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whataperfectwasteoftime · 2 months

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The Gift

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)

Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…

A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3

Masterlist

Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.

He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.

First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.

The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.

The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.

“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.

Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.

“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”

Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.

The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.

It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing.

He is lucky.

Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.

They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door.

Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.

“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.

“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.

You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.

“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.

“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.

“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”

“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full.

You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.

“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.

“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”

“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”

The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.

“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”

“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”

“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”

The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.

“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.

“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”

“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”

The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”

“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again.

“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.

“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.

The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”

“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again.

“Marcus.”

“...My Lord?”

“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.

The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.

“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh.

“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”

His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring.

Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.

Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of…

Oh.

He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.

He does not know what to do with you.

Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons.

He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.

“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.

“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily.

“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile.

Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same.

“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache–and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.”

It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.

“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes.

Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.

“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles.

You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him.

“What will you do with me?” you ask.

“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”

“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth.

“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue.

Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”

“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff.

Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.

“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.

“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”

“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.

Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”

Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”

You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”

Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time.

“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds.

“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly.

“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”

He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”

In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.

You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate.

Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face.

A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.

The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation.

They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.

“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”

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

Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.

You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.

Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.

“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”

The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.

“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.

“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.

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

A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head.

“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.”

The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.

Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling.

“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.

“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”

“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”

You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair.

“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”

You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”

You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question.

“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”

You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.

Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist.

“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”

“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”

“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”

As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.

“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.

“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”

“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets.

“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.

“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close.

“No.”

“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.

“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”

Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.”

He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.

He did not want you.

But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head.

He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–

Gods.

The night that he almost lost you.

If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.

This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.

Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure.

He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left.

“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink.

“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”

Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.

“How much?” His voice is rough and thick.

The woman’s smile widens.

They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.

You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions.

He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is.

“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully.

“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread.

You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.

“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.

You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”

Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.

“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.

He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.

“Would you like to go see it? The play?”

The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.

“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”

“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”

“Your… your consort?”

“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”

You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still.

“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”

You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber.

“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.

Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?

With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.

“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.

His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment.

“What?” you finally ask.

Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”

The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.

“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.

You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”

Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh,” you gasp.

“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”

Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.

The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”

Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one.

The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him.

“Marcus?”

He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop.

“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.

“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze.

“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.

“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”

Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you.

When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.

“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”

You are ablaze.

Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you.

Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop.

“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”

“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”

“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.

His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”

You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.

“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”

His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”

You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself.

Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you.

“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.

“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.

When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.

“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”

You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–

“Oh,” you whimper softly.

Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling.

“Watch,” Marcus reminds you.

With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes.

“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.

“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”

You giggle. “I think so.”

He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–

Oh, Gods.

Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.

“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.

“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”

You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you.

“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?”

You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything.

“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly.

“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully.

“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.

“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”

“That is hardly my doing–”

“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”

“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”

“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Do not be cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You are denying me.”

At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”

“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”

Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours.

Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction.

The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds.

With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–

“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”

He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.

“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”

His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.

“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”

In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”

Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”

He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”

You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.

Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain.

The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again.

Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again.

His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear.

Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–”

“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”

“Marcus,” you manage to gasp.

“Again.”

“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–”

Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves.

Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes.

He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you.

You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.

[Several moons later]

“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.

“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.”

You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?”

Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like.

“Tell me the statement again.”

He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”

“Yes.”

“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”

“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”

“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.

“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly.

“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful.

You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”

Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”

With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.

This is the last time.

The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly.

“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer.

“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering.

Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.

“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”

Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.

“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”

You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side.

“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”

The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.

“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow.

“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”

“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”

Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile.

Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”

Epilogue

In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion.

He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up.

There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats.

Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.

Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.

They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones.

No one has ever dared to ask about them.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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oliviasmith-18 · 2 years

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lonelystarrs · 11 months

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𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖

𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟! 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Toji didn’t think he’d ever change for a woman again, turns out he did for a pretty little thing like you, he just wasn’t expecting it in this way —bet you really thought the joke about him being a werewolf was funny now.

Warnings 18+ MDNI seriously. Kinktober + extremely descriptive + monsterfucking + werewolf Toji + knots + breeding + size kinks + dubcon + mirror +

Tbh this was pretty rushed and basic, but let’s be honest only here for the smut when it’s kinktober 😂🫶🏻

It started over a year ago, all over a simple wound that Toji had from what he assumed was a curse at the time.

The claw marks had ran so deep across his back it exposed bone, the blood loss was life threatening but his ignorance took him towards his home, not towards help.

That’s when you came into the picture, pretty little you.

An off duty nurse who’s happened to be walking home to meet a stumbling Toji bleeding out near the building where he lived. Being ever so loyal to her duty as a nurse you helped. He remembered your eyes, your hair, how warm and soft your hands were and he remembered how you smelt. It stood out from the cold air, the smell of fresh rain and it was weirdly comforting, a clean yet sweet smell.

You’d stopped the bleeding, getting him to hospital for treatment and all you were was a memory, some pretty thing leaning over him slumped in a way that wasn’t dignifying what so ever and especially not how he usually met women.

He healed faster than expected, way faster than anything they’d ever seen before. Within two days he was healed with nothing but a large, clawed scar down his back, from his right shoulder to his left side under his ribs.

He took himself home, a bag of take out in hand as he stood in the elevator taking him up to his floor. The other hand shoved into his pocket staring mindlessly at the ceiling panel.

When it dinged and the doors opened he stepped out, colliding with someone much smaller than him and that someone was you.

Falling back into your ass from colliding with sheer force that was Toji Fushiguro, and in true Toji style he didn’t aid your fall he very much let it happen. Looking down at you and tilting his head, green eyes staring at your incredible legs long and toned leading straight up to those pretty black lace panties you had on under the shorter loose leather skirt that had rode up.

The little lace top you had on left little to the imagination, denim jacket a little ruffled from your fall, and nice black strappy heels on with red bottoms —which he didn’t expect.

Your hair framed you, thick and wavy, all done up for your little night out. Tits pushed up and face with light make up.

It was the second time he’d ever seen you and the first time he made contact with you, lazily reaching out a hand but not bending to you —he only done it because you helped him a few days ago.

You took it letting him pull you up with such force it thrusted you into his chest and he smirked, tilting his head giving you another once over because you really were such a pretty little thing.

“Oh! You’re uh- well you’re looking much better, it was only a few days ago and they’ve released you?”

“I left.”

“You’re moving well, what are you a werewolf?”

“A werewolf?”

Toji snorted a laugh at you and you laughed waving your hand around flippantly from your goofy joke. You thought he was one who those shitty dog looking things in classic old horror films?

“I was joking, y’know? It was a big claw mark and you’re out of hospital in days with a wound that went bone deep…”

“Just a real man doll, I ain’t howling at no moon.”

It turns out you lived in the same complex as him having rich parents but still studying as a nurse, once Toji found out the money he started taking an interest because even in his late thirties he wasn’t going to change.

He thought he wasn’t anyway but you made him feel something rare —and that was feeling a lil bad about taking advantage of you. He knew from past experience with his deceased wife that he maybe had a second chance of redemption, because that’s how he started feeling with her.

Your caring nature was a given, you were a nurse, so when Toji suddenly came down with a full blown fever you’d been there again, your hands feeling colder this time on his hot skin, your voice soothing him and that smell of you was lulling him. He’d pulled you in and buried his nose into you, inhaling like an animal as he started to grope every inch of you desperately, it gave him some relief.

