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whosscruffylooking · 1 month ago

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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.

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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.

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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

#lucius verus x y/n #lucius verus x you #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #hanno x reader #gladiator ||#gladiator 2 fic #gladiator ii #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal fic

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 6 months ago

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Legionary

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Marcus returns to his hometown while traveling with his young soldier who's eager to learn from him. Good thing he knows your domus is always open to him. Warnings: SMUT, bad Roman definitions, MMF, softdom!Marcus Acacius, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, lots of praise kink, m!masturbation, wine. Words: 3,400

Trēs Masterlist Masterlist

A/N: Oh hi! This is my first fic in almost two months, it's been a whirlwind of a time in my personal life, but that Gladiator trailer lit SOMETHING FILTHY in me. I know VERY LITTLE about roman times, other than the stuff I learned years and years ago in history and bits from Assassins Creed games. I know angel wasn’t really a “thing” back then but I’m using it. This hasn't been beta read and this is my first dive into MMF. A big shout out to @pascalispretty for some language help and of course @ohheypedrito for always being my sounding board. A few definitions are below to note before reading.

municipium: town | domus: home | hospitium: hotel | subligaculum: underwear

The gate creaks as it swings open, interrupting your respite.

“Angel” the man’s familiar deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, his dark brown eyes focus on your wide eyes.

“M-Marcus,” your voice shakes when you rise and bow to him. Ten years since you’ve seen him, Marcus Acacius, your municipium’s pride and joy, now a powerful general, commanding armies across the battlefield. Now he stands in front of you just as handsome as he was all those years ago… the hold on your heart returns.

You’re a rarity in your municipium, running a small hospitium out of your domus hosting weary travelers and soldiers perfectly capable of doing everything on your own, yet the sight of Acacius sends you right back to the last time you saw him… your teenage crush disappearing beyond the horizon as he heads for war.

Gray hairs streak his lush, curly hair, he’s just as beautiful as he was all those years ago.

“No need to do that angel,” grabbing your hand he brings it to his mouth, you sink at the touch of his lips on your hand. “It’s been so long.”

“Yes, quite long,” your voice squeaks out.

“Lucius and I need a room,” Marcus nods towards the handsome blue eyed man behind him. The vision of them sends a spark to your core, corded muscles, golden skin, strength exuding out of both of them, they’re a dream. “We’re here for the night.”

___

The wine flows, Marcus is just as warm and comforting as you remember. The attraction between you crackles and sparks like the fire burning in the corner of the room.

A slight touch against your back turns into a hand laid across your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Lucius watches all of it from across the room, his blue eyes glowing in the aureate light of the flames.

You invite all of the attention put forth by the two men, the sweet wine loosens the three of your inhibitions, laughter growing louder, stories and confessions turning more risque, Marcus’ touch searing hotter against your skin.

“So, angel, it looks like you still haven’t found anyone good enough to have your heart?” His tone is teasing, his smile infectious.

“Not yet, still haven’t found someone as handsome or as good as you, you know all of my choices around here are nothing compared to you,” you giggle.

His eyes darken at your words, a light joke turns serious at your confession.

Turning to him, the whole room, including his blue eyed companion, disappears. Your breath hitches at the look he gives you. Deep, dark, brooding, his pouty lips cocked up in a smirk. The look invites you to confess further.

“I’ve thought about you every day since you left all those years ago. You pulled me apart and then left me alone to try to find someone else. You know nobody could have ever compared to you… to my first.”

His hand finds your cheek, you lean into the rough texture of his digits, eyes welling with all of the tears you refused to shed through the years.

“Don’t speak like that angel, I’m here now. I’m here tonight. I’m here for you.�� Your eyes follow Acacius’ as he looks over at Lucius, your sorrow replaced by wanton lust when you hear his voice drop deeper, “We’re both here for you tonight.”

A gasp leaves your lips at the suggestion, your eyes still trained on Lucius.

“Is that what you want? Both of us tonight angel? Let me prove to you how much I’ve thought of you. How I’ve destroyed every being that stood between you and I. How my heart leapt out of my chest at the sight of you. Let me show my soldier what it means to pleasure a woman. Is that what you want?” A chaste kiss is left against your exposed shoulder. His words swirl through your head, sending a rush of slick between your legs.

“Yes Marcus,” you answer.

“Good. Do you hear that soldier? Watch as her body reacts to me.” He grabs your chin, angling it up for his plush lips to surround yours, a sigh rolls through your body. You turn to putty in his hands, malleable and ready to form yourself into any shape he wishes. He turns towards his companion, your lips chasing his, the kiss wasn’t enough. “Now go ahead, ask her what she wants, soldier, listen to her.”

Lucius sits up straighter, his shoulders rise. He is a soldier, eager to listen to his commander. “What do you want?” His words melt through you, strong and powerful, just like Marcus.

You take what you want, they’re only here for one night. “I want you both to touch me.”

The chuckle Marcus lets out vibrates against your ear before he stands and helps you up.

“You hear that?”

Lucius nods.

“Then come closer Lucius, she wants us both.”

Marcus’ hand runs up your spine to the knot that keeps your body sheathed in your dress, one quick pull and the fabric pools on the floor.

A river of blue roams your body as Lucius takes in your bare form.

Marcus stands behind you pulling you against him, the metal on his uniform presses against your skin, you wish the appliques would sear against your skin as a reminder of this night forever.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Marcus’ deep timbre sends a wave of pleasure through your body. Goosebumps cover your skin.

“Quite,” Lucius whispers.

“Speak up soldier, a woman like this deserves to hear your praise.”

“Quite,” he stands straighter. “She’s very beautiful.”

“You see Lucius, a woman needs to be touched gently and cared for.” His calloused hand slides across the soft skin between your breasts. “Too many men take what they want and ravage, without any concern for the pleasure of their partner.”

Lucius’ eyes roam your body, his tongue peaking out to wet his lips. You wonder if they taste sweet like Marcus’ lips… like wine and honey.

Your breasts are cradled between Marcus’ hands. “Do you like this angel?” A low approving groan escapes your mouth. “Touch her soldier.”

Another set of hands joins the exploration of your skin. Marcus leads a trail down your stomach and hips, less rough and smaller hands replace his, cupping your breasts, your nipples pebbling as he twists and pulls them.

“You never want to start too soon, you want to work a woman up, get her nice and warmed up, make her wet between the legs. You're a big man Lucius, you want her to be soft and welcoming for you.” His hands move to your core, parting your folds, running a finger through your wetness. “That takes work,” whispers across your neck before his tongue licks a line across it.

The last time he touched you like this he swore his love and devotion to you, repeated how he’ll miss you more than the Gods could comprehend come morning. He told you he’d come back for you, though you both knew it was a lie, as long as he kept touching you, you didn’t care what untruths left his mouth.

Now, years later, he’s back for the night, his finger teasing your clit and his mouth against your skin.

“Touch Lucius, go on, I know he wants it, but he’s being a good man and not taking what isn’t his. Let him know you want him angel.”

You’re eager to listen, to please Marcus, just like you’re under his command too. Your hands reach out to feel the young soldier’s arms, Lucius’ biceps are firm, bright blue eyes dart up to yours at the first touch, his eyes shine like the sunniest summer sky, another gush of wetness pools against Marcus’ hand. His young squire reminds you of him years ago, youthful and bright eyed, muscular and soft skinned. His brawn would seem so much more intimidating if it wasn’t for his burly leader standing behind you with his hand between your legs.

Lucius hisses when your hands run up his chest to wrap around his neck pulling him closer, his breath puffing against your face as your tongue darts out to lick his lips. His nose crashes against yours when you kiss him, his lips aren't as plush as Marcus’ but you were right, they too taste sweet. His tongue joins yours, your kisses turning messier while Marcus worships you, sticking two of his thick fingers inside you.

You’re thankful for Marcus’ broad body against your back and Lucius’ hands against your chest, both of them propping you up while your legs grow shakier from the pleasure.

“Feel how she’s trembling against you soldier? You like how she’s sucking at your lips while I make her cum all over my fingers?” Lucius groans against your lips at Marcus’ words. Four hands work your body to a quick orgasm, your naked body rocking between the two military men, your pussy clenching Marcus’ fingers as a rush of warmth rolls across your limbs. Overwhelmed by their touch, you’ve never felt more powerful and powerless.

“That’s a good angel,” Marcus whispers into your ear. His fingers pull out, a whimper flits out of your lips at the loss of fullness.

“Do you want to taste her soldier?”

“Yes master.”

Marcus wipes his fingers across your lips, Lucius grabs your chin before licking a line across your lips now glistening with your arousal, swirling his tongue around your mouth cleaning the tangy sweetness from your skin.

“She tastes good, doesn’t she soldier?”

“Yes master.”

“Now,” Marcus easily lifts you into his arms, his hands resting against your bottom, splaying your legs open, your arms instinctively reaching back to wrap around his neck. “Really taste her, lick her clean, shove your tongue into her cunt. Go on.”

Lucius kneels in front of you, your body lies like a ragdoll pliant and hung across Marcus’ body ready for the young soldier’s taking. His nose bumps against your clit as he penetrates you with his tongue, spiraling it around your hole. His blue eyes burn a hole into your soul, your body relaxes further into Marcus’ hold as he devours your pussy. The general’s deep voice coaches him, ordering him to suck your clit, pump his tongue in you harder, savor the taste of you soaking his mouth. Your whine echoes across the concrete walls of your domus, hands clutching Marcus’ soft curls as Lucius grinds his tongue against your clit pulling another orgasm up, your body convulsing in the general’s arms, his hard chestplate bruising your back as your pussy floods Lucius’ mouth.

Marcus kisses your hair, gently laying you down against the soft linen of your rug.

Two Roman soldiers stand in front of you, your body splayed and disheveled by your two orgasms and the promise of more to come.

“You’ve done well son,” Marcus pats Lucius on the back. “Look how her pussy is sparkling in this light, isn’t she the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen? Now, let us undress for her. She deserves it.”

You muster the strength to prop yourself up watching the two men unbuckle their armor, exposing golden chests, Marcus’ peppered with more scars, a burlier canvas that has seen more battles. Lucius’ body is more delicate, tight skin wrapped around bulging muscles. The general and the soldier, both now removing their skirts and unwrapping their subligaculum. Sun warmed and tanned skin, miles of tense muscles built up by war, battle, and training. Their half hard cocks lay heavy between thick thighs, your mouth waters at the thought of both of them filling your mouth and cunt.

Marcus slides a chair into the middle of the floor. “Take a seat, soldier.” Lucius nods and settles on the wood. “You’re going to watch her take what she wants from me.”

Marcus sits on the floor, settling his back against the wall.

“Come here angel.”

Crawling towards him on shaky legs, you’ve dreamt of this vision, his legs spread wide, cock standing tall, hard, and leaking… waiting for you. The crease in his brow deepens, his focus beckoning you forward, now close enough to watch the flames of the fire flicker in the reflection of his dark brown eyes. He easily lifts you again, turning you to face Lucius, leaning your body against his before rubbing his cock along your sensitive cunt.

A booming grunt swims through your ears as you slowly sink down on Marcus’ length, your eyes squeeze shut while your body slowly accepts him, you’re surrounded by him, his voice swimming in your ears, his hands gripping your hips, his chest slick with sweat supporting your knackered body, his cock stretching you wide open.

“Oh angel, you feel devine,” he smiles into your neck once you take him all in. “She feels so good soldier, show her how much you like watching her take my cock,” he growls.

“Yes master,” Lucius licks a line up his palm before wrapping his hand around himself, his body relaxing at his own touch. You lean forward, gripping your hands around Marcus’ well-muscled sturdy calves opening yourself up wider to his thrusts. Lucius strokes himself to the same pace of your pussy sliding up and down on his general, your eyes and his blue eyes locked in contact.

Both men’s attention blooms inside of your chest, your heart quickening as Marcus pounds your pussy. The sound of his rising hips slapping against your ass meld with the noises of Lucius’ strokes flows through your ears like a beautiful song. Your mouth slacks open, garbled noises begin escaping your throat when Marcus circles a thick finger around your clit. Lucius twists at his head, pulling and biting his lip when he sees you come apart on his leader’s cock. Your orgasm decimates you, you feel like a lone enemy soldier, two two men leaving you defenseless and utterly devastated. Strength gives out, your shivering body collapses against Marcus’ legs. Lucius rushes over and gathers you, lifting you off of his leader, his eyes looking down at you concernedly, a weak, blissed out smile pulls at your lips.

“She’s okay soldier, this is how you know you’re doing a good job. Feel how soft and pliant she is, how she’s molding to your arms?” Marcus rises, his cock still hard and throbbing as he sits on the chair. “Hold her, tell he she’s doing good. Let her rest a bit, there is still much for her… and you, to do tonight.”

“You’re so good, so beautiful, I know why master calls you angel, you look like one.”

