#Courtesan reader

[miss-tarja]

The Immorality of Love (Pt. 5)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader

Warnings: Implicit classism, character introduction, mild sexual tension, emotional distress, Victorian Era Customs, tension, a dash of suspense.

Summary: Royals keep testing your patience.

Previous Series Masterlist

A/N: To inaugurate this new account, here's part 5 :'). Thanks for staying, and reading! Reblogs and comments much appreciated!

As soon as you stepped out of the carriage, a soft gust of wind caressed your skin, tickling the now standing hairs of your nape in a playful motion. You didn't know if it was mere anxiety or your brain playing tricks on you for it to believe you were in danger.

Miguel's hefty steps echoed behind you, crunching the gravel under his leather soles, but you were too deep in thought, admiring the view to notice him standing next to you. There was little that managed to surprise you in life, growing through hardships had desensitized your conscience to an extent, merely to protect your own sake, but the sight before your eyes forced you to keep quiet and behold the exquisite architecture in the area.

Royal Villas were something you and Aveline once fantasized of visiting, either from afar or from a formal invitation by one of their elite members. And now here you were, watching the staff neatly dressed in black and white and ruffles, running around with luggage and other activities through every corner your eyes managed to reach.

Crisp and perfectly symmetrical cut bushes adorned the main path leading to the two floored manor. Ivory statues were strategically put along the path with horses, soldiers, busts and other things you'd later have the time to properly take a look at whatever thing that came into view. But the fountain before you snatched all your attention in a go, adding the final touch to your awe and stealing your breath. If Miguel's property was beautiful, this one screamed power from every corner. It was royalty in its most natural form.

We did it Aveline

"Guess the prince outdid himself this time." Miguel's voice snapped you out of your thoughts as he offered his arm. You took it, naturally. Letting the staff to carry your luggage inside. Their looks and hushes increased when you touched Miguel, as if trying to pry every little secret from you with their keen gazes.

"Don't pay mind to them." Miguel adjusted his hat and you chuckled.

"Hard to not when I know I'm being watched."

You were sure that if allowed, you'd be interrogated by them until their curiosity was satisfied. But even so, they weren't the ones that worried you. A couple of men approached, looking like they were about to get photographed for a fine portrait. Neatly dressed with fine silk, cotton and linens, and lovely pretending smiles.

A blond with his hair slicked to the side, tall, muscly built with a soft face, laughed at whatever the lanky black man next to him spoke. His wick locks were slicked back, elegant and nattily combed in a bun without losing their rebel-ish look, a silent gasp escaped your mouth when you noticed a couple of piercings in his ears and face. Your back straightened as soon as Miguel moved towards them. A bold hand of his rested briefly ontop of your gloved ones, keeping an eye to the upcoming men.

"Relax. They're just spending the staying as well." He mumbled while tightening his grip on you for a couple of seconds. His warmth leaving your hand as soon as he reached for his hat and tipped it towards the young men.

The blond one smiled genuinely at Miguel and stretched his hand firmly.

"I couldn't believe my ears when Prince Harry said he'd invite you over, sir." The blond smacked gently the black man's stomach and beamed. "I told you he'd come!"

"Meaning more unnecessary time at the table to know more about the lad's life, hurray."

Miguel couldn't help but chuckle ever softly at the pierced man's smeering words, cause he spoke nothing but truths.

"This is Count Ben Reilly." Said man bowed elegantly and you returned the gesture, "And Baron Hobart Brown."

Even though you noticed the baron's lip twitching at his full given name, he just nodded your way. "Rather Hobie, my'lady."

"Violet Cain. Pleasure to meet you both." You bowed briefly and Miguel offered you his arm again.

"Is the round table gathered yet or there's people's still missing?" Miguel asked as you all walked towards the manor. The soft scent of flowers tickled your nose, filling your lungs with a much needed gulp of fresh air. City's life had been everything but suffocating and full of death, it's smell still lingered in your system.

"Some are coming, albeit later, but don't worry, sir. The Prince has made sure to have everyone comfortable this time. The renovations are done and there's much more space in the gardens." Ben spoke calmly, his smile never leaving his features that oddly, resembled lot of Count Peter. The only difference would be his hair color and the younger yet melancholic appearance.

"Speak of the devil and he shall apear." Mumbled Miguel as none other than the prince himself, Harry Osborn, walked down the stairs with a surprised beam in his face. You were about to bow but Miguel prevented you from such thing with a discreet shake of his head.

"Duke O'Hara! The man in the flesh!" Miguel bowed his head slightly and gave Harry a firm handshake, despite he upper royal attempting a hug on his end. "Good heavens, to who I must thank for you to showing up and grace us all with your presence?" His eyes immediately landed on you, raking you with his demanding stare from head to toes. "Who is this lovely woman, your grace?"

Miguel's countenance relaxed for a moment and gestured your way with a leather covered hand, "Lady Violet Cain, my companion, your highness."

Au contraire of Ben and Hobie, The prince took your gloved hand and kissed the back of your palm softly. His grip wasn't strong, neither weak. But rather a punctual amount of force enough to let you know he was in charge of all of it. Yet his lips remained a second too long on the gloved surface.

"A pleasure to meet you, my lady. If you are the one I must thank for having this hermit of a man in my little getaway, I think I might invite you often as well."

A polite and demure laugh left your lips. "Thank you for letting us stay, my lord. I'm sure these days will be worthwhile."

"We'll see about that, My lady. You see, your companion here never stays past two days, would you be so kind to help me make him abide the whole week?."

Miguel's nose flared, it could be mistaken as a chuckle, but the Duke knew better than to underestimate the prince's wit. It was his subtle way to order him to stay until the trip was done. Which meant a few obvious things, business and bad news.

"Of course, my lord."

With a smile, Prince Harry left. Leaving you alone with Miguel once more, but the pleasantries weren't done yet. The Duke introduced you to other people that gathered in the entrance, with disbelieving eyes at his mere presence. Some of them looked genuinely relieved to be there, as if also needing a change of pace and milieu, others just seized your every move, stalking each of your movements and words.

One in particular stood out from the rest. Dressed in dark colors, with platinum hair or white, you couldn't tell properly, combed into a stylish hairdo, and blue eyes, stalked you as Miguel introduced you to most except her. And just as she was about to introduce herself, Miguel shot her a brief glare, a clear sign to stay away, which earned him a discreet smirk from the white haired woman.

His hand on your lower back urged you to move towards the stairs before the questions from the other royals and their companions began, which you were grateful for. Their constant stalking didn't go unnocitced by neither of both, but it was a calculated risk you had forseen.

"A bit more and they strip me naked before them." You mumbled, walking with mechanical grace through the stairs and Miguel chuckled, letting the stares to follow you both. "Are they always this nosy?"

"Much worse than you think. Quick heads up." He opened the door of your shared room and let you in. "Try to keep it curt with the lady in black."

"Oh? Is she a past lover?" 

"Sorta." He removed his hat and coat, "My ex is currently moving out of my villa as we speak."

You shook off the shawl and sat in the nearest chair available. The room had a wonderful sight through the window, leaving the state's territory at your gaze's disposal. Gardens and a rose maze dressed up the left and your best guess of what could be the social areas remained to your right, full of trees and tables.

"Ah. Mine was found in the river after a couple days of not coming home."

Miguel's whole body stopped, his face tuned and contorted into a mildly disturbed stare your way, "What?" But deapanned while you tittered at his reaction.

"Works every damn time." You smiled but quickly gathered your bearings,"Who cut loose who?"

"She dumped me in my birthday, so... go figure. And did he? What happened?" Silence fell on your lips, but your eyes glinted with a mild and almost-there lick of sadness, but as quick as it came, it vanished with a deep sigh as you sat on the plush and expensive vanilla smelling loveseat.

"What did you do to get her spite like that? And nothing gruesome, that's sure."

"Didn't give her time. Was too busy with work." His brows puckered ever softly as he rested against a table and kept himself quiet. Urging you to speak through his silence. The brief yet intense exchange of stares was enough for you to smirk almost ironically.

"He just woke up one day and out of the blue decided that he could strive for something better. Guess the streets were rubbing too much on me for his likings."

"Where did you meet him?"

"On a dress factory I used to work at. He started courting me. We worked out for a bit, he tried to get me out of the streets, but there were bills to pay and none of us earned enough to live as we wanted."

"How long is a bit?"

"My, you're quite the curious man, your grace. I don't recall bringing this sort of personal approach in our contract."

He huffed while putting the heaviest luggage in your room. Although you got paired together, the room you were staying had separate accommodations. You on the right and Miguel to the left. The little living room with the chimney and the thick stony walls were the only thing separating you.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It's a boring story, really."

"So you just spice it up by saying he got murdered?"

"Well, people are skeptical whenever a prostitute falls in love, they... tend to forget that we're humans too, but we're often vilified if we dare to feel beyond pleasure." You mumbled while straightening your cleavage, but his eyes remained in your face as you kept speaking, "For some reason there's a misconception that we can't fall under Cupid's radar, and whatever gesture we do remotely close to affection is thought out as of mere interest into our client's wallet."

"Pardon my prejudice, but isn't that true?" His head tilted

"It varies from woman to woman. Can't generalize. It's is true that I'm just there for my client's money. But playing such a cold and hollow-hearted game with the clientele, such as making them fall for me to get benefits, is where I draw a line."

"Well, at least I'm glad to know our intentions are laid out, Violet."

"Likewise. I like being straightforward with my sponsors. Saves lots of trouble. That's why I don't engage in intimate acts like kissing anyone in the mouth. That's too personal for my likings."

"Sounds like you're cautious."

"I rather the term selective. Not everyone is worth a kiss or worse. A heart."

"For how long did you last with him?"

"A year and couple of months."

"Isn't that more than enough time to get married and the like?"

"I know. But it didn't work out. Again, It's not for everyone. If it worked like that, many of us wouldn't be here in the first place. If you think about it, if we gathered all the people in the world and made the right questions, we'd find out that the times love has actually worked out for someone, is scarce, hence they'd be a minority."

His eyes darted with barely contained curiosity at your factual observations. His brain tingled for a bit with a rush of dopamine the more you spoke.

"And the rest a big majority playing pretend. Love is truly not for everyone and not everyone deserves it. But enough on the past. What the plans are for today?"

"Dinner is at 6. Don't change clothes, rest if you wish to."

"Yes, your grace."

"Please, call me Miguel."

"Wouldn't that be impolite to call you by your given name before royalty?" Your brows furrowed as you stood

"It'll make it more convincing." He shrugged, "I'll be in the other room, knock if you need something."

"Thanks, Miguel."

His eyes lingered for more than a couple of seconds before retiring for his chambers. The getaway had just begun, and so the tab for keeping his patience afloat.

The sun had died behind the never ending  dashing taints of yellow, pink and purple, leaving the room full of golden. A golden that poured onto your skin wherever it could reach, adding the perfect amount of Midas touch into your overall beauty.

Miguel had slipped in your room after knocking several times but heard no response, just to find you sleeping, something he noticed slipped from you often, not that he could reprove you from such thing, considering all things happening in your life. Sure, beautiful was one of the first things coming to his mind upon describing you, but the appeal seemed to enhance when you were fully rested.

Despite grief taking a hold on you. Your mood and eloquence improved, he also noticed. And now this. The sun painted your cheeks, part of your neck and the top of your cleavage, a subtle but ethereal sight. For once he took the time to admire the woman he had hired, to scrutiny you further and properly. The previous conversation and your insight about such intense feeling as love, had made his brain tingle in ways he only got whenever finding a good crossword in the newspaper.

It showed him another layer of you hidden within the hardened by grief exterior. A great conversationalist by nature when pressing the right buttons and asking the right questions.

His eyes raked over your breathing pattern. Calm, peaceful, and deep, like it would be the last proper sleep you'd ever have and you seized every chance you had. He knew much on the lifestyle your kin led, and wouldn't blame you for actually wanting to rest instead of entertaining him. But you also needed to eat, cause although having a break was good, so was not starving youself. And he was sure your body would need it after spending most of the evening in doze off mode.

So here he was, too enraptured in the sight before him and his thoughts that forgot his reason to invade your privacy in the first place. A maid had been kind enough to announce him that dinner was ready. And it was the perfect excuse for you to learn a few quick things before anything else happened, but also have your perspective on things he'd ask later. A lingering tingle roamed his brain and his lips pulled in an invisible smile.

"Violet." He called and no response.

It was almost heartbreaking to interrupt your sleep, but if you kept it going, that would only make him more suspicious on your health. He made a mental note to recommend you to his personal doctor later. Sadly he couldn't cure the wounds the mourning left recently on you, but he could make the ache less heavy and wounding.

"Violet." He called again, shaking you gently by your shoulders, and his breath caught in his throat when your eyes fluttered open, slowly to finally widen, startled.

