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motorsportbarbie13 · 2 months ago

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The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 3

In which you and Max spend the next six months just being obsessed with each other.

Warnings: A little angst, but not 'break up with you' angst, just 'i really fucking miss you' angst so it's okay. And fluff. Tooth achingly sweet fluff. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 4.4k plus a shit ton of social media posts. - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - Master List

(a/n before we begin: Probably one more part to this. Thinking of doing an 'after Max gets you back to the hotel post-race' part to wrap things up nicely if anyone wants to see that.)

Monaco May 2024

F1GossipOfficial posted

34,028 likes F1GossipOfficial Seems as if our favorite Red Bull driver and sunny little podcaster are getting closer! The pair was spotted around Monaco this week ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix. The pair have been seen publicly a handful of times since Max made an appearance on her podcast The Yapping Hour in late April, most notably at the Miami Grand Prix at the beginning of the month and then the week later in New York City where she is based. Everyone who sent in photos said the pair were super cozy and seemed lost in their own world. user0299 she's only with him for the clout and money. Her little podcast was dying out and she latched onto Max like a leech. >>>user5572 go touch some grass my man. Her podcast is consistently the number 1 listened to show on all platforms all the fucking time. user9938 they are so cute, i can't handle it user4530 I saw them at dinner the other night and oh my GOD. They sat on the same side of the table even though it was just the two of them. He held her hand underneath the table all through dinner and I don't think either of them stopped smiling or looked anywhere else but at each other the entire night. >>>user39948 they are so fucking perfect oml

Canada June 2024 yourpersonalinsta posted

493,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, totowolff, and others yourpersonalinsta Over the moon to have been able to be with you for this win in Canada, Maxie. user299 MAXIE?! I have no one to talk to about this redbullracing our good luck charm strikes again! >>>user456 Red Bull calling her theirs??? Love this for her. maxverstsppen1 thank you for always being in my corner liefje ❤️ >>>user394 how am i supposed to be normal after reading this??? user8827 Not Toto in the likes trying to get on her good side so Max signs with Merc in 2026 >>>user778 HAHA can you imagine??

Amalfi Coast August 2024

maxverstappen1 posted

987,409 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1 summer break with this gorgeous girl user458 they are my royal couple yourpersonalinsta wishing we were back on that boat rn instead of on different continents :( >>>maxverstappen1 just a few more weeks until Singapore, schatje. >>>user4938 this is my roman empire >>>user024 mom and dad are sad so i am sad too

October 2024 Austin, Texas

You hadn't seen Max in over three weeks. Three very, very, very long weeks. And not to be dramatic or anything but you felt like you might actually pass away if the Uber that was currently picking it's way through very heavy Austin traffic drove any slower.

While the sleek Mercedes SUV waited at a red light, your gaze drifted away from the navigation system showing the the heavy traffic all around you towards the busy city streets around you. Whoever had decided to schedule an Eminem concert, a huge college rivalry football game, and a Formula 1 race all in the same city on the same weekend should have their head examined.

Fixated on the crowd on the sidewalk outside, you mull over the last six months of your life. It has certainly been a whirlwind, that was for sure. If someone had told you back in the beginning of May that you'd be on your way to your sixth Grand Prix of the year to watch your boyfriend race in Formula 1, you would have laughed in their faces. Because really, when you sat back and considered it, the fact that you had gone from being a fan of the sport and interviewing Max on a professional level to dating him in under six months was absolutely wild.

While you attended races whenever you could, you found yourself more often than not called to the other side of the world to attend to your flourishing career. In the last six months you had ping ponged around the globe, bouncing between weekends with Max and over scheduled weeks filled with work, interviews, and meetings. Some days you just wished that things were simpler and you could just dedicate yourself to following Max around from city to city but you knew that Susan B Anthony would roll over in her grave if you gave up everything for a man so quickly, even a man as amazing as Max Verstappen.

You brush aside the thought of leaving your work because in the end, all that is is a simple fantasy brought on by you missing the man that has become the center of your universe lately.

After attending the Singapore GP with Max, you had spent a few extra days with him in Asia before needing to fly home. While Max did have nearly an entire month break from racing, he couldn't follow you to New York like he had intended. After coming back from the summer break, Max's luck had started to slip and the car had deteriorated. He hadn't won a race in months, the car was an absolute tractor, and Lando was gaining on him in the Championship. He had needed to spend every extra moment he had in the sims and with the engineering team trying to salvage the season.

While Max had been in Europe, you had been in the US recording episodes with Heidi Klum, Wayne Gretzky, and finally Kylie Kelce. Heidi had been in LA, Wayne in Florida, and Kylie in Philly so you had spent most of the last three weeks on the road. As the SUV inched closer to the COTA track, you realized you couldn't remember the last time you'd set foot in your apartment.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones as the realization washes over you. You loved the life you lived, wouldn't trade it for the world but sometimes, in these quiet moments you wished for a break, a chance to go home, wherever that even was now, and just rest.

Your phone buzzing beside you pulls you back to the present. Ysou struggle to shake off the mind numbing melancholy that's settled over you like a thick woolen blanket before answering the call. "Hi baby." You sigh, knowing who it is without even looking at the caller ID.

"What's wrong?" Max's voice is sharp on the other end, effortlessly reading your tone.

You shake your head, chest tightening with anxiety. "Just..." You search for the right words. "tired is all. I just realized I can't even remember the last time I spent a night in my own bed."

"Oh, schatje." Max sighs, knowing how grueling this schedule is as he lives it as well. "Do you want me to have the jet take you home? It's at the airfield still."

Tears collect in your eyes as your chest squeezes painfully. "No, I just want to see you." You whisper, afraid if you raise your voice you'll start to cry.

"How far are you from the track?"

You pop your head around the SUV's headrest to check the nav system. "Not long. Five minutes. I can see the giant observation tower from here."

"Have the Uber bring you right to the paddock gates. I have a car here and a few hours before any media duties. I'll take you back to the hotel myself and we can take a nap together, okay?"

Your entire body sags with relief at his words. If there was one thing that Max was good at, it was taking care of you. He didn't hem and haw or waver on a plan of action. He saw what you needed and made sure that you were taken care of. The way the burden of everything that you had silently carried for years shifted towards Max the moment you landed in Miami all those months ago was something that would shock you for years to come.

"Okay." You whisper, swiping at a single tear that managed to escape.

You have a few moments to collect yourself before the Uber stops at the entrance to the paddock. From your seat in the back, you spot a familiar blonde head that belonged to your Dutch boyfriend waiting for you. You're suddenly simultaneously bursting with excitement and beside yourself with grief as the anxiety that has gnawed at you over the last 24 hours fully consumes you at the mere sight of Max.

Max has you out of the car and into his arms before you can barely catch your breath. The moment you inhale that uniquely Max scent something inside you shifts and becomes crystal clear. You didn't need Max to have his jet take you home because you already were home. It sounded cliche in your head and it probably was, but you knew there was some truth to it: somewhere over the last six months your home had shifted away from your apartment in New York to wherever Max was.

Max tightens his grip around your waist, settling his chin on your head while you stay buried deep in his neck, you realize that home isn't a place any longer. Home is a person now and Max is that person. You don't have to go home to New York to rest, you just have to be in Max's presence. With him, you are utterly and completely safe and secure. For someone who spends 99% of her time 'on' and performing, being able to come home to Max and just switch it all off, allowing him to lead and take over, is the most powerful form of rest you could have ever dreamt of.

Max nods at the driver as he unloads your luggage, arms still locked tight around you. He can feel you melt into him, like you've been waiting for this moment since the last time you saw him. He knows that for him at least, this is true. Everything else in his life is completley falling apart. The car sucks, they had to ditch the special livery for this weekend becuase the fucking paint had the potential to make the car too heavy and slow. Lando has been on a tear lately, that McLaren a complete rocket ship and the only reason Lando hasn't overtaken him in the championship is thanks to some spectacularly shitty calls from the McLaren pit wall.

The only bright spot in Max's day is you. Your voice, your touch, your face. Any bit of you he gets on a daily basis is what keeps him going right now. As he had stood on the curb just moments before, desperately and not so patiently waiting while watching the black Mercedes SUV creep down the street towards him, it had felt like cruel and unusual punishment after being apart from you for so long.

And now? Now you were back in his arms and he drew in the longest breath he could, taking in the scent of your perfume and laundry soap that he had missed so keenly while he'd been working, and he simply couldn't get enough.

Max pulls away slightly, so he can see your pretty face but what he sees in your eyes nearly breaks him. Pain and longing hang heavy in your eyes and there is nothing Max wouldn't do to make all of that go away for you. Fingers tip your chin up towards him so he can finally get his lips on yours, a soft sigh escaping your mouth when he makes that first contact.

You swear it's like a cool drink of water in the middle of a humid heatwave in July, the way Max kisses you with such relief and passion and affection. Like he's trying to tell you through his kiss how much he adores you, how much he's missed you, how much he craves you.

"I love you." Are the first words he says to you and your breath catches in your throat. It isn't the first time he's said those words, Max had said them first all those months back when he brought you home to Monaco. It had been quick, probably too quick by the world's standards, but it just clicked between the two of you and the words had tumbled out of Max like it was the most natural thing in the world. The reason the words had your breath catching in your chest was because of the ferocity behind them, like he could tell how bone tired you were from all the travel over the last few months and he was desperate to remind you why you were doing all of this. Why the two of you were doing all of this together and apart. It was for moments like this, moments where you were attached to each other in the middle of the busy paddock parking lot like no one else existed.

"I love you too, Max." You whisper, dusting your lips over the stubble that was scattered over his jaw. "Can we go take a nap now? I'm so tired."

yourpersonalinsta posted

348,209 likes liked by kyliekelce, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta home is wherever you are (tagged: maxverstappen1) user098 mad max is no more, there is only soft cuddly boyfie max user0399 this is the cutest thing i've ever seen user000 god i am so single maxverstappen1 love you baby >>>danielricciardo SIMP >>>maxverstappen1 absolutely >>>user9938 it kills me that he is loves her so boldly and loudly. girl hit the mfing jackpot. (liked by author)

It's not your alarm that fully wakes you up on Friday morning. It isn't Max's either. But as you try to untangle your limbs from Max's and search for the source of the ringing, you can't help but curse whoever is interrupting the slow sleepy cuddles that had been progressing into something more heated for the past 20 minutes.

You nearly spit you're so mad when you see the caller ID.

"John." You growl, sitting up in bed as Max settles himself back against the mountain of pillows beside you. "It is 8 in the morning on a Friday the day after I saw my boyfriend for the first time in over three weeks. I swear on all things good and holy, this had better be good."

John, to his credit, didn't even scoff at the threat. He'd been your business manager for going on four years now and was used to your early morning attitudes.

"She said yes."

You sit up, back going ramrod straight as the three words clang through you. "What?" You hiss.

Beside you, Max struggles to sit up too, alarm coursing through him at the panic in your voice.

"Tree just called me five minutes ago. Said that Kylie had sent her the episode and wouldn't stop gushing about how amazing you were and how you were the perfect person to do this interview on the end of the tour and everything. Tree said Taylor watched your episode with Michelle and Queen Maxima too, said they were the best interviews she's ever seen. Everything is a go."

Your entire world tilts as what John is telling you fully sinks in. "Taylor Swift's agreed to come on the show?" You voice is weak, heavy under the weight of the news John is telling you. Your hands tremble at the thought of what this means for you. For your career.

Beside you, Max sucks in a breath at your sentence, fully aware of how big of a moment this is for you. Pride soars through him as he watches literal sunshine dance across your face, your smile as bright as the Texas morning light. "Schatje." He whispers, pulling your free hand towards his lips. Your eyes dart over to him and you grin at him, kicking your feet a little, completely unable to hide your excitement.

"She also said yes to your suggestion of a behind the scenes vlog on your channel ahead of the release of the episode. Thought the idea was marketing gold. You've got full access to everything for the entire week."

Before you had landed Kylie Kelce on the show, you and John had made a silly, pie in the sky request to Tree Paine not even thinking that it would go anywhere. When Kylie had agreed to do an episode, a request that had actually been made to her people months before John had contacted Tree, the idea of maybe, just maybe you might be able to land Taylor after had grown a bit. You hadn't told anyone of the request, not even Max, because you didn't want to be embarrassed if it didn't work out.

"There's only one problem." Your heart stops and you grip at Max's hand for support. You knew there had to be a catch. "They want you in Toronto by Sunday."

"Wh-what?" Your stomach plummets through the floor. You had just gotten to Austin last night and now you were going to have to leave again? You were supposed to spend the entire triple header with Max. Three weeks of solid time with him had been the only thing getting you through the previous three week separation. You two had even planned to go visit your parents in Michigan between Austin and Mexico later next week.

"The first concert is Monday and Tree wants you to get as much content as you can and has asked you be there at 9am Monday morning."

You head spins. "Oh-okay." There's a giant Max shaped hole in your heart at what you have to agree to, simply exhausted by the fact that you're going to have to pick up and leave again so soon. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

"Do you want me to have Shannon make flight arrangements?"

You glance over at Max, who senses your apprehension. "Let me talk through it with Max and see what we can figure out. I'll call you in a few hours, okay?"

"Sounds good. Congratulations, kiddo. This is huge."

You smile despite yourself, excitement and anxiety winding their way through your chest making it a little hard to breathe. "Bye John."

You gently place your phone back on the bedside table before turning to Max, bracing yourself for the good and bad news you have to deliver.

"The beginning of that call looked phenomenal but now you look like you're going to be sick." Max observes, pulling you into his lap.

You shudder against when his lips graze your neck, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Taylor Swift agreed to come on the show and to let me do a weeks worth of behind the scenes of her Toronto shows."

"Baby, that is amazing. This is going to be huge for you and the show!"

You nod, a bit dazed by all of this information you have to process. "But they want me there by Sunday night so I can start first thing Monday." Sadness edges into your voice, the dread of having to leave Max again begins to sink in fully.

"When should Greg have the jet ready to take off then? You'll probably want to leave before the end of the race to beat traffic, yeah? Although I suppose we could find you a helicopter to take you from the track to the airport."

You stare at Max like he's grown three heads. His voice is so nonchalant despite him suggesting he rent you a helicopter that all you can do is blink at him for a few moments. "Just...just like that? You're on board with it? You're not upset?"

Max scoffs, pulling you closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. His arms go tighter around your waist as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. "Why would I be upset? I'll do anything I can to help you live out this dream, schatje. You know that. This is the biggest thing to happen to your career since you had F1 racing legend Max Verstappen as a guest."

The giggle that tumbles out of you has the tension in the room popping like a soap bubble. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you're still here." Max finds your lips then, the kiss full of reassurance and confidence. Of course he was disappointed you were going to be leaving in 2 days and he wasn't sure when you'd be back with him but this opportunity was too good to miss. "I'd never forgive myself if you missed spending a week doing what you love with one of your favorite artists because of me. Of course I'll miss you but you need to do this. So tell me, when should I have the jet ready to get you to Toronto?"

yourpersonalinsta story post

story replies: user8882 ARE YOU THERE FOR ERAS TOUR??? user029 what are you up to ma'am??? user837 wait. first kylie's on the show and now you're in Toronto the same week as Taylor. ARE WE GETTING A TAYLOR EPISODE OH MY GOD.

TheYappingHour posted

876,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, alexandrasaintmleux, and others theyappinghour Toronto, you were stunning! Can anyone guess who our next guest on the show is going to be??? Behind the scenes vlog dropping next week ahead of a very very special two part episode set to drop later this month. user928 oh my god, everyone stay calm, it's happening. user020 IS THIS FOR REAL??? I will never recover maxverstappen1 so proud of you my love >>>yourpersonalinsta couldn't do it without you, maxie >>>user928 if there's one thing Max is going to be, it's the first one in the likes and comments on anything his girl does. (liked by yourpersonalinsta) >>>user0298 may this kind of love find me one day

Excerpt from Episode 59 of The Yapping Hour featuring Taylor Swift:

You: Speaking of what you do in your down time, can we talk about how supportive you are of your boyfriend and show up for him despite the Brad's and Chad's hating every second of it?

Taylor: It's so silly to me, how much everyone hates it. When I show up at the game, I'm just like every other significant other. I'm not there to take the spotlight away from anyone, I just want to watch my man play!

You: Oh my God, I totally get it. It's so strange to me the way some fans can't handle someone like you who has a whole other identity outside of who you're dating, showing up to support the person you love.

Taylor: It's like, relax! I'm just here to watch my boyfriend catch a ball!

You: Right? Just let me enjoy watching 20 cars drive around in circles in peace please!

Taylor: You two are so cute though. Trav was watching the race in Monaco a few months back, right after he invested in Alpine, and there was that one shot of you and Max after the end of the race in his garage and you were giving him a hug. I love how loudly you love him and how public he is about you. It's refreshing.

You: Oh gosh, thank you. Yes, he is so supportive of everything I do, just like Travis is. It's such a comfort, isn't it? *Taylor nods* He actually stayed in Austin an extra day so I could use his jet to come up here.

Taylor: Trav was supposed to go to that race but got caught up in training stuff. It looked like so much fun.

You: Have you ever been to a race? Either of you?

Taylor: I haven't but Travis went to the Las Vegas race last year. Said it was the one of the biggest parties he'd ever been to.

You: You'll have to come this year then! It's in a few weeks!

Taylor: I'll talk to Trav and see if we can make it happen.

TheYappingHour posted

1,039,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, kikagomes, and others theyappinghour What an absolute whirlwind of a week and a half. Spending time with your favorite artist, seeing her in her element, and then spending a few hours talking about everything from what it's like to live such a public life to how important it is to have a supportive significant other. I simply can't wait to share the behind the scenes vlog dropping at the end of this week and then the episode later this month. Taylor, you are a dream of a human being and we are so happy to have had this opportunity. Can't wait to see you and Travis at a race! taylorswift You are such a sweetheart! So glad we got to spend time together this past week! Can't wait to hear the episode my love! kikagomes how does it feel to live my dreammmm bestie??? >>>yourpersonalinsta kiks omg i will never recover from this!! maxverstappen1 Proud of you, as always lifeje. >>>yourpersonalinsta can't wait to see you so so so soon baby

"And he doesn't expect a thing?" You glance up at the ticket counter where the airline employee has begun to call first class. You stand, phone still pressed to your ear, pulling your carry on behind you.

"Nope!" On the other end, Max's PR manager Sophie giggles conspiratorially. "He was just complaining to GP ten minutes ago how he couldn't believe they didn't have more flights from Sao Paulo to Paris. He said he was considering upgrading his jet to one with longer range so he could fly private next time."

You roll your eyes but chuckle. If you were a drama queen, your boyfriend could be the drama king to match sometimes. Although you didn't blame him to be quite honest. After leaving Austin mid way through the race, you had missed the Mexico race entirely. The plan had been for you to fly down to Brazil for the Sao Paulo race but editing and press had taken much longer than you had anticipated so now it was Saturday night and you were boarding a 9 hour flight from New York to the South American country.

Only, Max didn't know that. Max thought you were getting on a flight to Nice via Paris before driving to Monaco where he'd meet you sometime late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Joke was on him though, you had finished everything up and had called Sophie for help to get you down to Brazil just in time for Sunday's race.

"He's such a baby." You murmur as the flight attendant leads you to your seat.

"He is beside himself missing you." Sophie says and you can hear the smile in her voice. "Just make sure I'm around when he sees you for the firs time, okay? He's going to lose it."

Laughing, you hoist your suitcase into the overhead bin before settling down in the luxurious lie flat seat that will be your bed for the next nine hours. If everything goes right, you'll land in Brazil just as the postponed qualifying is finishing up and will be able to watch the entire race in person.

"Thank you for helping coordinate this, Soph. I really appreciate it."

"Anything to get Max out of this slump he's in!" She replies brightly.

A few minutes later, you hang up the phone and type out a quick text letting Max know you're boarding the flight. Luckily, the flight from New York to Paris is roughly the same time as the flight to Sao Paulo so he doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you'll be unreachable, only telling you that the doorman to his building is expecting you and to make yourself at home in his apartment in Monaco when you get there before he does.

************************************************************************

It is absolutely raining cats and dogs when the car Sophie hired pulls into the track after what feels like a lifetime of travel. Right after they served dinner on your flight, you took a sleeping pill and passed out for the duration of the flight, only waking up once the pilot turned on the overhead lights, signaling your arrival.

A quick text to Sophie alerts her to your arrival and she says she'll come and meet you outside the paddock with an extra umbrella. The driver that picked you up from the airport will take your luggage to the hotel where Max and the team are staying. When the car stops in front of the paddock gates, you spot Sophie immediately.

"Soph!!" You shout the moment you stumble out of the car, limbs a little stiff from the long car ride. Sao Paulo traffic is a beast in the best of weather but in a downpour like this? Nightmarish.

Sophie opens her arms to embrace you, "Oh I am so glad you're here. He is an absolute nightmare right now."

You grimace, knowing exactly why. He'd be starting P17 in a few hours. Between the team having got caught behind a red flag during Q2 and his 5 place grid penalty, it was a nightmare scenario for Max. All of this was compounded by Lando's win in the sprint yesterday and the fact that he was starting on pole today.

"Alright then, lets go. Maybe I can talk him down off a ledge before the race starts."

Sophie grins because she knows you'll be able to do just that. If there was anyone who could calm Mad Max down and bring him back to earth after the kind of morning the team had had today, it was you.

As you weave your way through the crowded paddock, the heavy rain simply not a deterrent to anyone at the track today, Max is in the garage considering the merits of scratching his eyeballs out so that he doesn't have to run this fucking race today. Everything is wrong. The car is terrible. Still. The FIA seemed to have a hard on for fucking up his weekend. Lando was on poll. And worst of all, he really fucking missed you. There was still several days between him and being reunited with you but if he could have just walked right out of the paddock and onto a plane to get to wherever you were in that moment, he would have. The only thing that seemed to settle him during these times lately was your steady presence in the garage. He didn't even need you to say anything, just knowing that you were around, within arms length if he needed you, did something to calm him like nothing else could.

He's talking to GP, actually, he's grumbling at GP when a familiar flash of hair and bright smile catches his eyes. Perfect, he thinks miserably, now I'm imagining her in the garage. I've gone full unhinged obsessed boyfriend, haven't I?

Imagine his shock when he actually hears your voice. "Max." You call out softly, hands clasped in front of you as you wait at the edge of the garage beside Sophie.

Max simply blinks a few times, as if he's trying to figure out if he's hallucinating or if you're really standing in front of him. His heart hammers in his chest when everything finally clicks into place. GP doesn't even bat an eye when Max walks away from him, mid sentence, before crossing the garage in a few short strides.

Max isn't usually one for intense public displays of affection, especailly in the garage and neither are you. There's a level of professionalism he likes to maintain while racing and you have always respected that but when Max sees you standing in front of him, practically drowning in one of his sweatshirts, hair wet and messy from walking through the paddock in the rain, he can't stop himself from scooping you up in his arms. Burying his head in your neck, he inhales deeply. So deeply that his lungs pinch with pain from the way he's trying to commit the way you smell to memory.

"You're here." He murmurs, voice thick and heavy with emotion. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to meet me in Monaco?"

Max sets you down, not really wanting you out of his arms but wanting to move you to a quieter part of the garage. Behind you, Sophie, GP and the rest of the team discreetly shuffle away to give you two a bit of privacy.

"I knew how hard the last two races were for you and I just..." Pausing, you have to wait for a moment for your hands to stop shaking. You've been running on sheer adrenaline and caffeine for what feels like the last three weeks now and the emotion of the moment catches up to you. "I just wanted to be here for you."

Max lowers his lips to yours, covering them in a kiss that is all longing and white hot heat. He keeps the kiss just this side of tame enough for the garage, not wanting to draw the ire of Christian but he had needed to taste you then. His hand comes up to cup your face while the other slips around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body. He's slightly damp from how wet it's been this morning but none of that matters now that you're back in his arms.

"I missed you so much." He murmurs, blue eyes practially sparkling down at you, he's so happy. It's been weeks since he's felt like this. Settled. Like he can take on the world. For the first time in what feels like forever, Max has a sense of determination that wraps itself around him. Like the championship isn't all but lost to Lando. Like the car isn't going to be terrible today, even though he might not even finish in the points. Like everything he's gone through the past few months on the track is all about to end because you're finally here and if anyone can bring the team luck, it's you.

"I love you." You whisper into his chest. "Now, let's go show the world why you're about to become a 4 time world champion, yeah?"

