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His Delicate Flower Of Rome


Summary: when Lucius found out you were Marcus Acacius’s daughter he knew he had to have you, and when the opportunity was right he wasn’t holding back
Warnings: explicit content, mature themes, smut, unprotected sex, slightly dom Lucius, submissive reader, smidge of spanking
A/N: hello my lovelies! I was genuinely surprised that there isn’t more fics of Paul or Lucius out there so I wanted to write something for him, and hope everyone likes it and share your thoughts on if I should keep writing for him! If you wish to be added to a tag list please let me know! Or if you have any requests do not hesitate to submit it to my inbox! Don’t forget to reblog and comment! Thank you! XOXO
Hall Of Hunks
Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

"That's it flower, that's a good woman." Soft praises echoing in your ear as you sank down on Lucius's erect length. His calloused hands caressing your skin so tenderly. "Are you feeling all of me?"
"Mhm." Struggling to find the right words as you concentrated more on adjusting around his cock. Twisting your face in an unusual manner he couldn't resist as he leaned forward to place light kisses on your heated cheeks and temple.
"Do the gods hold your tongue? Can you not speak?" Keeping his voice deep and low as his words teased you.
"Lucius please." Whimpering pathetically as you continued to grind your hips back and forth. Lucius chuckling at how eager and desperate you were for him.
"Do you enjoy fucking gladiators? Does that moisten your thighs? Does your father know what a whore you are?" He taunted you as you bit your bottom lip realizing that his words held more truth than you wanted. Soon as Lucius found out you were Marcus Acacius's daughter he wasted no time in seducing you. "I've been longing to feel this cunt around me for too long."
He loved the feeling of your skin touching his. The way your body had molded into his so perfectly. A fierce bloodthirsty champion of the arena was holding you like a delicate flower. Lucius was enjoying this way more than he intended, and was already planning on never letting you go.
"Gods you are tight." Large hands holding the fat flesh of your thighs his thumb stroking your skin soothingly. Feeling so warm and incredibly deep. "You have not been fucked the way you should be."
Nodding your head in agreement unable to speak as you wrapped your hands around his thick neck. Beginning to tremble as you moved your legs to raise yourself better. Lucious guiding your hips now as he looked down to where you two were connected.
"Take it easy I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." Noticing how aggressively you were bouncing on his cock. Even as his hands swatted your backside in warning you still continued to ignore him. So lost in the clouds you didn't want to come down.
"I can do it Lucius." Assuring him with such innocent eyes he couldn't help but smirk at how badly you wanted this. "Gods you are so big."
"Fuck." He grunts before pulling your body on top of his as he laid along the bed. He was surprised how soft it was considering he had been sleeping on stone for so long.
Gasping as he lifted his knees and started to pound into your cunt with absolutely no mercy giving you exactly what you wanted. His lips warm and desperate as they peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder. His hands keeping a firm grip on your ass using it as leverage.
"Oh gods." Crying out as he growled in your ear with such animosity it had a shiver running down your spine.
"The gods will never make you feel like this." Hissing into your ear and in just mere seconds tears are glistening in your eyes with such intensity. "Only my cock can bring you to such pleasure."
"Yes, my champion." We're all the words Lucius needed to hear before he suddenly flipped you on your back his cock never slipping from inside you. Grabbing your legs and placing them on his shoulders, as he got right back into the same rhythm.
Drilling into your sweet spot as he leaned forward slightly his face right above yours. Lucius was oozing with confidence in everything that he did. Whether it was in the colosseum or the bedroom. Bit surprised that a man like him would want anything to do with the generals daughter.
"I'm close." Informing him as your body started to shake a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach. Head tossed back in complete ecstasy as you couldn't hold back anymore.
"Let go I am right here." Cooing into your ear like he was revealing his secrets. His deep and seductive tone was sending you right over the edge.
"Oh gods." Crying out as your orgasm was swiftly approaching still sensitive from your previous release by his tongue. Lucius looking down at your remarkable expression unable to look anywhere else. Loving that he was the one in control, and held all this power in your pleasure. It made him feel like a god.
Your senses were extremely heightened, and feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable. Not sure how much longer you could hold on. Lucius could sense this, and he knew what would help relieve you.
"Let me see those beautiful eyes." He instructed to which you immediately followed not seeing that he was reaching a hand down between your bodies to your puffy clit. Rubbing rapid circles making you scream hands scratching along his back surely leaving marks.
Your ribcage rising and falling with each quick breath. Hands falling down to your side feeling loose and numb. Stomach trembling from the resounding orgasm you just experienced. Your battered cunt was so sore from being stretched and abused. Feeling his hands gently caressing your trembling thighs as he stayed still inside of you.
“The gods have surely blessed me on this night.” Speaking trying to catch his breath as he smiled down at you.
“Seems the gods bless you every night.” Moving from underneath him his cock slipping out as he laid next to you. The only sound you could hear was the water fountain outside of your room, and the crackles from the fireplace. Expecting Lucius to gather himself, and never speak to you again.
“Take comfort in my arms, and I will hold you while you sleep.” Pulling your body against his before you could say anything. The unexpected gesture made you feel something that you’ve never felt before. “Sleep my delicate flower.”
#paul mescal imagines#paul mescal smut#Paul mescal#Paul mescal blurb#Paul mescal x reader#lucius verus#Lucius verus smut#Lucius verus x reader#Lucius verus blurb#Lucius verus imagines#Paul mescal fic#Paul mescal fanfiction#Lucius verus fanfiction#gladiator ii smut#gladiator II#gladiator 2#gladiator
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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.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
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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─────────────── 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 catches you off guard. Though you don't know what it means, it feels too intimate. The way his little voice says it is far 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 :)
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broken valentine
summary: a lonely valentine leads you to a night with your neighbor pairing: paul mescal x male reader word count: 1.5k warning: male reader smut!
| masterlist |



The TV goes silent as your mind falls into the abyss. Images on the screen turn into a blurred showcase of color as you sink deeper into the couch, a bottle of beer in one hand and the remote in the other—Valentine’s— what a stupid day, you thought.
You took a swig of your beer, the bitterness elating your senses. The day has been dreadful for you. Traffic congestion on each road on your way home, lines like a concert outside each restaurant, and couples parading their loveall over the city.
You tried to scroll on social media too, each post a profession of their admiration for their significant other. The TV, playing another cheesy rom-com. In your frustration, you threw the remote at your wall — a loud bang against the drywall, the plastic remote exploding into a thousand pieces.
In a few minutes, there was a knock at your door. You dragged yourself to open it, your gait sluggish from the booze. Your eyes widened to see that it was your neighbor—well the neighbor. The neighbor you secretly lusted for, whom you gawked at every time he went out for a jog in his cropped shirt and short shorts, barely showing the trail beneath his belly button and his thick biker thighs.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, pale blue eyes pierced through yours with soft pink lips agape.
“Yeah—I thought I saw a fly on the wall,” you stammered trying to come up with a haphazard excuse.
He wore nothing but his small worn-out shirts and loose boxers. His chest is wide against the frail blue fabric, you can faintly see his nipples poking through, his chest hair barely showing atop his sternum. Your eyes went down his abdomen, the ungodly cropped shirt showing his toned belly. Then to his boxers, those loose old kind, the cloth hung so loose you for sure saw what was underneath.
He coughed, your eyes going back to his. “Sorry, I’ve been drinking,” you said, scratching the back of your head. He smirked, almost taunting. Like he was pitying you for being such a loser, like who else drowns themselves in booze during Valentine’s Day?
“‘You mind if I drink with you?” he asked, his hand already on the door.
“Uhm—yeah—sure,” you said, your throat going dry. He walked inside, his head scanning around your apartment, his hands rubbing the side of his thighs as if drying sweaty palms. He looked back at you as you closed the door, your cheeks already burning.
“I guess we’re both alone for today’s occasion,” he said.
“I’m not wasting money on some stupid holiday,” you said, walking to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer. You flipped the bottle against the bottle opener, a sharp clang followed by a crisp sizzle. You hand him the bottle, he quickly takes a swig of the drink. “Plus dating is so overrated.”
He nods. His wavy brown hair tousled against his forehead. “I suppose you’re right, there’s a lot more stuff you can do for fun these days.”
“Yeah? Like what?” you said. He walked closer to you near the border between your dining area and the living room of your small apartment. He takes his hand and presses it against your eyes. You feel his mustache against your lips, rough compared to his soft lips. His kiss was warm and gentle, the lack of sight made it more intense, like a candle pressed near your face.
You feel his other hand against your lower back, pulling you so your abdomens meet, his hardness already forming against yours. A soft whimper leaves your lips, he laughs, his lips curving against yours. “I’m sorry—I was busy drinking too.”