"My goodness..." Your hand curled on your chest, trying to soothe the sudden alert that jolted you awake. Miguel's hands rose in defense as he backed up a step. "You startled me."

What horrors plagued your mind despite the good rest? Which misfortune hunted your mind to the point of shutting your brain off to avoid the constant feeling of it? What exactly had happened way back before you went to his home? What had you seen?

His eyes blinked away and left space for you to sit down.

"My apologies, dinner is ready."

"I'm not hungry" You shook your head and fluffed out the pillow as if readying it for a round two of sleep.

"Violet." the implicit warning in his tone made you sigh.

"I swear, my lord. I'm not. I'm just tired."

Saddened actually.

But such thought wasn't leaving your mouth, ironically, you were tired of feeling grief and loss to obsess over you, making you their main target from quite the while now. And they often left you exhausted. Yet Miguel understood, or at least had the vague idea of what grieving looked and felt like. His mother's burial service was a good example of it.

All he wanted to do was sleep, drink or bury himself into work, despite the stormy and tumultuous relationship with Conchata. Despite the years of suffering and carrying the burden of being her son. Conchata was known for being a firm and selective woman that tended her hand only to those that deemed worthy of it, often neglecting the outer districts. A mess he was set into fix one way or another.

"You'll feel even worse if you don't eat something. I'll tell the maids to bring our food."

"Wouldn't that bring you trouble? Skipping meals with them, I mean."

"My presence here is more than enough for them, and since everyone is either holed up or also tired, the dining hall will be empty. And I've got to show you some other things for you to get familiar with."

With a groan, you lifted your upper torso to sit down and sighed, "Hasn't it been enough etiquette by now?"

"It's not etiquette. A tour. So you need energies for it as I expect you to attend." His fingers fiddled with his sleeves, rolling them up, offering you the sight of his well worked forearms.

"Or... let's eat here and we figure out what to do later."

"Dios mio, qué terca eres. But let's make it your way for this time, Violet." (God, you're so stubborn)

"If it was my way completely, we wouldn't be talking. Don't get me wrong, your... Miguel." You corrected and cleared your throat. "I'm not a fan of feeling I'm not properly winning my money."

"That can be arranged. You said others my age talked with you. So, humor me. Let's talk."

Your brow tilted, confused as he took a brief break to ask for the food to the nearby maid he found in the hall, then returned before you.

"You want... to talk." A fleeting shrug shrunk his shoulders in response, "What do you wanna talk about?"

"Yourself. For example, you seem to be quite smart." Your brow furrowed at his phrasing and he pinched his nosebridge at your sudden discomfort, "I-I'm not saying you're not smart, just-" That earned a giggle from you.

"Tell me something. How long have you been without company? Like, talked to a woman beyond formalities and thigs like that?" You stood and approached him, the hem of your skirt swayed back and forth as you walked. His lip pursed in a mild scowl and his eyes darted away, avoiding meeting your scrutinizing gaze, ashamed enough for his silence to be the answer." Yeah, I thought so."

You circled him, evaluating his tense form with critical eyes, grazing your fingers to wherever surface they could reach, sensing how he tensed and jerked under your touch, how his fingers twitched upon feeling the warmth you delivered in spirited strokes, "Ironically your...  attentions on that night we first met dictated the opposite."

The batting of your lashes and your palms resting on his middle torso had his throat bobbing ever softly, almost imperceptibly as he seized you from the corner of his eyes. His ears however turned the softest shades of pink upon your observation, not fond of being exposed easily. You on the other hand, didn't want to reminisce in your most recent life changing events and mourning, too exhausted and drained to dwell into them, so causing an inner havoc in him was your best interest at the moment. He amused you.

"A good job, I suppose?" His eyes twinkled with a subtle thrill despite his eyes remaining in faux boredom when you smirked.

"The best one so far."

And that was enough to crack his facade and have his magnetic eyes rake your form before giving you a little smile as he tipped your chin upwards, clashing your gaze against his persistent one. A rush of expectation soared through your body, making your lips part with a silent sigh of anticipation.

"You got a fascinating way to curl around the truth, Florecita." He chuckled when your eyes furrowed softly at the nickname, "But we're talking about you. Not me." (Little flower)

Your eyes rolled, disappointed he didn't followed your coquetry, "That's a shame, cause I've got nothing much to talk about."

"Didn't have you for a liar, Violet." It was his turn to smirk.

Your jaw clenched as you removed yourself from his touch, your eyes not leaving him for a second, a curious glint shadowed them. How dared he to pry even further into your already cracked walls? Moreover, how dared he to care? But a job was  job, and you were here for work. He was your ticket to a new life after all. 

"I think I might like that tour now."

A chuckle was everything that left his mouth, although he was set into pulling some information about you, he rather get the walk. Something was better than nothing. The room reminded him of his own back at Babylon Manor. A bit too claustrophobic for his likings.

"Let's eat first, and then we'll go."

"Yes, sir."

The long halls of the property stretched into neverending doors containing room after room. If you had counted ten, you had barely started. It gave you a wider picture as to why you had seen more staff members than royalty itself. Miguel had shown you a bit of important places.

The entertaining room, with a bunch of books and chairs scattered around, the pool room where men gathered to smoke and drink. The projection room where you probably watch a bunch of pictures taken all over the world. And of course, the rose maze. A place where most loved to get lost to purposely not be found.

The other royals remained on their rooms, others were in the dining hall, having their dinner after a couple of drinks to warm up their expensive bellies. A couple of heedless moans echoed from prince Harry's room as you passed underneath his balcony.

"Is he always like this?" Your nose scrunched in disbelief

"A day where he isn't fucking you'll know some thing's wrong with him." He huffed and turned to the left. A gust of wind hit you with the delicate smell of roses. "Don't indulge him too much with conversations. Actually? don't give him a chance to think you're here to sleep with him."

"Oh heavens, no." Your nose scrunched up again, but this time in disgust," I actually pass opportunities to sleep with royals whenever I can. Dumb for so many, but I like keeping myself alive, and clean." 

"Why didn't you skip the chance with me, then? And clean?" His brow rose with clear interest  as you walked next to him.

"We're both getting what we want. Simple as that. And, you're the most bearable royal I've ever met. Same for Count Peter." You shrugged, "And yes, clean. Most of you lot love to sleep with whatever crosses your way, often hiding diseases, plus not all prostitutes offer protection, so do the math."

He hummed in response as he took you to the fountain areas. The more you ventured with him, the more your admiration for the place and his bravery to mingle with such people increased. However before you could even express such a thing, his eyes were already settled in the main gates. Open, bustling with the staff and a familiar figure stepping out of the carriage.

"Come."

He pulled your hand and guided you through hasty steps, turning and swirling you through the maze. His sudden urge to leave had your mind swirling in a hurricane of racing thoughts and warnings.

"Wait! Miguel!" You mumbled, trying to match his speed, eventually lagging, unable to hold his pace. Until his steps got lost through the place. You didn't know what had came over him, or who had arrived to have him in such a rush, but it didn't matter, not when he had left you stranded in the middle of the maze.

You idiot! Wait for me!

In a final attempt to reach for him, you turned to where it was your best guess of his direction, only to end up in the beginning of the maze. It wasn't the direction you wanted, but the discomfit of being alone in a place you didn't know wasn't an option. Your heart hammered in your ribcage as your head swirled with thoughts, trying to organize them.

First thing first, you needed to find Miguel. The obstacle? Not a single soul passed in the maze yet. Meaning, you'd have to go back. It was one of the few things your mother taught you when little.

Always go back to where you came if you find yourself lost.

Either allegorical or literal, it was a good advice, so you traced back your steps and entered the east wing of the manor. The ivory statues would lead you to the main rooms, and hopefully you'd find a maid to get you back to Miguel's room.

A turn here, and many posh and romantic paintings later, you ended up in the south wing. The opposite of where you needed to go. You removed your gloves as they felt too hot and heavy on your sweaty hands and dried your forehead with them, then walked towards a hall, leading to yet another long hall.

I'm so charging him extra for dumping me there and not even taking a chance to wait for me.

Your steps echoed through the desolated space, advancing further into the depths of the unknown and guarded.

Idiot.

With a huff you increased your feet's tempo only to abruptly stop when a door closed behind you, loud enough for you to turn around and see none but the woman Miguel warned you about, holding the doorknob and watching you with feline narrowed eyes.

Your throat swallowed in discomfort, not because of her obvious scrutiny, but the nature of the situation. There was a reason why Miguel skipped introducing her, a reason, you didn't feel brave enough to find out but life had interesting ways to make you face either your fears or reinforce your mettle. But this surely would bring you a bad taste of mouth.

"Are you lost, my lady?" The soft spoken and borderline sultry voice of the white haired woman echoed through the halls, addressing you directly.

"I'm afraid so." You nodded, turning to face her completely.

"It's alright, dear. New companies always get lost. A shame for the Duke, to leave you like this on your own. Come."

Your brow rose in a lick of suspicion as she offered her black gloved hand.

"As much as I appreciate your help, lady... -"

"Hardy. Lady Felicia Hardy, Countess of Queens."

"My lady" You corrected yourself, but didn't bow, "I don't wish to interrupt any of your time. Could you tell me which direction I must go?"

"Well, it all depends, dear. Who are you looking for?" That dear in her mouth came out with the same mockery you used whenever treating with unwanted customers. "The Duke, or the prince perhaps?"

Excuse me?

"Why would I go with the prince if I came with the Duke?" Your brows furrowed, "And for what I managed to hear, the prince is busy."

"Oh. My apologies, I sometimes forget that not all new companies the men bring in, are meant to be shared."

Bitch.

"Seems it's something you've learned from experience, Lady Hardy."

Her jaw clenched, although you had bit her bait, evidently it had backfired, but even in her defeat, Lady Felicia could only smirk. Glad to have a taste of your temper.

"Experience shapes us. It molds us. And it also teaches, to keep our tongue in place."

"Seems we both need to keep learning that advice, My lady."

A haughty huff flew out of her tiny nose, "Believe me, it's not proper of me to come out of character like this before anyone in particular. Just find some... situations less tolerable than others."

"Either for good or bad, it's always an honor to witness the real deal underneath titles."

"Real deal? Ah..." Felicia smirked, as if instantly recognizing your pedigree. "I apologize, I find myself amused that this castle has seen a bit of everything. The standards have taken such a downgrade that, it feels as if the populace have invested themselves with the belief of being our equals."

"Oh, heavens forbid so, My lady. I couldn't sleep at night knowing that I'm not only not contributing to the people, but also leeching off them."

The smirk vanished from Felicia and her eyes turned sneering and demeaning, but the features were quickly washed away when familiar heavy steps filled in the empty hall behind you both. Each step carried a good load of anger, mixed with the evident wary in his brown eyes as he watched the two sides of society clashing together. He had heard the last bit, you having the upper hand effortlessly, and it was enough to know it would end up in a bloody disaster.

"Violet." He called and you turned, his hardened eyes did nothing but to get a scowl from your face. "Let's go to our chambers."

"How improper of you, Duke O'Hara. Not introducing us before. Miss Violet has proved to be... quite the company."

The way your name came out from her mouth gave you nothing but an uncomfortable crawl in your spine. But the anger slipped in her aristocratic bones the more the Duke ignored her, he didn't even glance her way, rather pulled you away from any further verbal spar between, and as If dreading you'd slip away again, he hooked your hand around his arm and squeezed it gentle but firmly. Trapping it against his body and securing your place next to his.

If his intentions were that the white haired and uncouth woman to watch the exchange between you, and make his point across of not wanting any sort of contact to be clear, he didn't have to worry about it. Felicia turned from where she came from and slammed the door loud enough to make Miguel sigh as you both scurried away from her.

Your eyes shot him brief glances, and found nothing but his jaw clenching and loosening with the myriad of thoughts that flashed before his brain. In a few turns and steps, you both entered in the exquisite privacy of your chambers. Your hand, instantly released while his landed a bit too tight on his narrow waist, anchoring and leveling his frustration.

"I told you to keep the interactions to the bare minimum, Violet." He waved a warning finger and his patronizing words had your brows frowning, irritated again.

"You say so like I purposely lagged behind! You left me on the maze! I don't know this place and naturally I'd get lost! And that bitch started!"

"I know! But you're not here to amuse her, Violet. If I'm telling you to keep yourself away from her is because she's not worth the trouble." His hands stressed the last syllables

"Like if I want to be around that woman! I. Got. Lost. Because someone ran too fucking fast in place that I barely know and now I probably have my head demanded on a plate by her."

"You're exaggerating-"

Your eyes flashed, "Say that one more time, I swear I pack my stuff and leave you here."