And that's exactly what he does.

yourpersonalinsta posted

938,398 likes liked by redbullracing, taylorswift, yourdad and others yourpersonalinsta we are SO back, baby!!! What started out as a nightmare of a day turned into a generational drive for the history books. P17 to P1 and I cannot believe I was there to witness it. Max, I am proud of you beyond words. You and the entire team deserve this win today. I love you to the moon and back, Maxie. (tagged: maxverstappen1) taylorswift what a race! Trav and I caught most of it before the game today. Congratulations!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta hope to see you in Vegas in a couple of weeks! >>>user928 oh my god, new bestie duo unlocked!? maxverstappen1 words fail to describe how much I love you baby. Thank you for always being in my corner and never giving up on me, even when I want to give up on myself. Love you to the ends of time, schatje >>>user928 i am SOBBING. Boyfriend Max is my favorite Max.

Tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 fluff #formula one fluff

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cryobabiess · 1 month ago

Note

girldad!geta pleeease!

Filia Divina

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Wife!reader

Tags: childbirth, pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned, implied infanticide, soft!geta (if you squint), historically accurate practices, NOT BETA READ SO IF YOU SEE SOMETHING WONKY NO YOU DIDN’T, good ole fashioned misogyny

AN: Tollere Liberos is in reference to an ancient Roman tradition where a father decides whether or not to accept a newborn as their child. Rejected children were abandoned via ‘expositus’ (aka dead ass just leaving a baby out in the wilderness). So basically girldad!geta but historically accurate lol. Enjoy!

It had only been an hour since you birthed her—a sweet little creature with curls the color of honey and supple skin like the flesh of a ripe plum. With a mighty wail fit to be heard across an empire, she came into the world. Your goddess, Juno, generously granted her the health and strength you prayed for. You rejoiced, though your joy was not shared.

The midwives cleaned your daughter in grave silence, save for the whispers of the politic-men gathered to witness the birth of Rome’s divine son. They huddled together in the far corner of the chamber as your girl laid against her mother’s chest for the first time.

“It cannot be true—look again!” Geta frantically commands the weary doctor. He paces across the marble floor in a state of distress. A litany of expressions troubles his face; disbelief, panic, betrayal.

“My lord, it is not what was desired, but I assure you—the child is female. You have my greatest sorrows.” The doctor mournfully bows his head, knowing better than to look the short tempered prince in the eye.

Geta was persistent, diligently sewing his seed in your womb since your holy union. You passed two of his children as blood, and he held you as you suffered through the pain. He watched your body grow when his efforts succeeded, massaged your taut skin with olive oil, and fed you bread soaked in sweet wine when you felt ill. He even kneeled at Jupiter’s alter to call for the safe delivery of his first son and the health of his wife—All these precautions only to be cruelly slighted.

“The gods have punished me, yet I’ve done nothing but bend to their will.” Geta holds his head in disbelief, his devastation made evident by a deep scowl.

Senator Gracchus tentatively approaches your distraught husband, resting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“My lord, we must atone for our offenses, whatever they may be. It is a grave misfortune indeed, but your bride—“

Rage ignites across Geta’s face as he pulls away from his constituent’s touch.

“Speak tactfully of your empress if you wish to keep your tongue, Senator.” He seethes through a tight jaw. Gracchus relents, his tone softening considerably. He continues slowly and with caution.

“Two winters have passed since your union, and she has yet to bring forth an heir of Rome. Her body has proved inhospitable. The gods have sent a message, and it would be foolish to turn a cheek—you must heed this omen! ”

Geta takes a moment, carefully considering the senator’s plea for reason. He looks back to you, Obsidian eyes gazing down at the linen sheet that obscures your sleeping child.

“I am a conduit of their will. Tollere Liberos will prevail and the gods will decide through me.” Geta turns to you fully. Your heart becomes heavy in your chest as you search your husband’s face for tenderness, but see nothing but solid stone.

In your dreams, you imagined the day Geta approached his first heir as sweet—that he might kiss your reddened cheeks and proudly claim his child. Never did you think the sight of him would cause you to tighten your grip and cower away. He looms over the bed where you lay, exhausted and perspiring, like a holy monument.

“Show me the child.”

“My love, I beg you—“

“Your emperor commands it.” Geta callously interrupts.

You unwrap your daughter in your arms, trembling hands moving as gingerly as possible. She shifts in her sleep, curling her precious limbs toward her delicate body, but does not wake. Geta’s eyes widen at the sight of her.

“So it is true. My faithful wife’s womb has betrayed me.” His gaze softens. Something stirs behind it, but you are not sure what.

“If you wish to return her life, then be merciful and do the same with mine.” Your heart twists and aches, your love for your emperor becoming a knife in your rib.

To your shock, Geta reaches out to his daughter, takes her tiny fist in his palm, and runs a thumb over her blushing knuckles. She wraps her hand around her father’s finger with a mighty yawn.

You have seldom seen your restless husband become so still.

“She bears your resemblance.” Geta’s voice is but a whisper. His gaze doesn’t stray from her. It appears his heart aches the same as yours.

“And a head of golden hair.” You can only offer an exhausted smile.

Geta takes his daughter into his arms for the first time.

“The gods have spoken!” He declares to the small gathering of senators. Your emperor raises his girl above the laurels atop his head. Some look on with horror, and others with pride.

“She will have my name! It is done.”

As your daughter’s first weeks pass, Geta’s tenderness only grows. In the lavender hours of dawn, you wake to find him cradling her in the crook of his arm. He speaks to her softly.

“Poor girl, you have wounded your father’s pride. My, what tragedy.”

You smile at the sound of her gentle crooning as your husband assuages her back to sleep.

“A son would belong to Rome—but you, dear Septima, will belong to me.”

#emperor geta x reader #gladiator ii #request #in which geta briefly considers infanticide lol

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atlabeth · 9 months ago

Text

pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer walks in one day with a new look. you handle it pretty well.

a/n: im in the opposite of a writing slump right now (will prob fall into a writing slump right after i say this) probably because im procrastinating on essays for school and i can only write when im meant to be doing work. but tiny little fluffy spencer one shots are very good for the soul right now. i think it's my way of healing from my hotch fic

wc: 1.8k

warning(s): one slightly sexual joke from emily. all fluff

You usually don’t get to the office this early, but you don’t exactly have a choice. The BAU’s last couple cases have all run one after another, barely leaving you any time in the office, and now you’re paying for it.

You’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and not nearly enough time to do it all—if you’re lucky, you’ll be writing reports for a few days straight. If you’re not, you’ll be putting in some overtime.

“This is the most focused I’ve ever seen you this early,” Derek comments.

You shake your head with a sigh. “These reports are government mandated torture.”

He chuckles, and he nods at Emily as she walks over to her desk. “Are you this busy?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve still got a report to get through, but nothing that bad.”

“I get it,” you say wryly. “You’re all more organized than me. Just don’t come to me asking to go out tonight—you know I can’t say no.”

“But don’t shots taste better when you’re supposed to be doing work?” Derek asks, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

“Not when I’ve got this much work I’m supposed to be doing.”

You hear the elevator ding and glance up—Spencer’s walking through and fixing his tie. You look back down at your report as you greet him.

“Hey, Spence,” you call. “Why’re you late?”

“I’m not late,” he says, and you can see him checking his watch out of your peripherals. “I’m two minutes and thirty-three seconds early.”

“Really?” you muse. “I guess I’m just so used to you being here before me.”

“You can’t judge my timeliness on yours when you’ve been here for an hour already,” Spencer says.

You frown, tapping your pen against the paper. “How do you know?”

“You’re settled in already. Your coat’s on your chair, your stack of unfinished files is smaller than it was last time we were in the office, your coffee isn’t steaming, and your mug has a chipped handle—when they were put away last night, that one was set in the front, so you’d have to be here early to get it.”

“Touche,” you murmur. You’re not sure why you ever ask your team of profilers how they know something.

“You also look like you don’t want to be here,” he comments. “That’s pretty typical of agents who have to be here before their regular hours.”

You chuckle and tilt your head in admission. You don’t really want to be here, especially running on so few hours of sleep.

“Why aren’t you as early as usual?” Emily asks.

“My neighbor knocked on my door this morning to ask me for something,” Spencer says. “It threw off my whole routine. I picked the wrong tie, I couldn’t pack my bag properly, and I had to toast my bagel for two minutes instead of three and a half to make it out in time.”

“How terrible,” Derek says with mock austerity.

“It is terrible!” he exclaims. “It’s scientifically proven that a morning routine makes you happier, more energized, and ready to seize the day—carpe diem.” Spencer sets his bag on the floor next to his desk and looks at everyone else with a smile. “Did you know that phrase was actually coined by the Roman poet Horace in his Odes? It comes from the first book out of four in the eleventh poem—the full phrase in Latin is carpe diem, quam mini—”

“How was your bagel?” Emily asks to interrupt him, and he pauses.

“It was good,” he says. “Could’ve been toastier.”

You look up, a teasing remark on the edge of your tongue, but the words die in your throat when you actually see him.

Spencer’s started combing a hand through his hair to fix it—must have been another part of his affected morning routine—his lips set in a pout as he tries to see his reflection in his dark monitor. He always looks good, even without trying, but now—

“You’re wearing glasses,” you say dumbly.

“My contacts dried out,” he grumbles, still focused on his hair. “We got home so late last night I forgot to put them in their solution, and I had no time to fix them because my neighbor messed up my whole morning.”

You nod, still unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Are you gonna keep wearing them?”

“I don’t know. Contacts are better for cases because I’m not worried about them falling off or fogging up, but I usually sleep on the jet on the way back, and sleeping with contacts in isn’t good.” He smiles a bit as he fully turns to you, seemingly satisfied with his hair. “It reduces the amount of oxygen that gets to your cornea, which damages the cornea’s surface and makes it harder to regenerate new cells. Sleeping with contacts actually makes you six to eight times more likely to get an eye infection.”

You nod again, your brain still not quite working at full power. You always love listening to Spencer’s fact dumps—it gives you a lot of material to impress your non-BAU friends with on the side, and you’re eternally thankful for that—but right now, you seriously cannot focus.

You’d never really thought about him in glasses, but that’s probably a good thing if this is how it makes you feel.

You were valedictorian as an undergrad, and you received stellar feedback from your professors during your masters program. You’re an excellent profiler, a valued member of the BAU, and you’re a goddamn FBI agent.

And yet you can’t find a single thought in your head because your coworker showed up to work wearing glasses.

He’s still rambling about other common causes of eye infection and how nobody seems to take them as seriously as they should, when Derek, not even trying to hide his grin at your turmoil, speaks up.

“Reid. Wanna cool it a bit?”

Spencer’s eyes dart over to him for a moment before he stops. “Uh— sorry.” He frowns as he looks back at you. “Why do you ask? Do you not like them?”

“No,” you blurt out, and you shake your head a multitude of times. “No. They look great. You look great. They’re—” You dig your nails hard into your palm as you try your hardest to smile like normal, and this time you nod. “They’re good, Spence.”

“Thanks.” Spencer does that little smile-nod combo of his, and he pushes his glasses back into place with his thumb by the bottom of the frames. “That’s nice to know I’ve got another option.”

You thank whatever god may be out there that Hotch and Penelope are busy in their offices and JJ is busy with some other case, because you think you would die if anyone else saw you like this.

“Hey, Reid,” Emily says, also not doing a very good job of hiding her amusement. You hate your team sometimes. “They’re almost out of sugar in the breakroom. If you want coffee the way you like it this morning, you should probably get in there.”

“What?” Spencer shoots up, his brows already furrowing into a frown. “That— that’s ridiculous. I can’t mess up my morning any more.”

“You’d better get in there, then,” she remarks.

“We’re an entire office of agents running on coffee,” Spencer complains as he starts walking. “How are we almost out of sugar?”

“Because half of ‘em drink it black,” Derek says, and Spencer shakes his head with a sigh as he leaves.

“That’s ridiculous.”

You bury your head in your hands the moment he’s gone and Derek laughs. “I wish I could’ve gotten that on video.”

“Don’t talk to me,” you groan. “It is not fair of him to walk in like that.”

“And that is why I call him pretty boy.”

“He needs them to see,” Emily says with amusement as she leans against the side of your desk. “You just can’t control yourself.”

“I need to transfer offices,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.”

“You should ask him out!” Derek encourages. “He’d probably say yes.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist. “I doubt he likes me like that. A— and even if he does, that’s the last thing either of us need right now.”

“I don’t know,” Emily muses. “It looks like you clearly need something.”

You let out a frustrated noise as you screw your eyes shut. “I’m doomed.”

You hear Spencer say your name, and when you look over at him, one hand still pressed against your head, you see he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say weakly. “I’m great. Why?”

“I got you one too,” he says, holding one of the mugs out to you. “The one you have is probably cold by now, and it looks like you need an extra kick to get through all those reports.”

“Thanks, Spence. That’s sweet.” He nods as you take the proffered mug, and you swear your cheeks are as warm as the coffee. He is really testing your strength today.

“You— you have a lot,” he says, and you huff a dry laugh and nod. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I could take half of them if you want?”

Your grip tightens on the mug and you can feel Derek’s eyes on you. “I couldn’t make you do that, Spence.”

“You’re not!” Spencer exclaims. “I can get through mine really quickly—we worked together for almost the whole last case so I can do all of that anyways.”

“...You’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

“I’m sure,” he nods. “Besides, I offered. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.”

And god damn him, because he nudges his glasses back into place again, pushes a strand of loose hair back into place. You’re dying over here.

You set the mug of coffee on your desk and pick up the top half of your pile. “All yours, Spence.”

He takes the bottom half and smiles at you, and you smile back before he walks back to his desk. You are dying over here.

“Let me know how I can pay you back,” you say, and he shakes his head.

“You don’t need to pay me back.”

“Really?”

Spencer nods. “I mean, Morgan invited us all out on the jet last night, and I don’t think I can do it alone. If you can get out of the office in time, I don’t have to. I think that's enough of a payback.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles again and nods, then he picks up a pen and focuses in. You turn back to your desk, your face burning.

“What was that about him not liking you like that?” Derek says.

“Quiet!” you whisper-yell, swatting him with the pile of files in your hand. “He might hear you!”

“He’s not hearing anything while he’s focused on that,” he says. “That just means you can ogle him more.”

You groan again, letting your forehead fall into your palm. “I’m pathetic.”

“I think you’re right.” Emily chuckles as she stands up. “You are doomed.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #x reader #sadie writes

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shegetsburned · 10 months ago

Text

archeology teacher!kento who’s your first-semester teacher for your anthropology major. he was recommended by one of your friends so you took his archeology class.

archeology teacher!kento who’s considerate and kind towards his students and has an inspiring passion for history although he comes off as stoic and aloof.

archeology teacher!kento who laid his eyes on you the first time when you came after class to his desk to ask questions, leaving a permanent impression on him with your cute demeanour and bright smile. your interest made him question his.

archeology teacher!kento whose athletic build molded by his tight blue shirt attracted your gaze more than once while he explained roman architecture with his back turned toward the class.

archeology teacher!kento whose subtle eye contact makes your heart flutter and your thighs clench together. he’ll always find your gaze whether you’re at the back of the class or on the sides.

archeology teacher!kento who won’t hesitate to take overtime if it means being able to deepen the subject with you and help you in any way he can.

archeology teacher!kento who shifts closer to you while showing you slides of ancient artifacts, occasionally brushing your elbow with his.

archeology teacher!kento who’s normally capable of separating sentimentalism from service, but can’t get you out of his head. thinking of you in ways he shouldn’t be thinking about when it comes to his students.

archeology teacher!kento whose hunger becomes more and more insatiable the more time he spends with you. his focus failing him every time you look into his eyes while he speaks or when you touch his elbow as you get up from your seat at the end of the studying session.

archeology teacher!kento who closes the door behind the last student after a two-hour long class on a friday evening, leaving you two alone. despite his tired figure, he insists that he can still work on some subjects with you.

archeology teacher!kento whose explanations are unusually incomprehensible and languorous. you ask if you should call it a day but his demanding eyes tell you otherwise.

archeology teacher!kento who leans on his desk, inattentively misplacing his stuff and shifting his weight closer to you, his cologne blesses your nostrils when his neck is to your height, forcing you to look up.

archeology teacher!kento whose heavy breath lends on your forehead when his hands grab the sides of your chair, pulling you closer, his thumb just slightly caresses your thighs sending shivers down your spine.

archeology teacher!kento who gives up any kind of restraint and self-control that inevitably comes with the job when he lifts you up on the desk, placing a ravenous kiss upon your lips, his hands tracing your curves up and down.

archeology teacher!kento who hurries his movements, skillfully undressing you with little to no regard for anyone that might enter and watch him fuck his student.

“n-nanami. is it okay?” you ask against his lips, already melting into his touch. you were certainly more concerned than him for the consequences.

but he had watched you for weeks, rubbing yourself against your chair, nervously biting your lips and nibbling at your pen while he taught the class. he had enough of your subtle grins and teasing smiles.

“i don’t care.”

archeology teacher!kento who gets off on your shy moans that echo through the whole amphitheatre. your hesitant whines are blocked by one of your hands until he grabs your wrist, pulling it down against the desk.

“let me hear you, sweetheart. let the whole school hear you.”

archeology teacher!kento who lowers your pants and underwear before unbuckling his belt and steadying himself right in front of your entrance, a grin on his lips when you ask for him by pulling his tie down.

archeology teacher!kento who mercilessly pounds into you, holding your hands down behind you and bending your body so your back arches against the wooden desk.

you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his weight forward, asking for him deeper, but the sheer size of his member was already enough to completely fill you. whenever he moved, it bruised your tight pussy, completely covering him with your seed.

archeology teacher!kento who places gentle kisses upon your ear and neck despite how greedily he fucks you. your nails dig into the desk to maintain yourself, every time he thrusts in.

archeology teacher!kento who easily but patiently leads you to multiple orgasms, keeping you in his class for more than one hour of overtime.

archeology teacher!kento who lets no part of your body undiscovered, leaving no place for the imagination when you end up completely naked as he eats your pulsating cunt just like you expected he would.

archeology teacher!kento who watches you leave his class for the tenth time, but this time satisfied. you left a delicious imprint on his lips and his hands that he’d think about for the whole weekend. he knew he needed to have you all to himself now and promised he’d ask you out for a proper date next time, hoping you wouldn’t say no to a teacher who had taught you so much already.

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authorhjk1 · 3 months ago

Note

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6pTqflplBO/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

Sana/Jennie museum threesome

The Roman Goddess (part III)

(Minatozaki Sana X Jennie X Male Reader)

"Stop playing hard to get, Mars."

Venus' mischievous smile makes you lose your mind.

You knew it was a bad idea, when you saw the invitation to this event lying on the bed in your hotel room. And her note next to it explained why she wanted you here.

"I don't think we should do this."

You take a step back, surprised by your own self control.

"Y-Your husband is right there."

You whisper and point to the next room of the museum.

"Oh, forget about him, baby. I'm just here for that dick of yours."

You watch her looking down on you, before she reaches out to cup your crotch.

You can't do anything. Nothing to resist. Venus has always been something you can't walk away from. Something that draws you in. And that purple dress she is wearing makes your head spin, everytime you look at her. It fits her body perfectly, hugging her curves tightly.

A satisfied smile plays around Venus' lips, when she sees you glancing at her cleavage.

"You see? We're meant for each other. My body is yours. And yours is mine."

She steps closer. You close your eyes, still feeling her hand on your clothed cock. She places her tongue on your cheekbone and gives your cheek a long lick upwards, until she reaches your ear. Her purpose is clear. Destroy your silent resistance. Let yourself go. Give in.

"Your cock. It belongs in my pussy. As deep as it can go."

You flinch when Venus bites your earlobe. She is way more aggressive than she used to be. But then again, she is used to getting what she wants.

"And I'm not leaving this museum, until you tear this dress off me and fuck me like you mean it."

Your eyes shoot open when you hear high heels click on the stone floor. Someone is walking towards the two of you. Venus takes two steps back and pretends to read the information plate of the glass case on your left. You quickly hide your erection with the brochure you've held onto until now.

When the woman finally rounds the corner, you almost roll your eyes. What in the world? What the fuck is going on?

Her blue dress is barely a dress. More like a tunic. A very revealing one. You can see most of her slender legs and her tummy. The former is decorated with some body jewelry, which catches your eye. You notice you're staring, when she speaks up.

"I didn't expect you to see here."

Venus turns around.

"Oh, hey you."

She gives the new woman a big smile, but you can tell it's not genuine. Venus hesitates for a moment, but decides to properly greet the other woman. The two of them meet in the middle of the room. You can sense the awkwardness in the air as they give each other a hug. It looks forced and delicate, almost as if both of them are afraid the other might shatter into pieces, if they squeeze too hard.

You take a deep breath, glad you aren't the center of Venus' attention at the moment. Turning around, you try to ignore the two women and regain your composure. The glass case behind you showcases a trident and a net. You read the small plate that is placed next to the case.

The Retiarius, one of the most iconic gladiators of ancient Rome, fought using a trident (tridens) and a net (rete). Unlike his heavily armored counterparts, the Retiarius relied on speed and agility.

"How is your husband doing? You always talk about how he is working all the time."

"He is doing just fine. If I remember correctly, you ended things with your boyfriend? Tell me all about that."

Equipped with minimal armor—typically a shoulder guard (galerus) for protection—he would attempt to ensnare his opponent with the net before striking with the trident. This lightweight approach contrasted sharply with the heavily armed Secutor, creating a dramatic spectacle of skill versus strength.

"You know how guys are. Lazy idiots, who only think about sex. Especially when they see a woman like me. Believe it or not, I had one of his best friends on my doorstep an hour after I ended things with him."

"I can only imagine. My husband is a loyal, loving man. He gives me the world. I hope you'll find someone like that someday as well."

The weapons displayed here are replicas of those used in the grand arenas of Capua, a renowned training center for gladiators.

You move onto the next exhibit, while you hear the two women talk in the background. It's obvious they don't like each other. They're just bragging about how everyone loves them and how beautiful they are. You do have to admit that they're both gorgeous, but their characters seem flawed, to say the least.

Now standing in front of a mosaic, you get a glimpse of what a fully filled arena must've looked like in its full glory.

This intricate mosaic from the arena in Capua illustrates the staged reenactment of the Battle of Zama, the decisive confrontation of the Second Punic War fought in 202 BCE. In this spectacle, captured Punic warriors were forced to relive their defeat, facing off against Roman-trained gladiators representing the legions of Scipio Africanus.

"By the way, I love that dress of yours. I don't think I'd dare to show off this much skin, but it really fits your style."

"Thanks. Oh, but I love yours as well. Did your husband buy it for you? His taste is really something."

The Punic fighters are depicted with their characteristic long spears (hasta), curved swords (falcata), and round shields (caetra), emulating the Carthaginian infantry. Some are shown as Numidian allies, wielding javelins (pilum) and riding light horses, mirroring the diverse forces of Hannibal’s army.

"You know, I'd love to catch up with you some more, but my husband already mentioned earlier that he would love me to accompany him to the arena. But I'm sure we will have a chance to resume this pleasant conversation."

"Of course, dear. You're a loving and loyal wife. You always put his needs over yours."

Their opponents, dressed in Roman-style armor, carry gladii (short swords) and rectangular scuta (shields), symbolizing the disciplined Roman formations that triumphed at Zama. Such events were designed not only as entertainment but as a display of Roman supremacy, reminding the spectators of Rome's victory over one of its greatest adversaries.

You let out a deep breath as you hear Venus exit the room. You already felt bad, because you slept with a married woman. And while your carnal desires have kept you under their control so far, you finally have the courage to stop. You don't want to do it here. Not with her husband in the next room. That's not just morally wrong, but also stupid and dangerous.

You decide to ignore the other woman. She's probably doing the same with you. You reach another, smaller glass case. A figure of Venus inside. You can't help but glance at your own personal Venus through the door in the other room. For a moment, your eyes are glued to her backside, which is tightly wrapped by her dress. But you quickly avert your eyes again, hoping no one caught you. You decide on studying the description of the small figure, waiting for the other woman to finally leave the room.

The goddess Venus, revered as the deity of love, beauty, and fertility, held a special connection with the gladiators of Capua. In Roman culture, Venus was also associated with victory and fortune, making her a significant figure for gladiators who sought her favor before entering the arena. It was believed that invoking Venus’ blessings could turn the tide of combat, granting strength, agility, and the favor of the audience.

"Interesting."

You mumble as you take out your pen. This could make for a great part of your book. The first one featured the Roman legions. The second one was centered around Roman naval warfare. And this third one was supposed to be more about politics, while highlighting the character of a cunning, but charming woman.

Thank to Venus, you've already made great progress. "The Roman goddess", your third book, is almost finished by now. And it seems like you just found the best way to start your fourth book. Very ambitious, since you haven't completed the third one yet. But you know that this could lead you to even more fame. And money. For a moment, you wonder if you could ever reach the same level as Venus' husband. Through writing? Not likely. But it's going well so far.

The idea alone already makes your fingers itchy. You want to go home and continue to write. And you know now, your fourth book will be about gladiators. As you take notes on the museum's brochure, you are already planning out the first ideas for a plot.