The kiss was too good, like the perfect warmth your body needed, like a drug on its first hit—you simply needed more. You pulled on his toned arms, pressing your lips back to his. His arms hugged your back, moving under your shirt to feel your warm skin. You traced his abdomen under his shirt, your fingers feeling the faint trail, the hard muscle of his abdomen and chest, his perked nipples.
He slowly moved down your face, planting kisses against your neck, your body pulled back as you gave him more control, his arms supporting your weight. He maneuvered his body so that you both were moving towards the couch. He fell down the cushions first, taking his shirt off as he stared at you. You pulled off your shirt as well, loosening the drawstring on your shorts so it fell down your ankles. You straddled his thick thighs as you planted kisses against his neck and chest. Saliva left a glistening trail down to his abdomen. You palmed his hardness underneath his boxers, he was panting and moaning. You looked up at him as if to ask for permission. Without uttering a single word, he nodded.
You cursed, this was not how you wanted to spend the day, but it was very much needed. You pulled his boxers down to his ankles, his thick cock stood hard. The tip is aching pink and leaking. You trailed your tongue against the underside of his hardness, one hand palming his balls. You toyed with his tip, licking and sucking while another hand stroked the shaft. You could feel his thighs tighten, his chest heaving.
His hands smoothened your hair, grabbing onto a few locks to push you down and deep into his cock. The girth widened your throat, your nose hitting the base of his cock, your eyes welling with tears. “Fuck—that’s so fucking good,” he moaned. “Can I—fuck—can I fuck your mouth?” he gasped for air as you sucked him in deeper, your wet hands stroking his shaft. You release his cock with a loud pop, your lips swollen and dripping with spit.
He slaps his leaking cock against your lips, another hand holding the back of your head. He pulls you down, you force yourself to go deeper which earns you exasperated moans from the man. He places both hands on the sides of your head, bracing for what will come next. He thrusts into your mouth as if it were a toy he was free to use. He fucked his hips against your throat which hit the roof of your mouth, you wanted to gag, to let go, but the moment was too lustful for you to stop now. He looked down at you with soft blue eyes, his cheeks were pink and his lips glistened as he heaved and moaned.
“You like that?” he said, fucking into your mouth over and over. You nodded, moaning and groaning against his cock, your breathing labored and constricted. He continued to curse, his grip against your hair already tightening. His thrusts became erratic, his thighs shaking. “I’m close—can I cum in your mouth baby?” you nodded, he could have said anything and you would have given him the same response. You wanted this man to do anything he wanted to you.
He let out a loud fuck, his cum spilling down your mouth and spilling at the corners of your lips. His torso spasmed and recoiled as he chased for his orgasm. He looked godly, all lean yet packed with muscle, and a moaning mess on your couch.
After he was able to catch his breath he gestured for you to come up. He positioned you in the exact position where he was, now it was his turn to go down on his knees. He took your boxers off, his large hand already stroking your cock. He took it inside his mouth, his soft and warm mouth engulfing your hardness bringing you into ecstasy. Your fingers trailed through his hair as you squirmed. He took your legs and lifted them so they were resting on his broad shoulders. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs leaving marks.
He lets go of your cock to take two fingers in his mouth, his eyes fixed on you as he did it. A string of spit webs from his lips as he gestures for your hole. He teases it with his fingertips, circling before slowly pressing in. Your hole was tight and warm against his digits, he curled his fingers to tease your spot. You recoiled from the sudden wave of pleasure, a hoarse moan coming out of your lips. He continued to suck on your cock. Stroking your hardness with his tongue and lips as he fucked your hole with his fingers.
Your eyes rolled back into your skull, your vision turning white. You couldn’t help but moan and curse, everything he did brought you closer and closer to release. “Wait—I’m—fuck—I’m so fucking close,” you gasped, your orgasm ripping through you without a warning. Your body tensed as if coiling into a knot, your muscles contracting until the final release. He lets go of your cock, and your cum shoots all over his face and your chest, desperate moans escaping from your mouth as you heave. You slumped on the couch—a breathless mess. He chuckled once more, a playful one, wiping the cum on his face and licking them from his fingers. He also went to lick the remaining cum on your abdomen and your chest, before planting a wanton kiss on your lips.
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#paul mescal x reader#paul mescal fic#paul mescal x male reader#paul mescal smut#paul mescal x male reader smut#gladiator ii smut#gladiator ii#all of us strangers#normal people#x male reader#x male reader smut#smut
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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
#marcus acacius#marcus acacius x you#general acacius smut#lucius verus#lucius verus fan fic#gladiator 2#marcus acacius fan fic#marcus acacius x reader#pedro pascal#paul mescal#marcus acacius smut#pedro pascal character fanfiction#general acacius#gladiator ii#gladiator 2 fic#marcus acacius x lucius verus x reader#paul mescal fic#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fic#lucius verus smut
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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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valentine's day special - paul mescal. ♡
love, unsent.
You found them in a shoebox under his bed.
At first, you were just looking for one of his sweaters—one of those oversized, ridiculously cozy ones he always let you steal. But your hand brushed against the worn edges of a box, and curiosity got the best of you. Inside, there were letters. Dozens of them. Your name was on every single envelope.
Your heart started racing.
Paul was in the kitchen, making tea. You could hear him humming softly to some old folk song, completely unaware of the emotional crisis unraveling in the bedroom. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the stack of letters, but then—what the hell? He had hidden them under his bed. It was fair game.
You pulled out the one on top and unfolded it.
Dear love,
You fell asleep on my couch again tonight. I should wake you up, tell you to go to bed properly, but I can’t bring myself to do it. You look so peaceful like this. Sometimes I think about telling you everything—that I love you, that I always have. But then you’d look at me with those eyes, and I’d forget how to speak. Maybe one day I’ll grow a spine and actually hand you one of these letters. Until then, I’ll just keep writing.
Your breath hitched. The next letter was the same. And the next. Every single one of them, filled with thoughts Paul had never said out loud. It was like reading a love story in real-time—except you were the main character, and somehow, you had missed the entire plot.
You were so lost in the words that you didn’t hear him coming in.
“What are you doing?” Paul’s voice was light, amused, but there was an unmistakable panic behind it.
You looked up, letter still in hand, mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“Paul.”
“Love.”
“I—” You waved the letter. “What is this?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh. It’s… nothing?”
“Nothing?” You scoffed. “Paul, this is years of romantic love confessions in letter form. To me.”
He groaned, face turning red. “Okay, fine. Yes. I wrote them. Happy now?”
You grinned. “Very.”
Paul sighed dramatically, flopping onto the bed. “God, this is so embarrassing. I was gonna burn those.”
You gasped in mock horror. “Burn them? Are you insane? These are precious artifacts.”
He covered his face with his hands. “Stop.”
You crawled over to him, letters forgotten, and pried his hands away. “Hey,” you murmured. “Why didn’t you ever give them to me?”
His eyes softened. “I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“You, mostly.”
You laughed. “Me? Paul, I’ve been in love with you for years.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“What?” You mimicked, teasing. “Did you think I was just hanging around, stealing your sweaters, making heart eyes at you for fun?”
“I—I don’t know, I thought you just liked free clothes.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Idiot.”
Paul exhaled, shaking his head, but there was a grin tugging at his lips. “So… what now?”
You leaned in, nose brushing against his. “Now, I think you owe me a proper love confession. In person, not in a letter.”
He hummed, pretending to think. “Hmm. I could do that. Or—” He kissed you, slow and deep, fingers curling into your hair. “I could just show you.”
Your heart practically melted.
“Acceptable,” you whispered.
“Good.” He kissed you again, smiling against your lips. “Because I have about fifty more letters to make up for.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “You know what’s funny? Of all the days for me to find these, it had to be today.”
Paul frowned slightly. “Today?” Then his eyes widened, realization dawning on him. “Oh, God.” He groaned, flopping onto his back. “You found them on Valentine’s Day? That’s just cruel.”
You giggled, resting your chin on his chest. “The universe has impeccable timing.”
He sighed, but there was a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I don’t have to stress about what to get you now.”
You smirked. “Oh, you still do. But this? This was the best surprise.”
Paul rolled his eyes fondly, pulling you closer. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”
And then he kissed you again, making up for every single unsent word.
#paul mescal#paul mescal x reader#paul mescal x you#paul mescal x y/n#paul mescal fanfic#paul mescal fanfics#paul mescal fic#paul mescal imagines#paul mescal imagine#paul mescal fluff#paul mescal blurb#paul mescal scenarios#blurb#fanfics#scenarios#normal people#gladiator ii#fanfic#imagines#fanfic writers#valentines day special
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Defiant Submission
Previously Titled: A Party Most Vile
Lucius Verus x OFC
Mutual non-con, Slavery, Breeding, Angst, Aftercare, Shame
(please check out all the tags listed on Ao3 for full content warning)
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Chapter 1: A Party Most Vile on Ao3 or tumblr
Chapter 2: An Heir on Ao3 or tumblr
New! Chapter 3: Ragged Breaths on Ao3 or under the cut ↓
Words: 7,557
Excerpt:
Lucius knew that she must have gotten with child. Every night, as he attempted to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of her and the babe. But seeing her in the flesh with his child so obviously growing inside of her… He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. All he could do was feel his heart pounding in his chest, a beating drum with an ever-increasing tempo.