The clash between both amused and asphyxiated him equally, but a different kind of crawl ran down his spine when his eyes took in the anger and indignation oozing from every pore of you, the way your bravery soaked in every word it came out that pretty mouth of yours. And when you hand gestured to make emphasis in the place, he gulped, as if hypnotized, not because the firm threat you just gave him, but the actual nerve you had to do such thing. Thrilling and pleasing despite the twisted situation you both were in.

He had made the right choice after all, and every problem and obstacle to convince you, was beyond rewarding.

"My apologies, Florecita."

Your glare didn't waver, and he stepped in closer, his frame casting a faint shadow over yours. His eyes took in as much as he could, stopping for a second longer on your cleavage and neck, then your lips, that curled with the softest of smirks as you stepped closer, pawing at the wolf's whiskers to see how would it react.

"What did she say?" But he spun you around and didn't waste time to get a hold of the loose laces behind your corset. All the running and turning had loosened them up, and he, the gentleman he was, couldn't leave them like that. Plus it was the perfect chance to distract his racing mind, despite your obvious frustration at his mixed signals.

"Nothing I haven't heard before." You swayed with every pull of the corset and the laces he gave you. "Slow down, my lord. If you want me in your bed just say so."

A chuckle escaped his mouth as his hands worked through the tanglement of laces in a more mannered and slow motion. His mind commanded his brain to act properly.

"The only truth is that you do need to lay, but to rest. We're getting early tomorrow, and please." He pulled the corset in a go leaving the underlayers at his sight," Wear something sporty. It's activity day."

"I'm not curious enough to ask what kind of things you royals do. So thanks for the actual heads up, My lord."

"Miguel." He corrected and you smirked.

"As you wish, sir." You were about to bow to him with evident mockery, but the door shook softly with a knock.

"Miguel, are you there?"

Peter's voice echoed behind it and the duke sighed.

"Peter arrived earlier than expected, so my apologies for leaving you back in the maze."

"You should've hired him instead, my lord." The mockery in your voice earned him a playful scoff

"And give everyone a new reason to gossip? I don't think so. I have enough as it is."

With a giggle you walked to your side of the shared room. "The I bid you a good night, Miguel. Wake me up tomorrow if I don't answer right away."

His eyes remained in the closing door that clicked once you were inside, but another knock snapped him out of his brief trance

"Ya voy." (Coming)

Peter's brow quirked when his sight landed on Miguel's hand. Your corset, scrunched up and snug in his hand, absorbing whatever heat your body left behind, freshly pried away from you.

"I can return later when you're done." the Count offered and Miguel's eyes rolled and opened the door wider for him to enter.

"She's resting, come in."

"Miss Violet seems to be quite compliant." Peter removed his hat and let Miguel to lock the door behind them. 

"At all. She's actually more than what I bargained for initially." He made a gesture to Peter and his friend followed him to his room, taking a proper seat before him.

"And that's a good? Bad thing?"

"Still debating on it. Told her to not come close to Felicia, first thing she does when I'm not looking is getting on that wretched woman's nerves." Miguel silenced Peter as he was about to speak, concern too ugly in his face, "But it was my fault. Left her on the maze to fetch you."

"I'll apologize to her tomorrow. Felicia is...-"

"Yeah. A pain in the ass I can't get rid of, sadly." The duke poured a glass of whiskey for each and gave Peter his.

"Seems you breaking off the engagement back then didn't suit her well."

"Not my problem. She was everything but helpful, can't drag deadweight with me, much less in my duties." 

"Speaking of which... there is something you must see." Peter took a swig of the drink and pulled a small yellow envelope and handed it to him, it's weight a tad hefty than anticipated.

Miguel's eyes instantly devoured the information scribbled on the outside, with a frown as the police signatures and stamps were in every paper he managed to see inside.

"What is this?" The Duke pulled out and flipped the assortment of pages and read as much as he could, skimming through them.

"Police reports, Lyla sends them. Not good news." Peter's face sombered as he took the most recent report. The name Susan Lewis caught all Miguel's attention.

"The woman was a respected courtesan, she ran two of the main brothels in Brasswood Avenue. Had been around for more than a decade in the business."

"Violet knew her." the Duke frowned 

"Yeah. Which reminds me to also tell you, Lyla might need a word or two with Miss Violet to add to Lewis's case."

"She doesn't trust the police, Peter."

"You'll have to convince her one way or another. There's a... there's a killer on the loose." Peter swallowed the uncomfortable knot in his throat, "Susan was the third victim, apparently it's the same modus operandi, multiple stabs, throat sliced and bodies left in the open."

Miguel had to rub his face to wash a bit of the sudden stress and load put on his shoulders. Part of being a Duke was to see for the people's needs, part of the mess Conchata never cared enough to fix, and when he was named Duke, the first thing he swore was to get some sense of safety back to the least fortunate. Cause even him dreaded at times to come out his manor or work.

But this only confirmed his worst suspicions, a killer in the loose targeting women? Unacceptable. There were enough risks as they were to add a dangerous and unhinged man roaming free on streets to the list of things that troubled him and the people. But more importantly, how would you take such news?

"I'll see to it."

Taglist:

Taglist:

@miss-canon-event @sweetorangeblossom @peachey-pie @del-ightfulling @ladymoztaza @tinybirdhideout @ohara-whore @obsessgurlll @freehentai @toobular @crybabiix @fullmetalgizzy @ranzilly @happyowlsoul @unadulteratedeaglecollection @deepchildninja @readinghoes @nediks @weeaboochan @deputy-videogamer @thelovewitchesbrew @miggy-joon2094 @oikiwiss @1sun-vixen @stabygabby @brucebannerswifey @strawberryzuzuu @sarahth2 @g1icino11a @traash-ratt @moonlightvaleria @emelie-s-h @marzzrambles @library-lunatic @sleepysharky @watertribeissuperior

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content. sukuna/reader. female!reader, heiain era sukuna. reader is a former courtesan (and not a fancy one, either). sukuna doesn't give a fuck.

It's not uncommon for Sukuna to summon you to his throne room to pleasure him. What is uncommon is for the throne room to be empty when he does.

Today is, unsurprisingly, no different.

Sukuna had ordered you on your knees at his feet, where Uruame stood aside you, plain-faced.

He watches, bored, resting his cheek on his knuckle as foolish lords and sorcerers alike come to him with entreaties for aid, for mercy, for whatever else.

"My lord," one curse user intones, with far too much confidence, "Is that the whore?"

Sukuna tilts his head to the side. You're allowed to glance up at his face while you suck him - he likes it when you do.

Right now, he looks utterly bored.

"This is my whore," He drawls. "Unless you're suggesting I would share?"

There's murmurs, but no one dares answer him. It's not your concern either way.

You gaze up at him, wide eyed. Taking him all the way to the root, stretching so your throat is straight for him, suppressing the urge to gag as you swallow down his cock.

Blinking up at him cutely. Swallowing around his throbbing cock. Am I doing a good job, Su-ku-na~?

Sukuna's lips twist in what other people would call a sneer, but you know the crinkle of his lower set of eyes, the amusement bubbling forth as he snickers menacingly.

(You can also tell that his cock is twitching, ready to blow. Come to think of it, that is quite the advantage, isn't it?(

The curses and curse-users in the room, though, they cower from it. You know to lean into the hand in your hair that pushes you further onto his cock.

A noise of disgust in the background. Feet shuffling, as if impatient.

Let them watch. Let them think what they want, call you what you want.

There's only one person in the room who matters, and his cock is in your mouth. You're a thousand times safer than any of them, even if they don't know it.

His load is hot and salty and a little gross, if you're being honest.

"My lord, are you quite done with that whore already? We've important matters to disgust."

But the utter disdain on his face, the narrowing of red eyes onto the peons before him, the disgust and sensation of his cursed energy -

The sound of his curse slicing through the air. Severing head from body. Gasps and shuffled and bloodied, crunching noises.

Sukuna does it all with one hand petting gently over your head. He doesn't even move, doesn't get up.

He's bitter on your tongue. But you've never felt more safe.

And the power. The knowledge that the most dangerous man in the world would stroke your hair while he slaughtered men too noble for a whore like you.

That is, unmistakably, the sweetest you've ever had.

What is surprising is that the man who visits you later is not Sukuna.

Rather, it's one of the lords who you'd caught lurking silently in the banquet hall.

He wants to know how to earn Sukuna's favor.

"Lord Sukuna is not a difficult man to understand," you say with an indulgent smile. "If you are going to approach him, it should be to offer him something. Otherwise, your life lasts only as long as it amuses him."

This lord is wise, you think, because he pauses a moment before he speaks. "And what does Lord Sukuna desire?"

You shrug. "He likes power, he likes knowledge. I know he has a cursed tool or two that he favors."

Eyes narrowing at you. "What else?" A demanding tone.

"He is a man like any other. You could offer him fine food or drink, but Uruame does that already." You give him a smirk. "You could always offer him entertainment. I do well enough. Would you like to know his favorite positions?"

And at last, the leashed disdain breaks loose, a snarl on the lord's pretty face, "You whore," He raises a hand, "You dare suggest-"

In an instant you drop into the lowest possible bow, head pressed to the floor.

It spares you from the spray of blood that bisects the lord's chest cavity. From what you know of Sukuna, perhaps it would have slashed you, too, had you not knelt in time.

There's silence, for a moment. Maybe he's considering wasting a second slash on you after all.

"What did he want?"

"Your favor, my lord," You answer without hesitation, "He thought I might know a way for him to earn it."

"Hmn." A grunt, half-annoyed, half-mocking; your sign that he is not upset, and you may raise your head to confirm his expression.

There's a light twitch on his lips. "And he thought he might find my favor in the private quarters of my personal possession?"

You shrug. "Most men are not particularly attached to their whores."

"Hmph." The scoff is his dismissal of the topic. When he turns to leave, you know to follow.

It's a short stroll until you reach the courtyard, a well-curated garden. Sukuna strides through it, wordlessly, a giant out of place amongst flowers.

Ever faithfully, you trail behind him. All the way to a great tree at the edge of a path, one he leans back against.

You stand there, waiting.

"What do you want?"

It's not a question you ever expected to hear from him. "What do I want... right now?"

"Hmph," Sukuna crosses his arms, still looking over on the garden. "What do you want from me? You have my favor. Unlike them."

In truth, you have no great desires. You're fed, sheltered. You can buy things you want. All you have to do is please a single man, a thousand times easier than being in a brothel. He's a better lover than most men you'd encountered.

There's not much more you could ask for - which is good. Sukuna has a marked tendency to kill people who ask him for things.

But he's told you to, now. And you've never denied him.

"If I should be so daring, my lord," You say with a low hum, "When you no longer have any use of me, I would like to be dismissed instead of disposed of."

There's a pause. A stillness to him. Cold.

"When I no longer have use of you? When do you expect that to be?" HIs voice is strange in a way you haven't known before.

"I don't know. Of course I'll do all I can before then, but I've seen many women in my time at the brothel. We all lose our beauty and our charm eventually."

Sukuna turns to you. He does not come any closer. Four eyes stare at you, piercing.

"You think I keep you around because you're pretty? I couldn't care less what you look like. I keep you around because you're amusing, and you please me." He snorts, pushing himself off the tree.

You don't know what to say to that. "...I'm glad you enjoy my services?"

"You must be, if all you want is to retire peacefully." Sukuna begins walking away. "Make no mistake, woman. If you want to leave, do it. I don't need you."

You have to hurry to keep up with his long strides. But you catch a glimpse on his face, just a dusting -

"Hurry up."

With a smile, you trail him - all the way to his bedroom.

[livesinfantasyland]

Love blooms in Heeramandi...The Diamond Market

Sherlock Holmes x Tawaif (Courtesan) Reader

Love blooms in Heeramandi... The Diamond Market 2.0

More Mood Boards

[fushipurro]

Red Lights Red Flags

☆ Synopsis: After recently being sold to a brothel, your new life as a low-rank courtesan began. Try as you might to survive until your debt is paid off, life just keeps kicking you when you're already down. One day, you're tasked with serving none other than an infamous samurai by the name of Toji Zenin who makes you a promise he intends to keep.

☆ General Content: 18+ MDNI, f!reader, ronin!toji, courtesan!reader, AU - historical, forced prostitution, graphic violence/murder, implied/referenced alcohol, abuse, suicidal ideation, implied sexual assault (not by toji), pregnancy, eventual romance, hurt/comfort, heavy angst, domestic fluff, mutual pining, dubious morality, period-typical sexism, trauma, implied/referenced character death, eventual happy ending

Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 1 - Services

Chapter 2 - Marigold

Chapter 3 - Shadows

Chapter 4 - Trust

Chapter 5 - Gold

Chapter 6 - Memories

Chapter 7 - Moonlight

Chapter 8 - Secrets & Betrayal

Chapter 9 - Promises

Chapter 10 - Haunting

Chapter 11 - WIP

[tadpolesonalgae]

Amarantha x f!reader x Rhysand: Crimson Delights[*]

A/N: This is pretty short but it’s a rough continuation of The High Queen’s Courtesan :)

Warnings: threesome (fmf), oral (f!receiving), smut, Amarantha’s kinda mean but that’s to be expected

Word Count: 1,885

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“I’ve been thinking,” she muses from beside you on the bed.

