#*(&&. conversations | marcus f. )

[absurdthirst]

Ordinatio {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 15.4k

Warnings: Political intrigue, force/arranged marriage, mentions of infertility, vaginal fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, breast play, nipple biting, riding, talks of family planning, pull out game, attempted theft, brutal attack, Marcus going feral, mentions of pregnancy, betrayal, gladiatorial violence

Comments: Forced to marry general Marcus Acacius, you are ordered by your emperors to spy on him in order to make sure that he is not indulging in traitorous acts. Quickly falling for the war roughened solider, you must risk the wrath of the Emperors in order to possibly have a future with him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Swallowing harshly, you wait for the carriage to stop in front of the palace that towers over the city below on Palatine Hill. The shuffle of the Praetorian guards always makes you nervous, they answer only to the emperor and would kill anyone they deem a threat. It’s nerve wracking to be summoned so late at night that the torches that normally light the streets were burned out and the silence makes echoes through the darkness. Your cloak covers your hair, hastily fashioned when your household was disturbed merely an hour ago. Just the order that you were to appear before Geta and Caracalla as soon as you dress. The carriage had been waiting outside and your servant was pushed away when she tried to join you. Leaving you alone with the guards to travel just outside the city. Everything looks ominous at night, maybe it’s because your late husband so often spoke of the rot beneath the surface, but you still shiver. Jumping slightly when the door opens and you are helped out and directed to follow the flowing cape of the guard into the large palace.

You are escorted through the halls until you enter a room to the side of the court, the fires burning and casting shadows on the marbled walls. You stand there, two guards on either side of the door, and you are there for several moments until the Emperors both stride in and you bow your head, heart thumping as you await the reason why you’ve been brought here in the middle of the night.

You shiver when you see the two most powerful men in all of Rome. Uneasy by their almost manic expressions as Geta practically giggles. “This will be perfect, Caracalla.” He coos, stepping unreasonably close to you and gripping your chin so he can examine your face. “What do you think?”

“She will be perfect.” Caracalla giggles, eyes manic and they inspect you, dragging up and down your body. “He will not be able to resist her once she is in his possession.” You frown, not liking where this could be going. “You are to marry General Marcus Acacius.” Geta declares and claps, you resist the urge to pull your chin from the Emperor’s grip. You open your mouth before you think better of it, allowing the Emperor to continue, “you’ll marry him and report back to us any conversations or exchanges he has with anyone in the Senate or the army.” Geta orders and you cannot withhold your tongue, “marry the General to spy on him?” You ask and Caracalla giggles, “yes.” Geta sighs, “your late husband was a good man. Misguided in his views to an extent but we know he would’ve married a good woman. You are still young, it is sad to see you widowed.” You don’t buy their false concern for your being. “And the General?” You question softly and Geta continues, “we fear the General has become too…influential in court and in the Senate. We wish to discover if he has plans to establish a coup. We wish to avoid killing our General if we can. Perhaps you could…influence him to withhold any plans of attack.” Geta hums and Caracalla smirks, “with your cunt.” Your chin is finally released and you offer them a stiff smile, “the General is not a stupid man, he would recognize the ruse.” You say, knowing you’ll be killed if you refuse. No one denies the Emperor of Rome. 

“He will not if we order the marriage. He still mourns his wife and child. Perhaps giving him something outside of war will mellow him from any unwanted…advances to the palace.” Caracalla raises his eyebrows, “do you not think you are up to the task?” He dares you and you swallow, “I- I will not disappoint you.” You promise, praying the idea fades with the sunrise and you can continue living in your villa without need for a husband. “Excellent. We shall inform the General of your wish to marry once the sun has risen. You may go.” Geta dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Yes, Emperor.” You bow your head and back towards the door until they say your name, “fail us and you will be fed to the lions.” Geta warns and Caracalla’s shrieks of delight echo off the marbled walls. You nod, bowing your head again and you rush out the room once the guards open the doors. You have to make a plan to survive, to escape from under the thumb of the Emperor.

Marcus sighs as he adjusts the cuff around his wrist. It’s elaborate and unnecessary. Just like the laurel wreath he wears in his hair. The trappings of Rome had once held appeal when he was younger, brasher. When his wife was here to greet him with a lusty kiss and promises of pleasures far beyond what he had imagined while laying in his cold tent outside the battlefields. Those dreams had long since been buried with her and the child she had suffered to bring into the world only to be lifeless when he slipped from her womb. Leaving him alone to focus on war and follow orders. Orders that he is increasingly uneasy with, the regrets of battle following him and the weariness of the continuous fight weighing on him. Roman conquests need to be countered with prudence, allowing the people to flourish in other parts of the realm instead of just the grandiose of the capital. He taps his hand on his knee as he waits, looking out over the olive trees in the gardens below and he wonders what war the emperors have decided to wage now, the senate unwilling or unable to keep them in check. 

“Ah General Acacius, thank you for joining us.” Geta crows as he swaggers into the room, Caracalla’s eyes manic and a grin on his face as he approaches Marcus. “Emperors.” He bows his head after he stands up, the laurel flashing in the sunlight coming through the linens covering the balcony. “So glad you could come on such short notice. We have some wonderful news to share.” Caracalla smirks and Geta continues by saying your name. “She is the widow of Senator Gracchus?” Marcus tilts his head, recognizing your name and he knows you from events thrown in the palace. “Yes. She is young, widowed at such a young age with no father to oversee her. She must marry again. And she will marry you.” Geta declares like it’s an honor.

Marcus pauses, his jaw tightening slightly and he clasps his hands together in front of his robes. “That is…..a great honor.” He says stiffly, immediately opposed to the idea, but he has to tread carefully with the emperors. They are impetuous at the best of times and have never learned how to accept rejection. Why would they have to when the world bows to their whims? “I fear that I would be unable to provide for a wife of such a status.” He adds, making it actually sound as if he has regret. “I spend so much time away from Rome, fighting for my emperors.” He sighs. “I fear that the young widow would not be happy with a husband such as I. Perhaps one closer to the senate might be more suitable?” 

“She does not wish to have another senator husband. She wants protector. Someone who can provide for her in ways other than coin. She expressly wishes for a gladiator and you are our most prized fighter. You are worthy of a high bred woman like her. Consider this a reward for your loyalty to Rome.” Geta insists, not letting Marcus push off the marriage. You must marry him. “A union like this will bring our fighters good spirit so they win our battles. Knowing they too could possess such a woman would motivate them to fight harder. The people want to see their General happy and we-” Geta gestures between him and Caracalla, “wish to award our greatest fighter with a grand prize. She is self sufficient, running her late husband’s household which we will assign to his brother as he had no direct heir. She will ensure your home is cared for and warm your cock at night.”

There is no way that he can reject the woman without offending the emperors. It seems as if he has no choice right now but to accept this. “You honor me.” He bows slowly, seething inside. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t want to know you. He has no need for a wife and can have all the companionship he desires if he just wants his cock warmed.

A horse neighs as a soldier brings news from the palace and you scramble when your servant brings you the scroll. You quickly unroll it, praying to the gods that you have been released from your duty and your shoulders drop when you read that you are to marry Acacius in two days time.  Your villa will be transferred to the hands of your brother in law, Albus, as you are to move into the General’s villa. You fall into your chair as you reread the scroll. It’s over. You must marry and you are to be under the control of the Emperors. You could run, try to escape into the countryside but you know they would find you. No one escapes Rome. No matter how far you go, you will be found. You swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes, and you look up when Antonia enters, “is everything okay, matronae?” She asks and you nod, sniffing to control your emotions. “I wish for you to pack my things, I am to be wed to General Marcus Acacius. I will need to relocate to his residence after we are wed in two days' time.” You declare and her eyes widen, knowing of no existing relationship between you and the General. “Ye-yes, matronae.” She nods and rushes off, leaving you to wallow in your unfortunate luck.

“I will not do it!” The crockery shatters against the marble walls of the villa. The servant who had just brought the meal scurrying out of the room in order to avoid Marcus’s wrath. His chest heaves as he looks at the ruined meal, food scattered and his situation still just as hopeless as it had been moments before. “Fuck.” He hisses, dropping back onto the chair and reaching for the cup of wine that he hopes will drown his sorrow. He will be married in two days’ time. Another wife to bear his name and his children. He scoffs to himself and puts the wine to his lips. You had not born Gracchus any children so perhaps you are barren. It would be the gods favoring him if you were. He has no desire to have children, to leave a legacy behind. The pride he had for Rome had slowly eroded away over the years and campaigns, leaving him with a hollowness he can never tell anyone about. “Fuck.” He slams the cup down and rubs his hand over his face. The villa will be ready when you arrive, the servants already informed, he just needs to accept it himself.

You bid goodbye to the servants that you’ve overseen since you arrived at your late husband’s villa. They look sad to see you go and you take that as a compliment. You sigh and only Antonia follows you as you are helped into the quadriga as you depart for the palace. Your hair styled by your servant and the red veil placed over your head as you ride to your fate. The General will be waiting for his bride and you pray you don’t disappoint him. You’ve seen glimpses of him but you’ve never been able to properly look upon the man. “All will be well.” Antonia promises as she reaches for your hand to squeeze it. “I hope so.” You whisper, knowing this will be a life or death situation for you. When you arrive at the palace, you are helped out of the carriage and escorted up the stairs to the doors to the grand hall. You glance around, “am I not allowed to see my intended before we wed?” You ask the guard who doesn’t say a word. You swallow harshly and Antonia rubs your arm before she checks your long tunic, ensuring you are a beautiful bride. “Thank you, Antonia.” You murmur and she offers you a sweet smile, “I will be with you with every step, matronae.” She promises and you squeeze her hand and take a deep breath just as the doors open to reveal a grand hall full of the members of the court and Senate. The Emperors standing on the balcony with what seems like the entire Roman Empire watching below as General Marcus Acacius stands there dressed in white with a golden laurel atop his head.

Of course Geta and Caracalla have turned this into an ostentatious event. He would have preferred something intimate, or nothing at all. However, the emperors had other plans and invited the entire senate to witness the marriage. Marcus doesn’t flinch, standing tall and watching as you walk towards him. The red veil covers your face and he can make out your features as you move closer. You are a beautiful woman, but he’s never paid much attention to another man’s wife. Now you will become his wife.

You inhale deeply as you take a step up to the balcony and the General holds his hand out to help you. You thank him softly and the Emperors grin. Marriage is usually informal, decided upon between families and within the home but the Emperors planned for a spectacle. “We welcome you here to witness the marriage of a great Roman General, Marcus Acacius. He is to wed the widow of Senator Gracchus.” Geta announces and Marcus releases your hand. The marriage scroll is laid out on the table and you have no dowry. Lacking a father along with your late husband accepting your dowry, you have nothing to give but yourself. A fact that the general doesn’t seem to care about. The crowd cheers and the court claps, making you feel more like you’re about to become Empress than the general’s wife. “Let us witness their union. A gift from Rome to her greatest warrior.” Geta declares and the crowd cheer, making your hands shake slightly. “Now, join hands.” He orders and you nod, joining your shaky hands with Acacius who frowns as he grips your hands in his large ones.

Marcus doesn’t like the idea of you being a gift. Not caring for the implication you are being forced, even if both of you are. The whims of the emperors must be met. Your hand is small in his, soft. You are a woman of nobility, you are not used to rough men. That is what he is, despite the finery of his costume. He remembers a different wedding, a lifetime ago in the small parlor of his late wife’s house. He had been so excited then, and now he is hesitating to say the words that are expected. “Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” He murmurs, his voice low and clear.

You swallow harshly, your throat dry as the Emperors look to you expectedly. You look at

Acacius and lick your lips. Caracalla shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly and you manage to choke out “ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” to seal yourself in marriage to the general. The Emperors grin and you know there’s no escaping this fate. Your union must be sealed with a kiss so you let go of Marcus’s hands and wait for him to lift your veil.

Marcus stares at you. Almost surprised to find that you are so young. He feels much older compared to your youthful beauty and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a brief kiss while everyone around erupts into cheers. The marriage contract will still need to be signed, but the two of you are married in the eyes of Rome.

The cheers roar in your ears but you blank it out, focused on the rough looking man in front of you who is now  your husband. The Emperor snaps his fingers and his servant carries over the papyrus that will be the marriage contract between you and General Acacius. “Please sign to join in matrimony with your intended.” Greta orders you and you swallow, picking up the pen to sign your name on the marriage contract. Your hand shakes and you hesitate, not wanting to marry the man beside you but you have no choice. Caracalla stares at you, a menacing look on his face that has you scribbling your name in fear of the consequences of not marrying the General. You look up to see the grin of glee on the Emperor’s face and you stand up, handing the pen to Marcus.

Sighing softly, Marcus leans over and scribbles his name beside yours. Making the marriage contract legal and binding. You are now his wife in truth. “Excellent!” Geta claps his hands together. “Now we will slaughter a dozen pigs, sacrificing them to the gods for a blessed union!” It’s excessive and disgustingly wasteful, making Marcus curl his lip slightly. The animals would not feed anyone, and people in Rome were buckling under the expense of war.

You want to suggest a cake for Jupiter but you will not argue with the Emperors. You swallow harshly and the Emperors clap, approaching the balcony edge to declare the union. The crowd cheers, “feliciter!” and the Emperors spin around to both cheer, “let us feast.” You look at Marcus whose jaw is clenched and you bite your inner cheek, imagining he is not pleased with you, you are not young enough, pure enough. You have no dowry to provide. Perhaps you’re not pretty enough for him. Lacking in all aspects. You don’t have time to dwell on it when Antonia comes for you to prepare you for the feast. You look at Marcus as you are taken away and he nods, his laurel shining like he’s Mars himself standing there.

He has a wife. A woman that he knows nothing about is now under his care and carrying his name. He receives the congratulations of the Senate, aware that they are all just as confused as he is by the speed and celebration of the events. Especially when neither he nor you look particularly happy. Marcus had noticed how nervous you had seemed and had wondered if it was because of the emperor’s attentions or if you did not care to be under a man’s thumb again. He is aware of the way the two most powerful men are carefully watching him as he shakes hands with the senators, keeping his conversations brief because he knows Geta and Caracalla would rather be feasting than talking. They love to drink and carouse, and he hopes that the wedding feast they have prepared will not turn into the orgies they are becoming known for.

Antonia removes your veil and restyles your hair for the reception. She reaches into the pocket for the bottle of perfume oil, rubbing it into your skin to refresh you and you exhale shakily, realizing you are married once again. “I hope he is not cruel.” You confess to Antonia who shakes her head, “I spoke with one of his house servants, he is strict but does not hit them. I pray to the gods he treats his wife the same.” She whispers, knowing that most nobles would smack her for speaking as she does but you request her candid nature. “Very well, let’s return and feast. I am anxious for wine to calm my nerves.” You confess and Antonia nods, escorting you to the hall where the feast is being laid out for the guests.

Marcus has not yet sat down. Always finding it rude when a man would put his own comfort before that of his wife. While training with him, he had heard stories of Maximus’s devotion to the woman he had loved, the care in which he had treated her when she was alive before Commodus had her brutally murdered. He had treated his first wife the same way and had been rewarded with the loyalty and love that he had cherished when he was away. Eyes turn towards you when you arrive and Marcus is once again struck by your beauty, your slight apprehension as you look around for him and the surprise that he is not already feasting.

Antonia escorts you to the table where your husband sits alongside the Emperors who are gulping down wine like it’s going to evaporate at any moment. Antonia bows her head and rushes off to the servants area, watching you while Marcus pulls your chair out and gestures for you to sit. “Thank you.” You murmur, taking your seat and he sits down beside you, his posture stiff as you look at the food on display. “My Emperors have been most generous in their hosting of our union.” You declare to Marcus so Geta and Caracalla hear you, wanting to ensure they are in good spirits so you can leave the feast earlier than expected.

“Yes.” Marcus finds it to be a lavish expense that is completely unnecessary, but so many of the Emperor’s decisions cost the people of Rome. “The excess is very abundant.” He picks up the cup of wine that is at his plate and offers it up in a toast. “To Rome and her glory.” He offers. “And our Emperors that make it so.”

“To Rome and her glory.” You toast and Caracalla giggles, holding up his golden goblet. “And your Emperors.” He adds with raised eyebrows. “And her Emperors.” You declare with a stiff smile. You know you are playing a dangerous game with the manic leaders. Any moment they could change their mind and have you killed. You doubt you’ll be able to report anything on the general. He seems reserved and only speaks when he feels he has something of substance to add. He doesn’t speak at all while you enjoy the meats, cheeses, and fruits on display in front of you. You gesture for another cup of wine when Caracalla tuts, “you really shouldn’t drink so much. It’s unbecoming of the bride to be drunk when she takes her husband’s cock for the first time.”

Marcus’s brow arches up, wondering why the emperor is so invested in this marriage being consummated. Your fingers pull back from the cup as if you are being rebuked and the servant pulls the carafe of wine away, but Marcus turns around to take it himself, refilling your cup. “There is no celebration without wine.” He reminds them, refilling his own cup as well. “She has been a wife before, she knows what is expected of her.” The truth is, he has no intention of bedding you tonight, he doesn’t know you and he feels as if you don’t want him. This is a marriage that was forced on both of you by the whims of madmen.

Your eyebrows raise slightly at the defiance shown by Marcus. Something that would’ve gotten him killed if he were of a lower rank. Geta stares as Marcus takes a sip of wine and you follow your husband, taking a gulp as the Emperor tilts his head. It’s Caracalla that breaks the tension by throwing his head back and laughing, “this is true. She is no virgin. She has been trained and therefore should satisfy our great general before he has to venture off to claim more land for Rome and her people.” The Emperor grins and raises his goblet towards you. You offer him a stiff smile and glance around the room at the court and senate feasting while the people of Rome suffer for their gluttony. The feast continues with Geta and Caracalla standing up to mingle around the room, wanting to boast about their perfect match. “Shall we return to your villa? I am certain you wish to bed me and get some rest after such an arduous day.” You ask your husband softly.

He nods, figuring that he could speak with you in private without guards or servants around. It is rare to be able to speak freely. “Your possessions arrived earlier today and my servants unpacked them, but I am sure you wish to have things set up to your liking.” He murmurs as he stands up and reaches for your hand. “Do you have many servants coming with you?”

“Just one. Antonia. The others were my late - were Gracchus. They belong to his brother now.” You reveal and he nods as you take his hand. It’s calloused and engulfs yours, making you apprehensive that such a strong man could easily break you. You approach the Emperors and bow your head as your husband announces your departure.

Geta chuckles and nods. “Eager to fill her.” He claps Marcus’s shoulder and motions for the two of you to leave. “I do not blame you for wanting to feel the clutch of her cunt around your cock. The spoils of your latest conquest.” His shrill laughter grates on the general’s ears and he doesn’t do more than simply nod. “We have much to do.” He agrees.

Marcus escorts you through the bustling hall, Antonia and his own men on your trail as he takes you to the carriage that is waiting to bring you to his villa. Marcus helps you up into the carriage and you settle in to watch the city pass by on your silent journey to his villa. “I know that neither of us wanted to be wed but we must do what is required of us so we do not endure the wrath of the emperors. I wish for you to bed me tonight. To consummate the marriage as I do not trust that the Emperors do not have eyes watching our moves. If we fail to indulge them in our union, we will suffer.” You whisper, keeping your face turned away from your husband.

Marcus snorts softly and sighs. “I do not rape on a battlefield and I would not do so in my own bed.” He tells you. “We can send the servants away and say that we have fulfilled our marriage duties.” He knows you are uneasy so he doesn’t touch you. “I will not take a woman by force or coercion.”

You turn to look at him, his face flickered with each lamppost you pass, and you are surprised. Most men would have accepted your offer to have a warm cunt to spill inside without any care to how you feel or what you wish. “Thank you.” You whisper, knowing in that moment that the stories of the brutal warrior that fights for Rome has not returned to her streets. The man beside you is slow in his movements and you realize that he’s trying not to spook you. “I am no stranger to married life and I have heard that you were married too. I am sorry for the loss of your wife and child. I cannot - I cannot imagine-” You reach for his hand, “I lost my husband but I did not love him. My father arranged the marriage to guarantee his connections to the senate and we never were blessed with children. He was older, I was his third wife after his previous wives died from disease and a snake bite. He was unlucky and I do miss his companionship but I never loved him.” You confess, wanting your husband to know your history.

“Then you have my deepest sympathies that your second marriage is also not of your choosing.” Marcus looks down at your smaller hand in his and there is a moment where his heart jolts. You are soft and sweet and deserve much more than him. “My uxor- we loved each other very much. She was everything to me.” He admits. “I had thought to never marry again after burying her and our son.”

You squeeze his hand, “I’m sorry that you’ve been pushed into this but I want you to know that I would never try to take her place. This is an arrangement forced upon us. Your wife will be your true love. I am here to help with your household and provide you with a confidant if that is what you wish for.”

“You are a beautiful and youthful woman.” He murmurs honestly. “You won’t want to find pleasure?” He asks, wanting there to be honestly between both of you if this union is to be successful in the eyes of the Emperors. “What do you want out of this arrangement?”

“I want freedom. I have been running the household for a year and I wish to have my freedom, to not be under the control of my husband’s whims. I will provide for you a stable household and in return, I want to spend my time indulging in painting and needlework. My hobbies.” You confess, “and for pleasure…I have never known such a thing other than from my own hand.” You admit, “you cannot yearn for what you have not experienced.”

Marcus is stunned that you have never known pleasure. He would be lying if he did not immediately think to offer to show you pleasure. He could give it to you, he knows that. Even the whores that he sometimes uses that follows the army find pleasure with him. “I am gone from the city much of the time.” He reminds you. “The household is more yours than mine. The servants will do what you tell them to. Your time is yours to decide how to spend it.”

You nod, letting go of his hand, “thank you. Then we are in agreement. Our union will be one of convenience and to satisfy the whims of the Emperors. I will not sully your name by seeking pleasure from others.” You promise, “and I understand if you find your pleasure while you are away.” You’re a pragmatic woman, you know men need to find their pleasure.

“That will not happen.” Marcus admits. “It would be dishonorable to take another woman to my bed while you are my uxor.” He has a code that he follows. Even if he did not want to be married, he will not tarnish his reputation by seeking pleasure somewhere else. “I have a hand.”

You frown, knowing that most men would take your invitation and find the first whore to bury himself in. "Very well. We shall live our lives...together but separated." You declare just as you arrive at Villa Acacius. Marcus opens the door and holds out his hand, helping you out and you look up at your new home. It's not as grand as the Senator's home but it is beautiful. You enter the courtyard and smile at the servants awaiting your arrival.

Marcus normally allows the servants to run his household, not carrying much about the schedule of things as long as the place is clean. Now you might change things so he leads you over to them. “This is your new matronae, my uxor.” He introduces you. “She will oversee your work and any changes she wishes to make are to be treated as if they came from me.” He orders.

The servants nod, greeting you and some are more enthusiastic than others. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I want to observe during my first days here and then I will discuss what I’d like to change with input from you all on what you consider to be best.” You declare and some are shocked that you are considering their opinions. “My job begins tomorrow. For now, I’d like to retire to our rooms.” You declare and Antonia steps from behind you, “this is Antonia, my handmaid. She will be continuing her duties by my side.” You announce and the staff nod.

Marcus is pleased with the way that the introductions went and he turns around to stride off towards his room. He knows that you will have to sleep there, with him, but he needs a moment to change out of the cumbersome robes he had worn to get married in. Preferring a plainer, softer tunic when he is home.

You watch him go and Antonia is speaking with the women who give her a briefing on your new home. Antonia nods and turns back towards you, “let us get you ready for bed, matronae.” She says and you follow her to the room near where Marcus is changing. The room along from there is the bedchamber and you close your eyes as Antonia takes your hair out of its style to allow you to relax and you’re soon wearing a thin tunic, ready for bed. “I hope he treats you well, matronae.” She murmurs and squeezes your hand before she leaves you. You inhale shakily and enter the room you will be sharing with the general to find him standing there, shoulders broad in the thin tunic and he is looking to the streets below. “All is well?” You ask, letting him know of your presence.

Marcus turns and is struck by your beauty as he sees you in the simple tunics and your hair down. The jewelry is gone and you look like you are much younger than your years. It makes him feel older all of a sudden and he wonders again why the emperors would give you to him. “As well as can be expected.” He answers, watching as you look towards the bed warily as if you expect him to break his promise from earlier and throw you down on it. “I will sleep on the floor.” He assures you, making you drown. “That is not- it’s your bed.” You protest and Marcus snorts. “I have spent many nights sleeping on a rocky ground without a blanket.” He reminds you. “A floor with cushions will be a luxury.” He shrugs. “I wish to put you at ease.” He admits. “I will not take what is not offered, and you have no reason to offer if you find no pleasure in fucking.”

You stare at him and sigh, “I do not wish to cast my husband from his bed. We are well aware of the sexual act and what it takes to copulate. We can be adults and share a bed so you do not wake with an aching back.” You announce as you walk over to the bed. “I am weary. It’s been a long day. Get in bed and sleep, Marcus.” You order, not wanting to argue about this.

He stares at you for a moment and there is a hint of amusement that softens his features. “If you were a man, you would make a good general.” He hums, moving to the bed and throwing back the soft, clean sheets. “Come rest.” He urges once he has sat down.

You nod and sit on the bed, swinging your legs in and you pull the sheets up after Marcus slides under them. “I know I wasn’t what you wanted but I want to make this work.” You murmur and he hums, “we will.” He promises and you sigh, closing your eyes after he blows out the candle. You will need to report to the Emperors with something about him at some point and you already feel like you’re betraying him. “Goodnight.” You whisper and close your eyes as you fall asleep within moments, unable to worry about being in a strange place when you are exhausted.

Marcus lays in the darkness, listening to your breathing as it starts to slow down. The soft rustle of the sheets when you move. Looking over at you as the moon casts a pale glow through the sheer curtains covering the balcony. It’s a curse that you are so beautiful right now, since it has been some time since he has had a woman in his bed. His cock twitches as he imagines touching you, but he doesn’t reach out. Turning away and looking at the stand where his sword is displayed, sighing softly as he wonders how long it will be before the emperors send him off to war again.

You may have fallen asleep right away but you wake in the middle of the night. The moon is high in the sky and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. You inhale sharply when you remember you’re in Marcus’s villa. In your new home. You exhale and lean back onto the bed, looking over at the muscular back of your new husband. He’s handsome, no denying that fact, and he’s strong. Capable. Smart. All qualities to want in a man. You wonder what his desires are. He hasn’t been married for 20 years and you wonder who he fucks. He can’t be celibate. He’s a general. You’re not stupid enough to think he hasn’t slept with whores. You wonder if he pleasured them or simply took what he wanted. You can see his golden skin illuminated by the moon, moles and scars mapping his life before you and you can’t help but reach out to gently trace a path, your touch feather light. He grunts and you withdraw your hand, eyes wide at the idea of being caught. You sigh when he settles back down and you lean back on your side. Staring up at the ceiling, you imagine him giving you pleasure. You’ve read about it plenty of times but your late husband always fucked you to fill you. There was never a day in bed pleasuring each other. He had business to attend to in the senate and he didn’t have time for silly things like making his wife cum.

Marcus had woken up the second you touched him. Feigning sleep as he waited for you to slip from the bed. Only to feel you roll away from him and sigh. He wonders if you are regretting this, if you are doubtful of your future even though you had seemed to trust him enough to fall asleep. You grunt quietly and sigh, like you are thinking about something that is uncomfortable. “What keeps you awake, uxor?” He asks quietly in the dark.

His deep, sleep laden voice makes you squeak and you turn to look at him, his back still facing you. You bite your lip, wondering if you should lie or tell him the truth. You are no longer a young innocent bride. You were a widow, matured by loss. "I was wondering if you pleasured the lovers you've had during your time of being a widow." You declare, cheeks burning but you speak without wavering.

Marcus grunts slightly, the sheets rustling as he turns over to look at you. His dark eyes searching your face for some clue of what you are thinking. “Unless they cry out to gods falsely, I would say yes.” Marcus tells you, not bragging, but speaking honestly. “I do not like false attempts to flatter me and I prefer that a woman leave my bed with a smile on her face.”

You appreciate his candid response and you decide to be bold. You sit up, shifting to look down at him and you drop the sheets from your body. "I have never cried to the gods. My last husband would penetrate me without caring if I was wet enough before he would push into me. He would spill inside me and then go about his day, leaving me with my legs up in hopes of conceiving his child. He never - he never gave me pleasure or made sure I was enjoying myself." Marcus makes a noise of disappointment but you don't let him comment when you quickly add, "I want you to fuck me. Like you would a camp whore. I want you to make me cry your name so every god will hear me on Capitolium."

Pushing up to his elbow, Marcus stares at you seriously. “The camp whores are used to…rougher sex.” He warns you. “After war, after the killing- the urges to fuck are rough. There isn’t the pretty lovemaking that is slow and sweet.” His cock hardened even now thinking of it. “It’s hard and deep. Enough to steal your breath and make your tits shake from the force of my thrusts.” He arches a brow. “Are you sure that is what you want? I am sure your senator husband didn’t fuck you like I would.”

His words combined with his deep voice makes your cunt clench and dampen, and you lean closer to him, "my husband didn't make me see stars. He didn't make me cry. I want you to fuck me like you do those whores. Make me scream for all of Rome to hear. I can handle it. I can take it."

This time, the kiss Marcus gives you isn’t chaste. It’s not a quick pressing of his lips to yours to appease the Emperors. This is wet, carnal. Lunging forward and capturing your lips with his and sliding his tongue into your mouth as he rolls you onto your back. Completely and instantaneously taking over as his fingers reach for the hem of your tunic.

You gasp into his mouth, tongue meeting his and you whine when he breaks the kiss to drag your tunic up your body, tossing it down on the marbled floor. You shiver as the cool night air hits your skin and he shifts to kneel, his dark eyes looking down at you. You look up at him and reach for the hem of his tunic, already tenting with his arousal. "I want to see my husband."

He has no problem being naked, revealing himself for you. He pulls his tunic up and his cock catches, starting to bob as he pulls it up over his head and tosses it aside. “Spread your legs for me, bella.” He growls, his voice raspy and full of command. “Let me see my wife’s cunt.”

You are already wet just from the strength he displays and you whimper, spreading your legs for him and your slick is shiny in the moonlight as you put yourself on show for your new general husband.

Marcus groans, his large hands squeezing your thighs and then moving down to your hips, holding them as his thumbs spread apart the lips of your sex and his cock twitches. Sliding his fingers through your folds until he is circling your entrance with two fingers until they are wet with your desire and he pushes them inside your slick walls. “Perfect.”

You moan when his thick digits push into you, stretching you out. Your hands itch to touch him so you reach down to wrap your fingers around his cock. “Not yet.” He growls, batting your hand away and you whine, both in frustration and pleasure as he starts to move his fingers. Slowly pumping them until he’s twisting his wrist so he can press his thumb against your clit. “Gods.” You gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets.

Leaning down, he bites at your nipple before running the flat of his tongue against it when you gasp. It makes him smile, the shocked sound you give. “You should see men suckling the tits of whores as they bounce on their cocks.” He groans against your skin. “They all love it, the men, the whores.” He continues to pump his fingers deeper into your cunt and loves how your walls start clenching down around them.

His words are scandalous but you gush at the thought of watching a scene like that. Something so sordid. “Marcus. I- do it again.” You beg and he obliges, leaning down to suck on your nipple before biting down. “Oh gods.” You whimper, your hips tilting as he works you higher and you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach. Something you’ve only ever done for yourself.

“That’s it.” He encourages you, his cock throbbing as he presses his thumb against your clit and pumps his fingers deep, curling them up inside you like one of the whores of his youth had shown him. He had been grateful to her ever since when he had been able to consistently please the women he was fucking, including his wife when he had married. “Why don’t you cry out for me, uxor?”

Marcus’s words send you over the edge. His claim of you both verbally and physically has you clamping down on his thick digits. “Oh fuck.” You curse, soaking his fingers when you cum harder than you ever have in your life.

He isn’t the type of man to just stop as soon as you start to cum. Continuing to work his fingers into you as he watches you come apart. Groaning quietly as your slick coats his fingers and slides down his wrists. You are wet enough now.

He takes your breath as he works you through it. “Marcus. Please.” You beg, wanting to feel him inside you, “I need you inside me.” You reach out to wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him like Gracchus taught you.

Marcus hisses, batting your hand away and for a moment you freeze, afraid you had done something wrong. “It had been too long.” He growls, grabbing your hips and flipping you over to your stomach to pull your ass up in the air. “I need to be inside you before I spill.”

The position is new and you gasp in surprise, looking over your shoulder at your new husband who has his cock in his hand, pumping himself as he smacks your ass with his free palm. “Fuck me.” You demand, arching your back to display yourself for him.