Apparently he was changing in more ways than just seeing you as a source of money and sex, because it turned out that in fact, Toji was howling at full moons nearly four weeks later.

It started with restlessness and a mild fever, nothing too out of the ordinary in your line of work, but it wasn’t normal for Toji —he didn’t get sick. But something was crawling under his skin, his cock throbbing under his joggers and no matter how many times he fucked it into his fist he wasn’t cumming. His hand ran through his sweaty hair, pushing it out his face as he looked down at his far above average cock, an angry red and drooling precum with his hand curled around it.

It was throbbing, rock solid, he could feel the pulsing in it and he was burning from over stimulation, the rage in lack of release was only adding to the feral feeling biting across his skin as he felt his patience all but slipping.

Then his nose caught a whiff of something, something that made his cock flex in his hand and drive an instinct he didn’t know he had. Green eyes scanned the room, landing on a top of his you’d been wearing. When he lifted it to his face he moaned, eyes rolling back into his sockets and the pleasurable pulse sent to his cock was euphoric… that sweet smell of you was opening that door he was banging against.

His hips rolled into his fist, cock sliding into it smearing the overload of precum to make a wet hole to fuck into and his pace was feral, heaving in air between inhaling the scent you’d left over it. His mind too clouded to realise what exactly he was doing but chasing only a feeling.

You didn’t last a second when you returned home after your shift in work, he’d jumped on you and fucked you like you were his life line, a feral, blind pleasure that burned under his skin, only feeling it cool when you pressed against him. Burying his face into your neck and breathing you in like oxygen.

And he felt fucking incredible, fucking you felt unworldly.

Day two he’d been running such a high fever that wasn’t going down, reaching a temperature that was almost inhuman. He’d crashed into a sleep and you’d used the opportunity to shower. The towel was ripped from you as soon as your feet entered the bedroom and you were pressed against the wall, legs thrown over his shoulders as he lifted you.

But it wasn’t Toji.

His coat was so black he blended into the darkness of the room, silver teeth bared and green eyes illuminated like the full moon.

With your back pressed to the wall and werewolf! Toji lifting you on his shoulders as your thighs tightened around his head. Your hands gripping and pulling at his black fur as that long tongue worked its magic, so long it was fucking your dripping hole and rubbing against your clit at the same time. It didn’t take long for spit and cum to run down your ass and legs as he was edging you towards cumming on him again and you bucked wildly against him.

It should be wrong —holy shit this should be wrong.

But those glowing green eyes below you were feral, those jaws so large that you literally fit between them as he ate you out. His clawed hands under your thighs to prevent him from piercing you with those almost silver-white teeth.

You couldn’t breath as your body was driven into over stimulation and he wasn’t letting up on his restless attack with his tongue.

He was growling under you, something rumbling in his chest and you could feel it vibrating on his tongue. When you tried to pull away, tried to lift yourself from him his ears flattened, his lips curled and he bared his teeth with a snarl.

The only reason you calmed were his eyes and you knew it was him, even if you wanted to fight you couldn’t but you just needed a break to breathe. He looked silly in the apartment despite how big it was, Toji was a huge man regardless but this added to the huge form that he was.

“T-Toji I ca-fuck- I can’t anymore you gotta s-stop-“

Your body thrashed with each harsh lick of his tongue, drool dripping down his chin into his coat finding the taste of your cum irresistible, the smell of you was addicting. Toji was an asshole so it wasn’t hard to ignore you begging him to stop as you couldn’t handle it anymore, he was selfish and greedy naturally but when it came to eating you out like this?

Fuck-

The tip of his tongue buried in you felt you clenching again in little pulses as you got closer, he slanted your body to one claw keeping under your thigh, the other resting on his shoulder keeping you spread open against the wall. He reached down grabbing his cock, feeling the knot forming at the base —it felt different, besides the size difference.

He fisted himself and his hips started to move in time with it.

“M’gonna cum- fuck, hah, T-Toji s’good -holy shit-“ you were slurring words that meant nothing, weightless as your vision went white and stars appeared and with perfect timing he lifted from your clit and let his entire length of his tongue fill you roughly, he looked up to see your eyes roll back and your head rolled against the wall.

“Fu-Fucking hell,”

He stroked his dick steadily as you came around his tongue, hips stuttering as your body was slack against him and the wall. Withdrawing his tongue and head he pulled back, the taste of you filling his mouth, mouth watering again at the sweetness you gave.

He literally shrugged your thighs off his shoulders, his hands gripping your ass as you slid down the wall catching you with your legs falling over his thick forearms. He angled you so his hard, upright dick pressed against your entrance, your hands gripping his biceps, lacing under the black coat and your eyes widened as you realised he wasn’t letting you catch your breath.

Regretting looking down to see he wasn’t his body that had just change but the size of his already worthy dick had doubled, pre was drooling from the slit and it was flexing angrily.

“W-wait Toji that’s too big you-“

He pressed the tip to you and pushed, panting as his green eyes watched his cock start to stretch you out and it was tight. Toji bullied his way in, his forming knot pressing against your clit, your jaw slacked and no noise left you. The stretch was painful, but with how he was pressing against your spread open clit was just enough to distract you.

Toji growled when he eyed the bulge in your stomach and he flexed inside you watching it move. Clawed hands planted against the wall behind you, either side of your waist with your legs still over his forearms, the position was awkward being wedged between the wall him like this.

“T-Toji p-please g-go easy, it’s too big I’m-“

His hard thrust back into you cut you off as your breath hitched in your throat, nails digging into his chest and your toes curled.

“You’ll take it how it comes,”

your eyes widened as you looked up at him with worry, finally hearing him speak, his own voice mixed with something else thrown in. Your body contradicting your worry, his words made you pulse around him and he chuckled, green eyes meeting yours.

Shifting an arm to snake around your waist to hold you in place as he pulled back his cock, watching the slick glistening on it and he slammed back into you, starting a pace that was cruel. Your arms wrapped around his long nose and jaws clamping them together, pulling him into your chest hugging him and pressing your forehead to his.

“Holy shi-hah, it’s too big, it’s too- I’m gonna cum, I’mgonnacum!”

You sounded panicked but all he focused on was the wet plap, plap, plap of his inhuman dick spreading you open cause it was fucking beautiful to watch. Slick and cum coating his knot as it formed a sticky link everytime it touched your clit.

And he lost it.

You only made whimpering and strangled noises as he fucked you hard, every other thrust trying to push his knot in to plug you, failing drew a pissed off snarl from him that made him pull away along with his cock.

He threw you across the room to your bed and you tried to crawl away, his grip on your ankle slid you back down the bed and in his desperation he pinned you to it, rutting clumsily against the back of your thighs and ass trying to find your pussy.

“Stay, brat-“

He snarled into your ear and you groaned into the bed as he snarled in your ear and arched your hips back, a dull ache in your cunt from being stretched so much but pulsing to have it again.

Unhappy with the position he shifted, green eyes catching himself in the huge floor length arch mirror, he gripped the backs of your thighs and pulled you up. Your back to him you reached back to grab him to balance yourself. His cock slapping against your exposed pussy as he walked to the large mirror, spreading you out. He nuzzled his nose into your neck.