You fight off the demons of exhaustion, staring up at Lucius’ strong jaw, rising to sit in his lap, his cock pressing against your ass as a reminder that there is still much work for you to do. Marcus’ lips form a smirk, his hands resting against thick thighs, cock still standing at attention.

“Didn’t take long, did it angel?” Marcus leans forward slowly rising and sauntering over. He cradles his dick in his hands, tempting you while he squeezes along his shaft. “Hold her hair, soldier.”

Lucius gathers your hair in his hands, his movements are so delicate compared to Marcus’ brute force. They’re the perfect amalgamation of hard and soft.

Marcus brings his cock to your lips, precum leaks from his tip on to your puckered lips, you welcome him into your mouth, opening wide for him to slide his shaft against your tongue. He tastes divine, salty and intoxicating. Your cheeks strain, mouth agape stuffing his fat cock in your mouth. The general only conquers what he knows he can take, and he knows he can take you for everything you have. He thrusts all of his power into you hitting the back of your mouth, leaving you gagging and streaming spit down your chin. Lucius gathers your hair in his fist, pulling against your scalp, you admire his bravery to also take what he wants, making it hurt a little for you. You want these men to use you, to deplete you, to fill you with their cum, you’ll wear it as a badge of honor, much like they do on their armor.

Marcus looks down at you, eyes filled with adoration, his cock fucking your mouth, spit still drooling out of the sides of your mouth, tears welling in your eyes. You feel like a mess but the way he smiles at you blooms something bright inside of you, your cheeks hollow around his girth, sucking him harder, hands planting against his ass pulling him even deeper inside the cavern of your mouth.

Marcus yanks himself out of your mouth, leaving you gasping and mourning the feeling of his cock. “If you continue, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweet girl, and I’m not ready yet.” He plops back down on the chair, throwing the back of his wrist against his forehead wiping the sweat off his brow, you want to taste his skin.

Lucius lets go of your hair, his hands wrapping around your torso, pushing you back to rest against him, a sigh of contentment leaves your mouth.

“Touch her soldier, tell me if she’s still wet and waiting.”

Lucius trails his hand down to between your legs, swiping against your sensitive flesh, you moan at the contact.

“So wet,” he whispers incredulously, “I think she’s ready, master.”

“Good. Can you get on all fours, angel?”

You nod, leaning forward, your quick repose giving you the strength to support yourself.

“Take her soldier, go ahead. Conquer her. Keep your eyes on me angel.”

You grin wide towards Marcus as Lucius slides himself in you. He’s nothing like his general, whose large cock left you wide open for his subordinate. Lucius’ exhales cools the overheated skin on the back of your neck as he folds himself over you.

His movements are slower, more reserved, he’s holding back.

“Fuck me soldier,” you order, legs widening, hips bucking back towards him.

“Good!” Marcus barks and claps his hands. “You heard her, take her, she wants all of you, take her soldier,” Marcus snarls.

“Yes master,” Lucius croaks before spearing you with his cock, giving you the lucious friction you’ve been craving from him.

Marcus kneels down, propping your head up in his hands. Your hands grip the edge of the rug, grounding yourself in the moment of bliss. Lucius’ taut thighs knock against yours with each thrust. Your whimpers are swallowed by Marcus, his lips pepper your face with kisses in between words of praise for taking his soldier so well. Your knees burn as Lucius grinds his hips against you, pulling himself fully out before sinking himself all the way in. Marcus gives you one last chaste kiss before replacing his lips against yours with his cock. Your moans vibrate against the soft skin of him, tasting what’s left of yourself and his precum. You’re so incredibly close, shattered by the two men’s cocks taking your mouth and your pussy for everything you have, gushing from both holes to satisfy the brave soldiers. Your eyes see stars as they roll back into your head, Marcus grips your hair as he fucks your face, your nose hitting the nest of curls as he slaps the back of your throat with his cock. ‘Use me, use me, use me,’ are the only words that rattle around your brain. Shockwaves soar through your body, your pussy clenches around Lucius’ cock milking him as he cums inside your pussy, his voice chanting your name against your skin.

Marcus lets out a guttural growl pulling his cock from your mouth.

“Sit down and hold her against your lap soldier,” Marcus snaps.

Lucius perches himself on the floor, placing you on his lap, the both of you still coming down from your shared climax.

Marcus rushes over, pumping himself to his peak, his eyes squinting, upper lip snarling as he shoots thick white ropes of cum across your face and tits. The three of you collectively pant for air, a shared overwhelming feeling of euphoria plants inside of your hearts.

“Now, clean her up soldier,” Marcus commands, taking a seat on the chair and folding his arms across his chest.

___

Part Two

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eroselless · 29 days ago

Text

─────────────── the spaces between us // 1

series summary: when you accept a job as an au pair in the irish countryside, you expect to spend your days caring for your little new pal but its all upended when his charming uncle arrives to stay for the holidays. [2.2k]

[paul mescal x reader]

masterlist | part 2

warnings: kinda angst, sort of complicated family dynamics

note: heyyyyyy. i've been slowly coming back to writing as the semester has been ever so slowly winding down. as a little treat, i went to see gladiator and kinda became obsessed with paul mescal (as you do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). i've been using this story as a sort of escape and a way to relax after a long day at my practicums. i've also been feeling rather nostalgic about my brief time in ireland a couple months ago so i thought, why not. hope you guys enjoy this part :)

The bus rumbles along a narrow, winding road that hugs the cliffs of the Irish coastline. Outside the rain-spattered windows, the world stretches in endless shades of green—rolling hills dotted with grazing sheep and small houses, each one weathered by time. In the distance, the sea churns relentlessly, its grey waves crashing into the rocks below, throwing up a fine mist.

You press your forehead against the cold glass, your reflection staring back at you—anxious and pale. The unfamiliar landscape feels vast and unending, twisting something in your stomach as you take it all in. A sharp ding from your phone jolts you upright, the notification reminding you that your stop is next. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way to the front of the bus, stepping down onto the gravel as it crunches beneath your boots.

The chill in the air bites at your skin, making you pull your coat tighter around your neck. Ahead, the path curves toward a house perched high on a hill. It stands apart from its surroundings, its modern lines and large windows almost defiant against the rugged beauty of the countryside. To one side of the property, a smaller, traditional-looking cottage sits quietly, its windows dark and shutters drawn tight, as though asleep.

This is exactly how Niamh O’Dwyer described it in her emails. The grey stones of the main house blend seamlessly with the stormy clouds overhead. Despite the allure of it all, you hesitate at the edge of the gravel path. The silence presses in, broken only by the distant crash of waves. You take a breath and step forward, every crunch of gravel underfoot seeming to echo through the still air.

You knock lightly on the door, shifting nervously as the sound of footsteps approaches from inside. The door swings open swiftly, and Niamh herself appears. Her tailored blouse and pressed trousers fit her perfectly, her auburn hair swept back neatly. Bright blue eyes scan you with a gaze that is sharp but not unkind.

She calls your name, her Irish accent lilting yet crisp. “Glad to see you made it in one piece. Come in before you freeze.”

You step inside, clutching your bag awkwardly. The warmth of the house contrasts starkly with the damp chill outside, and you take a moment to adjust. Everything about Niamh—her posture, her voice, her movements—seems as polished and deliberate as the house itself. The cedar-and-floral scent in the air feels curated, like everything else in the space. She takes your coat, leaving you in the kitchen as she hangs it neatly on a peg before returning.

“Let me show you around before you meet Callum,” Niamh says, her tone efficient but not unkind. “He’s napping, which means I have approximately fifteen minutes to get you oriented before chaos ensues.”

You follow her through the house as she walks you through the layout and the routines you’ll need to know. Her voice remains steady as she details Callum’s favorite toys, his bedtime rituals, and the parts of the house that are strictly her space. The house is modern yet understated, with granite countertops and sleek furniture that somehow feels more like a showroom than a home.

When the tour circles back to the kitchen, you find yourself staring out of its massive windows. The Atlantic stretches out toward the horizon, and the waves lap at the cliffs below. The view is breathtaking, though it makes you feel small in its vastness.

“This will be your domain as much as mine,” Niamh says, leaning against the counter. Her sharp gaze rests on you, appraising but calm. “I’ve had a few au pairs over the years, but none of them stuck for long. I hope you will.”

The weight of her words settles uncomfortably in your chest. “I’ll do my best.”

Her eyes flick over you once more, and her expression softens ever so slightly. “Callum’s a sweet boy, but… he’s had a rough time since the divorce. I need someone who’ll be patient with him.”

You nod, your heart tightening at the mention of Callum. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“I believe you will,” Niamh replies simply, glancing at the clock. “And with that, it’s time. Are you ready?”

Callum is small for his age, with tufts of brown hair and wide, curious blue eyes that seem to take in everything around him. When Niamh brings him out, he clings to her leg, his gaze flicking toward you with a mixture of shyness and fascination.

“Callum,” Niamh says gently, crouching down beside him. “This is the person I told you about. She’s going to take care of you while I’m at work.”

Callum glances at you again, his small hand clutching his mother’s trousers tightly. “Like Mam?” he whispers.

The question catches you off guard, but you crouch down to his level, smiling softly. “I’ll be here to play with you and help you with anything you need.”

Niamh ruffles his hair lightly, her lips tightening ever so slightly. “Go on, Callum. Say hello.”

He steps closer hesitantly and holds out a small hand. “Hello,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You take his hand, his fingers warm against yours. “Hello, Callum. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

For a moment, he studies you with an intensity that only children seem to possess, then nods solemnly. Something in your chest eases as he flashes a tentative smile.

The days pass quickly as Callum begins to settle into a routine. At first, he watches you cautiously, his wide eyes tracking your every move. But gradually, he begins to open up—a smile here, a giggle there. He peppers you with questions, each one more relentless than the last.

“Why is the sky blue?” the 5 year old asks one afternoon as the two of you sit on the plush carpet in the living room, the soft glow of the fire lighting the room.

“Because it reflects the sea,” you reply with a smile.

“Why does it reflect the sea?” he counters, tilting his head.

“Because it’s magic,” you answer, your tone conspiratorial.

His giggle is warm and bright, a sound that fills the room and lingers in the air. “You’re funny, Mamaíín,” he says suddenly, the Gaeilge term slipping from his lips effortlessly.

The nickname startles you. It feels too intimate, too heavy with unspoken meaning. Niamh overhears one morning and corrects him sharply—you hesitate to correct him yourself, unsure if it would do more harm than good, and you notice Niamh watching you differently after that, her sharp gaze lingering on you in quiet moments.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Bedtime becomes a cherished ritual. Callum clings to you as you read to him, his small hand resting against yours. Many nights, he insists you stay until he falls asleep, his voice drowsy as he whispers, “Just five more minutes.”

One quiet evening, after Callum is asleep, you find yourself alone in the living room, staring out at the horizon. The waves rise and fall steadily, their rhythm grounding and hypnotic. You love the silence of the countryside, the stillness it offers, but some nights it leaves you restless, your thoughts echoing too loudly in your head.

The crunch of gravel under heavy footfalls pulls you from your reverie. You frown, squinting at the figure moving through the darkening landscape, the sun having almost disappeared from the sky. He walks with a casual ease, his strides unhurried and deliberate. You move closer to the door, peering through its frosted glass as he approaches.

The knock is gentle but firm, and you open the door cautiously. The man standing there is tall, his broad shoulders draped in a dark coat speckled with snow. His hair curls slightly at the edges, glistening with moisture, and his smile is warm but faintly amused. Something about the squint of his eyes reminds you of Callum and Niamh.

“Paul?” you ask, blinking momentarily. He smiles and extends a hand. Niamh mentioned him briefly—a stay in the cottage over the holidays.

“You must be the new nanny,” he says, your name rolling off his tongue in a voice that’s deep and lilting. His gaze is steady, curious but friendly. The word nanny makes you pause for a second—it feels a bit off, not quite what you’d call yourself. But you brush it aside, taking his hand in a firm shake.“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replies, his eyes briefly scanning the house behind you. “Callum told me you’re funny.”

You smile, a small laugh escaping. “He likes to say that.”

Paul nods, the faint amusement in his expression softening as his gaze returns to you. “Well, you must be doing something right if he’s saying good things about you. He’s a tough nut to crack.”

“He’s a good kid,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in.

Paul steps inside, his boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor. His presence fills the space immediately, and you can’t help but feel like the house has changed just by him being here.

Paul steps further into the house, his gaze wandering curiously over the photographs on the walls and the furniture arranged with meticulous precision. His presence feels unhurried, yet somehow commanding, as though he belongs here, yet has been away too long.

“She still loves those old frames,” Paul remarks, pausing by a photo of himself and Niamh, their smiles frozen in a moment that looks like it was captured at a birthday party. “Mum used to have ones just like these in her house.”