“You would make such a good camp whore.” Marcus growls, shuffling forward to line up. It’s not exactly a compliment to most high born women, but he doesn’t think you will take offense. His hand is on your hip as he presses the head of his cock at your wet entrance to push inside you in one, hard thrust.

He stretches you like you’ve never known but it doesn’t hurt. You moan in pleasure as he twitches inside your pussy, making you whimper his name. “Marcus.” You pant, “move.” You demand and he chuckles, “so desperate.” He pulls his hips back, leaving only the tip of him remaining before he pushes deep into you in one quick thrust. “Fuck!” You yelp, loving how he feels.

He chuckles and grips your hips harshly in his hand as he rocks into you. Watching as your body arches back as he pulls his hips back, withdrawing again. He had told you he wouldn’t be gentle with you and he is keeping his word. “Now you will cry my name.” He vows, pushing forward again to fill you up and rock your body into the bed beneath you.

He takes your breath away, feeling like he’s in your stomach and you cry out on every rock of his hips, falling forward onto your cheek as you grip the sheets that are crumbled beneath you. “Fuck, Marcus.” You cry, feeling your body jiggle with each thrust.

He had almost vowed that he would not touch you but he could not resist your request. Your body is so willing, so yielding to him, making him groan as he plows into you over and over again. Listening to your moans as he fucks you.

His hands squeeze your flesh and you are lost in the sensations. No one has made you feel like this before. “Gods, you’re - you’re so thick. Stretching me out, husband.” You whine, rocking back onto him.

He growls in pleasure, snapping his hips forward again and again. He won’t last long, he knows that. It’s been too goddamn long since he has fucked anyone. Leaning over your back, he slides a hand between your thighs and starts to rub the little pleasure button above your grasping entrance. “You are such a needy whore.” He coos in your ear.

His words make you squeal when combined with his fingers on your clit and it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart. You cry out his name loud enough that the servants will hear and your thighs shake as you clamp down on his cock.

“Shit, shit.” Marcus hisses in pleasure at how you soak his cock, rocking his hips through your pulsing orgasm. His body starting to tighten as he works himself closer. Pulling his hand away from your clit and grabbing your hips. Slamming his own against your ass for another few thrusts before he is ripping free of your cunt and taking his cock in his hand. Pumping furiously as he starts painting your ass with hot ropes of his seed.

You huff in disappointment when he spills hot cum on your ass. You wanted him to fill you up, to experience it. Not to become with child but to feel him. You look over your shoulder as he relaxes from his orgasm and he’s so beautiful. Jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, he looks like a god.

Marcus squeezes your hip with the hand that is still holding you and sighs. “Fuck.” He pants, feeling completely blissed out. Slapping your ass once before he is shuffling off the bed to reach for his tunic to clean your ass off. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You rest your cheek against the sheets as you let your body lay flat while he cleans you up. “I did. Why didn’t you- did you not wish to spill your seed inside me?” You ask curiously, looking over at him as he walks naked across the room, the moonlight highlighting his form.

Marcus picks up the pitcher of wine and pours a cup. Turning to you with a slight tilt of his head as he starts to pad across the floor back to the bed. “We have not talked about children.” He reminds you. “I did not want to fill you if you did not want to risk carrying my child.” He never spilled inside the women he fucked, always pulling out. When he started to cum, he had just acted on instinct. He takes a sip of the wine and offers you the cup.

You take the cup from his hand, thanking him soft and you watch him as he sits down beside you. He’s so broad. You imagine him protecting you, defending you. You shift closer to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling closer now you’ve consummated your marriage. “I do not mind children. I am not sure I can have them. Gracchus…he spilled inside me every time and it never took. Would I disappoint you if I do not provide you with a child?” You ask softly, pulling away from him so you can look at him.

“I …..never imagined having another child.” Marcus tells you honestly. He looks over at the sword on the display and then back to you. “If you never give me a child, I would not think it was because of you, but because the gods did not wish it so.” He rationalizes. “One day, I will leave and never return home, fallen in battle.” He accepted his fate a long time ago, made peace with it. “If you have no wish to risk carrying, I will spill my seed on the sheets.”

You barely know the man but to know he could die in battle makes your heart clench. “I’d like you to spill inside me if you wish to have me again. I enjoyed the pleasure. I want to feel you and if it takes, then we will be blessed and you can fight knowing your legacy will live on.”

Marcus chuckles. “You are a beautiful woman, one the gods would be envious of.” He tells you. “I am just a man. I would have you every night and at least once during the day if you were willing.”

You fluster, biting your lower lip as he compliments you. Your late husband never did so. “I will not complain if that is what my husband wishes of me.” You declare and he reaches out to grip your chin, “it is not about whether I wish it of you, it’s if you wish to have me.” He says and you look into those dark eyes, “I want you if you want me.” You promise and he slides his hand down to your neck, inhaling deeply. He never expected to fall into bed with the woman that was gifted to him but he finds himself eager to bury himself inside you again and fill you up. “Let us rest, corculum.” You say as you stand up to set your wine cup down on the table and you make your way back to the bed, sliding under the covers still nude.

Marcus hums in agreement and slides back into bed beside you. Pulling his arm back to allow you to curl against him if you wish. “I don’t mind.” He tells you when you hesitate. “We will rest and know that no one can claim we have not consummated our vow.”

You curl into his side, listening to his breathing even out and you focus on his heartbeat. You’re here to spy on him, to ensure he’s not hurting the empire with a coup but you aren’t sure if you can betray him like that. He’s already gotten under your skin. Eventually, you close your eyes and decide to see how things go. Perhaps it’s only rumors and there will be no evidence of Marcus Acacius’s unrest with Rome and her emperors.

****

Marcus groans, toes curling as he thrusts up into you. Watching as your breasts shake, mouth dropping open in a low moan of his name. It’s been nearly a month and he is still in Rome. The Emperors claim they want their general well rested for the next campaign and to give him time to spend with his new bride. He has enjoyed that. Since that first night, you have become insatiable and Marcus has fucked you in every position, on every surface of the villa. Spending more time with you than anyone else although you do disappear with your servant at times, claiming you prefer the peace of the women’s baths in the city center. He doesn’t begrudge you that, although he misses the time when you aren’t with him. He slaps your thigh, smirking when you clench down around him. Riding his cock is probably your favorite way to have sex and he doesn’t mind, your beauty entrancing him as you gallop towards the Elysian Fields of pleasure. “Cum for me, amica.” He moves to rub your clit like you enjoy, having learned your body well over the past weeks and his other hand drags your body down so he can suckle at your tits.

“Marcus.” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair as he bites down on your nipple and the change in angle has you falling apart for him. His fingers rubbing your bundle of nerves has you shaking and you have never known such ecstasy. You rock back onto his cock, trying to work yourself through your orgasm and spur his but it’s so much. Your thighs shake as you collapse on top of him, smothering him as you moan his name. He moves fast, rolling you over so you’re beneath him, his jaw clenched as he looms above you, his hand gripping your thigh to push it towards your stomach so he can work himself deeper inside your pulsing cunt. “It’s it, fuck. You are so deep. Keep going. Want you to fill me with your seed.” You order, watching him as he grunts. The last month you’ve been indulging in your new husband but as you look up at him, the guilt looms. Your trips to the baths have not been truthful. You’ve been to the palace to inform the emperors about Marcus’s interactions, his meetings while he is in Rome. You hate betraying him, wish you could go to the palace and tell them you’re done, but you know the emperors would have you killed for insolence and treason if you dared to deny them. So far, Marcus has met with a few senators at his home, discussing the mounting cost of the endless war, the endless conquests that have sent the Roman people into poverty. That idea alone is treason to the empire, to question the decisions of the emperors, but they haven’t dragged Marcus from his home. They are waiting for something and you don’t know what that is. Marcus reaches for your hand, lifting it above your head to bring you back from your thoughts and you moan, squeezing him inside your pussy. “Want you to cum for me, Maritus.” You order, sliding your free hand up his chest.

He groans, his thrusts stutter and he starts to give himself over to your command. Life with you has been so rewarding, so free. He has done nothing more than drink wine and have sex with you. Feeling more relaxed than he ever believed possible. The emperors had truly blessed him when they had forced the marriage and he can only hope that he had treated you well enough that you look on your union favorably. Every day he has spent with you has brought you closer to his once guarded heart and he knows that he would die for you. Having fallen for you sometime between the hours spent in bed and the conversations you have while you indulge in your hobbies. Often you would sit outside under a shaded tree and watch while he trains in the courtyard. Making him proud when you later attack him and beg him to fuck you after he is done and his sparring partners have been dismissed. It makes him think of a simpler life, leaving the army and moving out of the city to work a small farm. Leaving the intrigues of Rome behind.

You slide your hand up to caress his cheek, his grip on your hand tightening as he pulses inside you, painting your walls with his seed. “Marcus.” You whisper, wanting to tell him how you feel. You believed him to be a heartless brute from the stories you’d heard about the general but he’s shown you nothing but kindness. He’s funny, he’s smart, and he is loyal to Rome. Not her Emperors, but the Empire and you admire that. You know he risks his life trying to associate with the senators to try and quell the Emperors’ need for more land, more blood. You don’t want to betray him any longer. Tomorrow, you’ll go to the palace and try to end the task you’ve been given. You can no longer betray the man you love. He turns his head to kiss your palm and you offer him a loving smile, wanting to spend the rest of your life like this.

Marcus pulls out of you gently and rolls to his back, pulling you against him. He has learned that you enjoy the closeness after sex. The lazy conversation that can be shared after you are exhausted. Your last husband cared little about your thoughts and he can only wonder how foolish Gracchus was. You are far more insightful than anyone would believe, brains behind your beauty matching most of the officers under him. “You enjoy your baths, but have you always wanted to live in the city?” He asks, his fingers stroking your spine slowly.

You caress his chest as you throw your leg over his, enjoying the closeness. “Not always. I’ve imagined a little farm in the country. Growing my own fruits and vegetables, maybe even some vines to make wine. Peace and quiet and away from the hustle of the city. When I married Gracchus, I was barely grown, and I imagined having children and watching them run free in the country.” You confess, “what about you? Your position in the city is close to the gods. Only the emperors and senate sit above you. Would you ever give up that power?”

He hums, happy that you are sharing with him. “I am weary of it.” He confesses quietly. “I have never wanted power, fame or adulation. I want to live simply. Quietly.” He had hoped to save for a little farm when he was married to his first wife, but he had given up those dreams when she died. Now that yearning was starting to build inside him again. “Would you be happy to live that way with me? Without children?”

You smile, leaning in to kiss his jaw, “I’d follow you anywhere. With or without children.” You vow, “if you wish to leave Rome, I will be by your side.” You promise and he turns his head to kiss you, his tongue sliding into your mouth and you moan at the way he devours you. “Insatiable.” You tease when you feel his hand trailing up your thigh to your cum slicked folds. “For you, always.” He promises and you giggle as he flips you onto your back, a growl escaping his lips. 

****

You are reading a scroll outside under the olive tree, watching Marcus as he trains, and you turn your head when Antonia comes into the garden with a scroll. “Matronae, your presence is required at the baths.” She says your code and you sigh, shifting to stand after you hand her the scroll. Marcus pauses his training to look over at you, “Maritus, I will be heading to the baths.” You declare and he sets his sword down, striding over to you to cup your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. “Be careful.” He demands and you nod, pecking his lips as you step back and Antonia follows you when you enter the villa to prepare to leave.

Marcus sighs and reaches for the cloth to wipe his sweat away. “We are finished for today.” He decides, suddenly restless and uneasy about you leaving the villa. He’s not a man who ignores gut feelings so he decides that he will change and go out. If he happens to be near the baths that you frequent, it will be a coincidence.

You glance around the street as you make your way down the cobbled streets that lead to the baths before you’ll detour to the palace. You look over your shoulder, feeling like someone is following you and Antonia will wait at the baths to keep your cover. She doesn’t know what you’re doing but she keeps your secrets. You turn your head back to the street and moments later, your coin purse is grabbed from your belt and you are shoved to the ground. You hiss, hands grabbing your belt to stop them from robbing you but the man slaps your face, causing you to cry out. You keep hold on the coins and the man hits you again, grabbing your arms and you know he’s bruised you with his grip. He wrestles you as he grabs your belt and yanks, desperate to get the pouch of coins from your body. You scream for help, trying to slap the man and Antonia jumps on him but he swings her off and she hits the ground with a thud, a dazed look on her face.

The moment Marcus hears the scream, he knows his gut is right. The hood over his head is thrown back when he breaks into a sprint down the street. Citizens and slaves alike turn towards the sound, but Marcus ignores them, turning the corner to see a man on top of you, drawing his hand back to hit you. “Arghhhhhhh!” His screaming war cry distracts the man, giving him time to tackle him off of you in a red hazed fury. Enraged that someone would dare attack his wife, Marcus Acacius begins to hit him, over and over again.

You scramble to sit up, your body aching as Marcus hunches over the man, hitting him over and over. The crowd watches in shock and you are frozen as you witness your husband’s ferocity in person. He hits the man over and over until blood is pooling on the cobbled street and you scramble to stand, swaying as you approach slowly. “Marcus. Marcus. Maritus. Please -” You collapse back to the floor, your body aching as you struggle to stand and Antonia crawls to you as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your servant's cry is what breaks through the focused rage. Turning to see you pass out and he immediately abandons his task. Dropping the unconscious man back to the cobblestones to scramble over to you. “Uxor.” His bruised and bloodied hands are gentle as he cradles you, scooping you up into his arms. “Get a hippocrates.” He demands, his eyes filled with rage that you have been hurt. “Have them come at once.” He turns and starts to run back up the streets, carrying you back towards the villa.nmm

Marcus carries you through the streets and your head lolls as you regain consciousness in his arms. "Maritus?" You whisper, head throbbing and he stops walking to look at you in his arms. "You're awake." He murmurs, "we must get you home. A hippocrates will be there soon." He promises and you nod, closing your eyes again as he carries you until you're set down on the bench in the entrance of Marcus's villa.

Soon the servants are scrambling, fetching cool water and clothes when he orders them to. The wine is brought and he urges you to open your eyes and drink some, knowing you must be in pain. “What happened?” He asks, ignoring his own injuries as he starts to lift your dress to check your body.

You gulp down the wine and look at your husband, "he came from nowhere. He - he wanted my coins. From my belt. He was trying - he hit me. Over and over. Threw Antonia. Where's Antonia? Is she okay?" You demand and your servant steps forward looking worse for wear but okay. "I am fine, matronae." She promises and you sigh in relief. "He slapped me and pushed me down. I wouldn't let him take the coin and he was hitting me until you came and Marcus, oh carissima." You gasp, looking at his bloodied knuckles.

You reach for his head but he shakes his head, “I am fine.” He insists, knowing that he has been through much worse. A few busted knuckles is nothing compared to battle. “Where do you hurt, uxor?” He asks softly, wanting to make sure that the hippocrates examines you thoroughly.

"My head and my back. That's where he hit me. He was - I was so shocked. I should've fought harder." You shake your head and Marcus cups your cheeks to examine the tender skin from the hits to your face. Luckily the bastard didn't break the skin. "You were brave. Most would've simply given him the coins." He murmurs and you nod, wincing when his thumb presses against your tender flesh.

“I should have killed him.” Marcus growls. “The guards will hold him, but I will have to go speak to them about your attack.” He won’t leave you until you are being examined, unless you want him to stay. “I should have sent one of my guards with you.” He murmurs guiltily.

Your eyes meet his guilty ones, “do not think that way. I have never been attacked before and I had Antonia. You did nothing wrong. I will wait for the Hippocrates.” You murmur, knowing he wants to go speak with your attacker.

He is stubborn, staying with you until the man he had summoned is ushered into the villa. “She was attacked.” He explains. “I want her examined and treated. Nothing is to be overlooked.” He leans down and presses his lips to yours briefly. “I will leave you to his care and return shortly.”

You nod and watch Marcus leave your rooms as the man asks you what happened. "I was attacked. The man hit me over the head several times and pushed me to the ground." You reveal and the hippocrates asks you to remove your tunic so he can inspect your injuries. "Your husband wishes for nothing to be overlooked." He says and you wince as he pushes on your lower back where you fell. He asks you several questions and you pause when he asks when you last bled. You frown, counting until you realize you have missed your bleed. "It could be the stress of the marriage and moving and-" The hippocrates hums, "perhaps but you must be careful in case you are with child. We shall wait and see if you miss your bleed again." You nod, knowing you must take care and you slide your hand down to your stomach as the hippocrate applies a salve to your tender aches. You redress after the hippocates leaves and you are confronted by palace guards. "You are being summoned to the palace." Antonia tells you and you nod, wincing as you take your cloak and let the guards escort you to the palace. Marcus is not there to argue your presence and no one says no to the emperors.

Marcus watches as the guards bring the criminal into the cell, smirking at the swollen features of the man. “You fucked up.” He tells the poor bastard. “You assumed to rob a noble woman, not realizing who she was married to.” The man whimpers, both from his injuries and the implication behind the words. “Who does she belong to?” He scoffs, trying to appear like it makes no difference to him. The guard holding his shackles chuckles. “You beat Marcus Acacius’s wife.” He tells him.

You arrive at the palace, guided to the room to wait for the emperors and you bow your head when they stride inside. “Ah, we heard news that you were attacked and your husband protected you. That is why you did not arrive. We trust you are well.” Geta says and you nod, “tender and bruised but not gravely.” You declare and they smile, nodding, “we are glad to hear that but we want to hear news of your husband. We hear that he met with Senator Brutus.” Caracalla tilts his head and you raise your chin, “I will no longer speak of my husband’s meetings.” You declare and Geta raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?” You clench your sore jaw, “I will not speak of my husband’s affairs any longer.” You announce and Caracalla laughs, throwing his head back. “The insolence.” He spits after his smile drops. “I love him. I do not wish to betray his trust any longer.” You say defiantly and Caracalla growls, “you cunt. We are going to have you killed for your treason.” He hisses and you stand tall despite your heart pumping. “No, no. We gain nothing by killing her. Let’s invite her maritus to witness her betrayal.” Geta smirks and you gasp, “no. No. He can’t know.” You plead and Geta smirks, gesturing to his guard, “chain her and send someone for Marcus Acacius.”

Marcus watches as the criminal starts to cry, begging for his life as he contemplates the punishment for this man. He should have him killed, but in truth, the man is less than a plebeian, begging and scrapping by for survival. A result of the emperors foolish taxes to support their war mongering. Because his wife was the victim, he can choose the punishment. “He will serve in the army.” Marcus decides. “Since he has a need to plunder, he can do so in the name of Rome.” He doesn’t believe the man would survive long, but he will have food and a bed until he does die in battle. “General.” The cell door opens. “The Emperors demand your attendance at once.” The head guard for the Emporers is the one speaking, making Marcus wonder what has happened now.

You are shackled when Marcus arrives, striding into the hall and his brow furrows when he sees you chained. “What is the meaning of this? She’s injured.” He growls at the emperors who had waited for him to arrive. “Your dear wife has a secret.” Caracalla grins manically, clapping his hands. Marcus frowns, “secret? We have none.” Geta smirks, “oh she does. She’s been spying on you. Delivering details of your meetings directly to us. You see, we were concerned about your influence in the army, we wanted to ensure you were not planning a coup. Your dissatisfaction with our regime has not gone amiss and we know you have been vocal about this with the senators. We simply had to take precautions to maintain our status in the empire. We had your precious uxor spy on you. We ordered her to marry you and she has delivered on our orders until today. Today she suddenly has loyalty to you.” Geta scoffs and Caracalla rolls his eyes.

His brow furrows when he hears the accusations and his eyes find yours, stomach twisting when he sees the guilt and truth of their words in your eyes. “Marcus, please-“ he turns his head, his heart twisting, ignoring your plea as he faces the two emperors. If they know the conversations he has been having, he is dead anyway. “Rome is crumbling beneath our sandals.” He implores them. “The weight of the campaigns is heavy. Today, she was attacked by a man who can no longer afford to feed himself because of the taxes imposed for the war chest.” He doesn’t look over at you. “The poorest of Rome suffer heavily.”

You watch Marcus condemn himself and you shake your head. The Emperors stare at him and you swallow harshly. “You shouldn’t have - Marcus.” You whisper and Geta stares at him while Caracalla growls. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t - I didn’t want to but they threatened me and I- I love you. I never wanted to do this.” You promise with a cry.

Marcus doesn’t look over at you, waiting for his Emperors to determine his fate. Gets curls his lips into a cruel smile and claps his hands together. “I have the best idea for his punishment.” He cackles. “He will compete in the gladiatorial games!” His wide eyes swing towards you. “And she shall watch!”

Your eyes widen, “no. No. You cannot do that. I am the one who betrayed him. I am the one who refuses to continue spying. Don’t let him- he is a good general. He’s fought hard for you. Please. Take me. Don’t let him fight.” You plead on Marcus’s behalf.

They wouldn’t listen to you anyway, they never listen, but Marcus shakes his head. “If the emperors wish for my life to be fought for in the arena, then they will have their amusement.” He answers them, making them smirk as their personal guards surround him.

You shake your head, tears in your eyes as Marcus is dragged off and so are you. Taken in opposite directions and you are pushed into a cell, shackled, and you sob for your husband. For the life you loved with him that is now gone. Even if he survives the arena, he won’t want you. You have betrayed him. You don’t know how long you’re in the cell with nothing but dirty water until the cell door is opened and you’re dragged out by the guards.

“We cannot have you looking like a prisoner.” Caracalla titters as he smirks at your dirty and disheveled appearance when you are brought in front of him and Geta. “So we must clean you up.” He snaps his fingers and a female servant appears. “Wash her. Dress her in robes that will hide the chains.” He orders. “You will be sitting with us, isn’t that fantastic?” He asks. “The best view in the house as your dear Marcus fights for his life.” He tilts his head. “And yours.” He adds menacingly. 

You are numb as you are cleaned and scrubbed by the servant, dressed in a clean tunic and she wipes your tears after she hides the chains beneath your robes. “It’s time.” The guard declares as he opens the doors and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You ride to the Colosseum with tears stinging your eyes and you’re dragged up to the balcony where the Emperors are sitting on gold thrones, matching manic grins on their faces. “So glad you could join us.” Geta chuckles and you are pushed into a seat beside him, your chains rattling but hidden. You refrain from glaring at him, clenching your fists, and the crowd roars as Marcus walks out onto the sands. Your breath catches and you want to close your eyes, pretend this is a nightmare. “And who is my husband fighting? What man could match my husband’s skills?” You ask the Emperor and Caracalla chuckles, “not man. Men.” You inhale sharply as four men walk onto the sands.

The armor that he wears is his own, the subtle needling of the emperors’ visible to the crowds but unknown to all but those he had conspired with. The message that even an honored general of Rome, a man who had spent his life fighting for her glory, was not immune to the will of her emperors. Turning to the stands, it is easy to spot Geta and Caracalla, both of them laughing and drinking, merrily watching men fight to the death. His eyes find you, the horror written on your face making him pause as he brings his sword up over his heart, signaling his fealty to Rome. He turns and honors the men who will be fighting him, knowing that they have no choice in their fight and accepting that they will do their best to kill him. He had always known he would fall on a battlefield, he had just never assumed it would happen in the Colosseum.

Your heartbeat is deafening in your own ears as you watch the men rush towards Marcus, his sword swinging within seconds and you are terrified that he’s going to be killed. Your battle worn husband has fought many during his life but you worry he will die today in Rome, the Roman people witnessing his death. A symbol that even a great general can be taken down. “Please. He didn’t do anything. He’s fought hard for you.” You beg Geta, who scoffs, “by conspiring with others?” You shake your head, “to protect Rome and her people. Not against you.” You plead your husband’s case but it falls on deaf ears as your husband takes one man down.

This is needless. Marcus pants, gripping his sword firmly as the next man attacks. Crimson spilling from the man in the dirt and being mixed into a bloody paste as the general blocks the lunge, his foot shuffling back and he almost trips over the body.

You gasp when he stumbles and one of the men swipes his arm, cutting him. “Marcus.” You whimper, not wanting to scream and distract him. He grunts and swings back, the man crying out when his arm is chopping off. “Please, maritus.” You beg, needing Marcus to win.

Another man rushes him while the man he had just injured drops his sword to grab the bleeding appendage. Causing him to shift focus and move to the other man, grunting out when he grabs the man’s arm as he swings his sword down and shoves his own blade into the gladiator’s belly. Watching as his eyes widen when the pain registers and he realizes he will die on the hot sands.

You gasp when he has one man left to kill. The Emperors frown and clap as expected when Marcus takes down another opponent. The remaining man swipes at him again and you are on the edge of your seat as you watch your husband fight for his life.

The last gladiator is obviously the most skilled. He was smart too, using the other men to exhaust Marcus as he fought for hard minutes at a time with little break between attacks. The days of little water and no food leaving the general much weaker than he would be under normal circumstances, no doubt planned by the emperors to make sure that he falls today. Marcus barely jumps back in time from a swipe of the sword, the tip dragging across the armor covering his stomach and he feels his resolve weakening. There is no point to continue.

You choke when the sword cuts close to his stomach and you stand up, yanking on the chains that bind you. You try to walk towards the balcony but you stumble. “Marcus! Marcus! You must fight, Maritus. Fight for us! For our baby!” You shout, pleading with him to fight for his life.

The roar of the crowd is loud but he hears your voice. The shouting cuts through the din and he stumbles back, turning to look at the balcony where you are watching. Your eyes are wide and frantic as you scream again. This time he hears what you are saying. Our baby. Our baby. You are pregnant. His mind is reeling when he hears this, ducking down from the next attack on instinct alone to be brought back into the fight.

You watch as he has more energy, spurred on by your words, and Caracalla growls, “sit the fuck down.” He demands and you refuse, remaining standing as you watch your husband swing his sword. His opponent is skilled but younger and Marcus has your future in his hands as he swings his sword. Swiping the man who cries out, Marcus grunts as he kicks at the leg of the man, making him fall. He moves fast, swinging his sword to behead the man. You scream in joy as the man’s head rolls, knowing that Marcus has saved you.

You try to scramble to the emperors but your chains keep you in place. “Please spare him. He’s won. He’s won.” You beg and Geta gestures for Marcus to come to the balcony. He bows his head, knowing he will be ordered to be killed soon after, and he makes his way up to the balcony. You swallow harshly and you want to reach for him when he walks past you to stand before the emperors, bowing his head before he lifts it to clench his jaw in defiance. “You have beaten men who should have killed you. You have won.” Geta declares and reaches towards Marcus’s belt, taking his blade from the sheath and he presses it against his neck. Marcus hisses as blood drips from the cut, his lip curling. “Please.” You whimper, wanting your husband to survive. “You will leave Rome today. Disappear and take your uxor. If we hear a word of betrayal, you will be killed before you even realize it. Do you understand?” Geta hisses while Caracalla shakes his head, wanting blood.

“I understand.” Marcus murmurs quietly. “I will leave Rome.” He knows that he cannot risk your life and that of a potential child, if you are indeed pregnant. He is weary and just wants to get away from the Emperors. His eyes cut towards the men, his disgust for them clear.

You watch as Geta lowers the knife and sheaths it back in Marcus’s belt. He looks over at the guard and nods for him to release you. The shackles fall to the floor with a clang and you rush over to Marcus, cupping his cheeks to make sure he’s okay. “Take your traitor wife and leave Rome today otherwise you’ll be killed.” Geta promises and you nod, caressing Marcus’s cheek.

Marcus doesn’t trust the other men to keep their word, but he nods. Letting the guards guide you off the balcony and he reaches for his knife when he is out of the Emperor’s presence. “Maritus-“ you murmur but Marcus cuts you off. “Be quiet.” He hisses, knowing that you are not out of danger yet. A shift of armor could be the only clue an attack from the guards is coming and he needs to be alert.

You cling to him as he escorts you out of the colosseum to the awaiting chariot that is waiting to take you back to Marcus’s villa so you can pack your things. You are helped onto the villa and you swallow harshly, “I am so sorry.” You choke out and he shakes his head, “not here.” He says still not comfortable that you’re safe and you nod, reaching for his arm.

Because of his training, Marcus is efficient packing up. He completely takes over and gives orders to the servants while he drags you towards the private quarters where you can be alone.

Your wrists are sore from the shackles as Marcus stands in front of you. Both of you are worse for wear. You are covered in dirt, him in blood as you stand in front of him.

He stares at you, wondering if any of the time you had spent together was real or if it was all to get him to relax around you. “Are you pregnant?” He asks finally, needing to know if you were just bargaining for your life and praying it would sway the emperors.

You reach for him but he takes a step back, “I- I think so. I’ve missed my bleed and I- I never do. I think I might be.” You say softly, not wanting to lie to him.

His jaw clenches and he nods. “Then we will see if you are before we decide where we will go permanently.”

You nod, “I- I know you’re angry that I betrayed you but I- I went to the palace to tell them that I was done telling them your secrets. I didn’t want to - I never wanted to betray you but they threatened me and I couldn’t do it anymore because I love you. I’m in love with you, Maritus.” You confess, eyes wide as you prepare for his rejection.

Marcus wants to deny you. To call you a liar but he doesn’t see lies in your eyes. Maybe he is a fool, because you have already betrayed him, but he believes you. “Are you not just saving your neck now?” He asks, wanting to be sure. “I have nothing now. No power, no prestige. If you go back to your Emperors and beg for mercy, maybe they will give you to another man.” You move closer to him again and he doesn’t step back.

You shake your head, “I don’t want another man. I want my husband. I want you.” You promise, “I love you, Marcus, and I know - I know you are still mourning your first wife, your love, but I want you to know how I feel, Maritus.” You murmur, caressing his cheek.

“I stopped mourning my first wife.” Marcus admits. “When I asked you if you imagined always living in Rome.” He hears the servants rushing around to pack up the household, but he doesn’t move, staring at you. “I was asking to see if you would move away with me. Before this. Before we were exiled.”

You nod, “before this…I would’ve followed you anywhere. I love you, Marcus. I never imagined when the emperors ordered for me to marry you that I’d fall in love with you. I’d follow you anywhere.” You promise breathlessly.

“I have no trust in you.” Marcus admits, watching your face fall, biting your lip as you nod. “But I know you were trying to survive the whims of our Emperors.” He steps closer to you. “And I will not let you suffer for that.” He promises, lifting his good arm to trail his fingers up your arm. “I love you, uxor. We will leave Rome and make our home somewhere else, away from the intrigue and betrayal of this festering city.” He smiles. “Perhaps we will have your dream of children running in the sunshine.”

You smile, imagining children running in the fields while you spend your days with Marcus in the sun without worry of the politics of Rome. You lean in to kiss his lips. “I know you don’t trust me but I want to earn your trust.” You murmur and he nods, “let us find a new home. Together.” He declares and you lean in to softly kiss him. 

****

“Maritus.” You moan, caressing his shoulders as you rock on top of him, your bump between you. “Uxor.” He groans, his hands sliding down your back as you ride his cock. “I love you.” You moan, “so much.”

The villa around you is still being cleaned and repaired, abandoned for such a long time but it will be worth it when it’s restored to it former glory. The fields outside are fertile and the bones of the home are sturdy. After the fire years ago, it had been left to let the vines overgrow. Perhaps it was fate that you and Marcus are settling and creating a family where Maximus’s was taken from him, but the former general just thought it was the gods way of finding balance. “I love you.” He promises breathless as he rocks his hips up gently.

You moan, getting closer and closer to your orgasm as you rock on top of him. His cock thrusts up into you and you cry out, falling apart as you soak him. You clench down around his cock and fall into his chest, your bump pressed against him. “Fill me up, Marcus.” You plead, wanting to feel it, feel him.

He chuckles softly, puffing out the sound as he works himself in and out of your cunt towards his own satisfaction. “It’s obvious I’ve done that.” He grunts, loving how your walls tighten around him. The baby will come soon and he prays to all the gods that they will spare you and the child. “Fuck.” He grunts, pushing deep and painting your walls with ropes of cum as he moans your name.

You run your fingers through his hair as he relaxes beneath you and you sigh, “te amo.” You murmur and he caresses your back while the moon shines through the linen on the balcony. 

****

Your screams echo in the halls as you bear down. You are in agony, Antonia pressing a wet rag to your forehead as you push. The women of the household surround you as you labor. “Gods!” You curse as you grip the sheets. It feels like hours of pushing and you’re exhausted. “One more push!” Antonia demands and you sob, shaking your head as you push and finally, the pressure releases and a cry fills the air.

As soon as the baby’s cry rings out, Marcus cannot stop himself. Pushing the doors to the bedchamber open, he rushes inside, his hair sticking up from long hours pacing and running his hands through it, worrying about your fate. “Uxor!” He only has eyes for you and the small little bundle you are taking from Antonia. Your face is drenched in sweat and you’ve never looked more beautiful.