Your attention slides to her immediately, turning to your right, settling on your side as you peer at her. Patiently waiting for her to continue.

“How many years have you been serving me for now, pet?” She asks, her silky, wine-red hair unbound on the dark pillowcase. You blink, thinking back to when you’d been roughly brought in. “Three, my Queen,” you answer. Really it feels like there has never existed a time without her, entirely wrapped up in your life of utter bliss and luxury.

“Only three,” she echoes, the edges of her lips quirking cruelly, sending heat fluttering between your thighs. “And in all that time, I don’t think I’ve ever let you and Rhysie play, have I?” You stiffen beside her, blinking as you watch her silently. Her blood-coloured nails come to rest around your throat, lightly scraping at the sensitive skin. “My Queen?” You manage out, pulse spiking beneath her fingertips.

Dark-painted lips stretch in a malevolent curve. “I think I’d like to see that,” she muses, eyes tracing over your parted mouth with cruel sadism. “But I don’t want to fuck him,” you say, “I want to serve you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you want, pet,” she growls in warning. “Disobey me again and I’ll make sure you don’t enjoy him.” Your Queen leans closer, dragging you so your lips almost touch as she stares down at you, dark desire swirling in the depths of her gaze. “He could turn it into real torture with a single breath of a command.”

You swallow thickly, heat steadily building between your thighs. “I didn’t mean to insult, my Queen,” you manage beneath her grip. “I only want the most pleasure for you.” White teeth gleam in the low light, a shiver licking up your spine as your hairs stand on end, relaxing into her brutal touch. “My pleasure is my business. All you need to think about is following my orders,” she says lowly, “don’t forget you’re expendable to me.” Your back arches at her cruel words, heat settling in the pit of your belly at the brutal nature of your High Queen. “Don’t be sad,” she croons, knowing you’d much rather have her to yourself than Rhys. “Maybe if you’re flawless, you can tempt me to join.”

Arousal liquefies in your lower abdomen, thighs squeezing together, never breaking her intense gaze. Grateful for every moment she decides to put on you over anything else.

She shifts, moving onto her back, releasing her piercing grip on your throat. “Now, not another word out of that mouth of yours. I want all your attention between my legs this morning,” she breathes, her own arousal permeating the air, intense enough for you to salivate at her appetising scent. As you shift beneath the covers, pushing them away to aid your movement, your hands settle atop her thighs, spreading them a little wider.

“Better eat up,” she croons, curving her legs at the knee. “It’s all you’re having for breakfast, lunch, and dinner after that little stunt.”

————

Your spine arches from the bed, baring your chest to the heavens as he slams in, large, firm hands gripping your hips with terrible power.

You can see why your Queen favours him.

A pained-sounding moan pants softly from your lips, features scrunching as your brows pull together, eyes squeezed shut while your nails practically shred the sheets. You can feel her eyes on you, having heat simmering beneath your skin. Arousal bubbling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tight and ready to spring free. How long has it been since you’ve received pleasure from someone else?

Amarantha doesn’t allow you to lie with other people; you’re hers. Which is why this change of heart is still so impossible to comprehend. Everything about you belongs to her, wholeheartedly. Down to the last drop of pleasure, it’s hers to control, hers to chose how to use. She’s never once given you and orgasm herself—she’s High Queen, and you her courtesan. You make no mistake in thinking that makes you anywhere near equals.

And yet—

“Harder.” The command quietly sliced through the room, and the Lord’s violet eyes glint with malevolent cruelty. Your lips fly open as he angles your hips, raising them from the bed, and hits harder. Shoving the air from your lungs as your hands scramble for purchase. You’d like to grab onto him, cling to his shoulders in an effort to keep you stable, but you doubt your Queen would approve, so you settle for having nails stab into your palms, teeth biting your lower lip.

You can’t last longer, with how the waves are already welling within you, preparing to crash down with brutal force, promising absolute pleasure. Breaths are rushed spasms of lungs, violent gasps each and every time he hits that spot, purposefully targeting it. Well-versed in female pleasure, and weaponising his knowledge against you.

Panting heavily, you crane your neck to the side, you and the Lord splayed out lengthways across the foot of her bed, while she watches leisurely from the top. Pleasant entertainment to get her worked up. Brows curve as your gaze locks with her own, pleading for her to allow you to touch her, to taste her, to feel her in some way. After so long of serving her with utter dedication, it feels wrong to be on the receiving end. Incomplete. Unsatisfactory in a way you need to be okay.

Dark-painted lips curve sinfully at their edges. “Stop.”

You pant heavily, torn between wishing for more and silently hoping she’ll relent.

Her sharp eyes gleam, then she’s beckoning you toward her. “Up here, pet,” she says lowly. It’s all the encouragement you need to force your body into compliance. His large hands release you, and you manage to shift onto your hands and knees, crawling lethargically up toward her, moving between her parted thighs. “My Queen?” You ask, desperate for her to give you an order to follow. Blood-red lips curve. “On the bed,” she orders lowly, arousal spinning your mind as her scent washes over you.

You follow swiftly, putting your back to the mattress, relief cooling your skin when she swings a leg over your head. Back on familiar ground. You’d do anything to please her, naturally, but taking pleasure while she remained unattended simply doesn’t sit right. You should be between her thighs, causing her pleasure, making her a mess and cleaning it up afterward. If you aren’t doing so, what’s the point?

“Open,” she commands, your lips parting automatically as she takes her seat, settling over your mouth like it’s her throne. Your nipples peak as arousal prickles your skin, so close to tasting her, already having her weight over top your parted lips, tongue prone to lick, and suck, and swirl. Anything and everything she wants.

“Rhysie,” she calls over her shoulder, turning to peer back at the male. “Return to her,” she says, and once again you stiffen. She should be receiving pleasure—you don’t even want it right now. Feel him at your entrance, his tip pressing to the soft, wet dip between your spread thighs, his large hands keeping you open for him. You aren’t the only one who seeks to please the High Queen.

Her nails rake over your scalp, fisting your hair as she pulls you against her heat, slowly grinding her hips over you, arousal gleaming on your lips and nose as she begins getting herself off, all the while watching the desperation in your eyes. “Set to work,” she growls, and you’re ready. More than ready, in fact. Overwhelmed with relief, until the Lord beats you to it.

Your spine arches off the bed as he slams in, knocking the air from your lungs once again, fucking you so brutally you could swear your Queen becomes some sort of Angel, wreathed in light. You don’t waste another second, arms wrapping over her thighs as lips seal over her clit, tongue rolling and flicking in those practiced movements. You know what she likes and you know how fast or slow to move according to the faint thrum of her pulse, the tempo of her breathing.

Pleasure numbs your skin, the bruising grip of his hands only vaguely registering as you focus on her. Swiping your tongue over her heat, suckling her clit, pushing at her entrance to have her enjoying this more than you are. She needs the best, and you’ll give her nothing but.

Heat ripples across your skin as the Lord continues pounding into you, sweat gleaming upon pale skin, desaturated from the void of sunlight this far below. He’s targeting that one, damned spot repeatedly, abusing it until your eyes gleam. Your Queen’s gaze pierces into, rolling her hips as she observes you beneath her, getting off on how content you are to utterly submit to her. So eager to please her.

It’s enough to have that steady heat in the pit of her stomach rapidly coiling, ready to burst, to spread across her skin. Her grip tightens brutally in your hair, hips winding sporadically as her high sweeps through her thighs, palming at her breast as your tongue swirls tight over her clit, suckling and swiping to take her through the orgasm. Feel as she flutters atop your mouth, her weight resting fully over your face, delicious wet heat for you to give your attention to until she’s satiated.

Your pleasure breaks with her own, eyes squeezing shut in bliss, relishing in the taste of her release, the scent of her arousal as the Lord continues pounding into you, throwing you into overstimulation as he refuses to release you from the intense pleasure. You peer up at your High Queen desperately, begging her to tell him to stop—it’s too much. But she watches, panting shallowly, observing how your brows scrunch together, eyes gleaming wet with overstimulation. The pads of your fingers press into her thighs needfully, tongue still lapping over her heat.

“Leave us,” she orders, pulling her attention away to icily gaze over her shoulder at the Lord. He obeys, slowing his thrusts before pulling out, and she feels your body begin to soften, muscles relaxing from being wound tight from pleasure. You’re so overwhelmed you hardly realise he’s left until she’s raising from your mouth, silvery, glossy threads of slick coating her thighs and your lips. Your tongue darts out, swiping over the skin, even if you’re hardly able to focus.

Her dark-painted lips curve ever so slightly in the corners, settling back over your mouth, winding gently, easing out the last embers of her pleasure. “How was that, pet?” She asks, still gripping your hair, though not as hard as before. You manage something between a hum and a moan, entirely fucked out after sustaining Rhys for a single round.

A cruel sounding laugh whispers from her lips, enjoying the sight of you so deluded and soft. So utterly out of it.

“Maybe I should let you and Rhysie play more often,” she muses, rolling lightly atop your mouth, clit bumping into the round tip of your nose.

“Get to see him pull you apart for me.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[thesadvampire]

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔰

With golden dragon coins, you can purchase everything from pearls to flesh but never love and freedom.

[isabeauwolf]

Calling all members of the Chisaki Nation! 🐦‍⬛💜💚👇

I'm going to pour all of my love, feral energy into this fanfic I swear!

C'mon we need more top Queen readers and virgin Kai! Baby needs to be taken care of after all the shit he's been though. I got you!

If reader seems obsessive, unhinged and downright thirsty for our yakuza birdman husband, I have no fucking self control! We gotta match his crazy!

I regret nothing!

👇 Sneak peak 2 😏🔥 Queen reader x Courtesan Overhaul smut, it's gonna get filthy as we rock our birdmans world

@cherry-queens-blog @fairymama624 @angelblueflame @doumadono @spectra-phantasma @phantomhoeass @wtf-ask-baddie-overhaul

[chopper-witch]

Some Elf!Tav who knew Astarion before he turned. Usage of they/them/theirs to keep it gn, no descriptions of Tav beyond implied pointy ears bc elf…

this is long af btw. And apologies for weird grammar/spelling.

Tav who knew Astarion two centuries ago. They were both part of minor noble households, both houses fading out of existence after the Spellplague, and were more obligatory friends than anything because of all of that. Tav who soon becomes the only member of their household and no one left to Astarion’s. Tav who enters their adult years alone (Astarion isn’t alone for his, of course, but he doesn’t notice when his 110th birthday hits; plus in most ways he is alone).

Tav who gets kidnapped and upon their first meeting after the Nautiloid crash doesn’t recognize Astarion, but he doesn’t recognize them either. Astarion isn’t incredibly common of a name but it’s also not uncommon enough to alert Tav that it’s the Astarion Ancunín they knew as a child. It isn’t until that night when Tav is staring at him across the fire do they start to realize who is sitting across from them.

Tav who doesn’t say anything for a few days - worried they just took too hard of a hit from the crash. That it’s just a misunderstanding on their behalf. Astarion died. They visited his grave out of respect a few times. The Ancunín line died soon after he did. They saw it happen. They were there. They visited his parents, out of obligation of course, and comforted them awkwardly. Their only child gone.

Tav who continues to deny the truth, until Astarion tries to bite them. Well, a few nights after he first bites them, when he begins to open up. The puzzle pieces begin to fit together now that they have more.

Tav who starts off the subject with a “I’m about to sound crazy” and Astarion rolling his eyes and also retorting that he doesn’t want to hear it.

Tav who asks if he is of the family Ancunín, which he has not heard spoken since those 200 years ago. Astarion’s defenses raise immediately and he demands to know where they heard such a thing.

Tav who explains who they are. That they are of a family Astarion once knew well. It takes Astarion a few minutes to understand what they are saying - and if it is even true. He can’t remember his own eye color, how could he possibly remember a person he only befriended out of obligation.

Tav who helps jog his memory with little stories - the times he knocked over an expensive vase in some other nobles house, the time they slammed face first into a door, the time they were both caught sneaking extra desserts. “Treacle tarts,” Tav had chuckled.

Tav who watches as he has the faintest glint of recognition in his eyes. Astarion gasps quietly, before letting out a quiet “you used to have a green bracelet you wore everywhere. Your eldest sister gave it to you for your 10th birthday. Whatever happened to it?”

Tav who pulls out the broken bracelet from their pants pocket. It had broken many, many years ago so they repurposed it into more of a lucky keepsake that could be attached to a belt.