“Put it in before I force it-“

You reached down pressing your fingers to the underside of his head, pressing it against yourself as he lifted you until he felt your swollen hole, impaling you on his cock, watching the bulge appear in your stomach again and he let you watch, let you see what he was seeing.

Green eyes flickering from your face to his knot bouncing against you, begging to plug you, he could feel it resisting less in this position and when he’d just had enough he paused and forced you down to take it.

Your pained whimper only spurred him on, his thrusts switching to short but hard, your body bouncing off each thrust as you went crossed eyed, drooling with only noises leaving you as he made you watch him fucking you dumb.

He gave no warning when he came, only some whine that left his throat. His hips jolting up into you as his knot swelled locking him in you.

“S’too much- m’full, no more -Toji I can’t-“

“Cum it out then,”

You were shaking against him, your whole body struggling to keep up with him like this, but it was so hot watching him plug you, fill you up and seeing that bulge in your stomach.

So you reached down, one finger rolling over your buzzing clit and your hips jolted in reaction to how sensitive it was, your nerves burning with each circle and swipe on your clit, watching your hole clenching and pulsing around him.

You came with tears streaming down your cheeks, pushing so hard his softening cock pulled from you followed by the ridiculous amount of cum he’d fucked into you.

He nuzzled into you, gracing his teeth over your neck as you came back from seeing stars, tranced by the sight of the mess he’d made of you, holding you up like you were nothing as his green eyes glowed.

“We ain’t done, doll.”

©pharix/lonelystarrs 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

Dividers all on my side blog for credits as per 🫶🏻

#toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk toji #toji x you #kinktober jjk #kinktober Toji #toji x reader #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk thirsts #dilf toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n

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maitanii · 2 years

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More headcanons I've been thinking about lately:

- Chifuyu had a hamster when he was 8. A week after he brought him home, the animal died. His mother bought another one and replaced the previous without Chifuyu noticing.

- Shinichiro suffered hair loss when he had to explain maths to Mikey.

- Benkei and Senju are gym buddies! (I guess this is semi canon(?) They share the routines that they're going to follow during the week.

- Pah Chin never learned how to swim when he was a kid. Draken and Mitsuya were the ones who taught him how to.

- Inupi and Koko have the kind of friendship (or "friendship") where they can communicate with eye movements.

- Ran likes to talk to everyone at the saloon. And by everyone I mean old women who like to criticize everything. Ran just nods and starts talking/complaining about Rindou as if he was his 5 y/o son.

- Rindou comes off as the scariest person at the gym, but he is the one who points out to Kakucho if someone's doing an exercise wrong so the latter can go and tell that person they can hurt themselves.

- Baji took Sanzu to eat ramen once and told him to try the one he asked for (the spiciest one). Sanzu started to have (even more) trust issues after that.

- Talking about Baji, the only treatment he does on his hair, is washing it with a 3 in 1 shampoo.

- Waka used to smoke with Shinichiro. After he died, he quit smoking because cigarettes brought him a lot of memories.

- Every year, when Naoto's birthday comes around, Hina buys him a different Sherlock Holmes' novel.

(More headcanons here!)

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wordsbymae · 6 months

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WarTrophy! Reader x Warlord

With a post-apocalyptic twist. I was gonna do the usual medieval style thing for the warlord, but I got inspired by Mad Max: Thunder Dome (An amazing movie), to do post apocalyptic sorta thing. Any way hope you enjoy!

TW: Gn!reader, Verbal and somewhat physical SA, grubby and sleezy male characters. Reader is from a well looked after community, therefore when the Warlord and his raiders come to town, chaos erupts. Violence, murder, battle and raiding, reader given fem pet names but no gender described. In my mind this is canonically set in Australia, because I am Australian and also mad max is set in Australia and also post-apocalyptic fiction just makes sense when set in Australia. Also reader has nickname blue

They came in the night. No warning, no threat along the horizon. Just pure violence coming to reek havoc in the moonless night. You were awoken to the sounds of screaming, cries burning at your ears. Jumping to your feet you rushed to your window, over looking the community of survivors and refuges. Death was everywhere. The town was alight with flames, the warning siren howling over the sound of shrieks and bellows of fear. You stood in shock and incomprehension for a moment, the shacks, houses and huts were being ransacked by men dressed in camouflaged uniforms. Men and women who tried to defend their homes were being cut down where they stood, or dragged away by their hair. Children were left to fend for themselves, some crying amongst the flames, watching their parents being slaughtered. Loud banging broke you from the spell you were under, someone was trying to break down your door.

"Open up!" A man yelled, continuing to try to kick the scrap metal that made your door. It wouldn't take long, it was barely put together. A split second decision was made in your mind. You couldn't stay where you were, you couldn't even stop to make a plan, or grab anything of use. You had to run, and quickly. Still in your sleepwear, you raced through your house, opening your back down with a grunt, just as your front door was slammed open. You rushed into the back alley, stunned by the destruction laid waste upon your town. You turned your back on your friends, family, community and rushed into the darkness of the buildings, leaving your town to burn.

This town was never truly meant to be a town. Before the Collapse it had been a nothing more than a water treatment plant. In the days and weeks after the collapse, people began flocking to its promise of water. Somehow ever after the loss of electricity, the plant still held thousands of litres of water, making it a refuge for all those who survived the end of the world.

You had been one of the very first to arrive, you had been fortunate to arrive with your parents and a few members of your extended family. You and your family practically built this town, saved this community. There was a reason why people knew who you were, why they moved out of the way as you walked past. It was your family this town was named after, your blood that raised it from ash.

And yet here you were, hiding in the shadows. Running for your life. Granted, there wasn't much you could do. The town lived in peace for so long that only the town militia were tasked with defence. Over the years, bullets, and gunpowder, became in short supply, leaving the hunks of metal once called guns useless. Most were melted down to make melee weapons, are fashioned into more primitive form of muskets. In many ways your town turned back into the past to strive for a better future. Most things were run on steam or water powered. Limited supply of gunpowder was made using items traded with other surviving communities. People turned back to the ways of their fore parents, hunting and farming. Life was good. Until it wasn't.

You came to a sudden halt, quickly hiding behind wooden boxes against the wall. The masked, camouflaged men ran past, yelling orders to one another. You grimaced as you saw a selective few were armed with guns. Pre-collapse guns. Either they were just for show, or someone very smart and determined figured out how to make them work in a time such as these. Most, however, had musket-like weapons and machetes and knives. At least you knew if it came down to it, there was a chance that you just had to be quicker than your assailant rather than having to dodge a bullet to survive.

After they run past, you quickened towards the wooden wall that encircled your town. In some places it was reinforced with steel and rock, but it would take decades to finally make a proper defensive structure. As the child of the founding family, you knew exactly what you were looking for. Once, when the wall was still being erected, and nothing but a metal fence separated you and the raiders of the new world, you had found a hole in the fence. Big enough that you and your childhood friend had been able to sneak out of town into the great unknown. Even when they began to reinforce it with wood and steel, you made sure the hole was still uncoverable.

You landed on your knees in front of where you remembered the hole to be. Footsteps were hurrying towards you. Raiders, friends or terrified civilians, you did not know. You focused purely on pushing the scrap of metal from covering the hole, leaning down, you pushed with all your might the large rock you had shimmed into place last time you had snuck out. It had been years since you had down so, it was just before Red had left, there was no need to sneak out anymore if he wasn't there to follow. You crawled through the hole, end in sight. The hole feeling much smaller than it did as a child. You knew your family would make it out. They would have to, right? So would friends and comrades. They were smart. Like you. They knew when to abandon ship.

