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astrids-blog333 · 2 days ago

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Beneath the Silk - Chapter Three

Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Chapter Three Summary: The walls Lucius has built finally start to crack. As the weight of fear, obsession, and desire reaches its breaking point, so does he. You're caught in the storm.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, darkish, loss of virginity (so there is some pain), overstimulation, possessiveness, manhandling (oop), power dynamics, obsession, intense emotional themes, explicit language, mentions of blood (non-graphic).

A/N: This is the last chapter of my three-part fic! All my fics are fem!reader, and in this the reader is deff AFAB. This got quite intense and kinda dark, and there is a very thin line they walk, but it is all consensual. If you're triggered by any form of CNC theme, then maybe skip this one. Please comment, like, and reblog; it really helps a lot. Hope you enjoyed this fic <3

MASTERLIST

WC (Chapter Three): 5.0k

chapter one - chapter two

You're in his bed now.

Not just your now shared chambers, not a second bed next to his. His bed. The sheets smell like him; warm cedar, faint leather, something darker beneath. The scent clings to your skin, seeping into every inch of your being. You lie still beneath the covers, the wound at your side no longer dressed, but still tender, the skin new and still quite sensitive.

It’s nearly healed. You told him that. You told the medic, the guards, even yourself.

But Lucius does not believe in nearly, he wants certainty.

The door opens without warning. No knock, no quiet call of your name. Just the sharp sound of hinges and the heavy tread of boots on marble.

Lucius enters like a man walking into battle.

He’s already removed his outer tunic, sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing the strong muscles beneath his skin. His brow is drawn, mouth set like stone in a thin line. You barely manage to sit up before he’s by the bed.

“I said I’m fine,” you begin, but the words are weak, even to your own ears. You wouldn't even believe yourself, so why in the world would he?

He doesn’t answer. Just sits beside you, so close the mattress shifts beneath his weight. One gloved hand moves to the blanket pooled at your hip, and pauses.

“I want to see it,” he says quietly, matter-of-factly.

You search his face. “Lucius…”

“I need to.”

There’s no anger in his voice. No command. Just something low visceral. As if asking is a formality, not a requirement. As if this is the only way he can breathe. He was never not going to look.

You nod.

The silence is thick as he peels the covers down with aching slowness. His gloves come off. He sets them aside with meticulous care; he’s always precise, but there’s a shakiness to him now, like he’s fighting the instinct to grab you and never let go.

His hands reach for the hem of your nightdress.

And still, he says nothing.

The fabric draws upward, inch by inch. First the blanket slips down, then the linen of your shift, revealing the soft curve of your waist, the faint bruising that’s now yellowed with time. His knuckles brush the side of your thigh, and the breath in your throat hitches.

Then his fingers find the wound.

It’s barely there now. No blood or even a scab, just a pale, healing scar beneath your ribs. But he looks at it like it’s still freshly bleeding. His thumb traces the edge, slow, reverent. Not with lust or want. This is something else.

Grief.

He touches it like he blames himself.

“Does it hurt?” he murmurs.

“No.”

He doesn’t stop touching. His hand flattens just beneath it, spanning your side, his palm warm and solid. You feel his breath hitch.

“You almost died,” he says. “I’ve seen it. Every night. Over and over.”

“I’m still here.” You speak before you can think, desperate to anchor him to something real, to convince him of your health.

His gaze lifts.

And something in his face cracks.

“I know,” he says, broken. “But my body doesn’t believe it.”

You don’t know how to answer that, so you don't. You stay silent whilst his hand moves higher, now splayed between your ribs and your heart, the pads of his fingers brushing over sensitive skin. His thumb strokes absently along the underside of your breast, not quite a caress. But it's not unintentional either.

It steals the air from your lungs.

He leans forward, not to kiss you, but just to be closer. His forehead almost touches yours, but doesn’t. His voice is hoarse now, low enough that it vibrates through your chest where his hand rests.

“I keep thinking-" he gulps down a breath of air. "If I’d been faster. If I’d kept you closer. If I’d never let you be alone then-”

“Lucius-”

“I told them not to touch you,” he cuts in suddenly, sharper. “When I found you there on the floor. I told them I’d kill any man who laid a hand on you, even to stop the bleeding.”

Your breath stutters.

His hand tightens against your side, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he could.

He has killed with less than this.

You don’t pull away. He looks down at you like you’re a miracle that hasn’t stopped happening.

His touch softens again. Drifts. His fingers ghost down the line of your ribs and back to the scar, tracing it again and again like it’s a wound in him.

And then, he lies back on the bed beside you, propped up by the headboard.

He sits next to you, his arm draped over your shoulders, his head tilted back against the wall.

You don’t speak.

You just lie there, his hand anchoring you, his body wrapped tight around yours. Like he needs to feel your pulse under his palm to believe you’re real. Alive.

Sleep tries to pull you under, but you fight it.

Because the way he holds you, it’s not comfort.

It’s devotion.

You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

Not peaceful. He is never peaceful anymore. Each inhale is rigid, held too long in his chest. He breathes like a soldier, even in sleep, its like he believes you will shatter if he dares to let go.

But when you wake, he’s gone.

The sheets are cold. The fire is nothing but embers now, pulsing faintly like a dying heartbeat. You sit up, blinking at the dark. The ache in your side has dulled to a memory, but the absence beside you is sharp. You reach for the place he’d been. Still warm. But barely.

Then the door slams open.

You flinch, breath catching in your throat. A gust of cold air follows him in.

His silhouette is wild in the doorway. His shirt is half-open, hair mussed, eyes wide and panicked. He looks like he’s been torn from some battlefield. His breath comes ragged. You can see it in his face even from here.

Madness.

“Lucius?” you whisper.

But he doesn’t answer.

He’s already moving.

Across the floor. Faster than your newly awake state can process. His hands are on you a heartbeat later, dragging the blanket away before you can react, eyes devouring every inch of skin like he’s searching for wounds that no longer exist.

“It’s healed,” you say, but your voice is too small.

He doesn’t stop.

His hands skim your waist, your ribs, your thigh. He's checking the stitches that have long since dissolved. There’s no blood, but he acts like there should be.

“You’re fine,” you breathe. “I’m fine.”

His jaw is clenched so tight you think he might shatter it.

“You could have torn it in your sleep,” he mutters.

“I didn’t.”

“You don’t know that.” The words are cracked and brittle. Like he’s speaking through splinters.

“I would’ve woken up-”

“And what if you didn’t?” His voice snaps like a whip. “What if I’d come back and found you cold? Stiff? What if I was too late, again?”

You stare at him.

He’s kneeling beside the bed now, but it doesn’t feel like he’s beneath you. It feels like he towers over the entire room.

The firelight catches his face, drawn, pale, fever-bright. His hands are still on you, palms flat against your ribs like he's trying to count each breath.

He doesn’t trust what he sees, only what he feels.

“Lucius,” you try again. “You’re scaring me.”

He doesn’t move. Not even a blink. And then, so slowly, almost reluctantly, he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“I know.”

He says it like an admission. Like a failure.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he continues, softer. “But I can’t- I can’t live like this. Every time I close my eyes, I see it. Your body. The blood. My hands. And I wake up and I don’t know if any of it’s real.”

You shake your head. “It’s not. I’m here. I’m right here.”

“No,” he says, and his hands press harder, like he’s trying to push your soul back into your body. “You’re not. Not really. You’re always leaving. Always bleeding. Always just out of my reach.”

He lowers his forehead to your bare stomach, breath shuddering against your skin. The heat of him is blistering.

“I’ve lost battles,” he whispers. “I’ve buried comrades. I’ve watched legions fall. But none of it, none of it, touched me like this. You dying in my arms, even if it wasn’t real- gods, it was real enough.”

His fingers dig into your waist now, tight. Possessive. Anchoring.

You stay still.

Because there’s something dangerous in him tonight. Something wild and untamed. Not violent, but primal. A wolf circling the last thing it loves.

You open your mouth. Try to say his name.

But then his hands slide up your side, slow, trembling, reverent, and he cups your face like he’s praying to something. His thumbs brush your cheeks. Your lips. Your throat.

“You’re too quiet,” he says. “Say something.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

His jaw clenches. His eyes, a dark blue so wild they're nearly black, search yours for something. A reason to stop.

He doesn’t find one.

“I can’t keep pretending,” he says roughly. “I’ve tried. I’ve stayed away. I’ve let you heal. But I think-” his voice falters, “I think I’m going insane.”

You try to speak, but the words tangle. Because you see it too. The way his hands tremble. The way he’s holding you like a lifeline.

The way his pupils are blown wide, not with lust, but with a need.

“I wake up,” he says. “And you’re not breathing. I hold you, and I can’t feel your heartbeat. Even now, I think I’m dreaming. That you’ll fade if I let go.”

You press your forehead to his. It’s the only thing you can think to do.

“I’m here. I'm yours. Don't worry.”

He exhales, but it’s not relief. It’s a release of tension so great it nearly buckles him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says. “But if I already have, if this is just some trick of my mind, then I want to feel it anyway. I want to know.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, threatening to break out of your ribcage.

His hand slides to your throat. His thumb strokes the pulse there. His lips part.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmurs. “Unless you tell me not to.”

Your voice is gone. Stolen by the weight of everything between you.

He waits. Just long enough for silence to become answer.

Then he kisses you.

Not gently. He kisses you like a man breaking.

You don’t remember falling back. You just feel the weight of him follow you down, his hands anchoring you, so rough, so fast, too much. The mattress dips beneath your spine, and Lucius comes with it, mouth still on yours, devouring you like he’s forgotten how to breathe without you.

He pulls away once, just once, to tear the blanket from your body, baring you to the firelight. His eyes drag down like he’s committing you to memory, and then his hands are back on your waist, your hips, your thighs, possessive and frantic. He’s trying to map every inch before it disappears from him again.

“Say it again,” he rasps, voice frayed with disbelief.

You blink, still catching up. “Say what?”

“That you’re mine.”

His grip tightens on your hips. Just enough to leave you breathless.

You hesitate. A second too long.

He growls, an animal sound torn straight from his chest, and suddenly you're pinned beneath him, one wrist trapped above your head in a single large hand. The other hand cages your thigh, spreading you open without gentleness. Not cruel, not violent, but desperate. Frantic. The message is clear.

Stay still. Stay with me.

You suck in a breath that never quite makes it to your lungs. You can’t move, not really. His body is a wall of muscle against yours, unyielding and warm and trembling with failing restraint.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, pulse thudding in your ears.

Something in him cracks.

He kisses you again. Rougher this time, with teeth, with fire, his mouth moving fast and hungry. It’s not calculated. Not careful. He’s not seducing you, he’s unraveling. Every kiss is a breaking point.

His hand leaves your wrist to frame your jaw, forcing your head back as his mouth trails hot down your throat, nipping, sucking, claiming. You don’t think he knows what he’s doing anymore. You don’t think he cares.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he mutters against your skin. “You have no idea- how close I am- how much I-”

He cuts himself off with a sound like a choke, his breath hitching.

Then his hand slides between your legs. No warning, no slow coaxing. Just the heat of his palm and two fingers pressing low and firm, dragging slickness in a slow, possessive circle.

You gasp. Buck. It’s too much too fast.

