#( interactions : marcus f. )

[pinky-in-blankets]

remember that one time i did a heart haerm wizard of oz au?

yeah me either.

[bananayuyu]

Tell Me No {2}

Pairing: professor!Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut, dark academia vibes

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your relationship with Professor Jeong is blooming, but finals are coming and have you stressed beyond belief. Will you be able to survive them, when all you want to do is spend time with your gorgeous professor?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, praise

A/n: I've got part 3 planned out already, lmk if you wanna be tagged!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Read it on ao3

"How's my favorite student doing?"

Professor Jeong's whisper is so soft you can barely hear it, his face not lifting from the stack of papers on his desk. The classroom is quiet, but not silent, and the blanket of soft chatter is hiding your interaction just enough that you decide to respond.

"Fine, I guess," you whisper back, his head raising in concern. His face is serious as he looks deep into your eyes, trying to read why you've just said that.

"After class," is all he says in return, and you know from the nervous shifting of his eyes that it's time to walk away, time to slink back to your desk.

You were nervous, terribly, horribly nervous for finals, that was why your head was spinning and you were barely getting sleep. It was make or break time, the last two weeks of the semester when every bit of work you'd put in would either pay off, or disintegrate in your hands.

You wished you found school easy, but you just never did. As much as you loved to write you found the structure of classes and exams hard to cope with, even though you knew how important it was for your future career.

If you were ever going to make it as a writer, you'd need connections and letters of recommendation and people on your side. You'd never tasted an ounce of support from your family, when it came to these dreams. Being here had helped you understand how important these University relationships were, that your professors or peers might be people many years down the line who helped you succeed. You'd received more positive feedback in the last few weeks that ever in your life; even your annoying classmate liked your work enough to tell you.

"That last story prof read was yours, wasn't it?" Marcus asks as class ends, the room filled with warmth from the wood stove in the corner, winter now upon you.

"How could you tell?" you ask, rolling your eyes as you turn back to face him.

"You always include a cat in your stories, no matter how irrelevant, it's pretty fucking obvious."

"Okay, sorry for doing that, I guess," you sigh, eyes hitting the ceiling again.

"I'm not tryna be an asshole, seriously, it was good. And prof obviously loved it too, he was smiling the whole time he read."

A jolt of happiness shoots through you at the mention of Professor Jeong's admiration, and it takes every bit of your will to avoid smiling.

"Well, thanks then," you respond, shooting Marcus a quick, tight smile.

"Wow, see, the ice is breaking, you aren't being such a bitch to me anymore," he laughs, grabbing his bag and zipping it closed. "You finally warming up to me?"

"No, absolutely fucking not," you grimace, staring back at his waggling eyebrows.

"Forget I said that, then," he laughs, standing and walking out of the room, your eyes snaking over the empty desks around and the small line of students at the front of the room, asking for extensions or extra credit work to make up their grades before the end of the semester.

"I asked you to rewrite this paper three weeks ago," you hear Professor Jeong telling the boy in front of him, filing the short stories from the day into his bag.

"I know sir, I'm very sorry, I was just too busy with my other classes-"

"I know this is upsetting to hear, but I can't give you more of an extension than I already have. This is a small school, we do not operate with the goal of passing as many students as we can. Other students in this very class have made up work I've requested, within the time I requested it. It simply wouldn't be fair to them to let you get away with this." His eyes raise to meet yours for a moment, before moving down to the boy again. "Listen, you got good grades on your first two papers, and if you do well on the final, you will pass. Just focus on the final, and you will be fine."

The boy shuffles off in frustration, and several students behind follow him too, not bothering to try to convince your professor of giving them second chances. Was it too harsh? You couldn't tell how you felt about it, because a part of you felt so flattered by what he'd said. You were the student who redid work on time, and had worked your ass off since to maintain high grades in all your classes. If you'd neglected work like your classmate had, you'd understand your professor not giving you another chance. You didn't know what the boy's life was like, whether there were legitimate reasons for his inability to rewrite the paper; so much panic, so much worry over a person you didn't know was a clear indication of just how stressed you were.

You could care all day about the plight of everyone around you. But until you secured your independence and stability, you really needed to focus on yourself.

You waited patiently for the last student to exit the room, before gathering your things. You and your handsome professor had tried to not be obvious, to not spend time lingering around each other when other students or faculty were present. But there was something about always being the last to leave class that you liked; even on days when you didn't follow him home, you still got to have at least one private conversation, and even if he hadn't touched you, the few moments alone would leave you tingling with warmth all over.

He hadn't let things escalate any further, in the weeks since. You still made out when you visited his house, still felt his hardness through the thick cotton of his pants, let him touch you and tease you and drive you completely insane. But never had he seemed to want to push it further, and though you should have been laser focused on school, you couldn't help thinking about it. Did he not want you like you wanted him? Was he caught in feeling wrong for liking you the way he did?

Together you exit the building in complete silence, the air still but frigid. You had worn your favorite black leg warmers today, paired with your thickest tights, a white thermal turtle neck, and your warmest navy blue sweater. You even had long socks on, the white contrasting against your dark blue Mary Janes, but you still shivered as you stepped outside. You should have brought your winter coat today, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Usually on clear days like today, the sun warmed the winter air by early afternoon, enough that you wouldn't need so many layers.

You walk fast to help warm yourself, moving through the routine you knew well by now. You wait by the platform as Professor Jeong buys your tickets, and he slips one carefully in your hand as he walks past, only glancing at you a moment before moving to stand ten feet away. Your body aches to follow him and be next to him always, but you know as well as he does that you really shouldn't get caught. As sweet and wholesome as this whole thing felt to you, it wasn't something other people needed to know about. You were sure most wouldn't understand, and those who did might only tease you about it endlessly.

It takes several minutes for the train to arrive, running late due to the freezing weather. Though it'd barely snowed in the morning, enough water froze over on parts of the track to require some last minute maintenance. You both rush to the door with every other waiting passenger, pushing your way close to the front to not miss out on a seat. On days like today no one was walking home, and the trains got uncomfortably full.

You push in behind him, handing your ticket off quickly, and stumble into the seat to his right, pretending like you'd accidentally ended up there and were just thankful to be sitting. People crowd the isle, a pair of legs mere inches from your own. You were thankful they belonged to a girl, one who leaned down and whispered 'sorry!' when a bump in the track knocked her sideways and into you slightly. Most of the students lived just one stop down, and in a few minutes the car is much less chaotic; you finally chance a glance in his direction, taking in his profile, the soft plane of his cheeks and perfect curve of his nose.

His head turns, and suddenly you snap your head away, feeling almost shy. He widens his thighs, leaning forward and sitting more comfortably, but the movement has caused your legs to touch and your whole body burns at the feeling, the opposite of relaxing. You want to mount him, climb into his lap and kiss and ride him until all your problems are forgotten. But you're in public, still several students and other professors littered through the train car, and you have to keep your composure.

Finally, you arrive at his stop. Forthsmith station is as barren as it always is, and as soon as the train is gone his hand is on your back, the two of you making quick work of the small walk to his house. Even he feels cold in his thick wool suit, the late November weather not usually this cold, the two of you clinging to each other for any warmth you can find.

As soon as you're greeted with the warmth of his cozy home, you sigh in relief. He lights the fire under his mantle, and as the wood starts crackling you walk to him, wrapping your arms around his back and squeezing hard. He chuckles, tugging on your arms to release, before turning around and pulling you in, sighing at the perfect feeling of your head tucked in his chest and arms around his back. In a moment you're raising your head to kiss him, and it's warm and sweet and so gentle, making your frigid body melt into him. You hold onto his neck, pulling him in. It's so easy to get lost in each other the moment you're alone, when you have to pretend in all other contexts to barely even notice each other. Soon your kiss is paired with heavy breaths and tongues, and the heat between your thighs is growing fast, your body begging you to find something to grind against.

You pull him to the edge of the couch and push him down on it, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. His cock is obviously hard, and immediately you're grinding against it and kissing him, his hands coming up to grip onto your ass and guide your movements. You've barely spoken a word to each other, because this is all you really wanted to do; to be back in each other's arms after so many days apart, your schedules not allowing for a moment like this in too long.

"How's my pretty girl feeling?" he asks, breaking the kiss and pulling his hands to the sides of your face.

"I'm fine," you whine, frustrated he's not matching your movements anymore. "I'm horny," you whisper.

"I know, angel, I can tell, but you looked upset earlier, I want to know if you're feeling alright."

"I just want you to touch me so I can forget about it all," you sigh, pouting at him.

"That's not how adults deal with their problems, angel," he responds. You roll your eyes, but finally give up your humping, slumping into his chest again. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just very stressed for finals," you say.

"Which final are you most stressed about?" he asks, running a hand down your back.

"Yours," you say, snuggling into him more.

"Mine? Why mine?"

"Cause it's two parts, two separate days, that's really intimidating."

He sighs, taking in a deep breath. "I'm not going to lie to you and say it's easy, but I know you can do it." You just grumble beneath him, not responding with anything coherent. "What always helps me when I'm nervous about something is to do a trial run. I did that with my thesis defense, I performed it to my roommates probably three times in the week leading up to it. It helped a lot."

You nod your head against him, wondering just how hard the rest of your academic career would be, if you'd ever be able to get to the point of defending a doctorate thesis.

"I know what we should do. I will have you do a mock exam tonight, I'll time you and everything, and then you'll get to see that it really isn't so bad."

"What?" you asked, head shooting up. "I don't want to do that, I'm tired..." you whine, looking pathetically frustrated.

"I'll reward you after, how does that sound?" he asks, squeezing your thigh in his hand.

"But the exam is like four hours total," you sigh, pouting.

"We'll just do one section tonight, you get to choose. Which one are you most nervous about?" he asks.

"The- the short story," you stutter. "I think the essay portion will be fine, I've written so many five-paragraph essays in my life. Writing a whole short story by hand in two hours sounds awful though."

"Awful? Like I'm trying to torture you?" he mocks, smirking.

"Shut up," you grumble, turning your head away and making him laugh.

"Okay, short story it is. I'll get you some paper and a pencil and we'll do it in my office, so it feels more like you're at school," he says. "And I promise the reward will be worth it darling, I promise to make you feel so good." His voice is low and sensual as the sentence leaves his lips, and your body shudders with need, your chest flushing. He gives you a quick chaste kiss on the cheek before standing you up, moving to his office to set out the materials you'd need, and pulling out his desk chair for you. In minutes you're sitting at his desk and he's starting his timer, leaving the room to start preparing dinner while you panic internally about what the hell to write about.

It was so hard to come up with something on the spot, no prompt to help you. But like always, the feelings you were having translated right onto the page, and before you knew it a creepy and mysterious story was pouring out of you, atmospheric and unnerving, matching the anxiety you were still feeling about the next two weeks of your life. An hour in he'd brought you a cup of soup, and gingerly you sipped at it without spilling on your pages, careful to dip your roll in the broth and avoid sending crumbs flying in all directions.

"You done?" he asks when he enters again, the timer on his phone beeping. You'd made it the two hours, time flying remarkably fast. Your hand was starting to cramp, but you felt proud of yourself. You'd actually managed to do it, and he was right; you were no longer so fearful of his coming exam.

You nodded at him with a genuine smile, turning your papers around to show him your completed work.

"See, I knew you could do it," he says, leaning down across his desk to place a kiss on your cheek. "Now read it for me, from start to finish."

"Oh, sir, I- I don't know-" You cut yourself off with a sigh, looking away from him.

"I want to hear it," he says, voice low and buttery in that way you love, your insides rolling.

"But it's not very good," you pout, looking back to him.

"I'm sure that's not true," he says, sitting himself on the edge of his desk and crossing his legs. "Come on, read it."

"Okay," you say shakily, letting out a trapped breath.

"'You know what you must do, child,' my mother says. She's staring down the letter I've received, the letter from Lucifer himself, calling upon me. Red ink stains the page, the characters boxy and sharp. 'Come now, or he dies.' And I know exactly who he's referring to. Dahlia is slinking around the side of the room, his rose gold fur shining in the moonlight. My mother tries to resist him, but she's never been able. Who would have ever guessed that a demon lived inside this beautiful cat, cursed for a thousand years to be stuck in this strange form, never knowing who or what will come along next in his life?"

It starts flowing out of you the moment you get over the hurdle of simply starting, and then Professor Jeong's eyes are fixed on you and sparkling with awe, spurring you on further, making your heart sing.

"It was a long trek to the station. The Midnight Train stopped only once in our town, across the river from my family's old stone cottage. As I crossed the bridge the water twinkled, a soft breeze blowing through the tall grass in the valley. It was peaceful and quiet, soft moonlight illuminating the path ahead. Not a soul was out, just the haze of smoke from chimneys. I breathed hard as I neared the station. My body was not up to this sort of journey, but I'd known from the moment I started my letter that I'd be coming here. There was no where else for girls like me to go."

It was easy to speak, easy to feel proud of your work when he looked so pleased. You read through the horrors of the Midnight Train, tried your best to make your voice spooky and haunted, but all it did was make a chuckle escape from deep within him, his beautiful high cheekbones on display. You take in a sharp breath to calm your own laughter, steadying yourself for the last page of your story.

"Through the back door of the dining car, a final room appears to me, and from the shadowy darkness a skeleton comes, creaking in its movements. 'Ms. Delphine, a pleasure,' he says as he bows, his middle ribs clicking together. 'I always appreciate a visit from one of the chosen protectors.' I stare down at my precious companion in my arms, his face soft and tranquil, as if he hadn't noticed the horrors around us. 'It is a true curse, and a true calling,' I nodded, staring into his empty eye sockets. It was clear I had much to learn. The damned see life differently. Of course they do, I thought. How could I have been so short sighted to think otherwise?

The skeleton moves aside, holding a hand out towards the back of the room. With careful steps I glide forward, finally making out the shape of a door. When I open it, the sky is bright and birds are singing, flowers dotting a lush field. In the distance I spot the Unchosen Castle. It is strikingly shiny and bright. I hold a hand up to shade my eyes. 'We'll be seeing you,' the skeleton says. I turn back to him, the room brighter now. Rotting flesh is hanging off his left knee cap. A bullet hole is obvious in the side of his skull.

But as strange as it is, I don't feel panic. When I look down, Dahlia is asleep in my arms. I was called upon, but expected to leave. My old life out of reach, my new life a set of honors. But I had no desire to step out into that field. I close the door instead and breathe in the muskiness. The darkness greets me. For the first time in my life, I feel completely at home."

"Wonderful, just wonderful," Professor Jeong says, shaking his head and clasping his hands together. "Promise me you will write horror books when you're older."

"I want to," you smile, blinking as you look up at him.

"It's a wonderful style, almost a cozy horror, if that makes sense."

You turn your eyes down, overcome with the way he's so perfectly described what you were going for. To know it had translated off the page sent your head spinning. Could you really do this, become a successful author? It was him above anyone else, who was making you believe in that future.

"Come on, let's go back to the living room," he says as he grabs your empty bowl, pushing in his desk chair once you stand out of it.

As soon as you're back in the coziness of the fire-lit room, your hands are on him and his are on you, grabbing for every bit of each other.

"My little genius," he sighs, kissing you soft and tenderly, arms wrapping tightly around you. "You did so good for me, doing exactly what I asked. And you wrote so well."

"I wanna be good for you, that's all I want to do," you sigh, opening your mouth further, relishing in feeling his tongue against yours, the soft warmth tantalizing and true.

"Let me taste you then," he says, and you suddenly can't breathe, jitters snaking their way up through your legs and landing straight in your core. "That sound good?" he chuckles, your shocked face so utterly adorable, and you murmur a soft 'mhm' before kissing him again.

He lets you deepen it, pulling your faces together and relishing in the taste of each other's mouths. Your body is tight against him, on your tiptoes to reach as high as you can, but still he is bent over slightly to meet you, holding onto your low back as you arch into his touch. Your hips press against his, and you can feel how hard he is already; you swear he's yearning to fuck you as much as you're yearning for it too, but he's taking his time, waiting patiently, and something about that is making your brain melt even more.

You'd never been treated so respectfully in your life. It was such a confusing feeling, because you knew he shouldn't be wanting you like this at all. But if anyone was a fly on the wall and could see how he acted, you were sure no one would think negatively of him at all.

Slowly he breaks the kiss, planting a final peck on your nose before leaning down and undoing the strap on each of your shoes, helping you carefully step out of them. Then he pulls off your leg warmers, setting them in a pile beside your shoes. The anticipation of what's coming off next sends shivers through you, and when he looks up he catches sight of the lust in your eyes, his eyes shiny in the yellow light. He takes his time with your tights, pulling gently at the waist to move them over your hips, and his hands feel electric against your bare ass, making your mouth water. As he pulls them down your thighs he relishes the moment, planting soft kisses in your plushness and moving closer and closer to the small nest at your center, making you squirm.

"You smell amazing, angel," he says, his pupils blown at he looks up at you, his eyes darker now than you'd ever seen them. He looks good like this, his cheeks slightly flushed, hair faintly disheveled. You wonder what he'd look like after a good ravishing, how perfect he'd be with swollen lips and completely messy hair. You reach down to mess it up further, the dark black locks soft and lusciously thick in your hand. Soon he's pulled your tights completely down, and you hold onto his shoulders to balance as you step each foot out in quick succession.

"Come here," he says, leading you to the couch and sitting you down as he'd been earlier. When he leans in you grab onto his suit jacket again, pulling him closer and deeper, loving the feeling of the soft, thick wool in your hands. Since winter started he'd been wearing gorgeous suits every day, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't so incredibly distracting during class.

"You like my suit?" he asks, chuckling as he makes his way to your neck and places gentle kisses from your jaw to your shoulder, making you shudder in pleasure.

"Yes," you sigh in response, tipping your head back.

"Does it turn you on?" he jokes further.

"Yeah, it does," you chuckle, lifting your head back up to nip at his ear in retaliation. He just laughs and pulls back, before diving into your plush lips again and devouring you. He's been thinking about this for days, and it's making his head fuzzy that you're half naked in front of him, spread wide on his couch.

Finally he moves down to your thighs, leaving gentle nips and licking along the length of them, making you wetter as your cunt tingles in need. It's agonizing waiting for him to get there, but when he does, when he licks a slow stripe up the entire length of your slit and moans at the taste, it's more than worth it. Your back is already arching, knees pushing themselves even wider so he has all the room he needs. He does it again, before focusing his attention on your clit, licking slow half circles around it, the warmth of his tongue too perfect to comprehend.

He spends his time working you up, holding onto your thighs and whispering praises, 'god you taste so fucking good,' or 'good girl, open up for me.' Your cunt is flushed and pink and wet for him, and finally he brings his right hand to meet his mouth, slipping to finger slowly into you and making you almost scream.

The deepness of the feeling is instantly delicious. You reach your hands out to grip onto his hair, groaning in pleasure as he starts sucking harder, pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, but with force. He's curling them up in that perfect way, hitting the exact spot that drives you crazy, and the pleasure builds fast, your cunt feeling fiery-hot and utterly amazing. It's taking your breath away, how smooth he is, how each movement seems perfectly controlled and perfectly tailored to you. He looks up once, catching your eye, and you almost fall over the edge in an instant from the sight of him between your legs, his pink cheeks stained with your wetness. You throw your head back, moaning loudly, and he picks up his speed slightly, feeling the walls of cunt starting to shake, knowing what's about to come.

Suddenly your pleasure is growing higher than you expect, but even as it reaches amazing heights, it keeps building, keeps growing. You're almost screaming at the feeling, so intense you're unable to comprehend it at all, and then suddenly you feel it, your legs shaking, your cunt squeezing down on him, and the extreme wetness spilling out of you. You look down to see his face covered in your squirt, a look of pure satisfaction on his face as he milks you through all of it, your high-pitched moans the most beautiful melody. Your orgasm lasts longer than any you've ever had, and by the end you're dumbfounded, slumping back into his couch and breathing uncontrollably, blinking in your confusion.

"That was so hot, fuck," he groans when he finally pulls away from you, moving back up to wipe a hand over your cheek and take a look at your eyes. "You feeling okay?"

"Yes, I definitely am," you chuckle, a small tear escaping from your right eye, and you wipe it away quickly. "That was fucking crazy."

"Have you ever squirted before?" he asks.

"No, I didn't know I could," you answer, smiling shyly.

"Fuck," he sighs, ego doing somersaults at knowing he was the one to help you discover that ability. He chuckles before sitting himself down next to you, wrapping you up in his arms and cradling you, planting soft kisses on your forehead as you come down.

Twenty minutes later you're a yawning mess, your body completely wracked from how hard you came. It was also growing late, the street outside dark and gloomy, the fire crackling in the corner was giving you much needed warmth that was only adding to your sleepiness.

"I don't think I can make it home," you tell him, looking up with upward turned eyebrows, hoping he'll let you stay.

"No staying here until finals are done," he says, shaking his head, and you pout and shove your head in his chest, frustrated. "I want you to stay here with me too, darling, but I can't be the reason you don't make it to your classes tomorrow."

You sigh in knowing he's right, that it's probably not a good idea to stay when you have such important days ahead. It takes all your remaining energy to stand up, redressing in the warmth of his living room, and sliding on your shoes. He brings your bag for you, carrying it as he walks you back to the station, before sending you off with a quick kiss on the cheek.

The train is nearly empty so late, and the air feels colder when you step off, without him by your side. But all you can think about is his mouth and fingers and tongue, and that night you sleep like a baby, completely and totally content.

next part ->

Taglist: @iamalily @atzri @marii1087 @dilfkimhjj @yunyuniverse

Thank you all for the feedback and support <3333333333

[romancherry]

caged in silk (3) — picnic date

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ a nice picnic during a perfect sunny day is turned into something unexpected when javier starts to seduce you. and when he is done, it's joel's job to clean it up.

warnings ➝ explicit smut, soft!dark content, fingering, oral (f!receiving), pussy eating, squirting, overstimulation, heavy praise kink, breast play, nipple play, pet names (especially good girl), guiding and talking reader through orgasms, kissing and making out, all of this happens out in the open in their backyard so it's immoral public behaviour, dirty talk, swearing, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 4.900

author's note ➝ hello everyone i'm back with another update on this story! never thought i'd make it lol. i've been busy with college and my inspiration dimmed but i finally gathered the time necessary to write another chapter. it's a bit on the longer and more descriptive side. i tried my best to incorporate every detail i had imagined and i hope i didn't confuse you. if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or repost! my heart fills with love every time i read your supportive reactions 🩷

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

it had been a week since your failed escape attempt. a week since you had fought tooth and nail, trying to slip away from them, only to be caught and dragged right back where you belonged. 

you had been defiant, full of fire, spewing curses at them and threatening to make their lives hell. but now? now, you peacefully sat between them in the backyard. 

a picnic. their attempt at smoothing things over, at making you comfortable. 

the checkered blanket beneath you was soft, and the spread they had laid out was impressive: lemonade, fresh fruit, cheese and pastries, along with some beer bottles for them to enjoy. 

it was domestic, almost normal. if someone looked from the outside, they’d think this was just a group sharing a lazy afternoon together.

but you knew the truth. 

javier sat on your left with a protective hand resting on your thigh, thumb lazily tracing circles over your bare skin. marcus was across from you, sitting comfortably on a folding chair, reading a newspaper through his sunglasses with a beer in his hand. and joel was just a few feet nearby, tending to a couple of pork ribs on the grill.

it was almost laughable how much they tried to make you feel content here. it’s absurd how they went back to playing house after filling your mind with honeyed threats. don’t try to run again, sweetheart. it won’t end well for you. your place is with us. you belong here, you just don’t see it yet. 

“you’re awfully quiet, sweetheart,” joel said, turning his head towards where you and javier laid on the blanket, studying you.

you stabbed your fork into a piece of fruit, shoving it into your mouth before responding. “what am i supposed to say?” 

“attitude,” marcus warned.

“looks like someone’s feisty today,” javier teased, and you could peak with the corner of your eye just how smug and amused his smirk was displayed on his stupid face.

“why don’t you try an’ relax, hm? it’s a beautiful day, baby. sunshine ‘n all,” joel suggested. and he wasn’t wrong. today’s weather is indeed the only reason to smile. the grass is greener, butterflies are in the air, the sunrays are glowing upon you, making your eyes hurt a little. the colours are vibrant and the ocasional breeze makes it a little easier to breathe through the smell of barbecue and smoke.

too bad the company’s ruining everything. this would’ve normally been the perfect day for you if you hadn’t been in the presence of your captors who changed the course of your life drastically and expected you to fall in line quickly. bend and mold to their every decision and routine while learning to not cross their boundaries.

“what’s in that pretty little head of yours, darling?” javier interrupted your train of thought, his hand smoothing over the plump flesh of your thigh, a bit too uncomfortable for your liking. “i don’t like seeing that frown on your beautiful face,” he added, his words almost genuine. with his hand still warming your thigh, his other hand came up to brush a stray hair off your face and lock it behind your ear, revealing more of your cheek to him.

“eres tan hermosa, mi amor,” he whispered sweetly, and you just realized how close he got to you.

you slightly and carefully turn your head in his direction, and your nose almost brushes his. his gaze immediatelly follows your mouth and studies your anxious breathing. the way your throat barely constricts when you swallow. how you try to make yourself seem unaffected by his presence; not only the warmth and confidence he emanates, but how he’s so open with his desire and admiration for you just by the expression of his eyes alone.

his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, and before you can shy away from the overwhelming eye contact, he gently cups your cheek and brings your lips to his.

your shock comes to life through a light squeak, a sensible moan, and javier proudly swallows it whole. he doesn’t wait for you to give him permission. the moment his tongue breaks the barrier of your lips and meets your own, his chest fills with lust.

he kisses you like he’ll never get another chance; greedy, passionate, posessive. he makes love to your mouth, worships your tongue and ocasionally moans shamelessly at how warm and familiar you feel, like you’ve done this a thousand times before. he laps at every inch you didn’t willingly give; teeth crashing, lips burning, noses touching – and before you can stop yourself, your hand unconciously grabs his shirt, and his body moves itself by instinct, scooting impossibly closer to yours, searching for more. demanding more.

he forces himself to break the kiss, and he does it so annoyingly slow. his teeth drag your bottom lip with him as if daring you to seek his touch further. his lips completely depart from yours and create distance between you.

his eyes run over your every feature, taking in your shaken state. you’re obviously dizzy and flustered, your glossy eyes and slightly red cheeks giving you away to his predatory gaze.

“seems like someone’s having fun,” marcus breaks the silence, the deep, intimidating tone in his voice snapping you out of the trance javier put you in.

you can see in the corner of your eye that joel’s attention shifted as well, from the preparation of the meal on the grill to the heated situation between you and his younger brother.

you search for a glimpse of jealousy and posessiveness in his gaze, but you don’t find any. he looks… interested. amused. curious to see if you will let your guard down again.

his eyes roam over your body and analyze the slight tremble in your naked thighs. you silently curse them for the creativity they put into choosing the delicate sundress for you today. yellow, thin… questionably short.

you realize the choice for your attire is no sudden coincidence. they planned on making you give in. how much, you didn’t know. it was up to them to decide on how many bricks they were going to knock out of your walls. their games of seduction were limitless, and if you weren’t careful… if you let them have their way with you – you know they’ll absolutely ruin you. and you didn’t want that. didn’t want them to have that power on you.

you snap out of deep thought and carefully shimmy away from javier’s body. but he’ll have none of that.

“where are you going, princesa?” javier asks, placing his hand on your thigh. he doesn’t need to apply any pressure to let you know you can’t go anywhere further.

“nowhere,” you fake confusion in your voice, trying to hide your true intention. trying to hide the fact that you indeed wanted to get away from his overwhelming attention.

of course your lies couldn’t get past him. he’s a former agent, for fuck’s sake. if you’re searching for a master manipulator in this house, first person you think of is javier peña. you play his games; he doesn’t play yours.

“now, now, hermosa… you gave me a taste, you know you can’t leave me like this,” he taunts, his intentions clear.

“what would you want me to do?” you question, your irritated tone making it clear you won’t break easily. that you’re not his puppet, his personal hooker that he payed for in order to forget about his problems.

“attitude, sweetheart. watch your tone,” marcus warns. of course he had to lecture you.

“it’s alright, brother,” javier excuses you. he is being suspiciously sweet. “i don’t think our sweetheart meant any harm. did you, baby?” his question is a test. a subtle dare – act impulsively on your frustration and feel the consequences. play his game, by his rules – and maybe you’ll have a shot. maybe you’ll rise in his eyes; make him proud. make yourself worth accounting for next time marcus wants to teach you a lesson.

“no. i meant no disrespect,” you comply. and you don’t miss the growing smile on javier’s face.

“good girl. very good girl,” he appreciates, running his hand through your flowing hair as gentle as possible. a gesture of kindness. a praise. a glimpse of what could happen – what could be – if you choose to submit. “why don’t you come sit between my legs, hm, baby? you’ll be more comfortable here.”

his invitation makes your stomach turn in disgust. you know what he wants, what he seeks. he moves his legs apart to make room for you and you don’t let him wait, moving carefully in the space he created. you’re grateful he didn’t demand you to straddle his lap.

you place your ass as far away from his crotch as you can while you gently lay the weight of your back on his chest. you position your head on his right shoulder, urging him to cradle you, which he does. he removes the barrier your hair created between your faces, guiding it on the opposite side. his breath is heavy and heated on your cheek, and as if the situation couldn’t get more overwhelming, he sneaks his left arm around your waist, circling it, sticking your body to his, making it harder to breathe, to move, to escape him.

you need some means of grounding. a way to cope with the anxiety buzzing in your bones and boiling your blood, your patience. how dare he touch you this way? make a show of your submission and compliance in front of his brothers, for the first time ever? what does he hope to accomplish?

you gather in fists the material of the dress which innocently rests on the side of your thighs, right below the delicate curve of your hips. it’s a way supposed to help you calm down and stop anticipating what’s to come next. to sway you from the overthinking train of thought which is threatening to keep rising your panic.

javier notices the way your body tenses, and he frowns. he doesn’t like it – doesn’t enjoy the fact that you’ll think he’s going to hurt you, violate your privacy and independence. he merely wants to take care of you and help you relax. he quickly figures that maybe this isn’t the best place to do it – in front of the watchful and hungry eyes of his brothers. but he can’t take it back now. all he can try is to make the pain go away. to coax you into opening up and become vulnerable for him – for them.

“shh, baby, relax. relax,” he whispers while carefully massaging the length of your arm with the unoccupied hand. gentle strokes of his fingertips rise goosebumps in their path while going up and down, up and down, doing a better job than you expected. “don’t be afraid, i won’t hurt you. i could never hurt you,” he promises, but his words feel empty to you. meaningless. deceitful.

you feel the wet press of his lips right on your temple and you shiver. he is so gentle, too gentle. treating you like a fragile piece of ancient, romantic sculpture. he surely must think of you like that – consider you something, someone, worth protecting and appreciating. worthy of love.

“you smell divine, mi amor,” he inhales ocasionally, taking deep breaths of your scent – the floral detergent in your dress, the remnants of the shampoo and conditioner in your hair. even the natural scent of your skin, though subtle, is enough to make javier’s head spin.

his hand removes leaves your arm and trails dangerously lower, tracing the line between the bottom of your dress and the inside of your thigh. the occasionally cool breeze flows in your direction, bothering your thin dress and lifting it merely an inch off of your legs. each time that happens, you’re sure that marcus can see the center of your panties and the way they stick like second skin to your pussy, squeezing your throbbing clit.

javier struggles to hide his amused smirk each time he touches you, teases and plays with your imagination by threatening to dip his fingers lower. to enter new territory and sink between your legs to where you want him most.

“so soft, baby. soft as silk,” he murmurs into your ear, his praise followed by a gentle peck to your earlobe, “can’t believe something as sweet as you rests in my arms. you like that, baby? feel safe?” he urges you to answer, to respond in kindly to his advances so he can take your pleasure as a sign to go further.

you shudder at his honeyed praise and force to swallow a lump down your throat so you can speak. “yes,” it’s more of a moan than a proper word, “feels… nice.”

