#poke coins | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yellow-computer-mouse · 3 months

Text

WOOHOO!!!!

[ID: a screenshot of a Tumblr settings page. It states that I have 103 followers.]

As promised, here is your completely unedited Winter and Qibli fanfiction from when I was 10.

Context for the plot: something something Winter's hurt or whatever. Also I was obsessed with blorbo-ifying Darkstalker for some reason?? So he shows up and is WILDLY OOC and is also besties with Moon? Like not a ship just. Straight up besties. And ofc the ENTIRE Darkstalker cast is in the modern world. And I think my OC shows up too. It's a wild ride get ready (i'm stalling)

also random headcanon that every tribe has a certain sound frequency that make them. have a seizure??? it's not it just hurts them really bad but. man idk.

“Qibli.”

Qibli twitched and rolled over.

“QIBLI.”

“Mmph. Whaaaaaaat?”

“You’re poking me.”

Qibli snorted and nearly told Winter he was being an absolute jerk when he remembered he was Winter’s “caretaker,” meaning he was a servant. How fun, Qibli thought bitterly.

“Quit poking me.”

“Not like I can help it,” Qibli said truthfully.

“Well, you could STOP AIMING YOUR DEADLY TAIL AT MY FACE.” Qibli looked over his shoulder and realized his tail barb was resting on Winter’s narrow, elegant snout, pointing right at his eyes.

“Oops. Well, maybe YOU could stop aiming YOUR deadly weapon at MY face.”

“I am NOT.”

“You so are, Mr. I-can-just-breath-on-you-and-kill-you.”

“Hrmmphll.” Winter rolled over so his spiky icicle-esque tail was in prime position to slit Qibli’s throat.

“Hrmmphll YOURSELF, camel-breath,” Qibli retorted, sliding off the bed. He started to go and get breakfast when Winter cleared his throat so loudly Qibli thought he just exploded.

“Don’t set yourself on fire while I’m gone.”

“Again. ONE TIME that happened. ONE. TIME.” Qibli thought he heard Winter mutter, “That’s why I need you.”

Qibli was walking down the hallway when he heard, “Get OFF, moth-brain!” and a sleepy retort somewhat like, “But I’m your pillow-blanket,” then a weird, strangled yelp and, “Ugh. Fine. I’ll go sleep in Moon’s room,” and then Darkstalker stumbled out of his sleeping cave.

“Did Clearsight kick you out again?” Qibli inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Blarmmph,” Darkstalker mumbled, blearily staggering along behind Qibli.

“Good answer,” Qibli said, starting down the stairs. He was trying to remember what Winter requested for breakfast the night before. He assumed if he couldn’t remember, neither did Winter.

“Seven bacon strips, two sausages, a fried egg, and a yogurt,” Qibli said to Moon, who was cooking the meals.

“I’m assuming a lot of that’s for Winter?” she guessed, flipping a pancake.

“Ooh, I forgot we had those, and a blueberry pancake with pecan sauce.”

“Aaand?” Wishcloud encouraged.

“Please?” he tried.

“Yes-” Moon started, but was interrupted by Wishcloud saying “No, you pigeon, abracadabra!” She bonked him over the head with a fork.

Qibli snickered and took a tray covered in food, complete with an ice pack for the yogurt.

“Took you long enough,” Winter said when Qibli walked into the room.

“Let’s see, hmm, here’s your yogurt-”

“COFFEE YOGURT.”

“Coffee yogurt,” Qibli rolled his eyes. “5 bacon strips, and, lucky you, sausages!”

“Gross. You wouldn’t DARE feed me those filthy dirt sticks!”

“They are NOT filthy dirt sticks, they are amazing, but if you don’t want them, your loss,” Qibli said, shrugging. He handed Winter’s plate to him, as well as a spork.

“Look, they put smiley faces on the sporks! So cute.”

“So USELESS!” Winter yelled, pointing a claw at Qibli, and then fell off the bed onto his face.

“Lol,” Qibli said, gnawing the wrapping off his spork.

“You saw nothing.”

“I sure didn’t.”

They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence.

“Sounds like Starflight just woke up.” Qibli observed, who got a mighty “Hmph!” from Winter.

“I DEMAND you place me on the couch.” Winter declared.

“I demand you tell me where you want to sit.”

“Where do you think?”

“Theee corner?” Qibli tried.

“Yes.”

“Alrighty.”

Qibli loaded Winter onto a wagon and brought him down to the couch, where Darkstalker was spread out.

“Darkstalker, would you please-” Qibli began to ask, but was cut off by Winter yelling “MOVE YOUR FACE, SEAL-TAIL..”

Darkstalker lifted his head slowly, slowly, so slowly, and said, “But I’m sleeping.”

“Well, TOO BAD, whale-brain.”

Darkstalker mumbled something like, “I thought I was a moth-brain,” and flopped his head back down.