You loose yourself in your thoughts, whispering along as you keep on reading the description of the small figure.

In Capua, one of the most renowned gladiatorial training centers of the Roman world, shrines and offerings to Venus were common, especially among gladiators who wished to honor the goddess in the hope of survival and success. The connection between Freya and the gladiators-

"What the fuck happened here?"

You say out loud, starring at the small text.

"Are you okay?"

You jump. The woman who talked to Venus is standing right behind you.

"Yeah, sorry."

You turn back around.

"Is something wrong?"

"Kinda..."

You hesitate. She sounds kinda bored and you don't want to make it worse by letting your history addiction shine through. But what's the worst that can happen?

"Here."

You point at the description.

"For some reason someone switched the names of Venus and Freya."

"And who is that?"

"Well, Venus is this one."

You point at the statue and have to force yourself to not look into the next room.

"And Freya is basically her Nordic equivalent."

"Isn't this the goddess of love or something?"

"Yes, you're correct. She's also responsible for marriage and the spring."

"You seem to know what you're talking about."

The woman next to you crosses her arms in front of her chest as she looks down at the figure of Venus.

"A little. My specialty is Roman and Greek history, but I know a thing or two about other civilizations as well."

"Are you a history teacher or something?"

"An author."

It still feels odd to say that. But you're realizing that you aren't as nervous as you should be. This woman is gorgeous, stunning. And yet, you don't really think about that and just see her as a normal person. Maybe because you spent a lot of time with Venus?

"Are you famous?"

"I wouldn't say so. Not really."

"Too bad. It would've explained why she sleeps with you."

You almost have a heart attack.

"W-What?"

You cross your fingers that she isn't talking about Venus. Not possible. You've never seen her before, so how would she have seen you? And you are sure that Venus didn't say anything either. Right?

You feel your heart beating faster, while your body seems like it's frozen. You wait for her to keep talking.

"Did you never see her taking pictures of you or something?"

You slowly shake your head.

"No... Did she?"

"There's an mobile app for women like us."

She pauses for a moment.

"Rich, famous women. Who are either married or single."

"Ah...."

"The app is used to share our sexual adventures with each other. And recommend people, based on where you are. For example, you told her that you'd be in Italy for a while. How do I know that? I checked the app. She put a picture of you in there. What you're good at, that you're fine with keeping secrets and that you're currently in Italy. And your number as well."

"She gave everyone my number and a picture?"

"Yeah."

You feel a little used. Venus seemed to value privacy so much. So why did she just violate yours?

"I also know that the two of you are playing a little game. You call her Venus. And you're Mars, right?"

You slowly nod your head. It finally dawns on you in which direction this is gonna go.

"I want in."

"What?"

"I want to take what's hers. Make Venus jealous and show her that you like my pussy more than hers."

When she says Venus' name, it almost sounds like an insult.

"Do I have a choice?"

The woman in blue shakes her head, while giving you a mocking smile.

"You don't."

You look at her, then look back towards the room Venus went to, and then look back at her.

"Okay....What do you want to do? A hotel? Or-"

"Shut it."

You're surprised by her rudeness.

"We are going somewhere where she can see us. Got it?"

"S-Sure."

"Oh and we need a name for me too. I want one just as good as hers."

You instinctively glance at the description of the figure.

"Freya?"

You see a smile playing around her lips.

"Sounds good."

"I don't think we should be here. This isn't just against museum rules, but also inappropriate."

"Zip it. I do what I want."

You sigh as she leads you into the sunlight. It seems like someone really paid the museum a lot of money to host this event. Which makes sense, since everyone here seems to be rich. The museum staff has placed a purple sun blind over the imperial box. From here, you have great view of the whole arena.

Of course it isn't in its original state, but it looks fabulous nonetheless. Which makes sense, since it's the second largest amphitheater of the Roman Empire. In the middle, where the gladiators have fought thousands of years ago, the museum has set up tables and chairs, a large buffet and even a small dance floor.

You feel odd, overlooking this beautiful scenery. Not just because you have a gorgeous woman lean over the balustrade right in front of you, but also because it feels wrong. This was once a place of blood and death. People died down there and yet these rich people treat it as some fancy place for a party.

"There she is."

Freya nods towards Venus, who is standing near the buffet. You can spot her easily. She is the most beautiful woman down there. You can't keep your eyes off that beautiful body.

You know her husband has to be there somewhere, but you can't tell who it is. And you're not even sure if you want to know. After all-

"What are you waiting for?"

You look over the bent over woman in front of you. Venus has so much control over you, you almost forgot about Freya. But now, you can see how beautiful she is as well. How sexy, how gorgeous. Just as much a goddess as Venus is. Same but different.

"Kneel for me and make yourself useful."

You hesitate. Venus wasn't really this commanding. But in the end, you don't care. As long as it means you are able to have sex with a woman like her.

You feel the naked stone on your knees. Reaching forward, you slowly lift up Freya's dress. Her blue underwear matches the dress. You lean in and give the back of her thighs kisses. You taste her skin, making sure you take your time as you carefully make your way upwards. When you eventually meet her clothed core, you plant a kiss on the fabric.

Freya's legs open a little wider, but you change directions. You lick and kiss her cheeks, giving them an occasional bite or two.

"That feels good..."

You continue, until you feel like she is starting to get impatient. Pulling at her panties, you watch them slowly glide down her smooth legs.

Licking your lips, you stare at her exposed pussy. It's a little darker than Venus', but not less beautiful. You lean in. One slow lick from the bottom to the top. It makes her hum in appreciation. You reach for her cheeks to pull them apart a little further. Taking in Freya's scent, you begin to feast on her pussy, while the rich people feast on the buffet in the arena.

You quickly notice that Freya isn't as wet as Venus is. It takes you a while to finally have her dripping. But for some reason, that just makes it taste even better. You lick along her folds, part them with your tongue, dive in deep. And then you retreat, circle around her outer lips, dip down to let your tongue flick against her clit. And then you start from the beginning once more.

Throughout your delicious meal, Freya has stayed mostly quiet. An appreciative moan here and there, a slight gasp, whenever you try something new. You can really see how the two women differ from each other.

As you keep going, you notice how Freya likes it when you use your hands on her ass from time to time. Pull her cheeks apart a little, slightly dig your fingers into them, squeezing them. You feel how she slowly becomes hotter, how her body's temperature starts to rise. She starts to move back a little as more pleasure rushes through her system.

Making your final move, you take her clit into your mouth. You suck on it, making her squirm for a moment. And then, a deep moan leaves her body. She shakes in front of you, your hands on her ass and hers on the balustrade keep her standing. More of her juices leave her pussy, which you taste as you dive back in during her high.

When you finally move away from her, you take a look at her now glistening folds once more. But when you're about to stand up, you feel one of her hands pushing your head back down.

"What makes you think you're done?"

You're surprised she wants more. You would've loved to feel her lips, or her pussy on your cock. But you decide to follow her lead. Maybe you'll get even more out of this.

"That's a good boy."

You hear her sigh when you place your lips on hers once more. Closing your eyes, you enjoy her taste. The moment is short lived, when you hear your phone's ringtone.

"Answer it."

Freya's voice is laced with mischievous intent.

You quickly realize why. She must've seen how Venus took out her phone and is now calling you.

"Hello?"

"Are you hiding from me?"

"I'm-"

You get interrupted by Freya, who pulls your face toward her core.

"I'm not."

You resume your meal, while Venus talks on the other end of the line.

"Good. I'm really horny right now. And I need you."

"I'm not sure if we should do it here. Your husband-"

"Oh, don't worry. He won't catch us, I promise."

"I don't-"

"It's gonna be quick."

Freya lets out a sigh as your tongue swipes upwards a little too high, coming dangerously close to her other hole. You bite your lip for a second, hoping Venus didn't hear that.

"I'll reward you."

Seems like Venus took your silence as indecisiveness.

"I'm going to head to your hotel room after this event. My body will be yours tonight."

You almost let out a groan into Freya's pussy.

"Is there anything you would prefer me in?"

You feel the other woman's hand on the back of your head again, urging you on to keep eating her out.

"A specific dress? Lingerie? Nothing?"

You close your eyes, trying to stay strong. At the same time, you keep you face buried between Freya's legs.

"Yes, that feels good."

Her moan is way louder than all the other ones.

"Mars, what's going on?"

You realize that she did it on purpose.

Freya now reaches for your phone.

"Keep going."

She takes and places it on her ear.

"Hello, darling?"

You don't hear what Venus is saying. You let out a sigh, but resume your work. You kinda feel like you betrayed her. But the again, you aren't in a relationship. She is even married to someone else.

"Oh, I bet he's loving dessert right now."

You hear Freya's breath hitch as you let your tongue circle around her clit once more.

"Oh damn, you really weren't lying. He is gonna make me cum again."

You double your efforts at her words. The damage is done already. Might as well finish the job.

"Don't get all possessive, honey. I'm sure he won't mind sleeping with you tonight."

"Really? And what are you gonna do about it?"

You feel how Freya is getting closer again. This bantering with Venus is probably getting her off even more.

"What makes you think you're a better fuck than me?"

"Oh, I'm so up for that. I'm gonna show you how much better I am."

You suck on Freya's clit once more. And the climax of her conversation and you work suddenly make her cum again.

"Oh, fuck!"

Once she calms down, Freya speaks again.

"That was amazing. Where we are? Just look up."

You notice how a second later the call ends. Freya turns around and gives you your phone back.

"While we wait for Venus, why don't you show me what you got there?"

She reaches for your belt and starts to undress you. When your pants and boxers fall onto the stone floor, Freya wraps her fingers around your cock.

"It's always hard to tell someone's size without properly measuring it, but I feel like Venus underestimated you."

She stands in front of you, while she begins to stroke your length. You can't help but reach out to feel more of her body. You place your hand on her naked waist.

"You like me, don't you?"

It's probably for the best, if you don't answer. So you stay silent, your eyes slowly wandering from her waist to her clothed tits. And your hands soon follow.

"You probably thought she was a goddess when you first saw her, huh? That's why you play this little game. But trust me, she is no better than I am."

Her confident smirk makes you realize that she genuinely thinks she is better than Venus. She isn't just saying that to make you choose her.

"Maybe we should start without her."

You watch how Freya's hand leaves your cock. She sticks out her tongue and licks her own palm. Then, she places her wet hand around your length again.

"Come on. Make everyone watch."

She turns around again. And like before, Freya bends over the stone balustrade.

You hold your breath for a moment. You really must be lucky if you get to have sex with her. But, if Venus is about to join the two of you, this might turn into the best day of your life.

Stepping behind her, you align yourself with her pussy. Your tip grazes her lips. When you push inside, you hear her let out a sigh.

"No wonder she doesn't want to share you."

Your hands are on her waist. You feel that waist chain between your fingers. But that's by far not the best thing you're feeling right now. Her tight cunt is nicely wrapped around your cock, keeping you inside as you attempt to back up.

When you start to properly fuck her, you already hear the sounds of someone walking behind you. It's still a little further away, but it's growing closer. You decide that this the best moment to make use of Freya's pussy as much as possible. You don't know what might happen next.

"Fuck, right there."

She moans when you fuck her harder. Soon, you place one of your hands on her clothed tits, while the other stays on her waist. You take her from behind, enjoying her body to the fullest. As every thrust leads you deeper and deeper inside, you start to forget all about the world around you. Her tight grip on your cock is all that matters right now. Your thrusts become faster. And the sound of your hips meeting her ass becomes louder.

"The two of you started without me?"

You quickly turn your head. Venus is standing behind you, a pout on her lips. Your eyes immediately roam her body. Her beauty and Freya's pussy around your cock make your head spin.

"Why don't you join me? Venus?"

Freya says her name once more with an underlying emotion. But to your surprise, Venus walks closer. She captures your lips with hers, her hands on your chest. By now, you've stopped fucking Freya. Which she doesn't seem to like. The bent over woman moves her hips and you groan into Venus' mouth.

Venus breaks the kiss and whispers into your ear.

"Make sure your cum belongs to me."

She gives you a mischievous smile, before she backs away. Just like Freya, she bends over the balustrade. The two women are barely an arm's length apart from each other. But your view has suddenly improved immensely. Your eyes are glued to Venus' ass as you start to fuck Freya once more.

Your self control only lasts a second. You reach over to squeeze the cheek that is closest to you. Venus looks back at you, a satisfied grin on her face.

"Can't take your hands off me?"

You nod as you try to keep up the pace of your fucking. Freya has begun to moan again, this time a little louder. Her tight pussy is holding onto you as if she knew you're on the brink of jumping ship.

"Come on, Mars. It's not polite to leave a woman waiting."

You close your eyes. Count to three. When you reach three, you don't know if you should pull out or not. You count to three again. And again. And finally you feel yourself pulling out all the way. Freya's walls drag along your length and a long sigh leaves her lips.

Only now do you notice that she is breathing heavily. You decide you're kind enough to give her a break.

A moment later, you stand behind Venus. Your wet cock rests on the fabric of her dress as you squeeze her cheeks. She purrs like a cat in the sun, already getting wet by just your hands on her body.

As much as you love seeing her ass like that, you eventually realize the urge to bury yourself inside of her grows larger. You hike up her dress. No panties. If only her husband knew what a slutty wife he has. The already familiar sight of Venus' pussy doesn't give you time to hesitate. You quickly push inside. That familiar warmth closes down around your length immediately. Reaching forward, you take a hold of both of her naked shoulders. The way she is leaning over the balustrade probably enables everyone in the arena to look deep into her cleavage.

But she doesn't seem to care. Venus' moans are just as loud as Freya's as you start to fuck her as well. You can tell how much wetter she is. Her juices practically coating your cock.

"That's right. I promised you. You own my body tonight."

You groan in response. The urge to lean down and give her exposed back a bite is unusually strong. But you focus on fucking her harder. Her pussy basically asking for it. Her tight walls squeezing you, her juices making sure your thrusts are smooth.

Eventually, you make the mistake of looking to your left. Freya is still standing there, elbows on the balustrade, as she bites a nail while she watches. You can tell that she wants more. It takes you a while to muster enough self control, but then you manage to pull out of Venus. She gasps in surprise.

But before she can even turn her head, you already bury yourself inside Freya's tight and waiting cunt.

That's how you fuck them both for quite a while. You actually last way longer than you thought you would. The constant switching from one woman to the other gives you always a couple of seconds to breathe. After a while, the two of them learn how to live with it and sharing you becomes visibly easier.

You're fucking Venus right now, while Freya has moved a little closer, so you can finger her at the same time. You can't even count anymore how often you switched between them. But when you deliver one unusual deep thrust into Venus, you're suddenly very aware that you probably won't be able to switch again.

Your strength is starting to leave you as well. Freya seems to have noticed.

"You're gonna give us your cum now, right? Dump your load into our pussies, after you used them like you wanted to."

Her words don't slow your approaching orgasm down at all.

"Oh, yes. Fill me up."

Venus sighs as she feels your cock throbbing inside of her. You reach out to Freya, moving her closer. The two of them are now side by side, their asses touching. You try to count your thrusts, but it's in vein.

When you cum, you bite your lip in pleasure. Venus' pussy almost traps you inside of her as you shoot two streaks of cum inside. But after a short struggle, you finally manage to pull out. One long streak hits both their asses, before you're able to push into Freya one last time.

"Fuck, yes."

She sighs loudly as she feels your cum rush into her body.

The three of you are all out of breath and you almost collapse on top of Freya.

"You still haven't answered my question."

You look over to Venus. Her ass is covered in cum and you see how a long trail of it is already running down her right leg.

"How would you like me tonight?"

You think hard about this. You might never be able to see her again after tonight. Who knows where she is gonna be tomorrow.

"I want you to wear nothing, but two things."

She raises an eyebrow in question, a cheeky smile on her lips.

"Heels and a choker."

Freya lets out a chuckle.

Venus gets off the balustrade. You notice how her arms are a little red. She kisses you again, while you're still inside the other woman.

"I'll be there at 10."

#ask #anon #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #sana twice #sana minatozaki #sana smut #jennie smut #blackpink jennie #jennie

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pascaloverx · 28 days ago

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STARVE

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

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

ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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missadangel · 4 months ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

I. Heal the Heart

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, nescio. Sed fieri sentior et excrucior. I love you and I hate you. Why I do this, I have no idea. But I feel it happening and I’m in agony. [Catullus]

Following the conquest of Egypt and its incorporation into the Roman Empire, there was a growing interest in its ancient culture. Over time, many in Egypt began to express a desire for greater autonomy and control over their own affairs. Dissatisfaction with Roman control over Egypt became part of the Egyptian psyche.

This is precisely why, immediately following the death of Emperor Septimius Severus, preparations for revolt began in Egypt. His emperor sons, Caracalla and Geta, were mainly focused on quarreling with each other, drinking, and enjoying themselves, while their subjects faced starvation. They organized games, watched gladiators fight, and took pride in their activities. Even when informed of the revolt in Egypt, they continued their indulgent ways, showing little care for anything beyond their own pleasures and daily pursuits.

The Egyptians were, of course, aware of their limitations; they knew they could not be as strong a soldier as their emperor father. They were confident that the day would come when, with the help of the Greeks, they would overthrow the Roman governors in Egypt. After all, they had been preparing for this since the death of Severus. Among them were also Jews, all eager to establish the sovereignty of ancient Egypt. However, there was one crucial factor they did not consider or pay much attention to.

General Marcus Justus Acacius.

They say, you can feel the ground shake when he walks on it. He makes his opponents feel certain of their own death at the very moment he draws his sword. A daring commander with few who could stand up to him. It is unclear whether this is an exaggeration or not, but it is still rumored that he cut a lion in half in the Colosseum.

A beast in every sense of the word.

More than that, he is a leader who manages his legions very well and spurs them on to achieve success during the war, a man who has not yet tasted a failure and has well-earned the title of general in every way.

Since it was obvious that no one else could succeed in suppressing the rebellion, he was immediately sent to the region with the intervention of his Empresss Julia Domna, the mother of the two emperors.

Just like she guessed, he had succeeded in putting down the rebellion; of course, no doubt, as soon as his name rang through, the rebels, along with all the inhabitants of Egypt, knew that they were already defeated.

Some were forced to surrender, those who resisted and fled were found and killed by the Roman soldiers, but not all. The general didn't kill the surrendered ones, he took them as captives which was pretty fair for a beast. In contrast to him, the ones who fled were not, they were so desperate that they didn't know what to do and they started attacking everything and everywhere like rabid dogs.

They even attempted to violate the laws of war and mapped out a plan to kill the General and his soldiers, and even all the medics, in the night at their camps. It was a suicide mission, but they were on the verge of success.

"Has anyone seen the General? He’s not in his tent!" A burly soldier entered, gripping his sword, which was stained with the blood of the rebel he had just killed. He quickly searched through all the tents, wearing a look of concern on his face.

The clinking of swords echoed in the darkness as the soldiers cut down the last remaining rebels to death with their swords.

Soon, the soldier ran to his General, relieved to see him, but he was wounded in the abdomen moments ago. As he gently pressed his hand to his injury, a small amount of blood emerged, shining like rubies under the moonlight as it dripped from between his strong fingers onto the grass. His attackers were no longer alive, they were all lying on the ground, were literally cut to ribbons. They attacked him in his sleep when he was wearing nothing but his tunic, catching him off guard. He nodded to the soldier, demanding assistance as his white tunic transformed into a crimson hue. He had been wounded many times before, countless times, but this was nothing like before and was undoubtedly the worst injury he had ever sustained. "I think I… got…," he groaned; it hurt much even when he spoke, feeling like beneath the wound, his blood was boiling. "…poisoned." These were the last words spilled from his lips before his enormous body slumping to his knees, collapse altogether to the ground.

The woman with waist-length with black hair was dragging you along with her as she walking across the meadow, you were struggled, couldn’t control your feet, as if the ground was sliding under. She had her hands outstretched at her sides, even though her back was turned, it was not difficult to see her smile by the sunlight reflecting the curve of her chin. She abruptly ceased her movement and bent down to gather a few herbs in a meadow. She plucked them, gathered them in her palms, and kissed them. You heard the whispers between her lips and the harmony of the wind rippling through your ears. It was clear that she was blessing these herbs. When she turned to you, you staggered backwards, hypnotized by her face, so beautiful, mesmerizing, her eyes hypnotizing yours, it was impossible to look away, no escape from them.

Perhaps even more surprising than anything else was that her face and eyes were identical to yours. It really was truly astonishing. She handed you the plants like they were rare jewelry. You could see her arms shone in the sun, and her skin looked like fine marble. It was impossible to believe that it could be human skin; it must have been that of a goddess, but why did her face resemble yours?

'Heal the heart, child,' her voice sang through the meadow like a gentle breeze. You couldn't move your lips, but she heard you anyway.

‘Heart?’

A warm wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman came closer, startling you. Her hazel eyes were turning green under the sun. As she slightly opens her lips, you locked your eyes on them and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘The heart of Rome,’ almost whispers, ‘Serve it,’ a little loud now like commanding, ‘Heal it...’ again whispers then gently puts the herbs on your hand.

A strong wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman danced with the wind. The sunny sky burst into a starry night as the wind embraced the silhouette and rose to the sky, to the stars. You felt the ground under your feet, but your eyes were drawn to the enchanting sky.

As the wind finally gave way to the silent night, you looked at the herbs you were holding in your hand. These kind of herbs you were used to seeing almost every day, but what you were not used to seeing was that they were sparkling like diamonds between your fingers. It was as if you could feel their healing power on your skin.

Abruptly, you heard the voice again, echoing across the meadow. Your ears were once more caressed, blessed, but this time, the words were different.

‘Cure him…’

You barely heard your name being called and your body was shaking, slowly opened your eyes, you saw a familiar but worried face.

‘Wake up, please, you need to get up now,’ the concern in the man's voice brought you back to reality, the effect of the dream disappearing like a cloud of dust between the stone walls and dissipating into the air.

‘Uncle?’

You had rarely seen this face of your uncle who had taken you in when you were an orphan, who cared for you, protected you and raised you well more than any other father or mother ever would.

You sat up from the firm mattress you were lying on, ‘I thought we were travelling tomorrow night?’

‘No, no, that's not why I woke you up,’ he put your big dark cloak over your head. ‘You need to hide.’

You were startled to hear shouting and footsteps coming from outside the wooden door of the room. This was not the sort of noise you would normally expect to hear in this Valetudinarium (hospital, clinic) at this late hour.

‘What is going on?’ You rub your eyes with your fingers, trying to figure out the situation.

Your uncle tucked your hair deeper into your cloak.

'The Roman soldiers are gathering all the medici (psychians). I have to go with them.'

'Roman soldiers? I thought they left after they put down the rebellion, and slaughtered thousands. Besides, they must have a medicus in their camps, why would they-?'

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his anxiety evident.

'I heard that some rebellious individuals killed the Medici in their tents, and then-'

A soldier's voice was heard from one of the nearby rooms. You both turned your heads in that direction, startled, and then looked at each other again.

'Their general was targeted. The rebels attacked him in his sleep. He managed to fight back, but he was poisoned. Now, they want me to save him.'

“Poisoned? But Uncle, he might already be dead! If you can’t cure him, they’ll blame you or punish you!”

“Don’t think about that now. You need to hide. Remember, as a woman, you aren’t allowed to be here. You have to conceal yourself and wait for my return.”

The soldiers’ voices were heard nearby.

"No, I’ll come with you. If it’s aspis venom (a venomous snake found in the Nile region), we’ll use the same techniques as we did with the boy last time. It would take too long to make the antivenom alone. Let me help you."

"It’s too dangerous for you, my dearest, to go among the soldiers. Even if you wear men’s clothes, we can’t hide the beauty of your face."

You walked over to the cauldron in the fireplace and ran your hands over the soot that had accumulated beneath it.

"It worked before," you said, rubbing a bit of soot on your cheeks.

"That was only at the market. This time it’s more dangerous. I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t protect you there."

"I was going to give this to you tomorrow, as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here."

You took the envelope from him with shaky hands. It had been sealed by the former emperor himself, and you wondered what was written inside.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you to ensure you understood the importance of the letter. "No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it; hide it as if your life depends on it. You'll understand why."

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard, tucking the letter into the bag hanging around your neck. You hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, causing them to rattle in the process.

"Aya, you’re going to have to choose," he said, looking at you intently before leaving the room.

"Choose what, uncle?"

"To run or to stay. It’ll all make sense when you read the letter," he said, glancing down the hall before grabbing your wrist. You were confused, but you knew you had to think about this later.

"We have to get out now; soldiers are outside. Quick!"

'I was going to give this to you tomorrow as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here.'

You took the envelope from him with shaking hands. The previous emperor himself had sealed it. You wondered what it meant.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you, making sure you understood how important this letter was.

‘No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it, hide it like your life depends on it, you'll understand why.’

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard. You tucked the letter into the bag hanging around your neck and hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, making them rattle in the process.