You nod, unsure how to respond, so you motion toward the kitchen instead. “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea would be great, thanks,” Paul replies, settling himself at the kitchen table. He moves with ease, his broad shoulders and relaxed posture making the room feel smaller, cozier. His hands rest loosely on the table, their rough edges faintly tensed.

You set the kettle to boil, reaching for a pair of mugs. Paul’s eyes follow you as you work, his gaze steady but not intrusive.

“You’ve done well to keep this place looking so tidy,” he comments. “It’s not easy with a kid like Callum running around.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, smiling softly. “He’s been… spirited, but it’s been nice. I think we’ve found our rhythm.”

Paul lets out a low chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. “That’s saying something. Callum can be a whirlwind when he wants to be. I’m glad he’s warmed up to you, though. Niamh’s been worried about finding the right fit.”

The kettle whistles, breaking the momentary silence. You pour the boiling water into the mugs and place one in front of him before sitting at the kitchen island. The quiet intimacy of the room feels suddenly magnified, blanketed in the dim, hazy light of the early evening.

Paul takes a sip of his tea, his cerulean eyes meeting yours over the rim of the mug. There’s a softness in his gaze, an unspoken curiosity that sends a slight chill up your spine. “So, what’s it like being here? In the middle of nowhere, with a kid who never stops asking questions?”

You chuckle, your eyes flickering out the window to the darkened landscape beyond. “It’s peaceful. Different from what I’m used to, but in a good way. Callum’s questions keep me on my toes, though.”

Paul’s smile widens slightly, a faint glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “He used to ask me why the moon didn’t fall out of the sky. Wouldn’t let it go until I gave him an answer that satisfied him.”

“What did you tell him?” you ask, smirking.

Paul leans back slightly in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Told him it was magic. He believed me, of course. Kids always believe in magic when they’re young.”

Your smile lingers as you take a sip of your tea. “Magic’s a good answer. It’s been my go-to with him, too.”

Paul laughs gently, his gaze softening. “You’re good with him. It’s clear to see. I think Niamh made the right choice this time.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you shift slightly in your seat, suddenly aware of the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Paul nods, his expression thoughtful as he sets his mug down, empty. “Well, I should let you get some rest. I’ll head over to the cottage for the night. Niamh mentioned I’d be staying there.”

“Oh, right,” you say quickly, standing. “Let me grab you some sheets and a pillow. Everything else should already be set up.”

You hurry to the linen closet, pulling out a set of clean sheets and a pillow before returning to the kitchen. Paul stands near the door, his coat draped over his arm. His back is turned to you, the stretch of his shoulders visible through his white shirt, making you look away quickly.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the bundle. “It’s just across the garden path. I’m sure you know where to go. But let me know if you need anything.”

Paul takes the sheets, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

You open the door for him, the cold night air rushing in as he steps outside. He pauses on the threshold, his gaze meeting yours one last time. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” you reply, watching as he heads toward the cottage. The crunch of gravel under his boots fades into the dark, leaving you standing there, the house suddenly feeling much quieter than before.

A/N: one last thing, I am aware that Paul's actual sister is younger (and is named differently), but I'm just making the family stuff up :)

#paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal fic

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devilsandwings · 1 month ago

Text

Quiet Scenes- A Paul mescal fic

Synopsis: This will be an ongoing story. About Paul Mescal and a singer/actress with Sabrina Carpenters discography. That’s all I’ll reveal for now, read to find out. Love yall 💕

1k words ~ CW: none

This indicates a flashback ✨

March 12, 2023

I’m sitting at the Academy Awards, sipping on my champagne and gossiping with my best friend, Florence Pugh. She’s presenting an award with Andrew Garfield later tonight, you’re her guest. “…so anyway after all of that they ended up getting back together.” Florence finished her story about one of her friends.

“Wow yea that is ridiculous why would she take him back after that.” I responded in bewilderment of her story. She just shrugs her shoulders and the lights dim. Jimmy Kimmel comes back out onto the stage.

The night has been going great, you and Florence are having an amazing time. She killed it presenting, the host is funny, you’re running into friends and icons. You’re having a wonderful time at the Oscars. The announcers voice booms over the audience, “Please welcome academy award winners Jessica Chastain and Halle berry”

The two women walk onto the stage in their beautiful gowns. They smile at the assuring crowd as they walk to the microphone. “When an actor or actress first approaches a role we use every tool at our disposal to help us create the world of the character” Jessica says, reading the teleprompter. They continue about how actors create their characters.

“Here are the nominees for best performance from an actor in a leading role” Halle says

“Austin Butler, Elvis.” The announcer exclaims. The screen above the stage changes to a camera of Austin at his seat, he smiles and looks at his costar. The crowd erupts with applause. The announcer continues to read off names and the crowd cheers.

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I’ve never seen Elvis?” Florence whispers to you

I turn my head and gasp at her, “YOU WHAT” I whisper yell at her, but it doesn’t really matter nobody else can hear us over the cheering for Colin Farrell. “Ma’am you have to see it, I’m showing it to you next time you come over, I own it.” She laughs at my demand and nods her head, she cheers for Brendan Fraser.

I turn my head back to the screen as the announcer says, “Paul Mescal, Aftersun.” My brain screeched to a hault at the mention of his name. Then he was on the screen, wearing a white suit. He looked good, really good. “Bill Nighy…” the announcer continues. Just like that he was gone again. Florence cheered and smiled at me with an exaggerated smile, yay see you worked with him and his next role got an Oscar nomination, she’s probably saying in her head.

She doesn’t know what happened, I didn’t tell her. How could I have told her? She loved Mike, she would have been so mad at me. I’ve never seen her mad before, upset and frustrated sure, but mad? No, and I do not want to see it.

“Do you mind if I sit with ya? My trailers a Sauna.” Paul asks, sticking his head into my trailer. “Well we’re in Australia, so it’s hot in my trailer too but sure.” I retorted. “You’re probably just looking to escape your own mess.” He closes the trailer door and puts his hand over his chest, “You wound me, I thought we were friends.” He “stumbles” down onto a chair. I roll my eyes at him and throw a pretzel out of my bowl at him, “friends don’t steal from each other.” “Don’t bake delicious biscuits and expect me not to eat some” he says to you smiling, looking at you with those blue eyes. You look back into them, you could look into them forever. Your eyes meet, and the moment hangs there, magical, electric. Then breaking the spell he clears his throat and looks away from me.

The announcer finished the names and all the nominees are shown on the screen but you can’t help but look at Paul. “And the Oscar goes to,..” Jessica begins, “The Whale”. You audibly groan and Flo gives you a strange look and laughs.

“God I know you worked with him but I didn’t know you wanted him to win that much.” She chuckled as she claps. “Did you even see his movie?”

“Of course I did” I reply, “it was amazing. He was very good.” I drastically lowered my volume halfway through because Brendan began his speech. His face, you can’t get it out of your mind. It was only a slight falter when The Whale was called but it was noticeable.

You’re standing at the bar of the Vanity Fair Oscars Afterparty, waiting for Florence to come back. You grab your drink off the bar and turn around to look at the crowd, you scan the room hoping to find a familiar face when you see Paul. Standing halfway across the room laughing with a couple people. Then as if sensing her gaze, he looks up. Their eyes meet.

He excuses himself from the group and walks over to you. There’s a beat of silence as you take each other in. He looks a little rougher, more grown, but his eyes are just as sharp. His blue eyes that I wanted to swim in.

“You look…” he breaks the silence, “incredible”.

“Thank you” she blushes, “you don’t look too bad yourself. White looks good on you.”

He chuckles at her compliment, “thanks.”

There’s an awkward silence. He takes a sip of his drink. “Congratulations on your nomination” I say to him, holding up my drink, “I was hoping you’d win. I saw your movie it was amazing Paul.”

“Thank you. That really means a lot, coming from you.” He says, “It’s good to see you. Really good”

I take a sip of my champagne, studying him. I’m about to say something to him when Pedro Pascal walks over to us.

“Paul hey, could I talk to you for a minute?” Pedro asks, then he turns to me “I’m so sorry could I steal him for just a moment?”

I laugh, “Go right ahead.” I pause for a moment and look at Paul, “It was nice talking to you, I’ll see you later.”

Paul nods, “See you later” His gaze lingers on you until Pedro grabs his shoulder and they turn away. You sit alone at the bar, finishing your drink.

Authors note: Hey this is my first time writing in like a long time so be nice. Lmk what yall think & if you want a part 2. Also feel free to request anything! ~rose

#paul mescal #Paul mescal fic #paul mescal x reader #florence pugh #sabrina carpenter #pedro pascal #gladiator 2

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princezzleia · 1 month ago

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Has anyone writing sub!Lucius Verus yet?🥹 i have this idea (again) bare with me. Ideas just ran through my head like a river these days😭

Lucius is an emperor for two years now and he's so stressful to build Roman Empire again. there's a lot of work after what Caracalla and Geta have done you know🥹 so he seeks for something to release his stress and he accidentally ended up in brothel and found reader. Lucius ask reader to do something to make him feel good from stress. Initially, it was just a talk but then he ask for something more but with reader's consent (of course) reader kinda scared to do anything to harm to the emperor (of course) but then he ask again and reader have this idea when noblemen were stress and they seeks for relieved reader suggests Dom/Sub relationship and they do kinky things like impact play, humiliation kink, role play, sword play(?) etc. etc. etc. Lucius turned out to be very kinky.🥵

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #lucius verus x you #lucius verus fanfiction #lucius verus fic #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal fanfic #paul mescal fic #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie #gladiator ll

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ay0nha · 1 month ago

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Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds | Lucius Verus Aurelius

SUMMARY: "Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind. “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?"

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader (arranged marriage for political reasons)

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, not much, mentions of alcohol, old-timey language, Google-accurate Roman empire things, dancing, arranged marriage, talks of lineage, angsty-ish, quotes from various people like Nina Simone and Octavia Butler sprinkled into dialogue, etc.

A/N: I quickly wrote this in a few days with the amazing help of @astrd00. This is just sort of an introduction to my fic idea so apologies if it's a little boring. Arranged marriage trope sort of colleagues to friends to lovers. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment it really helps me to keep going! More to come, enjoy!

The Latin translates to: a water drop hollows a stone, not by force but by frequent falling.

Everyone clung to the fog of death in the air with stiff fingers, unwilling to let their proof of newly promised freedom go. They celebrated in the streets, disregarding the savagery that occurred only months ago. The public enjoyed the amnesia, looking to Lucius not solely for responsibility but as a new object to place culpability.

Yet, the heaviness permeated Lucius’ marrow. He hid it well behind the mask of authority. Even a sharp eye would miss the way it restrained him, intentionally ignorant of a flaw in their new leader.

It might have even been seen as a strategic move, a way to humanize the gladiator who seemed to defy the Gods. Strategy outside the arena was new, different from the portrayed brute that dusted his hands with sand. What lay in his palms now was similar to that of a child’s heart, beating rapidly with a not-yet-known burden of life. It was heavy and warm, begging for unwavering loyalty from its possessor.

Lucius remained delicate with his hold, but the heart wanted more from him. Strength and honor would soon no longer suffice. It needed sustenance worthy of devotion and destruction. His eyes were steady on this phantom heart until those around him required his attention.

“Emperor—” A magistrate repeated, voice raising enough to tease an echo. The new title sat heavily on Lucius’ shoulders, contorting his body into a position that mimicked Atlas. “Our suggestion should not be taken lightly, it is for the prosperity of your Rome.”

Scrutiny wasn’t found in his tone or bitterness behind the remark but rather in genuine regard. However, there was an intention behind the ownership of Rome, a hint at the generational promise.

“The public can wonder, speculate, but they do not see beyond the issue.” He continued, watching the twitch on Lucius’ face. “You may not like the mere thought, but gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo.” The magistrate paused, his words lingering. “How much longer until Rome is hollow once again?”

“This order is a fallacy.” Lucius finally made contact, eyes surveying those around him. “There is a need for trust, yes. And yet, you ask for deception?”

“You misunderstand us, Emperor.” Another member of the senate spoke, hoping to alleviate tension. “There would be no deception in this union, only fortification of the reigning; an image for the people to find themselves in.”

“Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind. “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?”

—

You smiled through the wine-fueled chattering of the ceremony, appeasing those who had just witnessed your union, but your focus moved beyond the conversation and revelry. Above you was a darkened sky that mimicked night. Rain poured down, tempting you to fall prey to its numbing hold.

The Gods are favoring your union, you were told when the sky opened. Divine intervention.

But you knew the Gods were fickle, always testing your will against temptation. It was a test sent for you, one that an elaborate wedding and an emperor declaring your shared existence hid well.

So you ignored the call of the humidity, being dutiful to your new role as empress. People bowed to you and nearly cried at how beautifully you paired with your new counterpart. Even as you sat on the marble throne beside Lucius you couldn’t deny their exactness.