“good, baby. i’m glad you like it,” he nips at your earlobe, and the unexpected distraction presents an open door for his hand to quickly trail further down your dress and dissapear right between your legs. you only notice the sudden intrusion when you feel your body moving without your own accord – your legs slightly parting, making room for him to graze the tip of his index down the center line of your pussy, nudging your clit, and then pressing on your hole, through your panties.

you gasp in both pleasure and anxiety at the gesture, so you try to protect yourself. to shield what little dignity you have left by ending things before they progress into something worse, more serious.

in a pathetic attempt to close your legs, he intervenes by syncing the tight hold his arm has around your waist with the quick move of his feet rising from the blanket and surround your own from the inside, preventing you to close them further.

once you’re securely caged between his frame, he nudges your feet to open up more. encouraging them to move, little by little, towards the edge of the blanket. towards the exterior.

you saw this coming. and that’s even worse than being clueless and not anticipating it – because you knew what he would do, and you did nothing to stop it.

“please, javi. you said you won’t hurt me,” you pleaded, and you hated the inevitable tremble in your voice.

“poor baby, no. this isn’t what you think it is,” he reassures, his words matching his attempt at grounding and soothing you in his hold by kissing all over your temple and massaging the inside of your thigh, backing away slightly from your dripping pussy to make you feel less threatened. “i don’t want to hurt you, baby. i swear. if you let me, i’ll make you feel so, so good.”

you feel the way his heart beats against his chest, the rhythm vibrating in your backbone. he is equally anxious too; he really wants you to enjoy this. to not view it as a punishment. because even if you did nothing extraordinary to earn this treatment, you deserve to feel good too.

“i’ll make this pretty pussy so happy, sweetheart. make you happy too, happiest you’ve ever been. if you’ll just let me…” his promise ends with a pause, giving you time to think if you really want to give in.

the question is – are you stupid enough to refuse, or so weak you just approve?

is it really a sign of weakness, though? to just give in? to let yourself be caressed by him and feel the pulsing desire of his brothers who are desperately waiting for their turn?

all of this is under your control, if you think about it. they punish you for your dissapointing behaviour and shower you with affection as a reward for behaving like a proper lady. like how their proper lady should behave.

you don’t need a gun to assert dominance or make them listen. you hold their wills in the power of your hands.

“yes, javi. please,” you whisper.

“what did you say, baby? please repeat, i didn’t hear it, i swear,” he pleads with you, sounding desperate, not taunting, like before. he genuinely didn’t hear you – or he did, but he just didn’t expect you to comply so easily. so willingly.

“please, javi. wan’ you to make me happy,” you lick your lips, turning your head so your lips ghost his earlobe, and he shudders slightly at the brief contact. “make my pussy happy. pretty please?” you plead innocently, the tone of your voice rising slightly, sounding as if you’re the spoiled daughter of a rich man. pairing your encantation with the submissive doe eyes you present, you give him an impossible deal to refuse.

“good girl, baby. the best girl,” he lets out a ragged breath in relief, his fingers making quick, delicate work of arranging your panties to the side, moving the obstacle out of the way. “don’t have to ask me twice, babygirl. would do anythin’ for you and your pretty pussy.”

a surprised gasp leaves your lips as he guides two fingers through your slit from bottom to top, gathering the wetness he encountered at your entrance to the surroundings of your clit. “oh, mierda, cariño. you’re soaked. is it because of me, hmm?” he presses a kiss to the corner of your eye while rolling your clit between his index and middle finger.

“ah, yes javi. yes,” you admit shamelessly, moans blessing his ears each time your little bundle of nerves receives additional stimulation when he pinches your clit.

“that’s right, baby, sing for me,” he urges you, his patience slipping with each passing moment as his resistance crumbles. the resistance implies forcing your legs even wider, making your knees bend abruptly before shoving you full of three fingers and making you scream while squirting all over his hand and the blanket below.

your eyes go wide when he eases his middle finger inside your tight hole. you’re both surprised that the act itself met not one single obstacle; his finger just made its way in like your walls were invisible, like your pussy saw it coming and decided to expand itself to make room for him, to accommodate everything he had to give.

“please, oh fuck yes,” you moaned shamelessly now, not bothering to hide the building pleasure javier caused right in front of his brothers in their own backyard. he responded in kind, loving the way you felt so comfortable letting yourself go – letting him know you love the way he touches you.

“such a tight pussy, baby. see how she hugs my fingers? hm? imagine it was my cock instead,” another finger joins in, making it two – stuffing you full, yet you can’t get enough. “would you prefer my cock, sweet girl? do you think it’ll fit?” his teases are back, but you pay them no mind. in fact, you love them. paired with the expert moves of his fingers fucking your vagina until your eyes roll in the back of your skull – it’s fucking amazing.

a soft laugh escapes his lips when you don’t bother to answer his question. you actually can’t seem to, really – he can tell you’re on the brink of orgasm by the way your chest rises and falls and your abdomen constricts along with your toes curling.

“no, i guess it won’t fit, cariño. not when you’re this fucking tight, sweet girl. jesus fuck,” the hand which was previously surrounding your waist changes its location to your right breast, squeezing it through the fabric and causing your soft nipple to rise to a little peak. it wasn’t enough, though. he needed to feel the softness of your skin and properly pinch your nipples. so his hand makes its way to your neckline and shimmies right underneath it in a desperate hurry to cup your naked breast and feel the angry little nipple in the palm of his hand. he gives you a squeeze which is a little rougher than intended before caging your nipple between his thumb and index to give it a proper rub and twirl, making you choke on your own moan.

“yes, javi, yes! please, more! don’t stop, don’t ever stop. gonna cum so hard…” you sob, feeling your vision blur and your cheeks getting wet a second after that.

fuck, you went feral. him and his brothers are so grateful they all witnessed the fact that you’re visibly into nipple play, and not only – breast play entirely. he makes quick note of that and stuffs it deep into his memory before continuing his rough administrations to your nipple compared to the loving strokes and poundings of his fingers in your cunt.

“then cum, sweetheart. go on. go on, little dove. thaat’s right, give me what i want. let go, let go. such a sweet little girl, lettin’ me take care of her. wanna see your poor pussy cry too, baby, not just your eyes. come on, baby, soak my fingers.”

he didn’t have to tell you twice. even though the rhythm of his fingers did not (thankfully) change, keeping you right where you’ve been all along, on the bridge of bliss and orgasm, his words were enough to send you over the edge as you closed your eyes and came around his fingers violently, your whole body trembling in his careful hold in contrast to your throbbing pussy pulsing out your release, gushing around his fingers and wetting the blanket with splash after splash as he guided you all the way through it, his arm tightening around your breast, making sure you never leave this safe heaven.

after you came down from your high, your body gradually relaxed and his fingers sadly parted themselves from their home. he let you close your legs and he even pulled the bottom of your dress as low as he could afford it, since most of the material was bunched underneath your bare ass sticking embarasingly to the wet blanket.

you open up your eyes to see marcus turning his gaze from you and back to his newspaper, trying his best not to seem affected by what just happened. but you know better, and judging by the immense bulge he unsuccesfully hides from you, you just know he wants nothing more than to make his way between your legs and stuff you full of his cum until you’re left shaking. he wouldn’t even need to take down his pants all the way through from how quick it would all be over. he practically witnessed how javier struggled to fit two fingers inside your cunt – his cock would basically choke.

joel was none the wiser. he was struggling to hold back even more than marcus; his fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw clenched, mouth closed shut along with a voluminous jugular vein pulsing furiously right beneath the tanned skin.

but you caught the red in his cheeks. he was visibly flushed, nervous and needy. eager to get a taste of you.

and so he did.

you stop breathing the moment he stalks towards you with a predatory look on his face, determined to dull the curiosity, grasping for something to claim from you.

all air is suddenly knocked out of your lungs when joel kneels in front of you and manhandles your legs apart, revealing your glistening pussy to his own gaze once more. she was all puffy and a bit swollen from before, the walls around the entrance pulsing and clenching around nothing as the opening looks much more evident and even wider than a few minutes ago.

“javier treated ya well, babygirl. took care of this lil’ girl jus’ right,” joel says, his deep, dominating tone making shivers crawl up your spine. “should clean her up. can’t leave her all messy.”

it’s all he says before diving head first into your cunt and licking all the juice dripping down your thighs and pussy. your ragged moan urges him to press on, despite your desperate attempts at begging him to take it slow on your overstimulated pussy. he doesn’t give a damn about your hands tangling and pulling his hair; he thinks it’s so fucking hot and it turns him on impossibly more, his cock aching for release in the confinement of his annoying boxers.

“mmm, ‘s right. goood girl,” he moans into your pussy, the vibrations adding more intensity to your building orgasm.

“you’re gonna cum on joel’s tongue, cariño? make a mess all over his face just like you did on my fingers?” javier whispers into your ear, the hand that warmed your breast starting to stir over the plump flesh to gather attention to your tortured nipple once more.

“yes… mmm, fuck yes. p-please, feels so, so… ah!”

“shh, that’s right, babygirl. let go. give it to joel, niiice and slow, thaaat’s it.”

your second orgasm practically makes you see stars. it comes fast and unexpected, crashing over you in the blink of an eye and lasting so long you wonder if you’ve gone blind. joel’s tongue fucks in an out of you, your poor hole trying to clench onto the thick muscle in an attempt to grab him and never let him go as he patiently laps up all your release with a content hum.

he presses a gentle kiss to your clitoris when he’s done. you can’t, won’t, open your eyes again. you don’t need to look at him to know the painful look he probably has on his face because he wishes he could do it all over again. never depart his face from between your legs.

his mind races to various ways and possibilities of making you cum on his face. next time, he’ll definitely make you ride his nose while making love to your pussy with his tongue and mouth. bringing you to several orgasms until you beg for him to put you out of your misery and sink himself into your tight warmth until you’re nothing but a whimpering toy.

one day, he thinks. one day, you’ll succumb to all of their wants and desires.

because you’ll be addicted. to how they make you feel, how they take care of you. to their smell and touch. to them. it’s all just a matter of time, which you and them have plenty of. because you’re never leaving them again.

[myownwholewildworld]

masterlist

find me in ao3 | discord: arran.macleod | notifs blog

well, hello there! c:

i go by the name of arran in the world wide web, she/her, based in the uk and in my 30s era. i have been writing on and off for almost 20 years now on different platforms, but this is really the first time i venture into the fanfic realm in tumblr, so please be nice! >: my first language is not english but spanish, so if you spot any spelling mistakes, i apologise in advance lol

i've been obsessed with pedrito for quite a while now, so i thought ― i love writing, i love pedro, and, above everything else, i love love love drama, so why not give in and write some fics? i'm sure i'll find some like-minded people here!

i do appreciate any feedback you may want to share with me, as well as interactions (asks, reblogs, comments, likes, anything really!). also please feel free to drop me a message if there's something you would like me to write, i'm always open to suggestions ♡

please assume all my work is 18+, so mdni! do not repost, translate, nor use my work in any way without my explicit permission either.

i'll try to keep this masterlist as up to date as possible.

love,

arran xx

(find my work under the cut!)

🤭 ― fluff

😳 ― light smut

💘 ― explicit smut

💢 ― dark/sensitive theme

🤕 ― angst

🩸 ― graphic content (violence, gore, etc)

wherever you go

series masterlist - 🤭💘💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. summary: after the events of 26th september 2003, you find yourself under the wing of the miller brothers. it's the older one who catches your attention, but also the one who drives you fucking crazy. you inevitably find yourself gravitating towards him while trying to navigate this postapocalyptic word you're stuck in, with more than one unpleasant surprise...

uniformed!joel one shots

series masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: uniformed!joel x f!reader. summary: a series of one shots where we get to see the one and only joel miller and all his sides... as long as he's wearing a uniform, ofc. i'm open to any requests you may have, no matter how wild! check #uniformed!joel to see what's already been suggested. come along, don't be shy!

the dark series

series masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: Boston QZ!joel x f!reader. summary: in a post-apocalyptic world, Joel is a man with dark urges, ones that only you can satisfy.

a man called joel

series masterlist - 🤕💢 status: tbd. pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader. summary: joel has lost everyone he held dear: sarah, tess, ellie. and while his brother still remains by his side, joel can't help but drown in the solitude of his jackson home. the rooms are too empty, too silent, so his heart is vacant. he's truly had enough of this life, given up to the point where he's decided to end his own suffering. that is until you move in next door and slowly worm your way into his life....

an old man!joel miller collection

collection masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader. summary: a smutty collection of fics and drabbles for the one and only, joel miller in his peepaw era. no bad things ever happen here, you and him live your best lives together in jackson.

acta, non verba

series masterlist - 🤭😳💘💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: conqueror!marcus x ofc!reader. summary: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all.

per aspera ad astra

series masterlist - 💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: when your husband dies in battle, his best friend is there to console you, to help you navigate your grief as he does his own. as you become close, feelings flourish. but your father, emperor Traianus, sees Marcus' romantic advances as a way to dethrone him.

love is heartbreak

read here - 🤕🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: inspired by the age of adaline. kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise?

the road to rome

read here - 🤕💢🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: marcus acacius x war prisoner!f!reader. summary: Gaul, 52 BC. Julius Caesar and his bloodthirsty army have won the final battle of the Gallic Wars atop Mont Auxois, after sieging the oppidum of Alesia for more than a month. with the war coming to a bitter end, you, the daughter of the defeated Vercingetorix of the Arverni, are taken hostage. General Acacius is tasked with bringing you to Rome, letting you believe you’ll only be an entertainment to the masses. little do you know, that’s not the case at all…

the mists of avalon

read here - 🤕🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: arthurian!marcus acacius x cursed!f!reader. summary: you've been regent to the netherworld for as long as you can remember. as the lady of the lake, you know providence will put king marcus acacius in your path. so when he invokes you, you go to him, ready to fulfill your destinies.

the way to a great wide somewhere

read here ; easter eggs - 🤭💘🤕🩸 status: completed. pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story.

when the moon howls

read here - 🤭 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: you meet javier in a café during your sabbatical. you see the man that no one does ― the one who is broken, defeated, crushed by his time as a DEA agent. so you make it your purpose to shine some light on his life, one pumpkin spice latte at a time. -or- the story of how you two fall head over heels for each other c:

when the grief howls

read here - 🤭💢 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. same couple as "when the moon howls". can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him.

pretty nails

read here - 💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: javi pays for your manicure 😏

wicked whims

read here - 💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. (same couple as "pretty nails") summary: javi catches you playing wicked whims in the sims and decides to make your fantasies a reality.

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Under the pine tree (Marcus Acacius x F!reader)

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x F! reader

Summary :

As soon as you came into the world, only a few meters and hours apart, you knew Pullio to be the love of your life. Under the pine that separated your houses you promised to love him forever.

“Much have I entertained this infantile infatuation. You will marry a great man of Rome, not a fool” your father sentenced. And a match was soon found that corresponded to your father’s ambition, The General of Rome.

Marcus Acacius is tired of war and death, the fire that ignited his career after his heart got broken is dying, what can he expect from a bride he barely knows?

Warnings: adult content (minors please do not interact), "forced marriage", a little bit of slut shaming (not Marcus, he is an angel), PTSD from war, some not so accurate Roman traditions , awkward firs time (reader is not a virgin, but it is the first time together), piv sex, some masturbation (both of them). They drink, but all is consensual, basically it is a long session trying to know each others.

Please, if you enjoy it, consider rebloging, any interaction is welcome so I don't feel like I'm screaming into the void about fictional characters 😂 but this site works with reblogs, likes do not work as they do here in other apps, and it is the only thing we writers ask back for these stories. Thank you

READ ON Ao3

1. The Lovers

He who gazed at all the lights in the vast heavens,

who learnt the rise and setting of the stars,

how the fiery beauty of the swift sun’s darkened,

how constellations vanish at fixed times.

Catullus: 66. The Lock of Hair: Berenice

Two children were born only three hours apart and only a few meters from one another. Pullio came screaming into the world, and his father declared he would make a great orator in the future. You, the babe of a senator, came quietly, barely a weep and as soon as your mother held you, a soft content smile could be seen on your face. And just like that, the children grew up playing in the garden that separated the two houses, beside the pine that had always been there since the dawn of Rome.

Pullio would run and scream until his lungs would give up, he would jump until he stumbled upon a rock, and you would be there for him, calming his tears and holding his hands so he could run again, claiming to be a barbarian ready to pillage the city. 

As fast as he would run, as reckless as he was, Pullio loved as intensely, defending you over imaginary pirates and the cruelty of the other children or the menace of a wasp, and so he loved you deeply from tender childhood to fiery youth.

“You’re more beautiful than the moon” he said the first time he kissed you, beside that old pine tree that saw you both be born. You innocently thought only the stars and the Gods were witness of that kiss and the promise that you made on his lips, that you were his forever.

But that night, when you snicked back into the house, your father made sure you knew that the union could not be possible. Pullio was only a second son, he said, never even looking at your face:

“Much have I entertained this infantile infatuation. You will marry a great man of Rome, not a fool”  he sentenced.

The perfect match was promptly found that corresponded to your father’s ambition. Your father’s chest couldn’t be more swollen with pride, a satisfied grin he never gifted to you, presenting the General of Rome as your future husband. Marcus Acacius had deep brown eyes like an oak tree and as dark as his curly hair, they look at you only once, his face unreadable stern while you were holding tight to your mother’s hand, cursing at the fate and the Gods wishing you away from the love you have known all your life. The scent from the pine tree coming with the summer breeze reminded you of the kiss, and you swore that your heart would be buried in the black soil of the garden close to Pullio even if they separated you from him.

The engagement was arranged fast, The General hands, warm, harsh and dwarfing yours while he held yours, sealed the deal with a golden ring. And as soon as he left, to conquer for Rome on some far away land, you prayed that the fate worked in your favour and he would never return.

When the city was feasting with the excitement of the new conquest, at the stables of your house with the soft breath of the dormant beasts, you sullied your maidenhood with the boy that came screaming to the world, the one you had always consoled and loved.

“I’ll be yours forever” you whispered 

“Let’s run away together, go to Sicily or Spain”

“Wherever you want, my love”

“If I have to fight him, I will”

“That won’t happen, he will not be back, I have prayed”

Before the sun would give away your sins, you parted ways, arms holding still under the pine tree.

“Have I tell you that you’re more beautiful than the moon?”

“Not today” you laughed shushing him with a kiss

“I will tell you every night and every day”

The love that radiated from your body and exuding from every pore suddenly waned when your father found you inside the house sneaking after hours.

“If I was a better father, I would have shamed you in public, show that I had cradled a whore all these years instead of a truly Roman maiden; but I love you too much to be that fair and cruel…but this will not happen again”

And he kept his promise. For the first time since you were born, the distance between you and Pullio grew much more than a garden away. The distance of the Empire tore the love and the promises, gave him a wife and a public position in Lusitania. The tear of the fabric of dreams and fantasies that you both had created was insufferable, the pine tree that had been witness to childhood cheer and teenage passion was now witness to a broken heart.

And thus the new maiden waited for her future husband, broken of love for another man and full of spite for her destiny.

Honour and glory mean a very different thing from his time in training to the battlefield.

The words become ash and dust in his mouth after years of sacrifice to Rome, the capitol feels like a dream, a children's tale someone told these men, and they believed it, they had spread all over the world like seeds in the wind or a disease. Marcus is certain that the Barbarians think of them as one, a plague they cannot burn.

Civilization costs a great price, Rome buys peace by stacking the Barbarian leader's heads in pikes one by one, sieging their villages, burning their gods and slaving the survivors.

How not to love Rome?

That hungry and fierce mother that presents itself with white and pristine clothes and bloody teeth.

The battlefield is covered in blood, theirs? Ours? He thinks, to finally argue that it does not matter anyway.

The cold mud is stuck on his legs and sandals, it feels heady and scarlet as it drinks too much from the pile of bodies that lay in the ground.

Even after all these years, General Marcus Acacius feels the bile coming up once the battle is settled. The letters from the Emperor allowing him to come back home come as salt of his fresh wounds.

The General dreaded his entry in Rome. Every time he came back was a reminder of all the lies and absurdity of his role and what he had lost years ago.

The conquering and ever expanding Rome was home for greedy men that were getting fat and drunk every day while his men died in cold mud or dark water. He dreaded their fake smiles full of fruit and wine, their glassy eyes already in a trance of the glory he embodied.

And also, he dreaded seeing again the woman that broke his heart.

He remembers Lucilla’s eyes from across the room of a party in honour of her late father, the first time they met. They burned him over a cup of wine. She floated, her tunics black as the dark after dusk in contrast to her milk like skin, as the moon in the night sky.

“You served under Maximus” she said, it was not a question, she knew “I saw you the day he died, you carried his body”

“I did, my lady, he was my General”

“And now they say you will succeed him”

“I only serve Rome as best as I can, my lady. I have no ambition on my own”

“All men desire something” she laughed, a perfect smile full of bite and wisdom. Marcus felt bewitched, he had never been that forward as that day. He looked at her with intent and said it was true. All men desire something, and that night, he wanted her.

Even if he tried to keep his heart at gate, he fell, and as Icarus with his wax wings too close to the Sun, he fell hard. He hit the ground of Roman’s true nature, new Emperors rose and Lucilla’s was in danger. Their love was a weakness she could not show.Lucilla couldn’t be beside the man that commanded the armies of Rome and stay alive. The Emperors already thought of her as a threat to their claim to the throne.

 And when she left him, he fought, he became reckless and hungry, more war, more conquest, more power, he signed a betrothal to some Senator’s child just to get the power of the Army and the power of the Senate and show her that he was willing to fight for her, damn the Empire and the Gods, he would burn Rome for her if needed.

“I want peace, Marcus, and I have to stay alive to get Lucius back once it’s safe. Please understand that my love is true and it breaks me to end this” Lucilla begged.

And then he put a gold ring on that child and got away to kill and conquer, all to exorcise a woman out of him. When he left Rome, he never thought he would be back.

2. The Hero

“My grieving eyes not have ceased to melt with endless tears,

my cheeks to have been drenched with a saddened rain.”

Catullus: 68b. Commemoration: to Allius

The sound of the crown roaring for him silences the turmoil of his  thoughts, he catches the thousands of faces looking at him as if he were a god. Marcus climbs the stairs full of rose petals to the brothers emperors with their open arms and sick smiles, behind them a plethora of white robbed men await, the Senate.

 He sees Caius smiling at him widely, a tiny step forwarder than the rest, knowing he has a claim to him. The General lets them praise him, though the words mean nothing to him. They surround him as white seagulls to dead sailors on the shore, and he smiles and nods not worrying to listen any of the false prises and promises. In between the senators, he catches her figure.

The women of the novelty look at her, inspecting her reaction. Her eyes seem familiar, she has a bouquet of orange flowers and laurel, that tremble, even if she tries to hold still.

“General” Caius finally grabs his arm. “Your betrothed awaits, she has been fully faithful to you, she has prayed devotionally for your arrival”

He looked like Apollo come to earth you think, the gold and white shine bright, proof of his glory and victory. Any bride will be willing to threw themselves at his feet, at least that’s who the surrounding women behave. The age has suited him, you think, you are not going to let the hatred of your situation cloud your judgement, he is a handsome man, even if your heart belongs to another.

His eyes are still the same, yet the sign of time has kissed them, the past of time reflecting on the greys on his beard and his head. He is polite, but firm with the vultures led by your father. 

You wish your voice didn’t tremble, saliva getting stuck on your throat when you greet hi with the flowers. 

“My daughter has waited patiently for you, it is normal to be lost for words” your father laughs nervously, justifying your awkwardness. 

“General” you say with a trembling voice, you cough softly” I see the Gods have finally listened to my prayers and make you come back. My heart is finally content that I get to be your wife” the speech carefully prepared by Caius sounds fake, and you think if Marcus is aware of the lies you are hiding as the gods know too, they have listened to the deepest desires, wishing he never came back, watched you give your body the same night the General put a ring on your hand. This is doomed, you think, the gods will certainly punish you for such awful thoughts and deeds.

“Thank you, my betrothed, your father informed me you wish to be married as soon as possible”Marcus asks you but looks at your father who smiles widely

“Certainly” Senator Caius answers, “isn’t that so, child?”

Child…you look again at Marcus’s hands, touching softly each petal, those flowers you picked from the garden, those same flowers that will adorn your hair on your wedding day and the doors of your house when you will forever leave them behind.

“There’s nothing I want more” you lie.

3. The Wedding 

Hesperus what fire, they say, is crueller than yours?

Who can tear a daughter away from her mother’s arms,

from a mother’s detaining arms tear a daughter away,

and give a virgin girl to an ardent young man.

What do the enemy do that’s crueller, in capturing a city?

Catullus: 62 Wedding song

Your mother opens the vault where your tunica recta has waited for so long, let the sunshine bathe it, the orange veil is next beside your toys.

“It feels odd” you say, holding the little rabbit and horse that slept with you for so long.

“I know” your mother presses her warm hand over yours and your toys. She has tried to keep a smile on her face through it all, but she knows that time is running out, and now she does not hide it that well.

“I don’t play with them any more…it’s been years and yet…”

“I know, but it doesn’t make it easier to let it go” a tear runs through her cheek, but she is quick to dry it with her palm. “I know what your heart desires and it is not this wedding, but please know it should not be a struggle” she sighs”duty can come with its joys” she cradles your cheek “it can come with the most sweet rewards”

“What if I can only love once, mum?” the tears burn at the corner of your eyes

“Don’t worry about it, my love. You will grow fond of him and he with you, I’m sure. Marcus is an honourable man, I know his family, and he is polite, smart and just. If you are as good as I know you are and respect him, I’m sure it’ll be the perfect marriage”

“But that’s not love…” you say

“Love is a child’s dream, my love, I thought you learnt the lesson, it goes away as fast as the seasons. Honour, duty and loyalty that’s the cement of a great marriage. You must refuse all those hopes with your toys, or you will be greatly disappointed.” Your mother shake the tunica out of the dust of the years it has been locked and with it, she closes the conversation.” Tomorrow you will be the wife of the General of Rome, you should be proud”

The dawn finds you restless watching the rays hit under the door, creeping in on the day of your wedding and the last day on your childhood’s bed. The servants then  braid your hair, your child’s tunic leaves your body, and they bathe you in warm water of roses and oranges, the tunic recta dropped on your body like a weight. Honour, duty, loyalty, you repeat in your head. The orange veil covers your face and your mother crowns you with the flowers of the garden“ your father and the priest has seen the omens and they were good, excellent” she chirps 

The last piece, the Hercules’s knot tight in your waist, a symbol of the purity you no longer hold.

“The General and the party are here, Domina”

“Mother…” you grabbed desperately at her hands.

“You have waited long enough, my love. Think of it as a new beginning, leave in this house whatever burdens you from your past”

The General can only guess her face under the orange hue that covers his bride. Marcus has barely seen her after his arrival, and he wonders how she is behind the veil, scared or happy, sad or eager; does she smile with her teeth showing the hunger and ambition he can see on her father?

The guests dissect his every move, ever since he entered the white pillars of civilization he has felt the burning eye of Rome behind him, of the noble and the Emperors, and the rumours. He does not want to give them his attention, but yet his mind goes to her, Lucilla.

Does she know he is marrying another woman today? Does she think of him after so many years away? He hopes he’s still in her prayers, as she is in his, engraved in his memory like a wound by flame.

He comes back to the present, his gaze admiring the magnificent pine tree as it moves with the spring breeze, Marcus has missed Rome, a home that it is no longer what he remembers but yet those trees, the smell of the oranges and white flowers in their bride and groom’s crowns makes him feel back somehow.

Her bride raises her hand, for a moment trembling, but she closes her fists and once she opens her palm to him is firmer. 

Ubi tū Gāius, ego Gāia 

tū Gāia, ego Gāius

You watch Marcus look at the tree before you say your vows, the words you say, taste like betrayal.

 When they guided you through your house for the last time to the garden, you prayed they had prepared the banquet elsewhere. But your father awaited beside you future husband just underneath the pine tree, with open arms and a knowing, proud smile. The marriage contract has been signed, a triumph for the family, your sins have been buried in the ink of that agreement.

The breeze that once carried love promises for another man, resound with the clapping and cheering of the guests. “A kiss” one shouts and many more join him, Marcus acknowledges them with a soft smile. His movements are delicate once he removes your veil. Your breathing stops for a moment, wishing he would not see the lies in your eyes, Marcus watches you for a moment, checking your glassy eyes and time that has passes on them. He cannot explain, but there is something in them that he understand, is the longing? Fear? Wishes for this charade to be over?

The General bends to reach your face and first, kisses just your cheek, his beard softly scratches your skin, so different from the soft almost still as a babe’s skin of Pullio’s kisses. His scent a mix of perfume oils, oranges and victorious laurel, his dark oak eyes search opposition in your eyes, but then his gaze falls to your lips, and he kisses them, a soft touch that feels like an apology.

Your father’s hands like vice push yours and Marcus’s up in the air

“May the Gods bless my house and The General’s, drink and cheer for tonight two great houses will be united forever ” he claims.

The feast delights the guests, the music and the wine run through their bodies; such a harsh contrast from what you’re feeling: Seeing them happy, stomping their feet in the dark earth where your first love grew and died;there is rage and doubt and resignation fighting in your gut while you follow your new husband like a dog chained to his wrist. 

But being behind him, you can observe him, how calm and seemingly pleased he acts, how reverent the Patricians of Rome are to him. He is the glory of the Imperium personified, and they touch him as they would Mars, requesting stories of the battle and conquest. And he indulges them…briefly:

You watch how his smile does not reach his eyes when he tells them, never talks about the battle, of how many died and how many he had killed. He talks about the air, how the sea looks there, how the conquered speak, what music they used to play. You realize then he talks about them with something kin to care or appreciation, how he loves the enemy, you cannot seem to understand.

When the Patricians ask for more, how he conquered a city and he knows they’re asking about bloody details, he suddenly moves away “I’m thirsty, I’ll be back” he moves around the house to another party of people that stops him on his way to ask the same morbid questions.

Marcus looks from time to time behind him, finding you looking up at him with puzzled eyes, dissecting him and he feels a cold sweat run through him, he is sure the girl knows how tired he is of pretending to be something he is not. He is not blessed by Mars and he is certainly not proud of the legacy of blood and fire he has built. Would she be disappointed then? Would she prefer the bloodthirsty General? Does he appear weak?

“The moon is high in the sky, we must leave the lovers go back home” as the master of this charade, Caius interrupts the never ending questioning.

His new wife looks lost, the crowd opens around them with drunken smiles. Vultures enjoying her discomfort.

Your mother grabs your hand, like a saving log in this sea of people, watching, laughing and mocking the fear you cannot clearly conceal. As tradition states, you must play the part of the Sabine women, fighting the Romans kidnapping them from their houses. If the foundation of this city was the destruction of women’s lives, how could you expect to find peace here or love. You lock eyes with the Roman man that must abduct you, taking you forever from this house and your childhood, but he looks defeated.

His chest rise and caves on a deep sigh, and you think that maybe you’re both losing something tonight. Does he think about another like you do? Is he disappointed that all his glory granted him just a Senator’s daughter and not the daughter of an Emperor?

Marcus reaches out to you, but you hide behind your mother, when he grabs your hand from her, you jump, running as fast you can go to the pine tree. 

You are barely aware of the bodies you push away and their laughter, enjoying this little play of prey and hunter. For a moment your fingertips reach the red bark of the tree, before you float in the air and fall down to hard and warm flesh.

Marcus’s hands are strong but gentle, puts you to the ground by your hips. His breath is warmed and sightly drenched in the sweetness of the wine served. He adjusts your tunic and veil, and grabs you by the wrist “Let’s go home” his tone is firm but tired, it is an order enveloped in a prayer.

There is a buzzing sound that rhythms with the fast beating of your heart in your ears, so you barely hear the songs the guests sing on the way to the General’s villa. Marcus’ hand holds you without pressure, the light of the torches casts golden shadows on his eyes, you can see the marks on his face, a thin red scratch on his neck, the greys mixing with his oak dark hair. His expression is serene, almost like a statue his gaze far away from here, does he think of the battle, does he think about Lucilla?