He doesn’t let up. His hand stays there, stroking you in slow, deliberate movements that feel more like a claim than a caress.

“Lucius-” you breathe, half-begging, not even sure yourself if you want him to stop or keep going.

He doesn’t answer.

He pulls back just far enough to yank his tunic off, and the firelight catches on scars you’ve never seen. His chest is sculpted in violence, in victories. His arms, his stomach, all lean strength and coiled threat. But his eyes are locked on yours like you’re the thing he’s afraid of.

This man is not a dream. Not a fantasy.

He’s war made flesh.

And he’s looking at you like you’re his last salvation. You reach out before you can think, your hand skimming the side of his neck, down the slope of his collarbone. “Lucius…”

He doesn’t speak.

He moves.

In one motion, he grabs you beneath the thighs and drags you closer to him, up the bed, under him, knees parted around his hips. You gasp, the movement too sudden, your body scrambling to keep pace with his.

You feel his length, hard and heavy, pressing against you.

And then you realise, this is happening. Your heart stutters in your chest.

He pauses, just barely. “Tell me to stop,” he says. “Now. It’s the last chance I can give, I won't be able to stop.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Because you see it again in his face, that breaking, frantic need. Like he’s clinging to you to stay alive. Because a part of you also wants this.

So you nod.

Lucius doesn’t need more than that.

One hand braces beside your head on the plush pillow. The other holds your hip, thumb digging into the soft flesh as he pushes forward, and then-

Pain.

A sharp, searing stretch that has your fingers clawing at the sheets, digging into the flesh of his shoulders. He goes still, barely even inside you yet, chest heaving, every muscle in his body locked down like a dam ready to burst.

Your breath catches. He’s watching you again, intently, studying you.

“You’re-” His voice cracks. “You’ve never-”

You shake your head once. Still panting. Still stretched taut.

Something shifts in his eyes. The frenzy falters, but it doesn’t fade.

His grip loosens, just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you go. He kisses your cheek, your temple, your jaw, but it’s a broken rhythm, unpractised, erratic.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispers. “I would’ve…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t know how to.

Instead, he touches your face again, almost reverently this time, then lowers his forehead to yours.

“We’ll go slow,” he promises, though he sounds like it’s killing him.

But there’s no time to ask what he means by slow because he’s moving again, inch by inch, trying to keep control, trying not to break. Your body trembles beneath his, breath caught in your chest.

You whimper without meaning to.

His hand covers your mouth, not to silence you, but to ground you. “Breathe,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve got you.”

You nod into his palm. His grip on your hips tightens, forcing you to stay still as he buries himself deeper inside. You can feel him in places you never imagined, and the pain that comes with it is almost too much to bear.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the sound building in your chest, but it’s futile. You can’t help it. The pain is raw and unforgiving. Your hands clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself.

Your lungs hitch. Every inhale feels too shallow, your chest rising too fast as the pressure builds. But it’s too hard when his body is pressed so closely to yours, and you feel every inch of him, like he’s carving himself into you.

“Shh,” Lucius murmurs, his voice rough, full of something unrecognisable. “You’re fine, just breathe. It will feel better. I promise.”

His words do little to soothe you. Part of you wants to push him away, tell him to stop, but something in you won’t let you. Maybe it’s the way he’s holding you, the way he’s already marked you, and the knowledge that you belong to him now, in this raw, vulnerable moment.

You don’t understand why it hurts so much. You don’t understand why your body won’t relax, why every time he moves inside you, it feels like too much.

And then, suddenly, the pressure shifts.

It’s slow at first, but as he pulls back and thrusts for the first time, you feel it. The sharpness begins to dull, replaced by something else, something deeper, something hotter that surges from the ache between your legs, curling up your spine. It’s not the pain you felt before. It’s a pleasure, sweeping through you in slow waves, tender at first, but building, gathering speed as he continues to move. It’s like your body is slowly adjusting to him, like it’s finally learning how to respond.

The pleasure comes in waves, gentle at first. You are still overwhelmed by the shadow of pain that lingers in the back of your mind, but the pleasure is growing, building, becoming a sensation you can’t quite name.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath as your body shudders beneath him. There’s a pull deep inside, a coil tightening in your stomach, and you feel yourself melting into him as your body starts to follow his rhythm.

Lucius grunts in your ear, his voice low and desperate. “That’s it... take it... You’re doing so well for me, so perfect.”

As he moves, his hands shift on your body, tightening again, pulling you closer, almost desperately, and you can feel his own restraint slipping.

He groans, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more insistent. “I’m not hurting you,” he growls, his words both an assurance and a plea. “Tell me if I am. I need you to tell me.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Instead, you find yourself trembling, your body quivering with an unfamiliar sensation. Your hands grip the sheets harder, and you turn your face into his chest, trying to hide from the overwhelming feelings crashing over you.

You can feel him in every inch of your body, stretching you, claiming you. Your body tenses, overwhelmed by the sensation, the sudden deep thrusts that send waves of discomfort mixed with pleasure shooting through your core. It’s too much, and yet, you want more. You need more.

You try to keep your breath steady, but it comes out in shallow gasps, your chest rising and falling with each powerful movement. He’s relentless, the rhythm of his hips unyielding. His hands are all over you, pulling you closer, forcing you to match his pace, his hunger. But even as you start to adjust, the discomfort doesn't fade. It changes.

He growls against your ear, his voice low and filled with desperation. “You feel so good… so fucking perfect for me.”

You can barely process the words before another wave of pleasure rolls through you, pushing you higher, making your pulse race. You gasp, feeling yourself nearing an edge, but the sensation is so overwhelming, it’s almost too much. You clench your jaw, trying to hold it together as he continues to push deeper.

And then it happens again. The first climax crashes over you, sending your back arching off the bed, your body trembling beneath him.

You cry out, for him? For the gods? You don't know.

The intensity of it all rushing through your veins like fire. But just as you start to come down, he doesn’t stop. His hips don’t slow. Each movement draws a new sound from your throat, his hands branding your skin, and suddenly, the pleasure shifts.

It’s too much. Every nerve in your body screams. He’s not slowing down, not letting you catch your breath, not letting you recover. His thrusts are hard and deep, his body pounding into you like he’s trying to possess you entirely.

His voice is thick with desperation, “No one else will have you. No one can touch you. Not while I’m breathing.”

You can barely focus on his words. The second wave of pleasure hits you before you’ve even recovered from the first. Your body spasms, hands clawing at the sheets as you try to push away the overwhelming sensation. But Lucius doesn’t let you escape. His grip on you tightens, pulling you closer to him, forcing your body to accept more, to take everything he has to give.

You try to speak, to beg him to slow down, but the words are lost in the noise of your breathing, in the desperate gasps that escape your lips.

“Lucius, please…” You manage to gasp out, but your voice is weak, lost in the frantic heat between you.

But he doesn’t listen. He can’t. His only response is a growl, and then his lips crash down on yours in a kiss that is more frantic than ever. He tastes like desperation, like something too powerful to resist, and it only fuels the fire that’s already consuming you.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, but this time there’s something darker in his voice. “And I’ll make sure no one hurts you. No one touches you ever again. I won’t let it happen.”

He’s repeating it, like it’s a mantra, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His words mix with the rhythm of his hips, pounding into you, making your head spin, your body weak with exhaustion and pleasure.

The overstimulation makes your senses go haywire; every touch, every movement, every thrust is so intense it’s almost unbearable. You’re losing yourself in him, in the feeling, in the power he has over you, and there’s no escaping it.

You can’t even try, you don't want to either.

Lucius is still moving, his hands pushing you back, forcing you deeper into the bed, as if he needs to feel you, to ground himself in the connection. His breath is coming faster now, and his thrusts are desperate, frenzied. You can feel his release building, the way his body starts to shake, his grip tightening even further on your hips.

He’s not letting go, not slowing down, even as you start to squirm beneath him, unable to take it anymore. He is breaking you apart.

“Lucius…” you try to gasp, but he doesn’t hear you, or he doesn’t care. His body is slamming into you, his eyes wild with hysteria and need. His lips are on your neck, on your chest, kissing you feverishly.

And then, finally, with a guttural cry, Lucius pulls you in one last time, thrusting deeper as he finally reaches his peak. His body shudders against yours, his breath ragged, and he holds you there, still inside, as if he never wants to let go.

His forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven, as you both try to catch your breath. He doesn’t move. His hands are still gripping you, his fingers trembling slightly as they rest on your skin. For a moment, the world is silent, save for the sound of your breathing, and the weight of his body pressed against yours.

You’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but something in his words settles in your chest, wrapping around your heart like a chain.

Lucius pulls away just enough to look at you, his gaze softening, though there’s still a wildness in it. His hands move to your face, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that contrasts with the roughness of who he was a minute ago.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs. “I can’t.”

And just like that, the world slows. The frantic energy, the frantic need, it all melts away. He kisses you softly, testing the waters, as if you’re both trying to come back to something solid.

Lucius’s breath comes in ragged gasps, his body tense as he pulls back slightly, eyes scanning your face for any signs of discomfort.

His gaze flickers down to where you’re still joined, his fingers instinctively trailing over your skin, checking for any sign that the pain has been too much.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice breaks, a soft plea mixed with guilt. He’s still holding himself too tightly, as if the raw intensity of what just transpired has left him struggling to regain control.

You try to steady your breath, your chest still heaving from the overwhelming experience. “No, Lucius. You could never,” you whisper, voice barely audible, betraying the vulnerability you feel in this moment.

His expression darkens again, and his thumb brushes across your jaw. “I didn’t want to hurt you. But now…” His voice falters, and the possessiveness in his gaze hardens.

You feel the weight of those words, the possessiveness in them, the claim he’s made over you. It’s overwhelming, but somehow, beneath the intensity, you feel a sense of relief, like the world has shifted and you’re finally in your rightful place.

He pulls you closer, kissing your forehead softly, trying to reassure you as his hand trails down your side, touching you again with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the earlier desperation.

You can’t speak. Not because you don’t want to, but because there’s a part of you that doesn’t have the words for what you’re feeling. You’re still fragile, still too sensitive. His hands move again, this time more confidently, tracing over your skin, the earlier tenderness giving way to something deeper, more primal.

He doesn’t wait for your answer before his body shifts against yours, his desire still urgent, still consuming. There’s a moment where you feel his eyes on you, dark and possessive, and before you can think, he moves again, slowly this time, gently.

The pain, the sharpness of it, flares again as he pushes further into you, and you wince, but Lucius doesn’t stop. He watches you, eyes searching for any sign of distress, but as the moments stretch on, the pain begins to fade, replaced by an unfamiliar, almost dizzying sensation that makes your head spin.

The tension in your body eases, and for the first time, you feel the full pull of pleasure, the connection between the two of you deepening in a way that feels almost like a dream.

His body moves against yours, and the pleasure swells again, the confusion becomes clearer. You want this. You want him. You want all of him. His touch, his words, the way he consumes you. There’s no more hesitation, no more fear. You’re his.

He moves again, more urgently this time, the intensity of his possession making your breath catch. It feels like a collision of pain and pleasure, a storm that builds between you, and you realize you’ve crossed a threshold.

You’re no longer just a woman in his arms; you are the center of his world.