‘Aya, you’re going to have to choose,’ he looked at you before leaving the room.

‘Choose what uncle?’

‘To run or stay. It’ll make sense when you read the letter,’ he checked the hall and grabbed your wrist. You were so confused but you had to think about this later.

'We have to get out now, soldiers are outside, quick!'

The soldiers had gathered all the medici they could find at the army camp headquarters near the tents. There were seven of them, but they were unable to find a solution for the General's injury. As you and your uncle were next in line, a burly soldier of higher rank approached you both. You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact. Everyone was in a rush, nearly all mobilized to save the General's life. Your gender didn't matter to them at that moment. Just as you were about to follow your uncle into the tent, the soldier raised his hand to stop you.

‘Only the medicus.’

‘My aide, sir, let him in. He's as expert as I am.’

As your uncle is their last hope, he let you in but did not follow you inside, standing guard outside the tent. The General's squire stood next to him, looking at you with tears in his eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight. The sorrow had enveloped everything inside the tent, and you could feel it deep in your bones.

The General lay on a mattress in the west corner of the tent. He was unconscious, but you noticed his lips moving as if he were murmuring. You stepped forward to take a closer look at his face, which you had been so curious about.

His face was exactly as you had imagined, yet somehow different. He had numerous scars, as if he had been born with them, and his light brown skin embraced them. His mustache and beard were partially gray, and his nose and chin were perfectly shaped, as though Prometheus himself had spent extra time crafting this man. His face was stunning, causing your heart to race. You had never felt this way about any other man, though you had never had the opportunity to do so.

You were somewhat disappointed to see his eyes closed. You longed to know what they looked like and were eager to see his expression when he opened them. You were momentarily surprised by the desire to touch his face. For an instant, you forgot why you were there. Meanwhile, your uncle had picked up the sword with which the General had been wounded and was examining the blood on it. You moved over to help him, keeping one eye on the General, who lay there with his imposing build and half of the white tunic he wore stained red.

Your heart constricted with pain, and the dream you had came vividly to mind.

‘Cure him.’

"We need to check his wound!" Your uncle's loud voice startled you, and you squinted at him, feeling ashamed.

As your uncle gestured for you to come closer, you saw that the wound was not deep, but the skin around it was turning pale from the venom, and the edges were curling inward.

"He doesn't have much time. Let's start making the antivenom now," he said, swallowing hard. The situation was worsening, and you knew you had to cure him no matter what. Perhaps this was why the gods had shown you this in your dream; they had warned you in advance that your life depended on it.

The process of making the antivenom took slightly longer than you had anticipated, but you persevered admirably. Your uncle cleaned the wound to neutralize it while you sweated through your clothes. Finally, when the antivenom was ready, your uncle carefully applied the antidote to the wound, but he was exhausted, his fingers shaking. You stepped in to help despite feeling weary yourself. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you managed to see your task through to the end.

The soldier from earlier entered the tent to check on the situation. You bowed your head and stepped back.

"We've cleaned the wound, and once it's neutralized, we applied the antidote. We just need to wait now," your uncle informed him, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We need to give him some time and ensure he drinks water soon to avoid dehydration."

As the soldier examined the wound, you turned your head to look at the squire boy, who had been sobbing just moments ago but had now already fallen asleep. Poor boy, you thought.

The soldier then ordered you to leave the tent and wait outside.

You felt your arms and legs go numb with fatigue and collapsed to the ground, sitting cross-legged and trying hard to stay awake. Your uncle was in the same state, but he still struggled to resist sleep. In the end, he couldn't keep his eyelids from closing.

You woke up to the sound of soldiers shouting and arguing. Turning your head, you couldn't make out what they were disagreeing about, but their noise was overwhelming.

"You better go in and make sure the General drinks some water. He needs to stay hydrated," your uncle said firmly, likely keeping an eye on the soldiers outside.

The tent was empty except for the General. A soldier from earlier was outside, reassuring the other soldiers. You approached the General to check on him. His forehead was covered in sweat, and his body was fighting off venom. You quickly grabbed a damp cloth and pressed it gently against his forehead. Then you touched his lips with your thin, fragile fingers. An intense feeling grew inside you. As a secret medicus, you had touched the faces and bodies of many men and women to heal them. However, touching this man's face and lips felt different from the others.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself. This was nonsensical.

You opened his lips carefully and dipped a rag into the fresh water in a copper pot. You pressed it against the General's dry, pale lips, squeezing it gently through his mouth.

After doing this several times, you decided you had done enough. Just as you were about to withdraw your hand, the General's strong hand suddenly grasped yours with a firm grip. You were shocked and winced in pain, causing you to open your hand with pressure, and the rag fell to the ground.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you gazed at his face. He opened those eyes you had been so curious about and looked at you with a cold, calculating stare, squeezing your wrist so tightly that you felt it might break at any moment. You suppressed a scream and moaned in pain. 'Sir, I'm trying to help you!' You sounded as if you were crying, then he groaned in pain, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.The effort must have exhausted him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed quickly.

When he finally released your wrist, you threw yourself backwards for dear life, rubbed your wrist with your other hand and stroked it, praying to the Gods to take the pain away. You could have sworn to Jupiter that if he had squeezed your wrist any harder, you would have heard a cracking sound coming from your bones.

How could he possibly be so strong even when exhausted, so close to death?

As the pain receded, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. Your thin wrist was marked in red, like poppies, as if the shadows of his fingers were engraved on your skin.

You glanced timidly over your shoulder; he was still lying there with his eyes closed. But you had just made a terrible mistake—he must have heard your voice and realized you were a woman. Only the gods knew what he would do when he regained consciousness.

You had to leave immediately. Wrapping your wrist in a clean piece of cloth, you tucked the sleeve of your dress into it to hide the bandage. As you stepped out of the tent, your uncle grabbed your arm and pulled you behind it.

“Uncle, the general opened his eyes for a moment and heard my voice. He might remember when he wakes up,” you whispered, hoping no one had overheard you.

“Gods have mercy upon us,” he murmured, glancing down. Then he grabbed your shoulders. “It’s time to go. You need to leave now. Follow the path through the woods. Some soldiers are having a disagreement about something; I think they have found out—”

“You! Medicus! Come over here!” one of the soldiers shouted at your uncle. He gestured to you with his eyes, silently urging you to go.

“You too!” you gasped as you realized that the soldier was waving his hand at you.

“Sir, he should stay with the General…” your uncle interjected, stepping in front of you to protect you.

“I said come, both of you, now,” the soldier replied, his tone unmistakably commanding.

As you took tentative steps towards the group of soldiers forming a circle around your uncle, your heart raced as if it were about to burst. These were the soldiers who had just argued, fought, and you found yourself wondering whether they had been injured, but you could see no visible wounds on anyone.

On the contrary, they gazed at you with curiosity, and only at you.

“That’s nonsense, Dimitrus; this boy can’t be a girl,” said one soldier, pointing at you with a small knife in his hand.

Your uncle stood beside you, his worst fears realized, his face taut with worry. As the soldier, whom you guessed was named Dimitrus, approached, your uncle stepped in front of you. But the soldier easily overpowered him and shoved him aside. With a scrutinizing gaze, the soldier examined your body from head to toe. You bowed your head and clenched your fists, your heart pounding in your chest as your breathing quickened. He yanked down the hood of your cloak with his large hands, drawing the attention of other soldiers who now gathered nearby for a better look.

When he saw your hair tied up at the back of your head, his grin widened. He drew a dagger from its sheath, and as you caught sight of your uncle's worried face behind the soldier's formidable arm, you began to pray to all the gods.

Dimitrus grasped your bun and quickly cut the hair tie with his dagger, causing your golden-brown wavy hair to cascade over your shoulders. The soldiers laughed and whistled, while Dimitrus looked at them with a cocky smile before turning back to you.

“Such long hair for an aide boy, huh?” he chuckled.

“A girl, indeed,” replied another soldier, looking at you in disbelief.

“I told you I could smell a woman from a mile away,” he laughed, his voice booming.

“Please,” you pleaded, feeling powerless. A wave of despair washed over you.

“What is going on here?” The burly soldier approached, eyes wide with astonishment at your new appearance. Dimitrus grabbed your hair, pulling you closer to him. He then seized your chin and turned your face towards Octavius.

"Look at her! You didn't even notice that the medicus brought a girl with him, Octavius? In our camp? And you're supposed to be the general's right-hand man!"

You struggled to move, but he was too strong.

"Hey, I can’t see her face clearly!"

You closed your eyes tightly as someone threw wine in your face. Dimitrus roughly wiped your face with his big fingers.

“Gods, no ordinary beauty,” he said, looking at you like a hungry wolf. He leaned in closer, inhaling the scent of your hair, making you feel nauseous. You tried to look away, but your eyes met your uncle’s desperate gaze.

“That's enough, Dimitrus. Let her go. Is this what you all think while our General lies there, fighting for his life?”

You rushed to your uncle's side as his hands released your hair. "He's already dead; I've never seen anyone get up after being poisoned," he says, as if he were looking forward to his death.

Octavius unsheathed his sword with a sharp "schwing" sound. "How dare you! Say that again and I'll cut your tongue off!" he barked.

Dimitrus' followers drew their swords as well. Octavius looked at each of them with anger and disbelief. He had been betrayed. "You treacherous filthy rats! I'll kill you one by one!" He waved his long sword at them.

Dimitrus grabbed your uncle by the collar. "Start with this one then. Who knows what he gave the General instead of medicine?"

"Aye, he must be punished!" shouted one of them.

"Punish him, Octavius!"

They were all yelling at him by raising their swords, you were thinking a way out but there wasn’t any.

"If you won't, I shall," Dimitrus pointed the end of his sword at your uncle.

"No!" you shrieked, but your uncle stopped you, raising his hand.

Then, as Octavius raised his hand and was about to lunge at him to prevent him, Dimitrus plunged his sword through your uncle's stomach, the poor man groaning in pain and falling to his knees, and as you ran towards him, he drew back his sword, his blood splashing in your face with the force of the draw. Your body began to shake, and you felt paralyzed as you watched his lifeless body collapse to the ground.

"Dimitrus!" Octavius roared, ‘You've gone too far! What do you think our general will do to you when he awakens?’

You fell to your knees in shock, your body rigid and still, your face expressionless, yet tears streaming down your cheeks.

"General? You failed to save him; you let that medicus get into his tent; you must share his fate! I will let the emperors know that this is all your fault! And I think we must put the general out of his misery-"

Out of nowhere, an axe flew at Dimitrus, piercing his chest. His body shook as he reeled back, then collapsed to the ground, lying backwards and dying in a pool of blood. Everyone looked at him in astonishment and panic. Blood gushed from where his chest had been split open, and when he stopped breathing, he lay there as his eyes remained wide open.

They turned their heads to see who had thrown the axe and were shocked once again. The general could hardly stand near his tent, his eyes filled with rage and his gaze burning with fury. Octavius quickly ran to his side.

"General! Thank the Gods you're finally awake!"

"What's going on here, Octavius?" His voice was like a roar.

“Sir, Dimitrus and others have attempted to mutiny.”

Acacius shot a deathly glare at the other soldiers, who immediately kneeled with their swords turned upside down.

“No, sir, we did not.”

“Forgive me, sir, it was Dimitrus's doing.”

“Sir, please forgive me.”

You gently closed your uncle's eyelids with your fingers as they all pleaded for forgiveness. With your back turned to the General, you felt indifferent about your fate; you no longer cared whether you lived or died. It seemed to you that your whole life was already over.

"If any of you ever dare to do anything like this again," he said as he walked near Dimitrus’ body and pulled the axe from his chest roughly; you were startled by the crunching sound coming from his bones.

"I Marcus Justus Acacius, will make sure that he meets the same fate as this scum!"

He put them in their place, and they all nodded in fear. They stood up at his gesture while bowing their heads, unable to look him in the face.

“Now get ready; we must sail at dawn!”

“Yes, sir!”

They quickly sheathed their swords and hurriedly spread out.

Acacius staggered slightly as watched them move, his wound still painful, but he tried hard not to show it.

Octavius touched his arm. "Sir, the Gods have spared your life, but please rest a little longer."

"Who is this man?"

You were certain he was referring to your uncle, even though your back was turned to him.

"The medicus who cured you, sir. Dimitrus got mad and killed him because he thought he couldn't save you."

"As if we haven't lost enough healers tonight. He was clearly mistaken. This man managed to cure me, and I am standing here because of him." He turned to Octavius. "Make sure this man's body is returned to his family. Inform the governor about this; they should make all the necessary arrangements for the rituals."

Octavius nodded, "Yes, sir, I will."

They both turned their gaze toward you. "What about this one?"

Your body was frozen; you felt as if the time for your execution had come. You never expected your last moments to unfold like this.

"I think this is his aide or slave, sir. Dimitrus discovered she was a woman and that medicus was hiding her," one of them said, bowing his head in shame. You swallowed hard.

Acacius' pain returned, and he groaned. Octavius gently grabbed his waist. "Sir, please rest. You need to regain your strength."

"Sir!" Acacius' squire rushed over, placing his arm under Acacius' shoulder.

It was time for him to turn away from you.

"Since her master has died, take this girl to the other slaves. I don't want any more chaos or mishap," he said in a firm voice.

You wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand as their footsteps faded away. Two soldiers grabbed your arms and lifted you off the ground while others carried your uncle's body. As you turned your head and glanced over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the General's curly gray hair and well-shaped nose before he disappeared into his tent.

Your body was filled with rage. What you heard only heightened your pain and deepened your hurt. A slave? How could he say that? The one who had healed him was now considered worthy of being a slave?

As the mid-morning sun began to reflect off the walls of Rome through the haze that filled the harbor, the city was preparing to experience one of the most significant days in its history. Everyone who noticed the navy ships approaching from afar—citizens, subjects, foreign diplomats, merchants, civil servants, and porters—gathered at the entrance of the city. They were waiting to welcome General Acacius and the victorious Roman soldiers. On the deck of the large ship at the forefront of the fleet, the General sighed deeply as he looked out over his city, thanking Mars for his triumphant and healthy return.

The journey from the port of Alexandria to Rome took ten days, and it was a challenging experience for you, traveling alongside captives known as slaves. Most of these individuals were Greeks and Egyptians, and the joyous shouts echoing through the streets of the Roman capital meant nothing to them. On board the ship, they were repeatedly told that the slave market in Rome was quite prestigious. They were assured that young girls would be well cared for by certain families, urged to stop their tears, and encouraged to pray to Jupiter so that wealthy families would notice them and buy them at high prices.

You were not like those slaves; you were not a prisoner of war, and your family was neither enslaved nor poor. Your uncle was a renowned and esteemed medicus, part of an affluent family. He and his wife found you on the banks of the River Nile when you were three years old—that is what they told you. The gods had not blessed them with a child, so they loved you as if you were their own. You knew he wasn't your biological father or uncle, but you were very happy with your life and didn't ask too many questions until he revealed the letter the night before everything changed.

As an orphan, you were raised by your uncle, who taught you about Egyptian medicine. You assisted him in countless surgeries, helping to bring many people back to life, including the general himself. Through this experience, you gained enough knowledge and skill to become an expert in the field. However, no one would refer to you as a medicus because you were a woman. Your talents were too remarkable to ignore, yet despite sharing your skills with those on the ship, no one believed you. Even if they did, there was little they could do to change the situation.

As you looked through the small cracks between the ship's planks, your gaze drifted over the seemingly endless sea. You couldn’t shake the thoughts of the dream you had the night before.

‘Cure him.’

Wouldn't it have been better if you hadn’t cured him? Perhaps your uncle would still be alive. Maybe you wouldn’t be sitting on this ship now, resigned to your fate, wondering and worrying about what will happen to you. Is this your reward for healing the great Roman general?

That man ruined your life, and you only did yourself a disservice by saving him. Perhaps the gods were testing you, but what was the lesson?

You observed the shadow of the general’s fingers beneath the cloth wrapped around your wrist. The color reminded you of violets bathed in moonlight from days ago. Now, it was an unmistakably bright hue, and the pain had lessened significantly.

As the ship rumbled into port, you realized that it was time to accept your fate. In the dark and damp bilge of the ship, you and a girl close to your age called Decima took turns using the same swing as a bed, you liked each other and in desperation you became confidants, friends. She was in her early twenties and had a lovely charm about her, while you, in your late twenties, had a stunning beauty that really stood out. Her father was a rebel, probably killed by the General's men, and she was taken as captive. You told her almost everything except the letter that you’re hiding in your bag.

As soon as you stepped into the harbor, the discrimination began. The general and his men moved in the opposite direction, while the slave trader standing in front of you ordered you to go elsewhere.

You frowned as you caught sight of his face in the distance, peeking over the shoulders of the crowd. He looked healthy; his body had managed to overcome the venom of the past few days, and his wound had healed. You remembered how you had spent hours with your uncle trying to cure him and how you had struggled to create the antidote while your arms and wrists ached with pain.

Suddenly, the General's face lit up with a warm smile as he waved to his citizens. To your surprise, all your anger momentarily vanished. You turned your head away; looking at him would only cause you pain. He wouldn't recognize you because he couldn't clearly see your face, not just yet. Besides, to him, you were just a slave—nothing more.

However, Octavius recognized you from a distance. He was the only one who had witnessed your hard work. He was an honorable man, he disliked seeing you among the slaves, but he felt powerless, as it was the General's order.

In the evening of that day, after the slaves were taken to the baths and then to the market for sale, you and Decima were brought by the slaver to a separate cell. From outside, the lively sounds of the market could be heard, where slaves were being sold one by one. There was a great deal of interest in these new slaves from Egypt.

The slaver appeared at the door of your cell with a man who looked to be older and wealthy. Decima immediately stood up, but you remained still. The slaver gestured with his hand, turning Decima around in the center of the cell to show off her arms, face, and feet, while squinting at you.

“Look at these strong and beautiful young girls, sir. I wouldn’t show you any poor slaves; they are both virgins and very beautiful. The great Venus has bestowed her beauty upon them. They would fetch a lot of money in the market, but I thought I would show them to you first, sire.” He was being very flattering, but the man's eyes were fixed on you.

“Doesn't she have any manners? Why isn't she standing up?” “You're right, sir, she must be a bit sick from traveling. She will,” he gestured to you with his hand. “Come on, get up, girl.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, he squeezed your arm hard to warn you first, then did everything what he had done to Decima, opening almost every part of your body for the other man to see. It was incredibly disgusting, you felt like an animal being sold at the cattle market.

"The other one is younger, but this one is beautiful, a rare find," he said, grabbing your arm and looking at you hungrily. "How much do you want for her?"

Your eyes meet with Decima in a silent exchange, as it was time to go your separate ways.

"Eight thousand sesterces, sire."

He pursed his lips in thought, his fingers touching your hair while you closed your eyes, praying for a miracle.

"Ten thousand sesterces!"

A familiar voice of a man echoed through stone walls. You all turned your heads to that direction."General Marcus Acacius offers ten thousand sesterces for this girl!" Octavius appeared, his imposing figure clad in armor that clanked with every step. He tossed a large coin pouch to the slaver, who caught it, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Sold, of course," he said, counting the coins with a happy expression.

Octavius then firmly grabbed the other man's arm, which was still close to you, lifted it, and pushed it away. He frowned. "This girl now belongs to General Acacius, sir. You must not touch her," he warned firmly.

As the general entered the city in his chariot, the people shouted his name. He waved his hand to them, and the streets were filled with a great enthusiasm as everyone gathered to honour the general and his soldiers. The chariot carrying him soon passed under the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus and turned towards the Curia Julia, the Senate building, where the emperors must have been waiting for him. The general's smile faded. He was tired and not looking forward to seeing them, but he would not go to his villa before visiting the emperors.

As General strode purposefully up the marble stairs, Geta and Caracella leapt down from their golden imperial thrones in excitement. As soon as Geta saw him, he opened his arms wide.

‘How can I reward Rome's greatest general?'

'By letting him catch his breath first,' Caracella smiled widely.

Acacius stopped in front of them and nodded, 'My Emperors.'

'We have been eagerly awaiting for your arrival, general,' Geta clasped his hands together, looking at him with admiration.

'Speak for yourself, brother. My legs ache from sitting for so long,' Caracella said, then laughed loudly. 'But it was worth it, indeed!'

‘Indeed!’ They both laughed once more, but Caracella looking at his brother a bit strange way.

It was hard to tell if Caracalla wanted to embrace Geta or if wanted to take his life right then and there. The relationship between the two of them was quite distorted.

The general rolled his eyes, he was used to these two whiny emperors half of his age bickering at each other all the time, he sighed in frustration at having to put up with them when he could easily take both their lives with a single stroke of his sword. Unfortunately, this unpleasant situation had only just begun.

‘We heard that you were poisoned, how did it feel?’ Geta looked at him with wide eyes and smile.

The news must have reached the emperors before the general had even boarded the ship.

'Painful, your highness,' Acacius stated, a shadow passing over his brown eyes as he remembered the pain again.

'I'm sure it was, it must have been an interesting experience.’ Caracella crossed his arms; smiling just like his brother.

‘Cobra or viper?’

‘Aspis, highness, the viper type.’

‘Oh, I won!’ Geta jumped for joy and gestured to Caracella with his hand, imitating a snake.

Caracella ignored him looking at the General.

‘The rebels must have quite a sense of humour, poisoning a Roman General carrying Medusa on his chest with a snake, quite ironic,’ he touched Medusa on General's armor with his index finger.

Acacius frowned while looking at him, ‘They certainly do, they murdered all our medici mercilessly, fortunately the great Asclepius sent his help, my men brought another medicus from city was able to cure me, it is thanks to him that I can stand here in front of you, highness,’ Acacius remembered the memory when he was unsure whether it was a dream or not but he could not get out of his mind the fingers that touched his lips, the owner of those hazel eyes that came to his aid when his throat was dry from thirst. But it couldn't be medicus he thought, it had to be someone with thin fingers, someone with beautiful eyes he had never seen before. Maybe, since he was too close to death, it was a dream or a goddess has appeared to him, he couldn't be sure.

The first thing he remembers is opening his eyes and grabbing her wrist with his survival instinct. He thought it was a strange looking young man in a hood, maybe another rebel had come to kill him again, but then he heard her voice and thought his goddess had come to heal him. He was in so much pain and seeing hallucinations that he couldn't tell if it was a dream or not. But couldn’t get rid of those thoughts since days.

The emperors didn't seem to care much about the medicis the general was talking about, or how he had recovered, and Acacius seemed bored as they continued to joke with each other.

‘Mother,' Geta ran to her as he noticed the Empress approaching, extends his arm for her.

Julia Domna took his arm as she coming towards Acacius, whispering something into Geta’s ear, without taking her eyes off the General.

‘My lady,’ Acacius nodded to her.

Domna's smile was like Caracella's, you could never guess what she was thinking.

‘General, how good it is to see you return triumphant once more. Rome salutes you, and I embrace you,’ she approached him with open arms and put her hands Acacius’ board shoulders.

Caracella sat back on his throne, a bored look on his face.

‘My Lady, the honour is mine,’ the general said, bowing his head.

‘We shall sacrifice 1000 bulls to honor our triumphant mother!’ Geta clapped his hands excitedly, ‘Let's have a great feast tonight!’

‘Highness, let's give the General some time to rest, he must be tired from the battle,’ Domna removed her hands from the General's shoulders but kept her eyes on him.

Caracella let out a high, shrill laugh that echoed through the white marble columns. Geta sat on his throne and scowled.

‘Acacius, walk with me,’ the Empress turned round, gestured to him.

Acacius sighed, he didn't want to be alone with her, but he had to. Domna walked ahead of him, hands clasped behind her back, he followed her slowly.

‘My sons are glad to see you again, even if they have no idea how fortunate they are to have you serving them.’

'It is my duty to serve Rome.’

She paused and smiled, watching the water in the pool shimmer in the sunlight, the glow reflecting off her bright skin, her expression was difficult to read.

'I think you have a talent for survival.’

She sounded dissatisfied. 'After all, you trained under Maximus, you must have learned a lot from him.’

He looked away, 'I owe where I am today to the remarkable fighting skills he taught me, he was an honourable man, the greatest general Rome has ever seen,' Acacius' eyes were fixed on the great Temple of Venus between the eastern edge of the Forum Romanum and the Colosseum.

Domna looked at him with a feeling between admiration and concern.

‘He, like you, lived to serve Rome, even if he had to kill Commodus,’ she said, and even little children could catch the obvious implication in her voice.

Acacius held his ground, his eyes roaming the curves of the statue of Venus.

‘But unlike him, you are loyal to the emperors, I can be sure of that, can't I?

He turned his head towards her, but did not look at her. His eyes were now on the two spoilt emperors who were talking animatedly to each other between the columns. 'As long as Rome is prosperous for all her subjects, I will be loyal to them, my lady.'

