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almostempty · 12 hours ago

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MANEATER

✶ Masterlist | Marcus Acacius x F!Reader | 18+ | 3.8k wc

Prompt: "They whisper of a creature with spindly limbs and eyes that see all, hidden in a cave at the edge of the world, guarding a reward unlike any other, one that no man has ever claimed..."

Tags: monster-fucking, p-in-v intercourse, handjob, breeding, stockholm syndrome, multiple orgasms, fem dom, mentions of gore, spider-related heebie jeebies, dub con, pheromone induced sex/sex pollen, mentions of gore, happy ending, marcus begs (deserves its' own tag), overstimulation

𖤓 i'm horribly late good lord, please accept this as my forgiveness ahcfkjebvk. written for @almostempty & @gothcsz 's Every Angel Is Terrifying writing challenge! my search history was fucked looking for inspo for this y'all i'm scared of spiders LMFAO. hope i did your wonderfully made moodboards justice <3

It hadn’t registered in his mind as a threat, yet. He’d known capture before, he could taste it in his mouth, often metallic and riddled with taunts of men parading him like a prize. But the scent that lingered was sickly sweet. Lulling him into a false sense of security. The stone beneath him hummed with life. He doesn’t see them, the tiny legs, the scurry of millions of spiders retreating into the cracks.

Something was wrong.

Marcus could feel it. In the heaviness of his limbs, the throb gnawed at the side of his head where he must’ve taken a nasty fall. A gentle pressure choked his skin, holding him taut in place. “Damn these…just — what on earth?” His fingers twitch in vain, attempting to free what seemed to be binding his bracers. They hoisted him up, loosely. He flexes his hand into fists, and relaxes them.

His head lolls to the side, vision still bleary. He attempts to recall — it was a cave he entered. Greeted by rocks that twisted into an eerie opening likening to a mouth agape, a threat to be swallowed whole if one dared. The entrance littered with bones, remnants of men who were bold; foolish enough to step into her waiting arms. The rusted over piles of armours were stacked like peace offerings to an insatiable beast he was yet to meet. Though it doesn’t deter a man like Marcus Acacius in the slightest.

It was the cries that pulled him further in. It was what had always pulled men like him in. Riddled with a self-assured sense of being the protector — a duty.

What bound him were silver coils. Glinting where the moonlight kissed the fibrous tangles. He looks down to see his cuirass gone. Only the gold-embroidered red tunic clinging to him, dampened with sweat. His feet barely touched the ground, calligae hovered inches shy of the cavern floors — humiliating in the worst ways possible to be suspended as he was.

The sound of the same cry that lured him echoes around once more.

His gaze searches, following the flora twisted unnaturally downward toward a pond within the cavern. There, he sees her. A woman collapsed on her thighs. Arms splayed out onto the rock barriers around the pond. The only signs of her mortality being her soft, gentle sobs.

“Are you hurt?”

His voice was coarse, the gravitas palpable despite the evidence of its disuse. When no answer came, he tries again, calling out for her louder. It seems to reach her this time, only then did her cheeks tilt towards him just enough for an acknowledgement at the apparent interruption.

She rises slowly for him. Wet, damp hair clinging to the back of her bare waist like ropes. The same white threads that cocooned around his wrists were draped around her hips, a modest covering of her sex — though barely. Her chest was uncovered entirely, she’d made no effort to hide them either.

Gods.

Marcus’ heart lurched.

The sight before him was far from obscene, she presented to him freely, void of any shame. It wasn’t guilt that had him lower his gaze, it’d been the stir it’d incited in his gut.

She bides her time in approaching him. A sweet smile, splayed on her features. His cock seemed to be growing harder while his cheek was turned away from her. It was odd, she’d seen countless men. Unabashed with their lust. He was unlike the others. That much was evident.

Marcus feels a sharpness pierce his chest, dragging downward to his abdomen. His mind whirrs to his combat instincts at the now hovering threat — when the sharpness slices through the thin fabric, his head whips at her, accusatorily. Body jerking forward in his confines, futile.