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon pass out from the wine.” You spoke softly, eyes ahead at your guests as you spoke to your husband. His grip on your hand fidgeted exposing his anxiety.

Lucius paused, determining if honesty was worthwhile. His self-awareness was enough to remind him how unfamiliar he was with the environment that consumed his senses.

“It is for them.” You nodded ahead to the crowd. The room was hot from the amount of bodies swirling around. “Remind yourself of this when their faith falters.”

Lucius looked at you, attention trained on your profile. Even with a soft veil over your features, you were so absolute.

“I know my purpose here. You are still learning yours.” You continued. “All I ask of you is that when they falter you place your trust in our bond.”

“I will place it where it is due.” There was your gladiator. The defiance comforted you.

“Those around you are untroubled by that; all they crave is to spit on the fallen. It doesn’t matter if you are one of them, they are quick to turn.” You sharpened. “Be careful; join the sinful and you will be remembered with spite and desperation.”

You spoke of hidden things, of politics that lingered like venom in the bloodstream of the empire. Lucius knew not to mistake your words for ulterior motives. You were direct in your vows to further his image of a new Rome, it was why you were chosen to be by his side. Your mind was clear. You read the room perfectly, unraveling every detail of what was inherited.

“My legacy does not motivate me,” Lucius stated. His ears attuned to you and you only, enraptured in how deeply you spoke as if it was a common thought. “I will not look to them for fame.”

“You will, conscious or not. And once you do, you will not be able to look away.” You smiled pitifully as though you knew something he didn’t. “Just as they watched you fight, you misunderstand the impact of what is before you.”

“You believe that little of me?” There was a swirl of censure in his chest despite the small smile pulling at his lips.

“There is opportunity to win, but that is a fool’s goal—

“To win?” Lucius scoffed. “Even you have been mislead, then. Thinking that there is a conquest waiting to happen.”

“I do not wish to insult you.” Your thumb adjusted against his fingers. It was in your nature to be candid, but at times you placed your frustrations unfairly. You softened. “Your promise of growth will help amend this.”

Lucius wished to pull away from you. He needed to think, to be separated from the feigned festivities adjoined to love. This was love; love created not between two people, but shared by you and him for Rome.

That was not to say you were birds of a feather.

Your strengths were found in your experience. Although young, you were no novice to how to hold your chin high while delivering truths to the senate. You learned from your uncle, an official who raised you on the true meaning of government. You were clever. The public viewed you as such. You were of noble status and fit to stand before them.

What you lacked was a specific connection that Lucius brought to the people. He was one of them, raised humbly, hands worn from the earth’s harvest and war forced upon him. Lucius spoke well to them, building comradery with every way of life.

“I would never ask you to compromise your beliefs. I know better than to think you’d behave.” You teased at his rebellion, hoping the guard that was up would calm. “Besides, a well-mannered lover is an offense.”

“We are not lovers.” It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried.

“And we are not enemies.” You were quick, reading between his words to find the insult.

“My lord!” A raspy voice begged for attention. “My lady!”

You stood, bowing politely to the affluent man before you. He took advantage of the night; jewels adorned every finger that pulled at the elaborate fabric of his outfit.

“It is time.” The rasp withered when he lowered to speak to you directly. His arms went wide as if inviting a hug, but he spun skillfully to face the audience.

“Time?” Lucius looked to you.

The man boomed over the forgotten rain. ““It is time!”

Standing, you didn’t release Lucius’ hand. There was resistance on his end, wanting to remain sedentary and silent to wait out the rest of the night.

“Our dance.” You answered to his wide eyes. Your guests cheered, clearing space. “It is customary to rise together and move as one. It will complete the ceremony.”

He rose at your words, not much of a choice otherwise than to follow.

The fabric of your dress swam behind you, kissing the floor with each step toward the middle of the marble floor. The dress looked like water cascading down your body, hiding each bend and swell of your body. Yet, it highlighted something else, something deeper. It was subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space.

“May the rain create a river to fertility.” The man held a contagious grin that spread around the room.

Prosperity and posterity. This is what they wanted. Lucius alone was not enough. The bloodline was more important than a single figure. It hadn’t needed to be discussed as it was the obvious forethought for your unification.

The officials of the republic were more concerned about your fecundity and frame than the knowledge you held. It was a typical belief, one that you expected. Your fingers itched to bring your willingness to support the new decree to play and if this was your path to it, so be it.

You remained clinical at the thought. It was a means to an end rather than something to be meditated on. The way Lucius hardened at the man’s words told a story from another perspective where the political became personal. You did not miss the ring on his pinky that rubbed against a new gold one.

“Does the great gladiator know how to dance?” Your voice flowed to Lucius only knowing the opportunity rarely presented itself.

The music shifted from something fast-paced to something more melodic that would encourage you both to move swiftly but attractively. You knew your words would hit a nerve, but it was strategic to motivate Lucius’ hesitant hands.

“It is a back and forth. A push and pull.” You guided your hand to press against his palm, meeting together as if you were to pray. “Just like the arena, no?”

Lucius’ eyebrows pinched together. Not out of curiosity or frustration. He was genuine in his response.

“Rarely is a touch this…subdued.” Soft.

“Shall I spin you in circles, then?” Your painted lips were easier to see now that Lucius was close. He saw as they rose through your veil with the quip. “Disorientate you to the point of submission?”

Your arms weaved behind your back still connected to Lucius’. The dance was simple, one practiced as children. There were very few steps and wistful gestures that even the familiar still enjoyed.

“Those are my only options? Coercion or blind fealty.”

It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.

It was odd to see Lucius so close, your memory had failed to cast such a strong light on him. Once overgrown hair had been trimmed to only curl at the nape of his neck. Dirt was cleared from every line of his face. He was still rugged, but you saw through the exterior to find a boy.

A boy who had been stripped of child-like wonderment and care. Instead, he held his broad shoulders high and an expression that lingered from his exile. Lucius’ skin perked every time your dress acted as a barrier between the two of you, a warning that whatever you offered had to be earned.

“I do not ask much of you, Emperor...” You put it simply, knowing your worth and wisdom. You needed to be promised his word that against anything you would be beside each other. “...so I will not ask again.”

“You are not satisfied with the trust of the marriage alone,” Lucius stated his question like an observation. “You wish I promise myself to you in ways which I may not be able to provide.”

“Able or willing?”

Your faces were close, noses mirroring each other as you turned on beat. You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.

“The past and the future press so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.” You spoke again before he could answer. “You must decide where you belong.”

The music returned to Lucius’ ears. Its melody weighed down your words, letting them settle deeply in his mind. His head spun with thoughts busy on reasoning. Perhaps he was too guarded for his own good, but he’d gotten himself this far relying only on himself. He had held in a great deal. Often he felt he couldn't speak until the waters overflowed their banks and broke through the dam.

Those around him garnered support, but this was different. You understood what freedom was; it meant no fear. Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

The music slowed coming to an end. Lucius removed his hands from your body but didn’t venture far. His calloused fingertips followed the seam of your soft veil to meet the laced end. Once there, he gently revealed your true manner.

Your features were accentuated by an internal glow. There was no modesty in your gaze, it shattered any notion of strength. There was no insight into your emotions. What Lucius found was someone gifted. It was a marvel he hadn’t heard of you until you presented yourself as the wise option for him to marry.

Although you ran in many circles, your name wasn’t whispered among the council. They didn’t believe beauty and wit could fit within the reach of a woman. Yet, here you stood. A new challenge to be accepted. Lucius resisted the urge to swallow quick breaths as if he were going to endure a blow from Viggo. His body agitated in preparation, but looking at you so wholly all he could muster was concession.

“You have my word.”

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pascaloverx · 26 days ago

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STARVE

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

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

ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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gothcsz · 1 month ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are they mending things? Rekindling their marriage?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long are you going to be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When can we do this again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucius.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The insult lands hard, but you refuse to flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What truth?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mention of your other lover makes your heart race.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want this,” you say simply.

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

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

#pedro pascal #paul mescal #marcus acacius smut #lucius verus smut #lucius verus x reader #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator ii fanfiction #gladiator ii fic #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfic #lucius verus fic #lucius verus fanfic #kat's writing.

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vivwritesfics · 1 month ago

Note

Silly ask, Lucius finding his partner adorable while doing the most mundane tasks

"Can you leave my chickens alone, please?"

Hanno looked up at you, a grin on his face. Moving away from your chickens, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your neck. "Is this better?" He asked between kisses, making his way towards your mouth.

Your hands came to hold his cheeks. "Much," you answered, your thumbs moving over his cheeks.

He held his hand over your own and kissed your palm, his facial hair scratching at your skin. You loved it, though. Loved the feel of it everywhere.

Against your shoulder, when he held you from behind and kissed your skin. Against your wrist as you bathed together, kissing along your arm. Against you ankle as he kissed down your leg, climbing between your thighs.

"One day I will marry you," he said and leaned in to kiss you. He towered over you, broad shoulders and thick muscles. You couldn't get enough of it, enough of him. He rested his forehead against your own, fingers moving through your hair.

Your response was to kiss him again. You wanted to marry him as much as he wanted to marry you. The problem was your father. He was the one that hated Hanno, the one who wanted him to stay away from you.

Your moments were stolen. The two of you, hidden away as you kissed each other. Getting wrapped up in each other while your father was away, selling the goods you had.

One day you would marry him. You couldn't see your life going in any other direction. Hanno was your everything. Your light in the darkness. Sometimes it felt like your life hadn't really begun until you met him (intense, I know).

He stood back and let you work, watching. There had been several times before where he had tried to help you to work, only to be shooed away and placated with a kiss.

And then the Romans landed.

#lucius verus #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus imagine #lucius verus x you #lucius verus fic #gladiator movie #lucius verus aurelius #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #hanno x reader #hanno imagine #paul mescal

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whosscruffylooking · 1 month ago

Text

Militiae Species Amor Est III

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

a/n: just a reminder that this is a rewrite of Gladiator II. the timeline and events are different as well as the relationships of the characters.

warnings : // mentions of death. canon typical violence.

word count: 4k

chapter I & chapter II

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Over the next few weeks, you work closely with Lucilla and Acacius, carefully plotting Lucius’s escape. Lucilla looks at you with a knowing smile, her gaze soft with understanding. “My son seems much lighter, having been graced by your presence recently,” she says, her tone tinged with warmth.

“Our visits are strictly for the purpose of aiding him, so I am certain he is filled with hope now, more than anything else.”

Her smile deepens, the fondness for her son clear in her eyes, despite the years of separation. “He always was the type to draw strength from those he loved.”

“The final steps of our plan are in place,” Lucilla says, her tone steady but filled with a quiet urgency. “Please go to him tonight and share the news that tomorrow night will mark the beginning of our rescue mission.” She pauses, her gaze softening as she looks at you. “And give him my love.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

After sharing the plan with him, the two of you sit in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both. The rest of the gladiators had been taken out for a night of feasting, yet Lucius was left behind as punishment, alone in the shadows of his confinement.

“It is unfair and cruel that they push you harder than anyone else in training and yet punish you for not having a broken spirit,” you say softly, kneeling before him.

Lucius smiles faintly, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yet I do not mind,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “For I get to spend my evening in the solace of your presence. Without any onlookers to see when I do this…” He reaches up gently, brushing your hair back from your face, and then his lips find yours in a kiss that lingers, tender and full of longing.

The kiss begins slow, soft, tender, as though testing the waters, but there's an undeniable hunger beneath the surface. His hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you closer, urging you to deepen it. You respond instinctively, your own fingers threading into his hair, feeling the heat of his touch, the pressure of his lips against yours growing more insistent.

You can feel the way his body shifts, his chest pressing against yours, a quiet urgency seeping into the kiss as his hands roam down your back. His lips part just enough, and when you follow his lead, the kiss intensifies further. The world outside the two of you seems to disappear, and all that remains is the sensation of his warmth, his breath, his passion.

His touch becomes more desperate, as if he's fighting against the fleeting moment, and you find yourself responding in kind, your heart racing, every part of you aching for more. You rise, moving over him with a quiet urgency, your hands pressing him gently back onto the small cot. A soft, strangled moan escapes his lips as he trembles beneath your touch, and you feel the heat of his body against yours.

You trail your lips down his chest, the sound of his breath hitching with every kiss you leave behind. His hands find their way into your hair, fingers tugging, pulling you closer, a silent plea for more. With each movement, each kiss, his grip tightens, as if trying to pull you into him completely, and you can feel the tension between you, the need building higher with every second that passes.

He trembles beneath you, his body a mirror of your own desire, and you can feel the pull of his touch, the intensity of his need, wrapping around you like a wave. But even in this moment, there's a careful awareness-each kiss, each movement, is a step toward something both dangerous and inevitable.