You look up from the baby in your arms, a grin on your face as your husband rushes over. “It’s a boy.” You murmur, checking all fingers and toes are in place. Marcus grins, leaning in to kiss your sweaty forehead. “You’re incredible, amor.” He murmurs and you tilt your head to kiss him softly. The cord is cut and Marcus takes the baby in his arms, needing to claim him. He holds him up to the servants and says “My son.” He proclaims, cradling his son and he leans in to kiss you again. “Our son.” He says and you smile, taking the baby after he slides him back into your arms so you can have skin to skin. “What shall we call him?” You ask Marcus who leans over to kiss your son’s forehead before he kisses yours. “Maximus Acacius.” He declares and you grin, “it’s perfect.” A new life in a place that held such pain. Your marriage may have been arranged by the emperors but your life together is fuelled by love and by choice.

[spenceragnewfics]

CLOSET MAKEOUT? i need details !!!

I ABSOLUTELY LOVED WRITING THIS!!! It was so fun and I hope you all love it!!

BABY I’M YOURS | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

TW: Allusions to alcohol, making out, hickeys, 

Word Count: 1.4k

Description: During a Smosh company party, Spencer gets desperate to have some alone time with Y/N.

One thing about the people at Smosh, they love to party. It’s kind of surprising with most of them being introverts and liking to be alone. Y/N guesses it’s because they’re all like family which makes it easier but it’s not for her to understand, just enjoy.

The company had just finished a huge project and so everyone was getting a well deserved wrap party. Ian and Anthony fitted the bill for it all as a way to say thank you and to keep up morale as this was the first big project since the company had become independent again.

The drinks have been flowing for hours along with food and plenty of music that has kept people on the dance floor. Y/N is currently there dancing with Chanse, Erin D, Angela, and Courtney, enjoying being with some of her closest friends. 

Not too far away is the group of Shayne, Spencer, and Marcus V (Chanse’s boyfriend). The three are watching the group with different loving expressions, their significant others not too far away, enjoying themselves. “Marcus, I’m shocked you’re not over there with Chanse. You two usually kill the dance floor at these things.” Spencer says before taking a sip of his drink.

Marcus shrugs, “Eh, he seemed excited to dance with his girls right now. Also it’s cool to be in the partner circle now.” He says, making the two other men laugh. “Yeah, it was just me for a while until Y/N grew the extra ball to ask Spence out.” Shayne teases as the aforementioned man rolls his eyes.

“Okay, whatever, easy for you to say, Mr. Golden Boy. Cast members dating is one thing but crew dating is another.” Spencer says, leaning against a wall. “Yeah, but I’m glad you too finally broke the tension. It was killer, dude.”

“Yeah, I know, I was in it.” Spencer deadpans, making the two men next to him laugh. It was true, Spencer had liked Y/N for years but never took a chance because he would always psyche himself out with the whole crew members dating thing. Thankfully, Y/N told him how she felt, after many many talks with Courtney about if she should do it or not.

Zoning out of the conversation, Spencer focuses his gaze onto Y/N. He watches as her body flows with the music, her head back enjoying the music as if she’s in another world. Maybe she is as she looks over to her boyfriend, a silly smile on her face as she continues dancing.

The look brings his own smirk and he sets down his drink, “I’ll be back in a bit, guys.” He says, not caring to hear a response as he walks over to the dancefloor. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulls her against his chest as he leans down to her ear “Having fun, little peach?” He whispers in her ear before kissing her neck. The feeling of his lips making her giggle, “Very much, is there something I can help you with?” She asks as she leans her head back onto his shoulder.

“Yeah, you can come with me.” He says before grabbing her hand and walking away from the dance floor. “Spence, where are you taking me?” Y/N asks, them getting farther away from the music makes it easier for him to hear and the excitement is clear in her voice.

“Somewhere private, need to be alone for a bit.” Is all he says as they continue farther and farther away from the party. Looking around, he spots a closet and opens the door. He lets her in first before coming in and closing the door. “So what’s this all-Hm!” Y/N starts to say but is cut off as Spencer kisses her roughly.

His hands are cupping her cheeks as he pins them to the farthest wall. Her hands find place on his chest as her hands make fists with his shirt to keep some leverage.

The room is dark, not light except the small sliver coming from the door frame. That doesn’t stop the couple as the two only become more intertwined as moments pass.

Spencer moves his hands down to her waist, squeezing every few moments while Y/N has one hand tangled in his, once, nicely styled hair that is becoming messier as the seconds pass. Her other hand is on the side of his neck, gently scratching the back of his neck which gives him chills. 

Moving his lips down, he kisses her jaw then makes home on her neck. She sighs happily at the feeling, the sensitive skin becoming a lovely fire with his lips searching the territory.

Starting to leave open mouth kisses, he finds the most sensitive part of her neck. The attention to the area makes her whimper as he starts to suck and lick, making a mark to show the world who makes her feel good, loved, and safe.

“If you keep going like this, I think we’ll have to worry about staying quiet.” She teases as he continues leaving marks on her neck. He hums before pulling away, “I don’t we’d have to worry, it’s loud enough out there and no one would come down here anytime too soon.” He sounds like he is basically suggesting and she can tell the biggest grin is on his face.

She uses this moment as her opportunity to push him against the opposite wall. He lands with a gentle thud before he feels her body on him, “I thought it was time to switch it up a little.” She says before kissing him.

Their lips move together in a passionate furry as he pulls her as close to him as he can. Needing to feel her all over him, like he’s addicted which he just might be. Her lips move down to his neck, open kissings being the way of travel down before she starts to leave hickies in her own right on him.

The sounds of his groaning and moans make edge her on. It’s sounds that not many people have heard and it’s something she treasures and values so much during their time alone together.

Once she seems satisfied, her lips move back to his. His hands land on her hips as she starts to unbutton his shirt. Y/N starts to slide the shirt off his shoulders when a knock sounds on the door, both of them stopping suddenly. “Spencer, Y/N, are you two in here?” Someone asks, it sounds like Chanse.

Before either of them can answer, the door opens and light floods the room. Standing in front of them is Chanse, Angela, and Erin. The couple looks at them shocked as the three’s jaws drop. “Chanse, what the hell?!” Y/N yells, “You didn’t even give me or him a moment to say anything.”

“I-I-I just-” The boy stutters out, almost speechless for once. “You three, leave now.” Spencer says, using his stern director voice. Something he has developed since getting his promotion a couple years ago. “Yeah, yeah, we were just about to. Sorry!” Erin says quickly as Angela starts to laugh. The door closes but Spencer leans over to turn on the light.

“Welp, that just ruined the mood.” He jokes, rubbing his partner’s hip. “Ruined the mood? Love, you should know me better than that.” Her face pulls into a cunning smirk. “But we should probably head home, don’t want another cast member or worse Ian or Anthony walking in.” Y/N says as she removes herself from him.

“Yeah, I like showing you off but that’s a bit much.” He says as she starts to button up his shirt. “Hmm, you do dress up nice when you want to, Spence. I like this look on you.” She says, wrapping her arms around his neck when his shirt is buttoned up.

“I’ll dress like this more often if you want.”

“No, I like your George Lucas look more.” He rolls his eyes as she laughs, “I do not dress like George Lucas!” He stresses, all she does is tap his chest with a teasing smile.

“If you say so, baby Lucas.” He groans as she takes his hand. The two of them leave the closet before heading to the exit for a lovely and fun night at home without curious co-workers trying to interrupt.

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

*clears throat.* Good evening, and thank you for your time. So the idea is along the lines of this. In this world, nothing is truly what it seems. Marcus finds himself in The Library of Alexandria (My HC is Marcus also likes to read to relax.) where our reader is a scholar from Greece. The two of them start to talk philosophy (Or anything you'd like to come up with.) and whatnot. Marcus is turned on by this, he values intelligence. They have sex and well, reader isn't who we think! Reader is actually the Greek Goddess, Chaos; and basically says something along the lines of "I think I'm going to stick around for a while, so in exchange for us doing this again; and worshiping me. I will do whatever I can to allow you to win your battles, even if it seems all is lost." (My apologies if this makes no sense!)

My God

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Greek Godess!F!reader | WC : 4.1k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN |

Summary: see ask above

Warnings: Exhibitionism , oral F, p in v, breeding kink, worshiping, marking (scratching), kinda sub Marcus

A/n: I'm very very proud of this fic i really like it

Life in Rome was never easy—a place where survival often meant aligning with power, brute force, or sheer luck. But Marcus was different. He never let the harsh realities of Roman life define him. Instead, he focused on the pursuits of the mind—education, knowledge, and the arts held a deeper allure for him than the roar of the Colosseum or the blood-soaked sands of the battlefield. It was this quality, among others, that drew you to him. You admired his intellect more than any gladiator's victory or war hero's tale.

You found yourself drawn to Marcus not just because of his intelligence, but because of the way he made you feel—respected, seen, and, dare you think it, understood. There was a quiet strength in him, a confidence that didn’t need to assert itself through violence or intimidation. He was different from the others, and you couldn’t help but feel that he saw something different in you too.

That evening in the Library of Alexandria, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and the faint aroma of the sea beyond the walls. The library was a sanctuary, a place where the chaos of the outside world faded away, leaving only the soft rustle of scrolls and the whispered voices of scholars deep in thought. You had been there for hours, lost in a text that demanded every ounce of your focus. But as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the high windows, you noticed something peculiar.

One by one, the other patrons began to leave, their departure almost synchronized, as if they were being summoned elsewhere. A soft murmur of voices drifted away, and soon, the library was nearly empty, save for you and a few lingering souls. You couldn’t help but whisper to yourself, “Aphrodite must have sent Cupid, because this feels like a sign.” The idea that the goddess of love might have a hand in this sudden solitude made your heart flutter.

And then, as if on cue, Marcus entered the room.

He moved with the same quiet grace that you had come to associate with him, his presence immediately commanding the space without a word. His eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on you, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You could feel your pulse quicken as he approached, his footsteps barely audible on the marble floor.

“Good evening,” he greeted you, his voice soft but warm, like a familiar melody.

“Good evening, Marcus,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips as you tried to keep your voice steady despite the nervous excitement thrumming through you.

He settled into a seat across from you, a scroll in hand, but it was clear his attention was more on you than the text. “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation,” he began, his tone casual but thoughtful. “About how philosophy shapes our understanding of the world. It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

You nodded, eager to engage with him on a topic that was close to both of your hearts. “It is. The way ideas can influence how we see everything around us—it’s like unlocking a new way of thinking. I’ve always loved how philosophy challenges the status quo.”

Marcus’s smile deepened a glint of admiration in his eyes. “That’s what I appreciate about you,” he said, his voice lowering slightly. “You don’t just accept things as they are. You question them, you seek to understand them. It’s refreshing, especially in a world that so often values power over thought.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, the sincerity of his words making your heart skip a beat. “I’ve learned a lot from you, Marcus. You’ve opened my eyes to so many new ideas, and I’m grateful for that.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “And you’ve done the same for me. It’s rare to find someone who not only values knowledge but also understands its importance in shaping the world. You have a gift, and it’s something that should be nurtured.”

His words made your heart swell, a mix of pride and something deeper stirring within you. The way he spoke to you, with such respect and admiration—it was something you hadn’t experienced before. “You’ve always treated me with kindness, Marcus. More than anyone else,” you confessed, your voice soft but sincere.

“I’ve only ever treated you as you deserve,” Marcus replied, his tone firm but gentle. “You’re intelligent, capable, and deserving of every opportunity that any man would have. It’s a shame society doesn’t always see it that way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t change things, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, a reminder of why you had been drawn to him in the first place. He wasn’t just a man of knowledge—he was a man of principle, someone who believed in equality and justice. It was a rare quality in a world dominated by power and greed. “I wish more people thought like you,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“Perhaps one day they will,” Marcus said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “But until then, we’ll keep learning, keep questioning, and maybe, just maybe, we can inspire others to do the same.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his words. “There’s a book I’ve been meaning to read,” you said, your voice a little lighter now, as if the conversation had shifted to something more personal. “It’s the sequel to the one I suggested to you last time we spoke. I’ve been eager to see how the ideas develop, how the story progresses.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ah, yes, I remember. The way you described it made me curious. I’ve been looking forward to seeing where the author takes the arguments in the sequel.”

You nodded, excited to share this with him. “It’s on the top shelf,” you said, gesturing toward the tall bookcase that loomed over you. “I’ve been meaning to grab it, but…”

Marcus didn’t wait for you to finish. He was already moving toward the shelf, his long stride carrying him effortlessly across the room. “Allow me,” he said with a soft smile, reaching up to retrieve the book. As he stretched, his body leaned closer to yours, his presence warm and comforting.

Your breath caught as he handed the book to you, your fingers brushing his as you took it. The air between you felt charged as if something more than just a book exchange was happening. Marcus didn’t move away, didn’t break the connection. Instead, he leaned in closer, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the realization of how close you were, of how much you wanted this moment, making your thoughts spin. You had admired Marcus for so long, not just for his intelligence but for his kindness, his respect, the way he made you feel seen. There had been so many moments, so many little things that had led to this—his smile when he caught you lost in thought, the way he listened to you as if every word you said mattered, the quiet conversations you shared in the library when no one else was around.

And now, here you were, standing so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Your mind raced with memories, with all the times you had felt this pull toward him, this undeniable connection that you had tried to ignore but could no longer deny.

As Marcus leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, you knew this was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had imagined so many times but had never dared to hope would actually happen. His lips hovered just a breath away from yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none. You wanted this, wanted him, more than you had ever wanted anything. And as his lips finally met yours in a soft, tender kiss, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you—a mix of relief, joy, and something deeper, something that made your heart feel full and complete in a way you had never known before.

I owe Aphrodite big time, you thought, a fleeting smile curving your lips against his. Little did Marcus know, the goddess of love wasn’t the only divine force at play. Chaos, the very essence of unpredictability and passion, lurked beneath your skin, a secret you hadn’t even discovered yet. But that would come later—right now, all that mattered was the way Marcus was kissing you, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The kiss deepened, turning feverish as months of unspoken tension finally spilled over. You clawed at each other’s clothing with an urgency that surprised you, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the ties of his tunic. His hands were no gentler, grasping at the fabric of your dress, tugging it down your shoulders as his mouth moved hungrily over yours. The world around you seemed to blur, the lines between thought and sensation fading until there was nothing left but the press of his body against yours, the heat of his touch.

Marcus’s hands found your waist, and with a low growl of need, he pushed you back against the nearest bookshelf. The impact sent a few books toppling to the floor, their thuds barely registering in the haze of your shared desire. Neither of you cared about the mess, too consumed by the fire that had ignited between you. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you gasp, your back arching instinctively into him.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he continued his assault on your senses. The scent of old parchment and sea air mingled with the heady musk of passion, creating a dizzying blend that only heightened the intensity of the moment. Your breaths came in short, ragged bursts, the sound filling the otherwise silent library.

Marcus’s hands roamed your body with a desperation that matched your own, his fingers brushing over every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His touch sent sparks of electricity dancing along your nerves, each caress stoking the fire that burned between you. And when he finally claimed your lips again, the kiss was no longer tender but fierce, demanding, as if he needed you as much as you needed him.

You could give a fuck about who might see you, or what they might think. The world beyond these walls ceased to exist the moment you started unraveling under Marcus's touch. His tunic was already halfway off, hanging loosely around his shoulders, but you were far beyond caring. Your own dress was falling away, your breasts now on full display for him, and the hunger in his eyes made you feel like the most powerful woman alive.

Marcus’s lips traveled down your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He continued his descent, kissing down to your stomach, his breath warm and teasing against your skin. His hands were already at your waist, gathering the fabric of your dress into a bundle. He paused only to give you a slick grin before ducking his head beneath the fabric. The anticipation alone was enough to make your knees weak.

Then you felt it—the hot, intoxicating breath of his mouth, so close to where you needed him most. Your breath hitched as his lips found your clit with a precision that made you moan in surprise. You had to commend him for finding it so easily, his tongue darting out to taste you. His hands moved slowly, deliberately up your thighs, as if savoring every inch of you.

With a sudden motion, Marcus shifted your hips, lifting your legs to rest them over his broad, bare shoulders. The position left you completely exposed to him, vulnerable and aching for more. His mouth worked against your sensitive clit, licking and sucking with a skill that had you gripping the shelf behind you for support. The pleasure was overwhelming, making you a moaning mess as more books tumbled from the shelves, though neither of you cared.

His tongue was relentless, teasing you mercilessly. He started by focusing on your clit, making you shiver with each flick, but soon his motions became wider, exploring more of you. Before long, he was licking up and down the entirety of your pussy, his movements growing bolder, more insistent. You could feel him getting closer to where you needed him, his tongue dipping into you, desperate to go deeper.

The fever of his actions made you grind against his face, your orgasm building fast and hard. "Good gods above, Marcus," you gasped, your voice trembling with the intensity of your pleasure. He hadn't taken a breath, his mouth still worshiping your pussy as if he could die right there and be satisfied. Your legs began to shake uncontrollably, but Marcus kept his hands on your knees, holding you open as he moved faster, his tongue diving in and out of you with a frenzy that had you seeing stars.

When your orgasm hit, it was like a wave crashing over you. You could feel it building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, sending you over the edge. You rode his face, every muscle in your body tightening as the pleasure ripped through you. Marcus didn’t let up, his mouth sloppily lapping up your juices as your body trembled, struggling to stay quiet as your arousal overwhelmed you. He knew it, and the wicked gleam in his eyes told you he wasn’t making it any easier.

Finally, he emerged from beneath the fabric of your dress, pulling it down roughly, leaving you naked before him. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, and you could see the glistening of your juices on his lips, chin, and cheeks. The sight of him, his rugged face wet with your arousal, only made you want him more. Without a word, you grabbed the fabric still hanging around his waist and yanked him in for a kiss, loving the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Your hands roamed his body, guiding him backward until you found a random chair in the room. With a firm push, you made him sit, his muscles tensing under your touch. At first, he leaned back, expecting you to straddle him, but you had other plans. Instead, you knelt before him, your hands moving to lift the fabric at his waist before pulling it down. He lifted his hips to help you, but when his hand reached for your breast, you pulled away, fixing him with a smirk.

“Let’s get this straight…” you murmured, straddling his lap but keeping your hips closer to his knees than to his cock. You began to palm him, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath your fingers. He let out a low groan, his eyes darkening with lust. “You may be the one with the dick…” you leaned down, spitting on his cock, watching it glisten in the low light. “But I’m the one in power.”

You didn’t give him time to respond, your hand guiding his cock to the wetness between your legs. You ran the tip of his cock down your pussy lips, teasing him, teasing yourself, before slowly lowering yourself onto him. The stretch was glorious, filling you up in a way that made your breath catch. “This dick…” you moaned as you took him deeper, your body trembling with the effort to take all of him. “Is for me… only me.”

You began to grind your hips, feeling him press deeper inside you with each movement. His hands were on you again, roaming your body, before one found your breast. He brought his mouth to your nipple, sucking it softly, and you arched your back, pressing yourself against him. The pleasure was intense, his mouth hot and wet against your sensitive skin, his other hand steadying you as you rode him.

“My true god,” Marcus murmured against your skin, his voice thick with reverence. The words sent a thrill through you, knowing how true they were, even if he didn’t. You were Chaos, the embodiment of primal power, and he worshiped you without even knowing it.

You pushed his chest back, starting to build momentum, bouncing onto him with increasing speed. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your breasts, your body moving in time with his. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, before they drifted higher, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts. “So beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice full of awe.

Your body was beginning to tire, the exertion of riding him making your muscles burn, but you didn’t care. “Marcus…” you moaned, catching his full attention. “Fuck into me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Repositioning himself, he began to thrust up into you, meeting your hips as they bounced. The movement was rough, desperate, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts. You clawed at his chest, your nails leaving red marks as you leaned over him, your eyes locked with his.

You could tell he was holding something back, the tension in his body, the way his jaw clenched. “Are you going to cum?” you asked, your voice breathy and full of need. He nodded, his breath coming in ragged pants.

“Cum…” you lifted your body slightly, before slamming down onto him again. “Cum with me, Marcus.” You bounced faster, matching his pace, feeling him hit that perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. “Marcus, I need you to make me cum.”

His hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as he pounded into you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You could feel your walls tightening around him, your orgasm building again, higher and higher. His cock was hitting all the right places, sending shocks of pleasure through you, until you were on the edge, ready to fall.

With a cry, you brought your hand to your clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles as you rode out your orgasm. The pleasure was almost too much, your body convulsing, trembling as you came, the feeling overwhelming. You heard Marcus groan deeply, his own orgasm hitting him as your walls clenched around his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum flood into you, filling you to the brim, the sensation making you shudder with aftershocks of pleasure.

He kept thrusting, riding out his orgasm with you, until finally, he stilled, his hands loosening on your hips. You were both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling from the intensity of what you had just shared. Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, breathing in his scent, grounding yourself in the warmth of his body.

Marcus’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if afraid you might disappear. His breath was still heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as you both came down from the intense high of your shared pleasure. For a moment, you allowed yourself to simply exist in that space, feeling his warmth, his steady heartbeat against your own. But the weight of your true identity, the secret you had been holding back, pressed at the edges of your mind, refusing to be ignored.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes were half-lidded, softened by the afterglow, and when he caught your gaze, a small, contented smile curved his lips. He looked at you like a man who had found something precious, something worth holding on to. The thought made your heart ache with a strange mixture of guilt and affection.

“If you continue to worship me like this, Marcus,” you whispered, your voice still tinged with the breathlessness of your climax, “you will have many great wins in the future.”

He chuckled softly, a light laugh that vibrated through his chest. “Worship you?” he teased, his tone playful as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “I think you have that the other way around. I’m the one who’s been utterly undone by you.”

You smiled at his words, but there was something deeper in your eyes, something ancient and powerful that flickered beneath the surface. “Oh, Marcus,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his hair, “you don’t even know the half of it.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone turning more serious as he searched your eyes for answers.

You pulled back a little, just enough to look at him fully. The room seemed to grow still around you, the air thick with an unspoken tension. For a moment, you considered holding back, keeping your secret buried for a little longer. But then you remembered who you were, what you were, and the time for hiding was over.

“I’m not just a girl from Greece,” you began slowly, watching his expression carefully as the words left your lips. “I’m not just a student, studying philosophy and the stars.”

Marcus’s confusion deepened, his grip on you tightening slightly as if trying to anchor himself in this sudden shift in the atmosphere. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the first hints of unease.

You took a deep breath, feeling the power within you surge, the ancient energy of Chaos that had been dormant for so long. The room seemed to darken around you, shadows stretching and shifting as if responding to the force of your true nature. “I’m from Olympus, Marcus,” you said, your voice steady, resonating with a power that was impossible to ignore. “I am not just a mortal woman. I am Chaos, the primordial force that existed before all things. The void from which the universe was born.”

The color drained from Marcus’s face, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. He pulled back, but not out of fear. His hands trembled slightly as they remained on your hips as if he couldn’t quite reconcile the woman he had just been inside with the god you claimed to be. “Chaos?” he repeated, the word almost foreign on his tongue. “You… you’re a goddess?”

You nodded slowly, the truth of your identity settling in the air between you. “I am,” you confirmed, your tone gentle, trying to ease him into this new reality. “I have walked this earth in many forms, but this—this is the form I chose to meet you, Marcus.”

He stared at you, his mind racing to catch up with the revelation. The weight of your words, of what they meant, seemed to press down on him, and for a moment, he looked lost. “But… why? Why me?” he finally managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Because you are more than just a man, Marcus. You have a strength in you, a light that draws even the gods. And in you, I saw something… someone worth revealing myself to.”

His breath caught, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit, but all he found was truth. “This is why you’re so different,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Why I’ve been so drawn to you…”

You nodded again, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yes. And if you continue to worship me as you have, if you continue to show me the devotion you’ve shown tonight, I will see to it that you have many victories, Marcus. In battle, in life… and in love.”

He was silent for a long moment, absorbing your words, the enormity of what you were offering. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a reverence that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know what to say… What can a mortal offer a goddess like you?”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, tender and sweet, before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Just be you, Marcus. Be the man I’ve come to admire. That’s all I ask.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you close once more. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he murmured against your hair, “but I’ll do everything I can to prove myself worthy of you.”

You smiled, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the coldness of your true nature, if only for a moment. “You already have,” you whispered, allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms. For now, you were content to let him hold you, mortal and god, two beings intertwined in a world that suddenly seemed much smaller.

[thetriumphantpanda]

I'll Crawl Home To Her | Marcus Pike

Fic Summary | Marcus Pike had been the man of your dreams until a promotion tore your away from him. Four years later, a wedding brings you back together, but it the bubble you've built over this one weekend going to crash and burn just like it did before?

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Bridesmaid F!Reader

Fic Warnings | Explicit. Exes to Lovers, themes of second chance love, references to food and alcohol, descriptions of a wedding, Marcus Pike being a dirty talking menace, talk of contraception, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, semi-public sex, oral sex (F), overstimulation if you squint, allusions to oral sex (M) and mentions of a facial cumshot, mutual pining, flirting, two idiots in love, a touch of angst, basically two idiots who never got over each other have a lot of sex over a weekend.

Word Count | 7.9K (I can only apologise lmfao)

Authors Note | So, two weekends ago I was a bridesmaid and spent the entire time messaging @undercoverpena about how I wished Marcus Pike would whisk me away to the bathroom, tell me how pretty I was and give me a good time.... and this is what's come of this. Entirely self-indulgent but we love that for me sometimes. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting or reblogging - I'd love to know what you think of it! And if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

Moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only - reader is a blank slate. Although if you're interested in the dress I chose for her - it's this.

Divider by the amazing @saradika

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Marcus is still out of breath as he clutches the champagne flute in his hand, chest heaving as his sucks in air to his lungs, “I didn’t mean to be so late.”

“Marcus, buddy, it’s fine,” His friend puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, he knows Marcus gets anxious when things outside of his control happen, like the delay to his flight from D.C. to London, and then the delay in getting from London to the wedding venue, “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Marcus nods, chugging down half the champagne in one go, hoping it’ll calm his anxiety a little. He had cursed Mike and Cassie for choosing to have their wedding in England, but Mike’s family, most of them ageing now and unable to make the long trip to D.C. had insisted on it. As he looks around the large reception room, he muses internally to himself that it was beautiful. A huge room, semi-decorated for tomorrow’s reception and dinner. It’s a smaller affair tonight, immediate family and friends for the rehearsal dinner, but he can imagine that tomorrow, once all is said and done, it’ll be the perfect backdrop for their wedding.

“Where’s Cassie?” Marcus asks, looking around the room, finding a distinct lack of the bride and the bridal party Mike hadn’t shut up about over the last few months.

“She’s just sorting the last of the decorations for the ceremony room,” Mike explains, waving a hand to the waitress currently doing the round with a refilled tray of champagne, “She’ll be here soon.” He finished with a wink, which, although is odd, Marcus doesn’t question, just picks up another glass of champagne and stands talking to his friend and whoever is milling around offering their congratulations.

There’s a flurry of conversation that has Marcus turning around a few minutes later, he can see Cassie and her mother, who are pulled to the side by someone from the venue holding up two different types of ribbon, asking which one they want to drape around the columns and which one to tie around the chair backs. It’s not Cassie that Marcus is interested in though, it’s the bridesmaid that follows behind her.

He can feel his throat constrict, a small pit opening in his stomach that’s somewhere between the feeling of dread and excitement. He can feel the palms of his hands starting to get clammy, so he drains his glass and sets it down on the nearest table to avoid an accident. Then, he thinks he might actually pass out when you finally look at him, eyes searching his face and then the glimmer of recognition that you know exactly who he is, remember exactly the last time you’d seen him, and exactly what had happened when you had.

Your leg is bouncing underneath the dining table, food somewhat eaten regardless of the fact that it’s your favourite. You’ve dug half-moon shapes into the palms of your hands and bitten the inside of your mouth enough to taste blood.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” It’s Marcus, sitting across from you, plate cleared, completely oblivious as to what’s about to come.

“I got offered a promotion.” You tell him simply, running one hand up and down your opposite arm in an attempt to soothe yourself.

“Darling!” He exclaims, “That’s amazing!” He doesn’t move to get up, but reaches his hand out, palm up for you to take, which you do, letting his hand softly clasp yours in his own, “Why are you so upset then?”

Taking a deep breath in, biting your bottom lip, you decide it’s best to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later, “It’s not here, Marcus,” You sigh, “The job is in D.C.”

The smile, the light of his eyes, everything on his face that had just seconds ago been showing joy, had faltered. Much like you imagine your face would have when you’d been offered the job. A significant pay rise, governmental opportunities, bigger clients, a shot at being a proper lawyer for once, but with the caveat that you had to uproot your comfortable Austin life for D.C. and with it, Marcus Pike.

“I don’t have to go,” You follow up with, “I haven’t accepted yet, I’ve got some time to think.”

You feel him squeeze your hand, his other palm coming out to rest on your wrist, slowly tracing the blue veins he can see there, “Look at me,” He asks softly, which you do, the tears that had been forming in your own eyes starting to spill down your cheeks when you find Marcus’ eyes glassed over too, “Baby, this is such an amazing opportunity, you can’t say no because of me.”

Because that’s what you would be doing. Marcus, brilliant, funny, intelligent Marcus, wouldn’t be able to follow you to D.C. There had been some talk about his work in the Art Crimes team with the higher ups, people who were impressed at his success rate, people who wanted to keep him here, send him off to California even. He was at too much of a crossroads to be able to follow you to D.C.

“I don’t want to lose you though,” You sniff, free hand coming to wipe away some of the tears that are falling from your eyes, “I love you.”

Marcus hums, finally pushes himself off his chair, letting the legs scrape across his kitchen floor, until he’s sat right in front of you, knees touching, his palms on the tops of your thighs, warm and soothing, “I love you too,” He says, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, making sure you’re looking at him, “But this is what you’ve wanted, you’ve been working so hard baby and I’m not going to let you stay here just because of me.”

It’s killing you inside, because you want so badly to ask him to follow you. To drop everything and come to D.C. You’ve been together two years, you’re comfortable together, he makes you so happy, you’ve talked about moving in together, starting a life together, but you know deep down you’re asking him to do something unfair.

“So, I guess your stance on long-distance relationships hasn’t changed?” You ask, tone soft and sad, tears falling down your cheeks.

You watch him as his own tears fall, his hands clutching your own so tightly as he gives you a soft smile, “Baby, I wish I could say yes, I wish I could drop it all and follow you, or promise you we’d talk on the phone every day and see each other every weekend, but you know we can’t do it.”

Biting at your lip, you nod, because you know he’s right. You’re a lawyer, you barely have free time as it is - weekends more often than not spent sat on the couch with him, tapping away at your laptop whilst he looks over case files. It would never work.

Marcus leans forward, presses a kiss to your forehead, then pulls you into a hug. You clutch your hands to his back, inhaling the smell of him on his shirt , watching the light blue turn darker as it catches your tears.

“When do you go?” He asks quietly into the crook of your neck, soft kiss placed to the skin right after.

“A few weeks, probably.”

“Well, let’s enjoy them while we still can, hey?” You nod silently, “And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”

“And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”

Those words still echo in your ears four year later, like they have at various different points since you last saw Marcus Pike. Leaving had been hard. He’d helped you pack everything up, driven you to the airport, kissed you before security and promised he wouldn’t forget you. You’d text a for a few weeks before life dragged you in one direction and him in another. No-one had quite been able to live up to him either. Sure, you’d tried dating, seen people for a few months before deciding they weren’t quite the man who had almost been able to give you everything you ever wanted.

And now here he is, standing in front of you, pale as a ghost as if he’s about to keel over and have a heart attack. You want to run to him, to fling yourself into his arms and make sure he’s real. You want to press your lips to his, let him kiss you like he always used to, to clutch you to his body and whisper sweet things into your ear, but you have no idea what he’s been doing these past four years - for all you know, you could get closer and find a wedding band across his left finger.

It’s a blessing when Cassie’s hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you over to the side.

“Do you prefer the dusky rose or the blush pink?” She asks, holding up two ribbons that look identical to your eye.

You want to tell her does it really matter, they both look exactly the same. You want to tear your wrist away from her and go to Marcus, but instead you settle for a warm smile and “It’s your wedding Cass, you choose what you want.”

And when you turn around, looking back over to Mike, Marcus Pike is nowhere to be found. Like he was a mirage. A figment of your hopeful imagination. Something conjured up after your mother had set you down at the airport and said, “Bridesmaid’s always get lucky at weddings, you might find your own husband.”

When everyone is called to sit down for the rehearsal dinner, you jump at the opportunity to let Cassie sit down and eat, whilst you get pulled away by the staff to advise on which candles to use for the ceremony room and where exactly to place the flower arch for the best photos tomorrow. When you make it back, everyone is standing, milling around, getting drinks from the bar, which you decide you desperately need.

“A negroni, please.” You ask for after taking a few seconds to peruse the cocktail menu set out. The stronger the better.