Eyeing the faint dent in his tunic that grew more pronounced by the second, you tilt your head thoughtfully, voice velvety soft and derisive, "And here I thought you might be different — yet another empty husk of a man, ruled by lust."

He looks below to see your feet lifted off the cavern floors, not taking notice of the arachnid limbs that crackled beneath and out of the smooth skin of your trapezius. "You—" The words die in his throat. Marcus muses upon you —otherworldly, glint of gold flecks in your dark brown eyes that seemed to only grow more excited when he grew visibly uncomfortable at his realization.

“The men—...” He pauses. Refusing to believe that the hauntingly beautiful woman before him played any part of the atrocities and tales, “the remains…They are of your doing.” His expression twists. Much unlike the one from before when he’d looked at you like he was under the impression that you were a vulnerable bystander to his predicament.

The corners of your lips twist up knowingly. “Oh.” You begin slowly, in a mock surprise, dragging your syllables intentionally. “You’re a clever one.” Your tone was derisive, it was obvious to say the least, but then again, the men before Marcus who’d tried their luck didn’t have enough self-preservation skills to let their judgment stop them.

"Tell me, soldier, what tale did they spin? What was promised to you if you conquered me?"

Marcus clenches his jaw, fighting the evident shake in his voice. “I seek nothing of the sort,” he retorts, “I came to disprove a myth — to end the absurd tales that haunt my men.”

Normally, you would never have let your food step through your thresholds. Much less, long enough to banter with. Something about him piqued your interest. There was fear, certainly, but he looked at you with intrigue. Concern. As though he still believed you were a damsel in need of his guidance despite his deduction that you were anything but.

You lean closer, voice a whisper enticing goosebumps through his skin, “You lie poorly, soldier. You are a man — and by nature, bound by your kinds shameless appetite. You desire something.”

The sharpness of your nails effectively rips his tunic wide apart, stilling right above his belly. Marcus lets out a hesitant whimper at your touch, which you immediately take notice of the way the fabric down south twitch even more so than before.

It stirs a primal desire in you, the way his muscles ripple beneath your touch. The feel of his hardened body, slick with trepidation. He was a perfect specimen. An eerie smile presses on your features as you flatten your palm against the trail of hair littered beneath the divot on his belly. Marcus jolts at the sensation of colder fingers slipping lower, and lower.

His voice grows weary, as if only now realising the threat that loomed to consume him whole. "Why are you doing this?"

You hum softly, satisfied by the fear laden in his words. "You have something I want," your fingers trace downward, the pads of your fingers caressing the coarse hair above his cock. "And you're going to give it to me."

Before Marcus could fully fathom your intentions, you close the distance. Pressing your lips to the vulnerable pulse point on his neck — sinking your fangs into the tender flesh.

The pain was searing. Electrifying his senses him in white hot vicious pulses. But as quickly as it came, it ebbs. Leaving behind a sensation arguably worse — heat, unrelenting and deep. It dragged all the blood, focused in one particular spot, pulsing between his thighs in a manner that stripped him of reason.

Marcus bucks weakly against his binds in a panting and trembling wreck."F-Fuck!" He grits out, "What did you do to me?"

His head falls limp, chin grazing your sternum — and then, he stills.

The the swell of your chest was now directly within his line of sight. No longer able to look away. His jaw flexes. Veins in his neck twitching with the innate urge to bite, taste; to claim what was so brazenly offered.

You tilt your head, amused at the pathetic little groan he attempts to swallow when your palms offered him a painful, dry rub of his cock — the twitch of it in your palms is what betrays him.

"Making you much more honest, it seems." You murmur, palm memorising each vein that spanned across his length.

Marcus thrashes again, weaker this time. More so out of pride than anything else. “I will not —I will not be used like this,” he ground out, but even that sounded hollow. His curls had fallen to his forehead, brows knit in restraint. He was a vision, even whilst he was quickly unraveling. His cock was aching unbearably, even more now that you'd stopped your ministrations.