But then, he stops you, his voice trembling as he whispers, “Please… do not allow me to agonize any further.” You glance up at him, his eyes filled with a quiet, almost unbearable pain. “Your kiss… has tortured me more than enough. Knowing that I have felt your lips against mine, and yet I am left longing for something I cannot fully have, it tears at me. Seldom do I get to embrace that feeling, that warmth of you so close, and now it haunts me more than it brings me solace.”

He shifts slightly, his breath unsteady, his hands still gripping your arm, but not pulling you closer. “I cannot have you grace me with your exquisite touch more intimately than we have already ventured, not without it becoming a cruel reminder of what I can’t fully possess. One night with you would exhaust me far more than twenty men in the arena… and for that, I must save my strength.”

His voice is low, thick with emotion, and there’s a desperate sincerity in his words. He’s trying to keep control, to remind himself of the responsibility he carries—but the ache in his eyes tells you that even his strength is faltering.

You look into his eyes, the weight of your words heavy with all the unspoken promises that have lingered between you for years. Gently, you cup his face in your hands, your thumb brushing over his skin as your voice trembles with quiet resolve.

“When you’re free, Lucius… when you’re finally free, I promise you, I will be all yours. I’ll give you every part of me, and we’ll spend the night together—without fear, without restraint. Just us.”

You lean in closer, your forehead touching his, as if sealing the promise between you with the intensity of the moment. “But until then… we have to wait. I have to wait, because I won’t have you broken—physically or emotionally—because of a single night. When you’re free, you’ll know it’s real, that it’s everything we’ve both longed for.”

Just as your words fall into the charged silence between you, the door to the room crashes open. Caius storms in, his face red with fury. His gaze locks onto the two of you, taking in the closeness, the tenderness in your exchange, and it’s clear he’s not fooled.

“Enough!” he shouts, his voice harsh, his chest heaving with anger.

You freeze, your heart sinking. You step back, trying to compose yourself as Caius’ eyes blaze with betrayal. “Caius… this isn’t what you think—”

“No!” he interrupts, his voice sharp, cutting through the air. “I know exactly what it is. The two of you have been playing me for a fool.” His gaze turns to Lucius, fury swirling in his eyes. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been toying with her?”

You take a step forward, trying to steady yourself, but your body trembles as you face Caius’ fury. “Caius, please listen to me,” you plead, your voice soft but filled with an undercurrent of desperation. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand—”

The air is thick with tension as Caius stands in the doorway, his face contorted with rage. “You’ve been lying to me,” he growls, stepping into the room, eyes flashing with fury. “All this time, I trusted you, and now I find you here, with him. You’ve betrayed me.”

Lucius remains calm, his body coiled like a spring, but his gaze is steady and unwavering. “You’ve done nothing but hold her captive with your lies, Caius,” he says, his voice low but sharp. “She deserves more than this.”

Caius’ eyes snap to Lucius, and without warning, he lunges toward him, swinging a fist through the air with the intention of hitting him. But Lucius is quicker. With a fluid motion, he steps aside, easily dodging the blow.

“You’re pathetic,” Lucius mutters, his tone cold as he stands back, letting Caius stumble forward in a failed attempt to land his punch. The sound of Caius’ fist slamming into the air rings in the room, and the frustration on his face is palpable.

Caius staggers, his balance momentarily lost, then he whirls back to face Lucius, breathing heavily. “You think you can humiliate me, gladiator?” His voice is strained, full of venom.

Lucius remains unfazed, his stance still relaxed, his hands at his sides. “You’re the one humiliating yourself, Caius. This isn’t about strength or power. It’s about respect—and you’ve lost hers.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch, knowing the inevitable confrontation has come, but seeing Caius lose his composure like this is almost more painful than you anticipated. You don’t want to see them fight—not like this.

Caius, enraged and humiliated by his failed attempt, glares at Lucius, his fists clenched tightly. “You think you’ve won? You think you’re the one who gets to decide what happens between us? Between her and me?”

The rage in his voice rises with every word. You step forward, your voice trembling but firm. “Caius, please. This isn’t helping anything. You’re only making it worse.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with fury and betrayal. “You’ve made your choice,” he spits, his voice low and guttural. “But don’t think this is over. I’ll make sure you regret this.”

With one final, disgusted glance at Lucius, he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force that the walls seem to shake.

You’re left standing in the silence that follows, your body still trembling from the confrontation. Lucius steps toward you slowly, his eyes softening as he looks at you.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says quietly, his voice gentle despite the heat of the moment.

You shake your head, your breath coming in uneven gasps. “It’s not your fault.”

Lucius reaches out, his hand gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, the weight of everything that just happened crashing down on you all at once.

Lucius pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if trying to offer you the comfort you’ve been denied for so long. “Soon, I will be free. And you will be safe in my arms. We will no longer be bound by our shackles.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The night of the escape plan arrives, but it unravels faster than anyone could have anticipated. The betrayal of the plan by one of Caius’s guards is the final blow, and Lucius is forced into the arena without the chance to escape. The gates open, and the roar of the crowd fills the air.

In the center of the arena stands Acacius—the man who had once married Lucius’ mother, who had tried to help him escape from this nightmare. Lucius stands frozen, his heart heavy with the weight of the moment.

Acacius looks at him, his gaze filled with both sadness and resolve. Lucius can’t speak, can’t move, trapped between what’s right and what’s forced upon him.

“Lucius,” Acacius begins, his voice surprisingly calm. “I never wanted it to come to this. I tried to break you free. But now… this is the way we must meet.”

Lucius feels the weight of Acacius’s words, his sword feels heavier than ever, but his resolve is stronger.

The tension hangs between them, the roar of the crowd growing louder, urging them on. The announcer’s voice calls for the fight to begin, and the tension is unbearable.

Acacius steps forward, his sword flashing, and their weapons meet with a force that sends a shock through Lucius’s entire body. Steel clashes, but the force is more than physical; it is everything that’s been unspoken between them. Acacius’s strikes come swift, but there’s no deadly intention behind them. The fight is a dance—a struggle for something both of them already know they’ve lost.

After minutes that feel like an eternity, Acacius holds his hand up in surrender, a quiet resignation settling over him. The emperor, furious at the sudden turn of events, calls for his immediate death. But Lucius refuses to follow through. Instead, with a calm determination, he kneels in front of Acacius, his heart heavy, offering his own surrender as well.

"I loved your mother," Acacius says suddenly, his voice thick with emotion, the weight of his words pressing down on both of them. "And your father? I would have died for him."

Lucius's breath catches at the unexpected confession.

But before Lucius can speak, the sound of arrows fills the air, sharp and unforgiving. From every direction, they pierce Acacius's chest and his armor, their deadly trajectory swift and accurate. Acacius's eyes go wide with shock as the first arrow sinks deep, followed by a barrage more, each one striking him with ruthless precision.

He falls to the ground, crumpling like a broken figure, his life draining from him in a matter of seconds. Lucius's hands tremble as he watches the blood spill, his heart torn between rage, sorrow, and helplessness.

"No!" Lucius cries out, reaching for him, but it's too late. The life has already left Acacius's eyes, his body lying still in the sand, soaked in blood.

The crowd erupts, but Lucius barely hears them. His world narrows to the man who had once tried to protect him, now lying lifeless before him. The emperor's command still rings in his ears, the pressure of it suffocating him, but all he can think of is the betrayal and the cruelty of it all.

With shaking hands, Lucius rises, his heart heavy with grief. The escape plan has failed.

The fight is over. And all he can do now is surrender-not just his body, but his spirit to a world that has taken everything from him.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Your feet move of their own accord, your heart hammering in your chest as you make your way toward Lucius’s cell. The weight of your guilt is unbearable, a constant ache pressing down on you. You’ve failed him—failed the plan—and now the consequences are all too clear. Acacius is dead, and Lucius is left to bear the burden of it all.

As you approach the cold stone walls of his prison, the distant sounds of the arena fade. You feel hollow, guilt consuming every step, yet you can’t turn back. You can’t leave him to suffer alone.

Reaching the door, you hesitate before pushing it open. The small, dimly lit space feels oppressive, the air heavy with unspoken words. Lucius stands near the far wall, his back to you, his form tense and still. His posture, always so commanding, now seems weighed down by exhaustion—by everything.

“I’m so sorry, Lucius,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of your grief. “I never meant for this to happen. If it weren’t for me, for my mistakes, this plan—it would’ve worked. You wouldn’t have had to fight him. You wouldn’t have to bear this…”

Lucius glances at you, his expression unreadable, the mask of a gladiator concealing his thoughts. You step closer, your hands trembling at your sides. Guilt constricts your chest like a vice, and yet you press on. You can’t leave him like this—not again.

“I… I should never have let things go as far as they did,” you continue, your voice barely a whisper. “I should never have let my feelings for you grow while I was still bound to Caius. I’ve ruined everything, Lucius. Everything.”

The tears you’ve fought to hold back now spill freely. But Lucius doesn’t speak. The silence stretches thick between you, heavy with unspoken words and regrets. Tentatively, you reach out, your hand hovering inches from his arm before you let it fall back to your side in defeat.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you say again, your voice small and broken. “For what I did. For what I didn’t do. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve been braver. But now, all I’ve done is ruin the only chance you had.”

Finally, Lucius moves, his gaze softening as he steps toward you. His hand brushes your tear-streaked cheek, the touch light but laden with everything left unsaid. He doesn’t speak immediately, but when he does, his voice is steady, though tinged with sorrow.

“This was always going to end this way. There were forces greater than us at play. But you… you were never the reason this failed. You gave me hope when I thought I had nothing left.”

A sob escapes you, your heart breaking at his words. The man who has every right to hate you instead offers comfort. His grace only deepens your guilt, making you feel even more unworthy of him.

“I wish I could have been stronger for you,” you whisper, your voice raw. “I wish I could’ve been what you needed.”

Lucius’s hand lingers on your cheek for a moment longer before he lets it fall, his eyes searching yours. “You were,” he says softly. “You always have been.”

You close your eyes, your shoulders shaking as a sob tears free. “But we’ve lost so much, Lucius. The plan failed because of me. And now Acacius is dead because of me.”

He shakes his head gently, his fingers brushing against your face again, grounding you in his quiet strength. “None of this is your fault. What has happened is the work of pride and greed, not you.”

You nod, though the ache remains—a gnawing sorrow that won’t let go. You’ve lost so much—Acacius, the chance for freedom, and perhaps even the hope you’d clung to. But in the midst of your grief, one thing is clear: you cannot leave Lucius behind. Not now. Not ever.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You stand in the dimly lit chamber, the torches on the walls flickering with an unsteady light. Caius is pacing before you, his expression sharp, every movement a testament to his agitation. The weight of what he’s done crashes down on you, fueling the fire that’s been building inside since you learned the truth. Finally, you can’t hold it in any longer.

“You knew,” you say, your voice trembling with restrained anger. “You knew about the plan to help Lucius escape, and you deliberately sabotaged it.”

Caius stops in his tracks, his back stiffening as your words echo through the chamber. He turns slowly to face you, his face carefully blank, though his eyes betray the storm within. “I did what I had to do,” he says coldly. “Lucius was a threat—to everything we’ve built, to you.”

“To me?” you snap, stepping closer, your voice rising with fury. “You call this protecting me? Acacius is dead because of you, Caius! He died trying to give Lucius a chance—a chance you ripped away!”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “Acacius made his choice. He chose to betray the order, to risk everything for some foolish notion of freedom. Don’t put his blood on my hands.”

Your chest heaves as you struggle to control your emotions, the weight of grief and anger threatening to overwhelm you. “His blood is on your hands!” you shout, pointing at him. “You fed the guards information, didn’t you? You told them about the escape route, knowing full well what would happen.”

Caius’ expression hardens, and he takes a step closer, his voice lowering into a growl. “And what would you have me do? Stand by and let you throw everything away for a gladiator? For him?”

“For him,” you repeat, your voice steady now, though it cuts through the air like a blade. “Because he would have done the same for me. Because he deserves better than this twisted, hollow world you’ve tried to keep him in. And because Acacius believed in him, just like I do.”

Caius scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re blinded by your feelings. Lucius is nothing more than a fantasy you’ve clung to—a way to rebel against the life you were given. But in the real world, Iris, dreams like that get people killed. Acacius is proof of that.”

His words are meant to wound, and for a moment, they do. But then you remember the look in Acacius’ eyes—the unwavering conviction, the quiet strength of someone who knew the risks and still chose to fight for something greater.

“Acacius died a hero,” you say, your voice firm. “He died fighting for something he believed in, something worth risking everything for. What do you believe in, Caius? Power? Control? Yourself?”

He doesn’t answer, his silence louder than any defense he could offer.

You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes as you stare at the man you once thought you knew. “I trusted you,” you whisper. “And you betrayed me, just like you betrayed them.”

For the first time, Caius falters. His mask slips, and for a fleeting moment, you see something—regret, perhaps, or the faintest trace of guilt. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar coldness that has come to define him.