“You can be BOTH if you move. What happened to sleeping in Moon’s room?”

“She left.”

“Well, maybe go eat some fooooood?” Qibli offered.

“OH YES FOOD YES ALRIGHT LET’S GO!” Darkstalker leaped up from the couch and shot off to the prey center, slowed to a trot, and began singing “Food food food food I can eat food wonderful food whenever I want wonderful food food food food.”

“The corner, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent.”

“I think that song’s called ‘Food’,” Qibli said to Winter in a loud whisper, holding his talon up against his mouth. Winter growled, and Qibli leaped back, laughing. He fell over and rolled around, until he rolled onto his frostbreathed leg, and yelped.

“Three moons, are you ok?” Aphid asked, reaching down to Qibli.

“Mostly,” Qibli said, stepped on his leg again, and winced.

“That looks painful,” Aphid said, poking his leg. “What were you doing, you maniac?” Qibli squeaked and flung his wings out, then wrapped them around himself, making a shield.

“Nice one, tough guy. Now we both need a caretaker.” Winter whispered, nudging his side.

“Auuugh hrm hrrmph.” Qibli whimpered, rocking back and forth.

“Don’t taunt him, slug-face!” Aphid shouted. “You’re such a jerk!”

Qibli’s ears perked up suddenly. He folded his wings back in and said, “Wait. Winter’s already pretty much healed!” Aphid nodded encouragingly, and Winter said, “Would you like me to list my injuries again? Because I think you need it.”

“No, listen. You can walk on your leg, and you can fly alright. I think we could be-” Qibli started.

“Mutual caretakers!” Aphid finished, beaming. “What a great idea! Like me and Wishcloud, but you two!”

“Yes. Fine. Don’t ask the ICEWING PRINCE in the room what he thinks, because his opinion OBVIOUSLY DOESN’T MATTER.”

The next day, Winter went down to get food, much to Qibli’s surprise. He ordered “Five sausages, twenty bacon strips, three turkey bacon strips, a chocolate hazelnut yogurt, a smore yogurt, three chocolate chip pancakes with raspberry sauce, three pancakes- one with churros and cinnamon sauce, the others blueberry with pecan sauce- four slices of french toast with blueberry sauce, a half-dozen strawberry muffins, a pack of Oreos, two sunny-side-up eggs, a mug of hot chocolate, and a mug of blackberry tea.” When Qibli woke up that morning- at whatever time he pleased, which was surprising- there was a tray with all his food on little plates, the mug on a saucer, a neat little stack of Oreos with a tiny little cup of milk to dip them in, and extra churros on the side. There was also a little note that said, “You pigeon” which Qibli assumed was from Wishcloud.

“Wow. They even separated the frosting from the cookie on exactly half of them. Is it my hatching day? My last day to live? Winter’s hatching day?”

“You’re WELCOME,” Winter said, demolishing his cute little smiley-face egg.

“It’s like, I woke up and the sun was up and I wasn’t being poked by seventeen billion frost knives, then I get a full meal, and NOW Winter is being somewhat polite. Am I dead? Are YOU dead?”

“Hey, I AM your servant.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Winter?” Qibli asked jokingly.

“Hahaha. Veeeery funny, Qibli. I am letting y-” Winter said in a fake bored, flat tone, and then his teabag fell down the mug and smacked on his snout. He gasped in surprise and then snorted tea up his nose.

Qibli burst out laughing, fell out of the bed, and couldn’t sit back up. He momentarily stopped breathing and was crying by the time he regained his composure. His sides were heaving as he attempted to fight the hiccups that were guaranteed to happen, and he was breathing quickly in and out of his nose to stop another breakdown.

“Thank you, Winter, clawmate, best friend.”

Winter coughed out, “I’m still not your best friend.”

“Ok, maybe not my best friend.”

Winter snorted out the rest of the tea and rolled his eyes. He sat up regally and looked down at Qibli with an unimpressed look.

“You know, it’s difficult to take you seriously after that spectacle.”

“Says you.”

Qibli started to limp into the hall, slipped, and caught himself on his injured leg.

“OW. Ow ow ooowwwwwww.”

“I am NOT carrying you,” Winter said, then jumped, turned around, and whispered “Whaaaaat?” and then said ”Fine. Put your leg on me.”

Qibli did as he was told and rested his front right talon on Winter’s back.

“Yuck. You’re all HOT and DRY and NOT ICE.”

“Then go bathe in liquid nitrogen,” Saltflat said, stepping in front of them.

“Hhhhiiii, Saltflat,” Qibli said slowly. “Aaaaare yoooouu planning something?” “Maybe, if you keep talking to me like I’m a concussed sheep!” Saltflat yelled, and then Bluesteel stepped out of his sleeping cave and said, “Calm down, everyone. Saltflat, this is 8:00 AM. SENSIBLE dragons are SLEEPING.”