Biting the inside of his cheeks, he attempts to fights against his baser instinct. He would not beg for this.

You thumb around the leaking pre-cum over his slit, barely giving him enough pressure to feel reprieve, but just enough to have him desperately buck his hip through the loose hold you had around his tip. It was clear that he refused to give in, and even more admirably so, his eyes were screwed shut. Disallowing himself the pleasure of sight of you.

Mercifully, your hand tightens around his cock, pumping him with delicious friction. "Shit. Shit..No. That's —" He croaks out, head lowering slightly to marvel at the way your softer hands curl and squeeze him. It doesn't bother him how pathetic he now seemed, thrusting his hips into your palms like a dog in fucking heat. It felt good. Frighteningly. Marcus swallows the thoughts, he'd never admit it. Though his erratic pants said other wise. The sensation in his gut grew potent with each stroke.

"Stop it."

The noises that escaped his lips felt disgraceful. He lets out a sharp curse, feeling his body grow taut like a tightly wound spring.

You grin at the way his thighs stiffen, he must be close.

With a shift, you lift the webs away from your covered sex. Marcus takes notice, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears at the sight of your exposed pussy. He doesn't say a word, but his hips attempt to inch forward. You don't stop the way you stroke his cock, bringing yourself close enough to rub his tip down the cropped hair on your mound.

He cums with a heave, in a matter of seconds.

Impressive amounts of white pearlescent strings over your mound, his cock twitching the last few spurts helplessly. Marcus was still rock hard, painfully so. The pain within him burns deeper, hungrier, despite his release. You withdraw from his cock, letting it bob against his abdomen.

"I yield." He blurts out. Breathing laboured against your collarbone. Words spilling incoherently, “please, do not tease me any further.”

Bringing your digits to drag his cum off your mound, you nudging them into your folds. Marcus visibly twitches at that, a pained choke leaving him. His eyes were wild, desperate now after your little show.

A sweet sound echoes the cave — your laughter. It catches him off guard, and you tilt his head up with your knuckle to meet his pained gaze. "You poor thing," cooing, your nose drags across the salt & peppered scuff of his jaw,"all that pride, unraveling so quickly." You pause, drawing back enough to face him.

"How adorable."

He viscerally jolts then, a laboured groan leaving his lips when you punctuate your words with a sharp move of your hips. His cock now buried into your pussy, inching in, painstakingly slow. You force his jaw to remain on you, sharp nails digging into the sides of his cheekbones.

A glint takes over in your eyes watching the pussy-drunk pleasure fill his blown out pupils. Even stripped of control entirely like this, Marcus Acacius looked devastatingly perfect — a man who was never made to beg, and yet wore his fall so utterly beautifully.

Closing the distance, your tongue swipes over his lower lip, and he complies, parting his lips with an urgency to lock his lips with yours.

Marcus' moans spills into your throat, unapologetic. His head lolling forward to taste as much as you as he can. Your palm cradles the back of his curls, gripping tight as you tilt your head, licking into his mouth. His hand twitches where they were bound, wanting nothing more than to run them over your body. When you release, he instantaneously gravitates towards the nape of your neck, curving where your pheromone blinded his senses the most. A shiver runs down your spine when his stubble grazes you. "Not like this." He croaks, frenzied, his tongue drags over the pulse, breathing heavy. "Release me." You feel slight tremble felt in your thighs at his desperate plea.

A man never wavered your purpose like this. Yet, it was becoming increasingly testing to remain intentional about your prey. "You're in no position to make demands, soldier." A deep grumble fills his throat at your defiance, and he bites down on your pulse point, canines leaving crescent moon marks to your skin. Your hips falter in their movements then, and you look at him, a flicker of warmth in your cheeks at the pure and utter animalistic desire in the way he looked at you. "Let me fuck you." His throat bobs with a hasty swallow, jaw clenched with the intensity of a desperation, gaze flickering from your lips and back up at your eyes. One he could no longer mask away with a show of stubborn pride. "Properly."