“Trust won’t save you, Iris,” he says, his tone flat, almost mechanical. “Neither will Lucius. All it will do is leave you broken, just like Acacius.”

Your heart twists at the cruelty of his words, but you refuse to let him see the pain he has caused. “You are wrong,” you say, your voice steady with unyielding resolve. “Lucius will taste freedom, and I shall see to it myself. When that day comes, Caius, you will know just how blind you have been.”

You take a breath, mustering up the courage to ask the question that has weighed on your mind since his betrayal was revealed.

“Why did you not name me as a conspirator?” you ask, your tone sharp and unflinching.

Caius arches a brow, his expression a mix of arrogance and cold calculation. “Do not think I shielded your name out of affection or mercy,” he replies coolly. “I did so to preserve my family’s honor. Should you wish to repay this debt, you will abandon all notions of aiding Lucius. You will bind yourself to me as intended—without protest, without spectacle, and with dignity befitting your station.”

“I would sooner embrace the grave,” you spit, your words slicing the air like a blade.

Caius’ lip curls in disdain. “What a pity, for you would miss the glorious Rome that Macrinus envisions.”

The slip in his words is subtle, but it is enough. You narrow your eyes, sensing the truth behind his misstep. A bitter chuckle escapes your lips as understanding dawns. “Ah, so this is the endgame. Macrinus in power. And what follows, Caius? The blood of the emperors staining the Senate steps?”

He falters, the flicker of surprise betraying him before his mask of composure can return.

“It is, isn’t it?” you say, your voice rising, emboldened by his silence. “You plan to murder the twin emperors and enthrone a man consumed by hatred and vengeance. Macrinus, who would sooner condemn Rome to ashes than rule it wisely. Do you not see the madness in this?”

Caius remains silent, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with barely concealed frustration.

You take a step closer, your resolve hardening with each word. “You would hand Rome to a tyrant worse than the fools who rule it now. At least they are too dim-witted to bring swift ruin. But Macrinus? He would destroy Rome before the year is out.”

“Enough,” Caius growls, but you press on, undeterred.

“Stop this treachery, Caius. Call off your schemes, or I swear on the gods themselves—I will stop them for you.”

The room falls into a charged silence, your words echoing against the stone walls. Caius says nothing, his gaze fixed on you, sharp and calculating. But you see the hesitation, the cracks in his once-unshakable confidence.

For a moment, you think he might relent. But even if he doesn’t, your path is clear. Rome’s future—and Lucius’ freedom—depends on your strength. And you will not falter.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

taglist : @tsunchani @willowpains @beau-hawkins @987coley @mmkkzz @a-dizzle777 @allthingsimagines

#lucius verus x y/n #lucius verus x you #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #gladiator 2 fic #hanno x reader #paul mescal fic #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal x y/n

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 month ago

Text

Foxglove Downs Chapter 3: The Race

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Teen. (Eventual E. MDNI) Summary: Marcus is jealous, Lucius is charming, and Sunny is stuck in the middle. Warnings: Love triangle, horse talk, jealousy, pining, angst, flirting, a kiss, wet Lucius, one slap across the face, age gap (Marcus is in his 40’s, Lucius is in his 20’s). Reader is in her 30's, has hair, and has a nickname: Sunny. Words: 4,000

A/N: Listen, IDK what'd I'd do without @devineconjuring's help and amazing beta work. She's the best and she always imparts wisdom like... ...how I can still take a bath with a toaster... if I just don't plug it in. Also she yells at me and calls me names because I use too many ...'s and I can't stop talking about Lucius's eyes being blue. Soooooooo... ... ... ... I 🩵 her... ... ... Thank you to @artsy-girl-76 for the Lucius pic colorization and everyone who helped me stop overthinking about photo decisions. 😉

Foxglove Downs Masterlist Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Days have passed since the moment Marcus saw you while you were under the warm comfort of Lucius’s jacket. You busy yourself with your daily tasks, checking on the horses and taking care of your breeding program. But the less you see of Marcus, the more his pull on you consumes your thoughts–especially the intensity of his stare when he saw you that morning Lucius dropped you off.

He’s kept his distance since, choosing instead to communicate through brief messages about a few business matters. You wanted to speak to him, yet he seemed to be in a hurry every time you saw him, always heading in the opposite direction.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was avoiding you, yet you could feel his deep brown eyes on you whenever you were near him.

—-

“Sunny,” he calls out one afternoon, breaking through your peaceful reverie as you lead your horse Harvey out for a ride.

“Yes?” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the nervous fluttering in your chest.

“Can we talk?” His voice is low, making all surrounding noise fade away.

“I was just about to go for a ride. Do you want to join? Maybe take Barley out as a treat?”

“Sure,” he responds, his voice still low.

“Okay,” you smile, trying to calm your heart. “Meet you at the back gate in five?”

He nods before heading to the stables.

—-

You greet Marcus as he arrives atop Barley, cantering towards the back gate.

“Ready?” you ask. His face is a mystery, his shoulders tense as he nods. “I figure we’ll just ride to the other side of the lake?”

Another nod without a verbal response.

“Let’s go,” you say, nudging Harvey forward. The horse responds eagerly, trotting out along the well-trodden path that meanders through the lush greenery surrounding Foxglove Downs. Familiar scenery allows your mind to drift, and you wonder what Marcus is thinking about. The beat of hooves on the ground helps you focus back on the present–you can feel Marcus studying you, an air of tension straining between you.

“I’ll never get sick of this ride,” you say, glancing sideways at Marcus, hoping to catch any sign of the thoughts that are hidden behind his stoic facade. His eyes remain ahead, scanning the horizon as if he’s searching for something just beyond reach.

He doesn’t respond. You feel a pang of disappointment.

“Harvey loves this trail,” you continue. “Or maybe he knows that whenever we get to the lake, he always gets a treat.” You chuckle lightly, trying to lighten Marcus’s mood.

His lips twitch, a quick flick of amusement crossing his features before vanishing just as quickly.

“So, Daisy’s looking a lot better already.”

“She is,” he replies tersely.

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh, taking the hint that he doesn’t want to talk just yet.

As you reach the edge of the lake, you pull Harvey to a stop and look at Marcus, sitting tall on Barley.

“Beautiful day,” you remark, attempting to break through the silence as you dismount Harvey and tie him to a nearby tree.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering lake. “It really is.”

Uncertainty charges between you as you pull a small apple out from your saddle bag for Harvey. You offer it to him while keeping an eye on Marcus as he dismounts and finally turns to meet your gaze.

“What did you want to talk about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

His shoulders deflate with a deep sigh as he ties Barley to a nearby tree. His usually composed demeanor seems to waver just a bit.

“Sunny,” he begins, but then stops himself.

You lean against a large oak tree, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Come on, Marcus. Can you just tell me what’s on your mind?” you tease, trying to lift the mood.

He gathers himself, his brow furrowing as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his thumb nervously tapping against his forefinger as if trying to find the right words. “I’ve been thinking about…”

“About what?” you ask, trying to coax him and get rid of the confusion surrounding the two of you.

“Lucius.”

Your eyes widen at his name, your breath caught in your throat. Marcus’s eyes flash darker when he notices your response.

“Lucius?” you echo, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. “What about him?”

He takes a step towards you, his voice careful and questioning. "Tell me… how serious is he about you?"

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, a mixture of shock and annoyance brewing inside you. “S-serious? Is that what you think?” Your tone stays light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness underlying your words.

Marcus takes a step closer, his brown eyes fixed on you, his jaw tense.

“Come on, Sunny, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just business for him.”

You avert your eyes, suddenly finding the leaves of the oak tree far more interesting than the intensity of his stare. “He’s… charming. He flirts. It doesn’t mean he’s serious.”

A thick silence fills the space between you. Tension emanates from Marcus as he closes the distance, trapping you against the tree with his body. Your arms instinctively fall to your sides as he leans in, his chest pressing against yours.

“But you like him,” he states, a note of steel in his voice.

You don’t lie. His closeness pulls at something deep within you. “I… he’s fun,” you manage to say, your breath hitching as your heart races.

His hand tenderly brushes against your cheek, and his touch takes your breath away. “Did it feel good to have fun with him this weekend?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower. A shiver skims along your spine.

“Fun?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath mingles with yours as he hovers just a heartbeat away. “You looked really good in that dress, Sunny. Never seen you in something that short before.”

You swallow hard, trying to maintain your composure as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “Marcus, I—”

“It felt good, didn’t it? To have someone like him give you attention?” A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face before he masks it with anger. “Was it as fun for you as I’m sure it was for him?”

You stand wide-eyed and mouth agape, staring into his dark brown eyes. How dare he. The anger rages inside of you.

“Who the hell do you think I am, Marcus?” you ask, anger raising your voice.

His focus stays on you, unwavering, his expression a blend of frustration and longing. “I think you’re someone who deserves more than just a good fuck and a drive home in a designer car.”

You slap him across the face right then and there. “We didn’t fuck, you asshole.” Your voice is sharp and authoritative. “For the record, he was a perfect gentleman. He saved me from a shitty situation and lent me his bed, which I slept alone in.”

You slide under Marcus’s arm, quickly freeing Harvey and climbing on top of him. "And just so you know, I had a dream about you and I having fun at this lake while I was sleeping ALONE in his bed," you nearly shout.

With a swift kick of your heels, Harvey bolts past him, galloping towards the stables. You glance back briefly to see Marcus standing there, his tall frame silhouetted against the lake.

—-

After a restless night filled with thoughts that shift between deep brown and sparkling blue eyes, you dress in your most comfortable jeans and a loose-fitting shirt before heading down to the stables.

Your horses never leave you feeling trapped. They don’t critique your actions. They will always be by your side.

You lose yourself in the simple jobs, caring for them, grateful for their familiarity and companionship. You feel a sense of peace as you finish your morning tasks in the stables.

As you enter your office, you spot a vase brimming with pink foxgloves on your desk. You reach for the card and read the message. "Please forgive me" is written in angular writing above Marcus’s signature. With a sigh, you toss the card back onto the desk and rub your eyes with your palms, trying to relieve some stress.

This is why you try to keep your distance. This is why you never intended to entangle yourself in the rivalry between Marcus and Lucius. This is why you have always tried to resist both men.

It’s been three hours of trying to focus on work. Your vision blurs and your head pounds as you struggle to make sense of the words on your computer screen. Your heart aches just as much, if not more. You can’t seem to concentrate on anything except the urge to occasionally check out the window to see if Marcus or Lucius are practicing on the grounds.

You grumble to yourself as you get up, throw on your jacket, and head to the stables. Today is not an in-the-office day.

—-

The moment you step into the stables, your worries quiet down. Your boots echo across the cobblestones as you approach the stall where the new stallion is housed. As you get closer, you spot Lucius leaning against the wooden railing, softly talking to the stallion, his voice soothing as he moves steadily closer to the horse.

“Hey there, boy,” he says, extending his hand to pet the stallion’s neck. The horse leans into him, its large dark eyes reflecting trust. You’re captivated by Lucius’s gentleness and patience, unable to look away as you approach.

“Lucius,” you call gently. He looks towards you, a smile full of charm breaking across his face when he spots you.

“I was just meeting the new addition.”

You move closer to him, leaning against the railing beside him, offering your hand for the horse to nuzzle. “His name is Maximus.”

“I think he likes me.”

The gentle smile of joy he gives you fills your heart with a certain feeling–but it’s not the same weighty feeling you get when you’re with Marcus. No, this is a lighter, more hopeful sensation that beats within you.

“Want to take him out for a ride? I’ve been breaking him, and he’s responding great. I’ll take him there, you take him back. Maybe you can grab Edgar? He’s about the only horse Maximus can stand. ”

Lucius raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting his blue eyes. “I’d love nothing more.”

“Perfect,” you say with a nod, heading towards the tack room.

Lucius follows you in, reaching for his boots and Edgar’s saddle.

“You want to help me with Maximus first?” you ask as you grab the stallion’s saddle.

“Of course.”

Maximus stands in his stall, watching as you both approach with a saddle and bridle.

Lucius gently places the saddle onto his back while he whispers sweetly to him. His hands work skillfully, knowing exactly how to read the stallion and take care of him. It’s like he’s known Maximus for years.

You pick up Edgar’s saddle and head to his stall, allowing Lucius to finish up Maximus.

You struggle with one of the straps on Edgar’s saddle, softly swearing to yourself as you hear Lucius’s boot steps approach.

“That one is a pain,” Lucius says, leaning in. “Here, let me show you how to do it.”

You try to steady your breathing as he guides your hands through the motions, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he adjusts the straps.

“You know, if you keep this up, I might have to hire you as my official saddle strap consultant,” you tease.