AN:
I posted this on Ao3 a while ago but I never got around to making a mood board and posting it here. rip me and my schedule. Enjoy!
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Lucius parried a thrust from a sword with his own as the crowd roared around him. Dry dust hung in the air and irritated his lungs. The other gladiator was new. He was bigger than Lucius, but he was also younger and less experienced. All Lucius had to do was wait for an opening. The other gladiator swung his sword in a wild arc. Lucius leapt back, just in time, as the blade slashed though the air where his nose had been.
The gladiator swung at Lucius again and again in quick succession. The young gladiator certainly didn’t know how to use his sword properly, but he was fast. Lucius would have to be faster. He pushed forward, forcing the other gladiator into a defensive position. But it was short-lived. Somehow, the gladiator managed to twist away from Lucius and knock him down. Lucius fell on the flat of his back with a heavy thud. He had barely registered what happened before the gladiator was standing over him, sword ready to plunge into his chest. Lucius rolled away and scrambled to his feet. He felt blood on his face, but there was no time to wipe it away.
The other gladiator swung his sword in a broad arc again, coming nowhere near Lucius. The gladiator was a decent fighter close up, but he didn’t know what to do at a distance. Lucius could use that. He took a step forward and, predictably, the gladiator’s blade arced toward him. This time, Lucius didn’t jump back. He leaned back to avoid the weapon. The very tip of the blade scraped a clean line across his left cheek. First blood.
A cheer went up from the crowd. The gladiator took a moment to gaze upon the crowds, believing their cheers were for him. It was a grave mistake and the last one he would ever make. Lucius lunged forward, his sword aimed at the other gladiator’s throat. Before the man could react, Lucius plunged his sword into the man’s flesh. The gladiator gasped in surprise and a river of red blood poured from his mouth. Lucius yanked his sword free, and the gladiator’s body fell to the dirt.
The audience roared their approval, but Lucius didn’t hear any of it. It was all drowned out by the turbulence of his mind. He glanced at the imperial box. The twin emperors were there, cheering as much as the commoners. But, behind them, he saw his mother, Lucilla, sitting still and proud with stately poise. Even before he turned to look at her, he knew she was watching him.
In the months since he was forced to lay with Naevia, he had grown numb to everything. Over the course of a fortnight, Lucius had lain with Naevia eight times. Each time, she had spread her legs for him and accepted him with a gentleness he did not deserve. And each time, Macrinus had loomed over them, watching with mild disinterest. The humiliation of being used as breeding stock was more than he could bear. He couldn’t think of it without shuddering in shame and disgust.
It had been six months and Lucius had not seen Naevia nor heard any mention of her. There could only be one reason why, and Lucius tried not to think about it. Instead, he threw himself into practice. If his body was moving, he could drown out the noise in his head. He could lose himself in the motions and forms. With a sword in his hand, he could feel like he had control of his fate. But once he walked back through the Gates of Life and left the arena, the guards took the sword from him.
The only good thing about “performing” was that he was allowed a bath afterward. The bathing chambers were the only place in the Colosseum that didn’t feel like a rat’s nest. And they were the only place where he was allowed privacy. Even in his cell, he was constantly watched by the guards and other gladiators. A slave helped him shed his armor and then he was left alone with his bath. He peeled off the rags he wore. His skin was chaffed at the neck where the rags didn’t quite reach the place where the armor touched his skin. There was a large bruise on his ribs and a dozen small cuts across his face and arms. He had survived much worse before.
It was only when he slipped into the warm water that he realized how exhausted he was. Every muscle in his body cried out with weariness. He knew it was better that way. If he was too exhausted to think, then his thoughts couldn’t trouble him. He had become a creature of instinct, slowly giving up every part of him until only a gladiator remained. Every day, he felt less and less like a man and more like a rabid dog. A thing. A creature to be feared and repulsed by. A creature that lived not on bread and water but on hate and revenge. He didn’t want it. But it was the only way to survive in the colosseum. Another layer of his humanity was stripped away with each hour. Each stroke of his sword. Each breath.
He dipped his head under the water and let the warmth of the bath completely envelop him for a moment. He resurfaced and sat against the wall near the edge. The stone behind him was uneven and rough. But, nonetheless, Lucius settled against it and closed his eyes. He had not known true rest since before his enslavement and he doubted he ever would again.
The sound of the door’s iron hinges swinging caused Lucius’s eyes to snap open. Macrinus entered with a pleased grin. “You did well today, Hanno,” he said as he placed two gold coins on the edge of the bath. It had become a ritual at this point. Lucius fights, he wins, he takes a bath, and Macrinus bestows his earnings. “As you have in every fight.”
Lucius held his jaw tight and gave his master a nod. Macrinus never spoke of Naevia during their meetings, and Lucius never dared to ask after her. It would only give Macrinus the satisfaction of knowing he had succeeded in forming an emotional bond between them. On top of that, Lucius didn’t want to know. Knowing her fate would do nothing to soothe him.
“I have another gift for you,” Macrinus said coyly.
Lucius turned away and said, “I have no need of your gifts.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
Lucius couldn’t resist the harsh retort that fell from his lips, “Another bitch you want me to breed?”
Macrinus laughed heartily. He walked to the door, which stood slightly ajar, and opened it. Naevia stood on the other side. All the air left Lucius’s body as his eyes fell on her face. He couldn’t believe that she was here in front of him! A sudden relief filled him, a sensation he hadn’t known in so long. And then his eyes drifted lower. His mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he beheld her swollen belly. Her simple garments did nothing to hide her condition.
Lucius knew that she must have gotten with child. Every night, as he attempted to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of her and the babe. But seeing her in the flesh with his child so obviously growing inside of her… He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. All he could do was feel his heart pounding in his chest, a beating drum with an ever-increasing tempo.
Naevia covered her belly with her hands protectively as she entered the room. Her cheeks were flushed with nervousness. She must have overheard what he had said, and Lucius instantly regretted his harsh words. She glanced between Lucius and Macrinus, clearly uncertain what she was supposed to do next.
Macrinus closed the door and then placed a hand on the small of Naevia’s back. She stiffened under his touch but did not move. “She grows more radiant every day,” Macrinus mused, “I thought you would enjoy her company this evening.” Lucius was still frozen. He couldn’t speak or even think of any words at all. Macrinus, clearly growing impatient, cocked his head and said, “Very well, if you do not want her I will take her back.”
“No!” Lucius shouted instantly, reaching his hand toward her and then pulling himself back. He hated that Macrinus could draw such a reaction from him. But he couldn’t bare the thought of Naevia leaving. Not before he could touch her. Hold her. Feel her skin against his own. Feel the roundness of her belly– He couldn’t let Macrinus take her away!
Macrinus smirked, as he always did. He turned to Naevia and said, “Go join him in the bath.”
Naevia nodded and untied the knot that fastened her robe in place. The fabric fell to the floor and revealed her body to Lucius. She was more than beautiful. She was ethereal. It seemed to Lucius that the rest of the room was cast in dark shadows and she was the only source of light. She placed a hand over her belly again as she walked toward the bath. Lucius couldn’t help but follow her movement and allow his eyes to settle on her womb. She was showing even more than he initially thought. The graceful curve of her body revealed the small life growing inside. Her breasts were larger too, already starting to swell with milk for their babe. Seeing how much her body had changed moved Lucius in a way he wasn’t expecting. He felt fear and terror rumbling deep within him. But he also felt an immediate and overwhelming surge of protectiveness for her.
When Lucius was finally able to tear his eyes away from Naevia’s body, he looked at her eyes and saw she was already looking at him. A blush had spread across her cheeks and down her neck. She must have seen him staring at her body. He swallowed a dry lump in his throat.
Naevia reached the edge of the bath, and Lucius suddenly remembered himself. He stood quickly, water splashing as he moved across the short distance that separated them. He held out his hand, droplets rolled across his palm and down his fingers. Naevia took it without hesitation and his heart soared. He helped her climb into the bath, placing his other hand on her back as she swung her legs into the pool. As she shifted, the hand Lucius had on her back suddenly became a hand on her side. He was almost touching her belly. Almost.
As she stepped into the bath, Naevia looked up at him with nervous anticipation, waiting for him to move. But he couldn’t. After so many months of numbness and isolation, it was too real. All he could do was tremble. He hadn’t dared to hope that he would see her again. And yet, he was also overcome with a fear that it was all a dream. That, at any moment, he would wake up alone in a cold bath with only the memory of her specter to comfort him.