Tav who treats Astarion like they were never apart. They are still incredibly mindful of his boundaries and unusually perceptive to his discomfort, but Astarion practically begs them to keep going sometimes. Leaning their head against him while retelling a memory Astarion long forgot may be uncomfortable for him, but he wants to sit through it.

Tav who tearfully explains what has happened to both their families since he died. How they are both the last ones left. How she went through most of her life alone. But tries to brush it off in comparison to Astarion’s abuse, only for Astarion to remind them that loneliness is loneliness. Fear is fear. Isolation is isolation. It doesn’t matter how it came to be.

Tav who tries desperately to hold out on any romantic advances. It wasn’t hard for them to figure out that Astarion had been used and abused for far worse purposes than he initially let on. They can tell the idea of intimacy makes him quiver with anxiety even if he hides it well. He’s had the same tell for over 200 years. So it’s mostly gentle touches and playful shoves.

Tav who finds themselves being kissed by a desperate Astarion, both still covered in blood - Cazador’s blood - just outside their room at the Elfsong. Everyone else has gone in and Astarion yanked them back and spun them into a kiss.

Tav who worries over him immediately. Something must be wrong with Astarion. Or a surge of post battle high has him out of his right mind. But Astarion explains through barely held back tears that he is finally free. That for the first time ever, even before he was turned, he feels in charge of himself completely. And as long as they want him, he wants them. And he wants to have sex with them as his first real act of freedom. He feels safe with them. He feels at home with them. He feels like he can use his body for what he wants - and he wants them.

Tav who agrees. They’ve spent the past few months falling more and more in love with Astarion. As long as Astarion is truly okay with it, which is confirmed by the little tadpole squirming in their brains, then they are okay with it.

Tav who, after the brain is defeated, doesn’t even know where to start with the rest of their life (beyond following Astarion as the sun burns him). All they know, and all Astarion knows, is that they both want to spend it together.

[wri0thesley]

Hi hi, I hope you're doing wonderful ! I've wondered about your thought on something, a while back -like a really long time ago, you made a fic about a desesperate Diluc go to a brothel and look for a gem that looks just like reader to quench his thirst, and that made me wonder who do you think other than him in the genshin universe might do the same ? Don't feel pressured if that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself. Thank you for blessing us with your writing every day !!!

oh, i don't mind!!! diluc, i think, is likely to do this because he thinks himself a gentleman and he doesn't want to corrupt or ruin you, he thinks that by doing such a thing and getting out his baser instincts on someone else he can 'protect' you (and you remain on the pedestal that he's put you on). so i think the yanderes who are likely to do such a thing fall into one of three categories;

one) the ones who think of their darling as something so so precious, who are gentlemen and try to deny themselves. diluc, definitely. zhongli perhaps also. pantalone, capitano.

two) the ones who have plans, and who simply cannot yet put them into practise. these ones are simply biding their time; filling a you-shaped void until all of the things they have put into motion are able to be carried out. kaeya, albedo, ayato, baizhu.

three) the ones who are a little bit mad about how attracted they are too, and who might think that doing this will get out some of their yandere type feelings. childe, xiao, scaramouche. (it doesn't, naturally).

[marvelnaturalock]

It’s been like 5 minutes since VALAX baby and I got chained together and sweetheart is already whipped.

[galactic-basic]

mkay we don’t even have a character name but i’ve put down words.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Aqua Thermae

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Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

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It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes. 

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone. 

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire. 

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along. 

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase. 

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along. 

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip. 

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too. 

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you. 

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements. 

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock. 

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily. 

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse. 

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression. 

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

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[ozzgin]

I was 100% thinking of the Shinsengumi when the brainrot struck, but let us assume a more generic, unnamed circumstance for this. Random, uh, elite group of swordsmen working for the shogunate in the Edo period. Here's the awkward, horny himbo I had previously mentioned. Content: female reader, historical setting, crossdressing, NSFW

Yandere!Captain commands his group with an iron grip. Many people in the Capital know his name, whether it's fellow warriors or petty merchants, and not without reason. His unmatched skill with a sword had even reached the ears of the court, and he was quickly appointed as the head of a newly formed group of samurai meant to maintain order in the city.

As if keeping hot-blooded thugs under control wasn't enough, he is now stuck with an even bigger issue: you.

"We can't have women in here", he declares with a grimace.

"I can pretend", you counter stubbornly, pulling your hakama pants up by the sash, almost in an act of defiance. "In fact, I don't see any woman here. I came to apply."

Yandere!Captain’s reputation does not only revolve around his intimidating strength. Among his underlings, he is known for being completely and utterly uninterested when it comes to women. Will he join his group for drinks after a long day of work? Absolutely. But that’s where the fun stops. When the others begin to slip away with smiling courtesans, he remains at the table with a somber countenance. It is a running joke that nothing can deter this man from his duty.

Thus, your presence at the headquarters should make no difference. He had to begrudgingly accept that you spoke the truth when you'd said you can handle a sword. It's not uncommon for women to keep a small tanto underneath their obi for additional protection, but your knowledge doesn't stop there. You arrived with your own katana and backup wakizashi, swiftly proving their worth upon your first city round when you slashed the arm off a street hooligan.

Well, that's one less worry for the captain. Except, to his great shame, it's not as simple as that. He is the only one aware of your secret, which means that he is the only one available outside of working hours. He was terrified to discover the hesitation in his hands when bandaging your ribs after a stabbing incident, or the halt in his step when he happened to find you switching to a night gown. Oh, how deplorable! Have his morals crumbled into nothing? His latest perverted thought nearly caused him to draw a blade across his stomach.

It is with this faltering confidence that he greets you before the bath one evening.

“You don’t have to do this”, you tell him. "I can wait until you're done."

His struggles haven't escaped your observant eye. You were initially amused by his rather obvious awkwardness; then, a certain idea insidiously made its way into your mind, impossibly tempting: for how long could he keep this façade?

You find yourself going out of your way just to tease your poor captain, perhaps secretly hoping he'll soon break down and give in to his yearning.

“They will become suspicious if you never join us. I do not care for your nudity. Undress at ease”, he says, throwing away his own towel and lowering himself into the hot water. “Get in whenever you want.”

If he insists.

You nonchalantly follow suit, sitting across from him with your arms resting against the rocky edge of the hot spring. You can tell his eyes have wandered involuntarily. His face is red, and he’s wearing a humiliated frown.

“You’re awfully quiet, Sir.”

His lips are pursed indeed. The tall man shuffles briefly, avoiding your gaze. A smirk crosses your features as you decide to approach him.

"In fact, I'd go as far as you say that you're in dire need of help."

To your surprise, he doesn't protest when your hands stray to his lower half, feeling up and down his erection. The small grunts escaping his mouth encourage you to pick up the pace, now equally aroused.

Soon, you feel his heavy arm wrapping around your waist, forcefully throwing you out of the water and onto the cold ground. You open your mouth to complain, but it's quickly shut back by his hot lips, suckling and biting in a desperate hunger to have you.

“It’s improper for a subordinate to take the lead”, he finally says in a low, breaking voice.

He can only hope no one else decides to use the hot springs, though that’s as far as his concern currently goes. He’s much too preoccupied with other pressing matters, holding onto your folded legs for support as he thrusts into you in a depraved, delirious need. His movements are jerky and erratic, with an almost predatory glimmer in his eyes. You wonder how often he imagined this happening. All of his shame and guilt, coming undone at once.

Days later, during one of the hangouts, you find him whispering to one of the courtesans.

“What, you suddenly have a taste for women now?” you question discreetly, unable to hold your tongue.

You’d hoped to be on the receiving end of any future lust-driven gestures from the captain, not some common worker.

He appears to hesitate, twiddling his thumbs and glancing away.

“I was just…asking how you properly please a woman”, he finally confesses.

If he’s going to continue fucking his subordinate behind everyone’s back, he may as well do a good job while at it.

[More Original Works] | [Yan!Swordsman Concept]

[livesinfantasyland]

Moulin Rouge but with August Walker...

August Walker x Courtesan Reader

More Mood Boards

[fushipurro]

Red Lights Red Flags

Chapter 10 - Haunting

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☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, mentions of past assault, foreplay (f. receiving)

☆ Word Count: 4.6k

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Toji’s sudden appearance startles you, and slowly, you turn to his position with a coy smile. The disappointment is more than apparent through his features. His arms are crossed, and he has that same disgruntled look as he had yesterday and the day before when he caught you exactly like this ─ sweeping away.

“You know you should be resting,” he says, and you know in your heart he’s right, but you don’t want to admit it.

“I know.” You sigh as you lean your chin over the top of the broom’s handle. “I am trying, but it doesn’t feel right for me to sit around and do nothing.” After spending nearly your entire life doing chores or familial duties, you can’t help but feel antsy the moment you get some peace to yourself.

He shrugs, arguing, “This place is abandoned, no one will care about a little dust.”

“I care.” You frown at the man, narrowing your eyes. “Shrines are a place of worship, and if we’re going to be here for a while, then I want to show that respect and appreciation.”

“Even if it’s going to be dirtied the moment we leave?”

“Even then,” you say with determination, although in Toji’s eyes ─ it’s stubbornness. Either way, he doesn’t seem all that appeased by your response judging by how his brows crinkle more than before, but really, you feel fine for the most part.

You won’t lie, it’s not the most comforting of tasks for your healing bones, but compared to the labor Toji’s been putting in, sweeping is nothing. Every day, he’s out there hunting, always coming back with fresh game and whatever ripened fruit he can find. Out here, far from any village, it’s given you the feeling that you and Toji are all that make up the world. It’s peaceful, even if this shrine can be… creepy.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Your voice is quiet as you ask, already afraid from how odd of a question it is to ask out of the blue. You don’t look him in the eyes as you wait, sparing yourself from whatever look he may have for you now.

“What makes you say that?” He responds, almost sounding more concerned than anything if you had to guess, and hopefully not for the reasons you’re already assuming.

“It’s probably nothing,” you say.

“Or it could be something,” Toji says without missing a beat. He moves to lean his back against one of the walls, his arms still crossed into his sleeves. “Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

If it were that easy, you would’ve brought it up the first time it happened, but here you are mulling over what you’ll say next in your head. Crazy isn’t exactly the best look to have.

“It’s just… ever since we got here, I’ve– had a weird feeling is all,” you tell him, now anxiously tapping away against the broom’s wooden handle.

“A feeling?”

“Okay,” you drawl like you’re sighing. “Maybe some things have been happening that I can’t quite explain.”

“Like what?” he asks, mirroring your tone.

It’s obvious he wants you to get on with it, despite the better part of you that believes it’s all in your head. But you may as well stop trying to hold back; at least if it does turn out you’re crazy, you’re in a shrine along with a dozen strange tools lying around in waiting. One of them must be used for exorcisms, right?

“Well for starters, remember that pile of bones we found in sanctuary?”

A pile is putting it lightly.

What you found on your second day here was akin to a hill with a throne stuck on top. You and Toji had been exploring the shrine to see what supplies you could scrounge up, neither of you expecting to find a sight so unsettling. It was obvious ─ even to you ─ where most of those bones had originated from. That is ─ people.

And that was only the beginning of the strange happenings.

He huffs, making light of it the memory with an air of amusement. “How could I forget?”

“Well, I was doing some cleaning in that room, and when I touched one of the bones…” You pause, looking down at your hands. “I saw… something ─ almost like a memory. I’m not sure how to explain it, but it happened so fast that I don’t remember much of anything except red.”

“Red?” he deadpans.

“See?” You sigh. “It’s probably my imagination is all, or I’m going crazy…” Your words shrink by the end along with your form.

“Stop that,” he scolds in a low, warning tone. “If what you say happened, then I believe you. You’re not going insane, but I do think you need to rest more.”

“It’s hard though,” you whine. “Every time I close my eyes, I swear I see those same four red eyes watching me.”

Toji’s reply falls flat in his throat, so you take it upon yourself to continue, hoping to alleviate the pressure.

“I feel like the more I keep myself busy, the less frightening it is at night?” you muse out loud. You’ve begun telling yourself that those eyes belong to the spirit of the shrine itself, or whatever it was built to enshrine. The more you take care of its domain, the more it’ll leave you alone ─ a give and take sort of relationship with this unknown being.

It doesn’t help your mind when on the same day you discovered the bone pile, you also had uncovered a library full of scrolls depicting “curses” and other fantastical elements you’d find only in folk tales and myth.

Of the ones you read, they appear more like the ramblings of cultists or crazies rather than priests of the common practice. Nothing so much as close to resembling the bedtime stories you grew up with.

“I don’t know… do you think this place could be haunted maybe?” you ask.

Toji suddenly steals the broom right out of from under your hands. You go to reach for it back, but he stops you using his free hand, raising the broom higher than you’re able to reach.

“I think you need to go and take a breather while I do the rest of the cleaning,” he declares.