His hands grip you harder, possessively, and you gasp as the tension tightens again. Lucius doesn’t stop. He’s frantic now, his movements desperate, but there’s something else in his eyes, a look that speaks of something deeper. As he moves inside you again, you feel the tension snap in both of you, the final barrier between pain and pleasure completely dissolving.

When it’s over, the room is heavy with silence, save for the sound of your shared breaths. Lucius pulls you into his arms. His body trembles, and you can feel the rawness of his emotions in the way he clings to you, his hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing tender kisses to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice softer now, filled with a kind of regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I needed you to understand… you’re mine. You always have been.”

You don’t speak. You don’t have the words, not yet. But as he holds you, his warmth enveloping you, you know there’s no turning back now.

You do belong to him, and you agree. In some strange, inexplicable way, you’ve always belonged to him.

There’s nothing more to say. Instead, you let him pull you close again, these last remnants of your union still fresh between you. And as he slips back inside you, his body so close to yours, he holds you tightly as you both drift into an exhausted slumber, his warmth the only thing you feel.

Oh my god, yay! I finished this! It got darker than I thought it would when I started lmao but I really like how this turned out! I hope you like it! I want to write more for Lucius soon, so please request if you have any ideas, I'm open to it all!!!

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intoanotherworld23 · 4 months ago

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His Delicate Flower Of Rome

Summary: when Lucius found out you were Marcus Acacius’s daughter he knew he had to have you, and when the opportunity was right he wasn’t holding back

Warnings: explicit content, mature themes, smut, unprotected sex, slightly dom Lucius, submissive reader, smidge of spanking

A/N: hello my lovelies! I was genuinely surprised that there isn’t more fics of Paul or Lucius out there so I wanted to write something for him, and hope everyone likes it and share your thoughts on if I should keep writing for him! If you wish to be added to a tag list please let me know! Or if you have any requests do not hesitate to submit it to my inbox! Don’t forget to reblog and comment! Thank you! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

"That's it flower, that's a good woman." Soft praises echoing in your ear as you sank down on Lucius's erect length. His calloused hands caressing your skin so tenderly. "Are you feeling all of me?"

"Mhm." Struggling to find the right words as you concentrated more on adjusting around his cock. Twisting your face in an unusual manner he couldn't resist as he leaned forward to place light kisses on your heated cheeks and temple.

"Do the gods hold your tongue? Can you not speak?" Keeping his voice deep and low as his words teased you.

"Lucius please." Whimpering pathetically as you continued to grind your hips back and forth. Lucius chuckling at how eager and desperate you were for him.

"Do you enjoy fucking gladiators? Does that moisten your thighs? Does your father know what a whore you are?" He taunted you as you bit your bottom lip realizing that his words held more truth than you wanted. Soon as Lucius found out you were Marcus Acacius's daughter he wasted no time in seducing you. "I've been longing to feel this cunt around me for too long."

He loved the feeling of your skin touching his. The way your body had molded into his so perfectly. A fierce bloodthirsty champion of the arena was holding you like a delicate flower. Lucius was enjoying this way more than he intended, and was already planning on never letting you go.

"Gods you are tight." Large hands holding the fat flesh of your thighs his thumb stroking your skin soothingly. Feeling so warm and incredibly deep. "You have not been fucked the way you should be."

Nodding your head in agreement unable to speak as you wrapped your hands around his thick neck. Beginning to tremble as you moved your legs to raise yourself better. Lucious guiding your hips now as he looked down to where you two were connected.

"Take it easy I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." Noticing how aggressively you were bouncing on his cock. Even as his hands swatted your backside in warning you still continued to ignore him. So lost in the clouds you didn't want to come down.

"I can do it Lucius." Assuring him with such innocent eyes he couldn't help but smirk at how badly you wanted this. "Gods you are so big."

"Fuck." He grunts before pulling your body on top of his as he laid along the bed. He was surprised how soft it was considering he had been sleeping on stone for so long.

Gasping as he lifted his knees and started to pound into your cunt with absolutely no mercy giving you exactly what you wanted. His lips warm and desperate as they peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder. His hands keeping a firm grip on your ass using it as leverage.

"Oh gods." Crying out as he growled in your ear with such animosity it had a shiver running down your spine.

"The gods will never make you feel like this." Hissing into your ear and in just mere seconds tears are glistening in your eyes with such intensity. "Only my cock can bring you to such pleasure."

"Yes, my champion." We're all the words Lucius needed to hear before he suddenly flipped you on your back his cock never slipping from inside you. Grabbing your legs and placing them on his shoulders, as he got right back into the same rhythm.

Drilling into your sweet spot as he leaned forward slightly his face right above yours. Lucius was oozing with confidence in everything that he did. Whether it was in the colosseum or the bedroom. Bit surprised that a man like him would want anything to do with the generals daughter.

"I'm close." Informing him as your body started to shake a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach. Head tossed back in complete ecstasy as you couldn't hold back anymore.

"Let go I am right here." Cooing into your ear like he was revealing his secrets. His deep and seductive tone was sending you right over the edge.

"Oh gods." Crying out as your orgasm was swiftly approaching still sensitive from your previous release by his tongue. Lucius looking down at your remarkable expression unable to look anywhere else. Loving that he was the one in control, and held all this power in your pleasure. It made him feel like a god.

Your senses were extremely heightened, and feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable. Not sure how much longer you could hold on. Lucius could sense this, and he knew what would help relieve you.

"Let me see those beautiful eyes." He instructed to which you immediately followed not seeing that he was reaching a hand down between your bodies to your puffy clit. Rubbing rapid circles making you scream hands scratching along his back surely leaving marks.

Your ribcage rising and falling with each quick breath. Hands falling down to your side feeling loose and numb. Stomach trembling from the resounding orgasm you just experienced. Your battered cunt was so sore from being stretched and abused. Feeling his hands gently caressing your trembling thighs as he stayed still inside of you.

“The gods have surely blessed me on this night.” Speaking trying to catch his breath as he smiled down at you.

“Seems the gods bless you every night.” Moving from underneath him his cock slipping out as he laid next to you. The only sound you could hear was the water fountain outside of your room, and the crackles from the fireplace. Expecting Lucius to gather himself, and never speak to you again.

“Take comfort in my arms, and I will hold you while you sleep.” Pulling your body against his before you could say anything. The unexpected gesture made you feel something that you’ve never felt before. “Sleep my delicate flower.”

#paul mescal imagines #paul mescal smut #Paul mescal #Paul mescal blurb #Paul mescal x reader #lucius verus #Lucius verus smut #Lucius verus x reader #Lucius verus blurb #Lucius verus imagines #Paul mescal fic #Paul mescal fanfiction #Lucius verus fanfiction #gladiator ii smut #gladiator II #gladiator 2 #gladiator

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andy-15-07 · 3 months ago

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An heir of Rome

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1485

Paul Mescal Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sadprose-auroras · 4 months ago

Text

'Dulcissima' - Lucius Verus x Fem!Reader SMUT

dulcissima: Latin; my sweetest

A/N: My god. I saw Gladiator 2 yesterday, and this utter filth just came pouring out of me. A major shoutout to everyone who has BEEN writing for this character, I just had to contribute my little part. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Also take a shot every time I mention his big blue eyes and massive arms like hello I'm sorryyyy can you blame me!!! Also it starts off a bit shaky but trust me stick with it! I just can't not have some kind of backstory y'know

Word count: 3.3k

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut, breeding kink, brief size kink, cumplay, vague oral fixation, brief mentions of colonisation and injury

RATING: 18+. By clicking 'read more,' you are confirming that you are 18+

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Pressing the cloth against his skin made him wince, the muscles in his arm jump, and though you typically would not, you pulled it away.

“I’m sorry, but I must,” you said gently, and it occurred to him that nobody had treated him with such humanity and sweetness in such a long time. “It will be over soon.”

You continued to clean his wound as gently as possible, trying to ignore the heat emanating off his body simply due to your proximity. To distract him, you decided to make conversation. You were no stranger to what it felt like to be a slave. For your home to be destroyed, to be dehumanised in such a monstrous way.

“Hanno, where is your home?” you ask, as you continue to work.

“My home no longer exists,” he said with a level of defensiveness, eyes lowering to the floor. “Not as it once did.”

“My ancestral lineage hail from Aduatuci. My parents, my parents’ parents, have all been slaves. We do not know any different,” you said. “But I have dreams of a free Rome, one of hope. I have heard of it, and I know it can exist. If not for myself, then maybe for my future children.”

The lilt of hope in your voice softened his shoulders immediately, and he finally made eye contact with you.

“Numidia. Numidia was my home. I was taken as a slave as they took our land. I will not know peace until I see the world you speak of.” You nodded with understanding, carefully placing your hand on his knee. His demeanour was completely different to the survival instincts you witnessed in the stadium. He was kind, gentle.

“I believe we can fight for that kind of world,” you reassured.

Once you finished tending to him, you gathered your supplies and stood up to leave.

“May the Gods bless you, Hanno,” you said. He reached out to grab your hand as you turned to leave, a lightning bolt of electricity shooting through you. You turned back.

“Wait,” he said, letting your hand go. “Will you come and see me tonight? Please? I could do with some company.” The vulnerability in his bright eyes made your heart melt.

“Of course.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Somehow, yourself and Hanno developed a bond. It became a cycle. Each time he was forced into the arena, you watched with a pit in your stomach, tears welling in your eyes. Each time he was victorious, the relief that flooded through you was incomparable. Afterwards, you would tend to his wounds, talking about your hopes and dreams for the future. He would speak of his life back home, tell you all about his childhood and his father.

Each night, you would sneak into his cell to talk more. It had dawned on you that he was your only friend. The only person who had ever understood you.

One night after a horrifying battle in the arena, you snuck in to see him. Drawing your hood down, you nodded to the guard at the door who allowed you through. He had also become an ally to you both, closing the door behind you and moving away to give you some privacy.

Hanno, or Lucius, as he had recently revealed to you was his name by birth, was sitting with his hands clasped together, gazing thoughtfully at the floor, a crease between his brows. When he saw you, his leg ceased shaking and he stood up to embrace you. His strong arms engulfed you, and you immediately relaxed at the familiar feeling. The prospect of losing the familiarity between you was becoming more and more frightening to you. An air of heaviness clouded this particular visit. It felt different this time.

“I am so happy to see you,” he breathed out, pulling away, caressing your arm. Casual touches between you were comfortable and common, especially considering you were required to touch him all the time when tending to his injuries. And yet, every single time, a shiver ran down your spine. Likewise, every time he pulled away, you could feel yourself physically tense once again. He made you feel like you could breathe.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you murmured, your bottom lip trembling, with what you weren’t entirely sure. It was like every time you saw him, your inhibitions were lowered more and more. You spoke without thinking, acted without speaking. It was dangerous.

“Oh now, dulcissima.” His hand caught at your chin, raising your head to look at him. Your heart immediately began racing rapidly, face flushing. The endearing term all the permission you finally needed, you gently cupped his face, gazing into his stark blue eyes, his long lashes. They stood out against the dirt on his face, the stained red blood smeared across his forehead. A shiver ran through you as his eyes flickered in pleasure.

“Han-“ you began. “Lucius,” you settled on for now. You could never decide what to call him. Either way, he was still the same. Strong, tender, solid, beautiful. Yours.