“Dominus” the voice of the slave seems to wake you both up from your thoughts. “Welcome home, Dominus” he bows “Domina”and then to  you, another servant passes you the oil to bless the doors of your new home and you vaguely register the crying face of your mother turning back home with the party before Marcus grabs you again “You must not step on the threshold…bad luck” he reasons:

Your body does not recoil at the touch of his hands on your hips, a curious sensation curls lower in your belly, sensing how easy the general handles you up on your feet. His arm under your thighs, another close under your breasts: Only Pullio’s hands knew your body like this and you swore only he would know. A piercing truth makes your heart skip a beat, surely he did the same thing to another: He married wherever he is now, he kissed his bride on a foreign land, stole her from her mother’s embrace and crossed his door with her in his arms. Did you ever cross his mind there? Did he perform his marital duty with her like you have to do now? Was he sweet as he was with you?

And then a question tights your gut: Would Marcus be sweet? Would he notice that you know what a man and a woman’s body can do? That you gave yourself willingly to another? Would he care if he realizes? 

“Welcome to your new home” He delicately bends his knees to put you in the ground, “I’ve not been here in…” The general looks around, with knit brows “in many years” he completes

“My servants have done as much as they could to bring back the house to its glory, giving the time they had…” 

The mosaics need restoration, the plants and linens have decayed and there are barely any furniture. “I should have more time to give you a better house, but…I do hope that it brings you pleasure to rebuild it your own “ Marcus looks at you, with a stern expression, his hands close and open by his side, is he nervous? Shy?

“I’ll bring me great joy to create a home of this house” you smile.

“I’ll show you”

Inside the house he walks touching the walls and looking at it as much as a stranger as you are in this house.

“Where did you live these past few days?” You asked

“At camp in Ostia, with my army” he walks a few steps ahead from you, inspecting the house that he once left. 

“I will try to make it as comfortable as I can as soon as possible” you promise

The General nods and opens the door to the master bedroom.

The bed is freshly made, a dark wood table sits at the front with maps and letters piled up with much care. Beside it, his full armour stands proudly, his Medusa chest plate, his sandals and cape, the grey and black fur of a wolf sits on the shoulders chained to the armour by a golden chain, his helmet is adorned with a red and long mane.

Your eyes are fixed on it as you picture him in battle, the whole weight of the Roman Empire on his shoulders. How fierce and proud he must look, the enemies must fear him, you wonder how ruthless he can be, is he a brute? Or is he even as controlled as he is now in battle?

You are still looking at it when you feel his eyes on you.

“I apologize for the mess, I arrived from camp this morning… it will look more…” he looks for the word

“Homely?” You complete

“Less of a military camp, yes” he smiles, and it is beautiful, it adorns his face perfectly and you wish to see more but it falls to a serious gesture again.

“I guess it is what I gained marrying the General of Rome” you step in the bedroom and take your flower crown and veil. The twigs of the flowers and the braids have built an insufferable pressure in your head.

“Do you want water, food? The servants can bring you anything”

“Wine?” you asked, turning to face him.

“Wise choice” he smirks

The top of the ceiling is adorned with golden mosaics, Venus just above the bed, with her golden hair shining as the sun emerges from the sea. You being staring at her, and the bed, and sipping wine in silence for too long. Marcus leaves you space, which is welcomed but some part of you wishes it to be over. In your mind, you played this differently. As a conqueror you expected him to grab you, undress you and take you as he pleased. But he is unexpectedly kind and patient. He has said nothing and just follows your gaze.

Surely the implications are clear, Venus, goddess of love and fertility, has to bless what will happen under her watch. But deep down you wonder if that beautiful image was inspired by another woman with golden locks, that must have been in the same room, maybe the same bed. 

The General leaves his empty cup on the table, he has taken out his sandals and his own flower crown.

“My father said the omens were good” you cut the silence 

“If they weren’t your father would have stitched back up the creature and gutted it again until it said what he wanted” Marcus laughs but stops immediately as if he had said something he shouldn’t. And for a moment, you’re silent too, but suddenly you’re aware of the relative freedom this has given you and you laughed out loud “He would definitely do, nonetheless, there will be no good omens if we do not do our part”

Looking at him will be too much, your gaze is fixed on Venus when you disrobe, throwing yourself at the altar of your husband’s bed. You know Marcus is watching you and he raises and throws his tunic to the ground too. His shoulders are wide, the muscle of his back flexed golden under the red flames of the oil lamps. You wonder if you should be less forward, if he lusts for a meek maiden or you should play a temptress.  The General turns to join you in the bed, and he is beautifully bare, his body defined and strong, hundreds of scars each one varying in form and years that had adorned his body. How many battles has he won? How many different places he has been? He was almost a shadow in your life, only tangible because you wore your betrothal ring on your hand. When you listened to the news at the forum, he was almost as the hero of ages passed, an Achilles, a Hercules and not a real man. But he is here beside you, all warm skin and scars. 

He moves slowly and looks at you with each movement that gets him closer to your body. 

You’re impossibly warm, is it the wine or the anticipation? Or is it that his oak eyes are darker no?, his breathing faster observing your naked body. “You’re beautiful, my wife” Marcus says, his hands roam now your hips, and it feels so different from your past lover. The worn fingertips of the battle on his skin, a delicious contrast to the softness of yours. Marcus has to fight a moan once he touches your skin, it almost makes him want to sob. So many nights at the harshness of war and the cold kiss of death and now he is back on his bed a hot body all soft and supple skin beside him. The general kneels before you, before laying softly over you, his arms caging. It’s clumsy at first making his body fit yours, he parts your legs and pushes them over his hips, his face rest on your shoulder, the scent of the wine and the flowers and your sweat hits him, as you adjust under him. “Are you all right? he asks, gaining a soft nod. He kisses you for the second time after your wedding, this time the softness last longer until he feels how you part your lips inviting him in. Marcus groans as naturally your bodies move in unison dancing the most primal dance, the sweet friction between your thighs makes him hard against you and he knows he wants to keep it slow and gentle and not hurt you, but he won’t be able to hold it for long. 

The weight of his sex over yours is making you delirious, your head clouded in shame as you should not want this, but you do. You desperately need to know and feel him, his kisses are Burning you from inside out, your hands roam his back, his arms, and you don’t want to be bold, but you know he is being overly cautious. “Make me yours, husband” you say, breaking the kiss. His brown eyes look for any lies behind that statement, but he only finds desire. 

He moans as he pushes himself inside your warmth, finally. And he knows he won’t last long and wants to make it good to you too, show you this union can be joyous if not loving.

And he observes your face, his wife, a stranger he never thought will take Lucilla’s place, but your eyes are closed and biting your lips he watches the pleasure creeping on your body too, he can’t hold back. The general cants his hips to a sharper angle, shallow thrusts that tighten at his spine, pulling him to his release.

In the cloud of pleasure, he almost says her name, the other. The taste of love and pain on his tongue as ashes on the battleground. His body betrays him, even if his heart is still breaking. “I’m sorry…it’s been too long” he excuses himself, laying beside you:

“I liked it” you shyly admit, the sound of your forever loyalty to a past lover breaking in your ears. You’ve been too forward, you thought, initiating this

Marcus turns to you an apologetic smile on his lips “We will learn to enjoy each other's company”

“But I did” You insist, even if he chuckles

“No need to lie, you won’t hurt my pride”

“It’s not a lie”

“I will bring water” he sighs, getting up, throws his tunic without care and leaves.

What an oddity he is, the man in Rome that should be the proudest, does not like fake praises or flattery to appease his ego. But the truth is you did enjoy it. An awful feeling creeps inside you, feeling how you have tarnished your words and promises. 

But Marcus is an enigma, such a different lover from your past. In so many ways. His body has been marked more by the edge of a sword than kissed by the pleasures of a noble Roman man, the sun has hit his skin making it a beautiful tapestry of scars and golden skin, his features are sharp and masculine, your Pullio was barely a kid, all soft edges and soft hands. Marcus hands weren’t gentle or doubting, your mind wonders how could you have concealed your sins if, instead of an also scared and clueless kid as Pullio, Marcus were on his place, fucking you on the stables, as he did a moment ago. All hunger and strength.

Pullio learn to love with you and some questionable knowledge he gathered from lascivious drawings on a book. He learnt your body eventually, but exploring the pleasures of the flesh with him, made you bolder to seek your own.

“I brought you food, I saw you barely eat at the party, and more wine too”

Marcus leaves the tray of fruits, cheese and bread on the bed, seating next to you with his tunic dangling on his hips.

Your bare feet dangle at the edge of the bed, the heat of the wine kisses your cheeks and you hear yourself giggle, a pitchy and nonsensical noise to his lower voice.

“Anyway, the messenger arrived in time, poor thing had run as fast as he could, he delivered the letter. I almost couldn’t grab it, so much his hands were shaking. So after completing his mission, he crawls to the nearest bucket…”

“No!” you raise on your forearms 

You don’t know when he did accept to talk about his life at the camp, you are too drunk to process all the stories has been almost the same, of their simple lives and joys with his men, none of the great battles he has won.

“Yes, what he thought was the bucket of water…” he chuckles

“But you told them to move the bucket of… “ You scream

“The bucket of shit, yes” The general laughs

You almost become lightheaded, maybe Dionysus is already playing games in your mind or the story is indeed hilarious, “What happened to him?”

“He fainted, no one knows if for disgust or exhaustion or a little bit of both” 

Marcus tries to pour more wine into his cup, but it is empty, he debates to grab another. Watching your belly still tremble in laughter, how your sweat and his are still shining on your skin, how your breasts bounce with your laughter. How bad he wants to kiss them and grab them while he…suddenly he feels your hand on his “Do you like being in the camp?” your eyes are glossy lips shining of the last drops of wine.

“Those men can be my brothers and also my greatest nightmare” he recalls, the many faces he has seen, both living and then dead. You smile, not quite getting his sense, “Do many come back?”

“No” 

“I’m sorry” his hand dwarfs yours, but you keep insisting on intertwining them. How long has it been? Since he got a woman this close to him? The brief encounters he has paid to quench a thirst, he is not proud of did not match the intimacy he seeks: Last time he held hands, shared wine and laughter with a woman; he thought they would marry: And now he is in his house years after with a complete stranger.

“You do not have to be sorry” he welcomes this new hand in his, touches the ring that links him to you.

“It must be hard commanding them to such peril”

“They are willing, courageous…a little reckless” 

“But they trust you” his eyes are fixed on yours now, the way they’re closing softly to him, lips stained in wine, wet and parting

“It is a little bit naive if you ask me”

“Can I trust you?” you ask suddenly

“I thought we were talking about my army”

“That’s also a bit naive if you ask me” you chuckle, “I also can be willing, courageous” You raise to him, grabbing the empty tray and throwing it away. And he cannot move or stop this, does he want to anyway? ”a little bit reckless” you finish seated on his lap. Your inner tights are still wet of his spent and he wants nothing more than to sully them more.

“Courage coming from wine is not the best advisor” he tries to reason, a vague excuse not to dive in. Your eagerness is tempting, too good to be true that you are so eager to give yourself to him again

“I said I’m willing” your hands find rest on his shoulder, your eyes roam his body and his face “I liked it the first time” you confess “So different…”

“So different to what?”

You kiss him, drowning the question with a lick on his lips. Marcus captures yours and now there’s no reservation. His tongue invades you, his hands grab and pinch your nipples until he curves your body so we can lick your tits. Your nails are scratching his head, your hips moving in circles over him.

“What was different?” he bites softly your perked nipple

“I don’t…”

“You can tell me” Marcus licks them after the bite and pain and pleasure are clouding your mind 

“His name was Pullio… he lived beside my house and we were born the same day”you confess

“What happened?” he asks moving his hands to your hips to halt your movements, even if you slightly protest “My father happened, he thought he wasn’t worthy and he found a better match…” you close your eyes, waiting for his judgment and for him to throw you away as a whore.

“And he was a different lover than me” he gifts you a small peck on your neck almost a reward for your honesty, “Better?” Marcus finds your pulse on your neck, scratching you with his beard.

A sigh escapes your lips “No…just different. Please” you beg to move your hips, but his grip is strong.

“And yet, I didn’t make you come. Tell me, wife, did Pullio ever make you come?” the general parts  his own legs so yours over him leave a wider gap, where he can see your sex, he only frees one hand so his finger can part your lips circling your apex, gathering your wetness mixed with his spent. The pleasure is intense and a sweet contradiction, makes you want to close your legs and also give in to his touch.

“Tell me” he orders softly in your ear

“Sometimes…”

“Show your husband what you like, I want to make sure I know how to pleasure my wife” his hand abandon your cunt for a moment, grabbing your hand to put on top of his to guide him. Your skin feels feverish, your cheeks on fire, thinking that you’re showing him what you hid for so long in the quietness of the stables or in the darkness of your room, missing the touch of a lover long gone.

“I wish to make you tremble every time we lay together, my wife”

You’re too far gone, your muscles tremble and your body wish to escape his touch, but he only grabs you harder, passing his arm over your hip forcing you to stay on top of him

“Please” you beg not quite ready to voice it aloud

“Tell me, my sweet”

“Please..” you beg against his mouth licking his lips “put your fingers inside of me”

Your husband abandons your clit to let you softly tease it while he thrust his fingers, reaching over the deepness you cannot touch, a soft spot that makes you instantly tremble.“Let go, my love” your gaze falls over the bed, his armour stands proudly in the room and the thought of those worn out hands from  death and battle making you feel so alive sends you over the edge. 

He kisses your breast and your face while you regain your sanity. “It’d be unfair of me to judge you over giving in to young love and passion, my wife, I only hope you can grow a small space for me in your affections” The general puts again his face on your neck as if it was always his place and birthright, as your bones were carved to hold his face.

“I ask the same of you, my husband” you whisper

“You heard the rumours, I guess” he sighs

“Lucilla and the General of Rome, the tragic lovers, of course, I have” you kiss his head “Tragic lovers…” Marcus evaluates the words, were they lovers? Only that? A proud Roman man should outrage that he didn’t gain a meek and devoting maiden over this bargain, but knowing you know how love and heartbreak feels like, it’s liberating. “I ran away for her, because she was too brave to leave Rome or watch it burn and seek power for herself. I must confess I only accepted this marriage so I could protect her in the future…I don’t know if she knows it. I’m sorry” he confesses, his heart speaking over yours, resting on your chest.

“I wished you never came back…so maybe I could ran away with Pullio” he feels your chest caving in and liberating this truth with a deep sigh.

“There has been many a time when I wish I wouldn’t either” he completes.

“What an odd couple we make then” you laugh “but nothing bad can begin from honesty I guess”

“I really hope I can give you my heart and you will give me yours eventually” The general raises his head to confess his deep desire straight into your eyes

“I’m beginning to think that it is very likely” your hand travels between your bodies to touch his heart and line his scars, Marcus watches your sweet descend. Shamelessly, grabbing his cock, softly pushing and pulling your skin “You don’t have to…” he sighs against your lips

“How many times do I have to prove I want you, Marcus?” you ask, and it almost to appease him as it is to appease your doubts and shame to love another.

Hearing his name on your lips, stirs him up, catching your mouth on a wild kiss, all teeth and tongue. His body is over yours in seconds, pushing your legs on his shoulders and he penetrates you with a deep thrust, you're gasping for air with the pace he takes, relentlessly pushing his hips, the grip on your legs is searing, leaving your body just to take him.

It enraptures him seeing the pleasure invade your senses, how tight you're holding him, how deep your cunt is taking him, the sound of both your skin slapping in the middle of the night, the wetness that evolves him. When he feels again that he won’t last any more, he mimics the circles you drew over your sex until you're screaming his name and trembling.

“I think it will be easy to give you my heart, Marcus” you say before your eyes close.

The linens are new, the servants put the cement and the artisans command where the tiles should go. The General didn’t ask for any design that show his battles, and you, as a dutiful wife, asked them to draw beautiful things, the sea, the stars, spring nothing that talk about death or glory.

This is a safe heaven of all that of all war and conquest, now knowing Marcus as you, knowing how much he craves for peace, you understand what your role is and you work as hard as you can to give a home, your chest so he can lay and rest and your heart, little by little so he can be safe.

“Domina” the slave calls, in his hand a brown stick with a few tiny leaves enrobed on a white linen protecting its roots. “Dominus ask for you to overlook where to plant the tree”

“A tree?”

“It is a stone pine, Domina, just as the one at your old house, as Dominus requested” he hands you a small handwritten note.

Find this tree a place to grow wherever you’d like. I know how much the one in your father’s house means to you, and I want you to have one at your home. If god, and you,  are willing, it will grow strong for years to come as my love for you.

Your husband

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part two

PART I • PART III • PART VI • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+  | ( 3.3k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T W O 🎶 theatre, etta marcus

❝ IS IT EASIER WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO START AGAIN? WHEN YOU DON’T WANNA MAKE AMENDS? ❞

‘Stealing a Winnebago’ had been easier than you’d assumed, but the getaway execution went exactly like you thought it would. Absolute disorganized chaos and the way Steve peeled out of the trailer park dumped you into Robin’s lap for the first mile. Made you even more skeptical of whatever half-assed plan these people had frankensteined together and now? You found yourself browsing the clothing section of The War Zone.

What in the hell were they thinking coming here anyway? From Eddie’s retelling of what happened under Lover’s Lake it sounded like not one of them knew anything about hand-to-hand combat, let alone guns. Couldn’t even land a punch, but thought they could handle this? Walls of rifles on display, rounders full of bulletproof gear and cases upon cases of bullets and god, you wanted to leave.

“Hey,” Nancy’s voice pulled your attention away from the tactical vests you were staring at, her eyes wide and earnest as she looked over at you. “If I go over to the counter, you gonna be okay?”

“Oh, totally,” you lied. “Yeah, was gonna go look over here anyway,” and you thumbed over your shoulder at more vests.

“Okay, good.”

She gave you a small Nancy-Wheeler-smile and left you there alone in a sea of camouflage. In the middle of a store you’d never have set foot in before all this and making you second guess yourself. Second guess what was seemingly more and more a stupid decision to go along with all of this and you huffed a sigh in frustration.

“Should’ve stayed in the trailer,” you grumbled under your breath, fighting the urge to just walk out, but apparently you weren’t the only one wandering around all the puke green clothing.

“Huh, didn’t know you had good ideas.”

The sound of Steve’s voice made your hands ball into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms.

“Do you ever have anything nice to say?” you sneered and he had the audacity to be so causal. Didn’t even look up from the tactical vests he was flipping through and tossed one into his cart.

“Not to you I don’t.”

Anger rose in your chest like a pot boiling over, so hot it made your cheeks burn as you glowered over at him.

“What’s your problem?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” and still he didn’t look at you. Picked a bomber jacket off the rack and piled it on top of his vest and it was the last straw.

Stalking over to his side of the rounder you got right up in his face, dug a finger into his chest and said, “Liar.”

His eyes flickered at your accusation, sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at you and warned, “Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.” And he leaned into your finger. Waited for you to fold. Tsked at your attitude and the sound of it triggered a memory so strong you felt like you’d been sucker punched.

Your second ever interaction with Steve Harrington happened the week before summer break.

You heard it while you were walking back to school from grabbing lunch at the diner. A high, sharp whistle followed by car horn and then—

“Owwww, damn baby!”

And you recognized the voice right away.

Tommy Hagan. Leaning out the passenger window of Steve’s BMW. Wolf-whistling at you and being a dick and you tried to ignore them, but then they were pulling up next to you and slowing way down.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tommy purred at your back, your mouth twisting into a scowl at the sound of Eddie’s nickname on his tongue. “You need a rid–” he started to ask, but his question cut short when you turned around.

Mouth dropped open in shock for a split second as he realized who you were, Tommy quickly recovered and started to laugh. That obnoxious, hyena-like laugh that made you want to punch him and he smiled and whistled again.

“Shit, Stevie! Who knew the freak had an ass on her!”

“You kiss Carol with that mouth, Tommy?” you shot back, Steve stifling a snicker from the driver’s seat.

“Bet you could do for a kiss, baby,” Tommy tsked, pouted his lips at you and grinned, “Always so damn sour.”

“Yeah? Wanna find out why?” you threatened and it made Tommy grin even wider. Shark-like. Predatory.

“Park it, Stevie,” Tommy didn’t bother looking at his friend, eyes locked on you as he opened the passenger door and jumped out of the car while it was still moving. Walked right up and crowded over you, eyes narrowing as he leaned in, “And what if I do?”

Your stomach lurched, heart leaping into your throat as you stood your ground. You didn’t think he’d take the bait, but you also didn’t shy away. God, you wished Eddie was there. Tilting your chin up in defiance you glared him down.

“Tommy, c’mon man. Just leave it,” you heard Steve’s voice from over Tommy’s shoulder, tinged at the edges with desperation as he ran up on the two of you, but Tommy couldn’t have cared less.

“Well? What’re you gonna do about it, toots?” Tommy pushed again, toes of his shoes knocking against yours as he stepped even closer, towering over you and it hit you like a ton of bricks how in over your head you were.

“Tommy, just leave–”

“I didn’t ask you, Harrington!” Tommy snapped and you took the opportunity.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt in your hands, you yanked Tommy down into you and drove your knee into his crotch as hard as you could.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he choked out, folded in half and hands covering his junk as he dry heaved and you took a big step back.

“Coward,” you turned and hurled the word at Steve and watched it land heavy as his face shifted. Brows pinching together and mouth dropped open, but nothing came out as he struggled to say those two little words. I’m sorry. To tell you he wasn’t like his friend, but his silence betrayed him.

“You bitch,” Tommy grunted at you as he tried to straighten up, one hand still over his crotch.

“Don’t move! I’ll–I’ll get you expelled!” you threatened and it made him laugh. A mean, mirthless thing.

“No fuckin’ way. My mom’s on the school board, who’s gonna take your side?”

And you looked back at Steve for a split second, silently asking him to step in and do something, but he stood frozen in place. Still unable to go against his ‘best friend’ and what little belief you had left in him was shattered.

You were done with Steve Harrington.

Shaking your head, you fought back the tears burning at the corners of your eyes and ran up the path to the cafeteria doors. Disappeared behind them with a loud, metallic slam! and left Steve alone to drown in the deafening silence.

Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.

It was like no time had passed, like you were still there in that parking lot with Tommy towering over you and tsking at you just like Steve was doing now, but this time you didn't run away.

“Don’t call me that!” you shoved at his chest and he stumbled back a step.

“Don’t call me a liar!”

“All you do is lie, Harrington! Your entire life was built on lies,” you could see his pulse fluttering against his neck. Watched his jaw tick as he clenched down on the words he wanted so badly to throw at you, but you didn’t give him a chance. “Why are you even here? You don’t give a shit about Eddie. You don’t give a shit about anyone, you’re–”

“Enough!” you flinched as his shout drew the attention of a couple older guys looking at the hunting gear. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? Not a god damn thing,” and the second part was quieter, but they way he held your gaze after punctuated it heavy.

He turned away from you, hastily pushing his cart back toward the cashier counter and walked out the double doors, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Hey, I’m not done!” you shouted after him across the parking lot. Sharp and biting and it made him spin back around, arms flung out at his sides in exasperation.

“Oh, yeah? Fine. What else you got?”

“Well, for one, I’m not going to sit here while you lord around like King Steve. This isn’t high school. No one here gives a shit about any of that.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at his old nickname. Sucked in a breath and let it out slow to try and steady himself.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“Seriously? Do you hear yourself? You’ve been a dick to me since I set foot in Max’s trailer! And honestly? I’m not surprised! You think I don’t remember all the shit you put me through, put us through in school?” you shot back and he opened his eyes to glare over at you.

“Like I said, Princess–”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“–you don’t have any idea what this is. What we’re up against. None. You’re in over your head.”

“Okay? And what, I’m supposed to sit here on my hands and say, ‘It’s fine! Steve Harrington and all his little friends will fix this’?? You’re out of your mind!”

“And you think you can?” he shot back and your heart rate thrummed heavy in your ears.

“You know, Eddie says he trusts you now, but hell if I will. No fucking way,” and as you turned and cut past him back to the Winnebago he had to jog to keep up.

“Hey! Eddie almost killed me! With a fucking beer bottle!”

You huffed a laugh and kept walking, shaking your head at the accusation and incredulous at the lengths he was going to prove his point.

“Why should I believe you?” you called over your shoulder, “You’re probably just gunning for a headline: Steve Harrington, Hero of Hawkins!”

“Headline?? I–are you kidding me? You think I’d do all this for a headline??”

And finally you stopped at the bottom step of the Winnebago and Steve seized his chance.

“You really think I’m that superficial?” he shot at your back, but you didn’t turn around. Didn’t even acknowledge him and he spent what little patience he had left. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

But you were already gone. Frozen in place with the world growing dark. Tree line ahead of you blurring. Unfocused and liquid like water and the ground swam under you as a voice echoed in your mind.

I see you.

The sound of Steve still talking behind you turned to fuzz, crackled like radio static and faded away into ear-splitting silence. Deafening and swallowing you whole and then you felt it. The ground falling out from underneath you and you were drowning in the dark and the voice that echoed in your mind pulled you even deeper.

Resisting will only make it worse.

❝ AND I NEVER HAD A TASTE FOR LIARS OR THE UNIQUELY UNINSPIRED ‘CAUSE I DON’T NEED TO BE DESIRED ❞

Steve glared daggers at your back. Anger hot and fuming and fueled by the fact that you had the nerve to ignore him and god, he wanted to prove you wrong.

“Are you trying to piss me off? Cos its work–” but the words died in his throat as he came around to face you. “Oh. Oh, shit,” with a quick glance over your shoulder he saw everyone else finally coming out of the store and he didn’t wait to call for help.

“Munson!! Eddie!” Steve yelled over your shoulder at your best friend before grabbing your shoulders in his hands and squeezed at them. Leaned down to try and meet your unfocused, far away gaze and when none of it worked he felt his chest grow tight.

Not again.

“Hey, hey! Look at me!" panic clawed its way up his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Stay with me! Munson–hurry up!”

Your eyes were glazed over, tears gathering at the corners as your whole body started to tremble. Breathing stuttered and caught in your throat. Lips parted and trying to pull air in, but it wasn’t enough and Steve felt his hand twitch. Wanted to press it to your cheek to try and ground you, reach you and bring you back, but then Eddie was finally at your side and shoving Steve out of the way.

“Sweetheart! Can you hear me? Shit, shit, shit. What happened?? Honey? Look at me!” Eddie cradled your face in his hands. Did what Steve couldn’t. Voice ratcheted up, his usual low timbre a high pitched thing driven by fear and hearing it doused any remaining anger that had settled into Steve’s chest and replaced it with something else.

With helplessness. Regret. Remorse.

With the slow realization that everything he’d just said to you wasn’t worth it. Remembered how Nancy had yelled at him, just like you, outside of the gym. You’re bullshit! And his throat squeezed with guilt for messing it all up again because he was bullshit. He was a liar and you were right. Had he learned nothing?

He looked at you, your face contorted with fear, and he felt something new flicker within him. A feeling blooming at the pit of his stomach. One he was so certain couldn’t possibly exist when it came to you, but as he stood there watching Eddie try to shake you back from the dark he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Steve, help me!” tears cut down Eddie’s cheeks as he called to him and pulled him hurtling back to Earth. Desperate. Pleading. Begging him to do something and it shook Steve back into action.

Heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursed through Steve's body and fought off the fear that had threatened to trap him in choke hold.

“Max, gimme your Walkman!” he shouted over your shoulder.

The rest of the group had started running back to the Winnebago as soon as they’d heard yelling and when Steve asked for the cassette player, Max knew time was running out.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath and broke into a sprint, scrambling to untangle the headphones from around her neck as she hurried to get to you. “Here! It’s still Kate Bush, is that–”

“Doesn’t matter–Munson get these on, hurry!” Steve, snatched the Walkman from Max and crammed it into Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Please, please, please,” fell from Eddie’s lips, desperate, praying that this would work as he fitted the headphones on and pressed them against your ears, “Please.”

Blinking heavy, you strained your eyes against the black. Against the suffocating dark you suddenly found yourself in. The stand of vivid, green ash trees lining the parking lot replaced by gnarled branches, dark and leafless. Bright yellow buttercups snuffed out by thick, wet vines that snaked their way across the ground under your feet.

You weren’t in the parking lot of the War Zone anymore, not really, and as you breathed in the sickly, ashen air your heart stopped in your chest.

The Upside Down.

“Eddie? Eddie!” you shouted into the dark, red lightening cracking the sky in two, and when no one answered you knew you were utterly alone.

Panic gripped you like a vice as you thought of Chrissy. Of Fred and Patrick and dread filled your stomach. Utter hopelessness and grief and when you whipped around to run you felt something tangle around your leg. Wrapping up, up, up and pulling you down, down, down.

You braced for it, ready to break your fall with your hands, but you never hit and instead found yourself lifting into the air. Unhinged laughter filling your ears as more vines snaked around your arms and legs and you swore you were going to be sick.

It was

Him.

“Why isn’t it working?? God dammit, work!” Eddie was yelling at the Walkman, his composure unravelling as Chrissy’s last moments flooded his mind. “Is she gonna die? She can’t die!” he pleaded and his voice cracked, a sob caught in his throat, “Please don’t let her die!”

“Hey hey, hey! Get a hold of yourself. That’s not gonna happen, okay? It’s gonna work,” Steve gripped Eddie’s shoulders, looked him in the eye and tried to reassure him, but when he glanced over at you he knew he couldn’t make that promise. “Please work,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Where are you going? You can’t leave. Not yet.

Vecna’s voice was everywhere. Flooding every part of you and you feared you would never feel joy again. Would never escape this. Would be stuck here forever screaming into the void, hanging on Vecna’s every whim.

I would like very much to show you where I’m going. Please, take a seat.

And the vines yanked you down, squeezed tight around your wrists and legs and held you fast against the ground, rocks digging painfully into your back.

“Please, let me go!” you pleaded into the dark. “Please, I–” but your mouth went dry as a shadowy figure appeared through the ash. Coming closer and closer in the dark with each heavy step and when it finally stopped, feet at your head, your blood ran cold.

Wet, sinewy skin. Muscles exposed and stretched taut. Eyes that pierced your mind and knew every single one your thoughts. Knew all the dark things spiraling there and made them worse. Clawed at you with spindly, protruding hands and long, dagger-like claws and suffocated you with the smell of something rotten.

Of decay.

Of death.

Reaching a hand down, Vecna held it over your face, inches away from touching you as you struggled against your restraints, but they constricted tighter with your every move.

“Please,” you were crying openly now, tears cutting paths through the ash that had settled on your cheeks, but he ignored you.

I want you to tell your friends, I want you to tell them everything you see. Everything I show you.

“No, please!”

Tell them!

“No, I can’t–”

Tell them everything!

And then your head felt like was being cleaved in two. White hot light fracturing the black sky into thick shards and your screams were the only thing you could hear as Vecna pried open your mind and poured into you his vision for the future...

Hawkins in ruin.

Four gashes in the earth. Cavernous. Hot and angry and full of fire.

Your family. Lying scattered across your lawn. Motionless and still and limbs bent wrong.

Tell them!

Your friends hanging in the air just like Chrissy, Fred, Patrick.

Eyes empty, slack-jawed and lifeless, bones snapped like twigs.

Tell them!

Eddie and Robin and Nancy and Steve and–

“NO!” you screamed, the sound pulled painfully from your lungs as you felt your legs give way and collapsed into yourself.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Steve scrambled to grab hold of your shoulder and barely caught you before your bare knees hit the pavement.

You heard birds chirping. Sunlight filtering through the backs of your eyelids as you kept them squeezed shut, but the air was clean. Smelled fresh and as you slowly opened your eyes you realized you weren’t choking on ash anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve was still holding onto you, your hands pressed into his thighs as you braced yourself, the feeling of nausea overwhelming.

“I saw him,” you whispered, only Steve could hear you and you started to cry.

“Him?” Steve asked unnecessarily, glancing up at Eddie. Hoping, no praying, if he asked maybe you’d give a different answer. One that wouldn’t involve death and the end of the world and everything hinging on this stupid fucking plan, but he knew.

Everyone knew.

Eyes glued on their feet. Arms folded over their chests and uneasy with the weight that had settled over the group.

“Vecna.”

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[heartlessvirgo]

Thread of Gold

Summary:

In fair Rome, where we lay our scene, Two hearts untouched by fate, are bound unseen. One, of power and glory, stands apart, The other, bound to labor, keeps her heart. You, a maid of humble hands and toil, Your days are filled with work, with sweat, with soil. You know not how his eyes follow your stride, Nor how his heart, in silence, does confide. For though you do not know him, cannot see, His heart beats only for the one you’ll be. The great man stands, and in his world of pride, He aches for you, though worlds apart you bide.