“But Toji–“

“Aht aht, don’t argue,” he says, pointing his finger in front of your face. “There’s fresh fruit in the kitchen, so go eat and then find somewhere to lay down.”

“Fine, but don’t forget–“

“To water all the plants before the sun gets too high; I’ve got it,” he drones, giving you that cocky smile that takes all your frustrations away.

You take your leave, but not without stealing a few ─ or several ─ glances at Toji. He’s right in that you need this time to heal and move forward, especially with how close you came to crumbling the day you both arrived here. It won’t be an easy recovery, and all the labor you find yourself doing has helped you to not think about it. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to have face your trauma head on to come out on top. And at the end of the day, there’s one key factor that remains.

You’re free now.

There’s no one here to hurt you, to punish, or leave you at their mercy. You have the world again ─ more now than ever thanks to Toji. He was your friend first and now your savior, and where you go from here is up to you to decide.

It’s clear when you arrive at the kitchen that Toji’s hunt must’ve gone well. Seeing the abundance of fruit ─ some already cut and prepared ─ you throw a few pieces into your mouth, savoring the flavors while putting together a second plate. This one will be given as an offering to whatever spirits inhabit this shrine, in hopes the kind gesture rewards you with some peace of mind.

Maybe then, you’ll be able to sleep for an entire night or walk alone in the halls without hearing what sounds like men and women crying out in agony.

…you left Toji in the dark on that detail.

The evening hours are when the shrine is at its best ─ when the setting sun filters between leaves, bringing out the rich red tones of the architecture. The cherry blossoms take on an orange hue, resonating with the fire-like atmosphere. After nearly being burned alive, this is the closest you’ve been able to get to an actual flame without reliving the fear you had felt. That day and those red eyes are all you’ve been able to see, haunting you even in your sleep.

Right now, you’re on your way to a hot spring formation near the back of the shrine.

It sits in a lovely spot away from it all, hidden behind trees and bamboo alike. The view from it overlooks what feels like the whole of Japan. It’s a breathtaking sight, one that reminds you how small your existence is compared to the world around you.

Following the rocky pathway up to the spring, you immediately spot Toji resting inside, his back leaning against the edge. He turns his head at your arrival, a smirk playing across his lips.

“I was wonderin’ where you were, you get lost on the way here?”

After finishing dinner together earlier, you had planned on being the first to bathe, with Toji following up after. It appears your golden hour scenic route lasted longer than you anticipated if he made it here first.

“Sorry, I can come back later,” you offer, but he shakes his head.

“Nonsense, the bath’s big enough for two or… fifty, at least,” he muses, and rightfully so. It’s a spa big enough for the mightiest king to bask in, or even the gods themselves.

Toji turns his head away, giving you the privacy to slip from your robe and undo each of your bandages. You start with dipping your toes into the water first, feeling a shiver come over you from the vast difference in warmth from the surrounding air. But as you try to step further down, you lose your footing on one of the rocks, unable to register fast enough what’s happening as the world spins around you.

“Easy there,” Toji says, and only then do you realize he caught you from falling. His arms rest on either side of yours, steadying you as he sets you down into the water at his side. “These rocks are slippery as hell.”

You wish he said something earlier, but better late than never, you guess.

Hopefully he didn’t see much either of your form, but the likelihood of that is almost nonexistent.

“Thanks…” you mutter, taking a seat close to him, with an audible sound of pain as you get comfortable.

“How’s your chest?” he asks, your head snapping to the side.

“My chest!?” you respond with more eagerness than intended ─ to which, he smiles, with that typical smug expression.

“Your ribs,” he corrects. “How are your injuries lookin’?”

“O-oh.” You sink deeper into the spring to hide your vivid flush, the warmth doing wonders already for your wounds. “Well, everything’s still sore, but it’s not as bad as when we got here,” you tell him.

“You’d feel better if you rested more and quit acting like some servant,” he says, teasing as much as he is scolding.

“I like to clean, thank you very much.” He rolls his eyes at your playful reply. “As scary as this place is, it’s still a shrine and a beautiful one at that.”

The art, the view, the incredible poetry you found in the master bedroom…

There’s beauty in the madness of it all once you look past the rough, boney exterior. Even if you’re only here for a short time, you want to do your part in preserving its unique history.

“You’ve always been that way, haven’t you?” Toji comments.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying, that when we met, I was nothing but a cold, bratty kid and yet you still came running.”

“I didn’t think you were mean,” you argue, his negativity making you frown. “You let me play with your sword and hung out with me those other times. I never thought of you as anything but nice.”

Toji scoffs amusingly. “You’re still referring to my training as play?”

“Well, we were just two kids playing together in a park.”

“And now we’re two adults sitting naked in a bath together,” he chuckles, “Time’s changed, hasn’t it?”

The silence that overtakes is nearly deafening, a reminder of the situation you’re in ─ both naked, and with only a foot of distance to spare. While it’s frightening to you, you can’t help butfeel nervous among other feelings stirred up from the heat.

You remind yourself in your head that this is Toji.

Toji, the man you’ve always felt safe to be around, even in your most vulnerable state. He’s the same person who has never sought to harm you on purpose, or for pleasure. The same person you trust your life to with all your heart.

He saved you, didn’t he? Freed you from your shackles, whisked you off into a land unknown… You’ve never had to doubt your safety so long as he’s at your side.

With all that in mind, you don’t feel afraid when you ask, “Have you cleaned yourself yet?” You glance back and forth between his side and moon’s reflection in the spring as you do.

Its height in the sky shows just how long it’s been since you entered, making the water appear as though it’s ablaze with silvery light among droplets of a thousand stars. Their brilliance is no longer clouded by iron bars or a red lantern’s glow.

An annoying grin creeps up over his face, the kind you know aims to tease. “Why, you offering?” He asks, lowering his head until he’s the only object within your view.

“Maybe I am,” you tell him, watching as that same smile widens at your declaration.

“Had you shown up sooner, I might’ve let you ─ but I’m already clean.” He stretches his arm back, reaching into a bucket resting along the edge of the spring. From it, he pulls out a white cloth, one with fragments of herbs rubbed into the fibers. “So why don’t you let me help you instead?”

Toji wets the cloth before bringing it to your face, gently smoothing the fabric across your cheeks and down to your chin. You wonder in the moment if it’s truly just the water making you feel so heated. But with nowhere else to look but his face, you let yourself become mesmerized by the subtle green hues, and the same silvery light of the moon reflecting back.

Would things have turned out differently had you recognized him sooner?

It’s one question you have that you’ll never know the answer to.

For all you know, he could’ve saved you the night you met, but die trying to escape. Or perhaps you did manage to escape, only to later find out your family paid the price. Your greatest fear of Hanami’s revenge, a reality in that path. In a way, the fire that ravaged the district could almost be described as a blessing as much as a curse.

It left your existence a question, one buried beneath layers of ash and rubble. All the pain and self-sacrifice that eventually ended in flames became the start for something entirely new, like seeds sprouting from a forest ravaged in an inferno.

He moves the cloth down your neck, his touch soft as ever, as if any harshness would cause you to crack. One hand steadies the opposite side, cradling your head and with the slightest back and forth motion of his thumb that does little to calm the familiar heat building in your core.

Your eyes drift to the scar marring his lip, the one difference in his face from the Toji you knew before.

“When did that happen?” You feel the hand holding your head tense, the glow in his eyes seeming to fade as they narrow into a look of scorn. A look that makes you regret bringing it up. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ha–“

“It’s fine,” he interrupts, softening his stare as he moves the cloth back under the water, wetting it once more to clean your arms now. For a while, his eyes focus only on the task in front of him, a silence hovering all the same as before. The emotions felt now however, are that much different.

“My family.” He stops himself short, kissing his teeth. “The Zenin Clan–” he corrects, “are the reason for this, years ago.”

A memory comes to you of one snowy day in particular ─ the last time you had seen Toji before your life went to hell.

“Was that why you wouldn’t let me look at you?”

“Smart girl,” he praises, with the makings of a smile heard in his voice, something you can tell despite your back now turned to him. You feel his hands gliding down your spine and across your shoulders.

“It was time for me to man up and stop fooling around,” he starts, a spiteful flare to his words. “’We’re a family of proud warriors, so act like one,’ was what they told me, and the next thing I knew, I was on the battlefield fighting to survive.”

You know of the war he’s referring to ─ one from around that wintery time when the Shogun, Saga Tsukumo, had risen to power. The battle took many lives, with the Zenin clan taking pride in the victory they claimed was their doing.

Now you know why.

“Toji, I’m so sorry.”

“I guess we both share similar scars now.” As he speaks, you feel the cloth trailing down your side, hovering over the same ribs Jinichi had fractured. Then suddenly, his arms ─ wrapping tight above your chest ─ pull you flush against his body.

“’m sorry,” he muffles against your shoulder alongside a whisper of your name. “I never wanted you to get hurt, ever,” he says, those last words laced with pain and regret. You’ve never seen Toji act so vulnerable in your life before, but for good reasoning.

This freedom you found together is as much of his as it is yours. For you, it’s freedom from suffering in a life you never asked to be a part of. For him, it’s freedom from the family that never asked for him, wanting no parts of him in their life anymore.

You lift your hands up, placing them over his wrists. A quiet response, one that hopefully shows him that it’s okay, and that you want him here, close to you. It’s obvious now you aren’t the only one with those questions in mind ─ about how life would be if the past were done different. As agonizing as it was to live through, you managed to make it out in one piece, together.

“Toji…” You turn your head to the side, your nose brushing up against strands of his hair. “I could never blame you for what happened to me, never. I trusted you then, now, and even when I had no idea it was you at my side again.”

A quiet moment goes by before you raise your voice again, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

“I was scared,” he tells you. He feels foolish for even saying such meek words. A once infamous samurai of noble birth, reducing himself to feelings of fright. On any battlefield, such words are grounds for a knife in your stomach, and a sword at your neck. “You already didn’t recognize me; I didn’t want you see me as anything other than the boy you once knew.”

A monster is what he wants to say. That or the other namesakes he’s been called since birth. Titles and epithets you’ve always looked beyond with childish glee. But even now as an adult, you still look at him with the same stars in your eyes.

“I think we’re a little past that, aren’t we?” Your comment has Toji raising his eyes ─ lightly glossed over ─ to meet yours, attempting to decipher the meaning behind your words.

It soon dawns on him the moment your gaze falls to his lips, this time with a new emotion. He doesn’t have to ask to know what’s on your mind now, with the thought of that New Year’s night coming back to him all the same.

“You’re right,” he mumbles, closing the gap between your faces that much more. “How could I have almost forgot?”

That smug expression of his is felt even when his lips are on yours, his eyes closing to savor the moment and the taste of you on his tongue. Your body flutters, spiking your arousal like the turning of a knob on an oil lantern. The fire of your heart’s desire flickering in full, dancing to the beat of his own.

Only he can make you feel this way ─ so heightened with desire, and a longing to be close. Here at this shrine, there’s no mystery, no need to be silent to avoid being found. It’s just you and Toji, in your own corner of the world. That’s why you find it easy to sink into his touch, showing him with fervent grace that this is everything you want, when it’s obvious he’s still holding back.

He’s playing it safe by moving with caution, all to ensure you’re comfortable with the escalating situation. It’s unlike those who have harmed you, deriving their pleasure without a care for your own consent, but as always ─ this is Toji.

It’s your choice if you want this to continue, and you don’t think you’ve ever had a more easier decision to make. With the way your body is angled to meet his lips, it’s all too easy to slide one hand down his chest, inching closer to–

“Don’t,” he warns, breaking from the kiss with half-lidded eyes.

“But–“

“You can have at it another time,” he says, cutting you off. “Let me take care of you tonight, okay? Would you like that?”

“Please, Toji.”

That’s all he needed to hear before lifting your body up and onto one of his thighs, using the thickness of it to keep your legs parted.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your ear as you relax against his body, one hand firm around your torso in the valley your chest, and the other ─ gliding along your inner thigh. “Just relax and I’ll make you feel real good, hun.”

The sensation of his fingers between your folds has you gasping, and no sooner are his lips on you again, swallowing every sound made when he pushes inside with one finger to start. The rough, calloused texture can be felt even with the water distorting your senses.

You move to grasp his body as a means of steadying yourself. Fingers curling inwards, scratching at his arms to relieve the rising pressure in your body.

He moves to add a second finger, and that alone has you feeling the burning stretch of it. On instinct you try and close your legs, but Toji won’t allow it. He bounces his leg up, reminding you that it’s there to keep you widened for his hand.

As he breaks from the kiss he chuckles. “Don’t go getting all shy on me now.” He compliments his teasing words by curling his fingers from the inside.

“Toji!” Your attempt to scold him comes off as moaning cry instead, but with the way you’re squirming, he knows it’s merely a faux frustration.