“I see your tastes haven’t changed in the last few years.”

You’re pretty sure that if there was a mirror in front of you, the look of shock on your face would be comical, as Marcus Pike sidles up to the bar next to you. Up close, he’s just as handsome as he always had been, except now, he’s got a beard and more fine lines in the corners of his eyes, which means he’s been happy, smiling, whilst you’ve been gone. It makes your heart swell that he’s been happy.

“I wonder if yours have.” You counter, tilting your head towards the bartender who is waiting for him to order.

“Just a beer for now.” He smiles, but at you, not the bartender.

“That’ll be a no then.”

There’s a moment of silence between the both of you as you sip the cocktail given to you, and Marcus takes a swig of his beer. His left hand is wrapped around the bottle, no sign of the wedding ring you were convinced you’d find. You want to say something, anything, but when you go to open your mouth, he beats you to it.

“You look well.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Of all the things he could have chosen to say to you, you hadn't thought it would be that.

“So do you.” You compliment back.

There’s another silence, the two of you just looking at each other. You’re soaking him up, committing him to memory to replace the old Marcus you knew so well.

“Are you here alone?” You ask, playing with the glass in your hand.

You watch as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, “Are you?”

“I asked you first, Agent Pike.”

He tilts his head towards his shoulder in a movement that says he’ll give you that one, “I’m here alone.”

You can’t help but smile a little, biting at your bottom lip to try and hide how pleased you are, “So am I.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you notice the exact moment those brown eyes that you’re so used to getting lost in darken, watching you as you sip your drink, tip of your tongue jutting out to catch a drop from your bottom lip.

“Is your room completely over the top?” You ask, watching as he swallows deeply, “Because mine is, I’d love to know what the honeymoon suite must be like.”

“Depends what you mean by completely over the top?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to show you?”

He doesn’t even respond. He sets his half-finished beer down on the bar, takes your almost-empty negroni from your hand and does the same. Then he’s taking hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together like he always did, dragging you out of the room. You turn to find Cassie and Mike, looking at you both as you have to jog to keep up with Marcus’ pace. Both of them are winking, smiling, and Mike even throws a thumbs up your way. You can feel heat rising on your cheeks as you turn your head away from them.

“Which floor?” Marcus asks then you reach the grand staircase in the lobby.

“Second.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand, but takes the stairs two at a time, meaning by the time you reach the second floor, you’re out of breath from running behind him, trying to keep up.

“Which room?”

It’s your turn to lead him now, stepping in front of him to walk down the hallway to room 212. You fish the keycard from the back pocket of your jeans, wasting no time in pushing the door open when the tiny light turns green.

It’s dark inside, but you don’t care. Marcus Pike pins you against the wall, his thigh between your legs, both hands on your waist, and then his lips are on yours. The way he kisses hasn’t changed a bit. His mouth slants over yours, softly at first, but when you open your lips against his, hands clutching at the collar of his shirt, it’s just like you remember from all those years ago. He tastes the same, mint from the gum he always chews, the tang of the beer on his tongue, and that distinct taste that’s just him.

He swallows a groan from you as your pitch your hips down, denim rubbing on denim as he devours your mouth. His hands on your waist trail down just a little, finding the top of your jeans, floating under your shirt just a little to touch the bare skin underneath. His hands are warm and strong as they start guiding you to move against his thigh as his tongue works against yours.

Marcus pulls away from your mouth just as a particularly breathy moan leaves your mouth. It makes you both stop. Stand still. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you both realise exactly what’s happening. You know you should stop, talk about what’s clearly about to happen, but when did talking ever help anything.

“Don’t think about it,” Marcus sighs, leaning down to trail kisses along your jaw, “We talk after.”

“We talk after.” You say, mainly to the room more than anything else.

Your hands are still clutching at his shirt when his fingers find the button on your jeans. Still as adept at it as he’d always been, he pops the button open and pulls down the zipper, letting his hand trail down, settling across the lace of your underwear, cupping your pussy, letting his fingers trace along skin through lace.

A hiss leaves your mouth as you work your body in time with the slow, teasing movements of Marcus’ hand, “You’ve changed,” You manage to breathe out, your hand coming to the back of his neck to pull his mouth nearer to yours, “When you were desperate for me you’d never tease.”

You can feel his lips smile against the skin of your neck where he’s tracing wet kisses along the skin, hand still feather-light between your legs, “I’ve learnt to be more patient, honey.”

“And if I asked you not to?”

“In all the years I knew you, never once did you beg for it.” He pulls back, your eyes now accustomed to the dark, able to see him better, his voice is low, “Unless you’ve changed, you’ll have to put up with it.”

You grasp his cheeks in your palms, his hand still teasing you, pull his attention to you fully, “Marcus Pike, I swear to all that is holy that if you do not spread me out on my bed and fuck me in the next five minutes, I will die.”

He makes a ‘tsk’ sound, his head shaking in your hands, “That’s not begging for it honey,” He coos, “You gotta ask nicely for it.”

You let out a grumble of frustration, but you have to admit, this new version of the man you knew so well before is enticing. You can feel the way wetness is settling between your thighs, you’re sure if he dipped his fingers down he’d have some smart comment about how soaked you were for him already.

So you swallow your pride, you know it’ll be worth it in the end, “Please.”

“Good girl.”

It all happens in a flurry. One moment you’re against the wall, the next your back is against the mattress, Marcus’ hips pressed to yours as his hands work to push your shirt up and off your body. Your back hits the mattress again and his mouth is on you almost instantly, his lips trailing down your sternum, between the valley of your breasts. Pushing himself back on his knees, he brings his hands to the cups of your bra, pulling them down. Your nipples pebbling against the cold of the air.

His lips are back on you almost immediately, nipple enveloped into the warmth of his mouth, tip of his tongue flicking at it, making your back arch off the bed, pressing further into his mouth. Your hand comes to tangle in the curls at the back of his head, anchoring him to your body. As his mouth works across your chest, you can’t quite believe what’s happening to you. The man of your dreams, the person you always thought you were destined for, back, right here between your thighs, the bulge in the front of his jeans all too familiar to you.

Head tipped back in pleasure, you breathe out into the air, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He tears off your breast with a wet pop, looking up at you through his lashes, mouth kissing down your body, across the soft of your tummy, he taps at your sides, lifting your hips up to drag your jeans and underwear down your legs, flung behind him and forgotten when you plant the flat of your feet onto the bed and let your knees fall open.

Marcus isn’t a religious man, he never has been, but knelt between your thighs, hands flying to rid himself of his clothes, watching as you gingerly trail your hand between your thighs, eyes on him as you play with your clit, he thinks he might have to start believing. As he stands to take the last of his clothes off, standing at the foot of the bed, naked with his cock in his hand, watching your face, he thanks the Lord for whatever mischief they had to concoct to get you back here with him.

He crawls back up your body, kissing from ankle to thigh, settling himself between your thighs, cock sliding through your slick folds as he lays his body down against yours, one of his hands slipping under your neck, cradling the back of your head, the other cupping your cheek, moving your face to look right into his eyes. He’s so fucking close to you, lips barely a hairs breadth from your own.

“I have to be inside you,” He pants against your mouth, “I promise I'll spend hours between your thighs later baby, but I have to be inside you.”

He doesn’t give you any time to respond, just shifts his hips a little, sinking himself into your aching cunt. You arch up into him, moaning against his mouth as he stills. The hand clutching at your cheek trails down your neck, thumb flicking against your nipple as it travels to rest on your hip.

“Stop squirming,” He pleads, “Please.. Just stay still a minute.”

He feels so right, nestled inside your pussy. The weight of his body pressed against yours takes you right back to all the nights before, locked away in his Austin apartment in the dead of night, making each other feel good, making promises at the height of your combined pleasure to each other that never materialised. You can feel tears settle in your eyes as he starts moving, pulling himself out of you slowly, pushing back in even slower.

Marcus leans down, kissing the salty tears from your cheeks, shushing you, “Don’t cry baby,” He whispers into your ear, “I’ve got you now.”

Your hands are clutching at his shoulders, nails digging small, half-moon shapes into his skin there. He feels just as incredible moving inside you as he always did, but there’s something settling in your tummy, the feeling that you knew so well with him, that you’ve only really known with yourself since.

“I can feel you baby,” Marcus groans into your ear as the thrusts of his cock get a little faster, a little harder, “Clenching all perfectly around me,” He takes hold of one of your wrists, dragging it between the both of you, resting it right where you need it, “I won’t last baby,” He admits, “Touch yourself and we’ll do it together?”

So you do, you rub tight, precise circles over your clit as Marcus pushes himself up, takes your thighs in his palms, pushing your legs back as far as he can. The change in angle makes you cry out as he really starts fucking you now. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of his skin against yours, your whimpers and his groans. You can feel the tightening coil across your abdomen, breath hitching in your throat, you’re so fucking close to coming undone on him.

“Marcus,” You whine, “I’m gonna-” You trail off as he shifts a little more, pressing your legs further back, cock hitting that unholy sweet spot inside you, “Gonna come.”

“Go on baby,” He encourages, “I’ll be right behind you.”

And that’s how it ends. Eyes shut so tightly you can feel tears pooling at the corners, cunt clenching around his cock as you cry out his name. It’s so familiar, the way it feels, the way he sounds, like no time has passed at all and you’re exactly the same as you’d both been four years ago. He’s pounding into you as your body convulses underneath, thighs shaking and toes curling as his hips start to stutter.

“Where?” He manages to choke out, his tone reminiscent of all those times before when he was holding on, teetering on the edge, wanting to know what you wanted.

“I’m s-safe,” You manage to choke out, head reeling from your own orgasm, “The pill.”

He doesn’t need to hear anymore, finally giving in, knowing you’ve fallen apart for him, he’s groaning your name into the dark, you can feel him spilling into you, claiming you, marking you as his own in a way only the two of you could ever understand. He lets go of your thighs, letting your legs drop back into comfort as he slowly drags himself from you, collapsing onto the bed next to you.

There’s a few moments of silence. Your arm is draped across your face, chest rising and falling as you try to suck in enough air to calm your breathing, Marcus doing the same across the bed. You roll over, putting yourself on your side so you can look at him. He’s led on his back, head turned to look at you in the dull light of the room - the moonlight through the window the only thing illuminating the two of you. He reaches out, traces your face with his hand.

“I can't believe you’re real.” He speaks softly, rolling over to face you, pulling your warm body to his.

“I know we said we’d talk after,” You whisper, hand trailing over his waist to rest across his back, “But can we just stay like this for a while?” It’s a soft plead, you don’t want to be reminded that this was probably a bad idea, you want to hold this man in front of you and forget that in a few short days it’ll all be over, he’ll go back to wherever he is now, and you’ll go back to D.C. lonelier than ever.

“I’ll stay here as long as you’ll let me, honey.”

Marcus, against his better judgement, stays with you all night. You don’t talk. You curl up into his side, settle against his body as he wraps his arms around you. It’s inevitable that he casts his mind back to how things used to be. To the history you share with each other. He still, to this day, hasn’t stopped thinking about you, about what would have been if you’d stayed. Would you be married? Probably, he thinks. He’d thought of it often towards the end, before your promotion. Stopped outside jewellery shops, tried to imagine which kind of ring you’d want – he’d even slipped one of your rings onto his own finger, figuring out where it stopped so he could pick the right size when the time came. Would you have children? He isn’t sure, neither of you had ever spoken about it, you’d never expressed a want to have them, but he’s certain if you’d have asked, he’d have given them to you.

He falls asleep, waking up hours later, darkness still pervading. He turns on his side, spooning his front to your back. You’re half-awake when you press yourself back into him, bring your hand up to clutch at his head as he slips inside you once more, his hand holding your thigh up. He breathes into your ear, whispers filth to you as he rocks his hips against you. When you feel his teeth trail over your shoulder, he chuckles when you tell him off.

“I can’t walk down the aisle with bruises on my shoulders, Marcus.”

It’s soft, and he tips you over the edge, feeling you clench around him as his fingers trace circles over your clit, following just behind you, filling you up once more. He doesn’t pull away from you, just settles your thigh back down, resting himself inside of you as you both fall back to sleep.

Then, he’s awake before your alarm. He wakes you with a kiss to your forehead, tells you to go back to sleep when you protest and try and coax him back to the warmth of your sheets. He has to shower he says, has to help Mike get ready, but he’ll be waiting for you, watching you all day. Marcus smiles, really smiles, when you curl over back onto your side, soft breaths and mumbles as you fall back to sleep, and as he walks to his own room and stands waiting for the shower to warm, there’s a feeling of content that spreads through him – should he have fucked you last night? Probably not. Should he have encouraged you to talk more? Probably yes. He knows he’s got his cards hidden, he’s not letting on that this might not have to just exist here, but he’ll keep that to himself for just a little longer.

“So,” Cassie smirks from her place in the make-up chair, artist flitting around her, pressing all number of products into her face, “You and the groomsman?”

“Shut up,” You mutter to her, trying not to scratch at your face, make-up already settling uncomfortably across your skin, “A momentary lapse of judgement.”

She hums, and then moves her focus back to the make-up artist who is tilting her face to put on some blush, “You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” She says to you as you pass her a mimosa, “I know that was Marcus. The Marcus.”

There’s a moment where you feel like a deer in headlights, like you’ve been caught being up to no good, even though you know that’s not the case. Then you turn slowly to her, eyebrow raised, and see her smirking, much to the chagrin of the make-up artist who urgently wants to get her lipstick on her so she can move onto the final bridesmaid.

“He’s Mike’s friend, they went to school together, see each other quite often these days – apparently he always talks about a girl from Austin, no-one could ever compare, he’s tried moving on, done this, done that, but always came back to thinking about the one who got away,” She stops talking to take a drink, “Which sounded oddly familiar to someone else I know.”

She’s not wrong really – Cassie had been a lifeline when you’d moved to D.C. a work colleague turned best friend, who has been the shoulder to cry on whenever dates had gone badly, or even when they’d been good, but you just couldn’t get Marcus Pike off your brain. She told you, like most good friends would, that it would take time, you’d find someone right for you, someone who would take your mind right off Marcus, but it never happened.

“You did this on purpose!” You accuse, but its friendly, because really, her and her soon-to-be husband have only done what you had always wanted to do yourself, pick up the phone, no matter how long it has been and tell the man you still loved him.

“Of course we did,” She chuckles, “Don’t think about it too much,” She adds, “Just enjoy this today and most of all, behave yourself.”

When Cassie walks down the aisle, it’s not her that Marcus is looking at – it’s you. He hadn’t thought it possible for him to find you more beautiful than he had before, but in your dark green dress, slit cut into the fabric to show off one of your legs as you walk, dress cut perfectly to sit on all the curves of your body that he always did love, he can’t deny you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He spends the entire ceremony making eyes at you, smirking when you meet his gaze. He wants to tell you how lovely you look, lean down and plant a kiss to your lips in front of everyone, but he doesn’t get a chance until cocktail hour, once you’ve had your pictures taken and Cassie has insisted on you finally having a drink and enjoying your day instead of flapping about whether she needs anything from you.

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you look today?” He asks, hand settling on your waist as you lean against the bar waiting for your drink.

“Funnily enough, it’s not me most people have been looking at.” You quip back, taking the margarita from the bartender when it’s handed to you.

“I’ve been looking at you.”

“I know,” You smirk, “Pretty sure I ruined my panties stood at the top of the aisle.”

“Because the ceremony moved you so much?”

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about your face between my thighs, actually.”

He looks exactly like he always used to when you flirt with him like this. Eyes low and dark, mouth slightly ajar like he can’t quite believe you’ve just been so forward. He’s not thinking straight anymore, and much like he had done last night, he grips around your wrist and starts dragging you from the reception room, this time there are considerably more people so you manage to slip out unnoticed.

Instead of heading up the stairs, taking you to your room or his, he turns left down a hallway, tearing open the door to one of the bathrooms. It’s a single stall, lock clicking behind him. You press your back against the wall, setting your drink down on the sink.

Marcus takes three steps towards you, hand slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, lips so close that you can feel his breath on your skin.

“Do you know how sinful you’ve looked all day?” He asks, “Walking around looking all innocent, but I know you’ve been begging to get fucked all day, haven’t you?” You whine at him in response, trying to chase his mouth as he pulls back, “Don’t think I didn’t see you rubbing your thighs together during the ceremony.”

“It’s only because you wouldn’t stop looking at me.”

His hand finds the skin of your thigh, the slit of your dress making it easy for him to trail up to the hem of your panties.

“If I put my fingers on you,” He breathes, “Will you be wet?”

“Why don’t you find out?” You cock your head to the side, biting your lip as you look at him, his hand pulling your panties to the side, thick fingers slipping between your folds.

“Baby,” He moans, finally taking your bottom lip between his, nipping your skin with his teeth a little before he pulls away, fingers slipping inside you, pulling a groan from your throat, “Soaked for me?”

“Always, Marcus.”

He drags his fingers from you, spins you around, and reaches down to bring your palms up to rest against the wall in front you. He puts his hands on your hips, dragging your ass backwards until you can feel him through his trousers. His hands shuck your dress up to your waist and instead of tearing your panties off, he pushes them to the side. You look over your shoulder at him, as much as you can, and watch as he undoes his belt, pulls the zipper of his trousers down and reaches in, pulling his cock out. His trousers are pushed down just enough to let him free himself, and you don’t think you’ve seen such a beautiful sight in your life, than Marcus Pike with his fist around his cock, running his hand up and down himself as he moves to nudge the head of his cock at your soaked core.

Unlike last night, he isn’t gentle when he pushes into you. He’s buried inside your cunt in seconds, setting a pace that punches the air from your lungs. You know that even though you’re locked in here, away from the party, there’s still every chance someone is going to walk past, try the door handle, and hear exactly what’s going on in here, so you’re trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum.

“Needed you so badly, baby,” Marcus chokes out behind you, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have his fingerprints embedded onto your skin, “Always so pretty for me, aren’t you?”

He’s hitting that sweet spot inside you, over and over again, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out. You feel one of his hands trail up your spine through the material of your dress, coming to rest with a grip around the nape of your neck, his fingers itching to slide up into your hair and grip it.

“You can’t,” You plead, “Don’t mess my hair up.”

“I won’t baby.” He pants out from behind you, trailing his hand down just a little so he’s not tempted to take a fistful of it to pull you back, arch you into him even more.

It’s fast and it’s hard, everything Marcus never really used to be. He liked to take his time, spread you out and have you crying for him before he slipped inside you, slowly, watching every contort of pleasure on your face. You think you like this new version of him, the one so desperate to have you he couldn’t make it up the stairs, couldn’t even pull your panties down your legs.

“Marcus,” You moan out, “Please.”

“What’s that, baby?” He asked, mouth right by your ear, “You begging for something?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What do you want?”

“Make me come?”

You think maybe he might try and tease you some more, but mercifully he takes the hand he’s got resting on your hip and snakes it down your body, letting his fingers find your clit - he had always been good at that. He drags the gathered slick where he can, cock still moving into you, pulling whimpers and moans whenever you feel his skin slap against yours, circles your clit quickly with the pad of his finger. You can feel your walls tightening around him, your thighs starting to shake as he continues doing exactly what he’s doing.

It’s no secret to either of you that making you come always took time. He’d never shamed you for it, always been more than happy to do whatever it took, for as long as it took, to get you there. But the mix of desperation for him, elation that he’s waltzed right back into your life, and the fact he’s fucking you in a public bathroom, have that coil tightening inside you quicker than ever.

“Can feel you getting tight around me baby,” He groans into your ear, “You gonna let go for me?”

You don’t have time to tell him yes. The tight coil snaps inside you, your eyes closed so tightly you’re sure the make-up around your eyes is dragging down your cheeks on tears. You can keep your voice down now as you flutter around his cock, you cry out his name, feeling his hands holding onto your hips to keep you steady as your legs threaten to fall out from underneath you.

You’re only half aware of him speaking into your ear, telling you he’s close. You can feel him start to pull himself out of you, so you reach behind you quickly, fingernails digging into the part of his thigh you can reach to keep him inside you.

“I swear to god if you get cum on my dress Pike, I’ll kill you.”

He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle behind you, slams himself back into you, “You just want an excuse for me to come inside you, don’t you?” He hisses into your ear, teeth nipping at the skin behind your ear, “You just have to ask nicely for it.”

“Please, Marcus, please.”

Never one to deny you, he does, having held out as long as he could, he thrusts once, twice and then he’s moaning your name into your ear. You can feel him spilling inside of you, filling you up, then you can feel him dripping down your thigh when Marcus starts pulling away from you, not quite quick enough to put your panties back on. He tells you to keep still, fumbling behind him for some paper he can use to clean your thighs up.

He speaks to you as he lets the material of your dress fall back down over your legs, “Walking around full of me for the rest of the night.” He coos as you turn around, reaching out to pull his mouth to yours in a chaste kiss.

You stay like that for a moment, both attempting to fix the others clothes. Marcus brings his thumb to his mouth, letting his tongue jut out to wet it, before he drags it under your eye, getting rid of the worst of the black marks he’s caused.

You reach behind him, unlock the door, but take hold of his hand as you push the door open. Thankfully there’s no-one waiting outside to use the bathroom as you drag him back down towards the party.

It’s late. Or early depending on how you look at it. Marcus had dragged you from the dance floor at midnight, walked you slowly up to his room instead of yours. He’d helped you out of your dress, let you shower and wash yourself clean, then, before you could put your robe on and insist on going to sleep, he’d taken your hand, led you to the chair near the balcony doors and he’d made good on his promise of last night to spend hours with his face between your legs.

“I can’t,” You whine, Marcus hand’s pinning your legs open, his tongue flicking against your clit, “It’s too much.”

He pulls off you just enough to speak, “Believe in yourself baby,” He says, sinking two fingers into you, curling them upwards, “I know you can, just one more for me.”

Your whole body feels like its on fire. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s made you come tonight. There had been a small reprieve when you’d begged to suck his cock, Marcus obliging, painting your face and your tongue, before he settled right back to his knees. It’s almost as if he thinks if he stops you’ll disappear.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair, battling between tugging his face closer and pulling it away as he sucks your clit into his mouth, the added pressure along with the flicking of his tongue setting your skin on fire even more than before. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and the back of your neck, rivulets of sweat gathering at various points across your body as Marcus tips you over the edge once more.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, body feeling boneless as your whole body convulses at his touch. Almost like he knows, he pulls himself away from you gently, knowing that any more would be too much, saving you the need to beg him to stop. He presses soft kisses to the skin of your tummy, kissing up your body until he’s sitting up on his knees, kissing into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.

Marcus clambers to his feet, takes hold of your hand and pulls you to your feet, guiding you over to the bed to settle you under the sheets, the air peppering your sweaty skin with goosebumps. It’s a sad realisation that you have to go home tomorrow, that the bubble you’ve caught yourself up in over the past few days is about to burst. You think this might break your heart even more than the first time around.

“What are we going to do?” You ask against the skin of his chest as he pulls you into him.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, kiss pressed lightly to your forehead.

“With us, after this?” Your fingers are tracing over his skin, trying to map the feeling of him before he leaves.

“Well, I thought maybe we could go for dinner sometime?”

You look up at him, face contorted in confusion, “You’re going to come all the way from Austin to take me for dinner?”

“No baby,” He chuckles a little, “I don’t live in Austin anymore, I live in D.C.”

You push yourself up in bed, one hand on the mattress to keep yourself upright, looking down at Marcus, who reaches up to cup your cheek in his hand, thumb rubbing soft lines across your skin, “Since when?”

“Two years?” He offers, “I would have-” He trails off a little, “I would have told you but I wasn’t in a great place when I first moved, had no idea what your life would have even looked like either, I didn’t just want to turn up out of the blue if you’d moved on, found someone else.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at the wrist of the arm cradling your face, “I’ve waited so long for you,” You sigh, “I tried, tried to find someone else, but none of them were ever you Marcus.”

“I tried too,” He admits, because Lord knows he did, and for what? “I promise I’ll tell you everything one day, but right now, I want to fall asleep with you right here.”

You settle back down in bed, curling up against his side, arm draped over his waist, “Where in the city do you live?” You ask, sleep starting to make your eyes heavy.

“I’m on 4th street, in Petworth.”

You can’t help but laugh, because of course he fucking does. Marcus Pike has been living four streets over from you for the past two fucking years.

“You’ve been living four streets over from me for two years, Marcus.”

He runs his hands up and down your spine, gently, soothing you, “Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” He asks softly, “I can be at your front door in five minutes.”

“You want to be my booty call, Marcus Pike?”

“If that’s what you want,” He speaks, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“What are you doing Wednesday night?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware.”

“How about you take me on a first date?” You offer, “Let’s learn each other all over again and take things from there?”

Marcus colts your chin up to his face with a finger, leaning down and giving you the softest kiss you think you’ve ever received, “I would love nothing more.”

[beefrobeefcal]

Tommy Miller's Stall feat. Marcus Pike & f!Reader

Prompt: Marcus Pike + BBQ + "It's a Surprise. Close your eyes."

a @pedgito challenge fic | Rated: 18+ | word count: 2,852 warnings: swearing, talk of drinking beer, eating, bathroom stalls becoming shrines, Barbequed meats (consumed), broken AC, lack of air circulation, sweating, oral (m receiving), pork steeple in ham wallet (unprotected), bathroom shenanigans, pre-term ejaculation, cumming undone too soon, grey t-shirts

A/N: I know I am a day late with this and I know bc of that, it's probably not going to be included in the challenge, but I needed to release this! Apologies to @pedgito for my tardiness. This is not the previously met Marcus - he's a Marcus all of his own.

Thank you to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal & @bitchesuntitled for their love and support.

Traveling for work meant Marcus got to know all the random hole-in-the-wall eateries and Miller Bro’s Boy Howdy BBQ in Austin was one of his favourites. He loved the laid-back atmosphere and the story of why Joel & his brother Tommy bought the place from the previous owner – Tommy lost his virginity in the bathroom to a line cook named Rhonda and begged his brother to help him buy this drive of a restaurant and save it from demolition. There was even a plaque in the stall where Tommy ‘became a man in Summer ’89’.

Over the years, he’d gotten to know the menu and the Miller brothers. Joel was more aloof, preferring to stay in the kitchen or at the BBQ pit out back, while Tommy was happy to sit out with the customers like they were old friends, playing cards or sharing a few stories and laughs with them. The few times that Marcus had interacted with Joel were mainly to compliment him on the menu and tell him how much he liked the place; Joel would grunt and nod in thanks and head back into the kitchen.

There was another reason he liked coming to this place – you. From the first time he laid eyes on you as he darkened this place’s doorway six years ago, he knew he was hooked. You’d flashed your smile at him, flipped your hair and told him to, “Take any available seat, handsome. I’ll be right wit’cha!”

He’d learned that your nickname was ‘Peaches’ on account of your penchant to recommend the peach and bourbon barbeque sauce that was house made. He also learned that Joel kept an eye on him when you were around - he would catch Joel narrowing his eyes at him through the kitchen service window when you were at his table taking his order. It used to make Marcus nervous, thinking he might get something extra hidden in his food, but he decided that it was too delicious to care.

He'd taken a temporary position in the Austin office and for the last six months, he’d eaten at Miller’s every night and it was apparent. Marcus had assumed you were being kind when you called him handsome, especially now that he was barely fitting into the oversized summer attire he’d packed in late December before he’d come out to Austin and discovered that eating large portions of charbroiled meats at least once a day would alter your waistline so drastically.

His middle had filled out enough that the suits he wore throughout the day had to be tailored repeatedly before being fully replaced to accommodate his new weight. And the summer clothing he was wearing, formally loose-fitting for the heat, were anything but. So, when you winked at him when he entered today and said that you’d be with him in a minute, he internally reminded himself that you were just doing your job.

Marcus sat heavily down and slid into the booth, then waited for you to come over to his table. As he sat, he noticed how warm the dining area’s temperature was and took in the slight sweat ring and patches that were forming on your grey Miller Bro’s Boy Howdy BBQ branded shirt. He also realized he didn’t hear the tell-tale whirling and churning sounds of the too-old AC unit that normally filled the vacant spaces between conversations. He looked up to the vent in the corner, and the streamers that normally danced in the airflow hung limp, and he wiped the back of his hand over his damp forehead. He was getting hot.

“Hey handsome.”, you smiled, a slight weariness in your eyes but your smile shone bright. “Usual or you wanna see the menu?”

Marcus smiled back, and not wanting to make you work any harder, nodded and responded, “The usual please, Peaches.”

His eyes trailed down your body, landing on your butt as you walked back to the service window, then smiled to himself. He looked up, then made direct eye contact with Joel who only offered a scowl followed by a judgemental head shake before he disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen.

*****

Marcus was sweating. After finishing his meal, Tommy had come around and sat with him, ordering more barbequed goodness and beers, telling him the beer was ‘on the house, ‘cause the fuckin’ AC shit the bed.’ This exclamation was followed by you reminding Tommy that the AC was broken because he spent the repair funds on a ridiculous crystal duck as a gift to impress a woman – a woman who happened to be the AC repair tech’s wife.

Even with the cool beer, Marcus felt overly hot. A belly stuffed to the brim with smoked and charbroiled meats while sitting in a hot, stuffy room with still air was getting to him. As Tommy stood, slightly wavering on his feet from all the beer he was consuming to match the beer he was giving away to customers, he heavily patted Marcus on the shoulder and muttered, “Take it easy, big guy… I’ll be back ‘round soon.”

*****

You were hovering around Marcus’ table, checking in on him and Tommy, and every time you moved towards the kitchen with another order, Joel would shake his head at you, much like he would at Marcus.

“One of y’all better make a move soon… fuckin’ pathetic.”

You huffed in response, cheeks heating up. “Shove it, Joel. Mind your business.”

“Jesus, Peaches! It’s my fuckin’ business if I’m payin’ you by the hour and have’ta watch this horse shit pussy footin’ between you and fat boy over there. Just go sit on his lap an’ get it over with.”

You gave him a warning glare and a smug grin tugged at one side of Joel’s mouth. He nodded to you, signaling to look and you saw Tommy leaving Marcus’ table.

“Gonna close early on account of the heat and the fact that I’m fuckin’ done roastin’ myself in this kitchen.” You heard Joel chuckle behind you. “Get’er done, Peaches.”

*****

Marcus stood and stretched after he finished his beer, feeling the weight he'd consumed in his stomach, and looking down, he could see the bulk of it, too. You watched him stand and stretch, exposing a sliver of his rounded-out middle between his shirt and shorts.

Tommy tsk’d, startling you. Turning around, you were met by his slightly drunk, glazed eyes, and a dopey smile. “Joel’s right, Peaches. Just bite the bullet and take that man for a ride in my stall.”

“Oh my god, Tommy!”, you exclaimed with a frown a little too loudly, shoving him back.

Tommy laughed and handed you a shot of bourbon. You rolled your eyes and slammed it alongside him. He then grabbed your shoulders, turned you to face Marcus’ direction and said in your ear quietly. “No harm, no foul in helpin’ him take in the sights Austin has to offer, Peaches.”, then shoved you towards his table.

You caught yourself from stumbling and cleared your throat as you approached him. Marcus turned and looked at you; a small smile spread on his face before a pink blush crept up his cheeks as he tugged his shirt down, closing the slight gap his stretch had caused.

You could feel the energy, electrifying and crackling like a late July thunderstorm, raging in the space between your bodies, pulling you together with a gravitational field that would rival the one caused by Jupiter’s giant spot. Marcus opened his mouth to speak but any words he was going to say were lost in his throat as you moved forward and kissed him. The soft exhale that came after his surprised gasp tasted like beer and barbeque sauce on your tongue that pushed against the seam of his lips. His hands, sticky and smoky, were tethered up in your hair, holding your face against his as he deepened the kiss, granting your tongue entrance in your tongue’s long anticipated dance.

You barely heard Tommy spit his beer out and sputter out choked coughs as Joel grunted then nodded in approval at what you and Marcus were up to. After depriving yourselves of full breaths for long enough, you parted, panting, staring at one another. Marcus’ shoulders and chest were heaving and his lips, parted and pouted, were wet from your combined saliva.  His face was flushed, glistening in the low glow of all the tacky neon lighting adorning the walls, one side of his face pink from flamingos with sunglasses on, the other side flickering orange and yellow from the broken Corona promotional neon sign. He was beautiful.

At that moment, you didn’t think what you looked like, completely enraptured by the huffing and panting man sweating in front of you.

“Peaches…”, Marcus murmured, eyes wide and pleading. “I wanna do this right. I-”

You couldn’t let him finish, not if his next words could dampen the fire that had erupted in your core, making your hole twitch hard enough that you felt it in behind your belly button. You shook your head and shushed him, pressing your index finger against his lips. You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the men’s washroom, directly into Tommy’s stall.