In fair Rome, where we lay our scene, Two hearts, unseen, will cross where none have been.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: Slight Angst, Swearing, don't touch her, Kissing, heavy petting, MDNI, very brief interaction of assault but it never happens

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: idk if you could tell, but this is DEFINITELY inspired by Romeo & Juliet. So yes, this is my first post ever, so I hope you like it! I'm more into writing smut so yes there will be a part two. Also my inbox is open if you want to suggest any prompts or just wanna chat! -mel

In the heart of Rome, where the gods’ shadows fall long and the streets pulse with the rhythm of ambition, two lives move along parallel paths. One so high he commands the gaze of the city; the other so low she slips beneath it unnoticed.

In this city, glory is currency, and men like Marcus Acacius are rich beyond reckoning. You have seen him once, only once, though his presence lingers everywhere. In the square where his name is whispered in awe. In the cloths you wash, edged with the gilded trim that marks his station. He is a figure carved of legend, towering and untouchable, his every step commanding the gaze of all who dare to look.

You, by contrast, are invisible. A shadow among shadows. A woman bound to this corner of the world, where the gods’ blessings feel like distant stars—present, perhaps, but far beyond your reach. The life you lead is unremarkable, confined to the walls of his domus, where you work tirelessly, ensuring every garment, every linen, is immaculate. And yet, there is a restless pull within you, one that stirs whenever the thought of him takes hold. Women, of all ranks, all ages, wanted a second look from Marcus.

The city is alive with firelight and fervor, its heartbeat a relentless drum of steel and blood. Through the small, arched window of the laundry quarters, you watch as the arena’s shadow spills over the streets like a looming promise. The roar of the crowd seeps through the cracks in the walls, mingling with the damp scent of lye and the ache in your hands from scrubbing linen all day.

You press a damp tunic between your fingers and glance out again. Tonight, Rome hums with anticipation, and the stars themselves seem to lean closer, their light sharp and cold. Somewhere out there, General Acacius moves with the confidence of a man who belongs to this world, his every action a chapter in the history of Rome. You tell yourself it is foolish, the way your pulse quickens at the mere thought of him. But the truth? The truth is that just like every other woman, he has already become a part of you, as inevitable and inescapable as the dusk. 

As the night deepens, the domus quiets, the servants retiring to their quarters, leaving the halls hushed and dimly lit. You linger, folding the last of the linens, the familiar task grounding you amidst the whirlwind of thoughts. The distant clatter of hooves and the muffled murmur of voices signal his return from the arena.

The domus is a labyrinth of polished marble and flickering lamplight, a place where servants like you slip through the shadows, unseen but indispensable. You step into the courtyard, the bundle of linen cradled in your arms, the warm air brushing against your skin. The flicker of torchlight plays along the stone paths, and there, by the fountain, stands Marcus Acacius. His armor, dulled with the dust of the arena, glints faintly, a testament to his earlier triumph.

He turns slightly, his gaze meeting yours across the space. You freeze, heart thudding, caught in the weight of his attention. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the night folding in around this fragile, unexpected connection.

A gust of wind stirs, and a linen sheet slips from your grasp, drifting toward him. Without hesitation, he steps forward, catching it mid-air with a practiced ease. His movements are smooth, deliberate, as he approaches and offers the fabric back to you.

“Are these yours?” he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper, yet carrying the weight of authority—a sound you would never expect from a man who commands legions and stands before emperors. The gentleness in his words is at odds with the strength of the man in front of you, like the softest caress against the iron of his character.

“Technically,” you respond, your voice quiet but steady, “they belong to you, General.” You reach out, your fingers slow, unsure, yet compelled. The moment they brush against his, the contact is electric—fleeting, but it leaves a spark that lingers in the air. The linen is still warm from his hand, and the heat seems to seep into your skin, your pulse quickening with the knowledge that you are standing in the very presence of a man who could make cities fall with a single word.

"Thank you, My Lord" you murmur, the words slipping from your lips like a secret confession carried on the night air, barely more than a whisper, yet loud enough to echo in the space between you.

His gaze lingers, a silent question in his eyes, as if he’s searching for something beneath the surface, something beyond the simple garb and the labor-worn hands. For a fleeting moment, it feels as though the world narrows to just this—the soft glow of torchlight between you, the quiet breath of the night holding its secrets. His attention is not the indifferent glance of a master, but something deeper, as though he glimpses a hidden truth, a spark that even you have not yet named.

But before the moment can unfurl its full meaning, you drop your gaze, the weight of his scrutiny too much, too intimate. You step back into the familiar cloak of duty, retreating into the rhythmic solace of your tasks, a shield against the unfamiliar vulnerability he stirs within you.

As you slip away, the warmth of his presence clings to the air, a tender ache that lingers against the cool night breeze. The silent imprint of him, like a shadow stitched into the fabric of your thoughts, remains even as you cross the threshold back into the quiet confines of the domus. You remind yourself of your place, a maid woven into the tapestry of his grand world, a mere thread among the opulent patterns.

And yet, for the first time, a whisper of possibility stirs within you. In the vast sprawl of Rome, beneath the gods’ indifferent gaze, you begin to wonder—if only in the quietest corners of your heart—whether there is a hidden path where your worlds might converge, where the stars might align not for destiny or glory, but for something as simple, as profound, as two souls meeting in the shadows.

_

You don’t think of him often—not since the night when your paths crossed briefly. You’re too busy to dwell on whether or not he was simply being kind or if you really should let it get to your head. It’s not like you were dressed of high status, but the swish of your dress, the way the fabric moved around your legs, was finer than most servants. The pale blues and soft greens of your gown caught the light in a way that made you feel as if you were not entirely beneath notice, as if, for a fleeting moment, you too could belong to the grandeur of Rome.

The fabric, though not rich enough to be woven of silk, flowed with a subtle elegance, catching the breeze like a whisper of the sea. The hem swept across the floor as you walked, the soft rustle of it almost like music. Your dress was simple in cut, with a bodice that clung to your form, but the delicate, intricate embroidery along the edges of the sleeves—an ornate pattern of pale threads—was a touch that spoke of care, of something more than the rough linens most of the other servants wore. It was a piece worn with purpose, like a quiet rebellion against the life you were bound to. The colors, a delicate play of light and shadow, somehow made your skin glow, almost made it seem as thought you were wearing gold. Adding a touch of grace you didn’t quite feel but carried as if by fate.

The flickering torchlight cast long shadows down the hallway as you made your way to Marcus’ private quarters, the linen bundles heavy in your arms. You didn’t always deliver his fresh linens, but tonight, you were tasked with changing his bedclothes. It wasn’t an unfamiliar duty, but it always seemed more... personal when it was his chambers. The scent of battle and blood always lingered in the air around him, a stark contrast to the soft linens you worked with. With your hip, you push the door open, humming a tune they sing on the streets after his many triumphs. Walking in, the spacious room is still, a soft glow flickering against the stone walls.

You set the basket of clean linens on the ground and straighten your back, stretching the ache from your shoulders. The air smells faintly of earth, leather, and a hint of sweat—a trace of the arena’s unforgiving world. You make your way to the large bed, and it is only as you begin to strip the old linens off the mattress that you hear the soft scrape of a chair shifting behind you.

For a moment, you don’t register the noise, too absorbed in your task. But then, you freeze, your pulse quickening when you realize that someone is in the room with you. Slowly, you turn, and to your shock, Marcus is standing near the basin, looking directly at you.

You hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t expected him to be home so soon. It’s too late to pretend you didn’t notice, too late to retreat gracefully. Your eyes widen, and the bundle of linens slips slightly from your grasp.

"My lord," you stammer, pushing yourself off the bed, straightening your posture immediately as you avert your gaze to the floor. The flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks, and you twist your fingers nervously. "I... I was not aware you had returned."

He looks at you with a quiet curiosity, his expression unreadable. The flickering light casts shadows across his face, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw and the dusting of stubble along his chin. His presence is commanding, even here, in the quiet of his private quarters.

“I’ve soiled my hands,” he says casually, his voice deeper than it was outside the arena, quieter now that he’s removed from the noise of the crowd and the cheers of victory. You watch as he outstretches his hand, palm splaying as if to prove his point. His tone is matter-of-fact, yet there's a hint of something—something unspoken—in his words. "I shall require assistance before I retire for the evening." 

You blink, still adjusting to the idea of him here, so close you could smell him. With a deep breath, you approach him, your voice measured and respectful. “Of course, my lord. I will see to it immediately.” You round him as he takes a seat, his knees widely spread as he waits.

You reach for a cloth to dip in the basin of cool water, but before you can wet it, his eyes lock with yours. There’s an intensity in his gaze, a deliberate search for something in you. It’s not an unfamiliar gaze, but it feels heavier now, more focused.

“I fought with men today, trained until bloody.” he says, his voice low, almost surprising in its softness given the violence of his day. "And yet, it is the touch of a servant’s hand I now seek to cleanse mine."

You dip the cloth into the water and step closer, careful not to brush against him too much. The closeness of his body, the heat of it, makes your breath catch in your throat. Still, you manage to keep your hands steady, wiping away the dried blood from his fingers, watching the red turn to a soft pink as the water turns clear again.

“You’ve done much more than fight today,” you remark, your tone neutral, though a flicker of amusement twitches at the corners of your lips. "Perhaps you would do well to rest, and not burden your servants further with tasks such as these.”

Marcus chuckles softly, a dark sound that fills the space between you two. There’s an edge to it, but it’s not unkind. 

“Is it not my right to make use of those who serve me?” He raises a brow, his smile faint but teasing. “A servant such as yourself should be honored. Not every hand is worthy enough to touch mine.” 

You keep your gaze fixed downward, your hands moving with practiced rhythm as you gently wipe the remaining dried blood. The quiet clink of water and cloth the only sounds in the space. Yet, the teasing quality of his voice, low and laced with something you can’t quite name, makes the task feel strangely light. Each word he speaks seems to linger in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, drawing your attention despite your best efforts to remain focused.

"I suppose I should consider myself fortunate then," you murmur, the words slipping past your lips more easily than you expect. “Thank you my lord,” They come out with a playful lightness, a fleeting defiance that surprises even you.

Daring a quick glance upward, you meet his dark eyes—and immediately regret it. There’s something in the depths of his gaze that catches you off guard. Soft, warm brown eyes that hold you in place, like the calm before a storm. A hint of approval, perhaps, or something else—an unreadable softness that contrasts with the steel of his presence. Your pulse quickens, and for the briefest moment, the world narrows to just him, to that knowing look.

"Or maybe I…" His voice trails off, leaving the air charged, thick with the weight of possibility. He holds your gaze, his eyes unwavering, while the silence stretches long and taut between you, each second stretching to infinity.

The task you’re performing—simple, mundane—feels worlds away from your reality now, the proximity to him like a pull you can’t escape. His hands, calloused from battle, rough from a life carved in the crucible of the arena, seem so foreign against the delicate fabric of your world. Yet, as you finish cleaning them, your fingers brush against his skin, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. The contact is fleeting, but it sends a ripple through the air, a subtle shift that you can feel deep in your chest.

You pull away, but the warmth of his touch, the hardness of his hands beneath yours, stays with you long after you set the cloth aside. The space between you feels electric now, charged with something unspoken, a current that hums quietly in the silence. And even as you return to your task, you know it will be hard to forget that moment—impossible, almost—to erase the sensation of him from your thoughts.

_

The room pulses with decadence, a feverish spectacle of excess. The grand hall is alive with the sounds of revelry—laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Torches line the walls, casting their flickering light over the guests as they indulge in a feast fit for the gods. The air is thick with the scent of roast meats, rich perfumes, and the sharp tang of wine—too much wine. In every corner, men sit, their faces flushed, eyes glazed with drunkenness. The emperors, Geta and Caracalla, are seated at the head of the table, their arrogance and power radiating like a cruel aura. They watch the festivities unfold with bored amusement, their presence elevating the indulgence around them.

But it’s the women who catch your attention most. Naked bodies drape over the tables, lounging languidly as if they were mere ornaments to be admired or used. Their flesh glistens with oil, and their eyes, half-lidded, seem to reflect nothing but the sheer emptiness of it all. They move slowly, seductively, their every gesture designed to provoke. Some are feeding the men, their hands brushing against chins and lips as they serve wine. Others are entwined in the arms of their drunken patrons, their bodies exposed in the light of the torches. Their laughter is high-pitched and shrill, blending with the deeper rumble of the men’s voices.

You weave through the crowd, your heart in your throat, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. You’ve been serving wine for hours now, your hands trembling each time you fill a goblet, praying you won’t spill a drop. The fear of messing up gnaws at your insides, the thought of being dismissed from this gilded cage and cast into the streets where you would have nothing—nothing but your own shame. You’ve heard the rumors, the stories of women like you who make one mistake and are forgotten, discarded into the shadows.

There are whispers of women being sold off, sent to the brothels to satisfy the whims of men with too much power and not enough restraint. You can't bear the thought of that fate. Every moment feels like a test, and your very existence in this palace depends on getting it right, at least just for tonight. 

As you approach one of the tables to refill a cup, your hands are unsteady. You can feel their eyes on you before you see them, but when you do, it’s too late to turn away. One man reaches out, his hand heavy and demanding as he pulls your arm toward him. His touch is rough, fingers curling around your wrist as though you are nothing more than an object for his amusement. “Bring me more wine,” he growls, his breath sour. The men at the table laugh, their voices growing louder, and you feel the weight of their gaze like a hundred burning coals.

Embarrassment flares in your cheeks, curling like a wave as your pulse quickens, a wave of panic rising in your chest. You’ve seen how things like this can escalate. One wrong move, and you could be caught up in something far beyond your control. You glance toward the emperors, towards anyone, hoping for any sign of mercy, but everyone is too absorbed in their own conversation, their attention elsewhere.

The man’s hands, rough and brutal, clamp down on your hips, pulling you into his lap with a violent tug. You try to squirm, but his grip is unforgiving, forcing your body flush against his. The noise of the banquet fades into the background as his scent overpowers you—wine, sweat, and the sharpness of his lewd intentions. He grins, his fingers curling into the fabric of your gown, pushing it upward with slow, insidious intent.

You freeze, your stomach sinking as the sickening realization of what’s about to happen sinks in. His laughter is thick with malice, and the men at the table cheer him on, urging him to take his pleasure. You try to move, try to push him off, but the more you struggle, the tighter his grip becomes. The fear creeps in deeper, threatening to drown you—this is how it ends. You can feel the tightness in your chest, the suffocating fear that claws at your throat. One wrong move, and you might never escape.

"Don't be coy, little cunt," he slurs, his words thick with wine and malice. "You know what I want."

And then—without warning—the world shifts. He doesn’t speak, not at first. There’s no grand gesture, no booming voice to call attention to the scene. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough. 

His hand wraps around the man’s wrist with a precision that is almost surgical, twisting it with enough force that the man is forced to release you, his drunken eyes widening in shock. Marcus does not raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The mere presence of him in this space is enough to still the crowd. No one dares to challenge him. His grip on the man’s wrist tightens, but his eyes, his focus, never leave you. There’s no hesitation in his gaze—only the quiet promise of safety.

“Unhand her,” Marcus says, his voice so low that only you and the man can hear it. It’s a command, but it’s delivered with such calm authority that the man stumbles backward in his seat, like a child caught stealing. He’s humiliated, his bravado cracking in an instant. Without a word, he retreats, almost tumbling over his own feet to get away.

Standing to your feet, the blood rushes to your ears, a deafening woosh that drowns out everything else. Your vision spins as you stumble, the shock of the moment still rippling through your body. Marcus is there, his grip tight around your arm, almost too tight, like he's afraid you'll slip away from him. His touch is rough, more forceful than you expected, and it sends a shiver of something unfamiliar down your spine.

"Easy," he mutters under his breath, though there’s no softness in his voice. He drags you through the crowd, his hand never loosening on your arm. His steps are swift, urgent, and he doesn’t look back to see if anyone follows. You can feel the weight of his presence pressing against you, a silent warning that no one should dare cross him.

The music fades as he leads you out of the feast hall and into a quieter corridor. The air is cooler here, but it still carries the weight of what could have been. As you pass through the halls, the sounds of the party grow faint, leaving only the heavy thud of Marcus’s steps and your shallow breath as you try to match his long strides.

The halls opens up to a balcony, one that overlooks the courtyard and in the distance all of Rome. But instead of the calm respite you might have expected, you find a different kind of chaos unfolding. You are alone, save for a man who sits, his legs spread wide, with a woman kneeling before him—her naked body is outlined against the torchlight, her hands working between his legs as the man grunts in pleasure. The scene is raw and obscene, an undeniable reminder of the brutal, dehumanizing nature of the world they live in.

For a moment, Marcus tenses, his jaw clenched tight, the fury in his chest palpable. His hand tightens around your wrist, pulling you sharply away, as if the sight itself might stain you. His breath is heavy, laced with the sharp scent of wine and something darker—something possessive. His gaze flickers over the scene for a moment longer, but then he drags you away, pulling you further down the hall, deeper into the shadows. 

"Look at me, not them," he commands, his voice harder now, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface. You don’t question him. There’s a rawness in his tone that cuts through the haze of the evening, and you understand. You know. This isn’t about the woman, or the man. This is about you.

Once you're in the relative safety of the hall, where only the dim light of the torches casts long shadows across the stone floors, Marcus stops. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, but his eyes are dark, hard. 

“You cannot remain here,” Marcus says finally, his voice low but filled with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. His gaze flickers over your face, as though he’s searching for something, though you aren’t sure what. “Not with them. Not with any of them. How did you get in here?” 

His words are blunt, and they hit you like a stone sinking into your chest. The emperor’s men, the drunk revelers, the lecherous eyes—they all see you as an object to be used, to be taken. Marcus is the only one who doesn’t look at you like that. But the thought of him dragging you further into this world, this suffocating, corrupt world, leaves you cold.

“The emperors servants requested help for tonight, I had no other choice-” You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see the storm in his eyes. The quiet kind that he uses for battle, for the arena. 

“You are not safe here,” Marcus continues, looking around, and for a moment he looks frightened, though it’s unclear whether he’s speaking to you or himself. “I’ll have someone escort you back to-,” he adds.

“I cannot,” you interrupt, your voice trembling more than you want to admit. You pull your hand into your chest, cradling it as if it were something precious, something vulnerable. Your body feels stiff, like a fragile thing that could shatter at the slightest movement. 

“They will notice... and they will have my hand.” The words taste like ash in your mouth, but they’re the truth. You’ve seen how easily women like you disappear in these circles, how quickly favor can turn to disdain and then to something worse.

Marcus’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking back toward where the music continues. But he knows what lies behind the flashing smiles and empty laughter—the cold, calculating eyes of the emperors, always watching, always waiting for someone to slip, to make a mistake.

His hands clench into fists and in the dim light, you notice the tinge of wine on his lips. Was he with a prostitute tonight? Was that why it took so long to notice you in there? Perhaps, but what right did you have to feel a twinge of jealousy?

His voice is low, urgent, when he speaks again, pulling you from your thoughts. “They will notice, yes. And that is why you must leave, now.” His tone is sharp, a command wrapped in concern. “They will take interest in you, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I will not let them use you. Do you understand?”

You nod, your throat tight with the weight of his words. The truth stings—the helplessness that lurks behind his voice, the admission that even Marcus, with all his strength and authority, can do nothing against the emperor’s whims. For the first time, you feel something cold seep into your bones—an understanding of just how far out of control this world is. You feel small under his gaze, his protective grip, but at the same time, there’s something else. A flicker of warmth.

_

You are escorted home, though the word feels far too generous. Home is not here—this room, these walls, are not for you. You shouldn’t even be in his quarters, but somehow, here you are. 

Your fingers twist together nervously, the motion a quiet echo of your restless mind. The room is too quiet, the weight of it heavy on your shoulders. You should be in the servant's quarters, cleaning or organizing, doing anything but this. But instead, you’re here, alone in his space. It’s an unspoken rule, a boundary you should never have crossed. And yet, you can't bring yourself to care as much as you know you should.

You should leave. You know you should. But you can’t.

The double doors open to reveal General Acacius, his frame a silhouette in the dim light. His head is low, as if weighed down by thoughts, his broad shoulders tight with something unreadable. His hand runs through the thick, dark tendrils of his hair, the motion heavy, like he's trying to rid himself of the night’s thoughts.

He lifts his head slowly, his gaze first distant, then sharpening, focusing on you. You stand there in the half-light, your figure framed by the silver streams of moonlight spilling through the window. For a heartbeat, it feels like the entire world holds its breath.

His eyes meet yours. Soft, warm, brown eyes. The kind of eyes that have seen so much, but in that moment, they hold a depth only for you. And for a fleeting second, you could almost believe there’s a softness in him—a tenderness buried beneath the soldier’s armor, beneath the hardened exterior. But you look away before it lingers too long.

He clears his throat, the sound rough and unsteady, a sign of something at war inside him. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, his voice low, almost a murmur, as if the words are meant to be heard by no one but himself. Yet, they hang between you both, thick and raspy. 

“I’m sorry,” you shift, trying to find the courage to meet his gaze again, but all that fills your mind is the memory of the night—the emperor’s party, the assault, his strong hand pulling you away from the danger with an ease that belied his own inner turmoil.

“Do not apologize when you do not mean it,” Marcus doesn’t move, though you feel his presence grow heavier in the space. It’s like he’s standing on the edge of something, caught between two choices—between the man who would offer you safety and the man who has this position of power. You can almost see the conflict in his posture, in the way his muscles tense and relax with each breath, the way his gaze drops to the floor before he meets yours once more.

“Did they hurt you?” His voice is rough, a question steeped in something more than concern—a longing, perhaps, that neither of you can admit. Finally, he steps forward, the doors slowly shutting behind him, sealing your fate. 

His hands flex by his sides, a movement so small but so telling. You know the weight of his power—the way people listen when he speaks, how the air shifts around him when he steps into a room. But here, now, standing in front of you, there is something else beneath that hard exterior. The way he watches you, how he holds himself back as if one wrong move could shatter the fragile moment between you both.

“No, nothing you can see.” His breath catches, just enough to betray him. And for a moment, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are—how different things would be if he didn’t have to be the general, if you didn’t have to be the servant. If he could reach out and say the things he kept locked inside.

But he doesn’t. His gaze drifts, tracing the outline of your face, his lips barely parted as if he’s struggling to find the right words. And you know he won’t speak them, because what good would it do? You’re not his to want. Not like this. Not when his world was filled with danger, not when he’d drag you down to the depths of hell. 

Marcus’s voice cuts through the dim light, low and edged with frustration. “You foolish girl, do you have a death wish?” His words are sharp, but beneath them, there’s a tremor of something more—concern, perhaps, though buried deep.

You stiffen, surprised but not silenced. “Foolish? I am bound by duty, as you are. What would be truly foolish is to expect a servant to wield choice where none exists.” Your words strike the air between you, defiant, but his stance remains unwavering. It is almost as though he anticipated your defiance, relished it.

“You are under my charge,” Marcus replies, his gaze steady. “Why was I not informed of this before it transpired? Surely I should be privy to the whereabouts and well-being of my household.” His chin lifts, the authority in his tone unyielding.

“What transpires, and what you are told, is not for me to dictate,” you retort, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“Indeed.” He nods, as though your response has confirmed his point. His calm exterior is maddening, the tension building beneath his collected demeanor.

The fire in your chest blazes, and before you can stop yourself, the words escape. “Did you not notice me before? Or were you preoccupied with some other... entertainment?” The accusation hangs in the air, brazen and dangerous.

“Entertainment?” Marcus echoes, his brow lifting. His eyes trace the curve of your neck, the heat of his gaze searing more than your words. The insult seems to have glanced off him, leaving his focus elsewhere—on you.

You tilt your head, your heart pounding, desperate for a reaction, an answer that might betray his thoughts. “Perhaps you are not the lauded general they claim, if such distractions elude your notice.”

Despite your cutting words, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. In the muted glow of the room, it’s unmistakable—a flicker of amusement, or something darker, something that hints at a desire he cannot fully suppress.

But still, that longing flickers in the depths of his eyes, the unspoken desire that clings to the air between you, unnoticed by you but so obvious to him. It’s a yearning he can never voice, a passion that burns quietly beneath the weight of his armor.

For a second, you almost believe that if you were to step closer, you could see it all—the man who wishes to be more, the man who needs to be something else. But you don’t. Because in the end, you know your place here.

You stand frozen, feeling the pull between the heat of his gaze and the heavy, uncertain air that hangs between you. 

His presence is overwhelming—his broad silhouette, his dark hair falling in soft waves, and the glint of gold on his chest catching the dim light, each piece a reminder of his power, his status. The rich, earthy scent of his skin, the leather of his armor, the faint trace of something warm and intoxicating—like the spice of sandalwood—fills the space, making your head spin.

You can see the beautiful curve of his nose now, and the gentle parting of his lips—so close you could feel the heat radiating from them. You’ve never been this close to a man before, let alone one as dangerous as him.

“Fierce as you may be, you are too gentle for a world such as this,” he murmurs, his voice rough like the grind of stone beneath a soldier’s sandal. The words don’t feel like an insult, not in the way you might have expected, but more like a declaration. His gaze softens, though, as he watches you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t name.

“Too gentle?” you echo, a soft defiance lacing your tone. “Blame the gods, the endless wars, and the emperors with their insatiable greed and selfish ambition. It is they who have hardened the world, do not mistake gentle for naivety.” You should step back. You should flee. This isn’t your place. But the words flow freely from your throat. A hot realization erupts in your cheeks, how close you stand, the distance between your warm bodies. You’ve never been kissed before, never felt this kind of pull, and so it makes it impossible to move.

Marcus’s gaze softens, the weight of your words settling heavily on him. He steps closer, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Perhaps,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent. “But it is the world we live in. And in it, gentleness can be a dangerous thing.”

His hand reaches out, hovering near your cheek but never quite touching. “You’ve known too little of the world’s cruelties, and I fear what it might do to you.” His brow furrows, his voice dropping further. “I would keep you from it if I could.”

Marcus doesn’t give you the space to retreat, though. He closes the gap between you both until there’s barely an inch separating you, his breath mingling with yours as he gazes down at you. The weight of his presence presses down on you—his chest rising and falling with each breath, the swoosh of his robe brushing against his body as he moves, the weight of his armor glinting in the light, and the softness of his gaze pinning you in place.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a soft reverence. “You fight me, yet, I envy you. Too soft for this place. This world... it’s made for men who know how to fight. But you—" He leans in, close enough that you can smell the remnants of wine on his lips as he whispers, “—you don’t belong here. Not in a world that takes what it wants without mercy.”

His hand comes up, fingertips grazing the side of your arm, tracing your exposed neck and to the side of your jaw. The touch is tentative, as if he, too, is afraid of what might happen next. His thumb brushes the line of your jaw, tracing the curve of it with an intimacy that leaves you breathless.

“Do you know what it feels like?” he asks softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “To be wanted, to be taken... like this?” You shake your head, suddenly too nervous, too overwhelmed to respond. 

Marcus pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression a blend of uncertainty and something darker—something you’ve never seen in him. "Unspoiled, unclaimed, like a bloom untouched by the winds of desire." he says, almost as a statement of fact, as though he’s seen it in you all along.

“I—I…” You can’t find the words. The heat of the moment, the closeness of his body, the dangerous allure of him… it’s all too much. Too many emotions, too many sensations flooding your senses at once.

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no distance between you. “Stop me now,” he warns, his voice a rough whisper against your lips, “or I may not hold my temptation much longer.”

He draws nearer, his presence a shadow that looms over you, his breath warm and steady against the delicate curve of your lips.

“Never been kissed,” he says softly, almost to himself, his voice thick with something like understanding. The need to taste his lips has never been more overwhelming, a hunger that rises within you like a fire. Your chest tightens, and you feel the sting of tears threatening to break free, though you fight them back, for what would it mean to weep in the presence of such a man?

You nod, the words lodged in your throat, but he doesn’t wait for more. His hand lifts, fingers curling at the back of your neck, and a shock of surprise courses through you. You barely have time to breathe before his lips descend upon yours—no gentleness, no hesitation, only raw, fervent hunger. It is not calculated, not gentle—it is the kind of kiss that betrays restraint and spills over with urgency. Your teeth knock together awkwardly, and you gasp, struggling to adjust to his force. Your hands, trembling, hover unsurely for a moment, before they find purchase on his chest, gripping the fabric of his tunic as if it is the only thing anchoring you to this moment, to him.

“So sweet,” He moves against you, his lips pressing and pulling with a fierce rhythm, slow at first, as though searching for the proper cadence. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, trying to mirror his movements, but the pace quickens. Just when it seems you might falter, just when you think you’ve lost control, he deepens the kiss, and warmth spreads from his mouth to yours, igniting something within you. Your senses whirl, and for the briefest moment, you forget the world outside the space between you both.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "You deserve more than this," he murmurs, his voice rough, a mix of reverence and regret. "More than a man bound by duty and chains."

Marcus pulls back just slightly, and your eyes open, meeting the soft brown of his. The tenderness in his gaze nearly undoes you. His hand moves to your jaw, his touch reverent, almost as if he is afraid you will break. His lips find yours once more, but this time, it is different—more deliberate, more certain. His kiss is no longer tentative but deep and urgent, as though he is claiming a piece of you that only he can touch.

You lose yourself in it—the heat, the pressure, the pulse of his mouth. His teeth catch your lip, and it stings, but you barely notice. A whimper, whether yours or his, fills the space, but the sound is lost in the rush of breath, in the mingling of lips and skin. You feel the roughness of his stubble against your chin, the faint taste of wine lingering on his tongue, and still, there is no hesitation in him, no caution. Only the need that pulses between you both, growing louder with every second.

The kiss is imperfect, nothing graceful or refined about it. Your noses bump, lips miss their mark, but none of it matters. All that matters is him—the way his hands are on you, pulling you closer as if the world would unravel if he let go. His fingers tangle in your hair, his grip tight, as though afraid you might slip away. The fire of his touch, the pulse of his heart that you can feel through the chest of his tunic, it is all you can focus on. His teeth graze your lip again, a gentle pain, but you do not mind.

All the awkwardness, all the hesitation that held you back before, it crumbles. His warmth wraps around you, and you, helpless in his arms, yield to it entirely. The only thing that remains is the kiss, the consuming kiss, and the undeniable need that surges between you both—untamed, undeniable.

His mouth is now fierce, a wet warmth, his tongue gently coaxing yours to move with his. The kiss is greedy, passionate, as though he’s starved for this moment, for you. He presses you back until the back of your knees press into the frame of his bed, his hands sliding to your waist. He pulls you flush against him, the hard outline of his body unmistakable beneath the softness of his robe.

Every inch of him seems to burn, the strength of his body almost suffocating, and yet you can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. His lips are insistent, coaxing yours open, and you melt into the kiss—his dominance over you impossible to ignore. His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you tighter against him, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric between you both.

You gasp into the kiss, a soft moan escaping your lips, and Marcus groans, the sound low and guttural, reverberating through his chest and underneath your fingertips. He’s still guiding your hands, placing them where they reach, urging you to feel the solid strength of him. His lips move down to your neck, and you tilt your head back instinctively, exposing the soft curve of your throat, offering yourself to him in a way you never thought you would. In a way you’ve never given yourself to anyone. In this moment, you wonder if any other man could ever possess you as he does. None could live up to the gravity of his presence.

The kiss grows deeper, wetter, as his tongue traces the line of your jaw, the taste of him heady and overwhelming. His lips are insistent, pulling at you with a hunger that feels both terrifying and exhilarating, and you can feel your body responding to him, to the roughness of his touch and the heat that pulses between your delicate thighs. 

"Yet here I stand, unable to turn away." His gaze meets yours, the weight of his longing evident in his eyes, before he kisses you again, slower, savoring every moment like it's the last. "I want to consume you," he breathes against your skin, his voice raw with desire, and it’s a statement that leaves no room for doubt. 