Something about his words felt like a promise. A man not begging for mercy, but to serve you.

Your lips curled upward, wicked and knowing. He was the one. A vessel worthy enough to sire your offspring. He was the first man you didn't want to devour — not yet at least. You needed him to breed you.

The webs give away with a sudden snap — releasing Marcus, sending you both crashing to the ground. He lands above you with a grunt, arm braced onto the cavern floors. The sharp pain of impact that never came. Blinking, he glances around his peripherals.

Spindly, otherworldly appendages that cushioned your back with an eerie precision, stopping both your falls with ease. Marcus could only stare. Dread rising fast in him, but muddled — tainted by potent heat coursing through his veins.

He saw you for the monster you were now, and gods help him — he still wanted.

You'd momentarily expected him to pull away, shriek, or at the very most, react considering how much his eyes were darting around to seeing mere glimpses of your form. The answer you received came in the snap of his hips. His palms scoop underneath your thighs, pressings your legs up against your chest. A broken mewl leaves you as your pussy pulses around his cock, inviting his frenzied movements. His heavy balls begin to slap onto your puckered hole obscenely, a sickly pleasure filling him when he feels the pads of your fingers squeeze around his sack in a blinding pleasure. "Arachne..." he whispers rough. Breath hitching in his throat like the name held weight. Though it earns a reaction from you, a hardened gaze, a dull caress that turns to a painful pressure there. He bleats at the sting your nails tugging into his balls. "That is not my name, soldier." You breathe against the shell of his ears, hesitation painted with the quiver of his lips. It was then you whisper, offering him a gift of a name, an ancient language. A name not spoken aloud in centuries.

He stills.

For a moment, tenderness fills his touch, the way his palm relaxes into the fat of your thighs. He repeats it — your true name, pressed like a prayer offered onto your skin. Quieter, as if he offers something sacred in return, "Marcus."

You tip your head just fractionally, as if testing the way the name sounded in your throat.

"Marcus." It seems to spur him on further, the gentle grip on your hips turning borderline brutal. He shifts upwards, planting his feet flat onto the cavern floors. Tipping your hip upwards to fuck you to his desired pace. A white flash blinds you briefly, a pleasure blooming in your gut at how deep his cock nearly probes into your cervix.

"Say my name again." He bites out, sch-lick of his gathered cum creams where his cock was kissing your folds, he ignores your sharp whines at the way he had you folded. "Marcus!" A growl reverberates against his throat at your offer of his name, throw broken saccharine moans. A second load of thick, cum floods your womb.

Your palm instinctively presses into your belly, the cave filling with the sounds of your fucked out laughter at the sensation of him filling your fertile womb in viscous spurts. He doesn't stop thrusting, despite the overstimulation prickling at his balls, he was overcome, by instincts far simpler — animalistic. "Gods! You were made for this—" You steady your palms around his shoulders, the slick of your pussy forming a sticky concoction where you connect. "G-Give me, your seed, until it takes."

His breath catches at your words.

Marcus grips the back of your neck, slamming you into the rocks nearby. The cave groans beneath the impact. Momentarily frozen by his actions, your feel his palm press hard enough around your throat to still the air in your lungs. You blinked up at him, amused even with your vision trembling. Clarity seems to wash over him, in confusion and rage. The idea of what you needed from him filled him with dread.

You could've easily subdued him, speared him with your spines, but you opted to watch him carefully. Delighting in the lack of air in your lungs, you choke deliberately to give him an illusion of choice.

The falter of his grip urged you to pull him flush into you once more, drawing a shaky breath from him. This time, you acted with intention. Silk slick grips creeps around his limbs, anchoring him to your body in messy tangles. "You came here for your own selfish purposes. Yet you dare deny me?"