“I will always be yours, can you not see? This life and the next. You cannot lose me.”

Unable to come up with any eloquent answer, you decided actions were more powerful. As if your lips had a mind of their own, you raised up ever so slightly on your toes to kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly. His kiss was soft and gentle as you tested out the feeling with one another, his hands moving to protectively cup the sides of your face, thumb stroking your cheek making you exhale through your nose. Your lips explored his, moving together in perfect harmony, coming up for air every few moments.

Your head was spinning with desire, everything else in the world fell away when he kissed you. His hands had moved into your hair, fingers threading through it, not quite pulling. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own, running all over his bare back, sides and chest. The feeling of the hard muscle underneath your fingertips, especially when you could feel it jump with sensitivity, made you want to lick your wet tongue all over his body. You wanted, needed, to devour every inch of him.

Hanno’s kisses grew hungrier by the minute, hands massaging and tugging your hair now, pulling it free from its style. You moaned into his mouth, which made him pull away for a moment and press a finger to your lips.

“You must be quiet, dulcissima.” You fought the urge to buckle your knees at the sound of such a sweet term in his rough voice.

“I know,” you murmured against his finger, absentmindedly scratching your nails down his back as you spoke, revelling in the way his mouth opened slightly at the feeling, eyelashes fluttering. “I will be, I promise.”

“Do you?” he asked, finger now teasing at the entrance of your mouth. You nodded ever so slightly, taking his finger in your mouth, swirling it with your tongue. You closed your eyes, coating his finger in wetness, moving your mouth up and down exploringly.

“Mmmhmm,” you moaned as an answer around his finger. The way he was watching you with hooded eyes, bottom lip taken between his teeth, was making the wetness pooling between your thighs impossible to ignore. He gazed at you as if you hung the stars, as if you were a goddess he was worshipping.

You took your mouth off his finger with a pop, and he began to trace it down your throat slowly, leaving a trail of your own spit. You trembled under his touch, lifting your chin to allow him more access. He reached the swell of your breasts, continuing down between them. You pushed your garments down off your shoulders, arched your back to close the gap between you, chest heaving in desperation. You would feel pathetic if it was anybody else. But he made you feel so safe. You could completely be yourself, express your desires.

“My Lucius, my strong one, please,” you breathed, hungry hands now tugging at his hair. “I need you to take me. Make me forget everything. I want to only remember you.”

Without warning, he swept you up in his arms, a gasp escaping your lips, as he expertly laid you down, hovering above you. You took a moment to take him in; his pink, pillowy lips, tousled hair, scruff beard, shining eyes. Not even the midnight sky, nor a sunset, or a shimmering ocean, was so breathtaking.

“My love,” he scanned your face, causing your heart to skip a beat. “My love,” he repeated himself, beginning to kiss down your neck over your shoulder, across the top of your breasts, sucking and nibbling. Your entire body filled with goosebumps, and you briefly considered that you were not being nearly as quiet as you had hoped. It was so difficult when he was making you feel this overcome with ecstasy.

“I need to feel your skin on mine,” you whispered, tugging at his clothing. He lifted himself off you, standing before you. He removed his loincloth, tossing it aside, his erection standing before you. Your mouth watered as you took the sight of him in, face becoming impossibly hot. His manhood was proportionately large and thick, much like the rest of his broad, toned body. It made you feel so delicate in comparison. Various images flashed in your mind’s eye. A large, strong hand coming down hard on your ass. The other wrapped around your throat. His back muscles flexing as he pounded into you from behind, his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

“You are so-“ you began to say, but couldn’t find the right words. Before you could finish your thought, he moved towards you again.

“Can I undress you?” he asked, hands moving steadily down your clothed body. You nodded vigorously.

“Please,” you squirmed, fluttering your lashes at your love. He motioned for you to sit up so he could pull your tunic off your head, placing it on the floor. You were left entirely bare, and if it were anybody else in front of you, you would feel self-conscious. But the way his fingertips gently stroked your sides, his big blue eyes bore into yours with care and understanding, made you feel like a goddess yourself.

“I want to worship you,” he began, covering his body with yours, mouth covering one of your breasts. “Lay you on an altar and pray over every single part of your body,” he murmured as he took your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue. You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders for stability.

“Tell me what else,” you whispered.

“Well,” he said between wet kisses over to your other breast. “Once I worshipped you, my goddess,” he said as he began to suck on your other nipple, tweaking the first with his fingers, making you arch your back. “I would then ravage you,” he said, not giving you a chance to respond except to moan into his mouth as he kissed you, the kiss all tongue and desperation. His beard was scratching at your delicate skin deliciously. You ached to feel this on your thighs.

You began to grind against his body as you kissed, attempting to relieve some frustration. You could feel his hardness pressing into your stomach, and it made your mouth water.

“Lucius,” you groaned into his mouth, perhaps a little too loudly.

Shhhhhh, he placed his hand over your mouth, tutting at you. He kept his hand there, his other one tracing a line down your stomach. Your entire body was shaking as you spread your legs apart, drops of wetness falling down your thighs.

“Quiet, my love,” he whispered, one singular finger finally, ever so gently, tracing your folds. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, bucking up into his hand. You needed more.

He noticed his reaction, groaning to himself. He couldn’t help but give you what you wanted. He used two fingers to apply more pressure, running up and down your soaked folds, hitting your clit and making your body twitch each time. He watched in amazement as you writhed in both desperation and pleasure, guiding his hand with your bodily movements.

Something switched in you at that moment, and you pushed his hand off your mouth, flipping yourselves over so you were now hovering above him.

“I need you in my mouth, lest I die,” you said breathlessly. He looked amused at your dramatics, but you felt his cock twitch against you.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he said, and you both chuckled. Wordlessly, you turned yourself around so your pussy was over his face, his cock standing proudly in front of you. It was throbbing, looking almost painful. It made you love him even more, that he wanted you this badly.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, using your thumb to swipe the precum dribbling out of his head, licking it curiously. His deep growl was animalistic, and you felt his nails digging into your ass as he took you in his mouth, devouring you just as he promised. Simultaneously, you moaned as you licked a stripe up the underside of him, spitting a generous amount before slowly taking him into your mouth.

Being unable to see him only made you feel closer, as you could feel his mouth reacting to what you were doing. At the same time, his suctioning and licking of your pulsing clit, licking up and down your folds, was making you groan against him, the reverberation contributing to his pleasure. You began to grind your hips against his face in rhythm with your head bobbing up and down, eyes fluttering open and closed in bliss. His beard scratching against your inner thighs was painfully delicious, even more so than your imagination. You could barely breathe with how fast you were taking him in your mouth, but you did not care.

When he took your clit between his teeth and gently tugged, you gasped in pleasure, making you gag. You pulled him out of your mouth, a line of spit following. You felt the vibrations of him laughing against you. You turned around so you were face-to-face again, your legs trembling.

“Did that feel good, my darling?” he asked, unable to help himself from drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with two fingers as he spoke.

“I-Oh-So-G-Good,” you choked out.

“Would you like me inside of you?” he asked, teasing your entrance with his fingers.

“Yes, please,” you begged. He wasted no time in flipping you over once again, using his strength to pull your legs up onto his broad shoulders, your ankles intertwining behind his neck.

“I am yours, yours, yours,” he repeated like a mantra. “Yours,” the last one came out with a groan, as he swiftly entered you halfway. Your breath was taken away in the best possible way, his thickness impossibly stretching you out.

“You’re so big,” you moaned, shaking your head, inadvertently clenching around him. He gritted his teeth.

“It feels so right. So right to be this close to you. I need you every day, every night, all the time,” he rambled, as he pushed all the way into you, bottoming out. You nodded rapidly in agreeance, finding it difficult to speak.

“Is that okay?” he asked, intertwining your fingers together above your head. You nodded again, licking your lips. Your mouth had gotten a little dry from hanging open in pleasure.

“I want you to fill me up like this forever,” you answered, tossing your head side to side deliriously. “I will always need you.”

Something flickered in Lucius’ eyes. He dropped one of your hands, instead pinning both of your wrists down with one hand. He used the other hand to draw circles on your clit, as he began to move inside you. Slowly, gently at first, but not for long.

Before you knew it, it felt as it he was going to split you apart. He was grunting with each thrust, your promises to keep quiet entirely forgotten. The rhythmic sound of your wetness as he moved in and out of you echoed throughout the cell, and it was quite possibly the most melodic sound he had ever heard. You could feel him deep within you, hitting your cervix which took your breath away each time.

Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, the veins in his arms protruding out. You moved your hands so he was no longer holding your wrists down, and he complied immediately. You needed to touch him. With shaking hands, you ran your fingertips all over his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles flexing with each thrust. You worked your way up over his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair, then back down to his arms. You dug your nails into his biceps, surely leaving marks.

“Fill me up with your seed, dulcissime,” you echoed his sentiment from earlier. “Make me ripe with a child so that we may carry on a hopeful legacy for generations to come.”

He groaned, profanities escaping his mouth in a deep, guttural voice.

“Say that again,” he demanded, fingers still circling your swollen, aching clitoris.

You gripped his hair in your hands, pulling him close to whisper in his ear.

“Get me pregnant, dulcissime. I need your hot, sticky seed inside of me.”

This undid both of you. You reached for one another, mouths slotting together in harmony. You stifled your moans with kisses, as you felt him spill inside you and warm you up. The feeling sent you over the edge, as you pulled his hair even harder to steady yourself. A warmth flowered all the way from your sternum to your extremities, your pussy pulsing around him as you rode out the high. Your entire body felt like it was floating, spots clouding your vision.

“My love, my darling,” Hanno murmured, his stomach rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. You kissed again, as he cupped your face gently.

Wordlessly, he gently, achingly, pulled himself from inside of you, and you both watched in awe as the point where your bodies met were no longer together. His seed was dribbling out of you, coating you and making you itch.

“Can I clean you up?” he asked gruffly, barely waiting for an answer as you sighed out, “God, yes,” as he moved down your body so his face was crowding between your thighs. He licked a swipe up you, making your entire body twitch with aftershock. You practically screamed, the overstimulation almost too much to handle. Almost. You shoved your fist into your mouth to stifle the noises.

You watched through hooded eyes as he licked up every drop of his own seed, grinding onto his face, chasing the pleasure. You were delirious, not a single thought in your mind beside Lucius. When he was finished, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and you moaned out loud at the sight. He returned to kiss you once more, and you could taste the familiar taste on his tongue, making your stomach swoop with desire.

Pulling away for a moment, he rolled over onto his back, pulling you with him so you were folded into his side, leg draped over his, his large arms engulfing you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your sweaty temple, wildly juxtaposing his actions from mere moments ago.

He gazed down at you with those incredible eyes, sighing blissfully. He moved a piece of hair from your face as he spoke his next words.

“I hope you know I meant every word, dulcissima. I want to build a future with you, for you, for our children. I vow to always protect you.”

You pressed a sweet kiss to his lips.

“We will build our home together,” you replied. And for the first time, the future you imagined, a future full of hope and possibility, felt closer than ever before.

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ay0nha · 4 months ago

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Time?” Lucius looked to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Able or willing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have my word.”