“Lucius?” Naevia whispered, breaking the long silence.
Lucius’s eyes snapped to hers. She looked worried. Her brow was furrowed in concern. And then he realized the concern was for him. Obviously! He must look even more terrified than she did. He took a steadying breath. Fear was a luxury he could not afford. He needed to be strong. He needed to pull himself together! He flexed his hands, feeling her warm, solid body against his touch. She was no illusion. Slowly, Lucius moved his trembling hand from her waist to her belly. His hand rested just below her navel. He took another steadying breath, and then another. She was real. The child was real! He had sired a child! He felt waves of joy and shame crash over him in equal measure.
Naevia opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it. After all, they weren’t alone. Instead, she covered his hand with her own. It was a simple gesture, but Lucius felt in her touch the weight of all the emotion she desperately wanted to express. Tears formed in his eyes. He couldn’t have stopped them even if he had tried. He wasn’t sure if they were tears of joy or tears of desperation. Perhaps, they were both.
And then, he felt it. A quake under his palm. It was over so fast, Lucius wasn’t sure if he imagined it. But then, it happened again! Naevia let out a soft gasp and clutched his hand as the tremor passed. They looked at each other. Lucius was certain he must look like a mad man. Tears rimmed the edges of his wide eyes, and his jaw trembled with each ragged breath he took. Naevia also had tears in her eyes, but she always looked beautiful when she cried.
A tear slipped down Lucius’s cheek. Naevia lifted her hand to wipe it away, but she stopped in her tracks when Macrinus spoke, “This will be your first bore, yes?”
Lucius startled. He had nearly forgotten Macrinus was still with them. He glared at the man even as the tear reached his jaw. Lucius had once believed the hatred he felt for Acacius was the pinnacle of the emotion. But now, the cold cruelty of a soldier seemed nothing compared to the devastating, personal attacks that Macrinus dealt for no reason except his own amusement. “Yes,” Lucius replied bitterly, his jaw tightly set.
“I can see how much her presence invigorates you,” Macrinus smiled and clasped his hands. “Would you like to see her more often?”
Lucius blinked slowly. What was Macrinus offering?
“Did you hear me, Lucius?” Macrinus asked sharply.
Lucius nodded, “I heard you.”
“Well?” Macrinus asked, his arms opening to emphasize his question.
He didn’t know what game Macrinus was playing, but he was certain this was a trap. Some sort of snare to tangle him and secure his destiny as a slave. Lucius lifted his chin and what was left of his pride and asked, “Will I be allowed to see the child when it is born?”
Macrinus’s lips twitched into a grin, “As long as you remember your place. Do you think you can manage that?”
Lucius still had one hand on Naevia’s belly and he felt the child move again. Naevia leaned into him and let out a soft whimper. The whole time, his eyes remained locked with Macrinus’s. It was a battle of wills that Lucius was certain to lose. But he had to fight, even for just a moment! Through gritted teeth, Lucius murmured, “Yes, master,” and bowed his head in submission. Those two words were always painful to utter, but they were the only ones that would pacify Macrinus. And indeed, he gave one last icy smile and turned on his heel, leaving them in the chamber.
As the door banged shut, Lucius instantly gripped Naevia to his chest and let out a shaky breath. One hand held her against her back, pushing her deeper into his embrace. The other stayed firmly against her belly. Naevia quickly reciprocated and wrapped her arms around him, holding him just as tightly as he held her. For a long moment, it was all they could do. Lucius pressed his cheek to the top of Naevia’s head and began to rock them back and forth gently. She sniffled and trembled against him. And Lucius felt her hot tears land on his shoulder.
In a quiet voice, Naevia confessed, “I feared I would never see you again.” Lucius pulled away from her just enough to meet her eye. Tears painted her cheeks and she smiled at him with sadness burning in her look. “And then today, when Macrinus brought me here, I feared you were already dead!”
Lucius kissed her brow and stroked his hand down her back. “I am well,” he murmured, low and soothing.
Naevia shook her head and ran her finger along the cut on his cheek. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s only a scratch,” he reassured her.
Naevia opened her mouth to reply, but instead she let out a shuddering gasp. Lucius pressed his hand firmly against her belly and felt the child kick furiously. As the tremors passed, Lucius moved his hand in slow, comforting circles over her skin. Naevia looked up at him and said, “He is strong, like his father.”
Lucius’s eyes snapped to hers. “You believe it is a boy?” he asked automatically.
Naevia shrugged and blushed lightly, “Perhaps. Some of the other women say the signs foretell a boy.”
Naevia shivered against him. Lucius ran his hand over her back and felt the goosebumps that had spread across her skin. He suddenly felt ashamed for not considering her needs. He took her hand and gently pulled her deeper into the bath, towards the wall where he sat before. Naevia relaxed slightly as she lowered, and the warm water enveloped her. Her loose hair cascaded down her shoulders. The ends that dipped into the water fanned out in a circle around her and made her look like a river goddess from a legend. She was the loveliest creature in all existence, and Lucius needed to be closer to her. He sat next to her so that their shoulders and thighs touched. He couldn’t bare to be parted from her, even for a moment. Almost instantly, Naevia turned toward him. She rested her head on his shoulder and hooked her knees over his thigh, so her legs dangled between his. Lucius’s heart soared as she reciprocated his touch. He snaked his arm around her waist and drew soft circles on her skin with his fingertips.
Silence lingered between them; the only sound was the soft lap of the water against the stone. They had never spoken much after their forced couplings. Lucius had rarely thought of anything to say to her other than gentle reassurances. He knew her body. It felt like an intrusion to know her mind as well. To demand so much from her. But now, Lucius wasn’t sure what to do. It was the first time he wasn’t forced to breed her. The first time he didn’t have to rape her while someone watched. As the silence dragged on, Lucius felt his anxiety building. What could he even say to her? What words could mend the terrible mess they were entangled in? His mind couldn’t focus enough to find a suitable answer and he doubted that one existed at all.
“What are the signs?” he asked in a low voice.
Naevia furrowed her brow in confusion, “What?”
“The signs,” he said again, “That the child is a boy.”
“Oh,” Naevia replied in soft surprise. “Well, I couldn’t sleep well for the first few months, and one of the other slave women told me that means it is a boy. And then, later on, she told me the shape of my belly is also a sign of a boy. But then, I started craving figs and another woman said that was a sign of a girl, so…”
Lucius hummed, “So, you’re not sure?”
Naevia shook her head, “No, not really.”
Lucius felt a strange sense of relief wash through him. He gave her a tender smile, “So, there is still a chance it will be a girl?”
“You wish for a daughter?” she asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Lucius replied earnestly.
Naevia continued to stare at him as though he had suddenly sprouted a second head. “I thought all men desired sons.”
“Free men, perhaps,” Lucius mused. He thought for another moment, and then replied, “If the child is a boy, he will suffer the same fate I do. He will become a gladiator; Macrinus will see to it. But if the child is a girl, then she will be spared.” When Lucius turned to her, Naevia’s brow was knit together and a pensive frown deepened in her cheeks. She was so distracted, she startled when Lucius brushed his hand over her cheek. He whispered her name with concern, “Naevia?”
Naevia shook her head lightly, as if to clear away a heavy shroud of thought. “I- I don’t see it that way,” she said carefully.
Lucius see her hesitation plainly. She was afraid to speak her mind and he couldn’t live with that. He brushed his fingers over the side of her face and said, “Tell me.”
Naevia let out a frightened breath and rubbed slow circles over her womb. She softly said, “If the child is a boy, he will be taught to fight and to defend himself. He will be a gladiator, yes. But, he will have the chance to change his stars!” Her excitement faded and she swallowed a heavy lump in her throat, “But a girl? Slave girls are not taught to be brave or strong. They are only taught to be silent while they are raped.”
Lucius felt his stomach twist. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. That their daughter would be just as subjugated as her mother. He suddenly felt deeply naive and foolish. Boy or girl, their child would know nothing but struggle. Nothing but hardship. Nothing but strife. No matter what, their child would be a slave, doomed from the very start. Unless he saved them. Lucius’s eyes darted to the gold coins Macrinus had left on the ledge and he thought of the small pile he had hidden in his cell. They had started to add up. But it was still nowhere near enough to buy Naevia. And once the child was born, there would be another price to pay. Not to mention, that he still had to buy his own freedom. He was certain death would find him long before he could achieve any of it. It was an impossible task.
He regretted every action that had led him to this point. He regretted giving into Macrinus’s whims. He regretted ever touching Naevia. He regretted his vow of vengeance, his driving force of will, his hatred of Rome. But most of all, he regretted that he had lived. If only he had died that fateful day! Then none of this would have happened! He would be holding Arishat in the afterlife. What must she think of him now? He hated to think of her looking down on him, seeing what he had become.