With a swift, commanding motion, he softly pushes you back onto the bed. Mouths still connected, his quiet growl of restraint echos between your lips.  His body follows, a heavy, searing weight settling between your thighs, pushing you into the soft sheets. The heat of him radiates, suffocating, intoxicating—his raw masculinity demanding your attention.

His breath comes quicker now against your mouth, and you feel the undeniable hardness of him against your core, the pulse of his need unmistakable. His hands roam, one still on your neck, the other sliding to the flesh of your ass, feeling the curve of your body as if he cannot get close enough. And yet, even as he takes, he’s gentle—as gentle as a man who has killed men with his bare hands can be. 

You shift beneath him, grinding upwards into him, desperate for the contact against you clit, for the something that you don’t fully understand. Your breath hitches, and before you can stop it, the words spill out in a trembling whisper. "Please, Marcus..."

His breath stutters, and his hands tighten on you, the muscles in his jaw clenching, as if battling the very thing he wants most.

The kiss fades, but the heat of it clings to your skin, lingering like the aftertaste of wine long past its prime. Your body still trembles, caught in the aftermath of something you cannot name. But Marcus—he pulls away, his face hardening, as though the very touch of you has scorched him.

His eyes, once soft and filled with unspoken promises, harden into something cold, distant. He stands before you now as if the very air between you both has become too heavy to bear. The warmth of the moment slips away, replaced by an unfamiliar chill that settles in your chest.

“This cannot continue,” Marcus declares, his voice low yet unmistakable, carrying the authority of a man accustomed to giving commands. From the foot of the bed, his robe sweeps behind him like a dark stormcloud, the fabric rustling as he takes a step back.

His gaze lingers on you, but it is not the soft, searching look you had felt moments before. Now, his eyes are cold, hard, as though he’s seeing a stranger rather than the woman he held in his arms. You instinctively press your knees together, hands trembling as you smooth your gown down, desperate to regain some semblance of composure under his gaze.

“My lord, I... I beg your pardon,” you say, stumbling over your own words, the breath stolen from your lungs. “Forgive my presumption. I did not mean to overstep my place.” You bow your head, as though the mere act of addressing him with familiarity has caused this fracture. You stand hurriedly, your dress falling to brush against the floor.

"I expect you to remain in the shadows, where you belong. There is no place for you in the light, not with me, not with who I am." His mouth punctuates your pain, lips swollen from your very own mouth. 

You feel his words as though they strike you in the chest, a sharp, sudden ache that forces the breath from your lungs. Your hands, trembling, clutch at the edges of your tunic, as though you might collapse into yourself if you do not. His gaze shifts to the floor, as though ashamed to meet your eyes—yet there is nothing to soften the edge of his tone, nothing to soften the cruel command that falls from his lips.

"I will ensure you never again suffer the indignity of those gatherings," he continues, his words laced with the formal coldness of a man who has seen too much and is too bound by duty to feel what he does. "Those places are not for you. I will see to it that you are kept from them, from their dangers."

The promise rings hollow in your ears, for you know—this is not about the danger of those parties. This is about something else entirely. You, standing before him now, no longer hold the place you once did. You are no longer the woman he held in his arms, no longer someone he could desire, someone he could protect. The emotional whiplash rattles your brain, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself.

"I do not understand," you whisper, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, weak and insubstantial. 

You take a step toward him, but he raises his hand, palm outstretched in a gesture of command, halting you where you stand. You are no soldier, no warrior of Rome. You are a woman—a servant, and one should know her station. The silence between you thickens, a reminder that you are beneath him, beneath his station, his power.

“There is little you need to know of Rome's affairs,” he says, his voice taking on the sharpness of a man accustomed to command. “I am a general, bound to duty, not to frivolity or indulgence.” He crosses his arms over his chest, as though presenting himself before the emperors themselves. His posture is rigid, his expression one of resolve. “I have no time for the distractions of the heart, nor the weakness they bring.”

You lower your gaze, a moment of silence passing as you weigh his words. But within you, something stirs—a quiet defiance, a refusal to be entirely subjugated. You raise your chin, your voice steady, yet laced with the hint of something that feels almost like a challenge.

“I may be but a servant, Dominus,” you say, the title heavy on your tongue but not without a certain firmness. “And I may not know the ways of Rome, nor fully grasp the weight of your command. Yet, there is one truth I understand: love, my lord, is not a weakness. It is the mightiest battle of all. And it is not to be abandoned.”

You hold his gaze for but a brief moment, the fire in your heart clashing with the cold detachment in his eyes. For a single breath, time stills between you, as though the weight of your words presses down upon both of you, thick and suffocating. His silence is a weight more burdensome than any words could ever be.

With a deep breath, you break the stare, turning away without a word, your movements slow, measured, as if to make your departure a solemn act. Each step feels as if it carries you farther from him, the space between you growing with each echoing footfall. The air around you becomes heavier, like the very gods themselves bear witness to this unspoken rift between master and servant. The distance you now place between you both feels infinite, yet it is his silence that follows you, louder than any shout, more final than any command.

[robin-the-enby]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a Markus(DBH) x Reader where she is the S/O of Leo Manfred, but the relationship is definitely not a happy one. Like he insults her and pushes her around all the time.

If that is triggering please ignore this request! Hope you have a lovely day! :)

You can think that you're in love, when you're really just in pain...

Pairing: Marcus x f!reader

Warnings: use of Y/N and she/her pronouns, female reader (appearance is not discussed or mentioned), swearing, mentions of psychological and physical abuse, Leo is a gaslighter, I guess that' it

A/N: OMG, I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! Will you ever forgive me? 😭 But I took my time with this piece (and honestly might have gone a bit overboad) and while it did suck the soul out of me, I am very proud f it and hope you will like it. I made the reader female in the end, but the appearance of the reader is never mentioned, she is only reffered to with she/her pronouns, so I hope that's not a problem. If yes, I'll make sure to change it ;)

By now, you knew these streets by heart, that's how often you visited Carl Manfred. The old artist liked to joke that you were his in-law, given that you were his son's spouse. This wasn't the only reason however, because Carl also thought you were a kind and gentle soul and he really hoped that Leo saw that and tried to better himself in life, if not for himself, then for you at least.

Carl only talked well about his son, preferring to think about the god times instead of where exactly it went wrong and whose fault it might have been. But your presence was calming and very much enjoyable. He did have Marcus to run errands for him and take care of him, but you offering your helping hand gave him the feeling that he oh so lacked - his family taking care of him, now that he couldn't do it very well himself.

Even though you and Leo weren't married or even engaged, the old artist still considered you family. After all, you have been with Leo for a few years now, the thought of you leaving from his and Marcus' lives was strange and one Carl did not like to think about. Although...

Sometimes, when the house got quiet, when Marcus was fetching some paints or doing other errands in town, Carl would think. To be fair, he didn't know what you saw in Leo, even though he'd never admit that. He knew that opposites often attracted, and he really did hope your love would help Leo, whenever he'd ask you how his son was doing, no matter what mood you were in, it instantly changed. Something in your eyes...shifted. You looked tired, somehow older in those times, and he could see there was a heavy burden weighing you down. When it came to talking about Leo, you stuck to the basics. "He's doing fine." you'd say with a smile. But whenever Carl would ask hopefully "Has he found a job yet?" or "Is he...clean now?" you found that you could not answer. You didn't want to worry the old man, but it felt wrong to lie to him either. So you just hung your head low and admit quietly that no, he doesn't have a job and no...he isn't clean. You tried to lighten up the mood by saying he's looking for a job, which wasn't really a lie, at least, Leo insisted that he's looking for employment any time you'd bring that topic up, but you suspected Carl had stopped believing you at some point, although he never said so.

Today, you were once again visiting the old man and his android. It was strange to think that Marcus wasn't human. Every time you interacted with him, you almost forgot about it, enjoying his presence around you that much. Marcus was...serene. He wasn't loud, he wasn't crass and he was always kind. To everyone. Even if it created more trouble for him. Sometimes you wished you didn't have to leave. That you could stay with them. You were pretty sure Carl would be more than happy to let you stay, wishing for the company of his loved ones, even if he never said it, and Marcus...well...Marcus would be happy if Carl was happy. If you could call it happiness. It was strange to imagine that Marcus has never experienced any emotions at all. It made you a little sad. But the fact that he didn't know what emotions were and so he couldn't be aware of the fact he's missing something made you feel a little better. Although sometimes...sometimes it felt like Marcus was...different. Many a time have you seen him just...space out. You could see the, probably very much real, cogs in his head turn as he processed...something. But what that something was? You weren't sure.

Pulling your car into the driveway of the Manfred residence, you didn't even attempt to fight the stretch and the deep breath you took. It felt so freeing to be here, far away from...well, home. And the air was so clean and fresh, too! You could spend the whole afternoon sitting in the garden, just breathing. Carl sure did have taste when he picked out this place to live out the rest of his life at. It was calm, mostly quiet and smelled so, so good. Most people don't realise how amazing fresh air is until they taste it with their lungs, you thought to yourself. But even as you were here, your mind couldn't stop comparing everything to how it was at home. The yelling outside and inside. The constant sense of unease. The constant suffy air that wouldn't get out of your apartment, no matter how long you left the windows open. And you knew you had to come back. This place, as nice as it was, was just a break. A small oasis that would fill you up with strength until your next visit. But your reality was out there. In the downtown Detroit, in the tiny apartment you were renting.

Maybe if Leo admitted that he has issues and put his pride aside just once, you wouldn't have to take up so many shifts. You could actually like your job. You could do so much more than to just keep the both of you alive. Maybe you could have a bit of peace. But you doubted that. No matter how hard you tried, how much you did for the both of you, it seemed to never be enough. You took up extra shifts to treat the both of you to some nice meal? The apartment wasn't clean enough. You deep cleaned the apartment? You didn't cook dinner. You didn't have money to lend him? He didn't believe you, unless you showed him. And god forbid you asked him what he needed it for. Or if you complained.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you made your way to the front door. Yes, reality wasn't...perfect, but you wouldn't let it ruin this moment for you. Or, at least, you would try. As you were about to raise your hand to ring the doorbell, a figure appeared from behind the corner, abruptly stopping at the sight of you. You whip your head around, startled a little at the stranger's sudden appearance. But, as your eyes focused on the person, you recognised Marcus. His intense eyes that never made you feel unsafe, his short hair, which you weren't even sure was real, you thought briefly, and his firm build...

"Oh, (Y/N)! I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you..." Marcus apolgised with a very sincere feeling smile. You chuckled slightly at your reaction "Oh hello, Marcus. It's alright, you just startled me, that's all." Marcus was quiet for a moment, and judging by the intensity of his gaze, you assumed he was assessing your vitals to ensure you really were alright. At first, the intensity with which he looked at you sometimes unnerved you, but when he explained it was just to make sure you were physically and mentally alright, you relaxed. It was handy to have someone that could tell you something was wrong with just one look, something you yourself might not have even noticed.

"Carl noticed your car, so he instructed me to tell you that we're in the garden." Your mouth made an "o" shape in silent understandment as you nodded and followed Marcus around the house. The short walk was silent, but comfortable. Soon you could see Carl relaxing in his wheelchair in the sun, looking as content as can be. You couldn't help the smile that bloomed on your face at seeing him. You've come to learn that this place, these people, were your safe place. You felt free here, not judged, not scrutinised. Nobody expected anything from you here and everything you did for Carl or for Marcus was met with appreciation.

Carl turned around at the sight of your footsteps on the small stone path and his face lit up "(Y/N)!" he exclaimed, opening his arms for a hug. You hugged him shortly and greeted the artist. "It's so good to see you! Come, come, sit down, let's have a chat!" he urged you as he moved towards a wooden bench overlooking the various flowers and bushes in the garden. From what you knew, Marcus not only took care of the old man, but the house, and by default the garden, as well. And if that was true, then he did an amazing job. The colours of all the petals were radiant and fresh, bees buzzing around happilly. It was a lovely sight. Sitting down, you made yourself comfortable. Carl stopped in front of you in a way that he could comfortably talk to you, but let you enjoy the sight as well. Something was telling him you needed it.

"Marcus, could you get us some drinks please?" he asked his android assistant gently. You always admired how Carl treated Marcus with such respect and care, as if he was a real person. All the time, you were met with people abusing their androids, seeing them as things to care for their every need, including receiving their master's anger. And although it felt obvious that one should treat their helpers respectfully, it was still a nice change. Another perk of spending time here. Marcus nodded with a small smile, asking Carl what he would like. "Some tea would be nice." Carl replied and Marcus turned to you. For some reason, you felt your face warm up slightly and you looked away from his enchanting eyes. Your mind ran a million miles per minute, trying to come up with something that wouldn't troube him too much. "Uhm, just some lemonade, please." you stammered after a second. Marcus nodded, never mentioning your stutter or pointing out your awkward behaviour.

When the android disappeared from view, Carl looked towards you "So, how is everything?" he asked, smiling. You never liked to answer that qestion, No answer felt right unless you went into detail, but you didn't want to burden him with all that. So you did the thing people usually do, you smiled and waved your hand dismissively "Ooh, you know. Everything is the same. Nothing interesting happening in my life." Carl nodded, but you were sure that being the perceptive person he is, he could see right through you. So he nodded without pressing the issue, and instead decided to press another one. "And how's Leo?"

It was as if that protective curtain around your happy place opened and you were exposed to the harsh light of reality. As if on autopilot, you hung your head slightly, the idea of looking into the old man's eyes suddenly uncomfortable. You chuckled awkwardly and shrugged "Yea, Leo's...Leo's good." you said, but your voice was small, void of the confidence and cheeriness it once posessed. Truth was, you haven't seen Leo in two days. He has been ignoring your calls as well as your texts. On one hand, you were worried about where he was, what he was doing and with who. But on the other...You were relieved. Your home is finally quiet, you don't wake up in the middle of the night to unexpected company coming over, because Leo invited them for a red ice party. You feel bad for feeling good when your partner is missing, but at the same time you can't help but enjoy it.

Sometimes fate has a strange way of playing with our lives. And it seems that in your case, Carl chose this day to finally choose the uncomfortable topic and interrogate you. "(Y/N), what's wrong?" the artist asked softly and you wondered when exactly has this became an intervention. "Nothing's wrong, work has just been tiring." Not a lie, but not a complete truth either. For some reason, you felt ashamed to admit to Carl how has Leo been treating you. You knew it wasn't right, but you also weren't someone who'd let others just push them around, and you knew Carl knew that. And maybe that's why you didn't want to tell him. Besides, how do you tell someone that their child is a toxic abuser?

"Cut it out (Y/N), I know something's wrong. Now, I know Leo doesn't have a job and that he's still on that...thing." Carl said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth "But I feel like there are things you haven't been telling me." The worst thing about this conversation wasn't the fact Carl knew you were lying to him, it was the way he was so nice about it. You felt like this whole thing was wrong, for some reason you felt like he should have been mad at you, should have been asking why you were so stupid as to staying with his stupid son, who everyone knew was a scumbag. You sure felt stupid. And yet... "You know I wouldn't do that." you smiled at him while racking your brain for an exit out of this conversation. "Hey, Marcus has been gone for quite a while, huh? I'll go help him out a bit." you didn't wait for an answer, already standing up and heading to the backdoor. Carl turned around to look after you and from behind you, you could hear him call out, cheekiness masking his worry "I may be old, but I'm not senile!"

Stepping into the house was like teleporting to another world. While the garden was full of colours and bustling life, the house was quiet and the brown hues of the furniture and decorations almost made it feel sleepy. But it let a lot of light through its big windows and it didn't feel heavy or suffocating. The worst you could say about it was that it felt serious, but glancing at the life sized giraffe taxidermy in the living room disproved even that claim.

Following the soft clacking of mugs and the conistent hum of the kettle, you made your way to the kitchen. Marcus was standing at the counter, preparing Carl's tea, your lemonade already done on a small tray on the table. His broad shoulders moved uder his uniform and you found the movement...mesmerising. And while observing Marcus quietly was quite normal for you, as creepy as that sounds, this was the first time you felt as if your...affection, towards the android might not be as platonic as would be appropriate. You were taken for pete's sake, you couldn't be fantasising about another man like that! But, you reasoned for yourself what was the harm? It wasn't like Leo was here and even if he was, he'd probably pay little mind to you. You would be surprised if he could even stand still for more than half a minute.

"I know you're there, (Y/N)." you heard Marcus chuckle, successfully bringing you out of your thoughts. You realised that during your internal argument, you have leaned against the doorframe and probably was watching him like a creep the whole time. Great. "Heh. Somehow, that does not surprise me." you chuckle in return, hoping to brush off your inadequate behavior. Marcus' shoulders shake in silent giggles as he looked behind his shoulder at your drink "Your lemonade is done. Do you want to drink it outside with Carl?" he asks and you shake your head. "It's okay, I'll stay here for a while, but I'll join you two afterwards." you explain, hoping he doesn't push the matter. But it seemed that luck was not on your side that day.

"Did Carl's questions about Leo tire you out?" Marcus tried to joke, but he quickly realised he must've brought up a sensitive subject at your lack of a positive reaction. You just hung your head, as you were used to when talking about your boyfriend and smiled, although the expression held very little joy. "Yeah...sort of." you said quietly and sipped on your lemonade. Your brows scrunched together and you odded a little "Hy, this is some really good lemonade!" you commented, hoping to divert the conversation once more. Marcus thanked you and finished with Carl's tea. Then, he wordlessly picked up the tray and went outside to give it to the man.

He was gone for quite some time, that you almost thought that you would really be left alone, even though you didn't know whether that was what you wanted anymore. But it seemed that Marcus was more in tune with your emotions than you would've guessed for an android. He quietly sat down next to you and after a bit of silence, during which he probably ran through all the things he could've said, he finally spoke up. "Why Leo?" Yo had to say that it was the last question you expected, although, you didn't really know what you were expecting.

Sighing, you shrugged "I don't know...anymore." you added after a second, deciding that if you were to tell someone about your troubles, it would be Marcus. Would he tell Carl? If he asked, which you know he would, then the android would tell the artist everything. But hey, at least you didn't have to do it yourself. "Anymore?" Marcus asked quietly and you felt those gorgeous eyes trained on your face as if it was the only thing he could see. You nodded "Yeah...I guess- I guess he wasn't that bad at the start." you shrugged, the memories of him showering you with sweet words and gifts that weren't expensive, but that much more meaningful, almost gone from your brain. "And then I found out about the drugs and I thought-" you took a sharp breath in, already feeling the familiar pressure behind your eyes "I thought, he loves me, I'll be there for him and help him get through it. But he never got better. And when he blamed everything on the drugs, or on the withdrawals I believed him, because...Well, because I never thought I'd end up in that kind of situation, you know?" you chuckled, the noise laced with self deprecation.

You felt his hand land on your arm gently. A fleeting thought of how warm his hand was crossed your mind, before you heard him speak "It's not your fault." You quickly nodded "I know, I know, but it doesn't feel like it, you know? From a young age, we are warned of the signs of abuse in relationships, so how could I have ended up in one?" you sighed "I just feel...stupid." Your shoulders sagged and you slumped a little in your chair, as if a tremendous weight was lifted from your chest.

Even though Marcus was already lookng at you, you somehow felt his gaze sharpen "Is he..." he breathed out and it looked like he didn't know how to phrase what he wanted to say, which made a weird feeling spill throughout your gut, because it was strange, almost unsettling to see the lovely android, who is always so composed, at a loss for words. "Does he hurt you?" "No, no!" you were quick to assure him and you could see his shoulders droop as he relaxed his posture slightly. "He can be a bit rough, but-" you shook your ead again "it's no a big deal."

"What do you mean, rough?" Marcus presed on, his tone still as gentle as if you were a scared animal that could run away if he made one wrong move and yet, his eyes never left yours and when you looked at him, looked at those beautiful eyes that you were sure could count as a piece of art, there was...emotion behind them. You were sure of it. You've lived around androids for the better part of your life and you knew how they looked, even when they were assisting someone. Never ever have you seen such intensity behind synthetic eyes. And yet, you almost felt...relieved. You cleared your throat "Oh it' uh, it's ot a big deal..." you tried to reassure him once again (or maybe you were trying to convince yourself it hasn't gone that far, that hope and love haven't blinded you towards physical abuse as well) "Just sometimes when we fight, he grabs me a bit too roughly. It usually doesn't even leave a mark." you shrugged, but as you were saying it, you realised how horrible it sounded. So you stopped yourself before you'd dive into explaining how sometimes it was not just grabbing but shoves and pushes that you'd endure from Leo when you were too uncooperative for his liking.

You turn to face Marcus again and he looks a you with such sadness it almost feels like it was him who went through thaat. It wasn't just pity, the kind of look the pharmacist would shoot you every time you'd come for that one cream to help soothe your skin after a rough argument with Leo. But no, Marcus seemed...almost heartbroken, the kind of heartbroken a child is when their beloved pet dies.

"You don't have to put up with it you know?" Marcus asked gently, although it felt more like a reminder "You only have to say a word and I'm sure Carl would have nothing against-" you stopped Marcus' rant by putting a hand on his chest "I know, I know," you said nodding "but I don't want to bring Carl into this. He shouldn't have to put up with whatever mess Leo gets into, let alone my problems."

"It's ok to ask for help." he put his hand over yours that was on his chest, caressing yor skin lightly with his thumb. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his and on yours, the contact making your cheeks heat up as you mentally cursed yourself. "I know, but..." you trailed off "I just feel like...if I got into this mess, I have to get out of it. I don't want to-" you groan "I guess I don't want to give him the satisfaction of having that complete control over me. I know it sounds stupid-" you went to pull away, feeling the hot shame flow over you, making you want to cringe away from your robot friend. But Marcus only queezed your hand and tugged you closer to him. "It's not stupid. And there's no need to be embarassed." he reassured you and you shot him a quick smile, which he reciprocated, before you continued "So yeah, I guess that's why I never...said anything. Besides, he's not always like this. Sometimes he wakes up and is the textbook version of a doting boyfriend. I guess...I guess it made me hope that something could be done, that if I try hard enough, he'll see what he's doig and we can ge through it together." you chuckled sadly and this time, Marcus hugged you.

At first, you went stiff as a board, not expecting such a gesture from him, after all, Marcus has never been very touchy, since he wasn't programmed for that, but by now you were suspecting that Marcus could do more than what he was programmed to do, even if you didn't understand how that worked. Gradually, you relaxed into the hug, letting your arms gently wrap around his neck as his were wrapped around your waist. You let your head rest on Marcus' chest and as you breathed in, you caught the smell of his clean clothes. The warmth rdiating from his body was also something you couldn't complain about. You stayed like this for what must have been minutes, before you felt the android shift. Thining he was done with the hug, you went to let go of him, but his arms only tightened around you. You looked up at him only to find him already looking down at you, his eyes portraying some sort of inner conflict.

Just as he was about to voice whatever was on his mind, you registered hurried footsteps as well as rushed sentences beig exchanged, and not in a positive manner. Both you and Marcus let go of each other just in time before Leo rushed through the dooray, visibly seething, with a worried Carl on his heels.

"I told you dad, I just want to talk to her, so either you tell me where she is, or-" he stops mid sentence when he sees you and Marcus in the kitchen. He looks disheveled, his hair tussled, his clothes wrinkled, he looked sweaty and the whites of his eyes were very red, no to mention his pupils, which were way out of proportion. For a while, he just looked beween you and Marcus, his gaze jumping from one to the other, before he nodded and chuckled throwing up his hands "Well isn't this just great. I come home to no girlfriend, no car, no food and when I finally find her, she's all over a fucking robot." he sneers first at you, then at Marcus. Leo takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand as if to grab yours and you can't help but back away out of habit. Leo, of course, notices this and chuckles awkwardly "C'mon babe, we're going, the taxi won't pay itself." he says it as if he was lightheartedly joking, but the tension in his voice as well as his body gives away his real emotions.

And for some reason, something inside you...switches. You've had enough. Enough of not being appreciated, enough of being ordered and pushed around, when you deserved something, someone much better. Someone who would hold you tenderly, who would smell like fresh clothes, who would be warm and lovely, who could at least take care of himself.

"I'm not going anywhere." you said calmly, shaking your head. Leo looked at you like you just grew another head "Sorry?" And you gladly repeated yourself, adding "Maybe if I would've known where the hell you've been for the last two days, I would have waited for you. But I guess I'm not worth picking up the phone for. That is, if you even have it." you allowed yourslf to release the frutration that's been building up inside you for god knows how long now. Carl's eyes were wide, shocked fromhearing all this new information about your relationship with his son.

"Babe, you know I was busy-" Leo tried, but you were having one of it "Yeah, I see how busy you are. Couldn't you at least wait until you sobered up till you came here?" you scoffed. Leo narrowed his eyes at you and growled lowly "Listen, we can talk this through at home, no need to make a scene." And you actually laughed, catching all three men present slightly off guard "Cause a scene? You roled up here in a taxi, which you expect me to pay for, because no way you have any money on you after wherever you've been, you barged in like a hurricane and demanded to see me, and why? Just because I dared to drive somewhere? The ca is the only thing you have to your name, you live in my aparment, off of my and your dad's money, which you still send on useless shit. You don't help me out with anything, whatever I do is not enough, even though last time you actually put any effort into our relationship was years ago, so when I decide to take a break and visit a place I actually feel welcome at, it's still somehow my fault."

Maybe if it weren't for the fact that your soon to be ex boyfriend's face was getting redder with your every word, you could actully focus on the weight being lifted from your soul after that monologue. But Leo didn't look just mad, but insane. A small part of you started regretting your words, but feeling Marcus' and Carl's presence slightly calm you down. Still, when he took another step towards you,your body tensed up and you took an instinctive step towards Macus, trusting him to intervene if something went wrong. And given how your stomach squeezed uncomfortably, the situatio was more than likely heading that way.

But Leo, of course, noticed this "Bullshit." he spat out "I try, so fucking hard to please you, to be enough for you. Every day, all I think about is you. So sometimes, I need something to help me relax. But none of you," he turned around to direct his words not only to you, but his father as well "none of you get that. You all just bring me down." at this point, Leo was borderline yelling and you tried to stop your body from shaking, out of fear or adrealine, you didn't know. "I was worried, have you thought about that?" he focused on you again"I was worried where you were, what happened. So I looked for you. And when I finally found you, my fucking girlfriend, what do I see?"he turns his attention to Marcus now, both of the men staring deep into each other's eyes "I found you all over this fucking piee of plastic." he growled with disdain "I have no idea what you and dad see in these monstrosities-" he would continue, if it wasn't for Carl jumping in "Leo, that's enough!" the old man said sternly, even though you knew very well how much it pained him. As Leo was turning around to face is father, Marcus grabbed his shoulder firmly "Perhaps you should leave." he said, keeping his voice calm, although you knew that he was anything but calm. You never noticed how expressive Marcus' eyes were until today...

"Not without her I'm not!" Leo jerked away from the android's hold, turning to face you again, bringing you out of your thoughts. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere." you said, suddenly more tired than anything "I'll pay for your fucking taxi, but it's the last time I ever want to see you." you offered, just wanting him to be gone already. You knew you didn't have to do it and that it would probably be wiser to not do it, but you just wanted him out of everyone's hair. At least for today. Carl sure didn't need this day to be more stressful than it already was.

Surprisingly, Leo huffed "Fine." and you pulled some money out of your wallet and handed it to him. And with that, he turned on his heel, muttering "Fucking bitch..." as he walked out, making Carl almost scold him again, but you placed your hand on his shoulder as a sign to let him go.

After that exchange, the tension disappeared from the room, until Carl moved to the table and you sat next to him, Marcus standing by Carl's side. For a while, none of you said a word, until he old artist sighed "I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know it was that bad." he muttered apologetically and you shook your head "It's ok, you couldn't have known." and after that, you had a very long conversation with Carl about you, Leo and everything that has been going on with him. Some of it he knew, most of it he didn't. You went through many different emotions during that conversation. Frustration, anger, but mostly relief. It was finally over. When the tears started maing their way down your face, you felt Marcus' hand gently squeeze your shoulder and you grabbed it with a sniffle, intertwining your fingers to ground yourself. You felt Carl's eyes follow your every move during that interaction, but you didn't look at him.

Finally, after the tears had mostly dried, the old man sighed "I think...I think I need to lie down." he said quietly and you almost apologised. Almost. Mrcus let go of your shoulder to help him, leaving you alone. After they disappeared up the stairs, you stood up and went into the small bathroom on the ground floor, to wash your face, now sticky from all the tears you've shed, but also to get your mind together. You knew you would have to leave at one point, but you really didn't want to go to your apartment. And definitely not alone. After all, Leo still had the keys. Changing the locks would be a pain, as well as making sure he won't try to pull some other shit in the ext few weeks, maybe even months. You knew that there was a chance he would leave you alone, but something was telling you it would not be so easy. Not with Leo. You sighed and returned to the kitchen, only to find Marcus already there, waiting for you.

"Would you like a cup of tea? There's an herbal mix that should help you calm down." he asked you so gently you thought you would start crying again. Instead you just sniffled and ndded with a thsnkful smile "That would be lovely, thank you." As Marcus started preparing the tea, you found yourself sanding awkwardly a few steps away from him, leaning against the counter. It felt wrong to just sit down. You didn't even know what to do with your eyes, or what to say, but luckilly Marcus beat you to it "Carl said to tell you that you should stay here tonight. Unless you don't want to of course." he informed you as gently as before. "No, that would actually be very nice, thank you." you said, relieved "I'll nee to bring some take out for him as a thank you." you said, knowing very well the artist liked some junk food every once in a while, despite his doctor's protests, as a treat. "You don't have to do that." Macus turned to you, while carefully filling up your cup with the hot water. You shook your head and closing your eyes with a sigh "It's only right, after what happened today."

Suddenly, you feel a presence right in front of you and you open your eyes to fid Marcus right in front of you. He leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of your body, looking deeply into your eyes "You may feel like it, but none of this is your fault. You didn't deserve the way he treated you and you're not stupid, or a failure for getting tangled up in that." he said quietly, but firmly enough to let you know you should better get it through your thick head sooner than later. You gulped as you got lost in his mesmerising eyes that told you how sure he was of what he has just told you. And suddenly, your hands found their way to his chest, catching the android slightly by surprise. His eyes seemed to pull you in, until you realised that your faces actually were getting closer, both of you leaning towards each other, none of you brave enough to clos the gap entirely.

You saw something in Marcus's eyes shift and he exhaled, lowering his head unti it was resing on your shoulder. You almost automatically wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. "I'm sorry, I..." he started, but agai, didn't quite know how to continue "This is all very new to me, but... something is telling me I- we should wait." he confesses, chosing to bluntly say what he was feeling, probaby figuring out you knew he gained the ability to feel and that he definitely felt something for you. He could feel you nod next to his head "Yeah, that's...that's probably for the best." you pulled away slightly, and he could sense that your body temperature rose slightly, especially in your face "But in the future...I would really like to try again...I think." you said bashfully and Marcus couldn't help the smile growing across his face.

Sure, you had a long journey of healing and finding yourself ahead of you. And inevitably, he would have to talk to Carl about his deviation, but as long as he could figure out his newly gained sentience alongside you and help you flourish again and find that spark that had almost been snuffed out of you, he could wait for eternity.

[thanyatargaryen]

Mutual Agreement

ok here i come again... its late at night so im just writing this so i wont forget and i might edit later.

Marcus x f!reader (Lucius older Sister)

Rater M (just in case)

Warning (age-gap, mentions of death...)

f reader 26

marcus 45-50

Years had passed since you mother died, 10 to be exact. Lucilla was the sweetest and protective person you knew until Geta and Caracalla came to power and sent her to get killed just to make a statement to the Roman people. By then she had put Lucius in a safe place since he was the last male heir to the Roman Republic. At the moment your mother died you were 15 and by decree of the emperors you were to be wed to general Marcus Acacius to have you both under their control.

At age 20 you knew you were in love with Marcus, it hadn't been like you thought it was going to happen since he had only been polite and had limited your interactions to simple common courtesies when he was in the state. You were the Domina of the house and you were aware that things could change every so often when he was in campaigns. The last one made it so hard on you that at the moment Marcus' second in command sent a letter detailing his current state after being badly injured. It took months for him to recover, the moment you saw him pale and drained from his natural olive color made you almost faint if it hadn't been for a servant near you how held you as the General was brought into his room.