“So the Darkstalker is a sensible dragon?” Winter asked.

“Yes. Wait. NO! Umm, maybe? No paradoxes before… umm…”

“Midnight. Before midnight. Because then they can’t say it alllll day long and then at midnight they have to wait ‘till the WHOLE next day to say a paradox!”

“BIG BRAIN.” Bluesteel declared, followed by “Mkay, I’m-a sleepy now.”

“Ok then, let’s go!” Qibli said, jumping on Winter’s back.

“OW. AUGH. You just BROKE the ICEWING PRINCE’S BACK.” Winter complained dramatically.

“Not my fault you’re short!” Qibli replied, punching the air above him. “I AM A CHAMPION YOU ALL BOW TO ME! WOO WOO W- OW! I just punched something like a nail... or a RainWing spine!” Qibli felt more around him. “Yup. A RainWing. But who?” Qibli wondered aloud.

I saw Winter jump back, like he was surprised, or like... someone punched him. Who has the right personality? Qibli remembered the day before when Aphid helped him and got Winter to agree to the arrangement.

“Aphid!” Qibli shouted to the flickering ceiling light. “I know you’re there!”

“Aphid?” Saltflat asked just as she dropped down from the ceiling and said, “You got me. I knew you would.”

“Wait, WHAT?!” Winter yelped, jumping back a couple of steps. “Are you a NightWing? How did you see the future? Oh, gosh, I sound like Cricket, YUCK.” Winter sat down and started swiping at his tongue.

“Geegaws,” Qibli whispered into Winter’s ear, and Winter whipped around and growled at Qibli.

“What’s a ‘geegaw’?” Aphid asked.

“A shut up!” Winter snapped.

“That makes no sense.”

“Welp, that’s what happens when your one true love is riding on your back,” Qibli joked. “He adores me.”

“THREE MOONS SHUT UP,” Winter shouted.

“Moons above, Qibli, knock it off!” Aphid laughed. “We all know you’re with Wishcloud now!”

“Oh yeah, but Winter doesn’t.”

“STOP NO NOPE NOPAROO THIS IS NOT HAPPENING. SALTFLAT is my GIRLFRIEND, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”

“Tee hee,” Qibli said.

“Wow, Winter, that’s awesome. You do know I’ll slit your throat if you flirt with other dragons, right?” Saltflat said.

“The scary thing is, I can’t tell whether she’s joking or not.”

“She’s joking because she hasn’t done anything yet,” Qibli said, grinning.

“LALALA IGNORING YOU.” Winter stuck his claws in his ears and made a constant humming sound.

“Oh, oh, oh, watch this!” Qibli said, and then made a high-pitched tone for about three seconds.

“AUGH,” Winter said, and then fell over and started spasming all over the floor, rolling onto his side and spinning in a circle. After about a minute, he sat up and glared at Qibli like he was seriously considering murdering him.

“Do… you… have… ANY idea… how much… pain… that causes me?” He panted.

Aphid raised her eyebrows, made a concerned face, and then pointed at Saltflat, who was making the noise Winter had been making with her claws in her ears.

“Well, no. But it looks funny.”

“Yeah. Just because it looks funny means it’s okay, huh?” Qibli stared at his claws and shook his head slightly. “No,” he mumbled.

#CRYING SCREAMING SOBBING THANK YOU GUYS!!!!!!!!!!#crazy that ppl can be like “yellow!” and they'll be like “oh yeah him!” like. bro i made this account TWO MONTHS AGO CAUSE OF A COIN FLIP 😭#anyways ty guys!!#i'm not tagging this. please god no #ppl don't deserve to have to see this lmaoooooo;#aren't you guys SO HAPPY #anyways i'm gonna make a dtiys :)#it's. this fanfic. /j #not skeletons #yellow writes #not tapeworms #poking this at you with a 10 foot pole

11 notes · View notes

ienjoywritingfilth · 3 months

Text

the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn."

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him.

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly.

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together."

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago.

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his.

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying.

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins.

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body.

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come.

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you.

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure."

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours.

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore."

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large.

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine.

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress. You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air.

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast.

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game.

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once."

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves.

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress.

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you.

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting.

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders.

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man.

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy.

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue.

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him.

You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again.

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill.

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back.

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good.

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt.

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat.

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish.

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him.

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees.

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself."

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his. You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks.

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great.

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind.

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all.

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth.

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done."

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back.

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb.

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would.

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders.

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name.��

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him.

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim.

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs.

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle.

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars.

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest.

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll.

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you.

"Say it."

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust.

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face.

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire."

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt.

"Say it."

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking.

"I am . . . I am. . ."

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is.

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!"

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum.

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it.

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair.

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls.

"Are you satisfied?"

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth.

"I am, wife."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #trope #forced marriage

2K notes · View notes