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starkwlkr · 4 months ago

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linger | paul mescal

an: FOR 🇮🇪 IRELAND 🇮🇪 yes this is named after a cranberries song ily dolores o’riordan rip

INSTAGRAM

liked by mescalupdates, wagstyle and others

f1gossip red bull driver, y/n l/n, was spotted out in los angeles with her group of friends. while taking photos with fans, someone asked her if carlos did give paul mescal her phone number and she replied with “I’m still waiting, i think paul’s taking his sweet time.”

it’s rumored that paul will attend the las vegas grand prix, do you think these two will meet? will we have a new couple making their paddock debut? let us know in the comments!

y/nstyle i better not see paul mescal fans attack y/n

formulaelle i’m going to start gatekeeping

mescalstyles you’re going to gatekeep a famous driver? A FAMOUS DRIVER? because she’s rumored to be in a relationship with an actor

formulaelle and i’ll do it again

francolapinto no

maxsupermax excuse me?

russellgeorg3 WHY IS HE HERE

y/nupdates um what??

ferraridepressionclub no to what? i need answers

francolapinto no

ferraridepressionclub ok king

load more comments

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and others

scuderiaferrari vegas brings out the stars!⭐️

f1elllyyyy one step closer to paul and y/n meeting omg

yourusername i love ireland 🇮🇪🍀🍻

carlossainz55 i heard ireland loves you too

charles_leclerc i want to go to ireland

leclercstype dude i don’t think they’re actually talking about the country

charles_leclerc i still want to go

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Las Vegas Grand Prix

The second Carlos introduced Paul and Y/n, he declared himself Cupid. The Irishman and the driver could not stop talking even though Y/n had media duties to attend to. Carlos excused himself once Y/n started talking about wanting to visit Ireland soon, with Paul offering to show her around.

“You see that? That’s all me.” Carlos told Charles as they walked back to the Ferrari garage.

“Well isn’t that nice of you,” Charles chuckled then looked back at the potential couple. “Do you think Y/n will let me join her if she goes to Ireland?”

“Mate, let it go for now. You’ll go there eventually.”

INSTAGRAM

liked by pascalispunk, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername ireland, you are beautiful

carlossainz55 ireland the country, right?

yourusername yes. . .

charles_leclerc take me next time?

yourusername ofc charlie ❤️

bigbreadpedlar another visit soon?

yourusername only if i get you as a tour guide

bigbreadpedlar i’ll see you soon then x

y/nstyle ARE WE SEEING THIS??

mescalupdates UMM WHATS GOING ONN

carlossainz55 something beautiful now shut up and appreciate what i have done for you

mescalupdates girl what

load more comments

#paul mescal #paul mescal x reader #f1 driver!reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #paul mescal imagine #paul mescal fanfic

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bigbaddie45 · 4 months ago

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Y’all ever read such a good fic with a nice plot just with so many spelling errors?!? Like TF you mean he was “grinong” in her ear or “taiek” her by the waist??

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multific · 3 months ago

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The Crown’s Weight

Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: Your marriage was for politics. But he couldn't ignore your presence, especially your kindness.

The Emperor's chambers were filled with ornate details that spoke of duty and power.

At first, that’s all your marriage to Lucius had been, a strategic arrangement, nothing more.

Yet, over time, the lines of duty began to blur.

Lucius carried the Empire with unwavering strength, much like how he won in the Gladiator games, but you began to notice something else underneath his facade.

At first, your moments together were brief, a quiet exchange during a meal or a passing glance. He barely looked at you.

Slowly, something deeper began to form. Something, you didn't notice at first.

One evening, you found him on the balcony, the moonlight glowing on his handsome face.

You hesitated before stepping closer.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

His head turned slightly, and he gave a small nod.

“Not tonight. The weight of the Empire doesn’t lift at night.”

“It’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”

His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

For the first time, you reached out and touched his arm, a simple gesture that seemed to break through the walls he built around him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words quiet but genuine.

From that moment, the nature of your relationship shifted.

Another time, you had found him alone in the library, the strain of his duties evident in his posture.

You placed a cup of tea beside him, and his fingers brushed yours.

"Thank you," he would say. No other words were exchanged that day.

Another time, you walked through the gardens together.

A simple walk, which he invited you on.

“Which flower do you like best?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer than usual but not unnatural.

“That one.” you pointed at the lilies. "I like their colour."

The next day, you found a vase with the same flower on your desk. He didn’t leave a note, but he didn’t need to, you it was Lucius who sent them.

These small moments developed into something deeper, even if neither of you had said the words.

But the Empire often found its way between you, sparking tension.

After one particularly heated argument about a decision for the provinces, you paced your chambers, your frustration palpable.

Lucius entered, his expression was wild.

“I’m trying to protect the future of this Empire!” he snapped but didn't yell.

“And I’m trying to protect you!” you shot back. “You can’t do this alone, Lucius. You don’t have to.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Then, his features softened, and he stepped closer.

“This marriage was supposed to be for the Empire,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But somewhere along the way, it became something more.”

“What do you mean?” Your heart raced as you processed his words.

“I mean,” he said, his hands gently cupping your face, “I love you. Not just as my Empress, but as the one person who truly knows me. The real me.”

“I love you too, Lucius. It is why I worry so much." you admitted and it felt so good to say those words aloud. Because you did love him.

He pulled you closer, his hand resting on your hip as the other held your face.

The kiss he gave you was tender yet full of emotion, a promise that you weren’t just a partner in duty but in love.

When he finally pulled away, he didn't move back and looked into your eyes.

“Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

“Together,” you echoed his words. "I have to ask you to share your worries with me. It is too much burden for you to carry. I understand you are... strong, but I'm your wife. I want to help."

"I will if you promise we will share sleeping chambers from now. We are no longer how we were when we met. I wish to sleep with my wife."

"I thought you would never ask." you smiled at this.

You always loved his strong he was. You used to watch him fight, his body was impressive. Little did you know that his mind was also like that.

But here he was now, an Emperor.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist:

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

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

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

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

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4ever-feral · 6 months ago

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Umm Yes, I’ll take both please & thank you 😩

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lazysoulwriter · 2 days ago

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steam & sunday mornings - paul mescal.

requested! hope you like it, hun! - requested are open.

You don’t even remember who suggested it first—him or you—but somehow, both of you are standing in the small bathroom of your flat, soft light spilling through the frosted window, fingers brushing as you wait for the water to warm up.

Paul’s still rubbing sleep from his eyes, hair wild in every direction, wearing nothing but the sleepy grin he saves just for you. “You sure?” he asks, though he’s already tugging his shirt over his head, voice thick with morning rasp.

You nod, tugging him closer by the waistband of his boxers. “Come on, Mescal. You promised me warm water and affection.”

He laughs—quiet and hoarse—tilting his head as he looks at you. “I did, didn’t I?”

The bathroom fills with steam by the time you're both in the tub, knees tangled, your back resting against his chest. It’s not even romantic in the beginning—he nearly slips trying to get in, and you splash him in the face when the water's too hot—but that’s what makes it yours. Easy. Real.

He wraps his arms around you, his hands resting just above your stomach, thumbs moving slowly against your skin. “This is the life,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck.

You hum in agreement, leaning into him fully. “Better than an Oscar.”

He chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “Debatable.”

The water sloshes gently as he shifts to reach for the shampoo, fingers threading through your hair. It’s careful, almost reverent. Like he’s scared you’ll slip right out of his arms if he’s not paying attention.

“I like taking care of you like this,” he says, voice soft, almost unsure.

You tilt your head back a little, enough to see his face. “You always do.”

Paul smiles then—eyes a little heavy, cheeks flushed from the heat, but so full of something warm and quiet. “Not always like this. Not when you're all sleepy and soft and letting me touch you like you're made of glass.”

You kiss the inside of his wrist in response, and he exhales like it knocks the breath out of him.

The water eventually goes lukewarm, but neither of you moves. Not until your fingers start wrinkling, and even then, he only groans and tucks his face into your shoulder.

“Five more minutes,” he pleads, voice muffled. “I’m never leaving this tub.”

“Fine,” you whisper, smiling against the steam. “But you’re cooking breakfast after.”

“Deal. But only if you stay like this—warm and half in love with me.”

You pause, turn slightly to meet his eyes. “I’m always like this.”

And that—that—gets you the kind of kiss that makes the water ripple, that makes the world outside the bathroom disappear completely.

#paul mescal #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal x you #paul mescal x y/n #paul mescal imagine #paul mescal imagines #paul mescal fanfic #paul mescal fanfics #paul mescal fic #paul mescal fics #paul mescal one shot #paul mescal fluff #paul mescal au #pm

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astrids-blog333 · 3 days ago

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Beneath the Silk - Chapter One

Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Chapter One Summary: A political marriage to Lucius is forged to secure the empire’s fragile peace. Though emotionally distant, Lucius is drawn to your quiet grace, while you struggle to navigate the undercurrents of power within the Roman court. But even the smallest kindnesses draw his gaze, leaving you both uncertain of where duty ends and attraction begins.

Warnings: angsty, slow burn, injury/blood (mild), anxiety and stress, manipulation, power imbalance, alcohol consumption.

A/N: This is a three-part fic I've been writing, and I'm hoping to get all three parts out in the next day or so, FYI Chapter Three will be 18+. It is set post Gladiator II, and there are slight deviations from the original plot (i.e he never married and is emperor). PLEASE PLEASE comment/like/reblog it really does help. I love the Gladiator movies so much, and I love him so much. Anyways, hope you enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

WC (Chapter One): 3.8k

chapter two - chapter three

The halls of the imperial palace stretch far before you. You’ve been in this palace many times, yet today it all feels different. Your feet feel heavy, and every step you take seems to echo off the marble floors, louder than the last.

A summons to the Emperor’s court, a marriage proposal from Lucius Verus himself, does not go unanswered. As the daughter of a senator with ambition for more power, more influence, you have a duty to follow his wishes.

This meeting is not just an opportunity; it is the beginning of a marriage that will secure your family's future, a political alliance forged in the name of power and stability.

Your family’s future.

The door ahead opens, revealing a room bathed in golden light, its shadows stretching far along the stone floors. From it, a servant steps forward, bowing low. “My Lady, the Emperor is expecting you.”

With a nod, you move forward, your nerves hidden behind a composed exterior as you step into the room.

You are struck by the sheer presence of the man before you.

An Emperor.

He sits tall, his posture regal, yet there’s an edge to him, something dark that seems to pull the very air towards him. His gaze lifts as you enter, his eyes sharp, cold, but also appraising. The moment your eyes meet, you feel an unsettling stillness settle over you, the kind of quiet that could erupt into a storm at any moment.

He says nothing at first, his gaze lingering on you, as if taking measure of your very soul. The corners of his lips curl into something that could almost be mistaken for a smile, but there’s a coldness to it that sends a shiver down your spine.

"My Lady," he finally speaks, his voice smooth. "I’ve heard much about you." You hold his gaze; this is a game of power, of politics, and you are determined to play it well.

“I’m honoured to meet you, Emperor,” you reply, your voice steady even though your heart is racing inside your chest. You’ve heard the rumours, but now, standing before him, you understand.

Lucius Verus Aurelius is not just a man.

"You are just as your father said," He continues. “A woman of duty.”