Domna laughed loudly, 'Ah, that's why I want you in the Senate, how long will you refuse?

'I am only a soldier, politics is not my business, nor should it be. Consuls in the Senate -'

‘Those old foxes live in abundance and do nothing, the person who has done Rome the greatest service should be in the Senate.’ Domna glanced over her shoulder at her sons. 'I am concerned that Macrinus has no equal in the Senate and that Caracella dominates him, perhaps if you are in there, you will gain his trust.’

'Your Highness...' He looked at her shaking his head as no.

Domna looked at Acacius, this time with a serious expression on her face, 'For the sake of Rome you must be especially careful with Caracella, as her mother even I find it hard to get my way with him, he is not like Geta, he is a hard-headed child.’

Acacius looked at Caracella whose back was turned, of course he knew this very well, for a moment he thought that he was the real threat to Rome, not the enemy soldiers or the others.

‘Anyway, you should go to your villa and rest, you will have time to think about this alone,’ she said with a forced smile, then turned around to go to her sons.

After praying in the temple of Venus, Acacius walked out, and as he descended the steps of the temple, he felt a stinging pain where his wound had been, the poison had completely gone from his body, but it had left its trace behind.

Octavius was lost in thought as he has leaned against the side of the carriage waiting for him, quickly stood up when he noticed him.

‘Sir.’

‘I see you don't miss your home, as you're still here,' Acacius said as he descended the last step. He got into the carriage and climbed in to sit beside him. Acacius was quite tired so he lay down on the seat, the fact that he felt so comfortable with Octavius was because of their long friendship, he was his most trusted man, more than just a friend, like a brother.

'Are you going to tell me what's troubling you?’ Acacius covered his face with his arm, but he could feel the tension in him.

'Sir, the girl.’

'Oh, I see, a girl? Have you fallen in love with a girl?

'No, that's not it,' Octavius felt embarrassed as he remembered your face. 'That poor girl, It doesn't seem fair that she should be with those slaves, sir, you are an honourable man, but your order-'

Acacius lifted his arm from his face and looked at him, the cart swaying as it moved along the stony roads.

'The girl that medicus hid? Why do you care so much for her? Is there something I should know?’

'After all, they worked so hard together to cure you, perhaps you should have at least let her go home.’

‘Together? What do you mean?' Acacius sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

Octavius bowed his head.

'Sir, I made a mistake, it was my fault for letting them into your tent, I don't know how I could have been so careless even after the assassination, forgive me...'

Acacius raised his hand.

'Slow down, we will talk about your mistake later, you are saying that girl entered my tent and cured me? How?’

'I didn't look closely at her face and I didn't know she was a woman maybe because of her outfit but I made a terrible mistake, I should’ve known, forgive me sir.’ He bowed his head once more but it made Acacius more angry.

'You haven't answered my question, Octavius,' his voice was loud.

'Yes sir, she did her best to cure you, sir, the girl and Medicus worked hard to produce antivenom all night.’

Acacius was surprised when he realized that he hadn't dreamed that night. He was glad to learn that the owner of those eyes was a real person. But then he thought that she might be on the slave market by now, about to be sold to someone else.

‘Stop the carriage!’ He yelled.

The coachman immediately did as he was told and pulled hard on the horses' harnesses, the horses howling and stamping their hooves on the ground.

'Sir?' Octavius raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'Go and find the girl, I want to see her at my villa tonight, do you understand? Acacius tossed him a pouch full of coins.

Octavius smiled, ‘Yes, sir.’

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pedgito · 1 month ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 | Marcus Acacius x f!reader

summary | A female gladiator plucked from the arena by the most powerful general in Rome, convinced to serve under his command. You learn that his taste for blood might not be so different from your own.

author's note | the horny demons strike again. this has a little plot, thanks to the beautiful minds of @ovaryacted and @kedsandtubesocks who deal with my crazy so generously.

content warning | 18+ mdni, set pre-gladiator ii, description of war & mistreatment of women in roman society, female gladiator, dark-ish!acacius, reader has minimal backstory, but is revealed to be nameless (uses monikers given to her: medusa, fury, minerva), fighting, m*rder, blood tw, gore tw, sa warning (i have it annotated further below with content, but nothing graphic) acacius covered in someone elses blood as he fucks you, copious smut, biting as a little treat

word count — 8k

“How much?” Acacius inquires, tapping his finger against the iron bars holding you prisoner, staring back at the men. The ginger twins and a man—no, a general. Dressed in a toga of thick material, embroidered with intricate designs, gold bangles at his wrist, a telltale sign of high honor.

“Oh, she is…” The older one, Geta, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he shakes his head, “priceless—quite the fighter, too.”

“Does she have a name?”

Geta smirks to himself, “They call her Medusa. She favors beheading, it seems.” Geta waggles a finger through the bars and smirks, nose scrunching as he addresses you, “Correct?”

You ignore him, responding with a stare—much like your given moniker; if looks could kill.

“She’s bested them all,” Caracalla boasts from beside his brother, Dundus fiddling with his hair from where she was perched on his shoulder, “even our lion that we’ve had since kids.”

“It was a stupid idea, your fault,” Geta retorts, “but—again, she’s not for sale.”

“I’ll conquer India within the next few nightfalls, a handful of new gladiators fresh for the choosing, for your entertainment—how does that sound?”

Greedy as they were and entirely too incompetent, Caracalla agrees before his brother can open his mouth.

“Will you bring her back to visit?” Caracalla inquires with an underlying excitement—the poor brother was nothing but a dunce, erratic and impulsive, but all too easy to manipulate. “The others may miss her.”

“Indeed,” Another swift but convincing lie, Caracalla and Acacius shake hands on the deal before Geta can retort, fuming with rage as he stomps away.

He’d taken a liking to your fighting style despite his distaste for the arena. Strategic and skilled, brute strength and a drive that was built around pure survival but somehow all while maintaining the perfect amount of gracefulness that men did not. Constant calculation, finesse, it was like an art.

He’s gone through several guards over his rule, some from sacrifice but others out of pure ignorance. He needed a strong base, malleable but resistant. He could shape you into a leader, he thinks. He knows.

Your hard stare is like ice as the keys jingle into the lock, a defining click a resounding echo of freedom and General Acacius extends his palm.

A gesture of freedom, a new life, trepidation fills you despite your yearn for a way out of this prison. Here it was, served up on a platter covered in intricate facets of white and gold, stubble brushing his cheeks and soft brown eyes offering kindness.

This was not a man of sheer violence, not the tales they tell about him—this was a man of trouble, conflict, and an instinct to protect himself. And he’d chosen you.

Your hands slips into his, a similar roughness to match his own and scars that Acacius knew well enough of—you were a true fighter, a warrior.

The two boys—calling the men would be too easy, they often acted like spoiled children, were already off to their own chambers, and Acacius had only dropped his hard facade slightly, still under the watchful eye of Rome’s guards, he led you onto your new life.

“I cannot accept,” You argue, as respectful as you could manage, hands crossed firmly over your front, near your waist as you spoke to General Acacius in his private office at home, a place few have stepped foot into, but yet somehow, again, you were given a free pass.

“Are you refusing my order?” Acacius counters, there’s pillowyness to his tone, almost taunting.

“Sir—er, General,” It was all new to you, formalities, structure, rules, “I…am a woman.”

“I am not blind,” Acacius squints his eyes slightly, before leaning back in the creaky chair, “my men—they will not question my choices. They listen, they do their duties. They need strong leadership. Gladiator, I believe you can bestow that upon them.”

“I am a stranger to you, you know nothing of me,” You tell him, a full truth, “General, I fear you may have made the wrong decision, I am not what you think I—”

Silently, Acacius fingers curl around the handle to a drawer hidden behind his desk, pulling out a sharp knife with a handle carved of bone, twisting it in his grip before he’s rearing his arm back, throwing it in your direction.

It zips by with force, the tip of the knife snagging and burying itself deep into the wall behind you, your head whipping to the side to follow it, the sharp blade barely missing the skin of your ear.

Quick reflexes. You turn back to a smirking Acacius.

“I am positive, had I thrown that between your eyes you would have caught it without overthinking the consequences—most of my men would do the same,” Acacius lectures, standing with his brutish frame and walking toward the wall, the soft flow of a breeze kissing at your fists.

“Though, I have another proposition,” Acacius says lightly, twisting the knife in his hand, the pointing spinning against his fingertip as he circles around you, “—attack me.”

“Sir,” You argue, “that surely defeats the purpose of—”

His fist balls up tight and aims for your side. Acacius sees it, the anticipation as you block his hand. He chuckles underneath his breath, “Please, continue,” He teases, twisting out of your grip to pull another punch that you block with ease—he was going easy, you think.

Natural reaction takes hold and his test quickly turns into a full-out brawl, twisting and slipping underneath his grip until you have him pinned against a nearby wall, teeth bared with his forearm pressed against his throat, struggling to grip his free arm.

The real test is here, as Acacius bares the knife near your neck, an immediate reaction to protect yourself rather than go for the kill shot, knowing that anyone of normal skill would be too full of bloodlust to think of anything other than killing you. Protection and defense came first, taking the small nick of a cut to your own forearm before you’re knocking the knife out of his hand and wrestling him to the ground with a swift kick to his leg, rendering him helpless.

“Indeed, you are exactly what I think you are,” Acacius says with finality, “I want you to lead my personal guard. Whatever it is I must do to obtain that, my lady I will do—riches, bribery—”

You push away from him with a heavy exhale, standing and adjusting your clothes, brushing your hair away from your face, “No need, I will do it.”

Acacius rolls to his back, hand extending once more.

This time, it is you offering the help as he uses the leverage to rise to his feet before speaking to you with a triumphant tone.

“Commander,” He grins, “let us plan.”

–

He often asks of your lineage, your home. But, there is nothing to offer. A long conquered piece of land now under the rule of Rome and a home that was never a home. An orphan you had always been, nameless, taking greedily whatever name was bestowed upon you.

In the arena it was Medusa, the tale of a vicious woman with god-like power. Caracalla had told you of the story, the boys having taken a liking to you in different ways. Geta was fiendish, hungry, often seeking you out for his own pleasure to which you wouldn’t deny. Couldn’t. He could be rough, but he wasn’t.

He seemed lonely, the poor boy.

Carcalla was only searching for a friend despite his unruly, chaotic nature. When he wasn’t ruling with tyranny over Rome, terrorizing the townspeople, he was telling you stories.

Other times it was only she. Or her. Or just girl. The girl.

You were only what people assumed of you, expected you to be.

“Medusa, ay?” A greasy looking man confirms, one of the six men who were to be under your command, “The gladiator?”

“You will respect her,” General Acacius had warned them, “or an apology will be your dying breath.”

It had struck most of them with fear. Most of them.

And for many nights, countless, it seems—the transition of leadership was smooth. You had an unyielding grip on them, awaiting direction, following your orders. It was the kind of rush most would only dream of, and as a woman, it was an unforeseen privilege.

“They address you as Medusa, too,” Acacius notes during a roundtable session as the other men wander off for dinner, “do you wish for them to address you differently?”

“I have no name, General,” You admit, “I am whatever I must be. If they think of me as so, that is what I am. Though, I would love to turn a few of them into stone, given I was granted her powers.”

“I believe you could manage that feat without them,” Acacius jokes, “—but, nameless? Even at birth?”

“I know nothing of my birth parents. They told me I was found wrapped in cloth under the bridge that led into the town your army eventually turned to rubble,” A bittersweet feeling, speaking unusually out of term, facing him with the facts, “though, it does not matter. I enjoy the fear they have of me, keeps wandering hands at bay.”

Such an enigma, Acacius eyes you curiously. It was the most you’ve opened up to him since retrieving you from your cell, and even then, still forcing him to face the consequences of war.

The guilt followed him at every waking moment.

“Do you need anything further of me, General?” You ask politely, “You have spoiled my appetite as of late and your men are greedy with the stew.”

“You are dismissed,” He speaks distantly, turning over the thick, coarse paper with a drawn out map of the territory they were to invade soon, a lingering well wish leaving his lips, “sleep well, commander.”

Unfortunately, you’ve turned to sleeping with a knife under your bedroll—with a lingering ache of betrayal, you weren’t allowing yourself to lower your guard.

The attacks do not start at night. Rather during the day, when the General is off and away, scouting ahead further when half of his army while the other half sticks at camp, keeping claim.

That is when the insults come, the disbelief, the mockery.

Most of his men settled with the idea, having accepted your position even if it displeased them.

But, there was one. Like a bull—hardheaded and stocky, fists and arms like clubs, testosterone radiating from his body in crashing waves. He wants you to fear him, submit to him.

You feel it. You see it. And you’ve been through it before, other large and brutish gladiators thinking with their muscles rather than their brains. It wouldn’t take long for them to meet their demise, but this one was…different.

He approaches you with a smile than anyone could see right through, a finger brushing your cheek as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in to brush his lips against the shell of it.

“They are hungry,” He drips of vicious intention, “—I say, you give us a show. Entertain us, Medusa.”

Your eyes snap to him, staring him down.

“Pitiful Acacius isn’t here to save you,” He warns, “though, I have reason to believe he is as weak as most men—spread your legs and he’ll be begging for a taste, too.”

“I will gut you where you stand,” You warn, reaching for the thick machete at your waist, “you’re like a pig. Brainless and greedy for whatever you can get. Touch me, I dare you.”

The rest of the men are relatively quiet, but they do not stop him. Smirks and half-smiles hidden behind their cups, lounging on a log near their tents, enjoying the entertainment.

It was nightfall, the fire crackling between you and them, a towering presence at your backside.

And as he dares to, his hand slides up your waist.

Without hesitation you flip the weapon in your grip, grabbing at his wrist and slicing at his arm—a featherlight touch, it was merrily a glorified papercut, but his eyes widened in shock.

“Let us see how well you touch without fingers,” You threaten, flipping the machete until it is pointing in his face, death grip on the handle if he dared to take it, taunting him with the sharp end of your blade, “hands?”

That deep, rumbling sound of hooves approaches through the darkness, everyone slowly falling back into their paces as you welcome back your General with a forced smile.

Acacius hands off the reins to another rider, taking scope of the situation that seemed to be defusing in front of him, but still—he notices. His eyes trade glances between you both before he nods at you to follow him.

Speaking under his breath, “The others have coined you as fury,” He laughs softly at the pseudonym, “little fury, they tell me. Like the Furies. I cannot say I disagree with them. Has he been pestering you long?”

Your brow furrows at the reference, lost on your ill-informed mind.

“Long enough,” You answer honestly, “though, he was bestowed a parting gift this time.”

You raise your blade, his blood still painting the weapon.

He raises the curtain to his tent, allowing you to enter before him.

“Do you know nothing of the Furies?”

“I was not privy to bedtime tales, General.”

He nods, thoughtful as his lips pull together in a thin line, slowly removing his armor as he sits, directing for you to take a seat opposite of him, a few feet away on a decaying stump.

“Goddesses,” He states simply, “of vengeance, striking the wicked down. You have…fire, deep within you. Do not let them put it out, it is your weapon.”

You nod obediently, feeling the humidity stick to your skin, clothes glued to your body as you sit in the uncomfortable heat. There was no world in which you felt safe enough to strip down, quell your body of this unbearable summer weather. You would rather suffer, thick garb covering your body.

Acacius tilts his head, but does not comment.

“I require your protection tomorrow, we must scout an additional day and I fear danger is imminent—relay this to them,” He instructs, “and my lady, if you fear they will visit you at night, that they might strike when you’re vulnerable, you are welcome here.”

He already anticipates your response—he knows, but the gesture was an offer. A kindness.

“If they try, you will be searching for new men by sunrise, General.”

Acacius smirks in amusement, nodding to your words.

“It would not be difficult to replace them,” He notes, “though, little fury, you are irreplaceable.”

General Acacius wasn’t an easy man to protect, but you managed. Over the few weeks that you had taken point within his guard it has leant you plenty of opportunities to prove your worth, slaughtering opposing soldiers like cattle for the glory of Rome, his booming voice pronouncing vie victis as the dead are laid rest under fire and smoke.

But, conflict comes when you are faced with a decision as the camp was raided under complete, utter darkness. It was your shift to guard the General, perched outside of his tent with constant, roaming eyes. Eventually, you drift. It was peaceful, nature taking hold and pulling you under, awoken to the sound of blood curdling screams, the ground painted with the innards of both Acacius’ men and the others.

You were forced with a choice—defend the camp, something Acacius would have told you to do in a moment of desperation, a self-sacrificing man himself. Ironic, given your position, that you even think otherwise. Of course, your feet pull you toward him, whipping the flowing fabric of his tent door back.

There was a knife at his neck, a man towering over him. He’d snuck past—taken advantage of your exhaustion and your mistake was putting the General’s life at risk, his face stoic as he pushed back against the blade with his palm.

Without thinking, you rush toward the man, pulling back at his collar to plunge the knife pointed at Acacius into his own throat, a silent death through the notch of his neck, the blood flowing out like a river, tossing the lifeless man to the side before you’re reaching for your General.

“Do not worry,” He assures you as he rises, still groggy from sleep, “go—protect our camp.”

“But, General,” You plead, not realizing that your hand was grasping on his own, or that he had initiated the touch as a gentle push, a confirmation that he was truly alright, “it is my fault.”

His eyes peer behind you and to the man lying lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around his body.

“Though, it seems you have done your duty,” Acacius comments, head turned down as he stares at the body before his eyes peer up at you under his dark lashes, pensive, “now—kill them.”

You had lost a hundred or so men, nothing to the army of five thousand, but any loss was felt within General Acacius’ army—men of honor, with families or not, deserved a proper farewell.

Covered in the blood of many, some of your friends and some of strangers, hair matted and reeking of death, you approach General Acacius who was sending off a group of men to begin digging the mass grave to dispose of the bodies.

Your body ached, bruised and nicked from battle—you had killed at least five hundred men alone. Pure rage and fury, not a memory of it as you approached him now, a blank stare void of emotion that concerns Acacius, his hand reaching for your wrist as you begin to pass him, heading for your own tent to collapse in exhaustion.

“You did well,” He notes, catching your gaze as he turns his head to infiltrate your line of sight, “wash off before you turn in, you…reek. There’s a river beyond the bend—clean, warm.”

You nod despite only paying half-attention to his words, walking mindlessly toward the river before you are faced with the unfortunate crowd of men, undressed to their natural state, avoiding the watchful eyes and preying gazes, stripping your armor off down near the empty end of the river, pulling at your tangled hair, pulling off each remaining piece of clothing despite your body’s protest, screaming for relief.

It wasn’t unfamiliar, the looks—you bathed alongside all the men under the arena without a thought, knowing most of them were vying for freedom and wouldn’t dare risk it by allowing their cocks to work overtime, forgetting rational thought.

But, to them, you were a trophy. Someone—something, to be conquered.

The thin, flimsy undergarments come off last, stepping into the water and sinking down slowly. The blood washes away as you scrub, back turned as you dip your head into the water before committing entirely, plugging your nose as you dip underneath the water, finding peace in the silence.

“I had my doubts, Medusa,” A voice bellows from behind as you rise, your eyes peeling open with a quickly growing annoyance, “of you being a true woman, but—”

“Careful,” One of the men warned, a stable boy, “she will run to the general.”

It was the same man from many nights ago, big and brutish, always looking for a fight, even with the other men. He hadn’t learned his lesson, clearly.

“Acacius is busy,” He retorts, “so—what say you give us the show you owe us?”

You stand frozen in place, staring daggers at the man who seems only more amused as the anger in you builds, permeates.

(sa themes below: noncon touching, reader is naked in front of several men)

“Get out of the water,” He demands, “unless you prefer I come get you.”

You survey your choices, knowing that staying in the water wasn’t a safe option. They can and will wait you out. Your eyes track toward your clothes, further away than you had left them. Your eyes track the scar on his forearm and you smirk, teething peeking out behind your lips, “How beautiful,” You tell him, his eyes slowly following your own, “quite the scar, is it not? Fancy another?”

You spot the knife sheathed in his leather belt, taking your chances despite the vulnerability that remains with your naked frame on full display as you retreat from the water, he nods with confidence as you approach, a faint whistle in the distance that you’ve heard before. The oaf seems to ignore it, though. His large hand comes to your breast in an instant, body dripping wet and a sickness churning in your gut as the sticks of torch and fire approach amongst the murmuring crowd of men, less than subtle about the rowdiness that was ensuing.

He pulls you into his body with a greedy hunger as his opposite hands gropes at your backside, following the curve of your ass as your hand snakes toward the blade, but the voice that rips through the crowd is enough to wake the dead, silence falling over the area in an instant.

“Remove your hand,” Acacius voice travels, the same booming voice he uses to declare victory over a new territory, “or I will remove it myself.”

“General,” The man addressed in a drunkish manner, inviting, “she was offering—Medusa, tell him.”

Your silence is expected, his hand wandering toward your other breast, biting hard enough at the inside of your cheek that it draws blood—Acacius sees your hand wrapping around the blade and speaks again, approaches closer as the mud sticks to his boots, “I will tell you once more. Remove it.”

The man eyes you with disdain, dropping his hands away as you relinquish your hold of his weapon, allowing the breath caught in your chest to escape, but it doesn’t stop the touch that follows, taunting with its intention as his palm curls around the back of your head, tilting your head to the side as he squeezes, “I forget—you are the General’s property after all.”

(end of sa themes)

“Take him,” He orders the other lingering guards, men who’ve never shown you anything other than respect—they value their lives and limbs, as any sane person would, “and start the fire.”

Acacius looks around at the lingering eyes, “I suggest all of you return to camp. Now.”

That was all it took, most of them scrambling for their own clothes and armor as they retreated like scurrying mice or dogs with their tail between their legs, leaving you under Acacius' careful gaze. He reaches down to fetch you dirtied clothes, looking them over with disgust.

He removes the black cape around his shoulders without a word, opening it as an offering. Desperate to cover yourself, you slip your arms in the sleeves with his help, his eyes wandering no further than your face as you turn to him, tucking the cape around yourself. He reaches for the hood, pulling it down.

“Come,” He demands, “I would like you to witness.”

–

The screams are audible as you approach camp, a few feet behind Acacius as he rounds the fire and separates the crowd to create a path, approaching the man bound at his feet, one arm roped at his side and secured away, leaving him to fight the men that held him down.

“General, gen—general, I am sorry,” He pleads, “she—you do not understand, she taunts. She is poison, not a leader,” He continues, despite Acacius lack of response, making a motion with his hand to remove the man’s weapon and hand it to him, pulling it from it’s leather cover and examining the blade, he makes a soft sound to himself, “Acacius—you have known me for years. Do not let this woman trick you.”

“Gag him,” He ignores his pleading, leaning down to grip the hand of the man bound below, “your humility is amusing, but your greed is what is costing you. She has shown you mercy, but I will not.”

The cut isn’t a clean slice, either. It takes several swings before the limb detaches, blood spurting out of the appendage as the man screams in pain, dragged helplessly toward the fire before they’re cauterizing the wound—your body unreactive as you watch but silently stewing with frustration.

He had spared the man, sure. But, making a show of it? A mockery?

“Commander, with me,” General Acacius demands, waiting for you to snap back into reality, your eyes meeting his face, blood covering his armor and hands, somehow avoidant of most of the mess.

When you are alone, you don’t hold back.

“I would have handled him,” You tell him, “killed him myself.”

“This is not the arena, we do not go around slaughtering our men without reason,” Acacius retorts, “he will be demoted and replaced and be a reminder to the others that you—”

“I do not need you defending my honor, General.”

“Men will not change, this—society, it does not cater to your safety. To them, women are nothing but vanity and pleasure—”

“And property,” You remark, “lest you forget how you obtained me, General.”

Acacius approaches you near the table at the center of his tent, only a foot away as he removes his armor plate, pulling it over his head, “Had I not, you would have paid for your own freedom eventually. I needed a leader—strong, smart, powerful.”

“By punishing that man, you are sending the message that I need my battles fought for me,” You argue, “and as if these men did not already think I was the General’s plaything, what will they think now?”

Acacius sighs through his nose, pulling at the fabric of his tunic that bares his chest, “I believe they will behave,” He tells you, “because you will not be as kind when you take their heads. He was an example and a pain in my ass for years, he deserved more than that.”

“And what will they think of me now? I am naked under this cloak, your cloak. I must walk the path back to my tent surrounded by men deprived of the things your bestial minds crave.”

Acacius chuckles to himself, “I have been thinking,” He begins, “that you deserve a new name. Something indicative of all that you are. Some of the men award each other with monikers of war. Medusa seems to have become more of a taunt, in light of recent events.”

He unties the leather bands at his wrist, eyeing you with a mischievous gaze as he keeps you waiting, “Have you heard the tale of Minerva, my lady?”

It isn’t a surprise, but you shake your head.