It was then his body doubles over, at the sharp stab in his arm, where you bit him, the same venom floods him with need. It takes a mere minute before he thrusts back into you with a pained growl, chasing the inviting warmth of your pussy. His hold slips — soaked with sweat and exertion. Marcus doesn't know how long has passed, whether it was minutes or hours now. Every muscle in him trembling, his breath came in stutters, hand fisted in whatever he could reach. He moved, and gave you his body like it belonged to you.

There was stillness in the air that had him lolling his head to the side, blackness, and then his vision clears.

He looks at you, blood curling at the reflection of six in place of the two eyes he once saw. The curve beneath his palm wasn't a hip either. It wasn't anything remotely human at all. The lower half of you —glossy, slick, that of a spider's belly. His cock, wedged in a mere hole, twitching to life with limbs contracting around the appendages of inhuman monstrosity.

"...!"

His body, traitorous as it was & fever wrecked, refused to still. Marcus couldn't stop. "Now you see me, yet you do not stop?" His lips part to say something, anything.

Fear should've paralyses him. But the adrenaline had him nudging his hips forward. The reality of what he was doing turned real. As was the fact he was now fully thrusting into her, shaky. His hold on her intensifies, trembling with every thrust that grew to a nauseating peak of pleasure. Your insides squeezed and sucked at his cock, a sensation he was hardly familiar with, yet — he was now addicted to.

Outside the cavern's mouth. Stood men, hesitant.

Clutching their swords against their chests. None dared to step too far into the threshold. They'd last heard of their general, sending word that this was where he'd been. The evidence of his horse bound by the willow trees by the entrance.

His second in command, Darius, brave enough, stepped past the remains. Voice cracking as he called out. "General Acacius?"

The echoes returned hollow, threat was unassumed, and Darius returns with the rest of his men, hopeful that they could retrieve Marcus.

They see him. Their general — suspended in the webbed heart of the cavern. Body bound in silken strands shimmering underneath the moonlight — head lolled back, chest heaving low and shallow. His arms were slack, a raw, gaping wound carved across his shoulders, as though a beast had bit into it.

Behind them, a shadow resembling that of a spider creeps casts onto the walls. One by one, they were dragged into the darkness. Pained cries muffled by webbing, bodies swallowed whole. When the cavern falls still again, save with the sounds of consumption and rustle of silk prying flesh apart. Only scraps of his saviors armours lay as evidence.

Patrol had arrived days later to find an empty cave. Nothing but a faint scent of sweetness and rotting flesh. The webbed chamber had been wiped clean. Marcus Acacius was declared a missing person to Rome, as was the fate of his rescuers.

"That story again?"

One of the younger seamstresses scoffed, snipping a stray thread from a hem. "The General of Rome caught by a Spider-Woman?" Her friend laughs as well, "I bet he absconded and couldn't return to save face!" She mused.

"It's just some tale they use to keep men from wandering too deep into the Willow Tree Forests." A round of laughter followed, the looms creaking lazily beneath the peddles.

One woman didn't laugh. Seated by the windows, quietly stitching gold embroidery into sleeves.

"Whoever said it was just a tale?"

Everyone turns to her, questioning. Instead of offering a follow up, she folds a red tunic neatly, tucking it underneath her arm. "I will see you all tomorrow."

A slow murmur of goodbyes follow, laden with a mild confusion.

The seamstress heads down a beaten path to the forest. Deep enough until the void of any animal existence became suffocating. Her shadow turned to something increasingly inhuman with each step she takes, spindly arachnid limbs lifting her higher onto the cliffs that could not be crossed by man.

At the edge of the terrains, through lush greenery, led to a cabin. Surrounded by willow trees swaying to the wind.

There, stood Marcus — building a fire with practiced ease. A small child fastened to his back with a beige fabric, gurgling and tugging at his hair with his little fists. Marcus turns a the sound of your approach. A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The fabric carrier tenses, four sharp limbs protruding out of his little back.

"You're back."

#i need to come back with a long comment asap but adding to the masterlist rn bc hell YEAH #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius fic #EAT!2025

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