“Fuck,” he groans, kissing you with a bit more roughness to it. “If I knew my name sounded so pretty coming from this mouth of yours, I’d have told you it the day we first met.”

He returns to kissing you, lips traveling from your face to the side of your neck. This way, you’re free to shout his name as the palm of his hand comes over your clit. It has same calloused texture as his fingertips, providing everything your body needs right now.

These hands seeking to pleasure you are a stark contrast from the same hands that have killed in your name. It doesn’t matter that world paints him to be a monster, because all you’ve ever seen was and is Toji himself.

And even as he pushes you to your high ─ he remains gentle as could be, holding you perfectly so no pain can be felt. His fingers continue to press against all those sweet spots that have you seeing stars different from the ones hanging overhead.

“Let go for me,” he says along with your name; a whisper that pushes you over the edge of glory. Waves of euphoria crash over you, twisting your mind and body as much as you can handle to completion.

You don’t remember a time you’ve ever felt so good in this depraved state, even while coming off your high. Feeling Toji’s sultry breath against your neck is almost enough to have you ready for more, if only you weren’t so dizzy all at once.

Your name is a blur against your ear as you shut your eyes to the feeling, your body falling slack in his arms. A coldness then settles over you a moment after, stirring you from that darkening feeling.

“…Toji?” Your voice is a murmur clouded with exhaustion.

“Shh, I got you,” he says back to you. You fight your eyes weighing heavy to keep them open, realizing now that you’re cradled in his arms on route back to the shrine.

“What happened?” you quietly ask, bringing a trembling hand to your forehead.

“Spent a little too long in the spring, I’d say. How’re feelin’?”

“Okay, I guess,” you reply breathlessly.

“Just okay?” He clicks his tongue a few times, showing off a toothy grin. “I think I kept my word; don’t you agree?”

You smile, although it’s weak as you reply, “Yes ─ yes you did,” chuckling in between.

Putting aside how it ended, this was a night you’ll never forget for as long as you live, and it certainly won’t be the last of moments like these.

Toji brings you into the same servant room you’ve been sleeping in together since your arrival. The idea of taking over the master bedroom was appealing at first, but something deep down told you it wouldn’t be a good idea, and thankfully, Toji agreed.

As he places you down under the covers of the futon, you find yourself no longer caring over the lack of clothing before him. After what all just went down, your previous nerves are no longer there, replaced by your trust in him.

“How about I get you some fruit, huh? That’ll fix you right up,” he offers, turning to leave.

“Sure,” you respond, but before he gets too far, you remember the offering you laid aside. “Oh, but don’t touch the plate I left to the side, please.”

He turns halfway out the door with a look of confusion. “You savin’ it for later or something?”

“It’s for the ghosts,” you tell him, too out of it to mind your words, no matter how odd it sounds.

Toji lets out an amused sound before sliding the door shut. In truth, he doesn’t know what all to think or say for the experiences you’ve had.

He’s certain that if there was something nearby, he’d know about it and would have it taken care of without you noticing… but there’s nothing. It’s only been you and him since the day you arrived.

And yet, that still doesn’t explain why he finds the offering dish without any trace of fruit.

☆ Notes: question is, are these really ghosts or something more? We’ve reached a turning point with everything, so enjoy it while it lasts tehe. I hope the smut was worth it though, I’m worried it was too short but do you really need a lot for a fingering scene? Idfk

☆ Taglist: @fandomtrash5092 @catmania-choco @tojisfantasy

[wheresarizona]

Columba 

summary: It isn’t until you’re in his home that you learn it’s General Marcus Acacius who’s summoned you for your services—you’re not sure why he did, when the other courtesans standing beside you, hoping to be chosen by him, have bodies that look nothing like yours.

pairing: Marcus Acacius/Plus Size f!reader (Courtesan)

rating: E (18+!! This is smut. No y/n, explicit smut, plus size reader, courtesan reader, age gap (reader is of legal age in today’s standards), takes place pre-Gladiator 2, dommy Marcus Acacius (loves giving orders), he’s a tiny bit possessive, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, rough sex, backshots, woman on top, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, breast worship, hair pulling (m receiving), slight breeding kink, (1) pussy slap, dirty talk, spanking, spit mention, some biting, with hair like that he wants it pulled, some sweetness at the end) 

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: I took one look at Marcus’ hair and immediately thought, that guy likes his hair pulled. I also decided that since he spends weeks to months with a bunch of men at a time, when he comes home, he really appreciates a curvy woman. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything for him until I saw the movie, but the trailer got me. This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

It was the marble bust atop a pedestal that revealed whose home you were in. The opulence of the domus’ atrium, with its four tall marble columns surrounding the impluvium's shallow, sunken pool in the middle of the room and the compluvium’s opening in the ceiling above it, allowing the moon’s light to filter in, told you whoever lived here had notoriety—then you saw the face carved out of stone, recognizing the curls and strong nose you'd only ever seen as he was paraded past you down the street in honor of his latest victory, and you knew.

General Marcus Acacius is a man feared by many for his ferocity and skills in battle. It's been said Mars, the God of War, blessed his birth, while others believe his bloodline is descended from the God himself. What you know to be true is he's a gifted General that the Emperors and Gods have smiled upon, and in his presence, an intimidating figure you didn't dare look at unless you were addressed.

There are four women standing to your right, all of you younger than him, naked, and courtesans of the highest standard—well-educated and well-versed in politics along with the pleasures of the body—and highly sought out by society's elite. 

Marcus is at the opposite end, silently making his way down the line with what you can only assume is a scrutinizing eye, and you fear there's been a mistake that you're here—the other courtesans are all built similarly with small breasts, flattened stomachs and thinner waists than yours, whereas you’re curvier, and have more meat on your bones, with your bigger chest, soft noticeable belly, and grabbable hips. Clearly, he requested a particular type of woman, and it doesn't appear you're it. Staring down at the tiled floor seems better than seeing the disappointment on his face when he gets to you. 

His sandaled feet come into view as he stands before you, and you can feel his eyes roaming over your bare body—golden snake bracelets coil around each of your upper arms, and at the unexpected gentle touch of his fingertips to one, you flinch. 

"Do I frighten you?" His voice is a low, deep rasp that shivers down your spine. 

"No, Sir," you answer.

His thumb strokes over the snake's head and along its body. "Why do you flinch?" 

Raising your head, you see he’s wearing a white tunic with a gold pattern lining around his neck, down his arms, and along the hem, a belt securing it at his waist; golden cuffs covered his wrists. You’re met with dark eyes, a furrow crinkling between his eyebrows—his brown hair with a kiss of gray, curls like waves on his head, his facial hair dotted with a few silvery strands. It takes you a second to answer his question because the glimpses of him you caught during victory parades and the marble bust didn't prepare you for his beauty. 

Mars and Venus have bestowed their blessings upon him. 

“My apologies, Sir,” you finally reply. “It was simply surprise at being graced by your touch.” His expression is difficult to read, so you continue speaking, “I’ve heard of your prowess in battle that inspires songs and how your enemies tremble before you, but I do not believe I have reason to fear you—unless that is something you wish. Do you wish for me to be frightened of you?” 

Some men liked it if you acted afraid of them to feel powerful. Some men, usually the big, tough ones, liked to bury their faces in your bosom while you held them. The slight show of relief on Marcus’ face when you said you had no reason to fear him made you suspect he’d be in the latter category. 

“No.” His eyes are locked onto yours. “I do not need another to fear me. I wish for you to want my touch.” 

“I wish for more than your touch,” you reply. “I wish to feel your lips on mine and your weight on top of me, I wish to feel your cock inside me and to hear the sounds you make when you peak, and I do wish for your touch; I wish to feel your hands claim my body as yours.” 

His gaze turns to one of desire, and it makes you smile. 

"You," he says. "Stay. The rest of you,” he announces, keeping his eyes on yours, “leave us.”

The invitation the messenger brought to your home the day prior did not state who requested your services; it simply said the person was a public figure, and the woman picked would be paid handsomely.

The servants, who stood as still as statues against a wall, scurried to assist each of the other women with redressing.

"Come," he orders, offering you a hand you accept. He leads you to a room you realize is his personal quarters when you spot his armor in a corner, Medusa's golden head on the cuirass shining in the candlelight—she wards off evil and offers protection. There's a bed against the wall opposite the door, and he lets go of your hand, slipping off his sandals by the doorway before walking over to a thin table laden with a jug, cups, and a bowl of berries and grapes. 

"Care for some wine?" he asks without looking at you while pouring himself a cup. 

His body is tense, and you’re assuming you’re here to help him relax—he arrived home only days ago from war, and you got a chance to see him rolling down the street on a chariot as he waved to the cheering masses. It would make sense that he could use somebody with your expertise to get him to unwind. 

“No, thank you, Sir,” you answer, and he faces you again, taking a drink. “It’s a great honor that you chose me, and I do not wish to forget a single moment.” 

His cup lowers, and you're surprised to find he’s wearing a little smile. He twists to set his wine down next to the jug, and removes the cuffs from his wrists, setting them onto the table then his eyes are on yours. 

"Marcus," he says, and it only takes a few strides to have him in front of you again. 

"I'm sorry?" you ask.

His attention moves to your body, and he’s not looking upon you like an object or something he’s just purchased as most men do; his gaze is appreciative, the same kind of look you could imagine was on his face when he stared at art that pleased him. Your figure isn’t the ideal for most Roman women—your hips are too wide, your breasts are too large, your ass is too big, your thighs are too thick, and your stomach is too noticeable—yet, there are many men who sought you out and paid well for your time, and it seems the General is one of them. 

"My name." He walks around you, his fingers sliding along your upper back from shoulder to shoulder. “Call me Marcus. I want you to be familiar with how my name tastes on your tongue.” 

The touch and his words cause your nipples to harden and goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Marcus,” you say. 

He’s in front of you again, his darkened eyes on yours. His big hands grip your waist, pulling you into him, and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck, feeling him inhale deeply. “Gods, you’re the best thing I’ve smelled in months.” The words are said against your flesh. “Like a meadow of flowers in Spring, and I fail to remember the last time I felt such softness.” He squeezes the fleshy handles at your hips and goes lower to grab handfuls of your ass, then runs his hands up your back. “Upon hearing your description,” he says, “I knew you’d be perfect, but what I imagined has no comparison to seeing your beauty with my own eyes.” His admission catches you off guard as it sounds as though he always intended to pick you from the line of women. It’s curious that he even invited the others if his mind had been set beforehand. He straightens, meeting your gaze. “Take off my clothes.” 

There's no need to reply; you just do as he ordered, getting his belt undone, the leather falling to the floor, then pulling his tunic over his head, it meeting the same fate as his belt. 

He’s completely nude, standing at his full height before you. 

You expected the scars etched all over his body, the evidence that he'd lay down his life for Rome without hesitation. There's a long, jagged one across his right pec, silvered with age, that has you forgetting yourself and softly pressing your fingertips to it.

He snatches your smaller hand, pulling it away from his marred skin. 

"My apologies," you quickly say, bowing your head in submission. "I shouldn't have touched you without permission." 

"You may touch me." Once again, he surprises you by putting the flat of your palm against the scar, his other hand grabbing your chin to lift your face. 

From his reaction to your fingers on him, you think he hasn’t been with a woman in quite some time, and you hope you can make up for all the nights he spent alone. 

It seems he's done with the pleasantries when his lips crush into yours. It's all of the encouragement you need, kissing him back while rubbing your palms up his broad chest, feeling his warmth. You snake a hand down his stomach through the trail of hair low on his belly to take his half-hard cock into your hand—he groans and twitches in your hold.

He truly has the Gods' favor—a talented General, handsome and well-endowed. 

With his hands on your waist, he walks you backward to the bed, laying you on the mattress. He's on top of you, deepening the kiss with his tongue pressing into your mouth, his hand palming your tit, making you wet with arousal and your body heat. 

It's fascinating how he's defying all of your expectations. The men who seek you out after spending months fighting are often rough and brutish, using you however they want to release their tension. There's never kissing or offers of drink; it's orders to suck their cocks, or to get on the bed in their desired position—and here's Marcus kissing down your body, along the skin of your neck to your chest. Most of his weight is on his knees between your legs while bending forward over you, and the only word you can think of to describe it is he's worshipping your breasts. He has them in his hands, moving from one to the other, licking, sucking, and nibbling on your nipples and soft skin, the sensations making your pussy weep with need. 

“Gods, Marcus,” you moan. He has you squirming with how good it feels, your fingers pushing into his curls. He takes a pebbled bud between his teeth and gently tugs. “Oh,” you gasp, your hands tightening in the tousled waves on his head.