Lucius chuckles softly as he takes a step back, allowing you to secure the last strap on Edgar’s saddle yourself.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he praises, giving you a warm smile that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Once both horses are saddled and ready, you lead Maximus out of his stall while Lucius brings Edgar up alongside you.

The afternoon sun warms your skin as you guide Maximus along the cobblestone path that leads toward the back gate. You still can’t help but look around the grounds, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Marcus.

Lucius mounts Edgar, and you swing yourself onto Maximus, the stallion shifting beneath you, eager for a run.

“Race you to the lake?” Lucius challenges as the two of you make your way out onto the trail behind the grounds.

“Yeah?” your eyebrow raises as a smile lights your face. “I don’t think I’ve raced in years.”

“Maximus looks like he’s ready, but Edgar’s fast. Loser has to jump in the lake?”

You laugh, your head tilting back and your head shaking. “Now? Jump in the lake now?”

“You heard me,” his eyes are alight with joy, making your smile stay on your face.

“Are we twelve?”

“Fine, if you win, you can push me in… and If I win, you have to… kiss me,” he offers.

“So, we’re twelve,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

“So… deal?”

“Deal,” you say, your cheeks hurting from smiling.

“Count it down then, Sunny.”

“3… 2… 1!” you shout, kicking Maximus into a gallop. The world you know so well blurs into a streak of greens as Maximus surges forward. The wind whips against your body as the rhythmic thud of hooves against the trail echoes through the air.

You glance back over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Lucius wearing a smile as he commands Edgar confidently.

You can feel Maximus’s excitement beneath you, feeling his happy spirit as he races ahead.

Edgar gains, matching Maximus’s stride. You look over at Lucius, his expression fierce yet playful. He meets your focus and sends you a wink as he shifts forward, pushing Edgar to go faster.

You also lean forward, urging Maximus to give it his all. “Come on, boy!” you whisper fiercely. Maximus pulls ahead just a little more, the lake glimmering in the distance as it gets closer and closer.

“Come on, Edgar!” Lucius calls out, but his voice is fading as you gain ground ahead of him and the trees thin out the closer you get to the water.

“Almost there!” you shout over your shoulder, laughter spilling from your lips as you sense Lucius straining behind you. “You better catch up!”

Soon, the lake is fully revealed to you, the water’s edge just within reach as Maximus gallops towards it, Lucius and Edgar much farther behind now. You and the young stallion easily win the race as you reach the water’s edge.

You pull Maximus to a halt at the edge of the shimmering lake, the stallion snorting and stamping his hooves in triumph as if he understands the victory you’ve just claimed.

“I win!” you shout, unable to contain your excitement. You slide off Maximus, your heart still racing from the ride and the sight of Lucius approaching. His body is framed against the bright blue sky that matches the color of his eyes. He dismounts Edgar and jogs over, his breath coming in quick bursts, yet a broad grin remains plastered across his face.

“You got me this time,” he concedes.

“Just this time?” you tease.

“I guess next time, I’ll ride harder. But for now…” he pauses, glancing at the lake, then back at you. “A deal’s a deal.”

He strides towards the dock, a small wooden structure stretching out into the lake. Its weathered planks creak softly beneath his weight, the water rippling in the warm breeze as Lucius reaches the edge of it.

“Wait! You don’t have to—” You start to protest, but it’s too late.

Lucius leaps off the dock, and time seems to slow as he jumps into the air. His body gracefully twists before hitting the water with a large splash.

Your laughter echoes across the lake as he emerges from the water, his white shirt now drenched. You can’t stop looking at him and how the now-transparent fabric clings to his muscles.

His blue eyes lock on to yours, a smoldering look sent your way. You feel like you’re in trouble, like he’s almost angry with you. That is, until a broad smile breaks across his face and he runs toward you.

Before you can react, Lucius tackles you to the grass, his wet body crashing down over yours. You gasp as the coolness of his skin meets yours, the weight of him pressing you into the earth beneath. Laughter escapes your lips as he grins down at you, water dripping from tendrils of his brown hair and his strong nose.

“Now who's winning?” he teases, his breath warm against your face.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you reply as you squirm beneath him, trying to find a comfortable position without pushing him off. The way he looks at you–half-smirking with his bright eyes shining–makes it hard to focus on anything else.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, leaning in closer.

Your heart pounds, no longer from the race, but from Lucius. He hovers above you, and it’s just you and him. The imposing oak tree that Marcus pushed you up against is only a few feet away, but it disappears from your periphery when Lucius’s gaze drops to your mouth.

“Sunny…” his voice changes, becoming lower and more serious.

You swallow hard, caught in the pull of him. “What are you—”

But before you can finish your thought, he closes the small space between you, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle yet searing kiss. You feel your heart beat faster as you respond instinctively, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands cradle your face as you let out a soft sigh, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

But just as quickly as it begins, reality crashes into you like a splash of cold water.

You pull back abruptly and breathlessly. “Lucius,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper as you grapple with the sudden rush of emotions swirling within you. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”

He lifts himself off you, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but the playful sparkle in his eyes remains. You sit up carefully, brushing blades of grass from your hair while trying to regain your composure.

“I mean…” you stammer, searching for the right words amidst the haze of what just happened. “This is—it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly in confusion. He leans back on his hands, water still glistening on his skin under the afternoon sun. The way he looks at you—both amused and intrigued—makes it hard to maintain any semblance of seriousness.

“Yes! The whole business of it all,” you say, waving an arm towards the stables in the distance. “We both know how small this world is.”

You don’t mention to him that it’s because the lips you truly desire belong to his biggest rival.

Lucius chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Sunny, I’m fine with calling this whole thing a… business meeting.” He raises an eyebrow. “One kiss isn’t going to ruin your carefully constructed empire.”

You feel your cheeks warm at his teasing. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You know this whole world is riddled with… rivalries. If word gets out… well, it will complicate things.”

“Sunny,” he says, his voice growing more earnest. “I’m not interested in gossip or rivalries. I’m interested in you.”

You glance away, taking a moment to collect yourself. He looks at you like he sees right through you.

“But what about Marcus?” you ask finally.

Lucius lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his damp hair, sending droplets flying in every direction. “What about him? Why does Marcus matter?”

“Lucius, I like you, but I just… I–”

“Sunny, look at me,” he softly commands.

You obey, your eyes meeting his. His face is understanding, a gentle smile lifting his lips that you can still feel against yours.

“I understand,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go on. Just know, I’m here for you, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Some of the weight sitting atop your shoulders—and your heart—lifts. “I’d like to have you as I’ve had you–as a friend,” you offer.

“Of course,” he grins, his handsome face and sweet voice reassuring.

You shift closer to him, resting your head against his still-damp shirt as you sit in companionable silence, watching the sun begin to set.

—-

“So, you want to ride Maximus back to the stables?” you ask as you and Lucius walk over to the horses. “I’d love to see how he runs for you.”

“I’d love nothing more,” he replies.

“Just remember,” you say as Lucius moves to mount the stallion, “he can be a bit stubborn. Handle him firmly—but with care.”

Lucius laughs, swinging himself up onto Maximus. “No wonder he and I get along.”

You mount Edgar and give him a gentle nudge with your heels as Lucius maneuvers Maximus to trot ahead of you.

You trail behind, admiring as you observe how Lucius interacts with the horse.

“Keep your heels down!” you call out teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah! Is that your only complaint on my form?” he asks over his shoulder. “I’m a champion, Sunny. I don’t need your opinion. I pay many people to yell at me about my form!”

You shake your head and laugh. There’s something so uncomplicated about this moment—the laughter, the beautiful sunset, the understanding Lucius has shown your heart.

As the back gate comes into view, a bit of sadness settles in you now that your impromptu ride with Lucius is over.

The last time you approached this gate from the lake, Marcus had made you feel so small that you could almost still feel the tears stinging in your eyes.

As you dismount from Edgar and guide him through the gate, Lucius follows with Maximus, the two of you leading the horses to their stalls and bringing their saddles to the tack room.

“Thanks for letting me ride Maximus,” Lucius says, putting the stallion’s saddle away.

“You commanded him perfectly,” you compliment as you pick up a brush to groom Maximus’s coat.

“Perfectly, huh? You know, after one ride, I’m ready to purchase.”

“He’s not cheap–champion bloodline and all,” you say, heading back to Maximus’s stall.

“I’m sure I could afford him. Not every day you find a horse that truly connects with you.”

You nod in agreement—until the memory of how Marcus also commanded Maximus during the stallion’s arrival overtakes your brain.

Lucius watches as you enter Maximus’s stall and begin to brush the stallion’s glossy black coat.

“I should probably get going,” he says reluctantly, checking his watch. “I have a planning meeting about Rome early tomorrow morning, and then I’m training all day. Thank you for today. I needed it.”

“I needed it too,” you reply softly, walking closer to the stall gate.

“Maybe I’ll see you around tomorrow?” he asks hopefully as he moves to stand in front of the gate and reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Definitely,” you smile. “Come see me in my office. I have your jacket.”

“Keep it. Like I said,” he says, his eyes looking you up and down. Even in your baggiest pair of jeans and loosest fitting shirt, he still makes you feel like the most attractive woman on earth. “You look much better in it.”

He turns to leave, and you watch him go with a slight pang in your chest before you turn back to the soothing work of caring for your horses.

—-

Thank you for reading! Tagging those who asked and some friends! Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@ohheypedrito, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, @sawymredfox, @devineconjuring

@mothandpidgeon, @hellfire-state-of-mind, @darkheartgatita, @umnitsa, @christinamadsen

@pedrit0-pascalit0, @ace-turned-confused, @itwasntimethatdidit40, @lotusbxtch, @almostfoxglove

@lady--lynn, @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup, @copperhalfcent, @ferns-fics, @thesoftdumbass

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eroselless · 21 days ago

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─────────────── the spaces between us // 2

[paul mescal x reader]

masterlist | part 1

warnings: kinda angst, sort of complicated family dynamics

note: hiii sorry it took me a little longer to get this out. i originally wanted to post the next part a few days ago but I came down with a nasty cold and could not sit down to focus. hope y'all enjoy it!

The soft patter of footsteps pulls you from your sleep much earlier than usual, a familiar giggle echoing through the quiet house. As you stir, you recognize the laughter—the one that never fails to bring a smile to your face. With a quiet sigh, you slip out of bed and wander into the kitchen.

The room hums with life. The gentle clink of cutlery against porcelain mingles with hushed murmurs, shushes, and the sound of laughter that fills the space. The first rays of sunlight filter through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the scene.

At the kitchen island, Paul and Callum sit together, sharing a pancake. Callum picks at the edges, pulling out the chocolate chips poking through, giggling as Paul swipes a few from the bowl beside them. The moment feels peaceful, intimate in a way that tugs at your heartstrings.

Leaning against the doorframe, you can’t help but smile at how easily they fall into sync. Callum stretches across the plate, tugging the bowl of chocolate from Paul’s hands. “Uncle P, stop stealing the chocolate chips!”

Paul glances up, a mischievous glint in his eye as he chews dramatically. “I’m quality-checking them, mate.”

Callum bursts into uncontrollable giggles, his face alight with pure joy before stuffing a handful of chocolate into his mouth, just like his uncle.

You clear your throat softly, and they both turn toward you. Paul’s blue eyes crinkle warmly with a smile, a look mirrored almost perfectly in Callum’s face—Niamh’s eyes, the same striking shade of blue shared across their family.

“Mamaíín!” Callum cries, nearly toppling off his seat as he rushes toward you. His sticky hands wrap around your legs, his face nuzzling into your middle as he beams up, mouth smudged with chocolate. “We made pancakes!” he exclaims proudly, tugging you toward the counter. “Uncle Paul let me do the whisking!”

“Oh, did he?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at Paul.

Paul shrugs casually, leaning back in his chair. “He insisted. And I wasn’t about to argue with the chef.”

You chuckle softly, pulling out plates for yourself and Niamh. As you put the coffee on, ready to start the day, you feel Paul’s gaze linger on you for a moment before he turns back to Callum. Moments later, Niamh appears in the doorway, sharp as always, her notebook and phone balanced in one hand.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” she asks.

Your eyes flick briefly to Paul, who raises an eyebrow as if sensing the shift in tone, before you follow Niamh into the hallway. Her usual composed demeanor falters ever so slightly as she turns back to you.

“I need the house to myself today,” she says bluntly. “Callum’s father is coming by to pick up a few things, and… it’s not something I want Callum around for.”

You blink in surprise, catching the strain in her voice. “Of course. I’d planned to take him out today anyway. It works perfectly.”

Her shoulders relax faintly, though her voice remains tight. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “Paul can go with you. He’s got nothing else to do, but I’d prefer Callum not be alone with him all day.” You understand the implication—trust him, but not entirely. “We’ll keep him busy.”