“A goddess of many things—strategy, warfare, victory, and justice…but mostly importantly, wisdom. I have seen the way you command the battlefield, it is not lost on me.”

“You have…many stories, General.”

“My mother told me one every night as she tucked me, it seems they have stuck with me.”

Tell me more, the words linger in the back of your throat.

“I am barely standing, General. I must retire for the night.”

“Indeed,” He agrees, shamelessly stripping down to his undergarments to walk toward the clean bowl of water and wash away the drying blood, “and Minerva,” the name is completely foreign, but you respond with a hum, “your position is yours alone. You have earned it. Do not let them tell you otherwise.”

Like Medusa, the name sticks.

And thankfully, you were a few weeks away from a much-earned break from war, returning to Rome as a free woman for the first time, having finally fallen into a comfortable rhythm with the rest of his personal guards—a mutual respect that had been missing, men waiting for your command.

Long nights of planning spent in Acacius tent, surrounded by the other guards until they filter out one by one, growing curiosity and questions lead to many hours of conversation that you, for many months, had been deprived of in the arena.

“You did promise my return,” You remind him, “they will be expecting you to keep that.”

“They are young, fickle men,” Acacius berates with amusement, “I am sure they have moved on.”

“Do you fear them? The emperors?”

“They are spoiled brats,” Acacius responds, an answer in itself.

“They would visit me often,” You admit, “Caracalla seemed to be—it seems the syphilis in his loins was truly affecting his brains, often he would not even make sense. Or he would come to me, complaining of his brother.”

“You had built quite the rapor,” Acacius notes with a smile, sipping at the broth from his stew as he invites you to sit on his fancy, expensive bed cot. Much nicer than your own, cushioned and wrapped in velvet, “What of Geta?”

“He liked my breasts,” You begin bluntly, “and my—”

“He forced himself upon you?”

“I was property of Rome, Acacius,” You didn’t often say his name in such a relaxed way, blaming it on the full belly and exhaustion, “therefore I was his. I have suffered much worse than a lonely man searching for comfort.”

Acacius seems thoughtful, pensive as he stirs at his quickly diminishing stew. He does catch your lingering gaze on his face after a while, mesmerized by the scar underneath his eye, he encourages you.

“Ask, if you are so curious, my lady,” He places his bowl to the side, empty.

“Your scar,” You nod, pressing your finger in a mirroring way under your eye, “is there a story?”

“Nothing to be told with boast,” He chuckles, “a wound of battle, is all. Like many of the scars on my body,” He tells you, raising his naked forearm to display the various scars, noting the few that paint his clavicle, “and you, Minerva?”

It seems to have become a particular quirk of his, a lilt to his voice as he calls you by your given name—the others have become accustomed to it, too. But, with Acacius, it felt special. Treasured.

You raise your eyebrows at his question, quietly unlacing your top to pull it down your shoulder, sliding a hand over your breast to respect the dynamic between you both—him being your general and you, his subordinate. His eyes squint as he examines the jagged and staggered scar on the side of your breasts—not quite faded, healed but relatively fresh.

“He is a biter,” You warn him with amusement, “Geta.”

Only one scar, given by one of the emperors, somehow untouched from real battle. It was miraculous. You readjust your top, feeling the heat from your neck rise to your face at what you had just willingly offered over to Acacius. Unfortunately, he had a way of lowering your guard.

With that talk, it seemed like a true breakthrough in your partnership with Acacius.

He always allowed you to speak for yourself, never overstepping the boundary you had argued with him over, leading the charge with an iron fist and handling the younger, fresh faced soldiers who just seemed…lost.

It was hard to ignore the lingering glances over time, often during meetings as you spoke, not a look of attention but rather…ravishing. Hungry, but in a subdued manner. You weren’t sure where the lines had blurred, but they had.

Possibly somewhere within the long nights of conversation or the lingering touches that shouldn’t have been as charged as they were, handing over a piece of armor or blade and his calloused fingertips would circle your wrist, pause, before his brain would catch up to his actions.

“Go on,” He encourages after a final night of victory and triumph, many of the men howling and singing tunes around the fire, drinking from their cups and enjoying the pleasures of alcohol and comradery, “you are missing the fun,” He was unnaturally quiet, subdued to his quarters, leaning against the outside of his tent as he watched with amusement but subtle dismay.

A younger man approaches with his hand extended, a gleeful expression on his face, “Minerva, please—come, you must enjoy the party, too.”

The general gives you an expectant look as you let the young man lead you away, curling his fingers around your own and pulling you with vigor, cheering loudly to blend in with the energy of the men despite how you worry about the man several feet away, your eyes tracking his disappearing figure as he slips into his tent, eventually pulled away by another man, one of the guardsmen who adored you, asking for a dance.

You agree hesitantly as the crowd roars louder, eyes searching for the exact reason as you see a few men leading a line of women into camp, little clothing to allow them modesty, a less than subtle shushing come from the men as they lead them deeper into camp, and the fear in you tells you to run to the General.

“It is not what you think,” The young man tells you, “they are dancers—no harm will—”

You bypass him, straight toward the men leading the path, stopping them cold.

“They are not here against their will, my lady.” He assures you, though, that could be argued.

“Minerva, Acacius has made it clear that harming women, you—is far worse a crime than anything else. Truly, it is not what you believe it to be.”

“I am telling the General, informing him of their presence,” You admit, “so I suggest you and the rest of the cattle be on your best behavior?”

They both give crisp, curt nods.

As you make the direct line for Acacius’ tent, you are ignorant to his silent plea for privacy at the tied rope, intertwined with gold fabric, pushing apart the fabric doors without much of a thought, reality hitting you as you catch a glimpse of his naked frame, patting down his body with a clean cloth as he washed himself, other hand curved around his cock as he stretched his neck up and back, the water splashing as he dipped the towel into the basin, only aware of your present when you make a small, unrecognizable sound as a result of your own stupidity.

“I—General,” Your eyes widen as they take on a mind of their own, straight down the valley of his chest as he turns to you, quickly spinning on your heels, “I should have—I apologize, uh, the men…they are—”

“I was informed,” He assures, “and they have been warned, I assure you.”

“Yes, hm—um,” It was the only time Acacius had seen you flustered

“I assumed the rope was a clear message,” Acacius teases, “but—it is not your fault. I should have informed you of their…antics.”

He pulls the tight, fabric shorts over his hips, clearing his throat, peering over your shoulder you breathe a sigh of relief, “General, I would like to apologize for—” You swallow, watching as he turned barefoot on his heels, the fabric of the immodest undergarments curving around the stretch of his cock, half-hard under the fabric and the outline of thick head pushing against the linen.

You don’t realize how long you’re staring until he’s approaching with a tap of his finger on the underside of your chin, “There is no need for that,” He assures you, your nose scrunching up in confusion at the sudden touch, feeling the subtle shift as he reaches behind you for the clothes folded on the table at your backside, “surely you must return to the party,” He encourages, “celebrate a well-earned victory.”

“Why?” You counter, “When you will not.”

“Minerva,” He warns.

“You are distracted,” You note, watching as Acacius now avoids your gaze, “it is worrying me.”

He cannot admit the reason why. That it may be you.

“Acacius,” You call his name, hoping that will break through to him.

“Leave me,” He asks, rather than demanding, “I need to rest.”

It was a lie, but you do not fight him on it.

–

Silence blankets the camp in the early morning hours—the witching hours, as you’ve come to know them. Sleeping securely in your tent, bedroll tucked under your head as you drift. Unaware of the creeping men planning your untimely demise, assuring that the entire camp was asleep before they strike, arms and legs rendered useless as the third shoves a piece of cloth into your mouth and ties it around the back of your head, screams muffled behind the fabric, stripped of your weapons. Helpless, they think.

During the struggle, one of them grows frustrated, banging the hard rock against your skull and plunging you back into darkness.

When you come to, you are unclear of where you are, but it was outside, arms above your head against the thick limb, feet bound tight as well, a sting and a string of wetness running down the side of your face as your blurry vision becomes clear.

“Little Minerva,” the voice begins mockingly, all too familiar to your ears, “he has named you—you must feel special, ay?”

He kneels in front of you, the one hand he has left curling around the forearm of what was left of his other appendage, “And you expect to return back to Rome as a free woman,” He laughs, snorts wetly through his nose, “I assure you that will not happen. Rather, you will be a dead one.”

The other two lingering figures join in on the laughter.

“How did you say it?” He taunts, “I will gut you where you stand?”

“It took three of you to capture me,” You retort, “your confidence is lacking sorely.”

He clears the back of his throat, rearing up a ball of saliva in his mouth before he’s spitting at you.

“I will slaughter all of you with my hands,” You promise, “untie me, unless you are fearful.”

Driven by ego, it doesn’t take much for him to agree.

But, as he had underestimated you the first time, and the second, he would regret the third.

The two men come at you first, enough tussling and your teeth ripping into the ear of one of them, searching blindly for a thick, heavy and sharp edge branch that would handle the weight of piercing through skin and muscle, finding the right weapon at the perfect moment—the attacker rearing back as the other approached, driving the make-shift stake through his chest as the other tackled you to the ground, a poor miscalculation on his part as you get your legs around his neck, arms pinned at an painful, awkward ankle until his neck snaps from the force, the ox-like man awaiting in the shadows like a coward, blood spilling from your mouth as you scream.

The heavy hooves approach like roaring thunder and the instant your attacker catches on, his attempts to flee are ruined by the barricade of men at all angles, General Acacius at the head of the charge, a rageful expression on his face. Feral unlike you have ever seen.

He jumps off of his horse, ordering the men to capture the surviving man once again, looking around at the lifeless bodies beside you, assuring his men he would handle you and the mess, demanding they return to camp at once.

You look around aimlessly, blood staining your face as Acacius struggles to capture your attention, eventually resorting to a strong, demanding hold on your face, cradling your head with his hands.

“Are you wounded?” He asks, then notices the trail of blood from your scalp, pushing away the hair to reveal with gash from the rock they had attacked you with, grimacing as he runs his finger over the wound in worry.

Suddenly, you are stricken with a need, “Give me your sword,” You tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own, “I need your sword.” His movements are too slow, still concerned with you that you reach for the weapon yourself.

Pulling away, you approach one of the dead men with the sword, swinging it up over your head and down with force, beheading him in one go, before switching to the other man, less finesse as you swing—again and again, until there is nothing but a pool of blood, bone, and brain—Acacius steps in eventually, tossing the sword away as he holds you arms in his fierce grip, letting the screams rip from your chest as he sways with you, eventually falling to your knees in exhaustion. He uses his bare hands to wipe the blood away from your neck, your face, feeling the soft shake of your body as you sob in silence, overcome with an emotion you so rarely let surface.

–

The public execution follows the next morning, everyone rousing from their tents to the loud, blaring horn from the ship just off shore—Acacius had assisted you back to camp on his horse, slumped against his back as you rode until the trampling finally stopped, sliding off the horse and into Acacius’ arms as he led you inside his tent.

He didn’t sleep the entire night, watching over you instead—he rarely blinked, staring off into nothingness as he tried to keep the vicious rage at bay, by morning, he was itching.

“You may stay,” He tells you, “your head—I cleaned it while you slept.”

You shove his hand away as he attempts to help you sit, slowly dressing yourself, eventually putting together the fact that Acacius had undressed and bathed you at some point throughout the night, not a speck of blood or spit remaining.

“Are you ordering me to stay?”

Acacius shakes his head, his hand still hovering close by.

“Then I will attend.”

He doesn’t argue against it and there is, despite your weariness to admit, a relief of your chest as Acacius rears back his blade, silencing the final scream the man lets out, pleading for his life. The blood sprays over his face, a strong grimace at the sheer strength it takes to behead the man, but the general manages it with one strike of his blade.

His speech follows, a deep and unsettling warning to all of his men. A final one.

Men, wide-eyed with fear, agree without resistance before he sends them off to ready the ship for departure and a meal before they begin their long trek back to Rome—he is less than gentle as he grabs your wrist without warning and pulls you alongside him, back to his tent.

–

He ties the rope with a stiff tug, before turning to you, stumbling on your feet as pull off his cape, having offered it to you for a second time, assuring that dressing in your usually armor wasn’t needed today, not as you began your travels, a flowing dress tied at your shoulder and waist that you were used to wearing during the showings back in Rome, parading you around like a prize.

“Acacius, perhaps you should sit,” You suggest, watching his hands curl into fists at his sides before he’s spinning on his heels and toward you, cradling your face like he had the night prior, but even this close, it felt like he was trying to keep you at a distance, “—I am sorry, if I did something—”

“I crave you,” Acacius admits, “you must know.”

Your lips part, gearing up the courage to speak, but falling short.

“Nights I have spent,” He breathes, shaking his head, the curls tickling your forehead as they meet, “thinking—wondering—”

“Acacius, why now?” You question him, “As we are homebound, back to your wife. Surely, she would have my head.”

Acacius shakes his head with a soft, but fond laugh.

“Our marriage is complex,” He explains, “Something I do not care to explain in great detail at this moment, you see—,” His hand curves around the side of your neck, tilting your head up, lips grazing against his own as he speaks, “I had no such intention for things to get like this, but you have proven to make things…difficult, for me,” He breathes out through his mouth, his eyes opening slowly to meet yours, “and I need you, should you have me.”

You could easily deny him, knowing he would back off in an instant. But, like this, clearly driven by adrenaline and instinct, riding the high of such a charged execution, he was craving something deeper than an outlet to release the built up tension.

He craved connection—through little moments of conversation and touches, someone at level-ground, an equal. You were his equal. He’d given you so much since, and you would be lying to yourself if you denied the thoughts that had riddled your mind too.

“I do not much prefer a soft touch,” You finally reply, “or gentle care.”

He silences you with a kiss, bruising and tense as he licks into your mouth, hungrily searching for more areas to taste and devour, licking along the column of your neck as the blood of another smeared into your skin, his fingers working quietly to undo your dress, in turn wrestling with his armor and clothes, nearly ripping the fabric of his shirt from his body as you claw at him.

Wet kisses and clashing tongues fill the silent room, a screeching sound as your back hits the roundtable before he’s lifting from the back of your thighs and scooting you onto the surface, naked and bare as he spreads your thighs apart to move between them, clearly restraining himself as he licks, teeth grazing carefully.

“I enjoy them,” You admit, “Do not hold back, Acacius. They are what I will keep with me, if this be the only time.”

Like a dog cut loose of his chain, his teeth sink into the breasts mirror the mark of the other, hissing as his teeth break through the skin just enough for the subtle trickling of blood to rise to the surface before he’s soothing the wound with his tongue, staring up at you through a half-lidded gaze, prowling for more. He dips lower, falling to his knees as he pulls you toward the end of the table, ass hanging near the edge as his teeth sink into your thigh, near the swell of your cunt as you moan, fingers digging into sweaty, matted curls.

“Acacius,” You plead breathily, “I want your mouth.”

Where—it did not matter. But, Acacius fulfills that need as he licks a broad strip through your cunt, nose buried in the coarse curls, still smelling of the fresh soap he had bathed you in, taking delicate care as he washed your body, letting you slump into him, soaking him in the process.

“Yes, that—” You respond airily, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue dips inside of you, swirling your slick around on his tongue and sucking harshly at your clit, staring up at you daringly from his position beneath you, unwavering, “oh, gods above…”

Acacius chuckles below you,the sound vibrating against your cunt as your moans increase rapidly, thick fingers dipping inside your pulsating core, “This high—it feels like—”

He rises to press a kiss against your stomach, climbing, tongue licking over your belly button and between your breasts, “—like…” He encourages, “come on, my lady, do not sell out on me now,”

“Like a battle high,” You admit with a faint laugh, “though, different, but….”

He understands, driven by unbridled need, uncapped adrenaline.

“Well, vae victis,” He taunts, “now—come here,” He squeezes at your hips and pulls you to him, his cock stiff, throbbing between your legs before he is twisting and spinning you around, feet planting against the ground as he bends you over, fisting himself tight as he rubs his thick cock head between your folds, watching as your wetness coats him, sinking into your fluttering hole with little resistance, a sweet cacophony of noises releasing from your throat as you grip onto nothing, hand curling into a fist as you moan, open-mouthed and shameless.

“Harder,” You beg, forcing the word out between thrusts, blunt fingernails clawing at your hips, attempting to pull you in closer despite your proximity, as if he could consume and even that wouldn’t be enough, “Acacius, please.”

It was like instinct, his hand sliding up the back of your thigh to lift your leg up, pinning it up—up, until you feel the ache in your sore muscles as he holds you in place with a fist between the bend of your knee, heaving breaths at your neck as he fucks you into the hard surface of the table.

It was a pain you would feel in your bones, that would carry with you into the morning, marks that would last for longer, a remnant of this moment, the mess of blood smearing on your own skin as he melts against you, forehead resting against your shoulder as his gaze follows the movement of his hips, slow but powered thrusts that drilled into you, clawing at his skin to leave your own bruises. The hand that brushes against your core is your ultimate demise, feeling breathless as your orgasm pulls you under, muffled sobs into your fist as you bite down, fearful that it might draw attention. Though, Acacius seems preoccupied, still.

His hand seeks your neck, digging in as he pulled you up, “To your knees,” He demands softly, your body moving out a memory, dropping to the floor—though, the sight is much more tantalizing, Acacius fisting his cock tight, feral as he teeth were bared, like a man fresh from the slaughter, he comes with a deep and guttural groan, your tongue sliding against the underside of his bulbous head, thick spurts coating your tongue, his body shaking as you pull away, swallowing all that he had offered with a steady, locked gaze. He assists you upright, steadying you.

“For a man who has such a distaste for unnecessary violence, you wear it well,” It wasn’t a compliment, rather an observation, his eyes tracking your naked frame, fingertips tracing the curves of your body in admiration.

“You are quite inspiring, Minerva,” He admits, gathering your thick dress and helping you redress in silence, tying the material around your body, “not everyone deserves mercy.”

Your smile is rare, but it is beautiful. And he wasn’t a man for such dramatics.

But, it could bring him to his knees, he thinks.

#general acacius #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #general acacius x reader #general acacius x you #gladiator ii #gladiator ii fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #my writing

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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 month ago

Text

Memento Vivere

Also on AO3

Part I // Part II // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 4.1k words

Summary: Rome is in disarray. Macrinus has been trying to seize power and therefore, he decides to use you as collateral. But Lucius won't let him win so easily.

Warnings: MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, canon events with canon divergence (so, potentially spoilers), graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood and death, abduction, angst (but there's a happy ending!), reader is a courtesan (SW), fluffy smut, unprotected p in v, 69, typical roman wedding customs, some historical inaccuracies potentially, aaaand i think that’s it! But lmk if anything else.

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"Love conquers all; therefore, let us submit to love."

–Virgil.

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The pounding came late at night, when the moon had disappeared in preparation for the dawn. The raucous sound startled you awake from a dream you immediately forgot, leaving you dazed and slightly panicked. Prima, your chambermaid, hastily draped a cloak over your shoulders and accompanied you to the front of the house to investigate.

The iron gates seemed to shake from the sheer power of the knocking, as if a battering ram was being used. The courtyard was shadowed except for a few small torches and in that moment, you couldn’t help but believe anything could be lurking in the darkness. Gallus, who guarded the entrance, motioned with one hand for you and Prima to stay where you were.

Fear curdled icily in your stomach and you clutched Prima’s arm as Gallus undid the giant latch that held the gates closed. He partially opened one of them, but as soon as he did, a trio of brawny men barreled inside.

One of them, quick as a flash, drew his sword and drove it into Gallus’ chest. He let out a gurgling sound and collapsed, immediately dead. Prima screamed, but you were frozen in shock, a sob clogging in your throat. The other two men started to menacingly make their way towards you, quickly closing the distance.

You shoved Prima back towards the hallway, stepping in front of her protectively.

“Run,” you urged her. “Save yourself!”

She hesitated for a moment, but then her self-preservation instincts took over and she darted into the darkness of the house. Luckily, none of them pursued her, but they weren’t there for her, after all.

The two men reached you, each clutching one of your arms and dragging you to the entrance. Your heart was pounding like a war drum in your chest, everything coming into sharper focus as adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask who they were or where they were taking you, too afraid they might become more aggressive.

Outside the gate, there were a few more men holding torches, all of them surrounding a man on a pale horse. The rider removed the hood of his cloak and it was none other than Macrinus, Lucius’ master.

“A little bird has told me that one of my gladiators holds you in high regard,” he said by way of greeting, his smile a thin veneer of friendliness. “My champion, as you might recall…”

You dipped your chin in assent, knowing it was futile to lie. His men were restless as if waiting for an excuse to intervene, and you wouldn’t give it to them if you could help it.

“Well, as it happens, I am now in need of some help keeping him in check,” he said, his words less like an invitation and more of a command. “If you would be so kind as to come with us.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once more. “I-if I may ask… Where are we going?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that.” He waved off the question dismissively. “You’ll be perfectly safe in my care.”

You hesitated for a moment before inclining your head, trying to seem polite despite the tremor in your voice. “Of course, I–thank you.”

He held out his heavily ringed hand for you to take and swiftly pulled you onto his horse in front of him. You cast one last fretful glance back at your house as if to commit it to memory. What if you never returned?

No, you couldn’t think like that. You’d do whatever it took to see things through and come out alive on the other side. You could play the game… Whatever it was. But if Lucius was on the line, what exactly was expected of you?

“Hold on tightly, now,” Macrinus said close to your ear, making your skin crawl. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

He spurred his horse into a wild gallop, the darkened streets of Rome blurring together as they flew past you. The sun was just beginning to rise in the horizon, slowly bleeding crimson and gold.

It could be no coincidence that just the day before, General Acacius had been executed by the Praetorian guard after Lucius had chosen to grant him mercy. You couldn’t be sure what either of them was planning, but Lucius had to be enough of a threat to warrant some collateral. Perhaps Macrinus even thought you might have some idea of what his next move would be.

Anxiousness knotted in your chest as you stared straight ahead. Perhaps if you played your part well enough, you might not just save yourself, but you might also help Lucius, too. All that was left to do was wait.

—-----------------

Outside, the Roman populace was rioting. The fires throughout the city had doubled after the fate of Queen Lucilla was announced. It was no surprise, given their adoration for her and the former General Acasius. That was working in her and Lucius’ favor, but it was also working in Macrinus’s, if things went according to his plans. Things were in a rather precarious position in Rome. Emperor Geta was already dead, and nobody was too keen on the idea of Caracalla having sole power.

Lucius and his mother met a few days prior to form a plan to defeat Macrinus, and they relied on the element of surprise. Lucius hadn’t summoned you in some time, wanting to keep you away from danger, but he had still tried to send you a couple of messages with Ravi. Much to his dismay, though, he had received no response. He feared that you might be angry at him, but it wasn’t until Viggo boasted about your capture, taunting him, that he found out the truth.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Lucius drove his sword into the face of the man who had tried so hard to break him on the training grounds. He could endure his attempts to humiliate him, the sharp bite of the whip tearing open his back, and the leering grins at his suffering. But he could not bear the thought of him laying a single hand on you.

And still, even after killing him, his rage was not quelled. It would carry him through the rest of the day, like a purifying, righteous flame.

His fellow gladiators disposed of the rest of their captors, and now they waited to enact Lucius’ plan. He stalked out on the sand, approaching the sacrificial altar where his mother and the senators who had conspired with her were tied. Senator Gracchus was among them, his hunched form and frightened expression like a dagger piercing your heart. Queen Lucilla, for her part, kept her chin raised high, a serenely dignified expression on her face. She would not go down afraid in the face of her enemies.

Lucius looked to the Emperor’s box and momentarily halted in his steps as he spotted you. Beside you, Macrinus smiled, wide and cruel. He had deliberately kept you hidden until that moment, when he knew it would be an irresistible distraction to Lucius. You tried to shake your head imperceptibly, but you knew it’d be impossible for him to see at such a great distance.

A scream threatened to crawl up your throat, but you stayed perfectly still, your expression neutral. You could betray nothing in that moment, or it might cost you both everything. Fortuna, I beg you, bless him with your favor once more…

Lucius’ rage was incandescent, blazing through him like sunlight itself. Everything else seemed to disappear and he became like the edge of a well-honed blade – the vision of the god Apollo. He raised his sword and pointed it directly at Macrinus – both a promise and a threat. Only one of them would still live by the end of the day.

The master of ceremonies announced what the games would consist of – Lucius would be the sole fighter to defend his mother and the senators from the Praetorian guard. They rode into the arena at the sound of trumpets, the thunderous noise of horses' hooves pounding on the sand reverberating through you. Your vision went dark for a moment and you thought you might faint, but then you felt an arm slip around your shoulders.

“I want you to watch closely now,” Macrinus said, voice low and close to your ear. “This is what happens to those who go against my will.”

