another hit letting his hand with the cig rest against the railing. He doesn’t fight you as you take it from him taking your hit and letting it rest in your lungs before blowing it out into the Los Angeles night.

“Anything I can help with,” You ask looking up at him. He can’t help the slightly anxious look to cross his features that have you perking up in concern turning to fully face him your hand holding his face, “What’s up?”

Paul lets out a shaky breath, taking the cig and getting a much-needed hit before speaking, “I’m so proud of you and I’m still so grateful to call you mine.” You smile softly at his words letting him take his time to process each thing he was to say.

“Just seeing you up there I didn’t want that high for you to ever end. I want to be there for every win, every award show, every moment,” He grabs your hand rubbing circles with his thumb a habit he’s done often.

“I want to be there for you too,” You respond honestly and he smiles at that.

“I love you,” He blurts the phrase familiar but with such a heavy meaning, “So much, probably more than I should or more than you do.” You give him a look at his words.

“Anyways I know we haven’t been together long and I was gonna ask when we were,” His words start making you anxious about what he’s trying to say.

“I was wondering well wanting..” He stumbles over his words cursing his inability to just speak.

“You’re making me nervous Paul,” You can’t help but laugh nervously, “Just tell me.”

“Will you move in with me?” He catches you off guard as you both stand in silence taking in his words.

“Move in with you…” Paul can’t help but anxiously nod but you have a small smile growing on your face.

His cheeks flushed. “Yeah. I know it’s… a lot. But I love being with you, Y/n. Every minute. And I can’t imagine not waking up next to you every morning.”

You kiss him and he eagerly accepts feeling his nerves slip away his hand cupping your face as you pour your love and all your feelings into it. You pull back still close the smoky taste and lingering alcohol on the both of you.

“I’d love to move in with you.” You smile widely and he can’t help but kiss you again with a promise of forever between you too, “Where’d we live?” You’re mind already running off what’d you both do, how’d you live together, what it would look like?

“We’ll figure that all out as long as I’m with you.” He says and your heart bursts with joy wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulder the cigarette long forgotten and burnt out. The only focus was on each other and your plans for the future together.

[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.

[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 - REQUESTS (OPEN)

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 🫶

[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

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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.

[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.

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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.

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tag list: @willowpains

[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.

[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.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

“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.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

Must be following to be added to next taglist! I prioritize my followers <3

[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.