You made sure he was safe and comfortable by tending him yourself. you cleaned and changed his bandages, prepared his food and remedies as stated by the medics. you were completely drained by the 3 month mark when Marcus tarted getting better and being able to do more by himself. Servants and centinels alike inside and outside the villa spoke and tried to reason with you about the toll the situation was taking care on you. Listening was one thing but doing as their said was another. you knew they were worried but it was your duty as wife and domina of the villa but because that situation made you think about how frail life was and how much you can lose. not material things but Marcus even though he never said anything about your relationship and tried to keep it as platonic as he could to keep you safe from the evil twins who ruled Rome.

It had been 6 years later since you made yourself aware of how much you loved Marcus and how many women around you were wedded and had families. Women even younger than you had at least 2 children and by now people started talking. You didn't notice but you had started to play with your tunic near the section of your belly. Thinking about having children with Marcus made you smile and even imagine little children running around the villa but you knew that was never going to happen since he kept you at arms length.

Marcus was well aware of your change of attitude and how you saw pregnant women or women with children walking around the streets or when they ended up at the villa -being the wife or daughter of a senator who was married and pregnant-. These women always made the same questions "when are you having children?" or "are you planning on having children? it has been too long since oyu married the General". it was a nightmare even more when you had political affairs in the villa or you had to attend.

Today was one of those days when women had attended to your villa, at least 6 senators and their families were present and 2 of those women were heavily pregnant. The situation made it even worse since you were bombarded by questions about the topic and all the hormones were not helping. You were trying to make the most out off the situation and hold yourself and your emotions from show and tell these women how much you wanted to be a mother but your husband had never touched you.

The reunion ended and everyone left leaving you to manage the staff and then go to your room, as you were getting out off your clothes and letting them fall, you were able to see your slim figure on your mirror and started to imagine what would it be to be a mother if it was at leas only one time. as you caressed your empty belly you were mentally praying to the gods for help to at least know what physical comfort felt like with a man. The moment you heard a goblet fall, the candles near the bed blew and you could hear a soft voice saying "I have seen your heart dear daughter of Juno, your petition will be delivered." Right after that you could hear loud noises outside near the main garden and the sound of metal clashing with each other.

Part 2 most likely tomorrow or Monday

[visionsofyouandme]

V. it’s such a wonderful thing to love

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: Life beyond Rome, 5 years later.

𝚠/𝚌: 4.4k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: Fluff! Marcus loves his wife (you<3). Graphic depictions of childbirth. More fluff. Family time. SMUT (18+ MDNI), Fingering. Oral (f!receiving). Body worship. Cum eating. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Huge, big, fat breeding kink. Did I mention Marcus loves his wife?

𝙰/𝙽: Happy Valentines Day, first and foremost!! Secondly... Ugh. We're at the end of my first ever series. I'm emotional, people!!! Thank you to those who have read and interacted with my stories, especially this one. Marcus and Reader will always have a special place in my heart!! Let me know if you would want to see a little more of them- i'm open to one shots and drabbles for them ANY day! Only time will tell, I suppose :)

Hope you enjoy <3

Masterlist, AO3!

Some months later, you awoke to kisses on your arm, moving up to your shoulder. A hand smoothed out your hair, and you sighed in content then winced as your stomach twinged in pain. Your hand moved down to caress it gently, trying to quell the stomping of little feet against your stomach.

“Your “little warrior” is at it this morning.” you groaned softly, and Marcus chuckled from behind you, a hand on your hip as his kiss neared your neck. Marcus had given the nickname to the growing baby inside of you, and by the Gods did they live up to their name. It was nearly a constant barrage of kicks and movements these days, the medicus saying your time was drawing near. While you and Marcus were thrilled and anxiously awaiting their arrival, Marcus was beginning to become a little more quiet on the subject. You thought nothing of it at first, going about your daily duties of attending to the villa. But, one night, he confided in you his worries and anxieties. 

He was afraid something like what happened to his late, former wife would happen again. You could only listen as he went on, becoming frantic, worrisome, and you eventually held him in your arms, whispering that nothing like that would happen. The medicus and midwives were on standby, there to assist in any way possible. This seemed to help him, but he still shook with worry, trembling hands holding you, pressing against the baby you carried so gently. 

This morning, though, he seemed to be in better spirits.

“I do apologize, my dear, but they carry your spirit-”

“And yours,” you said, turning your head, and he placed a kiss on your lips, his hand coming to cup your cheek. He leaned his forehead against yours, and you smiled. “I hope they are every bit like you. Their smile, their eyes, their nose…”

“You are the other half of them, mea amata. I hope they possess more of you than anything else.” he said, and pat your hip gently,

“Come. I have had food brought to the dining area, and I know you are-”

“Famished, yes,” you groaned, and he helped you sit up, supporting you as you turned to slide off the bed.

“I am only with child, Marcus, not an invalid.” you laughed as Marcus stood by your side as you slid on your sandals. You looked up at him as he took your hand that he raised to his lips, giving it a deep kiss. 

“I do what I can to keep you and the little warrior comfortable and safe. Forgive me if I’m a little overbearing,” he said, and there was a soft sadness to his voice that made your eyebrows knit together. You touched his face gently, 

“Everything will be well, Marcus. I am sure of it.” you said, and gave him a smile. “Now, show me this spread you have promised me.” 

The days seemed to go by at a snails’ pace. Every day there was more pressure, more aches, more heat, and the medicus simply said it was all normal. You grumbled something about it needing to be over soon, causing him to chuckle.

“Any day now, My Lady,” he said, a comforting hand on your shoulder.

That was four days prior. The morning you woke, you knew today would be the day.

Marcus was due to ride out to the small town to fetch supplies and food while you rested, but you took his hand as a sharp pain erupted in your lower back. His eyes immediately softened with worry, and your eyes met, giving him the faintest nod and smiled small.

“I think it is time to meet our little warrior.” 

The notion seemed so small in comparison to the immense pain you had. It was almost too much, and you kneeled on the birthing stools with Marcus supporting your arm while a midwife supported the other. You sweat so much you thought you would slide out of Marcus’ grasp, tears painting your heated face. 

“You must keep going, my love. You must,” Marcus pleaded, his eyes never leaving yours once, pressing a hand against your cheek. “It will be over soon. It will be alright.”

The medicus, kneeling between your legs, announced the arrival of a head. You whimpered, shaking your head and your eyes squeezed shut tightly, lower lip trembling.

“I cannot. The pain, it is too much- ah!” you cried, and the medicus pleaded for you to push. Marcus’ hand never left your face, and he urged you to look at him,

“My love, mea vita, mea amata, you will survive this. You have survived so much, and you will continue to do so. Now, just give a little more. I know you can. You can do this.” 

Your eyes searched Marcus’ fierce gaze,  and you’d have thought that’s what they looked like while in the throes of battle. You felt terrified, but comforted all the same. Now it was your turn to be the soldier in a battle that could only end in victory- defeat was not an option.

You gave one push, then another, each with a striking cry that made your throat hoarse but Marcus did not waver. Suddenly, the pain and weight ceased, and the midwife looked over your shoulder. 

“Is it-? Are they-?” you slurred, trying to turn your head, and then heard another cry pierce the room, this one similar to yours but so shrill and tiny. But, it was like yours all the same, and Marcus was looking behind you, his eyes shining with tears.

“It’s a girl,” the medicus said, and you let out a strangled sob of relief, hearing your child come to life only inches away from you. Marcus kissed your wet forehead, 

“You have done it, mea vita. She’s beautiful,” Marcus said, and you smiled, closing your eyes in relief. 

Sitting back on the bed, you watched as the medicus handed your bundled up daughter to Marcus, who carried her over to you. She cried and cried, but as Marcus neared you, cooing at her, she seemed to calm. By the time she had settled in your arms, her eyes were wide and staring up at the world, eyes as dark as the night sky, but with a sea of brown, just like Marcus’.

“She is lovely,” Marcus whispered, and you nodded, lower lip trembling. She was so small, but you knew she had the heart of her father. A fighter, strong and capable. You let out a shaky breath,

“Luna,” she whispered, touching her cheek gently, and Marcus leaned his temple against your own as you both gazed at your daughter, who looked back with wonder and curiosity. 

“Our little Luna.”

5 Years Later

You were reclined in the sunning chair outside on the veranda, eyes closed and face to the sun. You sighed, feeling just at peace when a shrill cry jerked you from your slumber. You settled nearly immediately as a rumble of laughter and a fit of giggles followed soon after it.

You sighed, shaking your head and rubbing your forehead, turning to see Marcus coming up the steps with Luna on his shoulders, clutching a small, child-sized bow and a few arrows in the other hand.

“Mama! Look what Papa brought for me!” she cried, though she had excitedly showed you the gift the hour before right when Marcus arrived home to give it to her. You smiled, and nodded, sitting up from the chair.

“I see, my love. Did he teach you how to aim?” you laughed as Marcus set her down and she came running to you. You chided at her to slow down with weapons in hand, giving Marcus a look and he turned his head away to stave off laughter. 

“He did! I can make it very close to the dot! Papa says when I am older, he will teach me how to shoot from Diana’s saddle.” she said, eyes trained on the bow in hand and already trying to notch an arrow. You quickly put a hand over hers,

“Perhaps we save the weapons for outside, yes?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Pap-pa! Lu-ah.” a small voice gurgled, and Marcus walked over, scooping his son off the rug he had been playing on, blocks, toy boats and wooden horses scattered about.

“I’m sorry, Sol, I promise we did not forget you!” Luna said, looking up at her brother. Marcus laid a kiss on the chubby cheek of the curly haired two year old, and you shook your head, smoothing back Luna’s own dark curls. She walked over to Marcus’ legs, holding up the bow and arrows,

“I can teach you how to shoot, Sol! It is much fun.” She said excitedly, and you stood, shaking your head and put your hands on her shoulders, bending down,

“I think Maia has a treat for you in the kitchen. Something about fresh fruits from the west?” you whispered and Luna began to jump excitedly, already about to break off into a run until you told her to leave the weapons at your side. She did so, but with a pout, and ran into the villa.

“You spoil that child,” you laughed, turning to Marcus as he bounced Sol in his arms gently,

“Only because she is sweet to begin with. Just like her mother.” Marcus chuckled, and leaned down to give you a peck on the lips. You put your hand over the arm that supported Sol, and smiled.

“It is good to have you back,” you said softly. He chuckled, walking with you to the edge of the veranda that overlooked the sea.

“I was only gone for a few weeks, my love.” he reminded you, and you shrugged, looking down as Sol leaned his head on Marcus’ shoulder, sucking on his tiny fingers. You smiled at the child, his dark eyes looking at you with a softness that his father had within his own.

“Still. Feels like ages.” you said, and looked out to the rolling waves in the distance. Even still, high up on the cliff, the salty sea air reached your skin, your nose, your tastebuds. After Luna was born, you had asked Marcus to move your family to the sea, where you wanted to raise your child. It reminded you of home, even if the memory was faint. 

Marcus made it happen without another word.

And then, after three years from Luna’s birth, you welcomed Sol. You and Marcus had yearned for a boy, or at least another healthy child to love, adore, and keep Luna company. When he was born, he was easily the sun in your sky, and Luna was the moon. You had your entire world in the form of two small but feisty children, and Marcus was the entire reason why they were here in the first place.

“I promise, I will not leave for so long next time.” he said, his free hand coming to your waist as your hand came to support Sol’s back.

“Good. I will hold you to that promise, my love.” you said, raising your eyebrows and kissed his lips gently. Sol squirmed between the two of you, and let out a light cry of hunger. You raised your eyebrows, and extended your arms to him. Sol immediately picked up his head, arms flying out to you and you scooped him into your arms with ease.

“I think he likes you more,” Marcus chuckled, putting a hand on your lower back as you turned to walk inside. You looked up at Marcus with a smile as Sol tucked his face into the crook of your neck,

“Don’t speak too soon. You said that about Luna, now look at her. You’ve turned her into one of the fiercest warriors of the land, and she has you wrapped around her finger.” you said, a small, teasing smile on your lips. He kissed your head gently with a smile, and walked with you into the dining area where a spread was waiting for you, Luna standing at the far side of the room with Maia, the head housemaid. Hastily wiping her face, the red still stained Luna’s cheeks anyway as she jogged over to you and Marcus. Marcus caught her in his arms, and picked her up to settle her on his hip. 

“Oh, Mama, it was so good! Maia said Papa brought them, and they were just as good as those fruits that grow in the garden. Maybe we can plant some and make our own!” Luna said, swinging her feet against Marcus’ sides, and you raised your eyebrows. 

“If that is what you want, my love, then we will make it so.” Marcus said, unable to deny his daughter of anything. You smiled, unable to veto the decision by the pure adoration in his eyes as he looked at her. 

“Yes, we will make it so.”

When the children were settled in their beds, (and only after you and Marcus thrilled them with stories of heroes and bravery), you found time to draw a quick, warm bath to ease Marcus after his long journey. He protested it, claiming he wanted to be with you and only you. You chided him, saying he smelled of horses and dirt, and he relented. It took very little convincing to get him to do much of anything these days after Luna and Sol’s births. He was absolutely enamored with his children, and they were the center of his world. Right next to you, of course.

Marcus had taken the sponge to himself with haste, and you shook your head, taking some oils and rubbing them on your hands, walking behind him.

“I see where Luna gets her distaste for the bath from, now.” you laughed, and put your hands on his shoulders that shined with water and scented oils. “Relax, my love. Let me take care of you,” you said, and he sighed as you began to dig your fingers into his shoulders, massaging them gently.

“You take care of so much, mea amata, it is I who should be taking care of you,” he said, wincing at the release of the tension in his muscles. You leaned down your head next to his,

“I think I know of a way you can do that,” you said with a smirk and he tilted his head back and around, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

“Anything you wish, my love. Anything, and more.” he said and you smiled against his lips, pulling away and working at his shoulders.

You laid on your back in the bedchamber, the soft glow of the candles around you offering the only light, save for the moon that shined through the window, bringing in the soft ocean breeze. You were just about to close your eyes when the bed dipped beside you, and Marcus crawled up next to you, laying his body over yours. He reached up and pulled your nightgown out of the way to kiss your chest, then up your neck. You hummed in delight, feeling his hand snake up your leg, then thigh, underneath the gown. 

“I have missed my dearest wife. Thought of you every single moment,” he murmured against your skin. You raised a hand to thread through his hair, and smiled gently.

“Every moment?” you questioned with a teasing lilt. He mumbled something against your neck, and he began to suck there gently, moving on top of you. He lifted your leg to wrap around his waist, and he began to grind his pelvis into yours with a gentleness that was definitely holding back more.

“Mhm. Every moment. Thoughts of you, especially, before Sol’s birth. Gods, the way you were so round and glowing. Made me feel insatiable.” he murmured, kissing up to your jaw. You did remember quite well that he was particularly loving on you when you were still heavily pregnant with Sol, so much that he worshiped you nearly every night like he was at the altar of Venus. Every time you felt displaced, unworthy of his gaze, he rectified it every time by absolutely ravishing you.

And you never complained once. 

His words made your lower stomach tighten, and you sighed, turning your head to bury your nose in his salt and pepper curls, inhaling the scent of oils and Marcus’ essence itself. You smoothed down the wetness, kissing his forehead gently as he continued to lave your neck and jaw, his ministrations against your core unrelenting. You curled your leg around him just a bit more, and you could feel him smirk against your skin.

“My lovely, beautiful wife. Glowing with every bit as she carried our child, our love within her,” he said, and moaned against your skin, his stiff cock brushing against your cunt. You whined gently, and he reached his hand down to push up your dress, finding your core already soaking with slick, sliding a finger in quickly and with ease that made you gasp. “I loved seeing you this way, so full of me and swollen, letting everyone know who you belong to when we would go to town.”

“Marcus,” you whined as he began to pump his finger in and out, and at the sound of his name he slid another finger in. Your hand gripped his shoulder tightly, nails digging into his exposed flesh as your hips bucked into his hand. He finally, finally raised his head to capture your lips in a searing hot kiss. You devoured him with a hunger you had been feeling for weeks, your instincts taking over as you wished for him to take you in any way he wished. “Marcus, please-”

When he removed his fingers to move down your body, you groaned in protest, attempting to grab his hair to pull him back up to you. But, he pushed your dress up higher onto your waist, and looked at your slick core that was on display for him. His amber eyes were alight, and he licked his lips hungrily.

“Gods, I have missed you,” he said breathily, though you weren’t sure if he meant you or your aching cunt. You didn’t have time to ask, for he ducked his head and began to devour your cunt like a man starved of food and sustenance for ages. You leaned your head back on the pillows, eyes screwing shut as he worshiped your folds, then moved to your clit to swirl around it with his tongue. Your thighs stiffened, but his arms came around to hold them still within a moment. He grunted and groaned into your cunt, his tongue doing wonders to soothe the ache between your legs. 

Your hand finally latched onto the curls that were beginning to dry, and you could feel yourself coming to a peak. Marcus knew you so well, that he kept up his pace, giving your clit a good suck. You breathed in and out heavily, mind spinning with desire and lust. 

“I-I missed you- and th-this-” you whispered, and you could feel Marcus smirk against your core. 

“Mhm? Show me, then,” he said as he lifted his head just enough, sliding a finger in to keep up where his tongue had left off. You glanced down at him, his eyes finding yours, clouded over with a passionate hunger and immense adoration. His mouth was shining with slick, evident by the candlelight, and he bent his head down to continue. Your body shuddered, trying to curl in on itself as he licked, sucked, and thrust at your cunt. His hand pressed on your lower stomach, and began to massage it as he gave a particularly loving suck to your clit. And that sent you over the edge. 

You let out a restrained moan, body shivering as you struggled to contain your noises so as to not wake the house or children. Marcus lapped at your come greedily, not pulling away until your body had sufficiently taken what he had to give. 

But, he was not done yet, and neither were you.

You lifted your head just slightly to find Marcus already eye-level with you, giving you a kiss that made your head only clouded further, tasting yourself on his lips. You licked his bottom lip, raising a hand to press against his cheek as you felt his member press against your core that still pulsed for him. 

“When did you disrobe?” you giggled, not remembering him doing so as your hand traveled down his neck to his bare chest where a smatter of grey and brown hair adorned him. He smirked, chuckling lowly,

“When you were still reeling from my worship of you, my love.” 

Your hand continued to move south on the planes of his body, taking in the soft skin littered with scars that had healed over time. Your hand finally found what it was seeking, and wrapped around his hot, stiff member. It immediately twitched in your grasp, and you felt precum drip onto your hand. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, and you began to pump him with a firmness and insistence. He jerked his hips into your touch, the bed shaking just slightly. He intended to make it rock tonight.

“Are you going to take me, Marcus?” you whispered, trying to be sultry, but it came out more as a whine. He shuddered as you gave him a few more pumps before lining him up at your entrance. “Give me everything, Marcus. Please.” 

“Everything?” he questioned, panting into your neck and capturing your lips in a kiss, slowly sliding himself into your weeping cunt. He shuddered, his own breath unsteady as yours sucked in tightly. “And what of you? What if I spilled my seed inside of you again, hm? Would you give me another child? One more?” 

With a slight thrust, your legs came to wrap around him tightly, holding onto his back for dear life. You nodded quickly, giving him a soft but high pitched “yes.” You could feel him chuckle into your neck, and then lifted his head to kiss your lips deeply. His thrusts became more deep, wanton, dragging himself in and out that made your toes curl and your cunt pulse around him incessantly. 

“Gods, Gods, I have missed you,” he murmured, lifting a hand to press against your cheek before using it to support himself as his hips grinded against your own. You opened your mouth against his, your hand moving from his cheek to curl into his hair. You lifted your hips to meet his own, his cock hairs edging your clit on further. Your eyes began to shut in the throes of pleasure,

“No, no, mea amata, I want you to look at me as I come inside you,” he said lowly, and your eyes flew open at a sharp thrust that made you gasp. You could barely nod as his thrusts began to ravage your body, shaking the bed slightly. “I want to see you as I give you another child. To see you like that again, fuck, I-”

Marcus had talked himself into his own orgasm, and you would have laughed had your head not been spinning and your own body reacting to his come that painted your walls white, so much that it seeped out of you and onto the bed. You moaned softly, the sensation causing you to reach your second peak that night, his cock sliding in and out of you until he was spent. He shivered, panting deeply,

“I am sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to waste myself so soon-”

Your body still pulsed, but you let out a shaky laugh, kissing his lips deeply.

“I know you did not, but it’s quite alright,” you said, your breath hitching at another wave of your orgasm still reverberated through you. “To know I still- I still make you feel that way, it is worth it.” 

He stilled as you both came down from your respective highs, and slid out gently. You exhaled sharply, and you felt his fingers push his come back inside of you,

“Do you think this one will be a boy or a girl?” he questioned, his fingers massaging your insides gently and you shuddered, unable to speak. “I suppose it does not matter. We will love them all the same.” he said, and you nodded, your breathing evening out as he slipped his fingers away from inside you, shifting to lay on his side. You turned into his chest, laying a kiss on his collarbone as your hand splayed on his neck. He leaned his chin on your head, his arms enveloping you.

“I hope this one bears fruit. But, I will not stop my efforts, for I-”

“Marcus?” you hummed, and he stilled, and you giggled gently into his chest. You moved your body against his, curling a leg around his waist. He smoothed your hair down on the back of your head gently, and you knew he wanted to say more, but finally steeled himself from doing so. 

“While I do not think you should ever stop, you do not have to worry about this one.” You said, your finger tracing his collarbone lightly. He froze, his hand resting on the back of your head and you lifted it gently to gaze at him. He was already looking down at you, 

“How long have you-?”

“A few weeks. Just after you left, really. I had my suspicions, and the medicus confirmed them.” you said, and couldn’t help but smile at the tears that began to brim in his eyes. He kissed you deeply, his arms wrapping around you as he lifted you closer to his face. 

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. You smiled, and giggled gently,

“I love you, too, my dearest one,” and his hand moved to curve over your stomach, though nothing had shown yet. Still, he cradled it and massaged it gently, like he was already comforting the child.

“I do suppose we should thank Juno for our gifts. She is the reason they are here in the first place,” he chuckled, and you smiled, shaking your head. You did have her to thank, yes. And that first sunset, and that first dance, and the immense effort Marcus took to bring you back to him. 

All of it had brought you your children, a loving husband, and a life you could truly cherish. 

And it all started with the sun, and ended with the moon. You would gaze at the stars as Marcus slept soundly next to you, his hand around you protectively. All you could ever ask for, tucked away on the cliff of a seaside villa. 

And when dawn breaks, you would cherish it all over again. 

Comments, likes, reblogs- anything is appreciated! Divider by @/saradika-graphics!

Thank you for reading. It has been a lovely ride with these two. <3

[beefrobeefcal]

Tommy Miller's Stall feat. Marcus Pike & f!Reader

Prompt: Marcus Pike + BBQ + "It's a Surprise. Close your eyes."

a @pedgito challenge fic | Rated: 18+ | word count: 2,852 warnings: swearing, talk of drinking beer, eating, bathroom stalls becoming shrines, Barbequed meats (consumed), broken AC, lack of air circulation, sweating, oral (m receiving), pork steeple in ham wallet (unprotected), bathroom shenanigans, pre-term ejaculation, cumming undone too soon, grey t-shirts

A/N: I know I am a day late with this and I know bc of that, it's probably not going to be included in the challenge, but I needed to release this! Apologies to @pedgito for my tardiness. This is not the previously met Marcus - he's a Marcus all of his own.

Thank you to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal & @bitchesuntitled for their love and support.

Traveling for work meant Marcus got to know all the random hole-in-the-wall eateries and Miller Bro’s Boy Howdy BBQ in Austin was one of his favourites. He loved the laid-back atmosphere and the story of why Joel & his brother Tommy bought the place from the previous owner – Tommy lost his virginity in the bathroom to a line cook named Rhonda and begged his brother to help him buy this drive of a restaurant and save it from demolition. There was even a plaque in the stall where Tommy ‘became a man in Summer ’89’.

Over the years, he’d gotten to know the menu and the Miller brothers. Joel was more aloof, preferring to stay in the kitchen or at the BBQ pit out back, while Tommy was happy to sit out with the customers like they were old friends, playing cards or sharing a few stories and laughs with them. The few times that Marcus had interacted with Joel were mainly to compliment him on the menu and tell him how much he liked the place; Joel would grunt and nod in thanks and head back into the kitchen.

There was another reason he liked coming to this place – you. From the first time he laid eyes on you as he darkened this place’s doorway six years ago, he knew he was hooked. You’d flashed your smile at him, flipped your hair and told him to, “Take any available seat, handsome. I’ll be right wit’cha!”

He’d learned that your nickname was ‘Peaches’ on account of your penchant to recommend the peach and bourbon barbeque sauce that was house made. He also learned that Joel kept an eye on him when you were around - he would catch Joel narrowing his eyes at him through the kitchen service window when you were at his table taking his order. It used to make Marcus nervous, thinking he might get something extra hidden in his food, but he decided that it was too delicious to care.

He'd taken a temporary position in the Austin office and for the last six months, he’d eaten at Miller’s every night and it was apparent. Marcus had assumed you were being kind when you called him handsome, especially now that he was barely fitting into the oversized summer attire he’d packed in late December before he’d come out to Austin and discovered that eating large portions of charbroiled meats at least once a day would alter your waistline so drastically.

His middle had filled out enough that the suits he wore throughout the day had to be tailored repeatedly before being fully replaced to accommodate his new weight. And the summer clothing he was wearing, formally loose-fitting for the heat, were anything but. So, when you winked at him when he entered today and said that you’d be with him in a minute, he internally reminded himself that you were just doing your job.

Marcus sat heavily down and slid into the booth, then waited for you to come over to his table. As he sat, he noticed how warm the dining area’s temperature was and took in the slight sweat ring and patches that were forming on your grey Miller Bro’s Boy Howdy BBQ branded shirt. He also realized he didn’t hear the tell-tale whirling and churning sounds of the too-old AC unit that normally filled the vacant spaces between conversations. He looked up to the vent in the corner, and the streamers that normally danced in the airflow hung limp, and he wiped the back of his hand over his damp forehead. He was getting hot.

“Hey handsome.”, you smiled, a slight weariness in your eyes but your smile shone bright. “Usual or you wanna see the menu?”

Marcus smiled back, and not wanting to make you work any harder, nodded and responded, “The usual please, Peaches.”

His eyes trailed down your body, landing on your butt as you walked back to the service window, then smiled to himself. He looked up, then made direct eye contact with Joel who only offered a scowl followed by a judgemental head shake before he disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen.

*****

Marcus was sweating. After finishing his meal, Tommy had come around and sat with him, ordering more barbequed goodness and beers, telling him the beer was ‘on the house, ‘cause the fuckin’ AC shit the bed.’ This exclamation was followed by you reminding Tommy that the AC was broken because he spent the repair funds on a ridiculous crystal duck as a gift to impress a woman – a woman who happened to be the AC repair tech’s wife.

Even with the cool beer, Marcus felt overly hot. A belly stuffed to the brim with smoked and charbroiled meats while sitting in a hot, stuffy room with still air was getting to him. As Tommy stood, slightly wavering on his feet from all the beer he was consuming to match the beer he was giving away to customers, he heavily patted Marcus on the shoulder and muttered, “Take it easy, big guy… I’ll be back ‘round soon.”

*****

You were hovering around Marcus’ table, checking in on him and Tommy, and every time you moved towards the kitchen with another order, Joel would shake his head at you, much like he would at Marcus.

“One of y’all better make a move soon… fuckin’ pathetic.”

You huffed in response, cheeks heating up. “Shove it, Joel. Mind your business.”

“Jesus, Peaches! It’s my fuckin’ business if I’m payin’ you by the hour and have’ta watch this horse shit pussy footin’ between you and fat boy over there. Just go sit on his lap an’ get it over with.”

You gave him a warning glare and a smug grin tugged at one side of Joel’s mouth. He nodded to you, signaling to look and you saw Tommy leaving Marcus’ table.

“Gonna close early on account of the heat and the fact that I’m fuckin’ done roastin’ myself in this kitchen.” You heard Joel chuckle behind you. “Get’er done, Peaches.”

*****

Marcus stood and stretched after he finished his beer, feeling the weight he'd consumed in his stomach, and looking down, he could see the bulk of it, too. You watched him stand and stretch, exposing a sliver of his rounded-out middle between his shirt and shorts.

Tommy tsk’d, startling you. Turning around, you were met by his slightly drunk, glazed eyes, and a dopey smile. “Joel’s right, Peaches. Just bite the bullet and take that man for a ride in my stall.”

“Oh my god, Tommy!”, you exclaimed with a frown a little too loudly, shoving him back.

Tommy laughed and handed you a shot of bourbon. You rolled your eyes and slammed it alongside him. He then grabbed your shoulders, turned you to face Marcus’ direction and said in your ear quietly. “No harm, no foul in helpin’ him take in the sights Austin has to offer, Peaches.”, then shoved you towards his table.

You caught yourself from stumbling and cleared your throat as you approached him. Marcus turned and looked at you; a small smile spread on his face before a pink blush crept up his cheeks as he tugged his shirt down, closing the slight gap his stretch had caused.

You could feel the energy, electrifying and crackling like a late July thunderstorm, raging in the space between your bodies, pulling you together with a gravitational field that would rival the one caused by Jupiter’s giant spot. Marcus opened his mouth to speak but any words he was going to say were lost in his throat as you moved forward and kissed him. The soft exhale that came after his surprised gasp tasted like beer and barbeque sauce on your tongue that pushed against the seam of his lips. His hands, sticky and smoky, were tethered up in your hair, holding your face against his as he deepened the kiss, granting your tongue entrance in your tongue’s long anticipated dance.

You barely heard Tommy spit his beer out and sputter out choked coughs as Joel grunted then nodded in approval at what you and Marcus were up to. After depriving yourselves of full breaths for long enough, you parted, panting, staring at one another. Marcus’ shoulders and chest were heaving and his lips, parted and pouted, were wet from your combined saliva.  His face was flushed, glistening in the low glow of all the tacky neon lighting adorning the walls, one side of his face pink from flamingos with sunglasses on, the other side flickering orange and yellow from the broken Corona promotional neon sign. He was beautiful.

At that moment, you didn’t think what you looked like, completely enraptured by the huffing and panting man sweating in front of you.

“Peaches…”, Marcus murmured, eyes wide and pleading. “I wanna do this right. I-”

You couldn’t let him finish, not if his next words could dampen the fire that had erupted in your core, making your hole twitch hard enough that you felt it in behind your belly button. You shook your head and shushed him, pressing your index finger against his lips. You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the men’s washroom, directly into Tommy’s stall.

Thinking back, you would wonder how differently things would have gone if you’d pulled Marcus into a private area that wasn’t designed for single occupancy. The stalls in this restaurant were small, given that the original design of the washrooms did not include stalls at all, and Marcus was no longer a small man. But good god, the feeling of your body pushed up against his as he was backed against the stall door, mashing your mouths together.

You were still taking the lead in this dance, setting the pace and motions, while Marcus finally allowed his hands to touch more than anywhere above your collarbone. He gripped your waist with one hand and the other pushed its way between your bodies to clumsily try and shove it down the front of your pants. You both awkwardly tried to undress one another as you kept your lips and tongues attached, panting and grunting. If someone walked into the bathroom, they might assume there were two dogs quietly fighting over a piece of beef in the stall.

Once your jean shorts were open, Marcus wasted no time in shoving them down enough to shove his barbeque-tinged fingers into them. He eventually found what he was looking for when the tip of his finger grazed your sensitive and twitching nub, eliciting a gasping moan from you as you involuntarily bucked your hips. It was what tipped you over the edge, prompting you to swing him around and fumble with his button fly. He pulled back and his hands gently held yours, halting your mission to get his pants off.

“Marcus…”, you panted against his mouth.

“I haven’t… it’s been a while since…”, he stumbled through his words.

It seemed like time was slowing and you smiled softly at him. “Close your eyes.”

He hesitated, sucking in a breath nervously. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

His brows twitched and did as he was told and you sank to your knees, sliding your hands down his torso and thighs, and he let out a soft whimper once he realized where you were headed. Once on your knees, you pushed up his shirt and pressed a kiss right below his belly button and steadied yourself with your forehead against his full and rounded out stomach, your hands now free to get his shorts opened and down. His cock was pushing an impressive bulge in his grey boxer briefs, and you could see where the tip was pressing, a dark, damp patch at its peak.