You watched as the soldiers circled closer and closer. An archer among them loosed an arrow that pierced through Senator Gracchus’ throat, blood spurting from his mouth like a gruesome fountain. You whimpered, feeling like air had been punched out of your lungs. Tears rapidly welled in your eyes as your patron fell to his knees, dead within seconds. Macrinus’ grip on your shoulders tightened, gripping your chin with his free hand when you tried to glance away.

At his throne, Emperor Caracalla clapped excitedly over the first death of the spectacle. His pet monkey climbed onto his shoulders, chittering anxiously at all the commotion. With one last menacing look, Macrinus let go of your shoulders and stepped behind the throne to get a better look. Beneath your cloak, your fingers brushed over the small knife you’d stolen from the kitchen at Macrinus’ estate. You sent another prayer to Nemesis, goddess of revenge, so that your hand wouldn’t falter if you were forced to use it.

In the arena, Lucius jumped onto the platform where his mother stood and let out a fierce roar, raising his sword in the air. His battle cry was echoed by the dozens of gladiators that suddenly flooded the arena, immediately engaging the soldiers in a fierce melee.

Mayhem ensued as the crowd grew wild and rapidly uncontrollable. The people surged forward like a tempestuous tide, fighting back against the Praetorian guards who were meant to keep things under control. Macrinus saw his opportunity in the chaos and slipped a needle-like knife into Caracalla’s ear, killing him. His monkey leaped away, terrified, and lost itself in the commotion.

You stumbled backward, aghast, as Macrinus took the bow of the guard nearest him and fired down into the arena. Unthinking, you unsheathed the knife for protection and fled while he was still turned away. You heard his furious scream and his pounding footsteps in pursuit of you, but soon you were met with the angry Roman mob.

You glanced over your shoulder, weighing your options, and decided your chances were better if you lost yourself in the crowd. You fought your way through, not letting anything or anyone stop you. Your heart was racing and your breaths were coming out in harsh pants, but no one really paid attention to you. You were jostled and thrown about, but that seemed to be the worst of it.

Macrinus gave up pursuit rather quickly, instead stealing a horse and fleeing towards Ostia, where he would meet his fate. As for Lucius, you had faith in his strength, in the fury that drove him forward. The best thing you could do was find somewhere to hide, at least until things settled down some. He could not have any more distractions now, in the most crucial moment.

And so, you ran.

—-------------------------------------

Countless hours later, after defeating Macrinus in a duel where the fate of Rome was at stake, Lucius revealed his true identity, his grandfather’s ring back on his finger. But he did not stay long to revel in his victory, instead riding back into the city at breakneck speed. He searched the busy streets for you with the desperation of a man who had already lost everything, but was not willing to go through it again. The rage was dissipating into panic, but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to it.

You were praying in a small temple of Fortuna when you heard his hoarse voice calling out your name, the sound growing closer. You threw off your hood and dashed into the street, seeing him in the near distance atop his horse, frantically looking about. Relief at seeing him alive, though bruised and bloodied, flooded through you. You could almost fall to your knees in gratitude, a great weight lifting off your shoulders.

“Lucius!” You called out, waving your arms above your head so he may spot you. “Lucius, over here!”

Finally, he saw you, his expression nearly crumbling with relief. People moved out of the way to let him through, curiously taking in the scene. By the time he reached you, you noticed your face was wet with tears, but you were unable to stop smiling. He let out a breathy laugh, overjoyed, and pulled you onto his horse. He caught you halfway and kissed you deeply, not stopping even as you murmured thank you, thank you, thank you against his lips like a prayer.

Then he seemed to remember where you were, with dozens surrounding you, and he knew he had to get you out of there. He leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, barely able to believe his immense fortune. He mentally thanked anyone who might be listening for bringing you back to his side, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

“I told you you’d be the first one I’d run to,” he said, helping you settle in front of him. “We must go, the streets are not safe yet.”

You nodded, pressing closer to him. You didn’t even need to ask where he was taking you, for you would go with him anywhere. To the ends of the earth and beyond, until you were just two shades in Hades, indistinguishable from one another.

He spurred his horse, navigating it up the road and away from the more condensed areas of the city. Soon the cloying smell of smoke and the constant shouting disappeared behind you like a distant nightmare. The clean mountain air revitalized you, finally making you feel a little more at ease. We really did it. We made it through.

When you reached the outskirts of the forest near a cliffside, he finally stopped. The view was breathtaking, the sunset seeming to stretch on infinitely, painting the entire sky in swaths of orange and pink. It was quiet except for a soft breeze, with no one around for miles to intrude in your little pocket of paradise. He dismounted first, but you jumped into his arms before he could help you down, practically tackling him to the ground.

He laughed and you kissed him, letting him roll you onto your back on the bed of grass. Hands roamed over each other’s bodies with a certain urgency, ascertaining your solidity. You arched against him and he clutched you to him as if his life depended on it, moving to kiss your face and neck.

“I should have known,” he said, his anger self-directed. “I should have done more to keep you safe, I-”

“No use dwelling on what could have been when I am here now, safe in your arms.” You caressed his hair gently, trying to soothe him.

“But what if you weren’t?” he said, stopping to look at you. “I would never forgive myself for it. I would have followed you immediately.”

“Lucius, please…” you tried to protest, but he turned his face to kiss your palm, laying it against his cheek. “The threat is gone. You have defeated Macrinus. There is nothing to fear.”

For a moment, there was torment written on his features, like a long-buried memory had come to haunt him. His eyes scanned your face, searching for comfort in your loveliness — the delicate curve of your cupid’s bow, the slope of your nose, the fan of your lashes against your cheekbones when you blinked. Your gentle gaze, especially, and those soft lips that curved in a smile whenever he was around. He could never grow tired of looking at you.

For the first time in a long, long time, he could see a future ahead of him, waiting with open arms. Without you, it was just not there, and that was why he was still so distressed. He couldn’t fathom being separated from you and he had been foolish not to realize it sooner. He had been stubborn about his feelings, thinking it was better to keep you at arm’s length just to save you. And all for what?

“What is it?” You prompted, gently smoothing out his frown with your fingers, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Will you marry me?” He asked.

You immediately sat up, making him pull back with you. You opened and closed your mouth, shocked beyond words. For a moment, you even thought you had imagined him asking that. His eyebrows raised slightly, nervous but expectant.

“Marry you,” You repeated breathlessly, blinking at him. “You want to make an honest woman out of me, is that it?”

“Not just that.” He chuckled. “But an Emperor’s wife, too.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He showed you his ring, which featured the profile of Marcus Aurelius, his grandfather. Every last piece of the puzzle seemed to click into place then, but it would take some more time for it to fully sink in. You stared at the ring, completely awestruck, and bent your head to kiss it as if by reflex.

“Lucius, I… Is this what you really want?” You asked, not letting go of his hand. “I am just not sure that I’m, you know…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word worthy, but he caught your meaning anyway. His fingers squeezed yours reassuringly, making you look into his eyes.

“I have never been more certain of anything,” he said. “I would argue you are deserving of better than me. I am not a man without faults, or history, as you well know.”

You shook your head as if he was foolish to worry about such things. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any faults or regrets of your own. You’d already had enough sleepless nights being tormented by them, as you knew he had been. No person had nothing they wouldn’t like to be forgiven for.

“Well, you are plenty enough for me,” you said softly. “Faults and all.”

“As are you,” he said, returning the gesture of worship and respect by kissing your hand. “I want nothing more. I need nothing more. Just you.”

“Then it is no question, really.” You smiled, on the brink of tears again. “I will happily marry you, Lucius Verus Aurelius.”

Finally, the dark cloud lifted from his expression, and his smile was even more beautiful than the sunset coming to an end behind him. Now it was him who tackled you back onto the ground and you thought he might devour you, his lips intent on not leaving one inch of your skin unkissed.

—-------------------------------------

The ceremony was kept small and intimate, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It was an auspicious June day, warm and pleasant, with no clouds in the sky. The air was perfumed with the smell of fresh cut flowers, as there were dozens of arrangements set up all around. Fountains babbled in the gardens, accompanying the echo of your excited voices.

As was custom, Lucius chased you around the halls of the palace in a mock kidnapping. You could not stop laughing, exhilarated, a thrill dancing down your spine any time you looked over your shoulder to see him giving chase. When he finally caught you, he threw you over his shoulder and carried you to a lectus that overlooked the gardens.

Your veil and wreath came off first as he laid you down on the plush cushions, hair fanning out over them. You helped each other out of your clothes, eager to have nothing between you. When Lucius’ toga was off, you admired his body, running your hands over the hard planes of his stomach and up to his chest.

He cupped the back of your neck and brought your lips to his greedily. The slide of his warm skin against yours was heavenly, only making you want more and more of him, forever. It was still surreal that what had so recently become a dream of yours was now a reality. You would always thank Fortuna for that.

But that made you remember something you’d been wanting to bring up, except there had not been any opportunity before. You hoped it wouldn’t ruin the moment, but it could wait no longer.

“Lucius?” You said between kisses.

“Yes, my love?”

You pulled back to look him in the eye, setting your hands on his shoulders.

“Um,” you began nervously, swallowing hard. “I know what our duties are but… Would it be so terrible to enjoy our marriage by ourselves just a little while longer?”

He caught your meaning immediately, nodding reassuringly as he placed his palm on the small of your back.

“I am in no rush if you are not,” he said without hesitation, not minding the idea one bit.

He’d been having similar thoughts about it for the past couple of days, anyway, and he was glad you’d been the one to bring it up. You smiled at him gratefully, sighing with relief. His eyes dropped to your lips once more, their lure nearly irresistible.

“My wife is a greedy little thing, wanting to keep me all to herself.”

You chuckled salaciously as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “Can you blame me?”

He shook his head, watching as you teasingly bit his thumb, licking the pad of it. He let out a breathy groan and you pushed him onto his back, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his chest. His hips jerked as your lips passed his navel, and with the flat of your tongue, you teased the velvety underside of his hard cock.

You heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by him sighing your name. You continued to tease and lick him, making him whimper, his eyes pleading for more when you looked into them. You took him into your mouth and his head tipped back in pleasure, exposing the column of his throat.

“Come here,” he rasped deliriously. “I need to taste you, too.”

You complied with no protest, only extricating yourself to reposition. You swung a leg over his head to straddle his face, leaning your body forward so you could take his cock in your mouth once more. His tongue lapped at your inner thigh, which was glistening with your arousal. You shuddered, moaning around him.

You pushed your hips back as he traced the tip of his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of you. The tips of your fingers brushed his sac as you sucked on the sensitive tip of his cock, and he felt as if he might go wild at that moment.

His fingers, in turn, dipped into your cunt, preparing you for him. It became like a game, trying to get the other to come first. He won first, but he wasn’t far behind, and he marveled at the fact that you swallowed every drop. From then on, things were a lot more frenzied.

Hours passed without either of you noticing. There were only a few breaks in between, but otherwise, you and Lucius explored every possible position on and around the couch. It was perhaps the longest wedding night in history, with nothing to hold you back any longer. Except for maybe physical exhaustion, which set in when the sun was beginning to rise on a new dawn.

The two of you lay naked, holding each other close, while you watched the sky lighten. The morning was ripe with possibility, Rome feeling like an entirely different realm. Fear had reigned for so long that peace was still a new luxury, but not one you took for granted.

At that moment, before the day really started and you both had to face your new responsibilities, all you wanted was to commit the first moments of your marriage to memory. The matching rings on your interlocked fingers, the adoring look in Lucius’ heavy-lidded eyes, and the mutual promise to take care of each other for the rest of your days.

“Get some rest, my love,” you murmured, caressing his face. “You’ll need your strength.”

“I shall only sleep if I’ll see you in my dreams,” he murmured, trying to sound playful, but his eyes were already closed.

You chuckled, kissing his forehead. “And when you wake up, you’ll see it wasn’t a dream after all.”

--------

Finis.

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x you #lucius verus fanfiction #gladiator fanfiction #lucius verus smut #lucius verus #x reader #minors dni

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call-me-strega · 11 months ago

Text

Dc x Dp prompt #13: Hell to Pay

They say there are only two things certain in life: death and taxes. That’s why even the Joker doesn’t fuck with the IRS.

However, unfortunately for the Joker the other certainty is death and he has yet to pay his dues. Just like how he could only get away with tax evasion for so long, there are only so many times the Joker can dodge death.

Death is coming to collect, with interest.

And the Joker will have hell to pay.

~ A dark green cloud swirls over the city. From it, emerge three oppressive figures:

The one on the far left with flowing hair like white-hot fire. His vambraces made of (what appeared to be) molten glass stopped under his fingers, which then extend into into claws that seemed to drip lava. He had spiked obsidian pauldrons on his shoulders, fastening a luminous, stark-white cape to his shoulders. He wore a coronet of lightning and wielded a flail that appeared to be made of coal chains and a shrunken Red Giant star.

The second on the far right had a helm of dark iron wreathed in a plume of purple flame. His gauntlets and sword flamed with green hellfire. A pure black sheath seemingly made of void and a silver hunting horn were tied to his waist. He wore an armor forged of shadows and proofed with fear. He rode atop a mighty stead. An inky dark stallion with a curved horn and bat-like wings. His form was constantly slightly shifting depending on the angle which you viewed him making him appear larger and more slippery than he was, enhancing his disquieting nature.

The third stood in the middle, smaller but no less terrifying than her companions. Her hair was wild with movement, only just visible because it appeared as if someone had bound the winds to her head. She wore a tiara made of storm clouds and pearls. She carried with her a spear, the shaft crafted of amazonite and the tip of a clear quartz, almost reminiscent of sea salt. At her hip lay a whip made of a restrained gale and a sea glass knife. She wore armor that appeared to be Greco-Roman in origin: a chest plate made of some sort of coral-like material and a battle skirt decorated with metallic bronze feathers.

They slowly descent on the city, bringing down a sense of power and dread. They paused at the top of Wayne Tower, where the city's vigilantes had all gathered in an attempt to create and feasible plan of action to discern what these beings want. The young woman in the middle speaks and the wind carries her voice. She is not loud but it the whole of Gotham hears her words.

"Greetings, Heroes of Gotham. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Spirit, Princess and Head Diplomat of the Infinite Realms. This is Samhain, the Fright Knight, loyal knight to the king,” she gestured to her right before switching to her left “and this is Prince Wraith, current General in Chief of the Realms. We come to you as the King’s Guard and entourage. We have official business in your city and wish to civilly notify you of our presence. The King will be arriving shortly and your cooperation would be great fully received.”

Batman moved forward to shake her hand and address the situation.

“I’m afraid that we prefer not to have unknowns operating within the city. Would you be able to tell us what business you have here? Perhaps we could reach an agreement?” Batman tried to negotiate as politely as he could. He did not want to risk offending the evidently powerful beings.

Princess Spirit’s smile sharpened as she thrummed her finger against her knife. She spoke again with an unnervingly pleasant tone.

“It appears you do not understand. We are not asking for your permission.” Her grip around his hand tightened. “ We are informing you.” She finished releasing his hand.

Batman withdrew his aching hand and regarded her with the beginnings of a protest on his lips. She didn’t allow him to speak.

“ This is out of your jurisdiction Batman. This is a matter of the Realms and the Afterlife. Whatever worldly rules or morals you wish to impose on those who enter this city do not apply to us. We will do our best to work within them, so as to appease you and to attempt to maintain a friendly relationship but in the macrocosm of the multiverse and afterlives you have no official power over us. Additionally, we have direct permission to operate here however we see fit from the City Spirit herself, Lady Gotham.”

Batman’s shadow seemed to fluctuated. His and his team's shadows moved from beneath them, closer to the Princess. Lady Gotham, though not manifesting, was making her presence and approval known. Batman could not deny what he was seeing. His team shifted uncomfortably behind him. He appealed to her once more.

“ I see that we can’t stop you. We don’t want to get in your way either. Could you at least tell us why you are here?”

She smiled as if telling a joke, “All will be revealed in time”

Suddenly, there was a loud noise that sounded like tearing fabric. The green clouds mixed with purples and blues and began to churn faster. The cyclone emitted a flashes of bright light. In unison all three of the King’s Guard lifted up from the roof and took place underneath the eye of the wind storm.

Spirit holds her spear aloft. With one swift, commanding move she slams the butt of her spear down, creating a platform out of solidified air.

Wraith bellows out smoke and ash onto the platform to discolor it. With ferocious and precise movements his claws to carve in a sigil, leaving a soft orange glow against the black and gray.

Samhain sheathes his sword and pulls his horn from his waist. He wills his dark stead to rear up as he blows the horn, letting out one loud prolonged cry.

The three warriors stand at attention and Princess Spirit calls the winds to project her voice once more.

“ Now introducing the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, High King of the In-Between, The Great One, The Benevolent King, The Peace Maker, The Guardian of Souls, The One with the Cloak of Stars and the Crown of Frozen Light, The Perfect Balance, Ancient of Space and Reality, The Infinite King: Phantom!”

With a flash of white light a figure appear in the center of the platform. Simultaneously, the three knights bow in reverence.

The King has arrived.

As the Heroes of Gotham regain clear vision they are met with a striking figure.

There stood a toned young man appearing both boyishly young, yet wisened and weathered. He had side swept hair the creeped to the bottom of his neck. His skin was pale with an icy blue tint. He opened his eyes to reveal they shone an electric green. Upon his head rest a crown made of a crystalline material, reminiscent of an aurora. He wore a navy blue cloak that had a rich purple hood lined with stark white fur. The underside displayed a shifting galaxy pattern. His under suit was the same midnight black as Samhain’s. He donned golden arm bands and a gold chest plate in style quite similar to Spirit’s. His hand were covered in snow white gauntlets that matched Wraith’s vambraces.

They all stood in awe, beholden to the almost divine figure.

The king sent them a gentle smile. It was warm and comforting yet sent a chill down their shoulders.

King Phantom began to fly down toward the center of the city, his entourage fell into step behind him. He hovered several hundred feet over Wayne tower and looked down at the city. He then spoke in a booming voice, his tone kind but commanding.

“ I humbly greet the Lady Gotham, her champions, and her citizens,” the shadows curled toward him appreciatively. “ I am grateful for your cooperation in our effort to rectify a great injustice. As High King of the Infinite Realms it is one of my duties to preside over the afterlife. To bring guidance, peace, and justice to the souls under my jurisdiction. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that there is a soul among you who has not only dodged death, but caused great strife to a vast number of souls who call for justice.”

On the roof of Wayne Enterprises Jason and Damian both stiffen, but remain firm in their gaze toward the king. The king looks out at the city and sparing them the quickest of glances. He continues onward.

“ The man formerly know as Jack Napier, now called The Joker. He has avoided death on many an occasion but his life should have ended moment he fell into a vat of chemicals. Since then he has sent hundreds more to the afterlife. He has long yet to pay his dues. That is why on the behalf of justice, restoring balance, and of my subjects I officially condemn Jack Napier.”

“Jack Napier, you have been allowed 24 hours turn yourself into our custody in order to be put on trial for your crimes in the Infinite Realms. Should you fail to turn youself in, we shall take that as an admission of guilt and acceptance to be punished for your actions. After the 24 hours are up, Samhain shall use his horn to summon The Hunt and we shall track you down.”

His gaze passed specifically over Red Hood, one of the Oracle’s drones, Nightwing, Signal, Red Robin, and Batman before he spoke his next words.

“All those souls who have been wronged by the Joker, both living and deceased, who wish to have a hand in their justice have been invited to join The Hunt if they so choose.”

The king lifted his hand, calling the swirling green clouds to his gather in his palm. The clouds swiftly rearranged themselves into a smokey timer hanging in the sky.

An impish smirk graced King Phantom’s face as he let out a malicious laugh and gave his final decree.

“ Your time begins now!”

#dc x dp #long post #danny fenton #danny phantom #ghost king danny #dani phantom #dan phantom #fright knight #jason todd #the joker #totally legal manhunt for the joker proclaimed by the king of the afterlife #The joker must pay his dues #Bruce fucking hates the joker he’s not gonna try to stop this #Strega’s dc x dp prompt

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hiddenreamers · 2 months ago

Text

Unlikely pair

SUMMARY: Where Oscar is dating a musician known for strictness and harsh comments on survival shows. To everyone's surprise, the unlikely pair is nothing short of perfect.

yntheone made a new post:

Close your eyes, take my time Let's remember this moment

Photograph (prod. Offonoff) is out on Thursday

Comments:

user1: WHATTT

user2: this is not a drill I repeat this is not a drill

user3: girl you can't just drop this on us and bail 💀

user4: is this real or is this my ambien

user5: i see the saga of blurry pictures continues

↳ user6: it's a vibe, you hater 😤

user7: omg is this the song realoffonoff played on his live the other day??

user8: who is this and why is it not me 😩

user9: she destroyed everyone on Don Mills Daebak remix just to turn around and do cute rnb songs 😭 queen shit 👑👑

oscarpiastri: can't wait ❤️ liked by yntheone

↳ yntheone: ❤️❤️ ↳ user10: the last person I expected to see here ↳ user11: 🤨🤨 well that's suspicious

user12: You need to do an entire album with realoffonoff !! Cigarette was amazing 😍

↳ user13: oh my godddd do you think cigarette was about the same guy? ↳ user14: definitely ?? i mean how can you listen to yntheone sing she wants you to be addicted to her like cigarettes and go "nah I'll pass" ?? brain damage ahh behaviour

yntheone tagged oscarpiastri in a post:

Do you really think you're that good??

(He is.)

Comments:

user15: babe wake up new roman empire just dropped

user16: not the caption 💀💀 quoting herself like the queen she is

↳ user17: giving trainees war flashbacks lmao

user18: he better know how to fight 😤😤 im throwing hands

user19: this can't be the same person who tore apart trainees on live tv 😐 since when is she all lovey dovey

↳ user20: if you had Oscar Piastri smiling at you, you'd be lovey dovey too

user21: out of all the people I suspected to be the guy from a blurry picture, this man wasn't even on the list ??? there's opposites and then there's THIS

↳ user22: ya I'm genuinely surprised someone as calm as him can keep up with her ↳ user23: yall are forgetting he's keeping up with Lando Norris

oscarpiastri: I really am liked by yntheone

landonorris: he's not as good as me but I guess he's still kind of ok

↳ danielricciardo: you might want to rethink that mate ↳ landonorris: blocked

user24: I'll just assume every love song she's done has been about him

↳ user25: Cigarette?? Moon?? Photograph?? Make the Move?? He better know the poetry that she's written about him or he gon catch these hands ↳ oscarpiastri: I do know and I appreciate every word

user25: finally Mclaren found someone who can actually pull off the papaya and not look silly

user26: yntheone is taken?? worst day of my life tbh

user27: imagine all the contestants on survival shows that will come in mclaren merch 💀💀 we're about to unlock a new level of embarrassment that shouldn't be possible

user28: this is the best golden retriever black cat couple, everyone else can go home

user29: for his own sake, I hope he knows what he's gotten himself into 😩😩

↳ user30: no better racing motivation than remembering your girlfriend is famous for roasting people in front of the entire nation

f1fans_official made a new post:

oscarpiastri and yntheone on their little New York trip 🥺🥺

Comments:

user31: yes I watch f1 for the rivalry and driving

↳ user32: these two are the main plot

user33: am I the only one bothered by the fact that she's a rude bitch??

↳ user34: yes sis you're the only one who can't tell between a rude bitch and a professional realistically evaluating wanna-be artists

user35: no thoughts head empty thinking about my favourite paddock couple

user36: i can't even be mad she's taken my man 😞😞 they look cute together

user37: hope they don't break up I can't take going through my parents' divorce twice

user38: if Lando and yntheone become friends we're going to see the most iconic duo of all time

↳ user39: the Lando slander is about to get serious 💀 ↳ user40: Oscar is gonna be bald by the end of the year because of them lmao

oscarpiastri tagged yntheone in a post:

Resting and recharging before the next race weekend

Comments:

user41: it's giving he asked for no pickles

yntheone: no need to thank me, I know I'm the only thing you need 😴 liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri: wouldn't have it any other way ❤️

user42: forget guard dog boyfriend, Oscar's got a guard dog girlfriend and I'm here for it

↳ user44: feminism

landonorris: guys help me she's scary

↳ yntheone: I know where you live 🥰🥰 ↳ oscarpiastri: yntheone I'll hold your bag baby ↳ user43: forget the office this is the sitcom i'd watch ↳ georgerussell63: the bigger the distance from angry yntheone the funnier it is

user45: honestly why would he go for a manly rude bitch?? there are so many better women out there, just sad

↳ user46: have you considered the fact that men are not a monolith and have, in fact, individual preferences? or is your IQ too low to comprehend that?

user47: I will tell my children this is the royal pair

user48: can't wait for her the sample Oscar and add him to a beat 🔥🔥

user49: ok now I get why she wrote absolute bangers about him 😍

user50: if she's in the stands cheering him on, FIA should give Oscar a penalty for unfair advantage 😤😤

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one #formula 1 smau #formula 1 social media #formula one smau #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fic #op81 #op81 x you

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suzannahnatters · 2 years ago

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So here's one of the coolest things that has happened to me as a Tolkien nut and an amateur medievalist. It's also impacted my view of the way Tolkien writes women. Here's Carl Stephenson in MEDIEVAL FEUDALISM, explaining the roots of the ceremony of knighthood: "In the second century after Christ the Roman historian Tacitus wrote an essay which he called Germania, and which has remained justly famous. He declares that the Germans, though divided into numerous tribes, constitute a single people characterised by common traits and a common mode of life. The typical German is a warrior. [...] Except when armed, they perform no business, either private or public. But it is not their custom that any one should assume arms without the formal approval of the tribe. Before the assembly the youth receives a shield and spear from his father, some other relative, or one of the chief men, and this gift corresponds to the toga virilis among the Romans--making him a citizen rather than a member of a household" (pp 2-3). Got it?