The tense silence and stillness was broken when Naevia reached for the sponge. She dabbed it into the water and then started washing Lucius’s shoulders. Lucius tried to take the sponge from her hand, but she stopped him. “Please, let me,” she whispered. Lucius couldn’t find it in himself to resist. All he could do was watch her as she carefully washed the dirt and blood from his wounds. Her touch was enamoring. She was so tender and gentle. It stirred up a violent storm of emotion deep within Lucius’s chest. He wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted to escape and take her far away. He wanted to hold her close and feel her body shake with the pleasure he would give her. He needed to protect her, provide for her. There was a sharp pain in his heart as he realized he would never be able to do so.
After another moment, Naevia asked, “Are you truly from Numidia?”
Lucius shook his head, “I lived there for a time, but I was born here in Rome.”
Naevia looked nervous, but she pressed on anyway, “I’ve heard Macrinus mention your mother. She is a noble woman?”
Lucius hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure how much of his past he should reveal to Naevia. She was still practically a stranger to him. But, surely, it wouldn’t hurt to confirm what she already knew. He nodded and said, “She is.”
Naevia ran the sponge over each of his shoulders. She furrowed her brow and began to ask, “How did…”
“How did I become a slave?” Lucius finished for her. Naevia blushed and nodded. Lucius thought for a moment. He didn���t want to lie to her. But he also couldn’t tell her everything. Not without endangering her. Lucius cast his eyes away from her and said, “After my father died, my mother sent me away. She knew that, if I stayed in Rome, someone would murder me and usurp my position. So, she sent me to Egypt. But even there, it wasn’t safe. I fled to Numidia and forgot who I was… until the invasion.”
“I am sorry,” Naevia said with genuine sympathy. She continued with bathing him; letting the warm water wash away everything from sand and blood to his anxiety and fears. There would be a time for fear, but it was not now. At that moment, he could pretend that the bath chamber was the entire world and they were the only two people in it.
Lucius looked back to Naevia then. He could see her curious nature bubbling to the surface as she wondered about him. Lucius had revealed some of himself to her, but he still knew next to nothing of her past. “What of you?” he asked her, “Where were you born?”
Naevia gave him a surprised look, as though she hadn’t expected him to care. But her surprise quickly melted into a light smile. “I was also born in Rome. I have never left.”
“You were born a slave?” he asked with gentleness.
Naevia nodded. She ran the sponge down his arms and kept her eyes focused on her work. “My mother was handmaiden to an old widow, who was always kind to us. I didn’t really understand that we were slaves, not until she died. Her son sold me and my mother and we were separated. I never saw her again.”
A familiar ache grew in Lucius’s heart. He knew what it was to be separated from the only person who loved him. The only difference was that his mother had willfully sent him away. “How old were you?” Lucius asked.
“Seven,” Naevia replied. She did not meet his eye. Instead, she kept her focus on the sponge as she moved down his chest, carefully circling over his skin in smooth spirals. Her touch was mesmerizing, nearly putting him in trance. Naevia’s hand slowly lowered down his chest until it was submerged under the water, growing closer to where his base instincts wanted her to be.
Lucius sucked in a low breath, trying desperately to control himself. After so many months alone and estranged to any gentle touch, he felt like a beast, half-starved and aching with need. Guilt flowed through him as his cock stiffened. He prayed Naevia wouldn’t notice. She would certainly be disgusted by him if she did. But, almost instantly, her hand fell even lower and the back of her hand brushed against his hard cock. Both of them let out a soft gasp of breath at the contact. Naevia froze and blushed deeply. They locked eyes. But instead of the revulsion he was expecting, she looked at him with wondrous anticipation. She let go of the sponge and it bobbed to the surface, floating away from them. She slowly wrapped her hand around his throbbing cock, stroking him sweetly. Lucius’s breath hitched and he let out a soft groan. Gods! It had been so long. But that was no excuse for him to act like nothing more than an animal! His hand moved through the water to stop her. “Naevia,” he said with a difficult strain, “You don’t have to-”
“It’s okay,” she whispered as she leaned further into his embrace, “I want to please you.”
Lucius’s heart nearly burst. She was so good to him and he couldn’t understand why. He searched her face for the answer but found only a soft look of tender devotion. She stroked him again and, this time, he didn’t stop her. She found a gentle rhythm that had Lucius releasing soft sighs into the air. He let his eyes close and his head tilt back, losing himself in her touch. Her hands were deft, teasing over his tip and then plunging down his shaft. His cock throbbed with need, and his whole body pulsed with lust. She had infected every part of him. She had crept into his mind and burrowed in so deeply, he knew he would never be able to forget the way she worshiped his cock in sweet revere.
Acting on instinct, Lucius gripped Naevia’s hips and pulled her onto his lap. Water splashed between them as Naevia gasped and clutched his shoulders desperately. Her swollen belly and breasts were pressed against his stomach and chest. Another month and this position would become far more difficult. But he could still manage. And he had no desire to bend her over and take her like an animal. She deserved more than that. Her core quivered as his cock pressed against her. Even through the water, he could feel her wetness as he rutted against her. He pressed his hips up and his cock easily slid through her folds. She let out a soft whine, that practically begged him to enter her. He held onto her hips and eased her down his cock. As he entered her, he saw stars behind his eyes. She was even tighter than he remembered. Tighter, warmer, wetter. His memory could never do her justice. Her cunt was a pulsing vice made just for him and her moans were the sweetest music in all the earth. He was certain, if he wasn’t careful, her power would consume him.
Lucius adjusted his grip, shifting his hands from her hips to the roundness of her ass. Naevia whined as he lifted her, pulling out to the tip. It was easy for him to lift her in the water. And even easier to push her back down onto his length. He set a slow pace; he didn’t want to hurt her or the babe. But he also needed to be inside of her. The water splashed about them, waves slowly increasing in size as his thrusts became more fervent. Naevia, sweet as ever, could do nothing but moan and grip his shoulders like her life depended on it. Sitting on his lap, her face was above his. He tilted his chin up to get a better look at her. Her jaw hung open in a prolonged, silent gasp and her eyes were screwed shut. She seemed completely lost in the sensation of his cock splitting her open.
His pace quickened. He couldn’t help it. He needed it, that blissful ache as he entered her again and again. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more of her. “Naevia,” her name fell from his lips with a groan.
Naevia’s eyes fluttered open and looked down upon him as they held each other in their lustful embrace. The hazy look she gave him let Lucius know that she was just as far gone as he was. Neither of them would last very long after so many months apart. One of her hands tangled through his hair, scraping her nails across his scalp. In response, Lucius gripped her ass tighter. Part of him worried that he might leave bruises. But another part of him delighted in the thought of leaving his marks strewn across her skin.
As he pounded into her, one of his hands came to rest over her womb, drawing contemplative circles with his palm. Lucius had come undone faster than he ever had before. He was lost in her and he never wanted to be found. He leaned forward and nuzzled against her, breathing in her scent as she brought him to the edge of bliss.
Naevia clenched around his cock. Lucius couldn’t stop the desperate moan that fell from his lips. They met eyes then. Naevia gazed at him with a longing desperation, like she wanted something but was afraid to ask. The air between them suddenly grew thick with anticipation. Lucius’s eyes fell to her parted lips. They looked so smooth and plump. He had felt those beautiful lips on his cock several times before, but he had never pressed his own lips against them. Before he could think twice, he leaned in and kissed her, hard and fierce. All of Naevia’s tension dissolved under his touch. She opened to him, allowing his tongue to slide against hers in a dance of passion and need. She was sweeter than honey, sweeter than any fruit he had ever tasted. And then, he came. A warm bliss filled every part of him and he struggled to remain upright. He surged forward and broke their kiss with a deep groan as his seed spilled into her womb. Naevia brought her hand to his face and pulled him into another kiss, recapturing his lips as she continued to rock against him, slow and soft but still so tight.
As the bliss of his orgasm passed, Lucius cut off the kiss sharply. He turned his face away. It took a good deal of restraint not to shove Naevia away from him as he felt the guilt of his actions weigh upon his shoulders. He glanced to the heavens and then shut his eyes in despair. He had a wife, for fuck's sake! A dead wife, a little voice in the back of his head reminded him. A wife who was waiting for him in the afterlife. A wife who watched over him. How could he ever join her again when he had abandoned her in this life?
Naevia trembled as she clung to his shoulders. She didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in the long tragedy of his life. Yet, she was trapped here with him all the same. Her brow was furrowed in deep worry. She whispered softly, “I am sorry. I know I cannot replace your wife. But…”
Her words drew Lucius from the tangle of his dark thoughts. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he told her sincerely. “It is I who should beg your forgiveness.” Naevia shook her head, but Lucius kept going, “You are right. My thoughts linger on my wife, even as I hold you in my arms. I am sorry.”
Naevia nodded solemnly. “I understand. You must have loved her very much.”