If there had been a warning then of course you would have stayed, till the very end. Your task for the community was Peacemaker, a diplomate of this new crazed world. You were quite good at it too. Negotiation and diplomacy your strongest skills. If they had given warning, maybe you could reason with them, maybe no one had to have died. But raiders that come in the dark of night, killing all they willed , were not the sort of combatant you stayed around to reason with. Your task was to live, to survive, then to come back and rebuild. Always rebuild, as your parents had done all those years ago.

The metal of the broken fence dug into your hips, bringing forth a hiss of pain from your lips. You pushed through the pain, cursing as the metal dug deeper and deeper. With one last gasp, you heaved your hips through the fence, feeling the metal rip at the fabric of your clothes. Just as you were about to get up, run straight for the safety of the wilderness, a harsh grip landed on your ankle. Before even a thought could pass through your mind. You were dragged back, with force, through the hole. You screamed and kicked. Hands digging into the ground, fingers and nails desperately trying to find a hold in the soft dirt. You were flipped over. A man leering down at you.

"Ain't you a pretty thing, aye?" he sneered, his mouth opening in a wicked smile, showcasing missing and yellowed teeth. You scrunched your face in disgust, both at the sight in front of you and his hand gripping tighter onto your ankle. You were about to use your free leg to give him a swift kick, but the sight of a large hunting knife in his hand made you pause. He followed your gaze to it.

"Aw don't worry love, I'm not gonna use this thing on you, long as ya don't make a fuss." His smile grew, showcasing more blacked and cracked teeth. His face was a red blotchy colour, sweat dripped from his forehead, his weak chin wobbled as he spoke. In the fire light you could see the red veins of his eyes.

You tested his grip on you, trying to catch him unaware. Instead it backfired, resulting in him sitting on top of you, letting your ankle go.

"You be good for me sweets and I'll try to be as gentle as I can yeah?" he chuckled, your blood running cold. This man wanted something from you and there was no reason in the world that would stop him. You cannot reason with an evil man. You began to shriek, preferring him to killing you now than to suffer the injustice of his touch.

"Nobodies coming to save ya darl', Best ya get used to being on your back for me, it's gonna be real familiar by the time I get tired of you. Make me cum enough and I might just keep you" he leaned down against you, tongue licking up along your cheek. You began to trash harder, screaming. Begging. Praying. For anything, for anyone to came save you. He laughed at your misery, lifting him self back up to undo his belt.

"You ready for me to make you my whor-" a gargle where words should follow. You watched in shock as a knife was plunged in the back of his skull. Blood splattered down on you, your mouth open wide in fear and relief. You scrambled back as the evil man fell forward. You backed up against the wall, you could feel the wind blowing through the hole, your escape route still open. You started to make a mad dash for the opening, not thinking or even able to process what had happened, only focusing on what might have happened, what that man was intent on doing.

In a sick sense of Deja vu, you were once ripped from the opening. You were a bundle of feet and hands punching and kicking in all directions, your voice was hoarse from screaming bloody murder. A strong set of arms pulled you against them, and you fought like hell to be free.

"It's alright blue, its alright" came a familiar and calming voice. Only one person called you that in favour of your real name. You opened your eyes, there he was. Alive, breathing and surrounded by masked, camouflaged men.

"Red?" you whispered, not daring to shatter this illusion that he was still alive, that he had found his way back to you. You must be going mad. That evil man must have killed you, or you died in the smoke and flames burning your town. You blinked, pinched yourself. Even reached a hand to touch his face.

"It's me blue" he smiled, a perfect, lovely smile. Just as you remembered.

The men behind him shifted, causing you to panic, you grabbed red's hand and tried to run. You weren't gonna lose him again.

Instead of running into the fray once more, you were pulled back to red's arms.

"Red! We have to go! They'll kill us, please!" You begged, eyes looking into his warm brown ones. He places his hands on your arms, essentially trapping you were you stood.

"Red?" you questioned, why wasn't he worried, why weren't the men descending on you both with knifes raised. What was going on?

The fires had begun to die down, the screaming and crying was replaced with whispers of fear and a few sobs cried into the night. The warning siren slowed down to a halt.

"Red?" you whispered, not a question but a plea.

'Please still be the boy I knew before'

He looked down into your eyes, a sigh making its way pasted his lips.

He turns to his men.

"Bring all the prisoners to the town centre, no one is to harm the survivors unless I deem so. That includes coercing or forcing yourselves onto anyone. Understand?" he orders. His men giving a quick nod and salute before turning into the dying lights of the fire.

"No" you exclaim.

No, no, no, no, no

You shake your head, tears threatening to fall.

"You are one of them?" you gasp. The boy you knew as a child, the boy you had come to love, the boy who disappeared into the night, on a night eerily similar to this, returned as a raider, a killer, a monster.

A gives you a slight smirk, hands gripping you tighter.

"I'm not just one of them blue, I command them, I rule them" he boasts. A wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Traitor" you hiss. "You fucking monster! You absolute fucking bastard!"

Your anger overwhelmed whatever love you still had for him. Curled fists began attacking him, aiming for the face, when that wasn't enough to quell your fury, you tried scratching out his eyes. A pain seared across your face, you became unbalanced and fell on the very man who had threatened you a mere minute ago. Red had slapped you, caused you pain. One might argue you deserved it, lashing out like that. Most would say that's fucking irrelevant since he caused the destruction and violent occupation of your town.

"C'mon blue, you really gonna act out? I was being so nice too. Saved you from this fucker didn't I? Could've just let him have you" he pouted, head tilting to watch you try standing back up, giving the man's body a small kick while doing so. You balked at the sight of the evil man, his eyes still unnerving, even more so that he is dead, the movement of Red's kick, gave you the sick impression he was still alive.

A dangerous idea spread into your mind. The hunting knife lay unclaimed next to you. Red was unarmed as far as you could tell. You clasped the knife in a hurry, but before being able to take a slash or even stand up, Red's boot came crushing down onto your wrist. You squealed in pain, releasing the knife in a instant. His free boot kicked the knife away.

"Is that anyway to welcome home an old mate?" he tsked, "I know its been a few years, but come on blue, really? This? Trying to take me out with a knife?"

"What the fuck Red" you gasped, boot still crushing your wrist. "What the hell is going on, raiding? Seriously? this town was your home! How could you turn on us like that. How-how could you turn on me?" Pain, both physical and emotional rushed through your voice, once more tears began to spring, from the pain or the torment of knowing that your best friend was responsible for the death of dozens in your community.

"C'mon Blue! It ain't personal. Just the business of surviving. You think it brings me joy to burn this place to the ground? I mean to be honest it kinda does, but you know that story. But we don't have time to talk about that, right now you and I have a speech to get to." he grins, dark and cold. No way this is the curly haired kid you knew as a child. Red back then could barely kick a toad than massacre innocent civilians.

You let out a sigh of relief as he removes his boot. Only to let out a yelp in surprise as you are thrown over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" you cry, wiggling and worming in his hold.

"Not yet love! Got places to see and people to humiliate" his deranged laugh filled the silent streets you called home.

Before you only were able to see the destruction from a window still, or when you were at the edges of the fight. But now, now you saw everything. You watched in sorrow as you passed the bakery, still blazing alone, as the houses and shakes next to it had been pulled down. The school had been ransacked, pages and books lining the street in silent array. Childs' drawings danced lifelessly across the ground in the breeze.