Thinking back, you would wonder how differently things would have gone if you’d pulled Marcus into a private area that wasn’t designed for single occupancy. The stalls in this restaurant were small, given that the original design of the washrooms did not include stalls at all, and Marcus was no longer a small man. But good god, the feeling of your body pushed up against his as he was backed against the stall door, mashing your mouths together.

You were still taking the lead in this dance, setting the pace and motions, while Marcus finally allowed his hands to touch more than anywhere above your collarbone. He gripped your waist with one hand and the other pushed its way between your bodies to clumsily try and shove it down the front of your pants. You both awkwardly tried to undress one another as you kept your lips and tongues attached, panting and grunting. If someone walked into the bathroom, they might assume there were two dogs quietly fighting over a piece of beef in the stall.

Once your jean shorts were open, Marcus wasted no time in shoving them down enough to shove his barbeque-tinged fingers into them. He eventually found what he was looking for when the tip of his finger grazed your sensitive and twitching nub, eliciting a gasping moan from you as you involuntarily bucked your hips. It was what tipped you over the edge, prompting you to swing him around and fumble with his button fly. He pulled back and his hands gently held yours, halting your mission to get his pants off.

“Marcus…”, you panted against his mouth.

“I haven’t… it’s been a while since…”, he stumbled through his words.

It seemed like time was slowing and you smiled softly at him. “Close your eyes.”

He hesitated, sucking in a breath nervously. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

His brows twitched and did as he was told and you sank to your knees, sliding your hands down his torso and thighs, and he let out a soft whimper once he realized where you were headed. Once on your knees, you pushed up his shirt and pressed a kiss right below his belly button and steadied yourself with your forehead against his full and rounded out stomach, your hands now free to get his shorts opened and down. His cock was pushing an impressive bulge in his grey boxer briefs, and you could see where the tip was pressing, a dark, damp patch at its peak.

Pulling down his underwear, his cock popped out and slapped up against his heavy underbelly, and without any hesitation, you grabbed it and sucked the tip into your mouth.

Marcus moaned out a surprised gasp and his hand gently rested on the crown of your head.

“I-oh fuck! I won’t… I wont last long. Peaches, please, honey.”, he whined, his fingers curling into your hair ever so gently.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t last long. His balls had just started to lift and tighten as you pulled off, and you looked up at him, marveling at the sight above you. Marcus was leaning back against the stall door, and you could only see his tented brows above his closed eyes before his belly obstructed the view.

Standing up, you smoothed your hands over his middle and leaned in to kiss him. He smiled against your mouth, and took a chance in moving away from the door and his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you into him. He maneuvered the both of you, now facing the stall door, ready to push you against it, to get on his knees for you, and pulled your shorts and underwear off completely.

But you stopped him, shoving his shorts and boxer briefs down his thighs, and pushed him back to sit on the toilet.

He fell back on to the lowered seat with a grunt, and you straddled his lap.

“Marcus,”, you breathe out as you start to seat yourself upon his cock. “I’ve wanted this for -oh god! for so long…”

He nodded frantically, and his fingers dug into your hips once your hips were finally flush with his.

“Oh…oh fudge…”, he moaned, clenching his eyes closed.

His breathing was quick and staggered, and his hips twitched and bucked under you. All you had done was allow your pussy to swallow his cock whole. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he wouldn’t last long, and the strain that reddened his face and the sounds leaving his mouth as you began to rock your hips slowly, trying to give him some time to adjust, but you needed to move.

“P-Peaches -”

You shushed him, and gripped his shoulder, starting to pick up the pace. His cock felt amazing - not too big or thick, but absolutely a perfect fit for you - just like him.

“Peaches - please, baby!”

Marcus tried to slow you down, tried to hold you down, tried to gain leverage by grabbing anything he could, tried shifting underneath you, but you were determined. You hushed him again, reveling in the harsh way he finally gripped your waist and hip with his large hands, and the rhythm you’d found bouncing on his cock. It was hitting just the right spot at just the right angle, and you could feel the early stirring of your climax.

But the sound of the toilet flushing from him sitting forward enough to set the sensors off and the loud, long groan that Marcus let out, followed by the feeling of warm cum shooting into you made you still in his lap.

He gripped you tighter, panting ‘Peaches!’ over and over, and pushed his face into your t-shirt covered chest, and his belly contracted and relaxed at an alarming pace. 

“Oh god… oh no. I’m-I’m so sorry!”, he whined and whimpered into your cleavage, still unloading spurt after spurt into your pussy. “Oooooh! oh my go-I’m sorry…”

He panted out grunts and groans, and his face twisted against the front of your t-shirt in blissful agony with his brows furrowed and his mouth open. Wet, hot breaths and saliva heated up your chest, and his hips bucked a few times, the final drops of cum finally spitting out.

“P-Peaches - I’m sorry.”, he murmured, weak and breathless. “I-I couldn’t - it’s been a-a while… for me.”

You sat silently, feeling his cum leaking out of you. You’d never had a man cum that quickly before. Sure, you’d had guys finish first, but this was a record, and yet, you weren’t mad. You couldn’t be.

“Marcus – “

“Just too pretty... I-I tried… I-“

“Marcus – “

“I didn’t mean to… just so pretty and I-“

“Marcus!”

He finally pulled back and looked up at you, his big brown eyes pleading for mercy. “I really like you and I wanted to do this right; ask you out properly, and - “

“Take me home and finish me, Marcus.”

“I just - wait, what? You want me to-”

“Take me back to your place. Make me cum.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his mouth moved slightly, but no words came out, only small, confused breaths.

“I like you, too, and-”

“I want to take you for dinner first.”

You smiled and huffed out a laugh. “You just ate!”

He nodded, raising his brows and offered a small shrug. “Well, yeah, but you- uh, well you got me working up an appetite. And I -”, he looked a little bashful as he continued. “I want to - uh - perform well and I can do that after we get some food in and the beer out of my system.”

You pressed a sweet kiss onto his lips and both of you couldn’t help the giggles that started. 

The door to the bathroom opened and slammed against the wall; Tommy’s slurred voice boomed out, “You two done? I wanna piss’n my stall.”

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[tokkiwrites]

Could you do Marcus Acacius x princess!f!reader

A Roman Empire has a ball. you are bit nervous around people in the ball.

Your father just wants best for you literally stand beside your father. You are gonna excuse yourself. Get some air. You walk as you trip someone that your apologies He was holding your waist so that you don't trip over. You two eyes are met. But you let go all the sudden. He was quite interested to you.

You walk back as he asked for a dance. You take his hand As you two dance along. You two were talking that about life. He was impressed about you.

Along with dancing, the dance was over as he kisses your hand for honor and wisdom.

(Hope you will write it, thank you and have a wonderful day)

thank you for this request! i hope it's what you envisioned • reqs

marcus acacius x princess!f!reader

The grand hall of the Roman palace was bathed in golden light as the ball unfolded in full splendor. The scent of roses and rich spices filled the air, mixing with the laughter and conversation of the empire’s finest nobility. You stood by your father’s side, your hands clasped together tightly. The elaborate folds of your gown swept across the marble floor, but you hardly noticed. Your heart was beating rapidly, nerves fluttering in your chest.

Your father’s eyes softened as he looked down at you. He only wanted the best for you. You knew that, but sometimes the weight of expectation felt heavy on your shoulders. “You’ll be fine, my daughter. Look around—everyone is here to celebrate,” he said reassuringly, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. You nodded politely, though the pressure didn’t ease. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy these events, but the sea of unfamiliar faces, the expectant glances, and the conversations filled with formality made you feel out of place. You needed a moment to breathe, to escape from the intensity of it all.

“I think I’ll get some air,” you whispered to your father, who gave you a small nod of understanding.

You quietly slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the throngs of elegantly dressed nobles. As you made your way toward the quieter corners of the palace, your mind was occupied, and you didn’t notice when your foot caught on the edge of your gown. You gasped softly as you began to stumble. Before you could hit the ground, a strong hand caught your waist, steadying you with surprising grace. Startled, you looked up, your eyes locking with the man who had saved you from your fall. His dark eyes were intense but kind, framed by sharp, handsome features. His hold was firm, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to slow.

“My apologies,” you said quickly, your voice soft but embarrassed as you stepped back, releasing yourself from his hold.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” he said with a slight smile, his voice rich and smooth. “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”

You gave a polite nod, feeling heat rise in your cheeks, and turned to walk back toward the ballroom. But before you could slip away, his voice stopped you.

“May I have the honor of a dance?”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. His eyes were still on you, a curious glint in them. There was something about him—his presence was commanding yet not overbearing, his interest genuine. Despite your nerves, you found yourself giving a small nod. “Yes." He extended his hand, and you took it. His touch was warm and steady as he led you back toward the ballroom floor. The music swelled around you as you both moved into the dance. The crowd seemed to fade away as you glided across the floor, his steps perfectly matched with yours. “What brings you to this ball, then?” he asked as the two of you twirled gracefully. “My father, the king.” you said, feeling the need to be honest. “He wishes for me to be seen, to…make alliances.” He gave a small, knowing smile. “And what do you wish for?”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to answer truthfully. “I wish for more than just alliances. I want to live a life of meaning, of adventure. To do something more than what’s expected of me.” His eyes lit up with admiration. “That is rare,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Most would simply accept the path laid before them, but you want something different.” You nodded, feeling more comfortable with him as the dance continued. “And you?” you asked. “What do you seek?”

“Purpose,” he said simply. “To serve the empire, yes, but to also find something that makes life worth more than just duty. Something, or someone, worth fighting for.” His words stirred something in you, and for a moment, you felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room. As the dance came to a close, the music slowing to its final notes, he gently lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against your knuckles. “For honor and wisdom,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. There was something undeniably compelling about him, something that made you feel as though your paths were meant to cross. “Thank you,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips. He released your hand, but you could feel his gaze on you as you stepped back. You turned to rejoin your father, the moment lingering in your mind.

As you moved through the ballroom, you glanced over your shoulder one last time, and your eyes met his again across the room. Marcus Acacius, as you had learned his name during the dance, stood tall, watching you with the same interest he had shown when he first caught you. You couldn’t help but wonder what the future held.

[octuscle]

I like the work the Chronivac did to “assist” that office. I definitely wouldn’t mind if my 9-5 colleagues were as inspired to hit the gym, instead. Maybe there’s a training video I can share with them?

Strictly speaking, you're not exactly a sporting ace… Okay, you go swimming twice a week. You eat a reasonably healthy diet. You're one of the fitter ones in the company. But you're also one of the youngest. You have advantages there… In any case, you've already submitted a proposal for a fitness program to the internal suggestion scheme. Let's see what effect that will have. But now you have to get on with your work.

After a few days, you will receive a parcel by internal mail. "Stephen, is that you?" you ask in amazement. Stephen is your age and has been in the post office for ages. He's actually a skinny, pimply guy who you've always felt sorry for. But now you're looking at a muscular jock who smells of sweat and musk. "My name is Steve, are you Robert Hitch?" "Dude, we've known each other for five years, you should know my name is Mike." Steve grins, shrugs his shoulders, puts the package on your desk, takes a deep breath from his armpit and says he doesn't give a shit.

Robert Hitch is your boss. Steve should have known that. The package is from Chronivac Inc. Doesn't tell you anything. But it's personally addressed to Robert. Although you actually have better things to do, you drop the package off at Robert's. He looks a little horrified. As if you had caught a child reaching into the candy drawer. He asks who the parcel is from. You shrug your shoulders. He wipes a little sweat from his forehead. But that's nothing special. The fat pig sweats all the time.

You forget the story after a few minutes. The stock markets are going crazy, you have your hands full. At some point during the evening, you receive an e-mail from Robert. It goes to the whole department. Subject: Mens sana in corpore sano. It's actually about promoting physical fitness. There is a link to a piece of software that you should download. You do that and go back to the risk profile of your bond portfolio.

Frederique and Jean-Paul are the two stars of your investment banking. Both have a knack for making quick and correct decisions. They are among the few people who are still at the bank at this time of day. You drop by for a chat with them. As usual, they are hardly distracted by the screens. When you ask them if they have downloaded the software, they just nod their heads. Have they looked at it yet? A shake of the head. Okay, you're not going to get into a conversation here.

When you come into the office the next morning, you see Marcus and James sitting spellbound in front of their screens. The two of them are staring at pictures of fitness models doing strength exercises. You ask if this has anything to do with the link from yesterday. James says he has no idea what that shit is about. He's here to work, not to exercise. Marcus nods. But neither of them turn their heads away from the screen for a second.

You ask if you should bring them a coffee. They both shake their heads. Marcus mumbles something about whether there are protein shakes in the coffee kitchen. You think it's a joke.

There are actually canisters of protein powder in the coffee kitchen. You think for a moment about whether you should really bring Marcus a shake. But why would he drink a protein shake? You regularly go out for lunch together. You've already talked about God and the world. But never about food supplements.

As you're on your way back to work with your coffee, it almost falls out of your hand. Marcus and James are sitting over their work again. So presumably. There are definitely two men sitting in their seats, working. But neither of them looks like Marcus. Or like James. They're both talking and every other word is "bro" or "fuck". But they're obviously working on the quarterly report again. Something is strange. Very strange.

As you pass Mr. Hitch's office, your coffee falls out of your hand. You stare at the person who sounds so much like Robert. As if Robert spoke a deep, well-trained bass. But the man looks different. "Shit, bruhs, we have to change da dress code. Shoulder coverings only optional from now on. Shit, bruhs! sun's out, guns out!"

Your productivity is limited. In the department chat, people who have never been interested in sport exchange tips on how to gain mass as quickly as possible. Steve drops off the mail and asks you if you know what a protein fart is. You shake your head and Steve shows you. Shit, that stinks unnaturally. Roaring laughter from the surrounding tables. Someone shouts "Attention, en voici un autre!" And shortly afterwards you hear the incredible sound of a fart. You get up and see who it came from. At Frederique and Jean-Paul's desk, two giants are having a lively discussion. Your French is not very good. But they're obviously arguing about whether the current share price of Chronivac Inc. is undervalued. The one you think is Frederique is flexing his tattooed biceps. And the other one laughs and says "Acheter! Acheter!"

You've never wanted an individual office so much. The air is cutting. Sweat, musk, protein farts. You take another look at Robert's email from last night. You open the link. And you can't take your eyes off the screen. You feel the urge to wank your boner. A wet spot forms on your pants… You take off your jacket with some difficulty. Phew, you stink of sweat. Ads for tank tops appear on the screen. Shit, if you don't go straight to the toilet and jerk off now, you're going to cum in your pants.

The toilet is very busy. You see how Robert has put one of his department heads against the wall and is shagging him. You stand at a urinal and take out your hard-on. Steve approaches from behind. You don't have to jerk off on your own, he is happy to help you.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Five

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: M, adult content, 18+ only. Next chapter will be E!!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Marcus Acacius is a shameless flirt, yearning and sexual tension, Marcus Acacius as the author stand-in who gets impatient and straight up pushes everyone's face together

Summary: At the same time that Marcus Acacius is growing more and more accustomed to modern living, you are settling into your strange new life with an unconventional roommate who only speaks Latin, an FBI Agent you're secretly in love with, and the leader of the Heroics. All three of them are mainstays at your apartment, and you couldn't love the situation more. Or could you?

A/N: Is it heating up in here, or is it just me?

Masterlist | Chapter Four | Next chapter>>

(Acacius)

Marcus Acacius performs the now-familiar task of turning on the water for a hot shower, turning the little handle to exactly where you showed him and pulling the little knob on the faucet. Water immediately cascades into the tub, and as he steps under the hot spray with a satisfied groan, he wonders to himself why he desires to return home at all.

Now that more intricate, technical conversations are possible with the help of Moreno’s magic devices, you and Pike have been able to explain in more detail about the strange world he finds himself in.

Now he understands that he has traveled thousands of years into the future, and many of the incomprehensible things he’s seen have begun to make sense. Having studied history in his own time, he’s perfectly familiar with the progression of society and invention. Extrapolate this over thousands of years, and you have such things as cars, skyscrapers, and tee-vees.  

He could ask question after question about this world all day long, but the two of you seem just as interested in his life, and he finds himself talking about his service as a general, the wars he’s fought in, and even stories of his childhood.

The other man, Moreno, seems to be curious too, and stops by every few days for dinner and conversation, and the four of you often talk late into the night, satisfying his every curiosity from airplanes to elevators. One night, he receives a crash course in the meaning of the word ‘Heroic,’ discovering the man’s otherworldly abilities when someone bumps into a small table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor. Or, it would have crashed to the floor, if it had not begun floating in the middle of the air just before reaching the ground. He watches in dumbfounded awe as the Hero guides the metal object through the air with one hand outstretched and sets it back down gently on the table. 

Marcus Acacius is… content. 

He dresses himself in some of the new clothing you and Marcus had given him, puts his translator in a pocket, carefully places the earpiece in one ear, and heads to the kitchen. 

“Morning!” you greet him brightly. “Marcus has a few meetings that he had to go in for, so it’s just us today until the afternoon.”

He nods good-naturedly and gives you a smile. You always seem to fluster when he does so, and he isn’t sure how to react. In his own time, he had no trouble calling on women–or men, for that matter–but this world is so different, and he does not know the conventions of courting, or what is considered to be proper and improper. Both you and Pike are attractive, and you both fascinate him. If he were in his element, at one of the Emperor’s feasts, perhaps, he would entertain the two of you at once. As a high-ranking official, he’s certainly no stranger to the pleasure of many bodies entwined on a bed at once. 

He wonders, sometimes, if this sort of thing is still done. 

Marcus retrieves a mug from the cabinet and fills it with the black coffee drink you and Pike enjoy so much. He finds he rather likes it too, provided enough sweet cream and sugar are added to dilute the bitter taste. He swirls a spoon around, watching as the drink takes on a lighter shade of brown. 

“What do you want to do today?” you ask as you sip from your own mug.

Marcus thinks for a moment. “I want to watch another one of these ‘films’ that you put on the teevee.”

You laugh. “You liked that, huh? How about we wait for Marcus to get home, and then we’ll watch another.”

“I like the one with the small people and the magic ring.”

“I figured you would.” 

“In that case, do you have any more books that are in my language?” He had already finished the first one you’d given him, happy to have something familiar and comforting in his hands.

“Oh, absolutely,” you answer. “Come with me. We’ll find you something.”

He follows you into the little room that is filled from floor to ceiling with books and watches you peruse the shelves. 

“If it is no longer spoken by any living person, as you say, why are so many of your books in my language?”

You pause thoughtfully, one finger resting on the spine of a book. “People have studied these works for centuries. Historians, philosophers, politicians–many people in this time study the works of people who lived thousands of years ago.”

“I find it comforting,” Marcus muses, “that there is so much of this world that I do not recognize, and yet these words endure.” He thinks for a moment, frowning. “How is it that so many people are familiar with these texts if the language is no longer spoken?”

“Oh, well most people read them in English–or whatever modern language they speak.”

“And yet you have them as they were written,” he points out. 

You duck your head bashfully and look away from him–Why? “What I do for work…” you begin carefully. “I study ancient–well, ancient to us–civilizations. My specialty is Imperial Era Rome–your time. I’m kind of considered to be an expert.” You laugh nervously, still looking away from him as you explain.

Marcus finds it endearing, your reticence, but your area of study explains why the Agent brought him to you in the first place. He steps closer, so that you can no longer avoid looking at him. “You are an expert in… me, then?” he teases.

He revels in the surprised bark of laughter that you can’t suppress in response to his joke. 

“Lots of people are fascinated with objects from the past,” you explain, still smiling. “We put them in big buildings called museums and people come from all over to see them.”

“I would like to see this,” Marcus decides immediately. 

You hesitate. “Moreno doesn’t want you to be out in public any more than strictly necessary,” you tell him carefully. “There’s a lot of tension over how the Rift–the door to your time–was handled. If people knew you came through, he worries it would cause even more chaos.”

He considers this. “It is strictly necessary for me to see the museums,” he decides. 

You giggle softly. “Let me ask Pike, see what he thinks. Maybe we can sneak you over there. Ah! Here–” you hand him a book. “You’ll like this one.”

“Aenē̆is,” Marcus reads from the cover. “Thank you,” he says gratefully, choosing not to use the translator.

The two of you read in your living room until the late afternoon, when you’re interrupted by a light tap on the door. 

“I should really give you a key at this point,” you joke as you open the door to Agent Pike.

Marcus watches his face with interest, noticing how his lips part and his eyes widen with surprise before he quickly shakes himself and gives a noncommittal response. When you turn away and walk back to the couch, retrieving your book, the man’s eyes follow you the entire way. When he notices he’s being watched, he quickly looks away. 

“Marcus!” the Agent greets him brightly, clearly attempting to cover up the fact that he was just caught staring. Marcus isn’t sure why the man is so desperate to hide his obvious attraction to you. Is this a modern custom, or is it simply an idiosyncrasy of this man, in particular? 

“Are we expecting Moreno tonight?” you ask.

“I haven’t heard from him,” Pike answers as he sinks down onto the couch next to you.

“You should text him,” you suggest as you elbow the man in the shoulder. “Tell him we’re watching movies now.”

“I could,” he shrugs. 

Marcus decides to speak up. “I enjoy the evenings where there are four of us,” he says. “You always order extra food.”

The Agent snorts. “We can do that.”

Marcus smiles. It might have been said as a joke, but the sentiment was genuine. There is a particular kind of energy in the room that he enjoys when the four of them are together. It isn’t just the conversation that he finds so interesting; Moreno and Pike both wear every emotion on their faces–even more so when the wine flows–and Marcus has always been excellent at reading people. 

The attraction Moreno has for Pike is obvious. Pike is harder to read, because while his interest in the other man–and in Marcus himself–is clear from his body language, his feelings for you appear to be nothing short of infatuation.

And you… you’re interesting, too. The interactions between you and Pike indicate a history of affection and friendship, but he sees the way your eyes dilate when you look at Moreno… and when you look at him. 

And when the four of you are together, Marcus thinks, the tension is delicious. 

(You)

The best thing about watching a movie with Marcus Acacius, you decide, is not the movie itself. It’s watching Marcus Acacius watch the movie. You can’t help but watch the man’s face for his reactions to every scene. Your recliner has a lousy view of the TV, so the four of you are crammed onto the couch–because Moreno did show up, after all–sipping glasses of wine and watching Braveheart. You’re seated between Pike and the General, and Moreno is on the other end next to Pike.

Unfortunately, because you keep looking at him, the Roman keeps looking back at you, too, and it worries you that he’s getting the wrong idea. The man is gorgeous, of course, but your heart belongs to someone else, and has for quite some time now. When this is all over, you really need to tell Marcus–your Marcus–how you feel. At the same time, you don’t want this period in your life to end. You’ve never been a person who has many friends at once, and the three men who crashed into your life–and your home–have given you more companionship in the span of a few weeks than you’ve felt in your entire adult life. Each one is a comforting presence in their own way, and when all four of you are together, you’ve never felt more at ease. 

Not to mention each man is devastatingly handsome. You’ve been head-over-heels for the FBI Agent ever since he showed up at your office with an unbelievable story about Roman artifacts and a pleading look in his pretty brown eyes. Marcus Acacius, well–his commanding, charismatic presence in your home is impossible to ignore. He’s a terrible flirt, you’ve discovered, not just with you, but seemingly with Pike as well. You think he mostly does it to fluster the man, but there seems to be genuine affection behind his playfulness. And the leader of the Heroics? He hardly needs an explanation. Marcus Moreno was your first celebrity crush. Pushed into the superhero limelight in his early twenties, he was a mainstay in teen magazines during your high school years. Sometimes you can’t believe that the hero is a regular at your apartment, so familiar to him now that he helps himself to the six pack of beer that you keep in your fridge.

A set of unbelievable circumstances brought you together, and now here you are. On the couch. Feeling the fabric of Marcus Pike’s soft henley on one arm, and the bare skin of the Roman’s bicep barely contained by the t-shirt he’s wearing on the other. 

You can’t tell if it’s the wine or their proximity that’s making you more lightheaded. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Moreno subtly shift closer to the man beside him. 

You don’t know how the rest of them are able to concentrate on the movie.

You watch as a brutal fight scene shows on the screen, and you instinctively look to Acacius to gauge his reaction. He notices, of course, and raises his eyebrows in challenge. 

“The fighting seems so real, it is difficult to remember that these men are playing pretend,” he observes. He shifts in his seat, crossing one ankle over his knee and stretching his arm out on the back of the couch, just behind your shoulders, and seeming to accidentally brush the side of Pike’s neck with his fingers.

The Agent’s eyes flick sideways with a small, questioning frown at the touch.

“My apologies,” the Roman says, but before he returns his gaze to the screen, he gives you a subtle wink. 

Marcus Pike murmurs something about needing more wine and gets up. 

“Bring the bottle,” Acacius says. “Another round for us all, yes?”

The other man obeys, bringing the bottle and filling each glass in turn. When he comes to you, your eyes meet as more burgundy liquid splashes into your glass. You don’t know what’s darker, the wine, or his pupils. 

When he sits down, you note, he’s even closer than before. 

“What I simply do not understand,” the Roman suddenly says to the man beside you, the deep timbre of his voice felt in your chest, “is how you can be so deeply enamored with this beautiful woman beside you and do nothing.”

“E-Enamored?” Marcus chokes. “I–I’m not–”

“You are not?” the other man teases. “Then you do not mind if I partake?” 

“Stop that,” you scold. “You’re just trying to elicit a response and you know it.”

“Ah, I did not specify with whom I was speaking of partaking,” Acacius says darkly. His fingers caress the other man’s neck again, this time with intent. 

Marcus sputters wordlessly, his mouth opening and closing, but you can feel the soft tremor that runs through him at the soft touch. 

“Hey–” Moreno protests, looking irritated and put-out. 

“Shhhhh,” the Roman cuts him off. “You would be more than welcome to join, hero.”

Moreno’s mouth snaps shut. 

“But ah,” the man teases, “what rude guests we would be if we stole our hostess’s bed for ourselves, no? I think we should invite her as well.”

“You’re serious,” Moreno remarks skeptically.

“Is it not done in your time?” he asks, feigning innocence. “A group of people simply enjoying themselves?”

“No, it’s–it’s definitely done,” you say shakily. “It’s just that… I mean, we don’t know if we all want–”

“It is a simple matter to ask,” Acacius interrupts. “I will begin with you. Would you care to join all of us in bed?”

He speaks about it so plainly that it makes your skin tingle and your heart starts to race. All three men are looking at you: The Roman with patient expectation, the Heroic with obvious curiosity, and the Agent—his intense gaze burns you from the inside out. 

“Yes,” you hear yourself answer. “Yes, I–I would.”

“And you, hero,” the man moves on. “Are you interested in a night spent together?”

Moreno shrugs, as though he can’t think of any reason not to agree. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling softly in disbelief. “Sure, why not?”

Acacius fixes his gaze on the one remaining person to answer. “And you–the man who found me in the darkness. What say you?”

Marcus’s eyes flit rapidly between the three of you, hesitating.

Say yes, you plead in your head. Say yes, Marcus. 

You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. He makes you wait for an eternity.

Then, he nods.

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT - 6. The Adults are Talking

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: Sugar finds her voice amongst the people who want to see her fail.

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, Office sex, Breeding kink, Sugar's parents are the worst and treat her like garbage, Sugar finally finds her voice and stands up to her father, Some angst, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 5.3K

A/N: And here we go, the chapter where Sugar and Joel finally face off with her parents. This does edge onto angst, as I really wanted to showcase just how Sugar's upbringing really affected her mental health, and how she overcomes it. I cried writing this chapter, because I know how it feels to have people in your life just waiting for you to fuck up, and it's something Sugar has had to deal with all of her life. Honestly, this chapter makes me nervous because I know you all are expecting all of the fluff and smut that Joel and Sugar should be having, but I promise this will probably be the only chapter with heavy stuff. It'll be smooth sailing after this!

"So, I heard an interesting rumor floating around the club lately."

"Good morning to you too, Mother," you mutter, keeping your eyes on the road. "Who's the poor unfortunate soul this time?"

There's a brief pause before your mom responds, her voice almost hesitant. "Well, darling, you know I usually don't pay attention to the ladies and their gossip, but-"

"Just tell me already, Mom!" you exclaim, turning into the office parking lot.

"Well," she starts, "I heard that Joel Miller has gotten himself a... what do you call them? A Sugar Baby? Marcia told me that Lenore from Neiman Marcus said they had-" she clears her throat, "sex," she whispers, "in the dressing room! How scandalous! I heard she's a pretty little young thing! I swear, if that was my daughter, I would die of embarrassment!"

You slam on the brakes suddenly, your eyes widening in shock. Someone honks behind you in response, but you can't pay it any mind. The blood rushes to your ears as you start to hyperventilate.

"Sugar? Are you there? Is it true? Have you noticed anything at work lately?" you hear your mother from across the line. "Hello?!"

You take a deep breath, pulling into the nearest empty stall. "I'm here, Mom," you say shakily, cutting the ignition and resting your head on the steering wheel.  

"Well, it's shameful, that sort of behavior," your mom continues, "It's a good thing your father and I raised you right!" she tsks, and you imagine her shaking her head in disgust as she inspects her nails. "Besides, I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you, baby."

That's what gets your attention. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, baby. That kind of behavior isn't something I would associate with you," she coos, "besides, the girl they said Joel was with was really pretty-"

"Are you implying that I'm not attractive enough for someone like Joel?" you ask incredulously, your hands gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. "What if that girl in the rumor was me, Mom? What then? Would you actually die from embarrassment?"

"... but it wasn't you, Sugar. I raised you better than that, no matter how pretty you could be. I mean, if you just weren't so plain, maybe I would believe that it was you that was in that dressing room with him, but those kinds of girls, baby, that ain't you-"

"Mom," you sigh, feeling the impending headache that usually accompanies conversations with her, "I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!" your mom sputters, "Don't forget about the dinner tonight!"

"What dinner?"

"Oh, don't tell me you forgot!" your mother exclaims, a hint of outrage in her voice. "It's our Ruby wedding anniversary! I sent you an invite. How could you forget? Your father is looking forward to seeing you. Now that you have your big girl job and live on your own, acting like we don't exist. You would think after paying for your education, you would be more grateful-"

"Fine, Mom, I'll be there! What time is it?" you cut her off, the tears already forming at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to be subjected to another one of her guilt trips, fully aware that she'll win, every time. "And I assume it'll be cocktail attire?"

"Oh, yes," your mother purrs, "At 6. I'll make sure the caterers add a place setting for you. Do you need to borrow anything of mine to wear? I'm not sure if you were able to shed those ten pounds I've been telling you to lose. I don't know if anything I have would fit those hips of yours-"

"Two."

"What was that, darling?" you take note of the hesitation in your mother's voice.

"Tell the caterers to put two more settings at the table, Mom."

"Why?" your mother asks, clearly in shock. "Sugar, are you seeing someone? Who is it? Is it someone we know?"

"I guess you'll have to wait to find out," you say, a hint of satisfaction in your tone. "See you at 6!" you say hurriedly, hanging up before she could pry further.  

"Fuck." You mutter, slamming your head against the steering wheel once more. "Fuck my life."

Groaning, you snatch up your phone and purse, slamming the door of your Tesla as you stride into the office. With a determined look etched on your face, you attempt to breeze past Connie, resolute in avoiding another interrogation as you navigate down the hall.

"Good morning, Sugar!" she chirps. "So, about yesterday-"

"Not now, Connie!" you mutter, briskly pushing past her, laser-focused on reaching Joel's office. He's already at his desk, his gaze intensely fixed on his iPad, an apple pencil dangling from his mouth as he reviews schematics. You slam his office door behind you, his eyes darting toward you as you drop your purse on the floor. You discard your blazer, shove his office chair back, and settle onto his lap. Burying your face into his neck, the tears you've been holding back start to flow earnestly from your eyes.

Joel's arms instinctively wrap around you, drawing you close as he gently pulls back to get a good look at your face. "Baby, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asks, his face etched with genuine concern. "Did Connie corner you in the lounge again? I swear Tess gave her the warning of a lifetime yesterday-"

"Are you busy tonight?" you cut him off, gasping for air, the weight of anxiety from your mother's conversation finally sinking in. "I know this is really last minute, but my mother-"

"Baby," Joel repeats, his hands firm on your arms, steadying you. "Breathe. What happened?"

"They know, everyone in Austin knows about us," you admit with a sniffle. "My mother called, mentioning that her friends at the club were gossiping about you having a sugar baby, and I completely forgot it's my parents' wedding anniversary tonight. I might have told her to add another place setting for you..." you stammer, "... and now I have nothing to wear. I can't borrow anything from her because I didn't lose the ten pounds she asked me to"

"Easy, Sugar," Joel murmurs, his lips grazing your forehead as his hands trace up your arms, providing a soothing touch. "Start from the top," he suggests, leaning back in his chair and gently pulling you against his chest, his fingers rhythmically rubbing your back. "You spoke to your mother today, and she mentioned a rumor going around about us, right?"