Pulling down his underwear, his cock popped out and slapped up against his heavy underbelly, and without any hesitation, you grabbed it and sucked the tip into your mouth.

Marcus moaned out a surprised gasp and his hand gently rested on the crown of your head.

“I-oh fuck! I won’t… I wont last long. Peaches, please, honey.”, he whined, his fingers curling into your hair ever so gently.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t last long. His balls had just started to lift and tighten as you pulled off, and you looked up at him, marveling at the sight above you. Marcus was leaning back against the stall door, and you could only see his tented brows above his closed eyes before his belly obstructed the view.

Standing up, you smoothed your hands over his middle and leaned in to kiss him. He smiled against your mouth, and took a chance in moving away from the door and his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you into him. He maneuvered the both of you, now facing the stall door, ready to push you against it, to get on his knees for you, and pulled your shorts and underwear off completely.

But you stopped him, shoving his shorts and boxer briefs down his thighs, and pushed him back to sit on the toilet.

He fell back on to the lowered seat with a grunt, and you straddled his lap.

“Marcus,”, you breathe out as you start to seat yourself upon his cock. “I’ve wanted this for -oh god! for so long…”

He nodded frantically, and his fingers dug into your hips once your hips were finally flush with his.

“Oh…oh fudge…”, he moaned, clenching his eyes closed.

His breathing was quick and staggered, and his hips twitched and bucked under you. All you had done was allow your pussy to swallow his cock whole. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he wouldn’t last long, and the strain that reddened his face and the sounds leaving his mouth as you began to rock your hips slowly, trying to give him some time to adjust, but you needed to move.

“P-Peaches -”

You shushed him, and gripped his shoulder, starting to pick up the pace. His cock felt amazing - not too big or thick, but absolutely a perfect fit for you - just like him.

“Peaches - please, baby!”

Marcus tried to slow you down, tried to hold you down, tried to gain leverage by grabbing anything he could, tried shifting underneath you, but you were determined. You hushed him again, reveling in the harsh way he finally gripped your waist and hip with his large hands, and the rhythm you’d found bouncing on his cock. It was hitting just the right spot at just the right angle, and you could feel the early stirring of your climax.

But the sound of the toilet flushing from him sitting forward enough to set the sensors off and the loud, long groan that Marcus let out, followed by the feeling of warm cum shooting into you made you still in his lap.

He gripped you tighter, panting ‘Peaches!’ over and over, and pushed his face into your t-shirt covered chest, and his belly contracted and relaxed at an alarming pace. 

“Oh god… oh no. I’m-I’m so sorry!”, he whined and whimpered into your cleavage, still unloading spurt after spurt into your pussy. “Oooooh! oh my go-I’m sorry…”

He panted out grunts and groans, and his face twisted against the front of your t-shirt in blissful agony with his brows furrowed and his mouth open. Wet, hot breaths and saliva heated up your chest, and his hips bucked a few times, the final drops of cum finally spitting out.

“P-Peaches - I’m sorry.”, he murmured, weak and breathless. “I-I couldn’t - it’s been a-a while… for me.”

You sat silently, feeling his cum leaking out of you. You’d never had a man cum that quickly before. Sure, you’d had guys finish first, but this was a record, and yet, you weren’t mad. You couldn’t be.

“Marcus – “

“Just too pretty... I-I tried… I-“

“Marcus – “

“I didn’t mean to… just so pretty and I-“

“Marcus!”

He finally pulled back and looked up at you, his big brown eyes pleading for mercy. “I really like you and I wanted to do this right; ask you out properly, and - “

“Take me home and finish me, Marcus.”

“I just - wait, what? You want me to-”

“Take me back to your place. Make me cum.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his mouth moved slightly, but no words came out, only small, confused breaths.

“I like you, too, and-”

“I want to take you for dinner first.”

You smiled and huffed out a laugh. “You just ate!”

He nodded, raising his brows and offered a small shrug. “Well, yeah, but you- uh, well you got me working up an appetite. And I -”, he looked a little bashful as he continued. “I want to - uh - perform well and I can do that after we get some food in and the beer out of my system.”

You pressed a sweet kiss onto his lips and both of you couldn’t help the giggles that started. 

The door to the bathroom opened and slammed against the wall; Tommy’s slurred voice boomed out, “You two done? I wanna piss’n my stall.”

no more taglist! to get fic notification, follow @beefnotes

[pinky-in-blankets]

Oz!Conner: " Wait.. I thought that there were LIONS in this forest, and that THEY were the rulers here." Oz!Marcus: " Clearly the people of Oz are unaware of what species of Big cat lives where. And lions being king of the jungle is just propaganda they spread."

----

And marcus completes the Oz Squad! Hes not exactly cowardly but he definitely has some words to be had with the wizard. also don't worry about balan. he's fine- he's made out of straw.

[softpascalito]

starting a new marcus acacius x f!reader fic that aligns with the plot of gladiator 2 and will have major spoilers (!)

if youve already seen the movie and would like to be tagged, interact with this post 🫡⚔️

(please be mindful not to spoil under this post as well ❤️)

edit: POSTED!

[myownwholewildworld]

vi. O Seanalair - acta, non verba

chapter 5 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you irremediably find yourself in Marcus' bed again and make a discovery which may help your people. a/n: i have a genuine question. do people like long chapters? because i can't seem to stop when i start writing for these two D: as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, marital abuse, etc - i think you know the drill by now. attempted SA (not by Marcus), callie fights back. fluff and angst. some internal battles. smut. unprotected piv but no creampie. oral (m!receiving). fingering (f!receiving). sleepy morning sex. aftercare. marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd. if i'm forgetting anything, please let me know! w/c: ~11.3k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, about what happened yesterday morning. Every time your mind wandered, it ran back to the exact moment Marcus buried himself in your slick heat for the first time.

How he made you feel. How he ensured you were comfortable and thriving under his touch. How he talked you through it and paced it down to make the whole experience even more pleasurable. How his fingers found refuge in your pussy, working you expertly in preparation to take him. How your cunt deliciously burnt with that heavenly stretch.

How you were gushing now for him, craving the fullness of his dick, pussy desperately clenching around nothing.

“Dè air thalamh? (What on earth?)” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head to clear your mind.

The fact that the memory kept coming back―to your despair―was dangerous, extremely dangerous. Yes, sex had been good ― no, fucking amazing. But it didn’t mean anything, nothing at all.

A means to an end, that’s all he is, you mentally reprimanded yourself.

It shouldn’t bias you, despite how good he had fucked you. You couldn’t get… attached, because whatever this was, it was doomed from the beginning. That was what you had decided the first time you locked eyes with him in the battlefield, and you were not one to go back on a promise. Especially one you made to yourself ― to avenge your family.

To your disgust, you had to admit to yourself that it was harder to keep the focus on that now, knowing how satiated he had left you yesterday. It was truly shameful that you were looking forward to getting fucked stupid again.

In a couple of hours, hopefully. You couldn't wait to have Marcus plunge in and out of you. In... Out... So deep inside…

You bit your bottom lip down out of pure, horny desperation and pressed your knees together, containing the dampness that threatened to soak your underwear if you didn’t rein your thoughts in.

“A bheil thu nad shlàinte, mo bana-phrionnsa? (Are you well, my princess?)” Brighid’s soft voice pierced through your wet daydream, bringing you back to reality.

Blinking rapidly, you gave her a stern nod. A muted reply, since your throat felt dry with desire.

“Are you sure, my lady? You look flushed. There’s a fever going around in the village,” she pushed, lips pouted with concern.

Fuck, kill me now.

“I’m fine, Brighid, don’t worry,” you croaked once you found your voice.

Your cheeks were burning and had nothing to do with an illness. Unless feeling cock-drunk could be considered an ailment. Maybe it should.

“Are Daimh and Iona sick? Perhaps you―”

“They are fine. It’s just hot in here with the hearth running on full blast,” you cut her off, slightly embarrassed by the fact that Brighid had noticed your flustering.

But if she had been fucked the way you had been, she would fully understand. Of that you were sure.

Not by Marcus though, she can find another man. He’s mine.

What the hell was that about?

To avoid any further interrogation, you grabbed the jug, filled to the rim with wine. Veering around, you exited the kitchen promptly. The cold air of the hallway was most welcomed ― the Gods knew you needed it, considering you were about to enter the room where the personification of your wet dreams was.

As soon as you reached the double doors to the great hall, you quickly scanned the room. Every night the great hall of your family home would be desecrated with the presence of your enemy. The legionnaires were chatting and laughing loudly, goblets clinking with their contents spilt all over the wooden tables.

Once a sanctuary for your family and clan, you barely recognised it anymore. The beautiful tapestries that your ancestors had woven had been taken down, the stone walls bare and undressed. Even with the giant fireplace crackling nearby, it still felt cold. It even smelt different ― musty and sweaty, the lingering stench of death they carried coating the air.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you made your way to the dais. Only when you went up the wooden step did you realise that Marcus’ chair was occupied by a man you didn’t recognise, and Maximus’ spot was empty. Another sweep of the room told you what your blood already knew: for whatever reason, they had stepped out.

“Expecting someone else, puella (girl)?” the man on Marcus’ chair cackled as you approached, interrupting his talk with Cassius.

Raising a mighty brow, you decidedly ignored him, pouring wine in Cassius’ cup.

“I am talking to you, you stupid, savage woman,” he sneered.

Before you could think, the man laced his arm around your waist, forcing you to sit on his lap. Your blood ran hot with rage, palms itching to slap him until he fell unconscious. The need to turn around and spit on his face was a call from the Gods themselves.

But you couldn’t, not in a room full of Romans who would behave exactly the same way. You were at a loss here, and you only wished that when the day came and you encountered this bastard on the battlefield, you could slit his throat.

Clutching the jug between your hands, your eyes landed on Cassius. He was watching you with intent, almost studying you, but it was pretty obvious that he was not about to keep his man in check. If anything, he was about to fucking smile.

“Where’s that arrogant look now, huh?” the man cackled, pressing you against his tiny bulge.

“Do you really think you can threaten me with that?” you hissed, referring to the small erection brushing your buttocks. “That is the size of a barnacle.”

You definitely hit a nerve there, because the man pushed you off his lap hastily, grunting something unintelligible, but heard enough to know he was cursing you.

How bad you wished you could empty the contents of the jug on his face. For a long minute, you really considered it, running through the scenario and its outcomes in your mind ― you would be fast enough to catch him off guard, throw the jug at him and make a run for the small door on the back of the dais, latching it behind you and running up the spiral staircase to your father’s solar.

However, before you could act on any of it, Marcus’ deep voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Move, Brutus. Now,” Marcus snarled.

You turned around at the fury his tone distilled, his eyes locked on the man you now knew as Brutus. His pupils had darkened, his jaw tightened. Despite the tenderness he had shown you in the bedchamber, the General was an imposing man outside of it, and Brutus knew as much.

He soon scuttled away like the vermin he was, while Cassius straightened his back, eyes fixed to the front, avoiding contact with his General. Odd.

Maximus was a few steps behind Marcus, closing the door you had planned to escape through. The thought of both of them in your father’s solar didn’t sit well with you, but there wasn’t much you could say without blowing your cover.

“Dux Meus,” you bowed your head down, stepping aside to let him sit.

His opaque orbs lingered on you for a second too long, softening ever so slightly as he studied your composed expression.

You gave him a feeble smile, averting your eyes so people would not notice the brief exchange. By the way Maximus cleared his throat and a smirk curled his lips, you had not been as subtle as you had originally thought.

Once both men were seated, you proceeded to fill Marcus’ goblet. Your hand was still trembling with the fury that coursed through your veins, causing the jug to almost kick the wooden cup. Thankfully, Marcus caught it before it spilt.

His eyes shot to yours, and they were screaming at you. His mouth didn’t open, but his orbs spoke for him very loudly: Are you okay? What’s happened? They were mad with worry ― an honest one you didn’t expect at all. The hand that a second ago was straightening the cup, was now softly clamping around your wrist, the shaking gone under his soothing caress.

The weight of his sight, of his concern for you, was momentarily overwhelming.

“I’m okay,” you whispered before he spoke, giving him a reassuring nod.

“Are you―?”

“I’m fine, truly,” you insisted, worried that people would pick up on your hushed conversation.

Marcus finally let go of your wrist, and soon after you stepped off the dais to fill other goblets.

For the rest of the night, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Before his private conversation with Maximus in the castle’s solar, you had been acting all lively and relaxed, but since his return, your features had been tamed into feigned calmness. Marcus could feel the anger simmering beneath your skin, seeping like venom dripping off a serpent’s fangs.

Wished he had stayed so could understand what had changed, but his duties to the Empire should come first. That morning, he had learnt that Agricola had been ordered back to Rome, claiming that the Caledonian tribes had been subdued, and his replacement would be Sallustius Lucullus. This news came like a shock to Marcus, who could not wrap his head around the fact that Rome was willing to withdraw the vast majority of troops to assist with other conflicts elsewhere in the Empire. It meant they would be left alone in an island that was far from conquered, despite what the false propaganda said.

They only had a couple of weeks before Agricola left with his men, leaving Marcus’ battalion, and other small military pockets around the area, in a very compromised position. In light of this new situation, Maximus and Marcus had discussed going to the Roman fort of Cawdor, just fifteen miles east of Inbhir Nis, to talk to Agricola before his departure.

But now, seeing your composed demeanour, he wished he could have stayed behind. It was wrong―putting you first before the Empire―but it couldn’t be helped. You lurked in the confines of his mind, ever present in his thoughts. It was even worse considering the ring that symbolised his marriage to another woman. Everything he thought he stood up for, crumbled the moment he had his first real taste of you.

His chest still swelled at the memory of you all pliable around his girth. How you had creamed, coating him in your arousal, the first time he sank into you. How you whimpered and hissed his name in ecstasy, the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

However, it wasn’t only that what made him swoon, but how you blindly trusted him with your pleasure. How, despite being mistreated in bed, you had let him show you how a man should treat a woman. How fucking fulfilling it had been for him to see you fall apart, rediscovering how sex should really be like.

Marcus had never felt this way before ― caring, giving, in tune with your body. The connection that tethered him to you transcended the sexual aspect your relationship had taken. For the first time in decades, his heart was not as empty and cold. He found himself craving your eyes, your proximity. Not because he wanted to bed you again―he did―but because your presence put him at ease, even when war seemed to be knocking at his door again.

“I take you’ve finally bedded her,” Maximus’ jest forced his orbs onto his friend’s.

Marcus rolled his eyes to the back of his skull, his shoulders slouching. Sometimes he wished he could sew Maximus’ lips together or punch him square in the jaw to shut him up.

Briefly looking around the table on the dais, it seemed like the other men―Cassius, Valerius, Brutus and one of Valerius’ men―were immersed in a conversation of their own.

“That’s none of your business,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

Maximus palmed his shoulder, a hearty laugh reverberating in his chest.

“I’m just saying, the sexual tension every time she comes on the dais can be cut with a sword, my friend. Good for you, about damn time,” he congratulated Marcus, removing the hand from him. “I don’t understand why you want to keep it under wraps though.”

“Because some could think I’d be fraternising with the enemy,” Marcus admitted to his friend, knowing he could confide in him. “And it’s far from it.”

Maximus’ thick brows bunched up, confused with his reply.

“Because you’re fucking one of the savages’ whores? Like every man in your legion―”

“She’s not a whore,” Marcus quickly cut him off, anger firing at the distasteful insinuation.

Maximus was taken aback by his response, silence filling the gaps in the dead conversation for a minute. Marcus looked at his Commander, his own brows knitting now too. How dared he refer to you as a prostitute? The insult burnt his insides, he’d hate himself if your reputation was sullied because of your involvement with him.

“Alright, she may not be a whore, but she is a savage. Don’t lose sight of that,” his friend replied, the mock gone from his eyes. “If she’s not a prostitute, then what does she want with you?” he hushed, tone dropping an octave so people would not listen. “Do you trust her?”

Marcus’ frown deepened, his friend’s words gnawing at him. He had not even contemplated the scenario Maximus was implying ― he thought he knew you enough now, and you wouldn’t betray him like that. Not after yesterday’s passionate morning.

“Again, none of your damn business,” he sneered, emptying the Carmo wine in his mouth with finality.

“But it is my business to worry about your safety, dammit. I’m your second in command,” Maximus sighed, a hand pinching his nose. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Acacius. There’s a lot at stake here, as you well know.”

Maximus’ reminder of his duty to Rome just angered him more.

The night was coming to an end, with the Roman soldiers scattering and walking back to the barracks. You had seen most of Marcus’ retinue leave the dais too, and you hoped you could catch him alone before he retreated to his chamber.

You were returning from the kitchen with an empty wooden tray, hoping to clear the last of the goblets off the tables and call it a day. Saying that you were looking forward to fuck Marcus tonight was an understatement ― not even the small incident with Brutus could put out the fire between your thighs.

As you ambled along the corridor, you almost collided with someone. Gripping the tray tight so it wouldn’t fall, you looked up to apologise, but the words stuck to the back of your throat.

Brutus. His cold hands clamped like a vice on either side of your waist, fingers buried so deep in your skin it would bruise. He slammed you against the stone wall, his body flush with yours and his nauseating mouth too close for comfort.

Your heart was racing wildly as your mind was coming to terms with the situation, drafting a plan.

“You’re not so fierce now, are you? How dare you insult me in front of my Commander, you slut?” the stench of his breath reached your nose, and you couldn’t help but make a face. “You are nothing more than a cockroach. If I want, I can squash you under my foot like the filthy bug you are.”

Before you could snap back with a retort, he grabbed the tray you carried and threw it to a side, then his mouth covered yours. His lips were cold and tasted horribly, his tongue trying to find an opening into your mouth. You jostled, but the grip on your hips was so tight you could barely move. His stubble prickled the skin around your mouth as Brutus kissed you sloppily, your teeth still shut.

Vile rose up to your throat, your initial panic transforming into steadfast resolution. This fucking cunt was about to get what he deserved. Who did he think he was? He was nothing, no one. A man you could best in the battlefield with one hand tied to your back and the other one holding a wooden sword, all whilst blindfolded.

When his hands loosened on your waist to very harshly squeeze one of your breasts, you took the opportunity. You lifted your knee up hastily, hitting him right on that tiny bulge he seemed to be so proud of.

Brutus started wailing, crouching with his hands protecting his groin. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him back ― snarling now, ready to fight. Quickly you snatched the tray off the cobblestone and as you were lunging forward to hit his head with it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, freezing you in place.

Bewildered, you turned around in the arms that held you to redirect your anger at whoever dared to stop you.

Your resolution faltered the moment your emerald greens met Marcus’ brown irises.

Marcus didn’t understand what he had walked into but was pretty sure that Brutus was about to be in the receiving end of your wrath. Instinctually, he had jumped into the situation, hoping to deescalate it by holding you in place so you wouldn’t kill the man. Because if you hurt the man, Cassius would ask for your head, and he would be between a rock and a hard place.

But the moment you veered around in his embrace and Marcus saw the reddened, wet skin around your mouth, he understood.

For a second, he only stared at you, eyes fixed on your swollen lips. His brain had gone quiet, but the sudden cacophony of his own voice asking for blood brought him back.

“Marcus,” you whispered breathlessly, and his stomach churned at the unspoken plea.

His hands freed your hips to cradle your face, delving into your glassy green eyes. His heart flipped, torn with the idea of what Brutus had tried to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked the question he wished he had said an hour before.

“Aye,” you replied with a small voice.

It didn’t calm him down. In fact, he was seething with rage, blood boiling in his veins with a protectiveness unfamiliar to him.

Once he ensured you were alright, he liberated you from his grasp and faced Brutus. Commandeered by his own anger, Marcus seized Brutus by the neck of his toga, forcing him to stand up and pinned him against the wall as one of his hands clutched around the man’s neck.

Marcus really contemplated the idea of killing him. He wanted the man beheaded and six feet under. How dared he touch you? Force himself on you? Even if you weren’t his to claim, it wasn’t right ― Marcus could never put up with how badly some men treated women, so he would never allow it in his ranks.

“Marcus, don’t,” you called from behind, your soft hand squeezing his shoulder. He looked over it, jaw clenched, to glance at you. “I think…” you paused, “just let him go. I have a bad feeling about this.”

The sense you talked into him finally filtered in, and Marcus released the purchase he had on Brutus, taking a step back. His hands curled into fists at his sides ― he really wanted to smash his skull in, but you were right.

“Get out of my sight,” he muttered, and Brutus quickly obliged.

The moment you two were alone, he looked for you. His hands reached out, one sliding around your waist and his other thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. His heart was still pounding, ears ringing with fear. He couldn’t ask how you were, knowing it was an obnoxious question given the circumstances.

Your gaze locked in on his ― blown pupils, crazed darkened irises. But as much as he searched, Marcus didn’t see any dread in you. Had you been so used to being mistreated by your late husband that what happened unfazed you? How desensitised were you?

What he did see was the ghost of a past memory haunting you, the haze of years of abuse clouding your eyes. You didn’t need to speak it; he could feel it.

His heart cracked at the thought. And what pained him most was that one of his own men was who brought back the pain he had not seen yet swirling in your eyes. And it was so prominent now, he almost folded, lungs burning with ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, removing his hand from your face, afraid his touch would incite any more distress.

Your head tilted, eyes regaining part of the spark that reeled him in.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Dux Meus,” you uttered under your breath. “As a matter of fact, I wasn’t in need of rescuing, I was about to smash his head in and have his brain scattered around the floor.”

Despite your smile, there was no joke in your low tone. He realised you actually meant it. And he shouldn’t be surprised, considering he’d already seen you take a man’s life with no regrets.

“I know, but I failed on my promise.”

“What promise?” you asked, confused, with a cocked brow.

“I swore to you that I wouldn’t let this happen again. And it has, right under my nose,” Marcus confessed, the ride back to the castle after the attack still vivid in his mind. “That you wouldn’t need to defend yourself.”

Your brows lifted, expression softening and lips pouting. Were you trying to hide a grimace?

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

You said it as if it was meant to make him feel better, but it had the opposite effect on him. If anything, it made him feel worse.

The faded sound of footfall approaching broke the moment, both of you untangling from each other and taking a couple of steps back. Marcus watched one of the other maids scurry along, her scared eyes dancing between the two of you. For a moment, it seemed like she was about to intervene in defence of you.

“Do Ghras (Your Grace),” she mumbled in your language, one Marcus didn’t understand a word of.

Quickly, you gave her a stern look and the girl’s eyes widened dramatically, then bowed her head down and ran towards the double doors as if the devil himself was chasing her.

Your eyes shot back to his, pupils enlarged again, studying his face with a vehemence that would have forced any other man to look away. But he didn’t, mesmerised by the strength you were showing after what had happened. Any other woman in your situation would be upset, but here you were standing as if nothing of relevance had happened.

His eyes lingered on your face, deciphering how you really felt. The darkening purple mark tarnishing your bottom lip really concerned him, to the point where he couldn’t stop himself from raising his hand towards your face.

Your head snapped back away from his touch. Marcus flinched at the rejection, slightly hurt ― but he couldn’t blame you for reacting that way, he should have known where the limit was. It was understandable that you didn’t want to be touched after…

His blood began to boil again ― Brutus would pay, he would find a way to make him suffer.

As his hand dropped back to his side, you took a step forward towards him ― your fingers lacing around his wrist. The caress of your palm against his skin was warm, but your gaze was warmer. Marcus froze in place, overpowered by your eyes.

You averted your beautiful orbs, looking down to the cobblestone, as your free hand tucked away a stray red curl behind your ear. That mere gesture flooded his chest, replacing anger with care. Despite how strong-willed you were, there was this aura of innocence around you; one he had not fully perceived until yesterday morning. Now that Marcus thought he knew you a tad more, every piece of the puzzle started falling into place.

But you still surprised him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Trained reaction…” you trailed off with half-lidded eyes, your teeth sinking in the cushion of your bottom lip.

You didn’t need to finish that sentence for he knew how it ended. Your late husband was, once again, sullying your thoughts.

Heart clenching in his chest, Marcus reached for your cheek again, this time successfully. His thumb hovered over you bruised lip, afraid he would inflict more harm than good.

“No need to apologise, mel. It’s okay…” Marcus hushed, still madly worried about your well-being. “Did he… did he hurt you elsewhere?”

You nodded before nuzzling your cheek against his open palm. That simple action had his heart racing and melting at the same time. He really needed to get a grip, or he’d lose his damn mind over you ― something he could not afford amidst impending war.

“My hips,” a very long pause, “my breast.”

If his blood had been boiling before, now it became sharp icicles scratching the insides of his veins. Hearing you say that actually caused him physical pain. His heart had stilled, then resumed its maddening beating, deafening him.

When he trusted his voice had returned, he cleared this throat.

“Can I check, please?” There were no veiled intentions behind his ask, just honest consternation.

You shyly nodded after a brief pause.

You followed Marcus through the corridor, his forearm softly hugging the small of your back and his broad hand splayed on your hip. The possessiveness of his embrace was weirdly soothing.

Checking over your shoulder, you ensured no one witnessed your affectionate exchange. And once you arrived and took shelter in your old bedchamber, the tension gripping your shoulders dissipated.

But the anger inside you still burnt hot. Brutus deserved what you were about to do, had Marcus not interfered. But when he did, something about the whole night nagged at you. As if there was a bigger plan at play, one you could not construe yet.

“Your lip’s bruising, mel,” his voice tinged with concern forced you out of your thoughts.

When he touched it again, you winced. Brutus the Brute had done a bit of a number on you, one you hoped to repay in the near future.

“Can I see, please?”

Well, this was not how you expected the night to go, because judging by Marcus’ rigid stance, sex was out of the cards.

With a heavy sigh, your fingers lifted up your long skirt, exposing your loincloth. Bunching up the fabric, Marcus’ hand and gaze dropped to your mid-section, fingers careful when pushing down the hem of your underwear. His caress venerating, too respectful in comparison to how he treated you yesterday morning ― the contrast abysmal.

His eyes squinted, nostrils flaring, but he quickly tamed his furious expression. Looking down to where he was focused, you understood his reaction. Where Brutus’ fingers had sunk in the flesh of your hips, he had left deep, purpling imprints ― an aquarelle with shades of red, lilac and blue.

“What a cunt,” you hissed when Marcus’ thumbs ghosted over the bruised skin on your hips. His eyes swiftly looked up at you, apologetic. “Not you, him,” you clarified.

You hoped your half joke would lighten his temper, but it didn’t. If anything, his brown orbs darkened even more, a black veil consuming his dilated pupils.

Awright, no jokes when he’s in a bad mood, you mentally noted.

“Show me, please,” he husked, eyes loitering on the neckline of your dress.

His gravelly words shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine, but they did. This wasn’t the fucking time to get all worked up, but the effect he had on you had seeped further into your being than what you originally thought.

I’m so fucked up.

With a trembling hand, you pushed down the frill of your neckline, your left breast spilling over. You held back a raspy breath when the cold air of the room hit your sensitive skin and felt your nipple perking up.

You didn’t dare to look down, eyes fixed on Marcus’ torn face. His lips had fallen into a flat line, jaw clenched as if chiselled by the Gods themselves. And while you were burning hot under his inquisitive stare, his eyes were… cold.

Were you broken past the point of repair? Had Iain shattered you so much, altered your perception of sex? How would you, otherwise, explain why you were roused right now when you should surely feel at least shaken up?

By Red Cap’s beard, I’m sick. There’s got to be something wrong with me.

Sick with lust, perhaps. One you needed to control, because when Marcus cupped your breast, there was nothing sexual in his hold.

Pure, utter worry painted his features, his brown irises opaque.

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered under his breath.

When his thumb stroked the skin under your aureola, your eyes finally drifted down.

Seeing the growing bruise around your nipple was a goddamn reality check, as if someone had thrown a jar of icy water on you. It looked bad, really bad. You didn’t think he had such a tight grip on your breast, but the rush of adrenaline had drowned any other feelings, letting survival guide you.

It reminded you of a time when your body was covered with marks and lesions, and you would do your utmost effort to conceal the damage Iain had caused. How you made up excuses when your siblings queried about a bruise you could not camouflage―oh, don’t worry, I’m just clumsy―or a new limp―ah, it’s fine, I fell off a horse―that had you barely walking.

How you hid under layers of textile when visiting family so your father wouldn’t feel the guilt of shipping you off like cattle to the slaughter.

“For peace you must,” had been his final words before Iain snatched you away from the comfort of your home.

Fiercely loyal, you played your part dutifully. For clan you had silently suffered for a decade, not even once questioning your father’s decision. You endured what you had to, so your people would know peace in their time.

Never once did you let the façade tumble down. Never once did you show your fear, your desperation ― your thirst for freedom.

Never once, until now.

Seeing those bruises again brought back all those feelings you had deeply buried and thought forgotten. Panic bubbling within the walls of your chest, you blinked rapidly to clear the tears that threatened to fall.

Years of abuse crawling back, clamping your throat, stalking your mind ― it all came back in a trice. Your heartrate quickened, the sensation of nasty ants creeping along your skin unbearable. Trying to calm your agitated breathing, but the memories only making it all worse.

Suddenly you felt the searing pain when Marcus brushed your skin again. Not physical pain, but the kind that had tangled itself up around your entrails and become a part of you ― strangling your resolution, your very being. Silently suffocating you for a decade.

Why was it all coming apart now, out of all the fucking moments?

“Hey, look at me, hey. It’s okay, mel,” Marcus’ mellow voice pierced through your eardrums.

Wet eyelashes fluttering, you glanced up at him. For the first time, feeling lost in a loch of torment.

Marcus’ chest squeezed at the sight in front of him.

Your face tilted up, a downcast expression distorting your beautiful features. Your mouth had parted, letting out a trembling sigh that had him shaking with you. Your eyes, always bright, sparkly green, were now of a deep shade of a darkened hue, your blown pupils swimming somewhere in there. And they became darker with every spent tear that wetted your cheeks.

He searched your face, impending dread consuming his heart as your curated front crumbled. Something primal twisted within him, a sense of protectiveness gripping him tight.

Marcus couldn’t see you like this ― with your defences down, as if you trusted him enough to hold the pieces of you together. For a fleeting instant it felt overwhelming, staggering him.

But he knew what he had to do ― what he wanted to do. Marcus let go of his gentle grasp to envelop you in his embrace, hoping to bring you some sense of tranquillity. One of his hands softly rested on the back of your head, fingers lost between your red curls.

At first, your arms were just loose by your sides, but soon enough, when the warmth of his body seeped into yours, you laced them around his waist, hugging him in return.

Time became ethereal, and Marcus wondered if what saddened you had anything to do with today, or past events. You had hinted at a life of marital negligence, and he couldn’t help but ponder the atrocities you had to survive. Society wasn’t kind to women, at least in Rome. Was your culture any different in that respect? How had your life been?

Not easy, by the looks of it. And it pained him realising that, especially after seeing the fierce side of you. The part of you that intrigued him the most, that reeled him in despite the wedding ring on his finger.

How could someone even dare break your spirit? How did Brutus even dare to breathe in your direction?

“I’ll kill him,” he reiterated in a hush, lips pressing on the crown of your hair.

“No,” you muttered, leaning back to let him dive in your determined eyes. “I think that’s what he wanted. What Cassius wanted.”

“Cassius?” he repeated after you, confused.

You paused, lips pouting, and then nodded with averted eyes.

“Aye. There’s something about him that is not quite right… Do you trust him?”

Why was everybody making him question other people’s loyalties today? He couldn’t afford the doubt, not when Agricola’s departure was just around the corner. Marcus needed as many men as possible, and he had to trust them.

“Yes, I do. Don’t worry about him, or about―” he stopped himself before Brutus’ name leaked. “Let’s not talk about them now. Come sit.”

Marcus carefully guided you to his bed as you readjusted your dress, palm pressed on the small of your back. Once you settled, he turned around in search of the concoction Atticus had prepared for his wounds ― a mix of aloe, lemon juice and onions. The balm had been cool and soothing on his skin, so he hoped it helped alleviate your pain.