For a moment, his expression softens, a flicker of something more human crossing his features. But soon it's gone again, replaced by that same cold, calculating gaze.

“The court is full of men and women who are all too eager to present themselves,” Lucius adds, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “But it is rare to find someone who doesn’t seek the approval of others.”

Lucius looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing across his features. Then, without another word, he turns and gestures to the throne beside him. “We shall see how you fare in Rome, My Lady."

The days following your first meeting with Lucius have blurred into a single long string of formalities, discussions and countless meetings. The whispers around the court grow louder, as does the weight on your shoulders. This marriage, your marriage, which was once discussed in vague terms, is now an inevitability. Your father has spoken on your behalf, assuring the Emperor that you are prepared to fulfil your duties.

This marriage is not simply a union of you and Lucius; it is a bond that must strengthen the empire, settle the mounting tension between factions, and solidify his reign. The senators, the generals, and the noble families all have their eyes on this union, their agendas clear.

It is political. It is power. It is survival.

You stand by the window of your quarters, gazing out over the sprawling city below. The weight of this arranged marriage presses in against your chest, and the reality of what it means is finally sinking in.

You are not marrying Lucius for love. You will never marry for love. The two of you, bound by the will of those in power, are being forced into unity, and regardless of the greater good, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Lucius, you’ve learned, is a man who does not easily show emotion. In your brief interactions with him, you’ve seen the icy exterior he wears like armour.

The few words you’ve exchanged with him since your first meeting have been curt, formal. There has been no warmth, no kindness, no hint of empathy. He seems determined to keep things strictly business.

The door to your chambers creaks open, and your father steps in, his expression as unreadable as ever. His presence fills the room, and for a moment, you feel as though you are being suffocated by his expectations.

“They’ve confirmed the date,” your father says, his voice low. “The wedding will take place in two weeks. Everything is now in place, finally.”

Your throat tightens, but you hold your composure. “Two weeks? That is quite soon, is it not?”

He nods, his eyes calculating. “It’s necessary. The tensions between the eastern provinces have been growing. The marriage will solidify our alliance with the eastern legions and quell any dissent within the senate.”

You nod, but inside, a cold knot begins to form. You are a pawn in this game. Your father, the Emperor, the senator, all of them are using you as nothing but a tool.

As your father speaks of the preparations, you can’t help but wonder about the man you are to marry.

The thought lingers in your mind, but you push it away. There’s no room for feelings in this arrangement.

Only duty.

The door closes behind your father as he exits, leaving you alone once again. You stare out at the city as the last light of the day fades into the dark night.

You know that there is no turning back now.

The grand hall is filled with the soft murmur of conversation, the clink of shining golden goblets, and the rustle of expensive, fine silk. The air is heavy with the scent of roasted meats and perfumed wine.

This is the atmosphere of celebration, of happiness, but you feel anything but celebratory, or happy.

You stand near the edge of the room, your sharp gaze occasionally drifting to Lucius, who is surrounded by the usual assortment of nobles, advisors, and foreign diplomats seeking favour with their ruler. His posture is far too perfect, his expression unreadable, as it has been all evening. He is, as always, a flawless picture of regal composure.

But something about him tonight seems different.

Your marriage ceremony had been short, almost perfunctory, with little fanfare or flourish beyond the required vows and rituals. Now, as tradition dictates, you find yourself at the centre of a sea of well-wishers, all of whom are eager to congratulate you on your new role as Empress.

You watch Lucius from a distance. He stands in a circle of powerful men, but his gaze keeps drifting toward you. It’s subtle, a brief flicker of his eyes before he turns away again, agreeing with a senator or nodding to some advisor's boring anecdote.

You don't envy this part of his job, of his duty.

But the glances, those you catch. You catch the way his jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, how his fingers grip his goblet just a little too tightly. He’s noticing you, even if he’s trying to hide it from both you and himself.

You take a sip of your wine, your nerves beginning to settle as the alcohol warms your insides. You’re not sure if it’s the drink or the fact that everyone’s watching you that makes you feel so exposed. You can feel their eyes on you, their judgement lingering on you like a shadow.

You look to Lucius again, this time locking your eyes with his. This time, neither of you looks away.

You can’t put your finger on it, but you sense the conflict within him. The coldness he wears so effortlessly seems at odds with the tension in his gaze.

The music plays on, and slowly, the crowd around Lucius begins to thin. The revelry continues, but you remain rooted in place, watching him. But then he turns towards you again and starts through the crowd in your direction.

Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly, your palms feel clammy. The warmth of his presence envelops you, his scent intoxicating, a fine balance of rich leather, smoke, and something darker, more primal.

For a short moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches. The world around you fades into a dull hum as you lock eyes with him. The tension is so thick it’s almost suffocating you where you stand.

“I hope you’re enjoying the festivities,” Lucius finally says, his voice low and even, betraying nothing.

You can’t tell if it’s his disinterest or something else, but you know you’re being measured, evaluated. “I am,” you reply. “But I do find myself wondering what happens after all this. Once the celebration ends, once the court has gone, what is left for us?”

Lucius tilts his head to the side slightly, intrigue crossing his otherwise stoic features. “That remains to be seen, My Lady.” His words are polite, detached. “Marriage is a... business arrangement. Nothing more.”

The words sting, but you manage to keep your composure. It’s what you expected, what you have been prepared for your whole life. A loveless marriage with a man who wishes not to be with you, who wishes for nothing to do with you.

“Perhaps,” you say, taking a small step back, giving yourself some space to breathe, “but even some business arrangements can be... complicated.”

His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Complicated, yes of course.” His voice deepens. “But I don’t believe you are the complication I expected.” The words hit you like a stone to the chest, and you can feel the sudden weight of everything pressing down on you.

He doesn’t touch you, but the intensity of Lucius's stare almost feels like physical touch.

Before you can even think to reply, he steps back, his posture relaxing slightly as he adjusts the clasp of his cloak. His gaze lingers on you for one final moment.

As quickly as he appeared, Lucius turns away, his figure swallowed one again by the crowd.

You exhale, not realising you’d been holding your breath the entire time.

The palace is a maze, and you can feel the harsh looks follow you down the corridors. Today, you have the chance to walk through them, away from the crowd of courtiers and their insistent chattering.

The hall stretches before you, lined with columns that give the space a sense of grandeur, but the silence, which is only broken by your footsteps, is almost unsettling. You are alone in your thoughts, but there is no real solitude here, not when you can feel the eyes upon you at all times.

As you round the corner, you spot a young girl struggling, trying to steady herself while clutching at her side. It's such a subtle shirt in her stance you nearly miss it, but you can see the discomfort in the way she winces as she tries to carry on her task.

You slow as you watch her. It is a brief interaction, just a glimpse of vulnerability, but enough to catch your eye. You can’t possible ignore it.

Without thinking twice, you approach, stepping carefully so as not to startle her. “Are you all right?”

The girl, startled by the sound of your voice, looks up. Her face is flushed, and she quickly straightens, hiding her discomfort behind a forced smile.

“I’m fine, my lady,” she replies, her words quick, too quick. There is a slight tremor in her voice that betrays her. You study her for a moment, something isn’t right.

“I don’t believe you.” You keep your tone even so as to not scare her, but your eyes are sharp, persistent. “Let me see.”

She hesitates, glancing down at her hands, before finally lifting her sleeve. The sight of the deep gash in her arm catches you slightly off guard. It isn’t too serious, but it has clearly been left untreated to long as blood has begun to stain the fabric of her tunic.

“Why hasn’t someone seen to this?” you ask, lowering your voice.

The girl's eyes dart to the side, refusing to meet your gaze. “I didn’t want to trouble anyone, my lady,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Sit,” you instruct, your words firm but gentle as you gesture to a nearby chair. “I’ll have it cleaned.”

As you move to tend to her wound, you feel the air shift. The sudden silence is broken by footsteps approaching from the other end of the corridor.

You don’t need to look up to know who it is. Lucius’s presence, even without words, seems to fill the space.

Without a word, he appears in the doorway. His eyes briefly flick over the scene before locking onto you. His brow furrows as he observes you kneeling beside the girl, your attention wholly focused on her.

For a moment, there is no movement, just the quiet exchange between you two. Lucius takes a step forward. His voice, when it comes, is low.

“You would... help those beneath you?”

It isn’t an accusation. It is a question, a quiet observation wrapped in the careful tone of someone trying to understand something they don’t quite grasp. Perhaps he refuses to believe that you, a Lady of the Roman Empire, who was born into wealth and prosperity, would even think to help a lowly servant girl.

You don’t look up immediately, your attention still on the maid as you clean her wound. “Everyone has a place,” you say, not pausing in your task, “but kindness should have no rank.”

Lucius is silent for a moment. When you finally look up, you address him, "Would you not agree, Emperor?"

You catch the brief flicker of something in his eyes. It isn’t exactly surprise, but it isn’t disregarded either. For the first time since your marriage, you see a different side of him, something unexpected that seems to make him seem faintly protective.

He nods, his gaze softening for the briefest of moments before his expression shifts back into something guarded. “I’ll have someone fetch a healer,” he says, his tone returning to its usual clipped edge. “Stay here.”

You don’t have time to dwell on it, though, as the girl's soft voice interrupts your thoughts. “Thank you, my lady. I... I don’t deserve this.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face as you finish cleaning the wound. “You do. We all deserve kindness, even when the world sometimes forgets it.”

Lucius pauses for a moment in the doorway, watching, listening, before disappearing down the hall again to carry out his command.

The night has long since fallen, and the grand halls of the palace are quieter now, the hum of courtly chatter and the heavy clang of armor replaced by the soft rustling of distant servants and the occasional glimmer of torchlight reflecting off the polished marble. It is the kind of night that promises solitude, a rare gift in a world so full of eyes, all pointed towards you. You find yourself walking the halls alone once more, needing nothing more than the silence to clear your thoughts.

You had spent the better part of the day in meetings, your role at the heart of Rome’s politics growing clearer with each passing day. The weight of your new position, all of the alliances, the shifting balances of power, and the many expectations are all beginning to wear on your mind and body.

The only place you can find any peace is in the gardens. They have become your sanctuary, so you find yourself slipping away from the palace’s watchful eyes to find some reprieve among the trees. The night air is cooler here, and the stars overhead shine brightly.

The sound of footsteps draws you out of your thoughts. At first, you think it’s just another guard or servant going about their duties, but as the figure comes closer, you realise it is him.

Lucius.

His presence is a shadow before it becomes a figure, tall and commanding, moving with purpose even in the utter stillness of the night. He doesn’t say anything as he approaches you, his eyes scanning the garden briefly before settling on you. You’ve seen him in many situations, in the heat of power struggles, in the midst of grand gatherings, but in this, this stillness, this quiet, he is different. It is almost as if you can hear the thoughts churning beneath his calm exterior.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here,” you say, your voice softer than usual, unsure of how to read the situation.

Lucius says nothing for a long moment. He merely looks at you. His lips part slightly, as though he might speak, but then he chooses not to. Instead, he takes a step closer, and you notice, almost imperceptibly, that he is giving you space.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, the words escaping before you can hold them back. It isn’t an ordinary question; this isn’t about politics or alliances. It is more personal, an invitation into the silence he carries with him, the part of him he keeps locked away. You wonder whether one day he will share them with you, his wife.