"Lenore might have let slip to one of her clients about our... moment in the dressing room," you confess against his chest.

You feel him sigh deeply, the gentle rumble of his chest against your face. "If they only knew that wasn't the case," he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. "You know that, right? You're everything to me, baby. You ain't no sugar baby, not to me."

"I know, Joel," you reply with a tiny sob. "It doesn't mean it hurts any less, though. It's like they want to see us fail, see me fail."

Joel pulls you away again, a serious look in his eyes. "Are you ashamed of this? of us? Do you see yourself as how they see you? Do you think I care what those old bitches say about me?"

You shake your head frantically. "No, Joel-"

"No one gave a damn about my life before all of this," he gestures toward his office, taking your hand in his, "and now that I finally have some worth in their eyes, it's like... I'm cattle being led to slaughter. I'll never get used to it."

"I grew up surrounded by that shit my entire life," you whisper sadly. "Every move I made was up for debate – what clothes I wore, who I decided to bring into my life. It was always dissected and analyzed as if everything I did could have a double meaning. I hated it, this constant scrutiny. I always had to be 'good,' never step out of line, and always know my place."

"Is that why you always felt the need to hide yourself all the time?"

"It's what made things easier, honestly." You fiddle with the button of his flannel. "I hated the attention, I hated that my mother would go into my closet every day and make sure I wore certain things that wouldn't embarrass her, that she would only feed me rabbit food so I wouldn't 'let myself go'. She came from nothing, you know? She was my father's secretary, getting swept away with his money and his connections. She was in my place, once. You would think that she would show me mercy." You laugh to yourself, bitterly. "I was always an embarrassment in my parent's eyes, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not driven enough. I worked my ass off, and they still treat me like they did when I was a kid. "

"Yet, here we are," Joel murmurs, a gentle understanding in his eyes as he reaches to caress your cheek. "You've overcome so much, and you're not defined by their standards. You're your own person, and you've earned your worth on your own terms."

You lean into his touch, finding solace in the warmth of his hand. "I never thought I'd find someone who sees past all that, someone who appreciates me for who I am. Crazy family and all."

Joel smiles tenderly. "Well, you have, and I see a remarkable person in front of me. The past is just that – the past. We're building our own story now, and you're not defined by anyone else's expectations."

You smile sadly at Joel. "I hate thinking about this, about my parents. It always puts me in a terrible mood. Can we talk about something else, please?"

"What do you need me to do, baby?" Joel breathes, "Do you want me to help you forget?" He helps you onto your feet, leaning your body against the edge of his desk. He pushes the hem of your dress up your thighs, the edge of your stockings being held by a garter exposed as your breath hitches on your throat. "Fucking exquisite," he says, his lips kissing your thigh. "What do you need?" he repeats, almost begging.   

"I need you to fuck the pain away, Joel," you whisper, spreading your legs further. "Help me forget, please," you beg, your back arching as his hands travel up beneath the fabric of your dress. His fingers make their way up to your core, and his fingertips graze the gusset of your thong, adding pressure as he traces along your slit through the wet fabric. Your legs start to shake as his finger slips beneath the fabric, the edge of his fingertips probing at your entrance. Joel hums in satisfaction. He slowly inches his fingers into you. "Do you think you can come, just like this?"

"Yes," you moan, hitching your leg higher as you place your foot on his desk chair. He slides his fingers into you, the squelch of your wetness echoing throughout his office walls as he prods into you, his eyes dark as he watches his fingers being swallowed whole in your pussy. "Fuck Joel, just like that-"

"Should we check something off from my list?" he asks, moving his fingers away from your pussy as you whine from the loss of sensation, putting the glistening digits into his mouth, savoring your taste.  

You nod eagerly. "Yes, Joel. Please-"

"Turn around for me, Sugar," he softly commands. "... and grab onto something." You oblige, slowly turning so you are facing his desk, his hands pushing your back so your chest is resting on its surface. Your hands grab onto the edge of it, pushing your ass higher as he lifts the hem of your dress, exposing your ass. You swear you can imagine his smirk as his hands travel up the globes of your asscheeks, his grasp harsh, squeezing the plumpness of it. He grips your thighs and spreads them wider, lifting your ass to be level with his cock. He starts to grind into your core, your body trembling in his wake.  

He hooks his fingers through the elastic edge of your panties, ripping it off your hips. You turn your head to face him, watching as he pockets the scrap of lace into his back pocket. "You won't be needing this," he whispers, and you watch as he unzips his jeans, pushing it down along with his boxer briefs, his cock swollen and leaking at the tip. You gasp at the sight, rolling your bottom lip against your teeth. He rubs his erection through your folds, notching the tip of your entrance. "I'm gonna need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that for me, Sugar?"

He slides in before you can reply, and your voice gets caught in your throat, the feeling of him inside of you so delicious you moan out in pleasure. He starts to fuck you slowly, deeply. "Fuck Joel, just like that-"

"Fuck baby, you feel so fucking good, so fucking tight!" he harshly grabs onto your hips as he begins to cant his hips against yours, the angle he set hitting you just right. The entire desk starts to shake as he pounds into you, and you have half of a mind to say something, but Joel continues his pace, his head thrown back, eyes closed.  Thank god for the carpet, you think to yourself.  

He gathers your hair, pulling your body towards his as he continues to thrust harshly into you. "You're so good like this, baby. So fucking good for me, right Sugar?" he rips your dress from the front, the buttons flying throughout his office, pulling your breasts from the cups of your bra. He's pumping into you relentlessly, his mouth latching onto your neck. He grabs your breasts, kneading and squeezing. "One of these days you'll let me fuck these," he breathes in your ear.

"Joel, my dress!" you exclaim. "I can't walk around the office with my tits out!"

"We're going shopping after this, baby, don't you worry. You can wear the shirt off my back for all I care, gonna have to teach Lenore a lesson for having a big fucking mouth-"

"Can we not talk about another woman when you're balls deep inside of me?" you whine, meeting his thrusts as you pull on his shirt, trying to keep your moans as silent as possible, not wanting the entire office to hear Joel railing you into oblivion. "Fuck Joel, can you fuck me harder?"

Joel halts, pressing his cock deep inside, his hands harshly grabbing onto your hips. He reaches behind him, rolling his desk chair towards him to sit as he pulls you onto his lap, impaling you. "You're gonna have to be real quiet for me, okay baby?" he whispers against your throat. "We shouldn't be doing this, but I can't fucking get enough of you. Want to claim you on every fucking inch of this office, do you want that, baby? for me to fuck you on every single surface of this office?"

"Yes!" you scream, hopping on Joel's cock as he thrusts up into you, the position allowing you to feel all of him. "Fuck Joel, I feel so fucking full, how are you this massive? Fuck-"

"I'm going to fill you up, make you take all of my cum, make you mine completely. Remember when I sang you that song all those years ago? I looked into your eyes and swore I saw my future children in your eyes, fuck, It's all I've thought about," he groans, and it stirs something deep inside of you, the thought of your children, with Joel's brown eyes and smile, running around in the house, laughing, playing, living a life you were denied as a child. "Are you going to be the mother of my children?"

"Yes! Yes, fucking fill me up, make me yours, I can take it, I can take it! Fuck a baby into me, baby, I'll be so good, so so good-"

Joel's hand goes to your clit, his fingers rough against the nub, rubbing it furiously as you chase your release. "Then fucking come for me, Sugar," he commands. Come for me on my cock and I'll give you the entire fucking world-" He covers your mouth with his hands, his thrusts slow and deep as you fall apart completely. He braces your hands on the edge of the desk as he kicks his chair backward, pounding into you as he chases his release, his face in your neck as he sucks on your pulse point. "You think it'll take this time? You gonna give me baby?"

"Yes! Fill me up, I want all of it!"

Joel groans at that, thrusting into you once more as he falls apart, coming into you deep. You feel his cum fill you so much to the point that it starts to leak out of you. Joel keeps himself inside, panting heavily against your neck. "Fuck baby, I love you so fucking much." He kisses your cheek, pulling himself out of you slowly as he slumps onto his chair once more, his head thrown back in exhaustion. He unbuttons his flannel, throwing it towards you. "Put this on," he says, shrugging his jacket on as you straighten yourself. You raise your eyebrows at him as you button on his shirt, drowning in it. Joel gives you a wry smile. "Cancel all of your appointments, we're going shopping."

"Oh yeah? Just drop work, just like that?"

"Yeah," he replies nonchalantly. "I think it's time we visit our good friend Lenore. Have a little chat."

"Are you ready?" you nervously ask Joel as the two of you stand at the front door. "We can always turn around, say that I'm sick or something-" You fiddle with the hem of your dress, straightening yourself. "Don't you think this dress is a little much?" you ask absentmindedly.

"I think the real question is if you're ready, baby," he replies, a small reassuring smile on his face. "I've been telling you that I've been wanting to scream from the rooftops, yelling that you're mine-"

"I am yours like you are mine." You smile, placing your hands on his chest as you pull him towards you, his lips meeting yours. "I've never been so sure in my life, Joel. I think it's time we stop fucking around, right?"

"I've been yours since the first day I saw you, I was a goner-" he leans in for another kiss as you greedily accept, kissing him deeper, and deeper, and his hands travel lower, and lower, and your hands travel higher, and higher, until they reach the hair at the nape of his neck, and you're pulling, pulling, pulling, getting lost in his embrace. How can something that feels so good and so pure be so terrible to those around you?

"Sugar?!" Your mother's surprised voice slices through the air like a warning shot, abruptly shattering the enchantment between you and Joel. "Mr. Miller?!?" Her exclamation hangs in the tense moment, her gaping mouth and contorted expression revealing a mix of shock and embarrassment. "What on earth is going on here?"

"Mom, I-" you stammer, clearly struggling for words.

"Ma'am," Joel interjects, cutting through the tension. He gracefully presents her with the bouquet that rests on the bench, the vivid orange lilies contrasting against the soft pink of the Rhododendrons he had chosen at the florist. "How do you say 'Fuck you, I've won?'" he whispers with a smirk to the florist while sliding his black Amex across the counter. The resulting display is a beautiful arrangement, yet it carries an unmistakably direct message – as if declaring, "I love and desire your daughter, but I loathe you, so stand the hell back." Joel continues, "It's been a long time; I see the roof is holding up nicely-"

"Yes, well," your mother chokes, hastily grabbing the bouquet from his outstretched hand. "These are beautiful, Mr. Miller-"

"Come on, we're past pleasantries. Call me Joel," he smirks. "Happy anniversary, by the way... and thanks for the invite. Sugar said you guys were talking about me earlier today, so she thought she could surprise you by bringing me along with her."

"Joel. Right," your mother mutters to herself. "I was just asking how she was getting along working with you since she's been so busy, she barely comes around now!" She clears her throat, straightening herself, and glances at you, her eyes darting to the tightness of your dress. "Sugar, baby, what a... beautiful dress you have there. Are you not cold with how short it is?"

Joel squeezes your hand in his, giving you a wink. "Doesn't she look stunning in Herve Leger? Lenore has a great eye, right?"

Your mother fidgets nervously, chuckling to herself. "Lenore at Neiman Marcus? Yes, yes, well... she certainly knows how to flatter the female figure. I wasn't aware you were a client of hers-"

"Well, I had to introduce her to Sugar, you know, considering she always takes good care of me and my girls," he muses, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. You could swear you see your mother gulp at the gesture, her gaze dropping to her nails as she struggles to formulate a response.

"Well, what are we doing out here? Come in, come in!" she says suddenly as if her role as a doting, perfect entertaining housewife finally reboots in her brain. "Sugar's father will be surprised to see you after all these years, you made quite a name for yourself with your multi-million business-"

"Yeah, we did okay, I expect that this government job that we're bidding on might just push us over a billion next year if all goes well." He smiles widely, putting his arm around your shoulder. "Shall we, Sugar?" 

You nod aimlessly, letting Joel gently guide you towards the dining room, the laughter of your parents' friends echoing through the foyer. Your body starts to shake slightly, the nervousness of facing your father gradually taking over.

"Stop shaking, baby. I'm right here, alright? I ain't gonna leave your side for a second, okay?" Joel whispers suddenly in your ear, pressing a reassuring kiss to your hair. You nod once more, tightening your grasp on Joel's hand, finding comfort in his presence.

"Everyone, you remember my daughter, Sugar?" your mother announces abruptly as you enter the dining room, her gaze immediately meeting your father's as she holds up the bouquet. "Joel bought us a lovely arrangement. I'm just going to find a vase. Why don't you sit by your father, baby?" A wave of judgmental eyes from your parents' friends descends upon both of you, and you can't ignore the audible gasps of shock that fill the suddenly quiet room.

"Joel Miller," your dad suddenly remarks, his eyes narrowing at your clasped hands. "Now, that's a face I didn't expect to see again." His gaze lingers on yours, a subtle twitch in his eye revealing his displeasure as he presses his lips together. "Sugar, care to explain why your boss is gracing us with his presence tonight?"

"Uh-" you stammer, closing your eyes briefly. "Everyone, I would like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Joel."

The sound of glass breaks in the distance, your mother's surprised gasp shortly following, as if she was hovering past the kitchen in an attempt to eavesdrop on the inevitable showdown between your Father and Joel. You see your mother's maid run towards the door, excusing herself as she attempts to help your mother. You see your mother's friend from the club whispering to the man beside her, shaking her head as she links two and two together, a knowing smirk on the man's face as he looks at the both of you.  

"I see," your father responds, adjusting his collar to maintain composure. "Well, what's keeping you both standing there? Take a seat!" he commands, a forced smile directed at his friends. Joel moves to the chair beside your father, a playful raise of his eyebrows as he settles in, and you follow suit in the adjacent seat.

"Sir," Joel murmurs, his hand extended for a shake. Your father eyes the offered hand, clearing his throat before accepting it, engaging in a handshake with Joel. "It's been what, ten years?"

"Has it truly been that long? I recall warning you to steer clear of my daughter even then," he retorts wryly, sipping his drink leisurely.

"Honey," your mom interjects shakily, taking her seat beside you, opposite your father. "Our guests might prefer not to dwell on the past-"

"Dad, stop." You say softly, your head cast down. The emotions that you are going through are reminiscent of the emotions you felt when you were a kid, and you find yourself anxiously fiddling with your hands under the table, your bottom lip quivering slightly. "Please stop."

"What was that?" your dad asks menacingly, setting his fork down harshly. "If you have something to say, you might as well look at me! How did I end up with such a weak-minded naive little girl who opens her legs at the first rich old man she can find-"

"That's enough." Joel cuts in suddenly, his fists clenched together tightly, his knuckles white.  

As you glance at your mother from the corner of your eyes, you notice a slight tremor at the edge of her mouth. It's at that moment that you realize you share a vulnerable connection with her. Your mother looks just as horrified as you feel, her hands shaking while your father continues his tirade. The tears start to well up at the corners of your eyes, making your vision blurry. It's a tough moment, and you can't help but see a reflection of your own emotions in your mother's eyes.

"Tell me Miller, how long did you wait to seduce my daughter after you hired her at your firm?"

"Honey-" your mother interjects, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. "We have guests-"

"Or how long did you take until you seduced poor Mr. Miller here?" your Father spits, shaking his head in disbelief, his gaze going to your mother's shaking form. "What can I say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree..."

"THATS ENOUGH!" you suddenly scream, slamming your fists on the table. You wipe the tears from your eyes, not caring about the mess it'll make at the makeup that the woman at the Laura Mercier counter meticulously placed upon your face earlier when Joel took you on an impromptu shopping trip for your cocktail dress. "Just stop it, STOP IT!"

Your father rises from his seat, his eyes drunkenly narrowed at you as he points at Joel. "You know, when they were talking about the little slut that was fucking Joel Miller at some dressing room who looked a lot like my daughter, I thought to myself, 'No, it couldn't be my little girl, she should know better', but then I see you in front of me, wearing that," he motions to your dress, "Maybe I misjudged my daughter after all. Congratulations, I guess, you managed to sleep your way to the top, just like your mother-"

"I said THATS ENOUGH!" you scream, rising from your seat, meeting your father's gaze.  

"Baby," your mother calls out in near tears. "Just let it go, you know how your father gets when he's drunk-"

But it's like you can't hear her.

"So it's okay for you, a rich man in a powerful position to 'seduce' a young woman, make her your wife, and force her into a life where she plays the doting perfect housewife, never allowed to pursue her dreams, always under your thumb? Is it okay for you to think so poorly of your child, your flesh and blood because I decided to fall in love with someone you don't approve of?" you're full-on crying now, not caring that you have an audience, tired of being that scared little girl who never spoke up, never had a voice of her own.  

"I did everything right. I wore the clothes you wanted, stayed away from any scandal, followed the rules, and earned an advanced degree at a decent school—all on my own merit. Only to be reduced to being seen as your 'little girl', unable to stand on my own two feet? Is it so bad that finally, I found someone patient enough to wait for me? Do you have any idea how long I've loved Joel? Only for you to tear us apart? Joel Miller is not like you, Father. He's built himself up from the bottom, proving himself to everyone who doubted him. He works tirelessly, supports his family and friends, and is the best boss anyone could ask for. And most importantly, he loves me, never gave up on me, and worked hard to prove himself. But here's the truth—I would have loved him even without all of this," you motion to the opulent interior, "richer or poorer. He never had to prove himself to me. I love him, and that's all that matters."

You glance down at Joel, who's clearly in shock by your confession. His mouth is agape, but there's awe in his eyes, and you know he's proud of you for standing your ground and finally finding your voice. He clears his throat, taking a sip of wine. "Thank you, baby," he whispers. You nod, wiping away the last of your tears.

Surveying the now silent room, your mother's eyes downcast, and your father staring into the distance from his seat, you offer a smile. "I apologize for the outburst, but I believe Joel and I have overstayed our welcome. I'm sorry for disrupting your dinner, Mom and Dad, but I don't think I belong here anymore." You raise your hand to Joel, who is already two steps behind you, and he rises from his seat, taking your hand in his. "I won't be part of a family that doesn't accept me any longer. Let's go, Joel."

"Sugar, baby, please-" you can hear your mom call out behind you as you lead Joel away from the dining room, determined to get the hell out of there. You hear your father telling your mother to sit down, to just let it go.  

"What are we gonna do now, baby?" Joel asks, engulfing you in a hug, and kissing the top of your head as you stand in the foyer.  

There's a glint in your eyes as you take his face in your hands, meeting his lips in a kiss.  

"Do you want to dish out some sweet fucking revenge?" you ask, your hands traveling down to his bulge in his slacks. "Give my poor father one last parting gift?"

His eyebrows raise in curiosity, groaning as you grab onto his cock harshly. "What did you have in mind, baby?"

"Follow me," you whisper, looking around to make sure no one is around, grabbing his hands as you lead him up the stairs, stopping at the door of your father's study. "Shall we?" you ask, opening the door. Joel nods eagerly, a small smirk on his face as he follows you into the room, closing the door behind him. You start to strip out of your dress, pushing the fabric slowly as Joel watches from behind. You push the fabric off your hips, sliding it from the slopes of your ass until the dress falls onto the ground, only leaving you in the black lace thong you asked Lenore to get you, a surprise for Joel. Joel groans in satisfaction as you lean against your father's desk, a wicked smile on your face.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" you breathe, "Are you going to fuck me on my father's desk or not?"

Joel smiles, unbuttoning his shirt. "I thought you would never fucking ask, baby."

Taglist:@sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat, @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115, @thewiigers,

@auteurdelabre, @quicax3, @casa-boiardi, @amyispxnk, @untamedheart81,

@paleidiot, @bbiophiliaa, @laurrrra, @la-vie-est-une-fleur29, @missladym1981 (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 9th

Day 9: Anal // Praise Kink // Food Play

Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Plugs/toys, anal fingering, ass slapping, oral sex (female receiving), anal sex, virgin ass

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Squirming slightly, you bite your lip as you try not to give away the game. Glancing up from your paperwork to see that he is engrossed in whatever report he is reading. Your eyes slide over his handsome features. Since going back to the field, he’s worn a more casual look into the office, but it always pairs so nicely with that leather jacket. Wearing his glasses less, although he’s got them on right now. 

He’s so fucking sexy without even trying to be and ever since that last conversation, you’ve been obsessed with the idea of him fucking your ass. 

Marcus had been widowed for a long time, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t experienced. Despite looking like an All-American Heroic, he loved sex. He loves experimenting. You had learned that very quickly after jumping into bed with him. 

This weekend is the perfect opportunity to take it to the next level. The conference was in a beautiful resort, and ‘somehow’ you and Marcus had been booked into the same suite. Ms. Granada had smirked when she told you the news, rumors of your relationship have already made the rounds through the halls of the Heroics’ Headquarters and neither one of you had denied it. 

“Are you almost done, babe?” You ask, making him look up, his brow furrowing slightly. 

“Yeah, uh-” He suddenly wonders if you had booked a table somewhere for dinner, if he’s forgotten about that. “Yeah.” He nods, taking his glasses off as he tries to remember what you had said you wanted to do. You said you had something planned but he doesn’t think that you’ve said anything else aside from that. 

“Good.” You can see he’s a little confused, but you get off the couch and walk around the coffee table to where he is sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room of the suite. “I have something I want to show you.”

Marcus frowns as you turn around. Unsure of what you might be showing him until you slide your dress up your hips and bend over, your legs spread. 

His mouth runs dry. There, teasing him, is a little jeweled plug buried deep in your ass. His groan is immediate, accompanied by the hardening of his cock. “Fuck.” He hisses, reaching out and grabbing your ass with both hands as he leans in, spreading your cheeks wider as he gets a good look. 

You giggle quietly, twisting your head around to watch his gaze turn focused and nearly feral. He’s mentioned it before, wanting to fuck your ass. Telling you that he could make you enjoy it despite having never really been interested in it before. He never pressured, just telling you that if you wanted to do it, to let him know. 

You are ready, deciding that this weekend was the perfect time to give him this. “It feels strange.” You admit, sucking in a sharp gasp when his thumb moves to the jewel and he shifts it inside you. “Strange, but good.” 

“How long have you been wearing it?” He asks, biting his lip as he watches your puckered hole clench around the plug. 

“Only a few hours.” You admit, knowing that you didn’t want to wear it for too long. He groans again and this time you are moaning when he twists it inside you. It’s strange how that simple action can make your cunt clench around nothing, but you are already soaking wet from the anticipation. 

“Goddamn, it looks so pretty.” He coos, squeezing your ass and pulling you slightly closer. “When did you get this little beauty?” 

You whimper and wish he would stop staring at your asshole, but you know he likes your surprise. “A- a couple of days ago.” You had stopped by the adult toy store and picked it up, wanting to wash it and look at it. 

“You’re so good to me.” He praises, already straining at the seam of his jeans and eager to take you to bed. “Did you get lube, sweetheart?” 

Of course you did. There is no way Marcus Moreno is sliding his cock in your ass without some lube. He’s too thick to even imagine it. “Uh huh.” You hum. “In the bedroom.” 

Marcus groans, slapping your ass and reluctantly letting you go. He needs to get you into the bedroom and prep you a little more. 

****

“Marcus.” Your eyes clench closed, your fingers twisted in the sheets as you try not to roll your hips up, away from him.

He’s killing you with this pace. Three fingers buried inside of you, replacing your plug one at a time until he’s got the three inside you. His tongue lashes at your clit again, moaning into your folds and making you curl your toes when they flick over your sensitive bud again as you ride out your second orgasm. 

His dark eyes are laughing at you, finally pulling away as he scissors his fingers one last time, finding that you are opened up enough to finally take him. “Now I’ll fuck you.” 

You whimper at the cocky assurance in his tone. Watching Marcus change from the mild mannered man to the in-charge lover is one that is spectacular to behold. Confident and almost brash as he pulls you apart and pieces you back together every time. “Then do it.” You are practically pouting and your tone is needy. 

Deliberately, he drags it out. Turning you over and pulling your hips up to the position that he wants. Face pressed to the cool sheets and your ass up in the air, you can see him shuffle behind you. 

Another thick dollop of lube coats his fingers to rub around your puckered hole, making you whimper and clench slightly, pushing back and moaning in desperation as he pulls his fingers away. You can hear him, hear the slide of his cock through his slickened hand, coating himself in the friction resistant lube. The low groan as your body throb in anticipation, knowing your hole is fluttering wildly. All you can do is wait for him to move. To claim you. 

Marcus shuffles closer. Licking his lips as he presses forward, his cock sliding through your cheeks and around your hole. One hand holds your hip steady, keeping you from rocking back as he gets closer to filling you. 

“Marc-” 

“I’ve got you, baby.” He coos, smirking slightly as he lines up to start to slowly break you open with gentle yet firm pressure. “Don’t worry, you’ll take me.” 

You weren’t worried about that, but it is reassuring to know. A low moan starts in your throat as he starts to push inside you. Slowly filling you, an inch at a time. 

Your eyes closed and you don’t know it, but Marcus has his eyes closed too. Savoring the way you feel. How your ring of muscles is clenching around him and having to wait until you relax to push in just a bit more. Rocking his hips until they are flush against your ass and he is buried deep. 

He’s thick, long and completely stretching you out. Your fingers curl into the sheets as he gives you time to adjust to him. Waiting so patiently even though you can feel every pulsing beat of his heart and his excitement through the insistent throbbing of his cock, making your own body respond to it. Until you are pushing back, begging him to move inside you. “Baby please,” you whine, rolling your hips back and needing him to give you more. 

“So good for me, baby.” Marcus groans, pulling his hips back slowly. “You’re gonna love it.” He promises, making sure that he keeps his word. 

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter II

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm so sorry for the very long wait. I ended up separating the chapter into two parts because it ended up being 13k. Hope you can forgive me!

Chapter Summary: In which you get married to the General. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night

Word count: 5k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/151335016#workskin

Chapter II: A wonderful day for a wedding

Due to the warm night, it doesn’t surprise you when dawn brings the most beautiful sunrise all year. The landscape outside is bathed in gold and when you gently guide a lost bee out of your bedroom window, you feel the warmth of the sunshine prickle your skin.

You have a great deal to do before the carriage ride to the Acacius estate, so you hurry through breakfast - bread and cheese with herbs - to make sure there are enough hours in the morning for your bath, your grooming, and your dress preparations. 

You gently wash off the sweat and sleep from last night by rubbing slow circles down your arms, legs, and chest with a piece of soaked cloth. The excitement pools in your belly as you focus on the dream wedding belonging to the little girl in your heart happening today. The fact that it is arranged by your parents doesn’t diminish the fact that your tunic is beautiful and the festivities will be worthy of the Gods. You have no tears and concerns for Cassius left, you say to yourself, or at least, you’re not allowing yourself to have any left. 

“A perfect day for a wedding,” your mother says as she brings you more water for your bath instead of the maids, pouring the freshly hot water into the tub by your feet. Afterward, she moves to sit on a chair behind you to wash your hair. 

“Mother,” you say while she tilts your head forward, pouring water over the back of your neck, “I want jasmine flowers in the wedding crown, can we please have a maid pick some from the garden? Marcus— I mean, General Acacius will be impressed if I remember our conversation from yesterday.” 

The warm water feels soothing as it cascades down your shoulders, even more soothing is your mother’s fingers detangling your hair with practiced care. You spot her in the full-body mirror along the wall, her face sporting an affectionate smile, “Jasmine is his favorite? The General told you this? He must like you, my daughter.” 

“Mother, we barely know each other,” you let out a little laugh and turn your head back to look up at her. She grins down at you, smoothing her palm over your wet hair to squeeze out some excess water.

“Yet you already care what he thinks,” she points out with a slight hint of teasing. You splash a few drops of water in her direction and she acts outraged in only the way a mother can. The both of you laugh, the bubbling feeling warm in your chest until you also feel melancholic. The feeling that you should have had last night comes creeping up on you now.

“I’m gonna miss you and father,” you say softly and she wraps her arms around you from behind, not caring about getting her clothes wet if it means squeezing you enough to make you feel how much she loves you.

“I’ve been through this two times already. You know we still see both of your sisters. I am not sending you off to another country,” she soothes, rocking you from side to side and pecking the top of your head. You reach up to hold her wrist. 

“I know this but I’m the last bird leaving the nest,” you reply with eye contact in the mirror, corners of your mouth turning downward. You sigh quietly. 

“And father and I will finally be able to have some peace around here,” she tries to make you laugh again. When it doesn’t happen, the tone of her voice changes into something more serious, “I know everything feels safe and familiar here but you will grow to love your new life. Change is good.”

“I still feel like a child,” you lean back into her and stare down at the water that is growing colder, “You should have seen me trying to have a conversation with him yesterday. He is much older and more experienced than I am. I made a fool of myself not just once.”

“Listen to me, dearest,” she releases you from the confines of her arms and lifts your head to find your gaze in the mirror again, “I know that this is not a matter of love. I understand, my dear. This union is a great responsibility, but it can also be an even greater source of joy and strength for you. Your father and I have always wanted what’s best for you, even in situations where it might seem like it is only to our own advantage. Yet think about the possibilities this match will bring you; you will be the wife of a general. You can do anything.”

You nod with an understanding that is still marked by sorrow for the life you will leave behind, the dream of true love delivered by Cupid himself that will not be fulfilled now, “Yes, Mother.”

“And I will say this with confidence,” she continues, now with a gleam of pride in her eyes, “You are not a child, in fact, you have grown into a remarkable young woman. One that you can be very proud of. I know I am.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth and eventually, you cannot hold back the breath of air that you have been holding. Your eyes are watery, your mouth grinning with teeth from being reassured so affectionately by your mother. You suppose that you can get through this day with those words playing on your mind, “You had that rehearsed, did you not?”

“Not at all, came straight from the heart,” she giggles and gets up from her seat. She walks to stand at your side, offering you her hand, “Now, let’s get you out of the tub and make you more beautiful than even Goddess Venus herself. Today is a celebration of everything you’ve become and everything you will achieve with your husband. However, remember that General Acacius is even more fortunate to have you and your heart by his side.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you say as she helps you to your feet, holding you steady as you step over the edge of the bathtub. 

She wraps a linen cloth around you, “I’ll send for the flowers right away. The tailor has already been with your tunic this morning, I’ve had the maids hang it in your room.” 

“Perfect,” you smile. You leave the bathroom while another ancilla - a maid - empties the tub, hangs the linen towel to dry, and mops excess water from the floor. 

As you make your way back to your bedroom, you notice your home is abuzz with servants doing all sorts of tasks to ensure a perfect day. They pass you with kind smiles and congratulations, carrying wine in jugs and baskets of fruit and vegetables, freshly baked bread, and flowers for decorating. 

You think back to Marcus’ beautiful garden, wondering how it is taking shape to be the venue for your union. The red roses are sure to compliment your red veil, the marble the golden embroidery on your tunic too. 

But then, as you enter your room, you think about Cassius’ words from last night. In less than a day, you will belong to one of the most powerful families in all of the empire and despite this, it sounded like it did not ensure you the safety that your father had foreseen with this match. Quite the contrary, it seems like you are getting into something that’ll wash the pink and fluffy clouds away. 

However, the concerned thoughts last only a moment as your gaze falls on the beautiful tunic hanging on the wall, just out of the sun’s rays. You smile and sigh, brushing the woven fabric delicately with your hand. It is long and white, embroidered with squared patterns along the shoulder seams and down the short sleeves. You know that Marcus’ own attire will have the same stitching and color, signaling that the two of you are weaved together from now on. 

The veil hangs beside it and is as red as the fires that you have seen built for sacrifices to the Gods. Your mother has taught you enough during wedding preparations for you to know exactly what it is supposed to symbolize; you will be given to General Acacius today and you will belong to him in the same manner as the many gifts that have been given to the many Roman deities, like the coin you tossed in the fountain for Fortuna. 

After taking the tunic off the hook on the wall, you let the linen around your body fall to the floor and slip your wedding attire on. You sit down on the chair by your vanity and gaze at your reflection in the mirror, staring at the woman you have become in such a short time.

You adjust the neckline of the garment, smoothing out any crease that makes you seem less than perfect and then you grab your hairbrush to start detangling your hair. After having brushed your hair for a while and getting lost in the mindless task, a knock on your door distracts your thoughts. 

You quickly get up to hurriedly step behind the room divider in the corner, not wanting to reveal your look before it has gotten its final touches or in case the person seeking entry is your father. 

“Come in,” you say when you are hidden from view. 

However, it is your mother again who carries the wedding crown, which has now gotten beautiful jasmine flowers weaved into it. From the sound of the different footsteps, you deduce that she is followed by two servant girls who have come to help you with the remaining details of your outfit.

“I brought Lupa and Nidia to help you,” she chirps, hands the wedding crown to Lupa with the utmost care, and then gently sits down on the chair by the vanity. She waits as the girls join you behind the screen, “Quickly now, we have to be ready to go in half an hour.”