Lucius swallowed a lump and then said, “I have sustained myself with the knowledge that we will be reunited in the next life. But now,” his hand shifted in small circles over her womb, “I don’t know how will I face her again.”
Lucius and Naevia fell into a prolonged silence. The chamber became frightfully still. Even the lapping water fell silent. There was nothing more they could say. Nothing that would give either of them, or their child, peace.
-
Lucius welcomed the darkness and solitude of his cell after the bath. Between the fighting and the sex, he was thoroughly exhausted. But still, sleep evaded him. As much as the hind part of his brain felt the urge to protect Naevia and hold her close, he dreaded seeing her again. The shame he felt consumed what little joy he could feel. There was tenderness between them, but it was not love. How could love be forged in such gruesome circumstances? But he did love the child. He was certain of that, even though it was still unborn. The protectiveness he felt for Naevia grew tenfold as soon as the babe entered his mind. He would rather die than let any harm come to the child. He knew that for certain.
As the stillness of the night wore on, Lucius thought of his father. His true father, Maximus. He had seen him fight in the arena a dozen times, but he had only spoken to the man once briefly. The memory of his father’s death brought a new tide of emotion down upon him. Lucius would have given anything to be able to talk to him, to hear his advice. But another, bitter, thought came to his mind: that his father would be ashamed of him for all he had done. Forsaking his wife and siring a bastard in a slave girl? Surely, the honorable Maximus would have never done such a thing! But, then again, was Lucius not a bastard himself? Had he not been passed off as another man’s son? Named for another man? But those were his mother’s sins, not his father’s. He wondered if Maximus had even known that he was his son.
His thoughts were interrupted by the jingle of the guard’s keys. It wasn’t uncommon for visitors to come to the gladiators at night. Mostly, they were whores. Paid for by generous masters or by the gladiators themselves. Lucius rolled onto his side and prepared to ignore the sounds of sex that would surely follow.
He was unprepared when the guard stopped outside his cell and opened the door. Lucius instantly went on full alert and sat up. But his shoulders relaxed when he saw Lucilla quickly round the corner and enter his cell. She wore a hooded cloak, but Lucius recognized the luxurious fabric from her previous visit. The guard shut the door with a sharp clang and left to give them some privacy. Only then, did Lucilla pull back her hood. Lucius stood but he did not approach her. There was still a chasm between them, stretching infinitely and irreconcilably.
Lucilla clasped her hands to her chest. She looked like she wanted to extend her arms to him. She looked like she wanted to cry as she held him. But, ever the diplomat, she restrained herself. “My son,” she whispered, “I am glad you are well.”
Lucius nodded to her but didn’t reply. He could not answer her with some pleasant nicety, it wouldn’t be truthful.
After another moment, she added, “I feared I would be forced to watch you die today.”
Lucius held back a scoff. What did she know of force? Her position gave her the privilege to do as she willed. If his death was so upsetting to her, she could have left!
Lucilla took a cautious step toward him, still clutching her hands to her chest. She absent-mindedly toyed with a ring on her finger, twirling it around as an anxious distraction. “I have come because there is something I must tell you.” She took a sharp breath and continued in a low voice, “There is a plan in motion to depose the emperors and restore the republic.”
Lucius wasn’t expecting that. He raised his eyebrows and took a half-step forward.
“Acacius and I have coordinated with some of the Senators. But we will need your help.”
“How?” Lucius asked sternly. He didn’t have any interest in helping Lucilla for her sake. But if it meant the downfall of the wicked emperors, it might be worth it.
“The army is stationed in the countryside, just three days ride from the city,” Lucilla said with eagerness. “They will arrive while the games are in progress. If the gladiators were to rise up in revolt at that moment, we can overwhelm the city from within and without.”
Lucius was stunned. It was a bold plan but also a dangerous one, with plenty of opportunity for things to go wrong. “What would you have me do?” he asked.
“Organize the gladiators,” Lucilla said. “I know you hold some sway. You are admired by all. If you can convince them to join us-”
“I cannot,” Lucius said roughly.
“Yes, you can!” Lucilla insisted. She took another step toward him and then another. “You are respected! They will listen to you!”
“No!” Lucius snapped, a little too loud. Lucilla took a small step back, and Lucius felt a pang of guilt in his heart. Whatever his feelings for her, he did not wish to frighten her. In a softer voice, he told her, “It is not possible.”
Another look of terrible concern fell over Lucilla’s face. “Lucius,” she whispered, “Help me understand.”
Lucius gulped. That was the last thing he wanted to do. To explain to his mother the strangle-hold Macrinus held him in. Instead, he said, “Macrinus has eyes and ears in every crevice of the city, especially in the Colosseum. He will find out.”
Lucilla steadied herself and said, “Even if he does, there is nothing he can do to stop it!”
Lucius gave her a long look. Lucilla waited for his response with an earnest look. When he could take no more of it, he turned away and said, “I cannot help you.”
Lucilla closed the space between them, all of her hesitation and fear was gone. Some motherly intuition must have guided her. For, in a gentle voice, she asked, “What hold does he have over you?”
Lucius couldn’t reply. He was too ashamed. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, unable to meet Lucilla’s eye. How could he explain to her what had happened? What he had done? How could he tell her that, in just a few month’s time, she would be a grandmother? He swallowed a lump in his throat and released a shaky breath. He turned his gaze back to his mother. Lucilla looked at him with a deep concern, as though she feared what he was about to say. “There is a slave girl in Macrinus’s house,” he started slowly and then hesitated. He took another steadying breath before he could continue, “She is carrying my child.”
Lucilla’s expression melted into one of sorrowful compassion. She reached for Lucius, placing her hand upon his cheek, offering what little comfort she could. “Oh, my son!” she whispered. “How much more suffering will the gods force you to endure?”
For once, Lucius did not pull away from her. Her touch no longer stung as it had during her previous visit. Instead, for the first time in nearly two decades, he felt all the love she bore for him. And he knew he was unworthy. She had not turned away from him in disgust, but she certainly would once she learned the whole truth. Lucius closed his eyes as he felt tears begin to surface.
Lucilla stroked her hand though his hair and said, “Tell me her name. Perhaps I can buy her from Macrinus and then-”
“No,” Lucius cut her off, snapping his eyes back to hers, “Macrinus knows! He knows that the child is mine and he knows that you are my mother. He will never let you buy her!”
Lucilla was stunned. Her hand fell from Lucius’s face to his shoulder. She steadied herself against his solid frame, “He knows?”
Lucius nodded in reply.
“How?” Lucilla asked in horror.
Lucius let out a dark scoff, “You think he wouldn’t notice the former emperor’s daughter visiting one of his slaves?”
A light blush colored Lucilla’s cheeks, and she withdrew her hand. And then Lucius felt guilty. No matter what she had done, she was still his mother. She was one of two people in the whole world who truly cared for him. Lucius reached out his hand and took Lucilla’s in his own. “Mother,” he whispered softly, “I didn’t intend to chide you. But you depend too much on your servants keeping their ears closed. You cannot trust them to keep your secrets! Especially when the consequences are so dire.”
Lucilla nodded. Her hand came back up to his face and cradled his cheek against her palm. With a sorrowful sigh, she said, “You are just like him.”
Lucius’s jaw trembled. Even a mention of his father had his emotions bubbling over. Lucius covered Lucilla’s hand with his own. “My father,” Lucius began slowly, “Did he… did he know?”
Lucilla gazed at him with tearful eyes and said, “We never spoke of it. But, I believe he knew. Especially after he saw you.”
Lucius swallowed a terrible lump in his throat and nodded fiercely.
Lucilla continued with a sad smile, “He did love you. His final words were, ‘Lucius is safe.’”
Lucius returned the sad smile and shook his head. “But it wasn’t true, was it?” he asked. “Killing Commodus wasn’t enough.”
Lucilla shook her head, “Commodus was the greater evil. But Rome is full of evils, great and small. And all of them wanted you dead.” A tear trailed down her cheek.
Lucius let out a small, dark laugh, “They still do.”
Lucilla was about to reply when the sound of the guard approaching, cut her off. She turned back to Lucius and said, “I cannot linger here long. I will do what I can for the girl.”
Lucilla began to turn away, but Lucius snatched up her hand. “Do nothing!” he begged, “Do not interfere! It will not end how you hope.”
Before Lucilla could reply, the guard rounded the corner and twisted the key in the lock. Without privacy, neither of them dared to continue their conversation. Instead, Lucilla gave his hand a soft squeeze. She lifted her chin and said, “Strength and honor, gladiator.” Lucius nodded to her silently. There was no use trying to say more. Lucilla pulled up her hood and left the cell.
Have you sinned recently? Because I have been sinning non-stop since I saw this fucking movie!! I really thought the first two chapters would have worked this out of my system. But nope! Here we are!!
