#and you could have it all my empire of dirt!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

absurdthirst · 3 months ago

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Love Across Lifetimes {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20.8k

Warnings: War, death, kidnapping, attempted escape, nudity, voyeurism, attempted assault, violence, hand jobs, oral sex (female receiving), loss of virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out game is strong, imprisonment, death by beheading, reincarnation, oral sex (male receiving), happily ever after

Comments: Sent to retrieve Caracalla's bride, General Marcus Acacius finds that you never agreed to marry the emperor. Falling in love with you on the journey back to Rome and discovering how dangerous that love could be.

A/N: Written before I saw the movie on Friday but just couldn't get it edited until now.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

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

“I am getting married.” Caracalla announces suddenly, surprising his generals as they crowd around the table that has the map of the empire laid out. “Congratulations, highness.” Marcus secretly feels sorry for whatever maiden has been coerced or picked to marry the spoiled ruler, but he nods respectfully. “We had not been aware that you had arranged a union.”

Caracalla grins. “That is why I need you, General Acacius.” He explains, pointing to a small kingdom on the edge of the Roman Empire. “My future empress is far enough away that I need you to fetch her.” He tells him. “Give her a proper escort to Rome.”

Marcus frowns slightly as he wonders what games the man is playing but it comes off as thoughtful instead of disrespectful. “Then I will gather my men and bring your bride to you.” He agrees, trying to imagine the spoiled, haughty girl that wants to be the empress of Rome.

****

You growl as your arrow misses the target. You’ve been training every day but you are still learning how to fight. Your father wants you to be prepared to defend your people when you become queen once he passes. Your instruction adjusts your arms, “you must concentrate. Your mind is not focused.” He murmurs and you narrow your eyes, focusing on your aim after you reload and you release, the arrow hitting its target. You grin, pleased with yourself, when you hear the horns. Soldiers come rushing towards you, “we must get you somewhere safe, Princess. The Romans are here.” Your eyes widen, “here? Why - why are the Romans here?” You ask, stumbling as they escort you inside and the battle begins outside to protect you and your kingdom from invasion.

****

Marcus wipes his brow, his skin covered in blood as he fights the men of this kingdom, knowing what his goal is, but they fight to protect their home. Why they fight when he was here to escort the princess to Rome, he doesn’t know but he had no time to ask when they attacked. He hears a battle cry and spins, swinging his sword to behead the man, his head rolling on the ground and Marcus’s chest heaves as the last of the men fall. He has won. Now, it’s time to meet the king and his daughter. The real reason he’s here.

“Do not cry, daughter.” Your father wraps his arms around your body to try to comfort you. He knows he will die, his army has been defeated by Rome and now the leader of that army will bring his head back to the emperor. “Show strength to our enemies so that they may know that we are not afraid.” The doors to the throne room are pushed open and a Roman soldier strides in, his walk confident yet weary. Covered in blood and dirt, he had not bothered to stop to clean up, eager to get this unpleasant task over with.

Marcus stands tall and watches you cling to your father. He says your name and your father frowns, “why do you want her? Surely my head is enough to satisfy the emperors.” Marcus frowns, “they informed me that she is to be empress to Caesar Caracalla. I thought this deal was arranged.”

Your father scoffs, “then why would my men fight?” He reasons and Marcus tilts his head, “I am following orders. She must come with me to Rome.”

Your eyes widen, “no. No. I will not. Father. Please.” You beg and he shakes his head, cupping your cheek, “be strong, daughter. Remember your training. Remember who we are.” He orders and nods to his men to grab you so he can step forward. “No! No!” You cry and your father kneels down before Marcus, “do what you must but know that I will curse the Roman Empire and her emperors.” He warns and Marcus swallows harshly, withdrawing his sword. “Make it quick.” Your father orders and you bury your face in the chest of the man holding you so you don’t see your father beheaded.

Marcus sighs as he lowers his sword. “I will not spill the blood of my future empress’s father.” He declares. The king is old and does not have too many years left, it is better to show you the mercy of Rome. Most of his soldiers are dead. “Your daughter will rule the world”, he tells the old man before he turns towards the man holding you. “Have her belongings packed and give them a few minutes to say their goodbyes.” He instructs, cursing Caracalla for what he has done. This is not a retrieval of a bride but a kidnapping.

You pull away from the men holding you, scrambling to kneel down next to your father and pull him close. You wrap your arms around him and he kisses your head, knowing he has no choice but to let you go. Your maids rush around to pack your things and soon, they are being loaded into the carriages that the Roman General brought to the palace. “You need to go.” Your father says and you shake your head, “no. No. What if - I do not know the emperor. He must be cruel. He must be, to have sent his army to destroy our people.” You choke, tears in your eyes.

“Men may think they rule the world but they do not. It is women who are smarter, emotionally stronger. They manipulate the men to do their bidding. Be like them. You may marry a man you do not love but you will be Empress of Rome. You will have power. Power is stronger than love.” Your father murmurs and wipes your tears away. “Be strong, daughter. Rule the world.” He orders and you nod, glancing over his shoulder to where the general waits for you.

“I love you.” You murmur to your father, knowing you’ll never see him again. “I love you too.” Your father nods, not letting you see how his heart is breaking. You try to step back but you don’t let go. Clinging to your father until the Romans step forward and grab you, dragging you away with a cry. You are carried onto a horse, the general swinging on behind you, and you sob as you are taken away from the only home you’ve ever known.