Without even seeing where he was taking you, you knew where you were going. The town centre. A magnificent fig tree, alone in its splendour made for quite the impressive centre piece of the town. Speeches, weddings, announcements, birthdays and funerals were all held under its comforting branches. It calmed you to still see it still standing. Leaves fell with a hush down from its branches, as if it was crying watching the town that loved it go up in smoke.

You could hear your townspeople's whispers of fear and confusion as the watched you be carried into line of sight. You could see most of the towns population was still alive. The small group of men who were spared were pushed to one side, guarded heavily, despite being made up of elders, young boys, and a few injured men. The cluster of women and children were larger. You could see your friends and family in both groups. All accounted for, thank goodness. You were placed onto the ground and given to two guards, both quickly clasping onto your arms like their lives depended on it. You were off to the side, as Red sauntered his way to front and centre. He always loved being the centre of attention.

"Good people! How's it going?" he exclaimed, arms open wide and a smile gracing his lips. You could see confusion, vague recognition and just plain hatred line people's faces. More importantly you saw your parents both looking at you in absolute despair. You gave them a short smile and a nod, taking a deep breath when they followed suit.

Red began to speak again.

"Some of you may remember me, other's may not. I was one of you once, another member of this pathetic, weak society. You have no strength, despite your numbers. No courage or skill in warfare. Just a load of farmers, tradesmen and women. If this was any other town I would slaughter you all" he grins as if he is discussing a lovely day spent at the beach. Whispers become murmurs. Murmurs become barely contained talks of a massacre, of your towns soon extinction. You began to take shallower, faster breaths.

"Alright, calm down everyone. Maybe we need to work on our listening skills, aye? Now, let's put on our listening caps everyone. I said if you were any other town. Lucky for you bastards I actually like you guys! I had a good run here. Made some lovely mates" a pointed look thrown in your direction. "And was pretty well looked after, well until, you know. So in honour of the good times I had here. I have a compromise for you all." He clasps his hands together, and teeters back and froth from his toes to his heels.

"My men and I have already killed a whole bunch of ya, so how bout we move on from that, aye? You guys are gonna have to boost your numbers after my little stunt, and who better than the very people who massacred your friends and family!" looks of bitter disgust flow across the crowd.

"Yikes, bit of a tough crowd yeah. Alright look, the fellas and I used to have a pretty good place. But the waters run dry and also we're getting up in years, and so we're looking for a place to settle down. To have people to settle down with. So yeah we killed a whole bunch of your men, but hey! We're here to replace that gap. Maybe even help you guys with the whole defence side of things. I mean were those soldier fellas of yours even trained? They were easier to kill than a dead roo!" he barks out a laugh, his men following suit.

'What the fuck is wrong with him' you thought. Clearly years in the bush led to insanity.

"Oh! Before I forget" he stares in your direction, slowly making his way over. You squirm under his gaze uncomfortably. "If you little shits try any sort of rebellion or some shit like that. I'll slit their pretty little throat."

In a moment he brings a knife close to your throat. You reach your chin up, desperate to remove the icy sensation away from you. You look at where his eyes are directed, straight towards your mother, then slowly transferred to your father. Without their approval, any hope of rebellion or uprising is dashed. You are the perfect hostage.

"Great! Glad we could have this chat. So go have a good ole' sleep. Got a whole day of cleaning up to do tomorrow!" he beams, pulling the knife away just as quickly as he produced it. He turns his back on the towns people, grabbing your arm from one of the guards. You are dragged past the fig tree towards the council hall, located within the old water treatment plant. It is then you see how truly outnumbered you were. Nearly over a hundred men, all masked and camouflaged, line the water treatment plant, even with the men who were killed, there was no way your town could have fought them off.

You pulled back from Red, trying to get him to release his grasp.

"What is it blue? Thought you'd be happier to see your childhood mate"

"Fuck you, you dog" you spit, anger clear as day.

Red halts, and turns to you.

"Don't make me hurt you again."

It wasn't what he said, more so than how he said it. He's eyes lost their humanity, his features fell into sudden darkness, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You were looking into the eyes of an evil man.

You gave a quick nod, hoping he would lose interest.

"Good!" he cheers, and goes back into dragging you up the steps to the plant.

"Ya know I've never had a war trophy before" he mumbles

"Pardon?" confusion across your face turning into disgust

"You, your a war trophy." he deadpans as if its the simplest thing in the world to understand.

"I'm not a trophy" you grumble

"Cause you are, pretty enough, and you really think I'm ever gonna let you outta my sight again Blue? I've been dreaming about this day for years."

You carefully gazed up at him, his grasp on you had begun to soften.

He notices your confusion, or want for an explanation at the very least.

"You really think I would attack this place for water? Or for my men's retirement plan? Nah, blue. I burnt this town down for you, and I'd do it ten times over if you just asked."

It is then you are reminded of the skinny, lanky boy you made friends with as a child. Your mother used to laugh and call him your dog, when your father said it, he said it with annoyance. It was true, Red followed you around like a pup, always doing what you wanted and when. You didn't like remembering the day he left, mainly cause he was practically run out of town. It just took a slip of your tongue, it was an accident after all. You were a child, and didn't realise that sometimes words were dangerous. You didn't realise how much Red took your words to heart, or how much he cared to.

' Red, sometimes I just wish...'

'What blue? Tell me, I'll make it true'

'Well I just wish he was dead!'

You knew Red was being perfectly honest when he said he would burn this town down if you asked. He had already tried before.

I don't know about the ending or if reader is really a war trophy but the words came and i just put them down.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere prompts #gn!reader #yandere x gn!reader #tw violence #murder #oc #SA

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lady-severus-snape · 8 days

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Random headcannon #987

Severus is a feminist and a champion to one he decides to love.

In the U.S. alone close to an estimated 6 million women suffer from PCOS (myself included) , this does not include those that have not been diagnosed.

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

Severus would absolutely be appalled and down right foaming at the mouth when he finds his woman curled up on the bathroom floor crying from pain.

Severus (Concerned, bends down to help you): Darling, what is the matter? Are you hurt? Talk to me?

Y/N (whimpering and writhing in pain): yea, I'm OK. A cyst probably burst. I already took the maximum dose of acetaminophen for today. So hopefully it will take the edge off.

Severus (worried about you): what? What do you mean a cyst has ruptured?! Where?! Max dosage? Woman, that's about 2000mg!

Y/N (grunts and pants through the wave of pain): An ovarian cyst probably burst, and/or I'm having severe menstrual cramps. Yea, short of prescription pain killers, that's what I have on hand. Don't worry I made sure to eat so it doesn't fuck me up more.

Severus could only listen in horror. His woman looked and sounded like she was dying, and all she explained was that a cyst, an ovarian cyst at that exploded internally, and she said was it's was ok?!

Severus: Lovey, we need to get you to the hospital. (Helps Y/N into the room)

Y/N: no, that's OK. They won't do anything. The most they will do is maybe a scan, blood work, and maybe ibuprofen before sending me home with instructions to rest, use a heating pad, and more Tylenol. It's not worth the cost of the visit. I'll fine Sev, honest. Not the first time it's happened and won't be the last.

Severus (mouth dropped open, aghast): what?! What. Do. You. Mean. They. Won't. Do. Anything. You're literally agonizing in pain. They have to do something, they just can't dismiss your problems. It's happened before? When? Why? How?