He snatched it off the chimney’s sill and walked back to you, handing it over so you would apply it. The pad of your fingers touched his knuckles, the feathery caress of your gentleness. When you didn’t grab it, Marcus foraged for your eyes.

“Will you help me, Dux Meus?” you whispered, tone stripped of your usual snappiness.

“Are you sure?” he found himself saying, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

You gave him a soft nod in reply, gathering your long skirt and holding it around your mid-section.

Marcus crouched down in front of you, knees cracking with the friction of time, and dipped his index and middle fingers in the gelatinous mixture. He reached for your hip, one last undecided glance at you, and then gently rubbed the composite on your skin.

You sighed at the touch, shutting your eyes, muscles visibly relaxing now.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, eyes focused on the other side now as he administered the balm.

“Aye, it’s cold. Tapadh leibh a Seanalair” you muttered, palms resting on the mattress as you leaned back.

Marcus’ brows pinched together at the unrecognisable, softly delivered words, but it didn’t stop him from pressing soft circles on your skin, hoping the imprint of fingers would disappear.

“Is that―”

“That barbaric language, yes,” you retorted, head tipped to one side, your green orbs watching him with intent.

Inevitably, he flinched. Those exact words had almost slipped his tongue when you both were returning to the castle after the skirmish in the forest. It was hard letting go of the old ways ― Romans always considered other cultures uncivilised. Now having been in Caledonia for a few months hadn’t wholly changed his mind, but he was starting to see that you all were more similar than what Rome had her people believe.

As a General, he had been trained―indoctrinated―to not see humanity in others. That was the only barrier keeping him from losing his sanity. Because if he saw other people eye to eye, if he acknowledged their humanity, then the resolution to wield his gladius would falter in battle.

And his resolution had faltered. Once.

“May the Gods protect and guide her, for her path is to become darker today,” was one of the few exchanged words that Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had whispered to him before Marcus claimed his life.

They still haunted him to this day. The piercing shriek of the female warrior still rang in his ears like a broken bell, her scream a dark omen it was hard to forget.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” was his poor attempt at apologising. You cocked a brow, expectant of another explanation, and Marcus sighed, realising that was a lie. “Perhaps I did, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Not following Rome’s doctrine doesn’t make us savages, Marcus,” you hushed, expression softening. “Just different.”

“I know that. I just― Force of habit,” he shrugged, slightly embarrassed for being called out. “What does it mean?”

“Aye means yes. Then I simply said thank you, General,” you explained, letting your skirt go after the concoction had dried on your skin.

“Seanalair means General? It sounds so different,” he thought out loud. “I like it. Although Dux Meus sounds better to me,” he ventured with a lopsided smirk.

“Does it now?” you laughed, the first time a crack of happiness making its appearance.

For a moment you didn’t say anything else, just pushed down again the hem of your neckline for him to spread the mixture on your bruised breast. He didn’t waste time, being extremely careful around the sensitive skin of your nipple as to not cause you any more pain.

“You like it when I call you Dux Meus, don’t you?” you said under your breath, voice low and laced with need.

Marcus’ sight shot up to yours in the blink of an eye, removing his hand from your chest. The unexpected tone caught him off guard, so focused on spreading the balm he almost missed the seductive inflexion in your tone.

He couldn’t reply, breath hitching at the back of his throat while a ray of warmth travelled down his spine.

His reaction felt wrong given the circumstances that brought you to his bed. Feuding with himself, Marcus froze when your hand found his cheek, cradling it. You bowed down towards him, the tip of your nose brushing his aquiline one.

“Don’t you?” you insisted, your mouth now ghosting his, testing his wavering resolve.

“I do,” he avowed, eyes fluttering close when your lips caressed his. “Callie― I don’t think this is the time.”

Your head canted back, a flash of anger swirling in your pupils, robbing him of the warmth of your mouth.

“Don’t tell me what I want is wrong. I am not going to let that bastard and his ruffian manners take away from me what I desire. Who I desire,” you retorted back. Not appealing but demanding. “I want you, Marcus, and I want you now. Yesterday you asked me to come back, nothing has changed. Is this not why you’ve taken me to your chamber?”

The carnal delivery of your words gnawed at him, your last question triggering his heart to spike, rejecting such vile idea. He was not a man to take advantage of anyone, least a woman who had barely escaped the hands of a repulsive scoundrel.

“Of course not. I wasn’t thinking of― Deodamnatus (dammit), Callie, I just wanted to help you,” he gritted, springing tall to his feet and raking his curls back in muted desperation.

You swiftly followed, rising up from the bed with unravelling determination in your eyes.

“Then fucking help me. Help me forget his hands, replace his memory with yours,” you beseeched in a hush.

This was fucked up. You were fucked up in the head, it was the only reasonable explanation to why his caress while applying the concoction had turned you on, literally a few minutes after you were crying your sorrow in his embrace.

You knew you shouldn’t, but your body thought otherwise.

And despite the wrong timing, you were serious about not letting Brutus ruin this, ruin you. He was just another notch in the weave of your life, another man who had wronged you, and you were not about to let him become more than that.

You were done with letting men dictate how you should live your life. How you should or shouldn’t react, how you should or shouldn’t feel. You had been ashamed of your sexuality your whole life, forced to be a sack of meat for a despicable man since a very young age. Marcus had soothed that fear, letting you rediscover what you actually desired, opening your eyes to a new world of wants and necessities.

No, you were not fucked up. Men were. You were just dealing with the repercussion of their fucking actions the best way you could. And if Marcus thought otherwise, then he was just part of the problem, not the solution. No matter what he had shown you so far.

Good fucking riddance.

“Faex (shit),” he exclaimed under his breath before framing your face between his broad hands.

His mouth crashed against yours, teeth colliding. The moment his tongue sank between your lips, you moaned a sigh of relief, the heat between your legs enlivened.

The desperate strokes of his tongue had you answering with fierce ones of your own, fingers quick to find the V opening on the front of his toga so one palm slid across his ribs. His skin felt like fire under your touch, and you only hoped that heat was redirected south of his tummy.

Stalking the hairy trail guiding you down, soon enough you found his manhood. Still soft and pliable, you felt a throbbing pulse shooting up his length. With a smirk, your fist clamped around his girth and Marcus gifted you with a guttural groan that you eagerly swallowed.

Slowly you began pumping him, working him hard, while his mouth ransacked yours with tidal force. His cock palpitated and you felt high with power, knowing you literally had him on the palm of your hand. Thumb swiping his wet glans, you squeezed him hard, endowing you with yet another rumble.

“I want to taste you, Marcus,” you purred against his lips, drunk with the memory of your visit to Naimh’s cottage.

“Fuck,” he blurted out, jaw as tight as a bow. “Don’t― Fuck,” he repeated after another compression on his already stimulated cock.

His resolution finally dissolved. While still gripping his shaft so he wouldn’t go anywhere, Marcus unwrapped his toga in quick motions, the white fabric falling to the floor and leaving him completely exposed to your hungry eyes.

Marcus was the fucking reincarnation of Alator, all hard edges except for the welcomed softness of his lower tummy. Your mouth watered at the sight, proving it difficult to show self-restraint.

This time around, you were not shy to undress yourself, anxious to get started. Then you faced him, both standing bare in front of the other.

And without any other words, you dropped to your knees. Marcus closed his eyes, face tilted to the ceiling, while his erection swayed at your eye level, enticing and yearning for your touch.

The second you fisted his base and led him to the damp warmth of your mouth, Marcus hissed between gritted teeth, his eyes meeting yours instantly. Suckling on his flushed head, you maintained eye contact with him, but when the musky taste overtook your senses, your eyelashes fluttered close as you gave yourself free rein on his cock.

Your tongue twirled around his glans, the tip playing with his slit to clean off the precum beading there. Then your lips trailed down his length, pressing gentle kisses on your way south to lick the heavy balls underneath. When you were satisfied with the spit covering his sacks, you lapped his underside, feeling the throbbing, feeding vein until your lips sealed shut around him again, hollowing your cheeks to make room for his delicious girth.

You went through the motions over and over again, revelling on his taste, on his growing weight on your tongue. While saliva and precum overflew, dripping down from the corners of your mouth, you looked up again.

Marcus’ heavy-lidded eyes were transfixed on you, his hand gently resting on the back of your head to feel your bobbing. His hips slanted forward when you stopped, waiting for him with an open, welcoming mouth.

Slowly he fed you, rocking his hips softly, while you remained still below him. The tip of his mushroom head kissed the back of your throat, and you irremediably moaned around his circumference, clamping your lips on him.

When he pulled back, the pop sound forced you to open your glassy eyes. A bridge of spit connected his angry tip to your swollen lips ― a connection that reached further down to your gushing pussy.

“Stop, mel. Or I’m going to come,” he pleaded, caressing your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted heavily to what you had just done.

“And is that a bad thing?” you asked innocently, blinking rapidly as one of your fingers swirled in the air between you to catch the thread of saliva and push it into your mouth, licking your finger clean.

Then you pressed a kiss on his tip, lingering with parted, waiting lips.

Marcus pouted, his fist wrapping around his base to contain himself, but couldn’t resist the urge to stroke your lips, swiping his glans a few times on your mouth.

“No, it isn’t. You’ve sucked me so good, mel, but I want to fuck you as you deserve,” he admitted, and you definitely didn’t argue.

He extended a hand towards you, which you gladly accepted to stand up to your feet.

“And I want to fuck you so good, you’re even going to forget your name,” his promise made your slick pussy throb at the expectation.

“That’s all I’m asking,” you whispered, crawling onto the silky bed.

His gaze tracked you like a wildcat chasing after a vole, lingering on the swaying of your hips as you inched forward, settling on the centre of the mattress. You saw his eyes darkened with desire, taking in the moment ― for a tad too long, because his attention drifted to the bruising skin on your hips.

“Marcus,” you called softly, shifting his attention as you coaxed your thighs apart, your sweet dripping nook in display for him.

He stilled, transfixed on your sex as if it was the first time you bared yourself in front of him. His mouth fell flat into a fine line, then the tip of his tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip ― a simple gesture that had your pussy leaking onto the linen.

Without a second to waste, Marcus joined you on the bed posting himself between your legs, his broad frame blanketing yours as you slowly sank into the feathery cushion underneath. Your hands reached up his ribs, tracing the battle-scarred map of his skin until your palms rested on his shoulder blades, pushing him down towards you.

This time, the kiss was gentler, paced. The languid strokes of his mouth pulled a wanton moan out of you as the weight of his throbbing cock rested heavily on your mound, his balls rubbing against your puffy fold every time he leaned forward. It was feverishly intimate ― the way his nuts would kiss your sex, your clit writhing in your seam.

The soft pressure of his lips turned into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His hand cradled your left breast with reverence, thumb skimming your pebbled nipple delicately and incessantly. Fingers intertwining with yours, Marcus brought your laced fists down your belly and past his erection.

Guiding your hand, Marcus pushed your own fingers past the cover of your seeping slit. A throaty sob escaped your lips, eyes shutting with pleasure, as the General showed you how to press tight circles on your thudding clit, leading you and your desperation right to the edge of a cliff. A now-known wet warmth pooled around the bottom of your spine, your inner walls squeezing nothing but the emptiness of your womb.

“Oh…” you cooed, back arching into his chest.

“You love that, don’t you?” Marcus teased you, his fingers moving yours against your slick nub. “You’re melting, mel. You’re so wet already, why?” You didn’t reply, brows pinching in concentration, mouth agape. “Did tasting me excite you, hm?” You gave him a little shy nod, too focused on the thunderous, pulsing feeling in your cunt. “You enjoyed sucking me, having your sinful mouth full of me… dribbling, just like your pussy is drooling now.”

His sweet talk had you gushing again, his thumb now drawing tight, precise circles on your clit as your middle and ring fingers framed it for him, for his delightful attention. The sensation was so intense, so delicious, it curled your toes as your limbs stiffened ― climbing up Beinn Uais (Ben Wyvis) was less strenuous than this.

Your lungs were burning, heaving now, but your pussy was catching fire.

“O mo chreach (oh, my goodness), Marcus― I’m coming, don’t stop,” you begged, lewd noises spilling from your mouth. “Please, please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Come for me,” Marcus purred, mouth ghosting yours, inhaling your needy whimpers, fingers insistent.

At his command, you did. Fuck, did you come… Your pussy clenched almost painfully whilst your overstimulated button pulsated maddingly in your seam ― your whole body quivered as you reached for the sky, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

And as you came crashing down, an intense orgasm hitting you from all flanks, Marcus led your fingers away from your twitching clit, down to your leaking hole. He rammed your two digits in your pliant, slimy opening, compelling you to fuck yourself throughout your blissed climax.

Your pussy wolfed down your own fingers down to the knuckles with ease, Marcus’ hand halting the movement of yours.

“Curl them,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “Curl your fingers, touch that spongy spot for me.”

Still blissed out from your high, you followed his directions as your eyes fluttered open. His blown pupils had yours in a trance as he watched your expression transform when you found the precise point he had referred to.

Without breaking eye contact, you fingered yourself under his attentive guidance. Pleasuring yourself like this should feel wrong, but Marcus made it seem as natural as breathing. His constant reassurance became a mantra, humming his approval when your hips jerked up in ecstasy.

Suddenly, his middle and ring fingers joined yours in your tight pussy, the burning stretch almost unbearable. The feeling of fullness so severe, you started withdrawing your own hand.

“No, don’t pull out, mel. Follow my lead. I know it’s overwhelming, but it’ll be worth it,” Marcus breathed. “Trust me.”

You did. So far Marcus had shown you a path of pleasure you thought forbidden, and this was not the time to doubt him. With four fingers shoved in your throbbing pussy, the palm of your hand cradling the back of his between your thighs, you let him guide you ― it was overwhelming… but in the best fucking way possible.

Marcus knew perfectly what he was doing, because soon enough the pads of his fingers were persistently rubbing that tender spot on your anterior wall while his thumb smothered your clit yet again.

“Fuck, I-I’m coming again…” you hiccupped, whimpering aloud now as the coil inside you started tautening again.

“You’re pulsing so hard, do you feel that?” he gritted out, your walls squeezing all four fingers tight. “Such a sweet grip, mel.”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as another tidal wave washed over you with an ungodly force.

You screamed Marcus’ name, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes due to the intensity the orgasm hit you with. After that, you felt your cunt beating for a very long minute, the contractions further apart as you relaxed under Marcus, all sweaty and satisfied.

“Do you think you can take me?”

Your heavy eyes flew open at Marcus’ strained voice. Looking down, you realised his cock was still resting on your mound. A constant trickle of precum had slid down his shaft, a milky puddle sitting on your skin.

Even if you were tired, you couldn’t deny him ― not when he had been so mindful with your needs. And, truth be told, you wanted him inside.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you curled your fingers around his girth and slid his glans along your slick slit, soaking him in your arousal. You lingered on your sensitive clit, rubbing it with his tip a few times until you led him down.

The moment his throbbing head kissed the mouth of your cunt, you knew you could come again, no matter how tired you thought you were. You led him in and let go of his thudding cock when he was halfway in.

You sighed, trying to relax your muscles, but your pussy had a mind of her own. His girth pried your pussy lips open and, once fully seated inside you, Marcus froze in place. His brows furrowing as you fully sheathed him, wrapping him in your wet, tight heat.

“I could stay here forever. You hug me so tight, take me so well now…” he hushed, leaning forward, his weight almost crushing you. “You only need a bit of encouragement, patience… And I am a very patient man. I’d be so happy with just making you cream, mel.”

He was right. Sadly, you were no stranger to sex, but this kind? This was so new to you, sometimes you doubted yourself ― what you were doing, how you were doing it. Something about Marcus made you feel insecure, because you didn’t want to disappoint him. For once in your life, you wanted the man to enjoy you, make you fall apart.

Your head spun around to the point of almost fainting when he pulled back softly and then back in. A wail broke free from your mouth as Marcus slowly but steadily rutted into you, picking up the pace with every mind-blowing thrust.

You dug your nails on his back, leaving bloody crescent moons behind. His mouth hunted down your lips, fusing into a deep kiss as he fucked you good and harsh. The snapping of his hips against yours filled the room with wet, squelching sounds ― the atmosphere brimming with the musky scent of sex and sweat.

Marcus dove in so deeply, you swore you could feel him in your throat. His sharp stabs hit all the right spots, another climax building up ― both of your sexes pulsing in unison, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. It wasn’t long until you were creaming around his girth again, moaning like a madwoman as another climax overtook all your senses.

The General pumped his cock into you relentlessly, fucking you through yet another wave of ecstasy. He pulsed inside and you knew were close to finding his own release. When your walls relaxed around him, Marcus swiftly pulled out, a chesty groan bouncing between the walls of the room ― his flushed, reddened glans nudging your clit as his warm spent spurted out in thick, white ropes.

His cum clung to your pebbled nub, sliding down your tacky, swollen pussy lips and pooling on the sheets underneath.

Marcus kissed your forehead before falling to the other side of the bed, utterly spent. His skin glistened under the candlelight while his chest raised in quick succession.

As your heartrate calmed down, you giggled, the most content you’d ever been. Marcus looked at you, a creeping smile curling his lips, and extended an arm towards you, inviting you onto his chest.

You were quick to accept, your blushed cheek resting on his sternum. He kissed your forehead again, a slight brush that pulled a satisfied sigh out of you.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Surprisingly, the silence was comfortable, calming in a sense. You never got to enjoy the aftermath, too busy with keeping yourself together. This was different.

Marcus was different.

But he couldn’t be. He was just another man focused on the next battle ahead, planning your demise. Whether you liked it or not, the General was your enemy, a conqueror ― the incarnation of everything you hated. The man who had killed your father right in front of you, with his expression blank and devoid of emotion.

You hated him. You should hate him. Your determination shouldn’t falter just because you were fucking him. You were not doing it for your own enjoyment; you were doing it because you had a purpose. In fact, you should be repulsed every time he put his hands on you, every time he easily sank into you, blissfully stretching your inner walls.

And despite everything, despite knowing who he really was, you still… liked him. You were not disgusted by his touch, but horny for it, craving him.

You were so fucked.

Marcus stirred under you, battling his own demons.

He knew this was wrong but couldn’t stop himself. There was a gravity around you that pulled him in, no matter how hard he fought against it. Irremediably he found himself orbiting towards you, like two stars in a colliding path.

There’s no harm in having a little fun.

But was it just that? A little fun? Couldn’t be, not when his unoccupied mind kept drifting back to you. Before he would be thinking about the next step, what he needed to do to win the next battle, but now war was far from his mind.

He wished he could shut the door and keep the outside world at bay. He wished he could live in this little cocoon with you.

But duty always called.

You had fallen asleep on top of him, so carefully he moved you off his chest. His mind was so loud he couldn’t follow you into Morpheus’ realm.

Sitting back on the bed, Marcus looked over his shoulder at you, sleeping on your side. Your face was buried in the pillow underneath, your red curly hair an angry could around you. Completely naked on his bed, you were a godsend. A voluptuous figure with generous, round breasts; your moonlight skin glistening with the product of your pleasure.

His eyes travelled down your figure, arriving at the sweet gap between your thighs. His cum was still smeared all over your mound and pussy lips, dry and tacky, a reminder of the shared passion.

Damn, you looked beautiful.

With a sigh, he got up and walked towards the basin near the fireplace. The fire kept the water lukewarm, and he dampened a clean rag and wringed it out. Walking back to the bed, Marcus sat beside you. Delicately, he pushed one of your legs aside and swiped off his spent, cleaning your folds with extreme care not to wake you.

But you did. One of your eyes fluttered lazily, and looked over your shoulder to stare at him, slightly dishevelled.

“You alright?”

Marcus smiled softly, discarding the rag to the feet of the bed as he laid down behind you, head propped up on his hand.

“Yes, I was just wiping you clean,” he muttered, kissing your shoulder.

You groaned with a smirk, pushing your sweet ass against his hardening bulge. Your buttocks rubbed his growing erection as your eyes shut again.

“Another round?” you whispered and then bit your bottom lip, wriggling your hips so his manhood found refuge in the gap between your thighs.

“You nymph,” Marcus moaned. Your heat was turning wet again, soaking his now stiffened cock. “But I can’t, I―”

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you husked sleepily, one of your hands slipping down your belly to grab his beating dick poking between your legs. “Just a quickie, Marcus, please,” you added, leading his leaky tip inside you.

There was no discussion after that. Groaning, Marcus plunged in in a smooth motion, your velvety walls parting to greet him and hug him tight. His arm draped around your waist to hold you in place and began fucking into you from behind. You hummed your approval, Marcus paying worshipping attention to your neck, kissing and nipping at it.

When you squirmed and whimpered, your pussy clamped down around him with force, announcing your orgasm. Still rutting into you, the hand holding you down trailed down your belly to gently pet your clit.

Your moans grew louder and needier, your ass pushing back into him, meeting every thrust. You came sobbing his name, strongly pulsing around him, wetting his cock and balls with your warm cream. Mustering all the strength he could, Marcus pulled out, his dick resting between your pussy lips.

You pressed your thighs together to squeeze his throbbing manhood and cradled his glans as he pumped himself between your inner thighs, his tip kissing your clit every time he pushed in. A minute later, Marcus came undone too, his warm spent landing on your cupped palm around his mushroom head.

Marcus remained still behind you as his cock softened and both of your breathings calmed down. Your eyes were still closed, but a smug smile curled your lips.

“See? I was quick,” you retorted.

“Always true to your word,” he joked, pulling back to grab the forgotten rag. He began rubbing your skin again and you parted your legs to have him wipe you clean. “But I really need to go.”

“So soon? Where are you going?” you pouted, craning your neck to glance up at him.

“It’s almost dawn. I…” Marcus fell silent, pondering his options.

He could tell you where he was going as a test to your loyalty. Prove Maximus wrong. He didn’t know why but confiding in you felt natural.

Marcus really wanted to trust you. If nothing went wrong, then he would know he had nothing to worry about.

“I’m going to the Roman fort in Cawdor with Maximus. We need to discuss some news we’ve just received,” he explained, carefully studying your expression.

“Oh, okay,” you muttered, completely unbothered by the information he had just shared with you, as if he had just told you that today was going to rain. “I’ll leave then.”

“You can stay and sleep in, no one will bother you here, mel,” he kissed your shoulder, heart lighter, before he stood up and started putting on his black armour.

You rolled around to lay on your other side, watching him dress with your hands tucked under your face.

“Need a hand with that?”

“No, I’m okay, thanks,” years of practice made it easy. He tied the belt around his waist and sheathed the gladius, then walked towards the bed to bend down and kiss you goodbye. “There’s some more of the concoction there. Please use it.”

You nodded your agreement, still half asleep, and Marcus stepped out.

The moment the door had closed behind Marcus, you had sprung to your feet, dressing yourself in a frenzy. But knowing you couldn’t just follow him, you had paced around the room for half an hour.

You had never run faster in your entire life. Once in the stables, you had fought with Kelpie to saddle her and trotted to Bonnie’s crannog. There you had encountered Torcall, who grilled you with questions.

“Where have you been? You’ve been gone the whole night! I was worried sick! What the hell are you up to?! Don’t tell me you’ve been with him, please.”

Needless to say, you didn’t answer any of it. You were a grown ass woman and didn’t need a nanny. Plus, it was none of his fucking business.

You had not intended on falling asleep on Marcus’ bed, but you had felt so at ease, you hadn’t fought your heavy lids.

You just told Torcall that you had gotten your hands on some valuable information and needed to go again. You knew that Marcus was testing you, if you could be trusted. If you told your father’s men about this, they would take action, outing you in the process.

No, you had to go alone. If you passed his test, then you were sure he would share even more in the future, just what you wanted.

Daimh and Iona were at the dining table, breaking their fast. You had kissed each of them before vanishing again.

It didn’t take you long to track down the prints of hoofs on the muddy eastbound path. Soon you caught up with Marcus and some of his men. Maximus, Cassius and Valerius accompanied him, as well as three other legionnaires you did not recognise.

You kept your distance from them and traversed through the forest instead of the path to avoid being seen. After three long hours, you finally arrived at your destination.

You were not prepared to see all those troops at Cawdor. There were hundreds of soldiers, the fort brimming with life. At the same time Marcus and his retinue arrived, a legion did too.

Why were there so many men here? Something was going on, something that could change the course of history. Was this just a repositioning exercise?

There were no women in sight, so you couldn’t just put a cloak on and blend in as you had intended. So you remained in the shadowy edge of the forest, hidden behind a tree.

Suddenly Marcus halted and veered his horse around. Someone from the newly arrived legion stepped out on a white horse.

“Governor Agricola,” you heard Marcus say in a greeting.

“General Acacius,” the man said back.

So, this was Agricola, the man who terrorised Caledonia. You wanted to hate Marcus, but your easy hate for Agricola burnt hot. He was the one responsible for the defeat of your people, the one who had taken prisoners in boats and parade them around the coast to show others what would become of them if they rose up in arms.

“We’ve heard the news of your premature departure, Governor. We wish to discuss the defence of Caledonia in your absence,” Marcus spoke clearly.

“Not Caledonia. Britannia, Acacius. That’s its new name. Use it,” Agricola’s arrogance seeped through his stupid smile.

Britannia? The bastards had already renamed your land? How fucking dared they?

But this was huge. It seemed like Agricola was leaving, possibly taking many of his men with him. If that was the case, the number of Romans in Caledonia would drastically reduce, giving you a fighting chance.

The snap of a branch behind you startled you, quickly turning on your heels. The forest was dark, so you squinted your eyes while scanning the area.

Perhaps it had just been an animal, so you redirected your attention back to the men.

To your misfortune, they were walking through the portcullis and a second after you lost sight of them.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You ran back to Kelpie, needing to make the way back home fast.

Finally, some good fucking news.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[silverview]

further details/thoughts from s/f last night + the one from last week that i never reported on!

LAST NIGHT’S CHARACTER BREAK/HUG. i’ve never previously noticed steve gesturing to someone offstage that he needs to stop. and maybe he’s done this before but it was my first time seeing it — he didn’t get through the hamlet quote. “there are more things in heaven and earth…” (turning away, looking up at the audience, mumbling) “more things…” exit. i absolutely LOVE this take on it. conveys his state of mind and gets fewer giggles. like… performance/theatre is how they live, how they cope, his connection to reece — and it’s failing him. so fucking heartbreaking. i hope they keep it in.

last week instead of “when i did that reiki course,” anna said “when WE did that reiki course” then corrected herself LMAO obsessed with the concept of maggie and marcus doing a reiki course together 💀💀 it’s canon to me

in general i just love the theatre gang. i love the vibe of a pre-existing friendship between marcus & vince. i adore vince & maggie hamming it up together and i wish we got more of them interacting out of character. this latest time i paid attention to marcus mouthing along in the trepanning scene and it was lovely. (the bcdr echoes!! the layers!!!) i love that marcus has started yelling “get away” at abby when he comes in for the notes. “i don’t think the warden would understand this technology” is an extremely funny line that never gets what it deserves

obviously always love to see them cracking each other up during kidnappers, but this time i noticed that reece is doing this to miranda as hugo, too. it makes sense, if the increasingly exaggerated antics in kidnappers are driven by a desire to make each other laugh — hugo’s increasingly absurd behaviour is driven by a desire to make her laugh. and it’s ALMOST WORKING. she’s a legend for just about keeping it together lmao. it’s really cute 🥹 really lovely to see the boys performing with other actors and having fun with them as well as with each other

even tommy felt a bit more cartoony at points last night. the delivery on “it is what is known as racist” was — idk how to describe it but it was less naturalistic and extra funny

man this is so nitpicky: when marcus says “we’ll take it from goudron’s line…”, i wish he would say the whole line (with the “my dear” on the end). i think he did this early on (?), but he doesn’t now. i think it was/would be funnier to get his flat delivery immediately echoed by vince’s dramatic delivery, word for word. it’s a very funny line and those two words on the end complete it.

while i’m saying little things i’d like them to bring back — i miss the extended “shelby and drake” “drake and shelby” bit so much. ik they must have their reasons for cutting it but every time i still hope they’ll reinstate it

last night was quite busy. reece laughed and said hello when he saw me 😭🩷 he finally signed my field print!! 😍 while saying “and there i am!” haha there he is!!

so so happy to report that miranda posted about her bracelet, tysm to those who alerted me & conveyed from her that the whole cast liked them 🥹💕💕 literally couldn’t be happier. they’re all so talented & i hope they know how appreciated & admired they are 🩷🩷

[tightjeansjavi]

Pedro Pascal Character Community Fic Recs-Writer Recs 2023 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Thank you to everyone who sent in their fic/writer recs 🤍 I absolutely loved compiling this list for all of you! To all of the writers, thank you for everything that you do in this community ✨

***PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS FOR EACH WRITERS FICS/MASTERLISTS. ALL CONTENT IS +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT***

**Rec’s are in no particular order**

@radiowallet masterlist fic: Pretend Alleyways Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno

@chronically-ghosted masterlist fic: TOTWHTFIFI Max Phillips x f!reader

@for-a-longlongtime fic: I Fought The Law Tim Rockford x Javi Peña x reader

@sin-djarin masterlist fic: Homecomings Multiple Pedro Characters

@secretelephanttattoo masterlist fic: Fort Bravo Dieter Bravo x gn!reader fic: Donut Debauchery Marcus Pike x f!reader

@wannab-urs masterlist fic: in the a.m Javier Peña x f!reader

@corazondebeskar masterlist fic: well it’s love, make it hurt dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

@beskarandblasters masterlist fic: me and my husband Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader fic: Mothman Fever Mothman!Joel Miller x F!Reader fic: apotheosis Sith!Din Djarin x Rebel Spy!Reader

@planet-marz1 masterlist fic: I Know it’s For the Better Joel Miller x f!reader

@idolatrybarbie fic: the world tipped on its side stunt pilot!francisco "frankie" morales x fem!stunt coordinator!reader

@proxima-writes masterlist fic: my tears ricochet husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

@pedge-page masterlist fic: cravings Frankie Morales x F!Reader

@ghosmooth-operator fic: I've Got To Fill The Void no outbreak!Joel x f!reader

@mrsmando masterlist fic: Sweet Treat frankie morales x f!plus-size!reader

@joelscruff masterlist fic: Feelings on Fire joel miller x f!reader

@frannyzooey masterlist fic: Short Days Long Nights Joel Miller x f!reader

@chaotic-mystery masterlist fic: code red dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader fic: ‘Atta Girl Joel Miller x f!plus sized reader

@justagalwhowrites masterlist fic: Lavender Joel Miller x Female Reader fic: New in Town BFD!Joel Miller x Female Reader

@chloeangelic masterlist fic: seeking what is desirable Joel Miller x f!reader

@amanitacowboy masterlist fic: blue dream frankie morales x f!reader

@pedgito masterlist fic: meet me in the woods Joel Miller x fem!reader

@atinylittlepain masterlist fic: apothecary joel miller x witchy!reader

@intheorangebedroom masterlist fic: pleased to meet you Frankie Morales x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader with a dash of Ben Miller x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader

@smok3r7 masterlist fic: Latching On To You Joel Miller x f!reader

@joelsgreys masterlist fic: a safe haven Joel Miller x f!reader

@5oh5 masterlist fic: From Eden Joel Miller x f!reader

@netherfeildren masterlist fic: The Cassandra Complex Din Djarin x f!reader

@cavillscurls masterlist fic: divined dynasty Mafia!leader Joel Miller x f!reader

@atticrissfinch masterlist fic: meet me in the back sleazy gas station clerk!joel x fem!reader

@kiwisbell masterlist fic: Loser Frankie Morales x f!reader

@bageldaddy masterlist fic: sundown Joel Miller x fem!reader

@hier--soir masterlist fic: a lover’s pinch Professor! Joel Miller x f!reader fic: raising cain spy!Din Djarin x spy!ofc

@theywhowriteandknowthings masterlist fic: the princess and the duke (cowritten by @angelofsmalldeath-codeine) Dave York x reader

@sweetercalypso masterlist fic: Texas Hold ‘Em Joel Miller x afab!reader

@janaispunk masterlist fic: Making Forts Under Covers Joel Miller x f!reader

@cool-iguana fic: refuge

@ilovepedro masterlist

@macfrog masterlist

@saradika masterlist

@penvisions masterlist