AN:
Hello again, friends!
As always, thank you, dear reader! I am always amazed that so many people read my little stories! And it is comforting to know I'm not the only degenerate sinner among the populace lmao!!
I would really like to give this story a proper ending. But I'm not sure what to do with it anymore. At this point, I am taking requests! How do you want to see this end?? What other miseries should Lucius endure?? Happy ending? Sad ending? Long, drawn out ending? All of the above? Whatever it is, it will be depraved!
Please consider leaving a comment! I cannot express how much I love reading them! And you can always scream into my ask box!
#lucius verus#lucius verus fic#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#gladiator ii fic#paul mescal fic#lucius verus x oc#lucius verus x ofc#gladiator ii smut#myfic#mymoodboard#defiant submission
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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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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.”
#Lucius Verus Aurelius#lucius verus imagine#gladiator ii#paul mescal#lucius verus aurelius x reader#lucius aurelius x reader#lucius verus#lucius verus x reader#gladiator 2#paul mescal gladiator#lucius x reaer#Lucius Verus Aurelius x reader#Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader#Lucius Verus Aurelius fluff#Lucius Verus Aurelius angst#Lucius Verus fluff#Lucius Verus angst#Lucius Verus f!reader#Lucius Verus Aurelius imagine#hanno x reader#hanno#hanno gladiator#hanno fluff#hanno angst#Lucius Verus Aurelius x fem!reader#Lucius Verus x fem!reader#gladiator ii fic
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The Gladiator 18+
pairing- hanno/lucius x fem! oc 1310 words
(♡ synopsis)- general acacius's daughter became intrigued by the violent gladiator she saw perform in the games and just had to meet him. (lucilla is not her mother)
warnings- p in v, dirty talk, fingering
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Sabina Acacius was a strong willed woman that always made sure to get what she wanted. When she saw ‘Hanno’, as they called him in the colosseum she immediately knew she would seek him out when the time was up in the emperor's section.
After the gladiator had beheaded the contestant Geta and Caracalla had chosen she got up from her seat, “Emperors, An entertaining game as usual. I bid you a good night. I must retire to my room for some needed rest.”
Geta only waved the girl off, more focused on relishing in the applause from the people of Rome, making the girl roll her eyes before catching the General's glare in warning, “Father. Lucilla” she nodded, “I will see you back at home."
Sabina didn't waste a moment to rush out of the colosseum and down the busy streets of Rome towards the Gladiators holding cells. When she arrived at the entrance she pulled her hood up and maneuvered around the training fighters to the back corner where Ravi had Hanno sitting to be stitched.
“Quite a deep cut.” she commented, giving Ravi a kind smile.
“M’lady it's been too long.” he smiled back before focusing back on the task at hand. Hanno watched their interaction in silence observing the girl he saw in the emperor's box, sitting next to the man he vowed to kill and his mother.
Sabina pulled her hood down and sat on the bench in front of the men, “You put up a great fight Gladiator. I wanted to come down and greet you personally. You impressed the Emperors.”
“That carries no importance to me.” Hanno grunted out moving his eyes to the wound Ravi prodded with. “Now what's the real reason you're down here. Certainly not to talk of my achievement.”
Sabina smirked at his sass and crossed her legs, “Perhaps it is, you've intrigued me.”
Hanno furrowed his brow, “This isn't a safe place for a lady of your status.” he said plainly, taking a drag of the mixture Ravi gave to him.
Ravi pointed at a rag that sat next to Sabina to which she handed it to him, leaning in more towards Hanno. “I saw the sour looks you threw towards my father. What's the reason for such emotions?” she asked curiously.
A dark look passed over the gladiator's face, “That would be business between the General and I.”
Sabina hummed while Ravi backed up, “You're stitched up Hanno. I suggest you take a bath, you stink of filth.” he chuckled and patted him on the back. “Nice to see you Sabina.” he bid them a goodbye.
Hanno stood as did Sabina, “I'll escort you to the tub.” she smiled at the aggravated look that washed over him. The pair walked side by side in silence before stepping into the large room with the large tub of hot water in the middle. “Well I shall leave you to rid yourself of the remnants from tonight's game.”
“Wont stay to question me anymore?” he raised an eyebrow while unclipping his armor.
Sabina watched as he undressed cheeks heating up, “Not while you are without clothes, no.” she said perplexed and turned her back, “ You'd like to answer my curiosity?” Once she heard the water splashing she turned back to see Hanno sat in the steaming water, head leaned neck with his eyes shut.
“Nothing with the General.” he said before opening his eyes and moving his gaze to hers.
Sabina moved in closer, slipping her sandals off and hiking her dress up. She sat down next to him and dipped her legs into the water. “What were you before all of this?” she watched the bruised man let a sigh out.
“A farmer.” he answered plainly.
She hummed, “Does any family wait for you?”.
Hanno tensed, “My wife was my family. She was killed when your people invaded.”
The girl nodded, “Rome is in a dark time, not even the citizens feel safe.”
“And do you?” he questioned looking at her.
Sabina pondered, “I worry for the innocent Romans who will be caught in the crossfire when the twins' leadership fails.” Hanno chose not to answer and began to wash his arms, careful of the wounds his body had received before standing.
Sabina looked away at the man's naked form, “You can look. You say I intrigued you and it cannot be my soul in which that did.” he looked down at her.
She cautiously turned back and looked at his face before her eyes moved down to his muscular chest littered with scars, cuts, and bruises. She stood and moved in front of him reaching out and traced a jagged white line that sat on his right pec. Hanno said nothing and instead looked at her features and the way her eyebrows furrowed with every wound she felt.
Sabina’s eyes lingered on his abs before moving down to his half hard cock between them. She had been with one man before and he had been nowhere close to the size Hanno was, “I should return to my chambers.” yet she made no move to leave.
“Perhaps.” he whispered moving his hands to her waist
Sabina didn't waste a moment before crashing her lips into his chapped ones, hands moving to his shoulders and around his neck. His hands gripped her harder, lifting her up with ease and setting her up onto the counter behind her. Hanno stood between her open legs exploring her mouth with his tongue, driven with frustration and desperation.
He gripped the bottom of her dress and tapped her hips in order for her to lift them so he could punch her dress to her waist. “Are you sure you want this Sabina?” he asked breathlessly. Although he hated the girls father he had to admit something about the girl made him addicted
“I've wanted this since I saw you in the games, please Hanno.” and with that he returned to her lips and brushed his fingers agaisnt her soaking pussy. She moaned into his mouth and gripped the hair at the nape of his neck.
Pushing one finger into her he circled her clit with his thumb. Relishing in the way she tightened her walls. “Feel how wet I make your cunt?” He whispered between her swollen lips.
Sabina whimpered, “Please-more Hanno, please give me more.” she moaned out
He pushed another finger in and curled them up in her g-spot and sped his pace on her clit bringing her to the cusp of an orgasm before pulling away leaving the girl a gasping mess, “No-why?” said asked
Hanno gripped the base of his cock and lined it up to her entrance before leaning down to her forehead, “When I get you to cum I want it to be around my cock.” he said before pushing up into her all the way to the hilt. Sabina moaned, gripping his back, adding more cuts with her nails, “You're taking me so well my beautiful girl.” he gritted out while thrusting into her at a fast pace.
“Cum with me, my gladiator.” Sabina gasped out.
Hanno worked his hips into her, tip hitting her cervix, “Let go.” he commanded and that all she needed to hear before an orgasm washed over her, Hanno followed burying his hips deep into hers.
The pair caught their breath before separating, Sabina pulling her dress down and feeling a mixture of their cum leaking out of her while Hanno pulled a uniform over his head.
“I shall see you at the colosseum in coming days.” She combed her hair out and moved towards the exit but he caught her wrist and pulled her back to him.
“I ask of you to pay me a visit after the game, that is if I survive.” he smirked
Sabina smiled and nodded, “If that is what you want my gladiator.”
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Part Two
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#gladiator 2 smut#gladiator smut#lucius verus fic#lucius verus smut#lucius verus#Hanno smut#hanno x fem oc#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#hanno#Spotify#paul mescal#gladiator movie#gladiator#emperor caracalla#emperor geta#marcus acacius#lucius versus x fem oc
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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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─────────────── the spaces between us // 2



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. [3k]
[paul mescal x reader]
masterlist | part 1 | part 3
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 brand of 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 silver 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—”
Paul stammers at the same time, “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, 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. He pokes at Callum's cheek, using one hand to push the full cart.
“Home!” Callum shouts, his enthusiasm unending. He twists in the cart, pointing towards the car as if to say Onward! Letting out a whoop, Paul pushes off the ground, hopping onto the bottom rail of the cart. He balances on it as it drifts forward.