Nidia has gotten the veil from its spot on the wall, now draping it over the top of your head while Lupa secures it with the flower crown. You can smell the jasmine, feel the soft fabric of the red veil brush your bare arms, and suddenly, the weight of today begins to bear down on your shoulders. You swallow thickly as you look at yourself in the full-body mirror. This summer has changed you since you got the news of your arranged union, and suddenly, as you look at yourself at this moment, you are surprised to see that a bride stares back at you. 

“You look perfect,” Nidia says softly as if sensing your nervousness. She holds your gaze in the mirror and smiles a little when Lupa joins in with a happy, agreeing nod, the both of them adjusting the veil to cascade down your back gracefully. 

“Thank you,” you say gratefully and relax a bit more. At least how you look is going to be talked about the most but then again, will this enhance your future husband’s desire? What will happen when he gets you alone in his chambers? You shake the thought, not used to the idea of being perceived in such a fashion even if you tasted the idea yesterday, “Okay, I think I am ready.”

As you step out from behind the divider, your mother radiates maternal pride and clasps her hands together, “Oh, by Venus, you are radiant! I don’t know what your father was doing with all his worry.”

You try not to overthink that statement and act casual, very much aware that you have not seen him today. Instead, you ask, “Where is father?” 

“He has gone back and forth between our home and the General’s many times today. I suppose that he wants everything to be perfect for you and make you happy,” she keeps her voice high-pitched and cheerful but you can feel your gut telling you that she isn’t completely convinced either. She may have been making jest of you being the last of her daughters to marry but you know that your father sees you as more of a chess piece - the final move out of three - than his blood.

In your wedding attire, sparkling as Lupa gets the box of jewelry and Nadia adorns you in gold, you think again of the way your father had handled the negotiations of your marriage; how little concern he had shown for your thoughts on the matter, and, possibly without intending to, made it clear that this isn’t about love or even your happiness. It is about influence, power, and ascension to something right under the Gods.

“He’s always wanted things to be perfect for us,” you say with a forced smile, though your mother doesn’t seem to notice the strain on your face, “Ever since we were little, it was always about making sure we made the right connections, the right alliances.”

Your mother looks up at you, not quite as oblivious as she tries to convince you of. Her smile softens, “It’s just his way, my dear. He wants the best for you, for all of us, and you like the General! I can tell.”

The best for him, perhaps. You dare ask a question that can only exist between women who understand that you live in a world ruled by men. “Mother, do you think he would have arranged this if General Acacius had been… cruel?”

The silence that follows is thick, and in that moment, you realize that the answer may not be one you want to hear. You stare at her, brows furrowed as you wait for her to say something, but in the end, she avoids your gaze completely. 

“It is time to leave,” she says instead and turns to Lupa and Nidia who have gone completely quiet, “My daughter needs escorting to the carriage. We cannot keep my husband waiting so close to the time of the ceremony.”

You swallow thickly but do not protest, a heavy feeling in your stomach as you are led out of your home, taking in the details of the surroundings that you grew up in for what feels like the last time.

—

Upon arrival at Marcus' estate, you are greeted by who you assume will be your new maid. Ismene is her name, a woman not much older than yourself but with rougher hands, the kind that have known hard labor. She wears a plain tunic and her hair tied back in a braid, curtsying as you step out of the carriage. 

You hear your mother tell Lupa and Nidia to stay back in case it��ll insult Ismene that you have brought maids from your home but Ismene just smiles, her eyes flicking up at you as she bows to catch a glimpse of who she will be serving from now on. 

“My lady,” she greets after stretching to her full height again, a twinkle in her gaze and a gut feeling telling you that she has no ill will towards you, “Everything is ready for you. The General has requested that you go to the gardens immediately where the ceremony will take place shortly.” 

She leads you and your mother through the mansion that is as beautiful as you remember it from yesterday. Except this time, seemingly overnight, the home has been decorated to be fit for festivities later. Your mother walks beside you, her expression calm, but you know her enough by now to sense the tension beneath the surface. She glances around the estate with careful eyes, not having been here before since your father refused it, and is perhaps judging the wealth and power of the man you are about to marry. Maybe, she may even be worrying for you.

You must screen your face from the sun in the gardens, but you still cannot help but notice the red roses and the ivy snaking their way around the columns that surround the spot chosen for the ceremony. Their colors are striking and beautiful against the white marble, eliciting a gasp of awe from your mother. What you also cannot help but notice is the return of the flutter of excitement that stirs in your belly, one that feels out of place among your adult worries. Everything is even more gorgeous than you had imagined in your childhood daydreams. 

“It’s beautiful, truly. The Gods have indeed favored us,” your mother praises in a whisper just as the three of you come to a halt. Ismene has stopped in her tracks just out of sight from the guests who are here to witness the marriage, and she is deliberately quiet to give you and your mother this last brief moment of privacy before everything changes. 

Your mother reaches out to gently touch your arm. In response, you turn to her and are met with her warm and reassuring smile. She cups your face and kisses your forehead. 

“Remember that father and I raised you to be strong,” she tells you with tears welling up in her eyes. You can feel your heart beating harshly against your chest as you recognize both fear and excitement on her face, and you suppose that there’s grief in her following this; her last child leaving home will be the end of her being needed. 

“Te amo in aeternum, Mamma (I love you forever, Mom),” you only just manage to say as your throat feels tight and you can hear footsteps approaching. 

You know it is your father by the commanding pace of the steps, the way the feet strike the earth with determination. He rounds the corner with a small smile on his lips as he sees you. 

“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you and immediately holds his arm out for you to take. There’s urgency in his voice even if it is tender at the sight of you, “It is time.”

“Are you ready?” Your mother interrupts, earning a glance from her husband. His presence somehow looms larger after that question, as if he wants to scoff at the thought that you could ever say no. He shakes his arm with an impatient smile when you still have not taken his arm. Clearly, this is not a moment for lingering but a moment for you to fulfill your duty.

You swallow hard and then you turn to your father. With a nod, you place your arm through his, “I’m ready.”

“Then let us not keep the General waiting,” he smiles.

The wedding ceremony is swift and takes place underneath the blazing sun of Rome. Marcus Acacius stands at the altar, his tall and broad figure exuding strength and importance. You feel drawn to the way he looks as he watches you walk down the pathway between the guests, stoic and calm in an attire that matches yours. You feel reassured by him because of this strength, that if everything fails, he will catch you.

When you stop in front of him and your father nods in a way that feels transactional, you swear that you can see his eyes soften. The officiant drones on but you don’t hear a word, the thoughts of last night when you were alone in your bed flooding your mind and causing your heartbeat to drown out noise around you. You can still feel the warmth of your own touch between your legs and it’s so consuming of your attention that you suddenly hear someone clearing their throat. 

“We will now perform the joining of hands, dear,” the officiant repeats and you can see that Marcus is already holding out his palm for you to place your own in. Your face is hot, your cheeks prickling with embarrassment but you recover by not letting it faze you. Marcus smiles ever so gently when your hand takes his and a leather band is wrapped around them. You say your promise to him like you have practiced so many times in the mirror back in your room.

Where he is your Gaius, you will be Gaia. Mother nature. The first goddess. The one who made sense of chaos. 

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.”

–

In the early evening, the festivities begin with a banquet that makes the ones your father has hosted in the past pale in comparison. There’s people and food and people eating the food everywhere. Goblets get continuously filled by servants and bread with oil, butter, and cheese gets restocked as soon as it might look like serving platters are emptying out. However, it is not envy that you see on your parents’ faces as they take in the long table that abounds in the season’s most beautiful flowers laid out in rich displays of colors, or the most expensive foods that are replenished before anyone can take notice of their shortages, but rather pride in your mother’s eyes and some sort of distasteful greed in your father’s.

It makes you think of Cassius again, the idea of his stomach growling as he makes his way home from laboring in the fields surrounding your village. He would hate this, you think to yourself, the sight of the uppermost elite of society stuffing their faces but not for nourishment.

You look down at your hands when you start to feel bad for thinking of another man while sitting right next to your new husband. Yet Marcus doesn’t seem to notice the way your shoulders slump. He smiles warmly at each congratulations that he receives while you sit at the end of the same long table and you’re surprised to see that it comes off as genuine each time. He graciously lifts his goblet of wine as thanks, nodding to the faces of men his own age who approach with offerings and gifts. You’ve seen them steal glances at you when they think others haven’t noticed. 

You wonder if Marcus has, if he feels triumphant or enraged by the lingering appreciative stares that you receive right before they go back to their wine. 

It is to be expected with how beautiful your mother has made you for this day, you say to yourself in your new state as an object of desire, but still, you are without much appetite from being stared at. It makes you think of your wedding night and the duty that lies within it. As a comfort, you reach for your goblet of wine frequently throughout the evening and completely ignore the delicious smell of roasted meats and the sight of shiny green grapes and berries that you have on your plate. Right now, they make you feel sick. 

Sensing your discomfort, Marcus holds his hand up to stop an approaching guest and turns his attention to you. His gaze follows the movement of your hand as you lift the goblet to your slightly-stained lips once more. Gently, he reaches out and covers your hand with his, taking the cup away from you.

“No more wine. I don’t want you to feel unwell on our night together,” he says simply and firmly but there’s affection in his command, a concern for your wellbeing. It’s the first time that you see a glimpse of the man you met yesterday. He makes you fold quickly, nod with embarrassment as you in return stare sheepishly at him while he sets down the goblet out of your reach. 

“Of course, my legatus,” you hurry to say, remembering how your mother had urged you to show respect by referring to his rank. You offer him a hesitant smile, “You’re right.”

“I know this is not easy for a maiden as young as you, and I must admit that it is all very overwhelming even for me,” he gives you a smile in return, allowing himself to show brief vulnerability to ease your mind, “But there’s no need to dull your senses, Carrissima.”

“It was not my intention to make you feel like I was unappreciative—“

“I did not think you were,” he interrupts before you can tear yourself down in an effort to humble yourself. He places a hand on yours underneath the table, “Are you pleased with the celebration? I never notice if others are enjoying the festivities. I admit I seek solitude more often than company in these situations.”

“It is beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you reply with a nod and realize that you find the conversation less terrifying now. You blame your ease on the amount of wine you have already consumed, “If you want reassurance, a woman can always tell if people are enjoying themselves.”

“And what is your verdict?” Marcus brushes his thumb over the back of your hand. You hide the shiver that goes up your spine, breathe deeply to steady your heart after it has skipped at least a few beats. He must know what his touch does to you after feeling it yesterday.

A burst of laughter from a table nearby catches both of your attention. A group of guests are engaged in lighthearted discussions, chatting cheerfully with each other and getting up when the musicians strike up a song made for dancing. 

You observe them for a moment before turning back to Marcus again, but before you can answer, a man approaches your table with what you assume is more congratulations. You make a mental note to be more present in this, to show your husband and his guests that you are in favor of the union. However, the man leans in close to Marcus, whispering something in his ear. 

You notice a subtle shift in Marcus’s demeanor; the previous warmth in his eyes momentarily replaces itself with a focused seriousness. He nods at the messenger, who quickly slips away into the crowd before you can even register what he looks like.

“Is everything all right?” You ask with curiosity and concern. 

“Yes, nothing to worry about. Just a small matter that needed my attention. I apologize for the interruption,” he assures you but hardly satisfies your curiosity. The seriousness vanishes completely in favor of softness as soon as he looks at you again, “Forgive me for forgetting but I must compliment the jasmine flowers in your wedding crown. They suit my bride perfectly.”

The sudden change in his tone makes your heart flutter, and you realize how intentional his words are, as if to draw you back into the moment with him. You reach up to feel the soft petals of the flowers with your fingertips. You smile genuinely at him, shy from the compliment, “It was already weaved this morning but I remembered you mentioning that jasmine is your favorite.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You remembered our conversation.”

“I wanted to show that I was attentive,” you reply, feeling a connection that wasn’t there just a moment before.

“You’ve certainly succeeded,” he replies with a pleased grin at being surprised by you.

The sunset has crept up on you while you have been in conversation with Marcus for a while, the plate in front of you suddenly having been emptied by you without much thought. You only register the darkness of the night when guests have started to get up from their seats to say goodbye and go home, and panic starts to rise in your throat when the crowd thins out enough for Marcus to send the rest home. 

You've known this night would come, and yet as you get up from your seat, standing right in the middle of all the many tables, it feels like it is brand new information that comes hurtling towards you and frightens you even further. 

With a lump in your throat, you watch the last few faces take their leave, observing how Marcus says goodbye to what you assume are the most important guests. 

When everything is quiet except for the servants’ footsteps, your parents approach you. Your mother is the first to talk, her eyes glistening with pride. 

“My dear, it’s been a wonderful celebration,” she says, gently squeezing you in an embrace. “We’re so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Mother. I’m so grateful you were here to share it with me,” you reply, accepting her embrace warmly and almost desperately due to your anxiety. You can feel her tense up when she realizes that you are hugging her to soothe yourself but she doesn’t say anything. 

Your father stands by quietly. He only nods approvingly when Marcus joins the three of you, “A splendid event. We’re confident our daughter is in good hands.”

Marcus bows his head respectfully, “You have my word that she is.”

Your father turns to you, his expression of importance softening just a bit, “Remember what we’ve taught you, my daughter. Honor and family are paramount.”

“I understand, Father,” you assure him, avoiding his eyes. The surprisingly cool interaction between father and daughter catches Marcus’ attention, and the step he takes closer to you is almost unnoticeable. You feel his arm accidentally brushing yours but you swear that there’s a sort of protectiveness in the featherlight touch even if it is unintentional. It makes exchanging farewells easier.

“Perhaps we should retire as well,” he suggests when your parents are out of sight, “Goddess Nox has already spread her veil across the sky for a while.”

"Yes, I suppose it is time,” you glance up at the stars above, feeling the cool night air against your skin. You wish he would ground you like before.

The both of you make your way to your shared chambers. The short walk feels longer than it should, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with each step. You glance at your husband as he walks beside you, his calm and steady demeanor sharply in contrast with the growing nervousness inside you. The walls of the corridor are lined with flickering torches, and they seem to stretch on endlessly. Though nothing lasts forever and eventually you come to a halt, the door in front of you leading you to your wedding night.

This is it.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[happy-beeeps]

Naïveté

Summary: Astarion begins to reconcile with the fact he might have fallen for you, only to worry you've caught an interest in someone else. Earllllllly act 2, minor spoilers for act 2!

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav

Warnings/tags: fluff, miscommunication if you squint, jealous!astarion, platonic!wyll x tav, slightly ooc Astarion because I'm still learning to write him so be nice PLEASE😭🥺

WC: 2k

a/n: I'm finishing a character sheet for tav so we can have her backstory, but she's who I've been using this playthrough and I've been really enjoying her story. When I post on Ao3 she'll have a name, but I'm going to leave her unnamed here! Also, will have a seperate BG3 spot on my masterlist soon!

It’s late at camp, and by the time you finish indulging in a bottle of wine with Karlach, you figure you’re the only one still up. It’s been a long night, and an even longer few days, spent trudging through the grimy depths of the Shadowcursed lands and just barely making it out of the encounter with Marcus alive. Isobel had given you the ability to travel freely, but all you could do was set up camp near the inn.

The firelight is dim when you make your way back from the secluded spot near Karlach’s tent, and Astarion’s tent is sealed tightly. You contemplate going over, just peaking your head in to see if he’s deep in trance yet, but you change your mind. After your previous night’s conversation, you’re still not sure on speaking terms. It plays out over and over again in your mind. Naive, he’d called you, your heart was too big. 

You tried to be reasonable. You were naive. You were young, and perhaps no one but Wyll new exactly how young. To be ninety as an elf was to be just becoming an adult. No one else had known, no else had asked, including Astarion. You chalked it up to his truly immortal lifespan, he hadn’t cared about aging for 200 years, why start now?

Still, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him, or the thrill that shook your bones when he would quietly rush into your tent each morning, murmuring the incantation for lesser restoration. You still thought of the way he looked at Gale when he asked to consume that locket all those days back. “I’m glad you let him suffer for a moment, darling,” he’d murmured into your ear that night, his breath tingly on your neck, “That one’s ours.”

There’d been other nights since your first night together, while you hadn’t slept together in completion since, all passion and teeth and sweat. Sometimes you’d just kiss him, wrapped up in nothing else but this bliss of arms and scent. Lately though, he’d been closed off—distant. His conversation the previous night had come out of nowhere, as if you were standing on the doorstep of Moonrise Towers that very instant. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts, consumed of Astarion, that you nearly missed Wyll’s form standing near the dimming fire, moving around in a dance you actually recognized.

“I hope I’m not interrupting practice,” you smiled, giving the man ample warning before you stumbled into his rehearsal. 

Wyll wheeled on you, a faint blush growing across his cheeks. “It’s one of those old courting dances, it’d be a cold day in the hells before I’d ever forget them.”

“Oh I’m quite familiar,” you murmured, thinking back to your own youth, your own debutante ball, before you lost everything. “Everyone else around here forgets I come from taste.”

Wyll snorts, “Sure don’t smell like it.”

Your friendship with Wyll is a special thing. No one else can understand what it felt like to be from a Noble family, the expectations and the experience it comes with. When your family had been killed and their wealth assumed, you were completely on your own. Learning how to pickpockets and lie had not been a part of your expensive and tasteful education.

Dancing, however, came second nature.

You move to stand in front of him without really thinking, decades of experience guiding your motions. “Go on, let’s see what you can do.”

He’s a fine partner, moving cautiously around you and guiding your hand easily. Even when he brings you closer for a slightly more intimate dance, his hands nor his eyes never stray. 

“I wonder what I’d have done if I ever saw you at one of the balls my father sent me too.” He murmurs.

“I’m certain you did. Though you would’ve been young. I haven’t been in nearly a decade.”

He chuckles, and clucks his tongue for a moment, “Just practically a baby, far to young to approach Fey nobility.” Before bowing in front of you and wishing you goodnight. There’s the smallest beat where he looks at you as if he has something to say. You look at him for the smallest moment. It would be so easy to love him, if you were anyone else. He’s exactly who your father would have picked for you, save his humanity. But, despite it, you can’t. You can’t fake the flutter you get when you Astarion’s cold hands tickle your fingers, or the tickle of his hair on your cheek when he’s pressed against your neck. You’re not naive enough to admit this to Astarion, but from the fleeting glance you send to his tent, you can see that Wyll already knows. He leaves you with a knowing glance and a soft goodnight. You go back to your own tent, happy to have removed the thought of the curse, of Ketheric, and even of your own problems for just a moment.

So full of contentedness in fact, you don’t notice the scarlet eyes peering at you from the slat of their tent, a whirlwind of emotions cascading over them.

* * *

Astarion doesn’t hide his mild disdain for Wyll, or anyone to be fair, to begin with, but the following morning he bears down on the man like an ogre. “I didn’t anticipate you being quite so light on your feet. The Blade stands at the ready, and also ready to pirouette, I suppose?”

Wyll rolls his eyes at Astarion’s quip, used to the sarcasm, but somewhat surprised at the intensity of the rogue’s grip on his arm. “Wasn’t aware I couldn’t have past times.”

“By all means feel free to entertain us with a ballet in between slaughters,” his voice hushes as you walk by, looking at the two men skeptically, “I’d just prefer if your duets didn’t happen whilst I’m trying to read.”

Wyll follows Astarion’s slightly fleeting to his retreating gaze. You’re standing behind him, out of earshot, leaning against Lae’zel’s tent while she sharpens your sword. Astarion’s stare is enough to allow him to piece everything together. “Can I give you a word of advice?”

“Only if you accept that I may ignore it entirely.”

“She’s wonderful. And she’s made her choice without giving anyone else a chance. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste it, wouldn’t kill you to get to know her.”

Wyll walks away, and Astarion is left alone again with his thoughts. Contrary to Wyll’s belief, he thinks it might actually kill him to get to know you. He’s been balancing precariously on his fight to not let himself be fully consumed by you and your grace, your goodness. You were a spoilt little thing, he was sure of that, and he had meant what he said that night by the water. It didn’t mean it hurt his chest more when your face fell. “Naive?” there was a crack in your cool, crafted facade. Genuine hurt had settled there for a moment, and something akin to disappointment. He hadn’t known how to face you since, hadn’t known how to say “I’m sorry! I’m falling for you and can’t help it and I’m terrified!”

So instead he said nothing at all, and resolved to say something later.

* * *

You had just gotten back to camp for the night, Karlach nearly giggling at the amount of gold she had stuffed in her pockets from the tollhouse. You had noticed Astarion’s eyes on you, heavy and pensive, when you had dealt with the Master of Coin, how easily you’d convinced her to simply cease to be. That was perhaps the easiest transition from nobility to rogue you had, the gift of a silver tongue and wide, batting eyes.

You changed into your camp clothes and watched Karlach throw gold pieces at an increasingly irritated Lae’zel, Gale standing nearby doing his best to keep spirits high in this eerie camp, working with whatever cured meats and cheeses you still had to attempt to make a dinner. You had changed into camp clothes and grabbed one of the books you had found in the tollmaster’s office, a shockingly smutty romance novel that had to be even older than you. It was quiet in the corner you found, somewhere even Halsin’s booming laugh had faded into quiet background noise. You tried to not think about your surroundings, about your increasing frustration with Astarion, or the odd way his gaze had hung on you all day. 

“I’m always impressed by that tongue of yours, petal.” The vampire’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and he settled beside you on the ground, arms behind him as he reclined easily next to you.

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, and the pet name. “Yet you’ve been leaving me and my tongue to our thoughts the past few days.” You huffed, flipping the book to the next page, though not really reading any of it 

If Astarion could blush, he looked as if he would. “We’ve been a bit busy darling. I’ve been…strategizing.”

“Strategizing?”

“Precisely.”

The quiet overtook the two of you. After being so distant, if he didn’t want to come to you, then so be it. You could not—would not–crack first. He could not even begin to know the bubbling furnace of your feelings, or you’d be positively done for.

“How old are you?”

His question strikes you, strikes you enough that you set the book off to the side and face him. “At what point did you start to ask me questions?”

“When I realized I had done something to anger my favorite companion,” his fingers reach out and trace small patterns on your skin. “How old are you?”

“Ninety.” Your voice moves to a whisper at the end of the word, and his eyebrows quirk.

“Only ninety and yet alone. And Balduran?”

“Yes, but I haven’t lived there since I was seventy five.”

“Something happened,” he rocks upward, now sitting nearer to you. “You weren’t supposed to be like this.”

“Perhaps that’s why I’m so naive.” It comes out more bitter than you meant, but oh well. He deserved it.

“Naive wasn’t the right word,” he looks like he’s fighting himself to turn out the next sentence. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

You smile softly, laying a hand on top of his. “I don’t know if I believe that, but I appreciate the apology.”

He grins, his deep set smile lines settling in your favorite way. “Tell me about your childhood.”

You shrug, “There’s not much to say. I was an only child, an only daughter. I used to play the lyre, learn languages, paint–”

“You come from nobility.”

“I sort of thought it was obvious,” you shrug and tap your knee against his, “I wasn’t supposed to be out in the middle of a campground, much less learning the ways of a rogue.”

“What were you supposed to be?”

“A wife, I guess.”

“And while I’m sure suitors everywhere are devastated, I much prefer my rogue.”

My. You don’t say anything and neither does he. You let the word hang there, testing to see if he reaches back to grab it, but he doesn’t. It gets quiet for a moment after that, and you can see him spinning the illusion in his head. You, swathed in organza, spinning around a marble ballroom, entertaining suitors. 

“Is that why you danced with Wyll?”

“Ah,” you smile and rest your head on his shoulder. You love these fleeting moments of intimacy, where you can both pretend to be nothing more than lovers on an adventure. “So this was spurred by jealousy?”

“As if I have anything to be jealous over Wyll. He wishes he looked half as good as me.” His words lack their normal bite, and he turns his head softly, so he’s speaking quietly, just to you. “But perhaps in the future you’d let me take you for a spin.”

You press your hand against his on the ground. “You need only ask.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

There’s so much more you both want to say, confessions on the precipice of both your minds, but you say nothing. You idle together a touch longer, hands resting against each other, pretending neither of you can get hurt, envisioning a world where it’s him spinning you across the dance floor in a world where you could have each other.

[thetriumphantpanda]

the gift that keeps giving | marcus pike

Summary | Isn't it just your luck to get the office hottie as your secret santa this year?

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Just... Marcus Pike being Marcus Pike, some flirting and general office banter and a steamy kiss but nothing explicit!

Authors Note | To my Cheese & Crackers. My Darling Friend. I hope this makes your festive season that little bit lighter. I hope you love this because I love you, to the moon and back and beyond. Thank you for making 2023 that little bit easier. Happy Christmas @undercoverpena 🧡

“That’s looking a little worse for wear.” Marcus, stood at your desk, waiting for his report, finger pointed at the very much dead succulent on your desk.

You look up from your desk, fingers still flitting across the keyboard as you race to finish the notes he’d asked for.

“It’s looking dead, Marcus.”

“I was trying not to rub it in,” He shrugs, running a finger over one of the branches, a look of remorse on his face when he snaps off and lands on the white of the desk, “But yeah, that’s very much dead.”

“Frank deserved it.” You shrug, eyes never leaving your screen.

“Frank?”

“Yes, Frank,” You nod your head towards the succulent, “You’re meant to name plants, makes you more attached to them, more likely to care properly for them,” Another shrug of your shoulders, “Now look at him, showing me up as a bad mother.”

Marcus can’t help but chuckle a little, “You’ll have to get yourself another.”

“If I can’t keep a succulent alive,” You sigh, fingers slowing ever-so-slightly on the keyboard, “There isn’t much hope for anything else.”

“I believe in you.” He offers.

You stare at him through your lashes, a look that warns him that he needs to be quiet, “You know, the longer you stand there distracting me, the longer it’ll take me to type these notes up?”

“I always thought you thrived on pressure?” He teases, reminding you of a conversation a few months ago where you’d admitted that the best work you produce is always to a time crunch.

“Marcus, respectfully,” You finally look up at him properly, “You need to leave me alone, if you go and sit down in your office and leave me to it, this report will be on your desk in the next twenty minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re late.” Your voice is monotone as Marcus hurries out of the elevator.

“I know.” He’s stressed, twenty minutes late to his debrief meeting.

“I told you last night what time you needed to be here.”

He runs a hand over his face, taking the manila file from your hand, flicking through it to make sure he knows what the fuck is going on right now.

“I’ve just moved.”

You sigh, shake your head, but keep up his pace as you race through the office, “What’s that got to do with you being late?”

“The fridge magnet,” He offers, as if you’ll know exactly what he’s talking about, “I lost it when I moved.”

“Am I supposed to make the link myself?”

He stops at his desk, blindly opening drawers, rooting through papers to try and find something, “I used it to pin important things on the fridge, like when I need to be in to speak to the big boss.”

You shake your head, trailing behind him again as he starts walking again, “You can get a damn fridge magnet on every street corner, Marcus.”

“I know,” He says, a little breathless, as he finally comes to the meeting room door, “I’ll get around to it eventually, promise.”

There’s a small gift bag sitting on your desk when you come back from the Christmas lunch. There are an array of other gift bags and small wrapped presents on everyone’s desk. You sigh, flopping into your chair. Someone from the finance team is already passing around glasses of something fizzy, work clearly done for the day. Someone is hooking their phone up to the a speaker. You look left and right, making sure that no-one is looking, before you pull open the top of the back and peer in.

You can’t quite believe it, reaching your hand inside to grasp the pot, pulling it out. A scoff leaves your mouth, a small cactus sitting in a pot that’s been painted like a Christmas jumper. You shake your head, a laugh escaping as you drag a finger over the little spines, like you always do when trying to choose a new plant. You push the bag out of the way, setting the small plant down on your desk, right where Frank had been before.

You use your fingers to turn it around, setting it perfectly in place, when those familiar legs come into view, perfectly pressed trousers right in your eyeline, but it isn’t the legs you’re really looking at, although you do sometimes, it’s his fingers, pressing a fridge magnet onto your desk, sliding it across to you, a magnet that is now so familiar to you, having stood in that damn gift shop for almost thirty minutes try to choose the right one. One with a watercolour painting splashed across it, one that you know he likes, never shutting about what the colours mean and how it makes him feel.

“Oh my god,” You feign surprise, “Does this mean you’ll be on time from now on?”

“It looks like,” He’s got a smile on his mouth when you look at him, “Also means you’ll be able to get off my case.”

You smile back at him, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason you still have a job after your timekeeping this past month,” You tease, “But sure, if you want me off your case that bad, I’ll leave you alone.”

His attention moves from the magnet to the cactus already having pride of place on your desk. He picks it up, annoying you slightly as you’d just got it in the right position for you, “What are you going to name it?”

You raise your eyebrow, a knowing look in your eye, “It’s your gift, Marcus, you should name it.”

Marcus drops his head, a snort of a laugh breathing from his nostrils, “That obvious, huh?”

“About as obvious as this.” You bring your fingers to the fridge magnet.

You hold his eyes, watching as he thinks for a second, before he offers his name, “Vincent.”

There’s an actual laugh that drops from your mouth now, “You’re so predictable, Pike,” You shake your head, “Of course it would be an artist.”

He shifts from foot to foot a little, “You know,” His hand comes nervously to the back of his neck, “If it wasn’t for the damn $5 cap, I’d have gotten us a gift certificate to this restaurant downtown that I like.”

You breath catches in your throat slightly, because there’s no way, there’s no way that means what it means, “Us?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you’d like it of course,” His nervous hand running up and down the side of his neck, “I don’t need a secret santa to take you out.”

You shake your head a little, bite your bottom lip, “It’s funny, because if it hadn’t been for the $5 dollar cap, I would have got us tickets to the new exhibition at the gallery.”

Your words sink in, him realising you want him just as much as he wants you, outside of this office and the professional relationship you have.

“And what if dinner came with a kiss?”

“What if the exhibition came with one too?”

He’s taking hold of your wrist, dragging you from your chair, back out of the office and down towards the privacy of the alcove near the elevator. Your back, pressed against the wall, Marcus’ hands on your waist as his mouth finally slants over your own. It’s exactly how you’d imagined it for all these months, soft but sure, warm hands seeping through the layers of your clothes. And he tastes exactly as you thought he would, slightly sweet, considering his sweet tooth, and you can taste the beer he drank at lunch. It’s intoxicating. You slip your hands under the shoulders of his suit jacket, gripping the broadness of him as he pulls away.

“Gotta keep your hands to yourself,” He whispers against your mouth, “If you don’t we’re gonna be sat with HR in the morning.”

You bite your lip, leaning towards him a little to press your lips gently to his own, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, agent.”

He looks at you, fire in his eyes, “Go and get your things,” It’s a strict order, that floats straight to settle in your tummy, “I’m sure I can get us in for dinner somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.”

[outmakingmoonshine]

I was just writing a post about the Carmy/Faks scene & how it's really just Carmy talking to himself. For this scene the two Faks represent his inner voices/subconscious (which might only apply to this scene idk), but then I decided to see what all these scenes looked like together and wow am I glad I did!! Seeing these 4 scenes side by side is very interesting.

The first two scenes in 3x05 & 3x07 mirror each other, the last two scenes in 3x09 mirror each other and all 4 of them tell their own story together. The first scene is Carmy's talking to himself but shouting & aiming it at anyone who's listening. The 2nd is Syd talking to herself but mostly mumbling so only she can hear. In the Faks scene Carmy's having an "imaginary" conversation out loud with two people, just like Syd's doing in the last scene rehearsing what she might say to both Adam Shapiro and Carmy.

And if you rearrange these scenes & put the first 2 after the Faks scene, if we saw/heard those sarcastic "that makes sense" comments after we saw the "Claire is peace" scene in that exact same location, it would've been a lot easier to figure out what they're really referring to!

There are lots of layers to unpack here but I'm gonna talk about the main things that jump out at me. This is probably gonna be a bit chaotic with different ideas and breakdowns of what things could mean so I hope it's not too confusing. Anyone else feel free to jump in with your thoughts.

Below the cut

Notice how in all these scenes, except one, Carmy and Syd are alone talking out loud to themselves, vocalizing their inner thoughts. Mute the video and just read the subtitles if you need to. The scene with the Faks reads like a conversation with imaginary friends or like the two funny inner voices of a character in a comedy movie. All these scenes are like they're from a comedy movie tbh.

In the first two scenes Carmy & Syd act the same way they both deal with their problems (Carmy shouting about it to anyone who'll listen and Syd pissed but mostly keeping it quiet/to herself). They're the only ones actually inside the dumpster in all the scenes which makes me think it represents their minds and the boxes are the mental chaos & thoughts they're trying to sort through. The Faks are technically outside Carmy's mind/the dumpster so they don't speak from the mind or for the mind but they're close to it, communicating with it & "helping" sort through the chaos. Maybe the dumpster represents the conscious mind and the Faks are Carmy's subconscious. It sounds like The Faks are encouraging Carmy to fall back into his base programming, which people often tend to do when they're lost and don't know what to do. They're trying to convince him to call Claire bc Carmy's base programming from his family is "Claire is good". That's what safe to him bc it's a "truth" he's always known & believed. Idk there's many possibilities. It's also Interesting how later this episode The Faks go to Claire and speak directly for Carmy like they know for sure what he's thinking & feeling.