Remember how Tolkien was a medievalist who based his Rohirrim on Anglo-Saxon England, which came from those Germanic tribes Tacitus was talking about? Stephenson argues that the customs described by Tacitus continued into the early middle ages eventually giving rise to the medieval feudal system. One of these customs was the gift of arms, which transformed into the ceremony of knighthood: "Tacitus, it will be remembered, describes the ancient German custom by which a youth was presented with a shield and a spear to mark his attainment of man's estate. What seems to the be same ceremony reappears under the Carolingians. In 791, we are told, Charlemagne caused Prince Louis to be girded with a sword in celebration of his adolescence; and forty-seven years later Louis in turn decorated his fifteen-year-old son Charles "with the arms of manhood, i.e., a sword." Here, obviously, we may see the origin of the later adoubement, which long remained a formal investiture with arms, or with some one of them as a symbol. Thus the Bayeux Tapestry represents the knighting of Earl Harold by William of Normandy under the legend: Hic Willelmus dedit Haroldo arma (Here William gave arms to Harold). [...] Scores of other examples are to be found in the French chronicles and chansons de geste, which, despite much variation of detail, agree on the essentials. And whatever the derivation of the words, the English expression "dubbing to knighthood" must have been closely related to the French adoubement" (pp 47-48.)

In its simplest form, according to Stephenson, the ceremony of knighthood included "at most the presentation of a sword, a few words of admonition, and the accolade." OK. So what does this have to do with Tolkien and his women? AHAHAHAHA I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. First of all, let's agree that Tolkien, a medievalist, undoubtedly was aware of all the above. Second, turn with me in your copy of The Lord of the Rings to chapter 6 of The Two Towers, "The King of the Golden Hall", when Theoden and his councillors agree that Eowyn should lead the people while the men are away at war. (This, of course, was something that medieval noblewomen regularly did: one small example is an 1178 letter from a Hospitaller knight serving in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem which records that before marching out to the battle of Montgisard, "We put the defence of the Tower of David and the whole city in the hands of our women".) But in The Lord of the Rings, there's a little ceremony.

"'Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone.' 'It shall be so,' said Theoden. 'Let the heralds announce to the folk that the Lady Eowyn will lead them!' Then the king sat upon a seat before his doors and Eowyn knelt before him and received from him a sword and a fair corselet."

I YELLED when I realised what I was reading right there. You see, the king doesn't just have the heralds announce that Eowyn is in charge. He gives her weapons.

Theoden makes Eowyn a knight of the Riddermark.

Not only that, but I think this is a huge deal for several reasons. That is, Tolkien knew what he was doing here.

From my reading in medieval history, I'm aware of women choosing to fight and bear arms, as well as becoming military leaders while the men are away at some war or as prisoners. What I haven't seen is women actually receiving knighthood. Anyone could fight as a knight if they could afford the (very pricy) horse and armour, and anyone could lead a nation as long as they were accepted by the leaders. But you just don't see women getting knighted like this.

Tolkien therefore chose to write a medieval-coded society, Rohan, where women arguably had greater equality with men than they did in actual medieval societies.

I think that should tell us something about who Tolkien was as a person and how he viewed women - perhaps he didn't write them with equal parity to men (there are undeniably more prominent male characters in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, at least, than female) but compared to the medieval societies that were his life's work, and arguably even compared to the society he lived in, he was remarkably egalitarian.

I think it should also tell us something about the craft of writing fantasy.

No, you don't have to include gut wrenching misogyny and violence against women in order to write "realistic" medieval-inspired fantasy.

Tolkien's fantasy worlds are DEEPLY informed by medieval history to an extent most laypeople will never fully appreciate. The attitudes, the language, the ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS use of medieval military tactics...heck, even just the way that people travel long distances on foot...all of it is brilliantly medieval.

The fact that Theoden bestows arms on Eowyn is just one tiny detail that is deeply rooted in medieval history. Even though he's giving those arms to a woman in a fantasy land full of elves and hobbits and wizards, it's still a wonderfully historically accurate detail.

Of course, I've ranted before about how misogyny and sexism wasn't actually as bad in medieval times as a lot of people today think. But from the way SOME fantasy authors talk, you'd think that historical accuracy will disappear in a puff of smoke if every woman in the dragon-infested fantasy land isn't being traumatised on the regular.

Tolkien did better. Be like Tolkien.

#tolkien #middle earth #jrr tolkien #lord of the rings #lotr #the lord of the rings #eowyn #writing fantasy #fantasy #female characters #writing #historical fiction #medieval women #medieval history #medieval #history #womens history

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fromduck · 2 months ago

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No Glory

(Yandere Gladiator x Empress Reader x Yandere Emperor)

Summary: There is no glory in seeing your lover in the arms of another.

(Tw: Gore, Violence, Forced Relationship)

A/N: Guess who watched Gladiator II, hehe 🤭

-unedited-

-The Emperor’s wife is an untainted beauty.

-Despite the blood and death on his hands, the Empress remains pure from his sins.

-With soft luscious lips and unblemished skin, kind doe eyes a beautiful color.

-Draped in white robes, with gold accents. White Gold jewelry adorning her frame. Pearls hanging from her ears and entwined in her hair.

-She has a beautiful smile and kind eyes. Willing to choose mercy over shedding blood.

-Unlike her cruel husband who relishes in it.

-Anyone blessed to be within her radius marvel at her presence. Even more so when she smiles. Be careful not to stare too long, the Emperor’s watching.

-The Empress is beauty incarnate a being coveted by all people. Adored by the citizens of Rome and boasted as the most beautiful woman in the world.

-And the Emperor is a lucky man. A lucky man indeed.

-There are whispers of her divinity and where the Empress hails from.

-Some say she was given to Rome to the Emperor as a gift from the Gods.

-Others argue that she herself is a Goddess who willingly married their glorious Emperor.

-None know the Empress’ origins.

-Except for two people.

-The brutal Emperor of Rome.

-And a Gladiator who knows too much for his own good.

-A man who waits for the next fight he’ll be thrown in. Where he’ll be fighting for his life.

-For the delight and entertainment of others.

-His life matters not, it never did.

-Yet, when he wakes up, when he trains for his fights, and when he goes to sleep. He thinks of you. He lives for you.

-He knows the truth.

-You don’t belong to the Empire of Rome. Or that bastard Emperor.

-You belong to him.

-You were his long ago. When he wasn’t a war broken man torn by the cruelty of others.

-In a land far away from Rome, you both once lived together at peace.

-He’d been a gentle man once. Someone who pined after you in your youths, who’d begged your father for your hand, and had cried when he married you.

-He loves you so much.

-He had never been one for religion but if there were any gods out there, he thanked them sincerely for the life they gave him. One with you.

-Then the Romans came. And they took everything.

-They came with a hunger for blood and conquest. Ready to plunder their lands and take over them.

- They killed his family, his friends, people he had known.

-They did it with bloodthirsty grins. And the one who led them was the cruel Roman Emperor who lived for the violence.

-He killed many while on his black stallion. His sword plunging into innocent people.

-Man or woman, the Emperor didn’t care. He demanded blood and blood he would get.

-It was horrifying the strength of the Emperor as he slaughtered those around him.

- Your husband watched as he committed atrocities.

-There was no mistake, with that monster there, his and your home would be overtaken.

-Him taken a slave to fight in the pits of violence at the Colosseum.

-And you made a slave, owned by someone as an object.

-No. he wouldn’t let that happen.

-Now all he had left was you. And he would die before anyone touched you.

-So he prepared his stallion, picked up your precious form and placed you on the horse. You looked at him with worried eyes, tears slipping down your soft cheeks.

-He’d only look at you with loving eyes. Cupping your lovely face in his large hands.

-He remembered your look of worry as you questioned where would you both go. Your sweet gentle eyes pleading as you made him promise to never leave your side.

-He promised that not even death would separate you both.

-Then, he’d been clubbed upside the head. Pushed to the floor as someone began beating him with an inch of his life. He tried to get up but then another one had shown up with club and struck him in the head.

-Both Roman soldiers jeered as they continued their violent onslaught. He’d almost seen double.

-But what stood out to him was your anguished face.

-Your shrill cries of agony rang out through the air as the love of your life was beaten to a messy pulp.

-The stallion had jumped, and pushed you off of its massive body.

-You tumbled to the floor, hitting your back violently.

-With no regard for any injury, you’d quickly jumped up and tried to stop the cruel soldiers from killing your love.

-You’d shove at them yelling out for them to stop. Though to no effect as your smaller form was no match for the might guards of the Roman Army.

-One of them had only sneered at you before delivering a backhand to your face.

-You fell on your side, your nose bleeding from the impact.

-You quickly got up and clung to a guards leg as you begged for them to spare your husband.

-They ignored you and continued their onslaught.

-Until the galloping of hooves.

-There the Emperor was like a sign of death as he rode his gigantic black stallion.

-Blood coated his face and armor. None of it his.

-The war was over, Rome’s victory assured.

-And yet the Emperor was left unsatisfied.

-So he went on the prowl for more victims. All until no one was left.

-He caught sight of his soldiers torturing a large man as his wife begged them to stop.

-Any honorable leader would have stopped his soldiers and given the couple a swift merciful death. No more suffering was needed from a war already won.

-But he was far from honorable.

-As he approached it wasn’t because he wanted to stop the violence.

-He was honed in on the soft crying and pleading of the woman.

-A sound so delightful that he couldn’t help but want to hear more.

-He got off of his mighty horse. His steps confident.

-But as you turned around to face him, he felt his breathe hitch, his steps waver.

-It was as if he was in the presence of Aphrodite herself.

-There you were with tears in your big eyes and blood dripping down your nose.

-Even in filthy peasant clothes, you were the most beautiful being he had ever laid his eyes on.

-He had to had you. And have you he will.

-His eyes narrowed at your injured face. The soldiers most likely the culprit.

- “Stop.” He commands, his word alone enough to halt the violence.

-With a sob you run to your husband as he lay on the floor. You place his head on your lap. Ripping a piece of fabric from your dress, to clean the blood on his face.

-Your poor husband looks at you with swollen eyes, barely focused. Your heart broke further.

-The two soldiers quickly turn around. Sinking onto their knees to properly greet the Emperor of Rome.

“My emperor.” They say in union.

-They cower under the glare of the Emperor.

-“Which one of you hurt the girl?”

-Both soldiers look at each other confused. He wasn’t taking about the sobbing girl behind them, was he? The enemy?

-The Emperor’s glare becomes murderous. He draws his sword from his scabbard. It glints with the blood of his foes. But all know that his sword can just as easily kill who he pleases, friend or foe.

-It was at that moment, both the soldiers knew that whoever was guilty— they would be dead in the next second.

-So, both blamed each other, scrambling to have the Emperor believe them.

-“It was him my emperor, he was the one who hurt the girl—-”

-“Nay my emperor, he lies—”

-Both soldiers plead their innocence. But the Emperor isn’t known for his patience.

-With a brutal slash, he beheads the two soldiers.

-Their heads roll off their bodies.

-A huff of satisfaction leaves the emperor, soldiers who lie are not worthy of his army. He may not be honorable but he has no patience for lying snakes.

-He averts his gaze, to you, only to be met with a puddle of blood. Presumably your husband’s.

-The emperor snaps his head to your quiet sobs. He sees you dragging the large form of your husband, his arm over your shoulder, his feet dragging against floor.

-You both were trying to escape, this wouldn’t do.

-With large strides, he rips you away from your lover. The man falling gracelessly onto the floor. He tries to pick himself up but his strength is diminished. He could only watch as the Emperor, holds your hands and stares into your beautiful eyes in awe.

-He knows that look. That look of adoration as if in the presence of a goddess.

-Your husband holds the same look for you and now the Emperor does too.

-You try to escape but the Emperor’s grip is painfully tight.

-A whimper escapes your lips as the man gets down on his knees, his head bowed. He mimics the same loyalty his subjects would show him. But he is in the presence of a goddess.

- “The Gods have rewarded me by giving you to me.” He whispers breathlessly. “You are the one they have chosen for me. Rome needs an Empress. And I need a wife.”

-With the hunger of a man starved he yanks you down to him, grabbing you by the hair and devouring you into a brutal kiss.

-You cry out into the kiss, looking at your husband pleadingly to save you from the Emperor.

-But your husband is at death’s door, fighting and pleading Hades to not take him. For he couldn’t leave you to such a grim fate.

-The Emperor pulls away, his eyes filled with lust. He’ll have you, but not here in this filth.

-He picks you up a bridal style, taking you to his horse. Taking you to Rome.

-You try to fight him, but he only gives you a scolding glare. As if to say, ‘behave.’

-You cry quietly, looking at your husband’s dying form. The Emperor only sneers at him, spitting on his bloodied face.

-Your husband looks at the Emperor with rage. A rage that makes him shakily get up on his knees.

-Your hands are tied behind the Emperor’s neck, begging him to let you go. A smack to your thigh makes you shut your mouth.

-Once you’re both secured on the horse, the Emperor doesn’t even glance back at him.

-He rides off into the distance, with the blood of his people on his hands and the love of his life in tears.

-Your husband, a broken man, lets out a sorrowful scream. He promptly collapses onto his side, passing out. Pleading with the gods to not take him. He needed to save you.

-Later, he was dragged by his feet. Slave masters had found him. They bet on how much money the large man could make them.

-Him, a none violent man, was put into fighting rings were people placed bets on who would win.

-Your husband, a gentle man was turned into a former shell of himself with each blood shed that coated his hands.

-A man who once held you with tender hands was forced to use them to kill for the entertainment of others.

-He fought weaker men, stronger men, and terrific beasts. All who were in the same position as him. All for the entertainment of others.

-The life he was forced into would have broken others, but not him. Not when he was fueled by an anger. An anger for the Emperor who had taken everything from him.

-The hesitance he once had for killing became nonexistent with each fight. His worth as a slave becoming more and more valuable. And he was taken to more and more valuable places.

-Like a blood thirsty hound, he followed you. He was at the edge of death many times, yet he refused to part from you.

-He followed you to Rome, vengeful and angry. Many times he thought he’d die but once he made it to the grand city, he knew the Gods had given him another chance.

-He needed to be stronger for you. So that he would save you.

-His reputation as a vicious fighter spread throughout Rome. Many eager to see him in the Colosseum.

-And that’s where they took him.

-Now he stands in the arena, his heart beating erratically in his chest. Blood splattered on his face and armor. None of it his.

-There is no glory where he stands while his defeated opponents lay bleeding on the ground.

-There is no glory in the screams and cheers from the crowds. All chanting his name as he stands as the last man standing.

-There is no glory in his victories, where he gets to live another day.

-His eyes shift to where you sit in the grand seats of the Colosseum. You’re beautiful with your beautiful gown and jewelry. Yet you look at him with such sadness. As if he were another dream out of reach.

-His soft eyes harden when a firm hand grabs your soft one.

-The Emperor brings your hand to his lips, kissing it ardently.

-He doesn’t break eye contact with him as he does this. A clear claim of ownership over you.

-He grits his teeth.

-There is no glory when you’re trapped with that despicable man. There is no glory when you’re not his. There is no glory when the Emperor is still breathing.

-He returns the Emperor’s glare. Eyes hard with pure hatred and loathing.

-And for that, the Emperor must die.

#tw.yandere #yandere x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie #ancient rome #emperor x reader #gladiator x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere emperor #tw.gore #tw.violence

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luvvyouforever · 2 months ago

Text

declan o'hara - nsfw alphabet

ᡣ𐭩 for all my declan lovers (including me) ᡣ𐭩 nsfw content, mdni, 18+ ᡣ𐭩 more declan writing will be coming soon, don't worry! these are easy to fill out and write so hopefully this sates you all mwah

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

his aftercare takes a minute to start. he's usually so intense that the both of you really need a moment to catch your breath and come back down to reality. once he's reverted to normal, he can check in on you, offer a warm cloth, or cold glass of water. when the two of you are physically feeling better, he'll pull you into his big chest, all warm and protected, and probably light a cigarette.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves his arms and shoulders. it's not that he really works out and carves them, but he knows he's a big man and flexing them the right way gets you going. he likes being able to encase you in them, holding you as close as possible.

as for you, i think he's an ass man for sureeee. his hands always fly to your cheeks, both in the bedroom and outside of it. his palm covers so much of the skin and he just loves the feeling of squeezing it between his fingers. please wear some tight dresses and pants and bend over directly in front of him.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he wants to cum in you every single time. you might want to consider going on some sort of birth control too just in case. he just loves fucking into you so deep and just as he's finishing, he'll push in to the hilt and fill you up with himself. he could genuinely go for a second round in just a second once he sees the mix of your cum and his seep out of you. gosh, he's dirty.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

has so many fantasies in his head of what he wants to do to you, especially in a more roleplay style too. like he imagines you as his receptionist that he can bend over his desk, hike up your tight pencil skirt, and use you. or he daydreams about coming home to you in the kitchen with a skimpy outfit and apron on and eating you out against the kitchen counter.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he's pretty experienced, but not as much as other characters in the show (hint, hint). like he knows how to make someone feel good and is pretty confident in his skills too! his body count may not be as high, but to him, the quality really matters more than the quantity. and with the way he undos you during sex, you'd certainly agree.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

he loves anything where he can grip and squeeze and smack your ass. he enjoys doggy because it offers him the easiest access to your ass. when he's feeling really intimate and serious, he loves laying you flat on the bed and pushing himself on top of you. makes him feel so close to you, but also enjoys the way your ass can push against his hips.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he's so serious when he has sex. it's all about you and him and everything else fades out. in the lead up, he might be full of some dark chuckles at your neediness or quiet laughter while you're flirting. but once his lips are on yours and his hands are roaming your body, he's replaced with this stoic, dominant declan.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he's not like a jungle, but he certainly doesn't groom himself to the point where he's clean shaven. i mean, look at his chest and his mustache. woof. he probably trims it to a reasonable amount, but doesn't put much effort into it otherwise. it's curly and wavy though, like his hair.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he's much more of a spur of the moment, making out from the front door to the bedroom kinda guy. i don't see him as the man to decorate your bedroom in rose petals. that doesn't mean he isn't intimate and romantic in the act though! he's all about whispering sweet and kind, but also terribly filthy things in your ear while he's unraveling you below him. he makes sure you know just how beautiful he finds you the whole night.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he's not above jerking off, but he knows he'll be coming back to your delicious body every night, so why would he? unless you're gone for a while, or he's off doing stuff for venturer overnight, he'll probably hold off. that isn't to say though that when you might be sending him particularly raunchy texts (for modern declan) or have left him wanting more of you, he won't go into the bathroom and ease the painful bulge beneath his pants. it's just not very common when he'd rather be on you as soon as he steps in the door.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

he's pretty dominant and enjoys taking control in the bed. he wants you to listen to him and give yourself over to him. it's the highest compliment. he loves biting and marking badddd. gets so aroused in the morning when he sees the hickeys he left on your skin from the night before. loves cockwarming on lazy days inside. i don't think he's a full sadist, but really gets off seeing his large red handprint on your ass. he's just possessive and loves making you his every night. also likes being called daddy in the right headspace.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

loves doing it anywhere in the house. not a very public sex person, but if its within the confines of his home, he's on. probably likes the bedroom the most, but for spur of the moment quickies, he likes taking you against the kitchen counter or on the couch or even on the floor by the fireplace after a failed movie night.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

unfortunately, one of his most toxic traits is that arguments and fighting really get him going. if he ever feels threatened by someone else, he'll take it out of them depending on the severity, but then fucks you within an inch of your life, reminding you in a deep voice who you belong to. he's also the type of person to get really turned on seeing you disheveled, or even just with a messy bun and pajamas.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

could never be fully submissive. definitely wouldn't mind handing you some of the reins and letting your hands guide him where you want him, but don't expect him to get on his knees anytime soon and bend to your every will with a "yes ma'am." another turn off is probably being rude or dismissive to his children. like, if he heard that you had made taggie upset someway, he would lose a lot of attraction to you.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

is such a munch, good lord. loves getting so messy with it. isn't very calculated with his movements, but instead dives in passionately with his tongue flat. he comes up for air disheveled, mustache and lips glistening, then goes back in. if you allow him, he'd spend forever down there. as for receiving oral, he loves it. unfortunately though, he has to stop before he cums so he can keep going the rest of the night. he likes to hold your hair tight and control your pace, but will be receptive if you're uncomfortable or in pain.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

majority of the time, he's fast and rough. especially after an argument or while he's jealous. but he can be slow and sensual!! sometimes he's tired or had a bad day or just really really feeling love for you and he wants to take his sweet time unraveling you and showering you in as much love as he can. those moments are just more uncommon than him fucking you with as much passion as he can.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he doesn't mind them, but they're not his favorite. he'd prefer to take his time with you, but sometimes the timing just isn't right and he needs you now. or maybe you're just looking too damn fine and you have the house all to yourself and he lifts you against the kitchen counter. his quickies are rough and needy and sinful. he's grunting as sweat beads along his brow. he finishes inside of you and when he has to go about the rest of the day, he just thinks about you going about your day with him still inside you. freak.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he's down to try things out! like, if you're reading a particularly filthy romance novel and he manages to figure out what about it is enticing to you, he's so willing to try it out himself. there's only a few things that he'll immediately reject, but he loves making things fun in the bedroom for the two of you. honestly, though, he's kind of impatient and doesn't really like doing things by trial and error, so he usually looks into how to make certain things work before trying it for the first time. as for risks, he's down for some things. wouldn't particularly mind risky settings, but he is somewhat of a public personality so there a few things he'll deny if it gets too risky.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can go for like two to three rounds before he's pretty spent. this number might be a lot bigger if he's one of those bouts where he's pouring himself into his work and doesn't get to devote as much time to his personal life. he can make himself last for a pretty long while. he just has to stop you before cumming because he can get to into the good feeling and before he realizes it, he's finished and now can't give as much of himself to you as he wants.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

i think he's old fashioned in that the best tools are on his body already. i don't think he'd mind if you had a vibrator or something similar to use when he's not there, but he's not going to be reaching for it in the middle of sex. honestly, i feel like he'd see a vibrator as a competition and try to make you finish better than it can. fic idea?

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

i don't think he's that big of a tease tbh. at least not intentionally. if anything, he's more teasing in that his big palm rests on your thigh underneath the dining table and when he enters into some passionate conversation, he subconsciously grips it and you have to bite your lip to suppress your moan. or he's just looking soooo good in that venturer t-shirt talking to everyone and shaking hands and showing off his arms and he has no idea what he's doing to you.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's such a grunter. and he whispers little "fucks" under his breath. when he gets closer to finishing though, they start morphing into louder groans and when he cums in you, it's like one big crescendo that all comes crashing down. he lovesss hearing the noises he draws out of you though. encourages you to be loud and wants to hear how good he's making you feel.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

probably praises and compliments and talks about you to rupert and freddie all the time. they're all sitting around in a bar drinking and suddenly freddie is asking rupert about cameron and rupert is asking freddie about lizzie and they both turn to declan and ask about you. he gushes about you, then lowers his voice and talks about just how sexy and perfect and wonderful you are. he's got rather loose lips but he'll never reveal the private details. he just wants everyone to know that you are the most perfect person in the whole world and you're all his to enjoy.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he's pretty thick. average length i think, but he makes up for it in the way that he stretches you out. it's a painful pleasure, one that makes you wince at his first entrance, but then makes you throw your head back, eyes rolled in pure bliss once he gets going.

y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

depends on his week, really! sometimes he's so focused on venturer or focused on his next interview that his brain capacity is filled. in times like those, he might need some extra encouragement in the form of you harmlessly flirting with rupert or presenting yourself to him in his study completely naked. if everything has leveled out and he's just having a good week, he could fuck you silly every single night.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

sometimes it can be within minutes if you've gone particularly hard. he falls off you, down to your side where he pulls you into his strong chest and holds you until he starts snoring. sometimes, he might enjoy running his hands along your body, tracing little shapes into them while you're turned on your side, cuddled close to his chest.

need him bad.

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