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 :)))
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benedictus benedicat
summary: you have always wanted to fuck a gladiator pairing: emperor geta x male reader x lucius verus word count: 2k warning: male reader smut!
| masterlist |



You awoke to snakes of warmth slithering around your body. You soon realized that they were the limbs of countless naked men and women.
It was routinary for the new royalty of Rome to place feasts in times of great victory and conquest to expand the empire. In the morning, there would be feasts of the most exotic fruits and viands the colonies could produce, wine would flow down cups as if it were from the Nile.
At night, however, there would be the feasts of flesh. The most elite and expensive whores would be brought to the palace for a night full of sex and wine, a feast that you have frequented at the request of the Emperor.
The older emperor had always sought your company, especially during trying times. He would always look at you with his golden eyes. His pale hands are at your neck, and there are gold rings of many different colored jewels. He loved to use you, taking hours of thrusting and licking. You watched as his younger brother would go through many different men and women every night — but the older emperor took his time on using you, only you.
Many of the elite members of the parties would try to come to you, old greying men of the senate glancing at you as you rode the golden emperor. At times, they would try to touch you, tug on your arm or your hair. The emperor was quick to scold them, threatening their lives for even laying a finger on you. You felt special, like a hero from an old myth defending his muse.
You stood to see him near the window overlooking the Colosseum, sunlight casting a ray against his fiery hair. He was naked, his pale yet muscular body reflected light like quartz. He was much taller than his twin, and broader than the younger emperor who was scrawny. He flinched when he heard you come near.
“Did I startle you, sire?” you said. Wrapping a silk blanket around your body.
He shook his head, his eyes glazing down your frame. He gestured for you to come closer. He had always stood out from anyone in the room. His eyes were stained with red powder and his lips plump and pink. He took the robe off of you, his hand on your neck forcing you to look up at him.
“How many times have I spoken to you about covering yourself?” he said, his thumb rubbing on your lower lip. “Never be ashamed of your body my little dove.”
“Forgive me, sire—” you uttered before he pressed his lips on yours. It tasted of wine, his tongue toying with yours. His other hand snaked around your back before falling against your ass. His lips soon find your neck, each kiss deep and wet. You stare at the Colosseum behind him, in awe of its grand architecture.
Emperor Geta stopped his wet “trail against your skin. He followed your gaze, a smile forming against his lips. “Have you ever been with a gladiator, little dove?” he said.
“I have always been with you, sire,” you said. “but the idea does strike me.” you smiled.
“Then return to my chambers tonight,” he said, slipping a finger inside your mouth. He pressed against your shoulders forcing you down on your knees. You looked up at him with his erection teasing centimeters away from your lips. You licked his tip and slowly engulfed his hardness. He moaned and raked his hand through your hair. His little dove.
The night was cold and dry. A guard had led you to the Emperor’s chambers, a large room adorned with gold treasures. His bed was the biggest you have ever seen, draped in the whitest silks, and his nightstand was littered with coins and gold cups. Your eyes wandered to look for your golden emperor. He stood at the corner near the window, his shoulders draped in the finest toga.
“My little dove,” he said, his eyes gleaming. In his hands were two cups, one for himself and one he handed over to you. You took a sip and let the bitter red liquid drip down your throat. “I have a gift for you.”
“A gift? My sire, I am unworthy,” you said. He gestured for his guards. They brought in a man cloaked in a ragged robe, torn and dirty. He was large, larger than you and the emperor, his figure cast a shadow against the flames and candles.
“I have brought you,” he said, walking towards the man. “A gladiator.” He pulled off the hood to reveal a gladiator you have seen fight in the arena. He was tall and broad, more muscular than the emperor, his body was littered with cuts and scars, his chest more hairy and his beard unkempt. A red piece of cloth bound his eyes and wrists. He unrobed the man until he was wearing nothing but a piece of tunic and a blindfold. The man flinched, his breathing heavy.
Geta sat on a chair near the bed, legs crossed and cup still in hand. You inched near the gladiator, your hands touching his sun-kissed skin. It was warm, sweat dripping down his nape. He smelled of ash and smoke. “He was given wine sourced from Asia, they say that it is infused with flowers that would provide a person with intense lust—a madness that renders them more beast than man,” Geta said. “Go on, have your fill. I am only here to watch.”
“Fascinating,” you whispered. You gently pushed him on the bed before pulling the tunic, his cock standing tall and thick, the tip leaking. You went down on your knees to take it inside your mouth. Your jaw ached from the girth. He writhed and cursed before grabbing your head and pushing you down with force. You gagged from the sudden motion, your eyes tearing. He fucked your mouth like a raging animal, stroking his cock with your mouth. His grip on your hair was tight and painful.
“Take it, whore.” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.
Geta watched amused. His free hand toyed with the wine while another palmed his growing hardness. The gladiator let go of your head, and you gasped for air, drooling and panting. He rips off your tunic before pushing you down the bed. He spits on his hand before toying with your hole, he was rough and callous, a stark difference from the gentleness of the emperor. He pushed his thick cock deep into your hole, and you shouted from the stinging pain. He fucked you repeatedly until your knees and arms gave out. Soon, the thick manhood thrusting deep inside you brought pleasure throughout your body, you writhed and moaned, your cock rubbing against the silk.
You gripped the sheets so tightly you could feel the soft fabric rip. Strong blows of force slammed against your hips as you clamored for air and release. You looked up to gain sight of the emperor. He stared at you with eyes filled with wanton lust. He spat on his palm and continued to stroke his aching cock.
“Stop,” you hear the emperor's command. “Take your cock out, gladiator.”
The gladiator grunted, easing up and taking his hardness out of your hole. You collapsed on the mattress panting and tired. You feel Geta’s ringed fingers smooth your hair. He gestures for you to look up, his golden eyes are now large pits of black.
He bends down to kiss you, his tongue tastes of bitter wine. He gestures for the gladiator, he is glistening in sweat and smells like a day’s work. Geta grabs your hair and pushes it down the gladiator’s cock, pushing and pulling your head to stroke the warrior’s aching hardness. The emperor unclasped his tunic, and layers of gold cloth fell on the floor. You take his cock in your hands, stroking the pale cock while you sucked on the warrior.
You took turns sucking on their cocks. Geta taking a hand and endlessly slapping your ass till it turned red. “What a greedy slut you are, my little dove,” said Geta. “as if taking a royal cock was not enough, you had to turn yourself into a common whore for a gladiator.”
You hummed on their cocks, your mouth too filled taking each cock in alternate strokes to even say a word. “Go on then gladiator, take his ass and fuck your fill,” he said in a snobbish tone. The gladiator went to the bed to take his place, going down to lick your aching hole. His beard was rough against your cheeks, but the wet licks he left on your hole made your legs shake and go weak. His hands gripped your ass, kneading the fatty flesh as he lapped on the hole he was soon to fuck.
You soon felt the gladiator slowly sheath his big cock back into your hole. You wanted to gasp but Geta’s cock was still in your mouth. They both fucked into your holes, gaining some sort of non-verbal message to fuck you in the same rhythm. It was too much, you thought, your mouth and your ass getting fucked by large cocks. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, your knees weak while your shoulders trembled trying to have some balance.
“Fuck—I’m close,” Geta moaned. “Go on gladiator, fill that hole with your seed. I shall do the same to his mouth.”
The room was filled with symphonious moans and grunts accompanied by loud slaps of flesh. You could feel the gladiator's breath on your nape, his large arms hugging you as he thrust even more. He takes your leaking cock in his hands, the pre-cum dripping down your shaft providing enough lubrication to make his strokes slip.
Their breaths became labored, Geta whispered a thousand curses while the gladiator spoke in a language you could not understand. You were close, your climax teasing at your tip. Your whole body convulsed as you reached your high. Geta came into your mouth, leaving a loud grunt before pulling away. The gladiator hugged you tighter as he came, emptying his warmth inside you.
Geta called for a bath, leaving you and the gladiator in bed. You stared at his body in slumber. He was handsome, you thought, full brows, a Grecian nose, and a body packed with dense muscle. You tried to touch his chest before his hand swiftly caught it.
“I have no intention of hurting you,” you said. “Are you okay? Do you still feel feverish?
“I should be the one asking you that question,” he sat down on the bed, a piece of cloth covering his groin. “I didn’t know what came over me, I’m sorry.”
You chuckled, his face dumbfounded. “You think you’re the first person to fuck me like that?”
He chuckled as well, running a hand through his damp hair.
“And so the mighty gladiator laughs? I thought if you even smiled a little your face would crack,” you said, his smile dropped garnering a bigger laugh from you.
“Tease me again and I might just fuck that laugh away from you.”
“Yeah? Maybe I should tease you more then,” you said seductively before straddling his muscular thighs. You traced your hands on his muscles, his cock growing hard underneath you once more.
“I dare you,” he said, pressing his lips against yours.
if you likes this fic go check out some of my other stuff! want to request? don't be shy to send one!
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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.
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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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