Y/N (Climbs into bed and curls up): Severus, baby, I hate to break it to you, the medical community don't give a shit about us women. I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome or PCOS. There is no cure and only like 4-5 medicinal options to manage the symptoms. It took me nearly 20 years to recieve a diagnosis. Dr's called me crazy, depressed, hallucinating, that everything was normal.

Severus felt white hot anger course through his veins. His Y/N was in clear pain, distress, and who knows what else. The muggle doctors failed to help his love.

Severus asked y/n many questions in regards to it until he saw she was nodding off to sleep, the pain finally retracting enough. His mind was already running with possible potion ideas. He needed more information. He walked over to the small library y/n had built over time and pulled every book she had on PCOS. By the 3rd book it was obvious to him, that the information was repeating/recycling itself:

-hormonal problem -uncontrollable weight gain -excess body and facial hair(all the depilatory supplies made more sense) -female patterned hair loss(it explained why she always wore her hair up and always with a hat or scarf) -depression -super heavy and painful menstrual cycles or lack of one -cysts developing not just internally but also outwardly -infertility -high insulin levels

Treatments: hormone contraceptives, metformin or other type 2 diabetic medications, spironolactone or other hair growth inhibiting medications, losing weight, and excersize.

Severus peaked into the bedroom when he heard y/n whimper in her sleep. Another cramp of pain was hitting. His grip on the book tightened until it started to smoke and smolder from his magic, acting to his emotions. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he weighed his options. He would have to delve into extensive research. What good was his potions mastery if he didn't utilize it. The rest of the weekend was spent with him taking care of y/n through what seemed to him a very hard and agonizing menstrual cycle.

^food in bed ^long soaks in the bathtub with his own personal muscle relaxant ^snacks and chocolate galore ^pampering of every kind you could think of

Once y/n was right as rain, Severus consumed research like a man possessed. Muggle medical reports, studies, and pharmaceuticals. Hell, he even researched for it in the magical world. Boy, was he sorely disappointed. If he thought muggle medicine was lack luster in regards to PCOS, then the magical community was left in the dust! Nothing, zip, zero, nada was found in correlation to PCOS. There is nothing to even address the barest of symptoms! Severus had never been so....so......so......horrified! Armed with rage, spitefulness, and indignation on behalf of y/n, Severus plunges into the world of the unknown for PCOS. Experimental potions safe for muggle use, others for the witches. Thankfully, he has some basis from when he modified the wolfsbane potion. As his research progressed, he discovered that the magical birth rates were low due to not only the inbreeding for blood purity, but in actuality, PCOS was also common amongst the magical woman folk. This led him down another rabbit hole that played on genetics.

After many failed results, Severus managed to find the right combination for y/n. It wasn't a cure by any means of the imagination, but it was far cry from the plebian options offered. His elixir, taken consistently, would lower the excess androgen levels and keep the cortisol level low. It worked better than the aforementioned muggle drugs. He still had problems finding a solution to the whole ovulating problem without causing severe side effects worse than the muggle drugs, but by the gods, he was working on it. Y/N's hair was already growing back fuller, thicker, healthier. Even the beard and mustache she let herself grow out for the sake of research (and laziness. Why should she worry about her beard if it didn't bother Severus. If anything, he was slightly jelly at how glorious hers was; it wasn't fair) had begun to thin out, practically patchy in some spots. But most importantly, to Severus, seeing the how y/n flourished, the femininity of her unrestrained from the dismorphia caused by PCOS. Free from the debilitating pain and suffering. It was breath taking, it made everything he had done worth it to see his love and hopefully the rest of the women population heard and seen.

#angysoftboi #pro severus #severus snape #angybatboi #batboi #severus snape headcanons #harry potter #pro severus snape #incorrect quotes #fuckPCOS #body dismorphia #PCOS is not lack of femininity #medicine needs to do better #weightloss is not a real solution the problem

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madhatterbri · 9 months

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Bordello | Hangman A.P.

Summary: Hangman goes to see his favorite prostitute at his favorite brothel. @plentyoffandoms

Author's Note: Pure fiction. Enjoy. 18+. More of my Hangman Adam Page fics can found here.

@theworldofotps your man has a really happy ending now 😂😂

Hangman Adam Page pulled on his horse's reins. The horse stopped behind Madam Toni's Lovely Lasses. A simple building from the outside but a plethora of pleasures awaited inside. He could hear the lively activities inside once the back door opened. A man came out and grabbed the reins. Adam slid off the horse and tied a black bandana over his nose and mouth to cover his identity. Once he was ready, he stepped inside.

He was first hit with a cloud of cigarette smoke. The bandana was barely able to help him breathe. He walked down ahallway to a secret staircase. From the sound of it, Madam Toni must have allowed the party to start early this Friday evening. Men and women alike were laughing loudly and cheering. As much as he missed being able to mingle with his friends inside the saloon, he loved the special treatment he was offered here.

He made his way up the staircase to see the famous Madam Toni. She leaned against the railing watching the party from above. Her eyes locked on him.

"Welcome home, Hangman. I am sure she will be happy to see you." Adam simply nodded and continued towards her room.

You sighed while sitting at your desk staring at your reflection. Your hair hung loosely as you ran your fingers through the strands. Thoughts filled your mind as you thought of the Hangman. How you would give anything for him to be here tonight. The door to your bedroom suddenly opened. Only one man was allowed in your room. The Hangman.

The Hangman locked the door behind him. He placed his cowboy hat and vest on the table by the door. His light eyes never left you. His eyes lit up seeing the lace Victorian nightgown on you. The one he brought back for you.

"I am sorry I am not properly ready for you. I thought you would be going to be gone for much longer," you apologized. The Hangman took a liking to you the first night you met. You always tried to ensure he was happy with you.

"You are wearing what I got you," he pointed out. His cowboy boots echo in your room. Each thud of his boots makes your heart pound quicker. You watch his reflection in the mirror as he stands behind you. His hands move your hair back as his fingers caress your soft skin. You lean your cheeks into his touch.

"I've missed you," he confessed and lowered his bandana to around his neck. He buried his face in your hair leaving soft kisses. He took a step back as you stood up from your chair to face him. His eyes took in your figure through the sheer nightgown. The nightgown did not leave much to the imagination. "But what am I going to do with you?"

His lips once again found their way to your flesh. They hungrily kissed your shoulders before trailing to your neck. You gasped at his actions yet exposed more of your neck to him. Your dress bunched around your waist as he sat you on your desk. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

"Adam," you moaned feeling the friction of his rough pants between your legs. He smirked seeing you start to grind your hips into his pants. A series of pants and whimpers filled the room. Your eyes closed as he allowed you to make a mess of his pants. He removed your dress leaving you naked before his hungry eyes.

"Hands behind your back, darling," he ordered. You followed his instructions. He untied the bandana from around his neck and walked to your side. The sudden loss of friction left you a longing mess. He tied your wrists together. He pulled against the bandana ensuring you couldn't escape. Your eyes traveled to his pants.

"Adam, I, your pants," you blushed seeing the stain from you on them. He didn't bother looking at them. Your lewd actions already causing his pants to feel a little too tight. He used your distraction for his gain.