Lets get into the dialogue of the first two scenes:

"[Carmy] That makes sense. [box clatters] Boxes full of bullshit. Put it on the f*cking list. Oh, it's good. I'll do it. I got it. I got it."

Just a side note: The next line in the script is "I don't know wha-what I'm supposed to do with all this stuff" from Marcus in the next scene where he's clearing out all his mum's stuff with Syd.

"[Syd] 'Cause why would you do it? I mean, you're supposed to do it. This is-- This is fine. This is good. This makes sense. This is f*cking… F*ck. F*ck. [pants] [muttering] F*ck. [growls] fcking-- Where are the fcking Faks? F*ck!"

I don't even know where to start, there's so many ways to read this!

Carmy said one specific thing in the Faks scene that very clearly "didn't make sense"...Claire is peace. He knows that's not true but I think the point is he's been avoiding thinking about who his peace actually is all S3*. Carmy & Syd are both sarcastically saying "that makes sense" like it's subtly referring to that scene later in the same place. Was the panic attack scene by the same dumpsters? Idk someone let me know please.

*Carmy said in 3x07 he tries to avoid thinking about legacy. The only legacy we know of is the one he's trying to build with Syd both professionally and personally. His realization that Syd's brings him peace in the panic attack in 2x09 is the reality of his legacy that he's been trying to avoid all S3. He's working to get her his star and creating dishes inspired by her so Syd's cearly on his mind but the one thing he should be thinking about and talking to her about, he's avoiding.

There are many different layers of possible meaning and/or foreshadowing in this dialogue, but one layer it can be read is how they're both thinking/feeling about the Claire situation bc even tho Syd didn't mention it all season it's still there between them. Maybe none of this is about Claire, but if it was:

Carmy: "[sarcastically] that makes sense"...claire is "peace". "Boxes full of bullsh*t"...he's full of bullshit that Claire's his peace?!! Or maybe Claire is in the boxes of bullshit aka his baggage and past trauma he needs to sort through? "Put it on the "f*cking list"...put Claire on the list of his stress & baggage? And a very sarcastic "Oh it's good. I'll do it. I got it. I got it." He'll do what he's "supposed to do" with Claire & call her/apologize/maybe even be with her even tho it clearly sounds like he doesn't want to..?? He's "got it"...even though he clearly doesn't. "It's good" but she's clearly not The Good Thing™.

Syd: "Cause why wouldn't you do it? I mean you're supposed to do it"...why won't carmy just sort himself out? why wont he just call claire/be with claire since Syd thinks that's what he wants & she acts in front of him like "it's not her place to be [beside him on a personal level]" almost direct quote from her in 3x09. She's probabaly confused why Carm just wont be with Claire. From Syd's perspective he changed his mind about her and chose Claire in S2, so the next logical step is he'd be with Claire. "This is fine. This is good. This makes sense."...carmy saying claire is peace & also probably how she'll react out loud if carmy/claire get back together. "This is f*cking… F*ck. F*ck. [pants] [muttering] F*ck. [growls] fcking--"...this is how she really feels about the whole Claire situation & Carmy just ditching her & "changing shit" (that came up a lot this season), which ultimately led to him not treating her like a partner in their professional relationship. "Where are the fcking Faks? F*ck!"...a direct lead in to Carmy's scene in the exact same place 2 episodes later.

Sydney's dialogue in 3x07 scene also reads like a run-on of Carmy's dialogue in 3x05, continuing his thoughts trying to convince himself of what he should do with Claire but he's panicking so he calls for the Fak's, his imaginary friends/inner voices, who are there with him the next time we see him in that spot. From the dialogue it makes sense but idk if we've ever seen the show do that with Syd before so idk. Sydney is clearly definied as her own character but she is definied as a mirror of Carmy too so it's a possibility.

Of course this is all interpretation, some or none of this could be directly about Claire but idk. The location (esp if it's in the same place he had the 2x09 panic attack), all the "coincidental" dialogue, the way all these scenes tie together...and with the panic attack scene and the opposing realizations Carmy comes to about Syd & Claire in 2x09 & 3x09. It wasn't a "realization" about Claire in 3x09, he didn't even look like he believed what he was saying tbh. It looked like he just made it up on the spot.

It's also interesting that these scenes by the dumpsters are the quivalent of S1 & 2's walk in scenes where both Syd & Carmy go for a moment of peace to clear their thoughts and "cool off". We don't see those this season but we do get these which is more like them sorting out all the chaotic thoughts & feelings inside them, separating the "trash" from the good stuff, "the bad from the good" like Carmy said he wanted/needed to do to achieve his legacy in 3x07.

In the Faks scene listen to all the "we" and "us" talk;

"If we did it when it was scheduled. We do though. We do it, Carm. All we do is break down boxes. We break 'em down and we have to do it again. Who would wanna haunt us? Who's pissed at us? Sammy's pissed at us."

Until Claire is mentioned (a sobering thought for Carmy) and it's suddenly "Not us. Just you. Not us." Reality hit for a moment and the imaginary friends want to separate themselves from him because they're not "real" & they didn't upset Claire so she can't be mad at them. I think Carmy is the only "real" one in this scene. The Faks are the imaginary friends/inner voices that seem like they're helping the main character but they're really just causing more chaos and leading him down the wrong path because they're misunderstanding what he wants based on what he's forcing himself to think about; Claire. (I lowkey think Carmy's forcing memories of Claire to stop himself from thinking about Sydney.)

The transition of Carmy talking to himself with The Fak's representing two parts of his mind aka "two minds" going straight into Syd talking to herself & voicing out loud what she'd say to both Shapiro and Carmy like she's having a mental conversation with two different people and that she's in "two minds". "I wanted to start off by saying I'm grateful" sounds formal and directed at Adam Shapiro. "Ok so I wanted to talk to you..." sounds more personal and directed at Carmy. It's a similar concept of being in two minds used in a slightly different context but in this show and the writing specifically, context is all over the place anyway.

Also the transition into the Syd scene is to drive home the point that Carmy was just having a conversation with himself, trying to convince himself that Claire is peace, she's "good" etc. For this scene (and possibly this scene only) Theodore is the stubborn part of Carmy that doesn't like to be pushed around who thinks stuff like "Yeah but I'd see his ass" about Sammy Fak. And you know there's a part of Carmy that would have that attitude but the conscious part of him is smarter than that. Neil is the more sweet, anxious side of Carmy that is kind of "away with the fairies" a little bit, in his own head a lot. Carmy is the regular, conscious, "real" Carmy trying to figure out the mental mess he's in.

I think transitioning into that Syd scene was also to callback to the only other times Syd or Carmy spoke aloud to themselves. I might be forgetting something but I think all these scenes are the only times we see either of them have full conversations with themselves out loud in S3..? Someone let me know if that's wrong please.

Side note- From one perscpective: Carmy's reaction to Theodore calling Claire "a piece of ass" was so...unaffected??! Could you imagine if someone said that about Syd?? He bit Richie's head off for calling her "sweetheart" in 1x01 and physically put himself between them so I can't imagine he'd take it that lightly if it was about Syd...From another perpective, if this scene is all about Carmy's inner thoughts, is he asking himself if that's how he sees Claire? I don't think he does intentionally but it's a valid question considering the show seems to use physical intimacy as a substitute for any real connection between them. If Claire & Carmy never kissed or had sex, would anyone see that relationship as a romance?? I really don't think so tbh, the physical initmacy is the only thing about their scenes that confirms it's supposed to be seen as a romance. Meanwhile SydCarmy are drowning in real connection before any physical intimacy.

Anyone please feel free to jump in and add your thoughts, I'd love to know your perspectives on seeing all these scenes together @thoughtfulchaos773 @sydcarmyfan @yannaryartside @currymanganese @vacationship @afrofairysblog @greekyogurttragedy @tvfantic87 @moodyeucalyptus @gingergofastboatsmojito @ambeauty @whenmemorydies @brokenwinebox and anyone else who wants to jump in is welcome to.

[c0nfessions-of-a-writing-freak]

What Lurks In The Dark

Pairing: Marcus Lopez Arguello x fem!reader

Word count: 3.7k

Warning: Mild cursing, Mild Graphic description of violence

Summary: Paranoia had always been a common occurrence in her life so when the feeling of being watching started to rise in the back of her mind she couldn't tell if it was just a conjured-up feeling or reality. After a heavy night of avoiding anyone and everyone at all costs, a deal is sent her way that she would be a fool to pass up on or maybe a bigger fool for agreeing to it.

(Y/N): Your name

(H/C): Hair colour

(E/C): Eye colour

(F/C): Favourite colour

*Gif does not belong to me

Worn out Converses smacked against the concrete sidewalk as (Y/N) walked through the streets with purpose. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, the back of the (F/C) piece of fabric falling past his skirt and rubbing against the back of her stocking-clad thighs. Her (H/C) was pulled back and out of her face, a few wisps of hair falling out of the tie that kept the rest of her hair back and invading her vision.

(Y/N) tried not to stay in one place for too long, not when she had a doped-up dad with buddies all over the city. It was still beyond herself why she hadn't decided to flee the city yet. Perhaps the only reason she chose to stay was to keep an eye on her mother, but even then there wasn't much the woman was doing that gave (Y/N) a proper reason to stay behind.

She had only ever run into a few people that seem to recognise her. Normally, they would try and ask her if her dad had anything good going around or if she was carrying any on her. There was only one occasion where one of her dad's mates had tried to get physical with her, claiming she had to be brought back to where she belonged. It didn't take much to get the man off of her, mainly because he was drunk and clutching onto a half-empty beer bottle for dear life.

Tonight felt just like any night to begin with as she walked through the streets of San Francisco. She kept her head down and her hood up as she tried not to draw any more attention to herself than a teenage girl walking through the dark streets of San Francisco could get.

It was only when she saw the same boy with a bright green mohawk skate past her for the fourth time that she began to raise her guard. (Y/N) was willing to shake it off at first, but after seeing him a few too many times for comfort she began to realise she was being circled by the boy.

(Y/N)’s pace picked up only slightly along with her heartbeat. Her original plan was to try and lose him in some back alley that ran behind some of the apartment blocks and led back to one of the main roads. But upon further evaluation, it probably wasn’t the best idea to be followed into a back alley, even if she was being followed by a rather flimsy-looking boy that seemed to be around her age.

She had two other options that could work out in her favour, of course, with the possibility that her plans could backfire in her face. Her first option was to wait the boy out and lead him out to the main roads where she could hopefully lose him or he would be detoured because of the uprise in people. The second idea that had come to her mind was to try and meet the boy head-to-head and throw him off his course where she could try and get away from him in his moments of instability.

Both ideas could work out in her favour but just as easily give the green-haired boy the upper hand. In the case where she tried to lose him, he could get to her before she made it to a more crowded area and with the second choice he could overpower her, his looks may be deceiving to something stronger. Neither necessarily worked out in her favour but at least with the first option if she needed to she could make a run for it or later dissolve into the fight she was hoping it didn’t have to come down to.

In her head, the decision had already been made before she could properly think and weigh out her choices.

Turning left, (Y/N) felt the flesh of another hand latching onto her upper arm. Whipping her head around with a few strands of hair flying in the wind, (Y/N)’s eyes landed on the same boy that had been circling her as the night progressed. A choked yelp escaped from behind (Y/N)‘a lips at the sight of the boy, instantly trying to pull her arm away from him once it registered that the limb hanging onto her belonged to him.

“Woah,” The boy quickly called out, a laugh on the tip of his tongue as he planted a foot and held onto (Y/N) a tad bit tighter. Raising his chin a little, the green-haired boy said, “I’m just here for a fun time. You have nothing to worry about.”

“You creep,” (Y/N) quickly exclaimed, her lip curling in disgust. The boy's eyes seemed to widen at (Y/N)‘a words, like what he had said had finally registered in his head for the first time. Trying to keep a steady voice, she said, “Get off of me.”

“No can do, Runaway Legacy,” The boy’s overjoyed voice rang out, a matching unwavering grin plastered on his face. “Need to get you back to King's Dominion so I pass the assignment. I can’t let Lex get a good grade for this assignment this time around or he’ll have two to hold over my head.”

“One, I'm not going anywhere with you and your greasy mohawk,” (Y/N) started, getting cut off by the boy as he made his dissatisfaction known.

“It’s not greasy.”

(Y/N) gave the boy a deadpan at his words, watching as he raised his free hand in surrender and gave her room to speak once more. “Two, I don’t care about Lex or this assignment you claim that I supposedly am. If you want to kill someone, pick a different target. And three, the hill is a 'Runaway Legacy?'"

“I’m not going to kill you,” The boy exclaimed with a mortified gasp. “The whole point of this is to bring you back alive. Master Lin wouldn't have a use for you if we brought you back dead.”

“That’s not helping your case,” (Y/N) said, giving the boy a moment to answer before she kicked the skateboard out from under his foot, sending him skidding back in his moment in surprise. In his fall the boy had let go of her, so with a few steps forward, (Y/N) took control of the skateboard that the boy had just lost.

“Oh, come on!” She heard him call out from behind her as she began to pick up speed. As the boy stumbled to his feet, preparing to run after her he yelled, “Not cool man. Not cool.”

"Looks like your gonna have to go back to Master Lin empty-handed and fail your assignment," (Y/N) shrugged as she looked back at the boy only to find him a few paces from where he had originally fallen, not putting in too much effort to go after her. "I guess Lex is gonna be the one to bring home the gold."

"You would have much rather gone back with me, I promise," He called after her in a sing-song tone making chills shoot down (Y/N)'s spine. "If I don't get you, Lex or someone else will."

Shooting her head back around, (Y/N) focussed on getting away from the creepy boy and out of the part of San Francisco where she currently found herself in. But no matter where she went the feeling of someone watching her stuck with her throughout the night, making her never stay still for too long on the stolen skateboard she had obtained.

In the end, she didn't end up getting too far before another mysterious figure was making their way towards her.

"Oi, you've been assigned," A boy with cornrow braids said as he stepped towards (Y/N). He wore a dark athlete's hoodie with a toothpick between his teeth as his eyes scanned over her, landing on the skateboard beneath her feet where his lips twisted upwards. "Master Lin don't do well tardiness so we gotta move."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," (Y/N) uttered quickly, turning around the boy as she leaned heavily on one side of the skateboard. "As I said to your green-haired freak of a friend, this is an assignment you're gonna have to fail."

A loud scoff rang out from the taller boy. "Don't let any of the Rats hear you speaking about one of their own like that. They're known to not be as friendly as I am."

"I'll keep that in mind," (Y/N) said dryly, her (E/C) eyes half-hooded as she circled the boy. "Note to self, if you ever see someone looming in the dark, ask them if they are a Rat are not. It will certainly work out well in your favour."

A bemused chuckle left the boy's mouth as his shoulders bunched up and his head lowered. He reached up to pluck the toothpick from his mouth and flick it somewhere behind himself. "You're going to have to drop the attitude. That's the sort of thing that gets you killed in King's Dominion."

"Well, as I said to your Rat friend," (Y/N) began, not bothering to look over her should as she escaped from the boy as she already knew he would be lent against the wall behind him, "Master Lin's gonna have to learn that he ain't gonna get everything he wants."

"I would congratulate you for your bravery if what just left your mouth wasn't complete stupidity," The boy called out, not bothered by the ignorance he got in return. "Good luck escaping this one kid. No one gets away from Master Lin."

(Y/N) tried not to pay any mind to what the boy had said, attempting to let the words go through one ear and out the other. But the warnings she got from both strangers were daunting. Once was a coincidence but twice was an omen. And it didn’t take long until that omen was put into play.

Coming to a quick stop, the skateboard whipped out from under her feet as something knocked (Y/N) off her feet after rounding a corner. As she came crashing down a tall boy with blonde hair made his presence known. He spoke with a thick accent as he said, “We were told you were a Legacy, but I don’t see anything but a Rat.”

“Are you sure we’ve got the right girl?” Another voice spoke up with a just as thick accent. Coming to stand next to the taller dude was a girl with curly blonde puffed-up hair. She wore a cheerleader outfit with two dark-shaded pom-poms resting on her hips. “I’m not one to say Master Lin is wrong but this can’t be the girl everyone’s throwing a hissyfit over.”

“Would hate to agree with the emo cheerleader,” (Y/N) started as she stood from the ground, eyes landing on where the skateboard had fallen before looking up at the two blondes in front of her again. The girl had a glare on her face as she watched (Y/N), the title not sitting well with her. “But I think you and your other friends running around have to reevaluate who your stalking and threatening to kidnap.”

"We ain't going to have to kidnap you if you follow along willingly," The girl spoke up, popping a hip to the side as she stared expectedly at (Y/N).

"You see, as much as I would love to make this easy for you both," (Y/N) started to circle the two of them, stopping once she was at their sides and they had turned to face her. Trying to keep the attention on her face, she slowly stretched a foot out until it bumped into the skateboard lightly. Lifting her foot up until it rested on top of the board, she slowly pulled it back towards her. "I was taught not to go with people I don't know. You know, stranger danger."

The girl scoffed while the guy's face seemed to lift slightly. "There is no need to worry about strangers. I assure you, if you are the Legacy Master Lin claims for you to be, I am positive we will be far more than strangers."

"Ew, gross," (Y/N) shook her head, face twisting into disgust as she backed away from him with a few stumbled steps. "As enlightening as this whole interaction has been, I'd much rather decline and be on with my day."

"That's not going to happen, sweetie," The girl said stepping forward. With her steps, her hands moved from her hips, her pom-poms growing two large blades out of each one. (Y/N)'s eyes quickly flickered down to the spikes, taking a gulp as they seemed to glint in the streetlights. "We're allowed to take you back using whatever means necessary, and if that means by force… then so be it."

(Y/N) didn't need to wait another second to figure out what that means. Turning and launching herself onto the skateboard and onto the pathway. Thinking back to her earlier plans, (Y/N) starts to migrate her way back to the more crowded places of San Francisco. Maybe then she would finally be able to escape the several advances of strange teenagers and Master Lin, whomever that may be.

The pair of blondes must have been prepared for (Y/N) to make a run for it since they weren't too far behind her. The skateboard didn't act as much help and she probably would have been better off legging it herself but there was no time to jump off and hope for the best.

At the first sight of a large crowd of people, (Y/N) could feel some relief starting to creep up inside of her. That hope quickly diminished as something sharp pierced through her shoulder. She didn't scream but a deep disgruntled sound tore through her throat as she fell from the skateboard, crashing into a few pedestrians that gave her disgusted looks as they went barreling down with her.

Climbing to her knees, (Y/N) pushed herself up quickly. She crawled forward a step before she was tripping over her feet to stand once again. People parted the way for her as a hand craned back to wrap around one of the blades that had lodged in close to one of her shoulder bones. A steadying breath was taken as she began to inch the blade from her flesh. She kept walking as she tried to pull it out, stuttering in her steps every once in a while as she fought down a wince and had to pause in her movements. When a coalesced hand gripped hers, she turned around quickly, ready to see one of the attendants she had already run into that night. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What?" (Y/N) questioned as she focused on the boy that had come up behind her. He had dark curly hair that was cut into a short mullet. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt and some jeans, something plain to blend in. In one of his hands was the skateboard (Y/N) had discarded earlier.

"Pulling the weapon that punctured you from the wound," He said as he carefully tore (Y/N)'s hand away from the blade stuck in her shoulder. "It's like basic knowledge at this point."

"I think I was more concerned about getting away from the two lunatics that were chasing after me." (Y/N) watched with narrowed eyes as she pulled her hand away from the boy. "And why do you sound so calm? Anyone else would be a bit more worried about the massive chunk of steel sticking out of my back…"

"Well…" The boy said, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" The words came out like venom, already backing away from the boy as her hand shot back up to clutch at her shoulder while her head tipped back so she could stare up at the sky. "Why won't you and the rest of your Rat and Legacy friends leave me alone?"

"If it makes you feel any better, you were able to avoid Saya and Maria last night. They didn't come back to King's Dominion until lunch today because they didn't want to be failed," The boy offered the information to (Y/N), trying to smile in some form of reassurance. All the boy got in return was the annoyed stare of (Y/N) as she began to turn away from him. With hurried steps to keep up with (Y/N), the boy said, "Of course that wouldn't make you feel better. Look, I know I'm probably one of the last people you want to trust, but if you let me take you back to King's Dominion-"

"Absolutely not," (Y/N) exclaimed, effectively cutting the boy off. She shook her head as she waved a hand at the boy, trying to shrug him off. "I've been running away from people trying to drag me to that place. Why would I willingly go with you of all people?"

"Because we have healers," The boy said exasperated. One of his hands jotted forward to reach out for (Y/N) but stopped at the large flinch on her part when he got too close. "I'm not saying you have to stay, hell you could be out of there as soon as the medics are done with you. But you'll have a better chance of coming with me than you will be trying to get help at a hospital.

When (Y/N) couldn't think of anything to say, the boy took it as his signal to keep on speaking.

"I was just like you once, okay? Scared and living on the street, on the run from cops and anyone who got too close. King's Dominion is far from a home or somewhere safe, but if you're willing, you can find yourself fitting in with the right group of people and making something for yourself there," It wasn't the lecture (Y/N) wanted to hear but it seemed to knock some sense into (Y/N)'s head. “Yeah, most of the people there are scum-sucking ducks, and the teachers couldn’t care less if you got poisoned or shot at, but at least you’ll have a future there. And hey, maybe in a month or two you’ll get to be the one chasing kids down the street trying to recruit them into this secret society where they could go and work for NASA even.”

“What does NASA have to do with any of this?” (Y/N) questioned with furrowed brows, allowing the boy to get a little closer to her and place a steadying hand on her back near the puncture wound.

“More than you think,” He laughed. (Y/N) turned to him, trying to arch one of her brows to show her confusion, only getting a shake of the boy's head as if signalling it was for another time. "I'm Marcus."

"(Y/N)," She says, allowing Marcus to push her forward and lead her King's Dominion, keeping an eye out for any of the strange faces she had run into previously that night. "You know your little rant wasn't very effective if you were hoping to get me to stay at King's Dominion."

"Yeah, the more I spoke the more I began to realise that." No one seemed to care much for the blade sticking out of (Y/N)'s back, passing by as if there wasn't a thing wrong with the image. (Y/N) couldn't decide if that was a good thing or if it was alarming how much people were willing to ignore what was right in front of them. "But I was inspirational, wasn't I?"

"Oh, very," (Y/N) concluded, a scruff of a smile appearing on her face. "Had the troops rallying. Could barely contain my excitement to get to this place where I'll have scum-sucking kids drooling over me and knobs of a teacher cursing me to do homework that will hopefully get us all killed"

"Don't be surprised if that's their objective," He warned before abruptly turning into a food store where a few people were already waiting. As (Y/N) followed after him, a question on the tip of her tongue as she stepped into the store which quickly dissolved as she saw some familiar faces.

"Hey Marcus, you got my skateboard back," The green-haired boy from earlier yelled happily as he jumped off one of the tables he had comfortably taken a seat on. Bounding over he extracted the board from Marcus before looking over at (Y/N). "I thought Marcus may have been able to woo you over here. I get it, I'm not your type. At least Lex wasn't able to get to you and bloody you up too badly."

"I wouldn't say that," Came the voice (Y/N) grew to find annoying. The same bush of blonde hair came wandering over, plucking the blade from (Y/N)'s shoulder, earning a gargled-out wince from the (H/C) haired girl as a hand shot up to apply pressure to the now exposed wound. Thick welts of blood began to smear across her fingers as she was guided through the store. "I think I did a pretty dandy job of giving her her first King's Dominion scar."

A scorn flashed across (Y/N)'s face as Marcus kept her moving, pushing her away from the blonde girl. It was then that her attention was caught by a boy with poorly bleached hair that he had been able to spike up. "Looks like you were able to strike out before me Marcus, good work there chap."

An uncertain familiarity took over (Y/N) at the sight of the boy. She found herself going out on a limb and asking, "Are you the famous Lex that greasy over there was going on about all night?"

"Someone been talking about me?" Lex asked with a bemused grin, eyes skittering around the room.

At the same time as Lex spoke, the green-haired boy yelled out, "My hair is not greasy!"

"Oh, I'm gonna like this one," Lex announced before he started to walk to the backdoor of the small building. "Now, you've been keeping Master Lin waitin' a long time. You ready to meet the man and be turned into a killer?"

Despite herself, (Y/N) found herself looking back at Marcus. She was either seeking out his reassurance or guidance, something she wasn't sure why she was doing. His shoulders quickly raised in an act of surrender. He spoke lowly, almost a whisper like it was a secret between them, "Don't look at me."

Turning back around to face Lex, she found him leaning against a door with a sign on it that read staff only. The boy with green hair was standing next to him while the other three he had seen earlier were standing slightly out of the way, waiting for her answer.

"Lead the way," She settled on saying.

[candlelover]

Just some fun...

General Marcus Acacius/(f!) Reader

Summary: When Marcus Acacius' (involuntary) fiancé just wants to have a little fun, he sees himself as the perfect fit to put an end to her fun

Warnings: my first time writing something like this, involuntary engagement, dubcon? fingering, kissing, Acacius is jealous, Acacius is slightly annoying?

When you find any more warnings please tell me :)

"Aren't you excited, love? "We haven't had such big games in a long time," your mother asks your father to break the silence on the way to the Colosseum.

"Excited?" your father scoffs, "how could I when this spectacle once again raises far too much from the state treasury?"

“It will cheer up the people. "The emperors have to make themselves popular somehow if their personality can't do it," you say, hoping that your father won't get upset again with his endless talk about the emperor and the Senate. You hardly hear anything other than the Senate at home , Senate this..... general Marcus Acacius this General Marcus Acacius this.

Ughhh... your future husband with whom you exchanged about five words in your life at dinner to celebrate your engagement.

'At least I'm lucky,' you think, 'he seems decent and isn't bad to look at.'

Many of your friends have had worse. Men who are almost on their deathbed or men who are completely inconsiderate and disgusting. Acacius probably won't even be in town much. Then you can continue living as you want. Do whatever you want.

"I hope when we see the general today that you approach him with a more bridled tongue," your father hisses, "of course also towards the emperors."

"I'll behave as well as always," you say while rolling your eyes.

You just hope you just don't have to talk to anyone. That would make things even more fun anyway. Maybe you can even convince your parents to let you look around the market in town after the games. You love to disappear into the hustle and bustle of people and have a pleasant chat with the sellers at the fruit and vegetable stands.

At the entrance to the Colosseum, your father holds you back by the arm and demands: "Just behave!"

As if you didn't always do that. Always perfect behaved, never contradictory, that's how it should always be.

Yes...maybe you'll find a handsome man at the market later with whom you can have some fun. Anything is better than going back to the villa straight away and having dinner with your boring parents and boring conversations.

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

"Senator, I am pleased to see you and your family here."

You had just sat down in your seats when General Acacius came by to greet you. your father also greets him with a handshake and a slight head bow that is returned by the man across from him.

"My Ladies," he takes your mother's hand and yours in his,one after another, bows slightly and gives them a kiss.

Acacius wears something like a white festive armor robe with a white cloak over it. Everything with golden details. Not to mention the gold metal bracelets around his wrists.

I was right...I really could have married an uglier man.

"My lady, I wanted to ask if you would sit with me. We're getting married in a few weeks and haven't shared much closeness yet," he asks you, smiling.

His deep brown eyes look down at you as gently as the smile on his lips.

"Of course she would like to. Isn't that right, my star?" your father asks you with a warning in his eyes not to say anything wrong.

"Yes, I'd love to General," you answer with the best fake smile you have.

,,Good. Then follow me. And please call me Marcus.We'll get married soon," he suggests, holding out his arm for you to take.

"Yes, if that's what you want, Marcus. Then please call me by my name too," you reply as you take his arm and you start to walk to your seats.

You chat for a bit at your seats until the games start. Relieved that you no longer have to come across as overly nice, you lean back in your seat and focus on the first gladiators who step into the middle of the arena.

One Galdiator in particular catches your eye. Dark hair, muscular, tanned body and as it looks from above, a pretty face too. He fights fantastically and seems to be a real crowd favorite.

You can't help but turn to Marcus and ask, "Do you know the name of the gladiator who is so beloved by the crowds?"

"His name is Celio. He came from one of the smaller provinces we conquered," he explains.

You nod and a few moments later he leans towards you again and looks serious.

,,Why? Do you like him? You seem to enjoy watching him?"

You blush slightly at the sudden turnaround in your relationship. So far you've always been on an almost exhaustingly friendly basis and suddenly his relaxed charisma turns serious?

,Jealousy?'

'No, that can't be it. He barely knows me,' you think to yourself.

You decide to approach it carefully anyway and answer: "No, I'm just curious which man gets the audience so excited."

Marcus gives you a quick critical look and focuses back on the fighting down in the sand.

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

After the games ended, the general said goodbye to you with another kiss on your hand.

Back at your parents' , you left the Colosseum and made your way home. Somehow you managed to persuade your father to let you go to the market for a while.

So here you are now. Strolling around the market and being happy.

You're just looking around distractedly when you suddenly run into something, or rather, someone.

You're just starting to apologize when you look up and see the man you ran into.

It's Celio, the gladiator from the arena.

,,I'm sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you finish your apology from before.

,,That's fine. I have to apologize too. My gaze wasn't directed in front of me," he admits with a small smile.

From this point you engage in a small conversation that ends in a wild kiss in a poorly lit alley.

'A little fun doesn't hurt, does it?' You think to yourself as you put your arm around his neck.

But of course you won't have the fun for long...

Suddenly Celio is pulled off you and taken away by a bunch of soldiers.

You stand in the alley in shock and look at the man who pulled the gladiator away from you and handed him over to the soldiers.

-Marcus Acacius

"What are you doing here?" you ask, surprised.

"What am I doing here? "I think I should ask you what the hell you're doing with a strange man here a few weeks before our wedding!" he replies angrily.

Oh, be damned...

"Let's be honest Marcus, you're certainly not an innocent lamb either!" you discuss with a special emphasis on his name.

He comes threateningly towards you and has now trapped you between a building wall and himself.

"I never said I was innocent. "Oh my little lamb, I'm not all that. But unlike you, I don't do it in public where everyone could see me."

"You have no right to decide what I do, where, when and how."

You don't know why, but his intense gaze on you stirs something inside you. And in this situation you're not doing well at all.

“If it concerns your reputation, I certainly have the right to do so. Because whether you want it or not, your reputation and mine are linked"

Unfortunately he's right, but you're unlikely to admit it. So why not tease a little for the fun?

"Is it really just your reputation that you're worried about or is it jealousy?"

He would do anything to wipe that confident grin off your face, so he brings his face even closer to yours and whispers, "Do you want it to be jealousy?"

Your breath catches and you feel caught.

'Hell no, this man definitely can't do anything for me,' you think, shocked.

But before you know it, you're both holding deep eye contact and the confident grin is now on his lips. With the sole thought of getting rid of this expression of superiority, your body acts against your will and kisses him harshly.

Well...at least you got rid of his grin.

He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you even closer to him. You sigh with pleasure and kiss him even harder while you comb your fingers through his hair and pull it lightly. He seems to like this gesture too as he moans slightly.

His fingers start to wander again and quickly find their way under your clothes.

"But that doesn't hurt our reputation if someone sees it?" you ask teasingly.

He just goes down to your neck with kisses and makes you moan with a light bite as an answer.

His fingers are now circling your clitoris.

"Even if you don't seem to like me, my fingers are pretty wet, my little lamb."

“Just do it Marcus. I can't wait any longer."

"So rude...where did my good future bride go from this morning?"

"We both know very well that this is just a facade."

"So I'm going to marry a little minx, huh?" he asks as he slowly inserts a finger.

'Ooh shit that feels good..."

You moan loudly and reply breathlessly: "I'm not getting married to a better person either, believe me."

As soon as he says it, his second finger is already in there and he starts to move it.

He laughs a little: "If you say please, I might let you come."

"I have no problem going home and doing it myself."

“Stop trying so hard. I know that's what you want."

You kiss again and you are close to finally finding relief.

Acacius notices and stops abruptly, moving a few inches away from you. Frustrated by the sudden emptiness, you whimper slightly and glare at him.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

"I'm just making sure my little lamb listens straight away next time."

With a smug grin he begins to move away from you for good.

You can't believe it. This terrible, sexy, horrible man!

Before he finally disappears, he calls to you over his shoulder:

"See you at our wedding, my little lamb. We will definitely have a very nice time that night."

Smug idiot!