His eyes flick to yours, and for a second, there is a hesitation, a hint of something that makes you wonder if he’ll answer truthfully.

“Nothing worth saying,” he finally replies, his voice cool. He is always in control, always aware of what he reveals, to whom and when.

But tonight, it seems, something about the air between you has changed. Perhaps it is the quiet, the absence of everyone else, or maybe it is the sheer weight of the responsibilities that both of you now carry. Some of these responsibilities you now carry together.

“I don’t believe you,” you say softly, your gaze not leaving his. It isn’t defiance, it’s just the truth. You’ve learned enough in your time here to know that Lucius is a man of many layers, many masks, and that some things can be seen even if he never speaks them aloud.

His jaw tightens, but there is no anger in his features, no sharp rebuke. Just the unshakable, steady gaze that has become his trademark.

The only sound is the gentle rustling of leaves in the night wind.

Finally, he breaks the silence, "I've seen you in the gardens before, what draws you to them so?"

You pause, thinking for a moment before answering. "The night reminds me of home." He looks at you, raising an eyebrow slightly, prompting you to continue.

"I have never lived anywhere but my childhood home, so coming here has been...difficult, to say the least." You pause, unsure of how to continue.

"I found that even though my whole life has been turned upside down, the night sky has not changed. The stars are in the same place they have always been, so when I look up to them, I can forget everything else, and I could just as easily be home again."

His eyes narrow, as if measuring your words. "You don't seem as disillusioned as most would be," he observes. "Most would be angrier, most would resent being used as a pawn in the empire’s games."

You tilt your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "And yet, here I am. No resentment, simply...remembering." You pause, glancing down at your hands, seeing they tremble slightly.

"Just doing what I must."

Lucius steps closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor drawing your attention. "And what if your duty requires something more than you expected?" His voice drops, a thread of vulnerability threading through his usual detached tone. "What if you’re asked to choose between what’s right for the empire and what’s right for you?"

The question hangs in the air like a challenge, but you meet his gaze without any hesitation. "Then I will choose both, Lucius. I will find a way."

He speaks again, softer this time.

"Earlier, when you helped the servant..." He pauses, his voice a little quieter, almost as if uncertain of his own curiosity. "Why did you do that? It was nothing more than a small injury, but you treated it as if it were life or death."

You bite your lip, the memory of the servant’s injury still fresh. It had been a simple cut, nothing that would have warranted a second glance from anyone else. Yet, something in you had insisted on helping. It had felt… right.

"You see, Lucius," you say, carefully choosing your words, "in a place like this, where everything is always about power and control, it's easy to forget the little things. The ones who are dismissed, the ones who are invisible. It's not much, but I can't help but think that if we forget them, we lose something essential to who we are as people."

He is quiet for a long time, his gaze never leaving you. There is something unreadable in his expression, something buried deep beneath the surface.

"You're different," he finally says, his voice low. "Most would never think twice about such a thing. They would walk past, their eyes trained on the bigger picture, and yet..." His gaze softens, though he quickly masks it with a brief glance away.

You swallow hard, "I just... I just want to do what’s right."

A fleeting silence passes between you two, heavy. The moment feels fragile, like something could shift at any moment, pulling you closer or pushing you apart.

Lucius steps closer again, the distance between you shrinking even further. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the power of his existence wrapping around you like a clock.

There is a stillness in the air, a charge that hums between the two of you, and then, almost unnoticeably, his hand brushes yours. It is so light, so momentary, that you almost think it is an accident. But the sensation of his skin against yours sends a jolt of something through you.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moves. His hand hovers just a fraction above yours, as if unsure whether to pull away or linger. His gaze flickers between your eyes and your hand, and you can see the battle within him, something he isn’t willing to show, but still cannot completely hide.

But then, just as quickly, he pulls away, his hand falling back to his side.

"I should go," Lucius says, his voice returning to its usual coolness. "There are matters to attend to."

You nod, though the tightness in your chest makes it difficult to breathe. "Of course."

As he turns to leave, you can't help but watch him, your thoughts swirling. For all the power he wielded, for all his control, you know there is something more to that man.

all parts of this series are out now, hope you enjoy 🫶

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intoanotherworld23 · 2 months ago

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A Royal Throne

Summary: There’s no throne more worthy to sit on than Lucius’s face

Warnings: explicit content, mature content, smut, oral sex female receiving, face sitting, face grinding, mention of virgin reader, inexperienced reader, horny Lucius

A/N: hi my loves I know it’s been a couple months since I’ve been on here I’ve just been going through some stuff but I am back. I hope you guys enjoy this one and I encourage all of you to reblog and comment I would like to hear what everyone thinks! Appreciate everyone who’s supported me and continues to support me! If you wish to be added to a tag list it’s fully open so please don’t hesitate to ask! Thanks everyone! XOXO

Hall of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Paul Mescal/Lucius: OPEN

“Come here my little dove.” Lucius waving you over to him as he sat on the bed his legs spread prompting you to step between them. This position felt so intimate and warm it was very foreign to you. “Don’t be shy with me now.”

Lifting your silk dress and placing your legs on either side of his hips to sit on his lap. To your surprise though, he lays back and wraps his arms under your thighs pulling you upward. "What are you doing?"

"I am starving." He responds back, guiding your body up towards his face. Panic ensues and your inexperience starts to show when you have no idea what he’s about to do, or if you were gonna be able to do what he wanted. Pushing your body up so you were using the stone wall to hold yourself up.

“How can you be starving when you’ve eaten enough to feed an entire army?” Confused when he starts kissing along your inner thighs his facial hair tickling against your skin. Lucius could already smell your arousal, and was even more eager to dive in.

“Do you trust me?” He questions sensing your hesitation and nervousness. Judging by the look on your face you’ve never done this, and to be honest he was excited to be your first.

The first time you and Lucius laid eyes on each other the two of you have become inseparable. Even though he was a simple gladiator, and you were of royalty. That still didn’t stop the two of you from sneaking off into the dead of night. Knowing the risk if you two were caught, but something told you Lucius would always protect you.

“Of course I do Lucius.” Staring down at his face trying to sound confident, but you know he could hear your shaky voice.

“Then just follow my lead.” His head now positioned directly above your cunt. Licking his lips as he stared so intensely between your legs you felt like you could pass out. It just now hitting you what he was wanting you to do.

Nodding with him really doubting yourself, and just hoping whatever you were about to do was going to bring him immense pleasure. Holding your dress around your waist so you could watch what he was about to do. His thick hands holding onto your hips, and guiding you to sit on his face. His tongue right up against your cunt. A heat rising to your cheeks being in such a vulnerable position.

“I don’t want to suffocate you.” Anxiety bubbling over trying to lift yourself back up, and all he could do was smirk up at you.

“Then I shall die a true gladiators death.” He says before slamming you back down on his face. A gasp slipping past your lips at the sudden movement.

His tongue working furiously inside of you thrusting and swirling in all the right places. Finding yourself shamelessly riding his face without even realizing it. Gasps and whimpers leaving your lips echoing around the room hoping none of the servants heard. Lucius’s thumbs soothingly rubbing your already sweaty skin.

“Sweet as honeyed wine.” Muffling more to himself than you, but his words still held a grip on you.

“Oh gods.” Crying out as you looked down watching as he hungrily lapped at your cunt like he was a starved wild animal. One hand keeping your dress up while the other attached to his head a tight grip on his hair. All he could do was groan which vibrated against your clit.

Your orgasm was quickly approaching, and your entire body felt like it was on fire. You’ve never ever felt anything like this before. Lucius looked up at your remarkable expression, and it had him hard as stone. He loved holding your pleasure in his grasp, and made him feel like he had unlimited power.

“I’m close.” Rotating your hips as he thrusted his tongue as deep as he could the bridge of his nose brushing against your puffy clit. It was overwhelming as it felt like the room was spinning, and the walls were closing around you.

“Let go I am right here.” He encouraged as he started to suck on your clit. Holding you down refusing to let you go, and he just keeps going. It was everything that you never knew you needed. Throwing your head back as a cry of pleasure left your lips, and your thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Listening as his tongue lapped up your juices, your legs shaking as he eased you through your orgasm. Using his chest to lift yourself off his face your legs feeling like noodles. Lucius adjusting his position so he was sitting upright his hands never leaving your hips as he made you sit back down on his lap. Watching in awe as he wiped his mouth his beard glistening under the blaze of the candles.

“My sweet little dove.” A hand reaching up to caress your cheek with a soft smile. Hands down by his hips as you mindlessly played with the fabric of his pants. “Now tell me, are you a virgin?”

#lucius verus smut #lucius verus imagines #lucius verus fanfiction #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #Paul mescal #Paul mescal smut #Paul mescal x reader #paul mescal blurb #paul mescal fanfiction #Paul mescal imagines #Lucius verus blurb #gladiator ii smut #gladiator ll #gladiator ii

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andy-15-07 · 3 months ago

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newly engaged couple actressxpaul do the puppy interview?

Puppies, Promises, and Pure Joy

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1177 | requests are open

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The Puppy Interview is one of the most beloved staples of celebrity culture. There’s something about seeing big-name stars cuddling with bundles of wiggly joy that makes even the most reserved fans swoon. So, when BuzzFeed announced that newly engaged couple Y/N, the rising star actress, and Paul Mescal, the award-winning Irish actor, would be participating in the segment, social media went into a frenzy.

The scene opens in a cozy studio, soft ambient lighting casting a golden hue over the carpeted floor. A large white playpen dominates the space, adorned with toys, blankets, and bowls of treats. Off-camera, faint yips and barks echo—the stars of the show are ready.

Y/N and Paul sit side by side on the floor, leaning against a fluffy couch. She’s dressed casually in an oversized sweater and jeans, her engagement ring catching the light as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Paul, in a simple t-shirt and joggers, radiates his usual easygoing charm, though he’s clearly excited. Both are grinning like kids on Christmas morning.

“Right, let’s get started,” Paul says with a laugh, clapping his hands together as the first batch of puppies is released.

A litter of golden retriever puppies bounds into the room, tails wagging furiously. The couple’s faces light up as the puppies swarm them, tumbling over each other in their excitement.

“Oh my God, look at them!” Y/N exclaims, scooping up a particularly tiny pup with floppy ears. “You are so small! How are you even real?”

Paul laughs as a more adventurous puppy climbs onto his lap, gnawing on the drawstring of his joggers. “This one’s already causing trouble. You’d fit right in at my family’s house,” he quips, scratching behind the puppy’s ears.

The interviewer, speaking from off-camera, begins with a warm greeting. “Welcome, Y/N and Paul! How does it feel to be surrounded by this much cuteness?”

“Overwhelming,” Y/N replies, her voice soft as she cuddles her puppy closer. “But in the best way. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Paul nods in agreement, holding up the puppy on his lap so they’re eye level. “I mean, look at this face. How could you not feel pure joy?”

The interviewer chuckles. “We’ve got some fan-submitted questions for you two. Let’s dive in. First up: What’s the best part about being engaged?”

Y/N and Paul exchange a quick glance, their connection palpable. Y/N speaks first. “I think for me, it’s just knowing that we’re building something together. Like, we’ve always been a team, but this feels like… the next chapter, you know?”