The Hangman dropped to his knees and moved your legs over his shoulders. He leaned down and slowly licked your slit from bottom to top. The tip of his tongue teasing your clit. You brought your head back and balled your fists. Your nails pressed into the palms of your hands. He repeated his action several times reveling in your anguish. His eyes met yours once more as if planning his next mode of attack.

In the blink of an eye, his thumb rubbed against your bundle of nerves. Oh, you breathed as his rough, calloused finger provided the friction you missed once more. You moved your hips towards his touch. He slid his finger inside of you and curled up. Your juices soaking his finger.

"Adam," you whimpered while struggling against your binds. He worked you up adding more fingers and using various speeds to make you melt for him and you did. A thin layer of sweat covered your face. Your skin was flushed from his work on your body and all you could do was take it. "I need you,"

He stopped upon hearing your admission. People often needed his services but you were different. Hearing that you needed him made him almost feral. He bit back a curse and removed his fingers from inside of you. The lewd sound of his fingers expelling from your wetness caused you to blush further. This man could absolutely ruin you.

He stood up and lowered his pants. He didn't bother removing his shirt. More battle scars marred his chest and back. The Hangman never wanted you to worry about him. He positioned your legs around his waist and entered you slowly. The way your body gripped him was almost like it was trying to milk him. He took several deep breaths to steady himself before gripping the back of your knees. He used them as leverage as he started to pick up his rhythm. The desk smacked against the wall with each thrust.

"S-so cl-close," you stuttered. You weren't sure if it was from him or if your mind was lost in pleasure. He continued his movements enjoying seeing you reaching your high. Your toes curled and with one last scream of his name, you came undone. The Hangman didn't last much longer before finishing inside of you. He thrusted inside of you a few more times before pulling out. He tucked himself back in his pants.

"You are going to be the death of me," he promised and kissed your shoulder. Adam reached around and untied the bandana. You moved your hands in front of you and moved them in circles to alleviate the pain in your wrists. He grabbed them and placed soft kisses on them. "Always so good for me. My little flower,"

Your heart swelled in pride at his compliment. Once he was done kissing you he picked you up bridal style from the desk and placed you on your bed. He moved a blanket over you to cover your body. Adam walked to the other side and lay next to you. His arms wrapped around your frame and pulled you close to him. You stared at his chest while he rubbed your forehead and hair. Every so often he would place kisses on your face. Your eyes felt heavy and soon you fell into a dream-filled sleep.

#fanfiction #imagine #hangman adam page smut #hangman adam page x reader #hangman adam page #hangman adam page x you #hangman adam page x y/n

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daydream-cement · 2 years

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Organs in the Wash Ch. 4

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

TW: Mentions of blood, kidnapping, breaking and entering, serial killers, anxiety, trauma

Authors Note: Thank you to my beta baby @booitsrue for looking this over and making it the best it can be <3

You thrashed against your restraints, hoping you could break loose before he returned. His shadow moved about in a nearby room. He had told you he needed to sharpen his knives before he would carve into your flesh. The purpose for making you wait was only to increase your anxiety.

Your folding chair was the lone object in a darkened room. It was challenging to make out your surroundings as your mind was clouded from lack of sleep and blood loss. The left side of your face was soaked with your own blood or at least you thought it was your own blood. You were almost too tired to care about dying anymore.

You heard your own name being called from the next room. Why would your kidnapper be calling for you? Was it just another attempt to taunt you?

You glance up into the doorway and there a shadowy figure stood, cooing your name again and again. He was going to kill you. You struggle against the restraints once more, the rope cutting into your wrists. The knife was dangling from his fingertips. You would end up like those other women, drained of blood, organs removed, and washed clean. The Deseret alphabet carved into your body somewhere. Would Miranda have to see your body? Where was she?

Your name passed through your kidnappers lips again. He was standing directly in front of you now. Stooping low, you could feel his hot breath against your ear, “It’s time…”

His hand reached up to your face, his touch far too gentle. The knife plunged into your middle causing you to cry out. He kept repeating your name, but the voice morphed. It was more familiar, more feminine.

Miranda shook your shoulder once more, attempting to pull you from your slumber. You were thrashing back and forth in your sleep and your groaning notifying her of your nightmare from the kitchen. She gripped your face and repeated your name once more, finally jostling you awake. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings. You were safe in Miranda’s bed with her thumbs rubbing circles into your cheeks, “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, leaning your head in to rest against Miranda’s sternum. After the dream, you needed a moment to take a deep breath and center yourself. None of it was real. You were safe. Miranda moved her hands to your hair, gently raking her nails through your locks over your scalp, repeating the process when she reached the back of your skull. That sensation was exactly what you needed to bring you peace.

“I had lots of nightmares after I was shot… It will get better with time, I promise…” Miranda’s omission left you with many questions, but now didn’t seem like the right time to enquire deeper. Her arms enveloped you into a bone crushing hug, almost squeezing the anxiety from you. You could hear the smile on her face as she spoke, “I made scrambled eggs. I can make orange juice too. I figured we could watch a show, I could do a little work from home, take a little nap later? Does that sound good?”

You pull away from her hug so you can look at her. Miranda sat on her knees before you, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement as she awaited your response. Never before had you received this sort of treatment from a friend or partner as all Miranda wanted was your time and attention. You hope she knows the adoration you felt for her through your gaze and tone, “I would love nothing more.”

Miranda must have been cooking before she woke you as there was a place set for you at the kitchen table and the scrambled eggs were in the pan, covered and keeping their warmth. You grin at the sight of her wrapped in her black robe. She served you scrambled eggs and toast with a kiss on the head.

You watched her work on her computer as you ate. She was deeply focused on an email from Robin, her hair falling in front of her eyes every few seconds even after she tucked it behind her ears. To say you were smitten with her was putting it lightly. She scowled when she was extremely focused, but even Miranda’s scowl was more endearing than intimidating. You found her aura to be magnetic, and your comfort was paired with an extreme yearning. One to spend time with someone you were already with.

“Oh my god…” Miranda mumbled under her breath. Forensic results were in from the laundromat crime scene and Maya’s body. They had the name of the killer, accompanied by his home address and workplace. Her eyes found yours, not leaving you in suspense any longer, “We have a suspect. I will need to leave you alone for a couple hours while Robin and I drop by his home. Will you be okay?”

You held back the urge to cry. No, you wouldn’t be okay. There was a murderer on the loose, he wanted you dead, and she wanted to leave you alone. Your body betrays you and you nod in response to her question. Miranda was relieved at your response, her shoulders relaxing with a deep exhale.

“The apartment building is filled with people who work for the department. You will be safe while you’re here.” Miranda reassured as she stood from the kitchen table. Before she exited to get dressed, she pressed a kiss to your forehead and teased you, “Now eat your eggs before they get cold. I worked very hard on those.”

While Miranda changed, you ate half of your breakfast and scraped the rest into the garbage bin. You proceeded to wash the dishes in her sink as well as the pan on the stove. You were settled out on the living room couch when Miranda emerged from her room, blue shirt left unbuttoned and belt undone. You hadn’t intended to stare, but the desire to commit the picture to memory was all too strong. Miranda glanced up to you when she began buttoning her shirt, a smirk dancing across her lips, “My eyes are up here.”

Your eyes quickly search for anything else to focus on and you settle for the blank walk by the front door instead. In an attempt to make her forget about your leering, you change the subject, “Maybe when you get back we can watch one of those Star Trek shows you are always talking about?”