He releases your nipple. “Harder,” he rasps, then flicks his tongue against your stiff peak, and you do as requested, pulling his hair harder. A loud groan rumbles from his chest as he continues laving at your tits, skimming his hand down your stomach, your skin tingling under his fingertips, until he’s sliding two fingers through your wet slit. You tighten your hold on his head, your toes curling when he starts rubbing your clit, and the realization hits that he intends for you to have just as much enjoyment as him. 

"Marcus," you whine.

He’s one of those men who has you praying that he’ll wish for your company again, and you wouldn’t even make him pay if you got another chance to warm his bed. 

The push of his thick digit into your pussy makes your breath hitch at the slight stretch, his thumb pressing to your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving side to side—you know he’s going to make you come, and you silently thank the Gods.

His finger is pushing in and out of you, his thumb continuing its movements, and he lifts his face to look you in the eyes, his own are so black there’s hardly a sliver of brown remaining. "Come for me," he commands, slipping a second digit inside you—you’re so wet you can hear the slick slide of his fingers pumping into you. The muscles in your belly are tightening, and the fire in your core is building. "Come for me, sweet girl." His head dips to lightly bite your nipple before soothing it with his tongue. "Once you come, I'll do as you wish and sheath my cock into this perfect cunt." 

The hot heat of his mouth envelops your pebbled bud, and he sucks—it's your undoing; your eyes close as you fall over the edge, coming with a moan of his name. His digits and mouth continue to extend your ecstasy while your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart pounds. 

He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, his hand sliding from your pussy, up your stomach, leaving a trail of your release on your skin. His voice deepens, “You’ve done well for me, and I keep my word—turn over.” 

He helps you to roll onto your front, and you get up onto your hands and knees—a familiar position. He takes a moment to admire you in front of him, his palms feeling the thickness of your thighs and hips. His fingers dig into your plump asscheeks as he spreads them and dips his head, hearing and feeling him spit between them, the hot saliva dripping from your asshole down to your opening. He shuffles up behind you, sliding his cock through the wetness of your come and his spit to lubricate himself, then notches it at your entrance—you both moan as he slowly starts feeding himself into you. 

Gods, he’s big. 

There’s a slight burn with how he’s stretching you, your inner walls having to accommodate his ample girth, and once he’s pressed all the way to the root inside you, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. 

He has a tight grip on your waist and pulls out almost all the way, immediately pushing back into you hard enough there's a clap when his hips hit your ass. This was expected, Marcus setting up a rhythm that punches the air from your lungs each time he thrusts forward—he’s working out what he doesn’t wish to feel, and with how slippery it is between your legs, he's moving easily, and the brutal pace feels amazing. 

Many times, you’ve had to fake your enjoyment to make those employing you think they’re talented lovers—the majority are selfish in bed and care little about your comfort but want their egos stroked. Marcus, on the other hand, earned your favor when he took the time to ready you with his fingers and allowed you to climax. 

He's pounding into you, the collide of his body against yours making your asscheeks shake, and with how his cock is pressing into something truly divine, he’s also earned your screams of his name and whatever incoherent words are babbling from your mouth—he has you dizzy with pleasure, heat coiling in your belly, and there’s no doubting the Goddess of Beauty and Sex has given him her blessing. 

Sounds are spilling unbidden from your lips, Marcus loudly grunting with each stroke, the wet slap of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, and you look over your shoulder—the candlelight around the room shows the glisten of sweat on his golden skin. His head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and his jaw slack. Hair is sticking to his forehead, and a beautiful rosy flush has begun on his chest, rising up his neck to paint his cheeks. You can't think of another you've laid with who looked so breathtaking while taking their pleasure, and you could only imagine how glorious he’d look on the battlefield. You don't know what comes over you, reaching your hand back to touch his hip, and suddenly, he’s looking at you, his eyes glazed with lust. 

It’s as though he’s been in a trance, losing himself in your body, and now he’s come back to be in the moment with you. He falls forward, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of you, blanketing your back and slowing his pace. His chin is on your shoulder, and he bites the shell of your ear; all of his weight goes onto one arm to free up the other that roughly grabs your breast and plucks at your nipple.

“You take me so well,” he says into your ear, his cock continuing to slide in and out of you. “Your sweet little cunt will milk me dry, and then I’ll have you again and again after that to keep you full of my seed.” 

His words steal a moan from your lips. 

“Does that please you, my sweet girl?” he asks. “You wish for more of me? Has another ever fucked you so good?” He gets his hand between your legs to circle the pearl of your pleasure, and your jaw drops, eyes closing—he’s going to make you come again. “Answer me,” he growls, lightly slapping your clit, and you clench around him. 

It’s challenging to think, but you say, “No,” and push your ass back against him as he thrusts forward, fucking yourself on him to get closer and closer to your end. “I’ve never had such fortune.” 

“You do now—by morning, I’ll have you ruined for any other man, and your cunt won’t soon forget the shape of my cock.” 

He means every word that slips from his tongue, and it sets the fire in your belly ablaze. You’re holding yourself up on shaky limbs, the muscles in your stomach knotting up—you’re close.

“Marcus,” you moan. 

His warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks into it: “I love how my name sounds from your lips. I know you’re close. Give in so I can feel you ascend to the heavens.” 

His words, the fullness of his thick shaft moving in and out of you, and his fingers swirling around your sensitive bundle at the apex of your thighs has you shattering—stars burst behind your eyelids as white-hot pleasure erupts in your center, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough he slows to a stop, and groans in your ear.

You exhale panted breaths, your heart beating rapidly, and the blissful euphoria ripples through your body, slowly ebbing away. 

Somehow, you find your voice, "Allow me to ride you." 

He kisses your shoulder, his beard scratching against your bare skin. "You want to mount me?" he asks. 

"Yes."

"Then you shall." 

He pulls out of you, an achy groan leaving him as he lies beside you on his back, and you get up onto your knees. He draws your attention with how he’s splayed out on the mattress, his long legs slightly spread and arms crossed over his head. His cock is still hard, it shiny with your juices, and resting against his lower belly, cushioned by the tantalizing path of hair that led directly to it—and he’s looking up at you, his eyes dark with want that keep lowering to your bosom, and back up to your eye line, the pink of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, that you suddenly wish to bite. 

There’s the common knowledge about Marcus all of Rome is aware of—the family he comes from and the military achievements that have led to him being the victorious General the Gods have blessed the city with, and now you’re versed in his more private attributes—he likes his women to be sturdy with sizeable breasts, he enjoys the pleasurable pain of his hair pulled, he’s a generous lover, he prefers to be in control unless you can tempt him enough to hand over the reins. It’s quite tempting for him to lie back and watch your tits bounce as you ride him. 

Shuffling in place to face him, taking his hard length in hand—he didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer, yet you want to take care of him like he took care of you, so you scoot back enough that you can bend down at the waist, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock.

The sound of Marcus’ loud moan and the way his back arches as if it were the string of a bow shoots straight to your cunt—you can taste the mix of your essence and his arousal that’s steadily dribbling from the sensitive head that you lick and suckle; your hand easily stroking up and down the sheath of skin on his shaft. The muscles in his thighs and stomach have tensed like it’s taking everything in him to hold back and not fill your mouth with his come.

“Enough,” he grits the order through his teeth, and his palm lands on the side of your ass with a hard slap that echoes against the walls, the sharp sting getting a moan out of you—your head lifts off of him to see he’s scowling. “I’m not spilling down your throat,” he continues and smacks your ass again. “Ride me, or I’ll have you under me.” 

“Apologies, Marcus,” you reply demurely and sit up on your knees once more. Quickly, you move, throwing a leg over his waist to have your thick thighs hugging his hips. You rise, grabbing his cock, you press to your entrance, and you watch his face as you slowly start to impale yourself on him, relishing in how his mouth falls open and the tight grip he has on the meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into them hard enough it bordered on painful. 

The fullness is incredible when you sit flush against him, and you love how he fills you. Your palms find purchase on his broad chest, and you rise until only the tip of him remains inside of you, and you drop back down—the rhythm you set has you moving in his lap, up and down in quick succession, Marcus groaning, his eyes locked on the jiggle of your breasts. 

Sweat forms on your skin, feeling it on your forehead and a single drop sliding down your spine, your eyes closed as you focus, your moans stuttering each time you sink onto him. 

His hands are resting on your backside, rising and falling with you, his voice rough with pleasure, “That’s it, ride me, bounce on my cock.”

This isn’t about you, and though it feels good riding him, your goal is helping him achieve his own high, and you’re determined to do so—your hands leave him to press your tits together, and you gasp in surprise when he sits up and shoves his face into them. Your pace doesn’t waver, and you look at him to see he’s keeping himself up with an arm braced on the bed behind him, the other hand grabbing a handful of your ass, and you know he’s not going to last much longer. 

Your fingers slide into the unruly curls at the back of his head, and you yank them hard to make him look at you, Marcus hissing while his cock twitches inside you. In this position, you’re taller, and he gazes up to meet your eyes. 

“I want you to come,” you pant, continuing to fuck yourself on him. “I want to feel you flood my cunt with your seed.” The noise he makes sounds like a whine. “Then I want you to do it again, and again after that—I want you to fill me to the point I’m brimming with you, and you’re in me for days.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut as he groans out a long, drawn-out Fuck

With his beautiful neck on display, you duck your head and lick up the taut skin of his throat, wishing you could suck a mark into it to remind him of you for a while after you part ways. His free hand roughly grabs your chin to pull you close enough for him to slot his lips against yours, and you have to slow to a grind as he messily kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. 

He breaks away to fall back onto the mattress, his fingers getting a tight grip on your ass, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you enough to start thrusting up into your soaked pussy rapidly—he’s grunting while baring his teeth to chase his high, and all you can do is press your palms to his chest for balance while keeping yourself raised enough for him to pound into you. 

The slick push and pull of him, moving in and out of you, has you chanting his name, and it sounds wet between your legs, hearing the clap of skin on skin of him plowing into you. Perspiration makes his tan flesh glint under the candle's light, his hair is a mess atop his head, and his expression is wild; it’s no surprise when his strokes get uneven and his eyes close. Marcus tugs your ass down to bury himself as far as possible in you as he gives in, coming with a guttural groan—you feel his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he paints your insides with spurts and spurts of his spend, wringing himself out until his body goes completely lax.

He pulls you forward to lie on top of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, and turns you both onto your sides. There’s a hiss that slips from his lips when he removes his softening length from your cunt, and you smile at Marcus sliding down the bed far enough for his face to nuzzle in your bosom while hugging you tight. Your fingers stroke through his sweat-damp curls, his hums of appreciation sounding like the purr of a cat. 

Minutes pass in silence as your breaths even out and your hearts slow. After some time, he says something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” you reply. 

His head lifts, and he kisses under your chin. “Stay,” he says again. 

“I have no intention of leaving. I’m here until you send me away.” 

“And if I don’t wish to send you away?” 

His lips trail along your jaw. 

Your eyebrows pull together. “As I said, I’m here until you request my leave.” 

“And if I never request your leave?” 

He’s kissing your neck now, the question making your eyes round. “You intend for me to be your mistress?” 

It’s not uncommon for a courtesan to become one’s mistress. Some of you are from families of wealth and do this line of work for the powerful connections, while others are freedwomen who’ve worked their way up to earn their notoriety—either case, courtesans are respected and thought to make great mistresses. 

“That is all I can offer since I have no plans to marry,” he answers. “You can stay here with or without me when I’m ordered away, and whatever is left of my salary and spoils of war after the household debts are paid, you may keep.”

He makes you frown. 

“Why me?”

Marcus gets his arm out from under you and scoots up the mattress to look you in the eyes. 

“You’re everything I desire in a woman with your beauty and intellect, and you can sate my needs in bed—you’re perfect, and I want you all to myself. I do not wish to share you with anyone else.”

It’s in this moment you realize you’re the one in control here—you don’t need him, you’re self-sufficient, and there are many who’d eagerly take his place, but your looks are rare in your profession, and he needs his deal to be enticing enough for you to take it. 

“What if I decline your offer?” 

“Then I pray you’ll allow me to keep your company until I receive my next orders.” 

He seems to be a good, honorable man who wants to please you, and he had you tempted to accept on the merit of his skills in bed alone—there’s just something that won’t leave your mind. 

“Before I make my decision, answer this question: if you believe me to be so perfect, why were the others here?” 

He presses his large palm to your cheek. “It was in your power to deny me your company, and though the other women weren’t of my tastes, they were better than nothing.” 

You see no flaws in his answer. 

“I accept your offer on one condition.”

“And that is?”

You no longer find him intimidating, and you’re now comfortable brushing errant hairs off his forehead and sliding your fingers through the curls above his ears. 

Your eyes lock onto his. “You return home to me,” you tell him. “You fight with the might of Mars, and you always return home to me.” 

That earns you a small smile, and he takes your hand into his, kissing the center of your palm. 

“I will, my Dove.” 

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