Paul nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, it’s like this little promise we’ve made to each other. It’s not about the ring or the labels; it’s about choosing each other every day. Also, she’s already started calling me her fiancé in random conversations, and it’s…” He pauses, grinning. “It’s the best thing ever.”

Y/N laughs, nudging him playfully. “Don’t make me cry. There are puppies here, Paul.”

The next question comes as Y/N tries to stop a particularly wriggly puppy from climbing onto her shoulder. “If you could describe each other in three words, what would they be?”

Paul leans back, pretending to think deeply. “Okay, for Y/N… I’d say passionate, hilarious, and… luminous.”

Y/N freezes, clearly touched. “Luminous? That’s such a good word.”

“It’s true,” Paul says earnestly. “You light up every room you walk into.”

“Stop it,” Y/N whispers, hiding her face behind the puppy in her arms. “Your turn.”

She takes a moment, her gaze soft as she looks at him. “Grounded, kind, and… soulful.”

Paul raises an eyebrow. “Soulful?”

“Yeah,” she says with a small shrug. “You feel things deeply, and it shows in everything you do—your acting, the way you treat people. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

For a moment, they’re lost in each other’s eyes, the puppies around them forgotten. The interviewer clears their throat, breaking the spell.

“All right, next question: What’s the weirdest thing you’ve learned about each other since living together?”

Y/N bursts out laughing. “Oh, I have so many answers to this.”

“Be nice,” Paul warns, though he’s grinning.

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding up a hand. “Paul has this… very specific way of making tea. He’ll boil the water, pour it into the mug, then immediately pour it out and boil fresh water again because he swears the first batch isn’t hot enough.”

Paul laughs, shaking his head. “It’s called precision, Y/N.”

“It’s called madness,” she teases. “But I love you for it.”

Paul grins, then retaliates. “Well, Y/N has this habit of talking to inanimate objects. Like, if she bumps into a chair, she’ll apologize to it. Or she’ll thank the fridge for keeping the milk cold.”

“That’s called being polite,” Y/N says, feigning indignation. “You should try it sometime.”

They’re interrupted by a tiny yelp as one of the puppies tumbles into Paul’s lap. He immediately picks it up, cradling it like a baby. “You okay, little one? You’re stealing the show here.”

The interview continues with more fan questions, ranging from their go-to karaoke songs (“Toxic” by Britney Spears for Y/N, and “Dreams” by The Cranberries for Paul) to their guilty pleasures (“Cheesy reality TV,” they both admit simultaneously, laughing).

As the session wraps up, the interviewer asks one final question. “If you could give one piece of advice to your younger selves, what would it be?”

Y/N’s expression turns thoughtful. “I’d tell her that it’s okay to take risks, even if they’re scary. And that the right people will love you for exactly who you are.”

Paul nods, his gaze steady. “I’d say something similar. I’d tell him to trust himself more and not to be afraid of failing. Every mistake leads you to where you’re meant to be.”

Just as they think the interview is over, the puppies—now more comfortable and mischievous—cause a delightful chaos. One puppy manages to steal Paul’s sock, prompting a playful chase around the playpen. Y/N, laughing uncontrollably, tries to wrangle two others that have decided her hair is the best chew toy.

“This is a disaster,” Paul says breathlessly, finally retrieving his sock.

“This is heaven,” Y/N counters, sitting cross-legged with two puppies curled up in her lap.

As the crew steps in to gather the puppies, the couple’s reluctance is palpable. “Can we adopt all of them?” Y/N asks, only half-joking.

Paul wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s start with one and see how we manage.”

The interviewer, sensing the perfect closing shot, asks, “Any final words for your fans watching?”

Y/N smiles warmly. “Thank you for all the love and support. And if you ever get the chance to be in a room full of puppies, do it. It’s life-changing.”

Paul adds, “And adopt, don’t shop. These little guys deserve all the love in the world.”

As the couple waves goodbye to the camera, their hands intertwined, the internet collectively swoons. The Puppy Interview has once again proven to be a heart-melting success, but this one might just be the most adorable yet.

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marrziy · 3 months ago

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"Queria que ele me engravidasse 3 vezes me abandonasse sozinho e se recusasse a pagar pensão pros nossos filhos pra eu ir na casa dele fazendo barraco quebrando tudo e ele me puxar pelo braço me levar pra um canto e me engravidar pela quarta vez"

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whosscruffylooking · 4 months ago

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Helloooooooo, I hope you are well, I was thinking if you could make a little imagine about Paul Mescal x actress wife, what his life would be like (Maybe with children😭)

Of course! Hopefully this is something similar to what you were looking for. If not, send another request! 💕

The morning sunlight poured through the large bay windows of your home, casting a golden glow across the hardwood floors and filling the room with warmth. You were seated at the kitchen counter, cradling a cup of coffee as you flipped through a script, your eyes scanning the words half-heartedly. Your focus was pulled every few seconds by the sound of tiny, quick footsteps pattering across the floor.

“Look, Mama!” your two-year-old son, Theo, exclaimed, holding up a stuffed lion triumphantly as he waddled toward you. His bright blue eyes—so much like Paul’s—sparkled with joy.

“You caught him, huh?” you said, setting the script down to lean forward, feigning amazement. “The king of the jungle doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

Theo beamed, his curls bouncing as he climbed into your lap with the stuffed lion. He pressed it into your chest, clearly ready to start another game. Before you could entertain him further, the sound of Paul’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Has anyone seen my coffee?” he called, his tone playful.

Theo immediately wriggled out of your arms and bolted toward the voice, his tiny legs moving as fast as they could. “Dada! I have lion!”

Paul appeared in the doorway, wearing a soft gray sweater and black joggers, his hair slightly tousled from the morning. His face lit up when Theo barreled into him, clutching the lion and giggling.

“Well, if the lion is here, then everything’s fine,” Paul said, scooping Theo up effortlessly. He glanced at you over Theo’s shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Good morning, my love. Have you seen my coffee?”

You raised an eyebrow and gestured to the half-empty cup sitting on the counter beside you.

Paul grinned sheepishly. “Right. Forgot about that.” He walked over, still holding Theo, and leaned down to kiss you. It was a quick kiss, soft but affectionate, the kind of casual intimacy that came so easily now after years together.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his gaze flickering to the script on the counter.

“Just trying to make sense of this new role,” you said, sighing as you slid the script toward him. “It’s good, but the character needs work. They’re a little one-dimensional.”

Paul placed Theo on the floor, ruffling his hair before picking up the script. “You’ll figure it out,” he said confidently, flipping through the pages. “You always do.”

You smiled at him, appreciating his quiet reassurance. Paul had this way of making you feel capable of anything, even when you doubted yourself.

Theo, meanwhile, had wandered off to his play corner, where a train set and blocks were scattered across the rug. You and Paul watched him for a moment, a shared sense of wonder filling the space.

“Sometimes I can’t believe he’s ours,” Paul said quietly, his voice laced with awe.

You glanced at him, your heart swelling at the sight of him watching Theo with such love in his eyes. “Me neither,” you admitted. “He’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”

Paul looked at you then, his expression soft but intense. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you laughed lightly. “You’re too smooth for this early in the morning.”

He shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’ve had practice.”

The premiere had been a whirlwind of flashing cameras, laughter, and the hum of excitement that came with the release of a highly anticipated film. You and Paul had walked the red carpet together, his hand resting protectively on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd of photographers and reporters. You’d both been dressed to perfection—him in a tailored black tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders, and you in an elegant, curve-hugging gown that made his eyes linger a little longer than usual.

Throughout the night, you couldn’t resist teasing him. It started with a subtle touch—a hand brushing over his thigh during an interview or leaning a little too close while whispering something playful in his ear.

“Do you have any idea how distracting you are?” he murmured at one point, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him with a mischievous smile, batting your lashes. “Distracting? I’m just enjoying the night.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t fooled.

By the time the premiere had ended and you’d finished mingling at the afterparty, the tension between you had built into something palpable. Paul’s hand never strayed far from you, his touches lingering just a bit longer, his gaze flickering to you every time you laughed or leaned in close to speak with someone else.

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet, the city lights casting soft shadows across his face. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and holding tight. You caught the way his jaw clenched slightly, his gaze fixed out the window as though trying to keep his composure.

The suite was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city lights filtering through the curtains. The weight of the evening still lingered, a blend of champagne, laughter, and the subtle tension that had been simmering between you and Paul all night.

Paul closed the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the tie at his neck as he turned to you. His eyes swept over you, taking in every detail—the way your gown shimmered in the dim light, the way your smile curved just so, a knowing look dancing in your expression.

“You’ve been enjoying yourself, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he stepped closer.

You arched a brow, tilting your head. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. “It means I’ve been counting down the minutes until we got back here,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple.

You smiled, your fingers resting against his chest as you looked up at him. “Well, here we are,” you said, your voice just as soft, just as playful.

Paul leaned down, his mouth grazing your ear as he spoke. “A night without a baby,” he began, his voice a mix of humor and something deeper. “Maybe we can make another one.”

You laughed lightly, the sound dissolving into a breathless hum as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands sliding to your lower back. “That’s quite the plan,” you whispered, your heart racing as his lips traveled down to your jawline, then back to meet yours.

His grin was mischievous, his eyes darkening with a mix of affection and desire. “Well, I’m nothing if not ambitious,” he teased, guiding you gently toward the bed.

When the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, he leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours, his breath warm and steady. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against your cheeks. His eyes searched yours for a moment, a flicker of something tender and unspoken passing between you before he closed the distance.

His lips met yours softly at first, the kiss slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second. You let your hands slide up his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The two of you desperately claw at each other’s clothing, tearing them off and discarding them without a thought.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as Paul tilted his head, his lips moving against yours in perfect rhythm. His hands slid down to your hips, tugging you flush against him as he leaned over you, the mattress dipping beneath your weight.

You sank back onto the bed, bringing him with you, his body warm and solid against yours.

The room was cloaked in the kind of quiet that felt sacred, the only sounds the soft rustling of sheets and the steady rhythm of your breaths mingling in the stillness. Paul’s hands moved over your skin with an unhurried tenderness, fingertips tracing patterns as if he were committing every curve, every detail, to memory. His touch sent warmth blooming beneath your skin, a quiet intensity in the way his hands lingered, his palms firm but gentle.

There was a certain rhythm to the night, an unspoken language in the way you moved together. His lips found yours again and again, soft and seeking, while the heat between you built steadily, growing in waves. The quiet gasps, the way his name slipped from your lips like a whispered prayer, filled the space between you, creating a melody that was yours alone.

Paul’s forehead rested against yours at times, his breath uneven as he murmured your name, each syllable carrying the weight of his devotion. The peaks you reached together were like fleeting moments of euphoria, your bodies and souls intertwined in a way that felt endless, infinite.

When the stillness returned, it wasn’t empty. It was full of something deeper—a profound sense of connection that only seemed to grow with every shared moment. His arms wrapped around you as the night stretched on, his lips brushing your temple in the quiet aftermath.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, his words a vow as his hands continued their soft, soothing paths along your back.

The room was yours, the night infinite, and the world outside didn’t exist. In Paul’s arms, with his breath steadying against your skin, you felt completely and utterly whole.

#paul mescal x y/n #paul mescal fic #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal imagine #paul mescal x you

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