“I’d like that very much!.” Miranda chirped, tucking her shirt into her pants and buckling her belt. A knock came at the door and Miranda checked her watch, rolling her eyes when she saw the time. She grabbed her phone, wallet, and keys from the tv stand and rushed over to you, squatting down before you, “I will only be gone for a few hours. The doors will be locked. You can text or call whenever you need me. You are safe here, alright bug?” Her gaze was quizzical, as if she knew leaving you alone wasn’t for the best.

��Okay. I’ll be alright, I promise.” You were lying through your teeth and you knew it. Not even 12 hours ago, a man broke into your home in an attempt to kill you. In what world would you be okay with being alone? You tried your luck at a smile, and earned a kiss to the forehead, Miranda’s hands squeezing your cheeks together before she finally left you sitting on the couch. She gave you a final look as she opened the front door, she was absolutely riddled with guilt, but she had a job to do. Miranda locked the door after herself, leaving you alone.

Now isolated, you felt the panic rising in your chest. If the killer had found you that easily the first time, what was protecting you here if Miranda was gone? You only made it ten minutes sitting on the couch before the noises of the building caused you too much fear. At any moment, someone could come bursting through the front door. To calm your nerves, you retreat back to Miranda’s room, locking her bedroom door behind you.

Now curled up in Miranda’s bed, you pulled her pillow to your face, inhaling her scent and trying to imagine she was really there. You imagined she had her arms around you and your face was buried in the crook of her neck. Miranda would rub your back and tell you everything would be okay. Maybe she would tell you about an episode of Star Trek where a character was in the same situation you are in now. She seemed to have an episode for every situation.

Your mind wandered to the thought of her kissing you again. Perhaps this time in her bed where both of your hands could wander more. Miranda would deepen the kiss and you would pull her hands to your waist, encouraging her to touch you where she pleased. Your kiss had been interrupted so suddenly after your first date. You wanted to experience more of her tongue in your mouth and from what you remember, Miranda was a delightful French kisser.

Miranda’s long fingers may slide back to grip your- A door slammed. You stopped breathing for a moment, listening carefully for what might come next. Was an intruder about to break down the door to Miranda’s bedroom? Has he found you? Would he kill you right there in Miranda’s apartment and leave your body for her to find? Perhaps he would wait for her and kill Miranda before he killed you. Even worse, he would wait for you two to join together, and take Miranda out, before taking his time with you…

You know you need to hide before he can find you. You take Miranda’s pillow and a blanket and retreat to her bathroom, locking the door behind you once more. Wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, you step into the bathtub and lay on the floor, curling up around Miranda’s pillow once more. Face buried in the fabric of the pillow, you listened for the intruder roaming about Miranda’s apartment. How long would it take for him to unlock her bedroom door? Would he break it down? How long would it take for him to get into the bathroom? Not long, you thought. You would be dead soon.

You were completely spiraling and were past the bounds of a mild panic attack. Your chest was heaving and you were tempted to scream and sob, begging for your life. You remained silent, not wanting the intruder to find you quicker than he had to. You realized you left your phone in the kitchen. There was no way to next Miranda you were in danger.

No noises came from her bedroom. He must be toying with you again. You could have sworn you heard someone begin to whistle. The serial killer wanted you filled with pure terror before he murdered you in Miranda’s bathroom. He was going to get his way too. The fear flooded your body and the anxiety that pulsed through you caused more tears to flow from your eyes. Why had you helped Miranda in the first place? You had gone down to do your laundry at such a silly time when you met her. You should have done your laundry the day prior like you originally planned to. How could you be so stupid? Your laziness was now going to lead to your death.

You cried and cried, not hearing a singular sound from the bedroom. He probably wanted to lull you into a sense of false security, pouncing when you were most vulnerable. You waited and waited and waited. Nothing ever came from the other side of the bathroom door.

——-

Miranda wasn’t expecting her bedroom door to be shut when she arrived home. Initially she thought you might have been taking a shower, so she lingered in the kitchen and living room. After not hearing any noises for a while, she knocked and attempted to open the door, only to find it locked. She assumed you must have been a little nervous and locked yourself in, falling asleep as you lay in bed.

Reaching atop of the doorframe, Miranda pulled down the little key to unlock the bedroom door. Once open, she returned the key back to its place and proceeded into her room to find you. Miranda furrowed her brow when you weren’t in her bed. Her pillow and comforter were missing and she assumed they must be with you, wherever you were. She began calling your name, wondering if you were hiding in her closet or under her bed. When she found you in neither spot, she realized you must have been behind the closed door of the bathroom.

Once again, she found the door locked and used the little spare key to unlock it. Her heart shattered when she saw you curled up in her bathtub sleeping. Your face was buried in her pillow when she scooped you up from the bathtub and carried you to her bed. The jostling woke you but her gentle voice made you close your eyes once more, “You have nothing to be scared of, bug. I’m here now.”

She wasn’t about to tell you that they couldn’t find the killer. He was on the run and they had about three different leads of where he could be. Robin had advocated for Miranda to go home and keep an eye on you if he was still out there. His apartment offered up more than enough evidence for a conviction if he were to be found. A third body was waiting in his apartment, organs waiting to be washed in the sink, that damned Deseret alphabet carved into his bedroom wall. Belongings of each of his victims were scattered throughout the small living area, including some trinkets from your own apartment were all found in his possession. Almost like little souvenirs, reminders of that night for him.

She attempted to lay you in her bed, but you wrapped your arms around her neck, not allowing her to pull away from you. Miranda’s hands found yours, forcing your hands from her and a groan to rumble in your throat. Her response was kind but firm, “I need to get changed first and lock up the apartment.”

The crying and anxiety attack had pulled so much energy from you that you only turned away from her, wrapping your arms around her pillow once more. Miranda took her leave and headed to Robin’s apartment to ask her to stay up in Miranda’s living room so she could get some rest. You hadn’t noticed it in her treatment of you, but she hadn’t slept last night or at all today and was now running on fumes. Robin wasn’t keen on saying yes to the request, but when she realized it wasn’t an invitation or excuse to hang out, she couldn’t deny her shock. Miranda was just hoping to sleep in bed with you for a few hours.

Robin wordlessly took a place on Miranda’s couch, leaving the blonde to retreat to her bedroom, closing the door behind herself. You hadn’t fallen back asleep yet, rather you wanted to wait so you could curl up against her.

Miranda pulled off her work clothes, leaving them strewn about a chair. She stripped all the way down to her underwear, not caring if you saw her. She was dead on her feet and wanted to be snoring in bed next to you. Once she pulled on a white sleep shirt, she crawled into bed next to you, not touching you in fear of overstepping her bounds. After all, you were staying in her home, under her protection. She didn’t want you to feel as if you owed her anything.

You sleepily reached out behind yourself and searched for her hand. Once you found it, you gave it a yank and draped it over your waist. If you weren’t so tired, you may have found your actions to be far too forward, but you just wanted her pressed up against you. Miranda wasn’t about to argue with direct orders.

She pulls herself flush against you, her right hand wrapped around your waist, tucked under your left hip. Miranda was dead to the world after she fell asleep. Halfway through your slumber you turned onto your back and sleepy Miranda wasted no time pressing half of her body weight on you with both an arm and a leg draped over you. Her peaceful slumber rubbed off on you, drawing you back into the world of dreamless sleep. You could get used to something like this.

#gwendoline christie #gwen christie #miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #fanfic #organs in the wash

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