When you arrive at the community center, it’s buzzing with its usual chaos. The building, modest and tucked at the edge of town, is alive with bright posters, hand-painted murals, and the unmistakable scent of too many feet. Children squeal and race around, filling the space with noise and energy. You unclip Callum’s coat, and he bolts into the crowd, a toy airplane clutched in hand.

Paul trails behind as you find a seat in the parents’ waiting area. Hands shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, he looks distinctly out of place. “Didn’t think I’d ever feel intimidated by toddlers,” Paul murmurs softly.

“You’ll survive,” you reply, suppressing a grin at his unease.

“I don’t like being outnumbered,” he mutters, glancing nervously at the many curious eyes turned your way. You wave at a few familiar faces before settling into a chair. Paul watches the scene before him, bemused.

“This is madness,” he chuckles. “There’s no way we were this loud as kids.”

“You probably were,” you tease lightly.

Callum soon spots you both, his voice rising above the chatter. “Look! I’m making a castle!” He grins, holding up a tower of oversized blocks. Paul smiles. “You’re an architect, mate.”

Just then, a tall brunette in a fitted sweater saunters over, her smile a touch too bright, her gaze fixed on Paul. “Well, well, Callum’s uncle, is it?” she purrs, her words dripping with sugary charm. “I thought you were a myth. It’s nice to finally see you back in town.”

Paul straightens awkwardly, caught off guard. “Uh… just visiting for the holidays.”

Her smile tightens as she gives you a once-over, her silent question clear: What’s he doing here with you?

“How lovely for you,” another woman chimes in, her tone sharper than her smile. “Having company must make things so much easier.”

Your cheeks flush at the insinuation, a pit settling in your stomach. “Oh, it’s not—” you begin, glancing at Paul, who has been pulled into Callum’s growing block tower project.

“Isn’t it?” the brunette—Maeve, you realize—drawls smugly. “I mean, who wouldn’t want someone… handsome to share the load?”

A third woman, gentler but still teasing, interjects. “Oh, leave her be. You’re just jealous, Maeve. If I had someone like him tagging along, I’d be smiling too.”

Maeve laughs sharply. “Careful, sweetie, or we might just steal him from you.”

Before you can muster a reply that doesn’t sound defensive, Callum’s small hands tug at yours, breaking the tension like only he can. “Mamaíín, we need you! Uncle Paul keeps messing up our pirate tower.”

Relieved, you let Callum drag you toward the community garden, an open space enclosed by glass walls that let the crisp winter light stream in. The air is a little sharper, less dull than it is outside, the walls only offering you a little bit of shelter from the December air.

You crouch beside him, seeing the remnants of a tower. Callum is huffing, taking sticks and stones from Paul’s hands as he sits next to the partial tower.

“We need the strong ones,” Callum declares, shifting through smaller ones in his hands and tossing them away. “This one’s going to be really tall. Tall enough to see all the pirates!”

You laugh at how he keeps taking sticks from Paul, frustrated at his uncle's lack of pirate tower building knowledge. You brush hair from your face as you collect bigger stones. “We’ll need a solid base first. Otherwise, the tower will topple as soon as there’s any wind.”

Callum nods solemnly, getting down to help you. Paul sits still, watching you both. His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but his gaze almost contemplative.

“Callum, just look at how careful she is,” he says suddenly, his tone light.

You glance up, a little confused. “Careful?” Callum makes the same face, watching as his uncle shifts in his spot.

He gestures vaguely to the stick in your hands, lucking one out of your open palm. “The way you handle things. Like a bird—delicate, precise.”

Before you can even think of a response, Callum’s face lights up, his giggle bright. “Oh, yes! Like a mamaíín bird!”

You blink, startled. “A what?”

Callum giggles, clearly delighted with himself. “A mamaíín bird! You’re little, and you take care of everything, like the birdies do!”

Paul chuckles softly, crouching beside Callum. “He’s got a point. You are a bit bird-like.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

Paul grins, his blue eyes meeting yours for a beat longer than necessary. “Oh, it is. Trust me, Birdie.”

The way he says it—low, teasing, yet laced with warmth—sends an unexpected flutter in your chest. You turn your face away, hoping to hide the flush on your cheeks, but the name lingers in the air settling into something unspoken yet significant.

“Mamaíín bird, can we make a nest too?” Callum tugs at your sleeve, breaking the moment.

You laugh, ruffling his hair. “Let’s finish the tower first, and then we’ll see about a nest.”

Paul leans back on his heels, his smirk widening. “Careful, Birdie. Looks like you’re getting roped into full-time bird duties.”

You glance at him, your smile faint but genuine. “As long as you’re willing to help.”

“Of course,” he replies, his voice playful but steady.

You sit there for another half hour, the tower collapsing a few more times before it finally stands. Callum, satisfied, dashes off to collect pirate swords, leaving you and Paul behind. He sits quietly, twisting a twig between his fingers.

“He’s been calling me that for a while—mamaíín,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “But he won’t tell me what it means.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Has he now?”

You hum, brushing dirt from your hands. “And Niamh won’t explain it either, something about not wanting to bring too much attention to it.”

Paul chuckles softly, his tone turning more serious. “Mamaíín… it’s Irish. A diminutive, like a pet name. It means ‘little mummy.’”

Your breath catches slightly as you glance at him. “Little mummy?”

Paul nods, his gaze steady, thoughtful. “It’s affectionate. It’s how he sees you. Someone who takes care of him. Someone he trusts.”

The weight of the explanation settles warmly in your chest, heavy and tender all at once. “Oh,” you murmur, turning back to the half-finished tower. “That’s… sweet.”

“It is,” Paul agrees quietly. “And fitting.”

There’s something in his voice—gentle, sincere—that makes your cheeks flush. Before you can respond, Callum charges back, shouting about needing rocks for a cannon.

Paul ruffles Callum’s hair as he joins in, leaving you alone for just a moment to let the weight of his words settle.

✧・゚: ✧・゚:

The playgroup winds down mid-afternoon, the earlier chaos subsiding as the children begin to tire out and parents begin gathering their things. Callum’s cheeks are flushed as he clings to Paul, one hand caught in his while the other wobbles his airplane.

“Seems like you’ve got a fanclub now,” you murmur to Paul as you tug Callum’s jacket back on.

Paul groans faintly, clearly uncomfortable from all the wandering eyes and snarky comments. “Yeah, Maeve’s got me down as her next trophy.”

You laugh under your breath, but the moment is cut short as your phone buzzes in your back pocket with a message from Niamh.

Niamh: This is taking a little longer than expected, would you be able to pick up some groceries on your way home? I’ll send you a list.

You frown slightly at the message, feeling for her frustration. Soon another message pings through, the list of items she needs.

“Everything alright?” Paul asks, crouching to help Callum with his snow boots.

“Niamh needs a few things from the shop,” you say, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Since we’re already out.”

Paul straightens up, almost effortlessly scooping Callum up into his arms. “Groceries it is, then. My culinary expertise might come in handy.”

“You mean sneaking crisps into the cart?” you tease lightly.

Paul smirks, poking at Callum’s red cheeks. “Can’t let him grow up without the essentials.”

The town’s grocery store is quiet when you get there, smelling of fresh bread and cleaning supplies. Callum rides in the cart, humming to himself as he waves his airplane around.

“Alright,” you start, scrolling through Niamh’s list on your phone. “Alright,” you say, scrolling through Niamh’s list on your phone. “Milk, bread, eggs… and tea.”

“Don’t forget snacks,” Paul chimes in, grabbing a bag of crisps off the shelf and tossing it into the cart with practiced ease.

You glare at him playfully. “Those weren’t on the list.”

Paul simply shrugs, pushing the cart forward. “Snacks are the universal currency, right Callum?”

“Yes!” the boy pipes up, snagging a bag of treats from his uncle's hands. You roll your eyes but can't stop the giggle that falls from your lips as you continue down the aisles, Paul slipping forbidden treats into the cart whenever you turn away, Callum laughing conspiratorially under his breath.

At the dairy section, you stop to reach for a carton of milk, looking for a specific brand. Before you can react, Paul, ever observant, grabs it for you, handing it over as Callum babbles about pirates and towers.

“Thanks,” you murmur, a smile trying to make its way onto your face.

“Anytime, Birdie,” the man replies, the nickname slipping out so effortlessly you feel like you could drop the carton of milk he just slid into your hands. You narrow your eyes at him, but his attention is elsewhere, already halfway down the aisle, rambling about what tea you should get.

As you catch up to the pair of boys, a woman pauses next to you. She’s a stout elderly woman, her long hair cascading down her back. She watches as Paul listens in wonder as Callum chatters away about “canon towers.”

“Well, don’t you have a handsome boy there,” she coos, smiling at him warmly. Callum beams, holding up his toy airplane for her to admire.

The woman then looks between you and Paul, her sharp eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You two must be so proud. He’s the spitting image of his father.”

Your heart jolts. “Oh—no, he’s—”

But before you can explain, Paul stammers, “I’m just his uncle—”

The woman waves a hand dismissively, clearly not listening. “It’s always the way, isn’t it? The mother does all the work—nine months of carrying, all those sleepless nights—only for the little one to come out looking like his da.”

You freeze, heat creeping up your neck, unsure whether to laugh or correct her again. Paul, equally flustered, rubs the back of his neck. “Er—he’s not mine. She’s—”

The woman isn’t paying attention anymore, her focus back on Callum as she coos again, “Lucky boy to have such loving parents.”

Before either of you can say another word, she shuffles off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Callum, still oblivious, turns in the cart and beams up at Paul. “Uncle Paul, did you hear? I look like you!”

Pail blinks, letting out a quiet slightly awkward laugh. “Seems like the Mescal genes are strong in you, mate.”

You stare down at the tea in your hands, unsure how to respond. Callum, thankfully, breaks the tension. “Uncle Paul, look! It’s pirate tea!” He’s holding a box with cockatoos on it, a hibiscus flower on the front.

Paul clears his throat, ruffling Callum’s hair as he grins faintly. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.”

The awkward feeling lingers between you as you make your way to the checkout. Paul insists on loading the bags into the cart while once again Callum chatters away, entirely oblivious to the exchange.

As you step outside, the sky now much darker than before, Paul finally breaks the silence. “That was… something.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “It happens more often than you’d think.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, “People thinking I’m your husband?”

You roll your eyes, the teasing note in his voice making your cheeks warm up for the umpteenth time today. “People making assumptions. Families come in different shapes and sizes, you know.”

Paul glances at you, something thoughtful in his expression, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he focuses on Callum, who’s waving his airplane toward the horizon like it’s searching for treasure.

“Where to next, Captain?” Paul asks, his voice light.

“Home!” Callum shouts, his enthusiasm unending.

You smile softly as you lead the way to the car, feeling a warmth you can’t quite explain settle in your chest.

✧・゚: ✧・゚:

The house is quiet when you arrive, the silence feeling heavier than it did before. There's a single glass of wine sitting on the counter, its contents empty, save for a few drops at the bottom.

Callum charges up to play, disappearing and fully unaware of the somber mood in the house. You and Paul settle into unpacking the groceries in the kitchen, the soft rustle of bags and clinking of glass on the counter filling the empty room.

It's not long before Niamh appears in the doorway, almost echoing this morning’s encounter. Her shirt isn’t as crisp as it was this morning, her eyes now rimmed with red and remnants of mascara. She looks exhausted, pieces of her auburn hair slipping loose from her carefully coiffed bun.

“Groceries?” she asks, her voice slightly clipped.

“All here,” you reply, gesturing to the half empty bags that are still left lined up on the counter.

Her eyes skim over the unpacked items, flicking over to Paul briefly before settling back on you. “Thank you, I appreciated it.”

The words are simple but her tone is strained, you can feel the weight on her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, drawing closer to where she’s standing by the archway. Her arms are crossed over her chest—a sort of coping mechanism she’s passed on to Callum.

“It’s been a long day. I had… some conversations that were necessary.” Her words falter for a moment, her gaze dropping before she masks it quickly. “Nothing to worry about.”

You glance at Paul, who’s watching Niamh carefully, his brows furrowed. There’s questions in his eyes but he doesn’t voice them. He lets her stand on her own, just as she always has.

“If you need anything…” you begin gently, reaching out to put a hand on her arm but she pulls it away before it lands. She shakes her head.

“Thank you. You’ve done enough,” she says. On any other occasion, you’d feel a bite to her words but they sound more like a quiet admission. Her eyes soften as she meets yours. “He’s happy with you, that’s what matters.”

The weight of the words settle in the air around you, you’re not sure whether it’s a compliment or something else—a reminder of what she’s failing to do herself.

Niamh’s gaze flicks to Paul again, lingering. “Callum shouldn’t be up late. Keep an eye on him.”

With that, she leaves the kitchen, her footsteps soft as she retreats upstairs.

a/n: haiiii, if you gotten this far I wanted to say thank you for reading! any feedback and reblogs are appreciated :)))

#paul mescal x reader #paul mescal fic #paul mescal

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