Marcus lets you cry, not bothering to offer you any platitudes or false words of comfort. He had just destroyed your home and stolen you away because his emperor wanted you. He’s sure Caracalla purposefully didn’t inform him that there had been no agreement, which angers him. Many good men had died for nothing. Marcus hands you a somewhat clean linen to blow your nose as he guides you farther and farther away from your home.

You don't say a word as you take the linen to blow your nose. You remain silent, refusing to give the General your voice as company while he begins the long journey back to Rome. Hours later, Marcus orders his men to set up camp when the sun starts to disappear beyond the horizon and he dismounts his stallion, holding his hands out to help you but you huff and kick his hands away, swinging your leg over to land on the ground with skills beyond a Roman woman. You have been raised around horses, taught to ride from a young age.

Marcus raises his brow at your stubbornness, secretly admiring it, but he knows that means you will cause trouble. He turns to his page and says, “have a bath prepared, I need to clean up, but allow our guest to bathe first.” He instructs. “She will be your future empress, so treat her with respect.”

You cross your arms and stubbornly stand there while his men work on setting up his tent and grabbing the tub that was carried on the cart at the back of the militia to prepare for you. You watch Marcus speak to his men, his body covered in the blood of your people and you clench your jaw. You don't wish to be empress to murderers, pillagers...monsters. You glance around, his men are busy and you see the horses are loosely tied up while they set up camp. You decide to take a chance. You run to the General's horse, swinging your leg over his back as you jump onto the horse, grabbing the reins to take off from the makeshift camp.

Marcus is talking to one of his men when he sees you jump onto the horse, his horse. “Shit!” The men start shouting and running towards you, spooking the other horses and causing chaos. He takes a second to admire your form, your ease in which you command the arrogant horse. Even if it’s no use. While his men scramble to stop you from escaping, Marcus plants his feet and sticks two fingers in his mouth. Emitting an ear piercing whistle that immediately makes his horse’s head rear up and change the direction he was running. Coming back to his general because he has been called.

You try to stop the horse, but he makes his way back to the general. You scramble off of him, jumping and falling into a heap. You hear footsteps towards you and you try to stand up, attempting to run but your arms are grabbed and you are pressed against the general. “Do not make another move, Princesa.” He growls, his knife pressed against your neck as his arm wraps around you and you hiss, sweat on your brow and you stop struggling, slumping in defeat.

Marcus hates how you look crumpled and broken, but he needs you to cooperate with him. Once you get to Rome, you can cause Caracalla all the headaches you wish, you will be his problem. Marcus just needs to deliver you to him safely. He softens slightly, pulling the knife away but he keeps his arm around you. “I don’t want to chain you up, but I will.” He threatens softly. “I would rather you make this easier on both of us.”

You nod, knowing you have no chance of trying to escape again if you are chained up. “Fine.” You murmur, inhaling deeply when he lowers his arms and his men gather around the horses, one of them taking the stallion back to the group. You are soon escorted into a tent, a bath full of hot water awaits you and you glance around at the soldier, “I will not strip with you standing there.” You declare with your chin raised up, “send a woman or leave me be.” You order and the soldier hesitates but steps out of the tent to speak to his superior.

Marcus sighs and dismisses his man before pulling the flap back and stalking into the tent. “There are no women here.” He tells you, making you snort. “I’ve seen the women.” You huff, crossing your arms and he frowns. “The camp whores.” He tells you bluntly. “Women who travel with the army to fuck my men. That is the kind of woman you wish to attend you?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. You’ve heard about the women of the night and their services but you know they are hungry for coin, for status, for power. He watches you shake your head, “then you will have to strip with a guardian. I cannot allow you to be alone since you’ll try and run again.” He says and you scoff, “you want me to display myself in front of your men? They will take what does not belong to them.” You spit and Marcus sighs, “then allow me to stand guard. I will turn my back.” He turns around to allow you modesty and you huff, unsure of when your next bath will be so you reach for the clip that holds your robes together, letting them drop to the floor, unaware that a mirror is in Marcus’s eye line.

He had meant to be true to his word, to allow you privacy, but the movement in the mirror had made him instantly tense. Anticipating an attack. Only to find your dress falling from your body and your beautiful tits on display to him. You are gorgeous, like one of the goddesses. He can see why Caracalla would send him to retrieve you for his own. He would want you, if he were in a position to have you. He clears his throat and looks away, only to be drawn back to the vision when you turn around to step into your bath.

You sigh as you sink into the water, not as hot as you like it but beggars can’t be choosers when you are facing your entire world being turned upside down. You see how tense the General is as you reach for the oils, bathing yourself with a soft hum. You want to show him you are unbothered by his presence.

Marcus keeps looking away and then finding his gaze coming back to the mirror. Watching as you slowly go through your bath. It’s incredibly sensual and his cock twitches under his tunic and armor. He has been a long time without a woman, and you are gorgeous with the fiery spirit Marcus likes.

You wash yourself, making sure you are clean for the arduous journey ahead and you stand up, reaching for the linen to wrap around yourself to dry off and Marcus is still turned away from you. You glance around, “I have nothing else to wear. I will need to redress.” You say and Marcus shakes his head, “there are tunics in the trunk. Mine but you’re welcome to one.” He says and you huff, walking over to open the trunk. You drop the linen to pull the tunic over your head.

It’s jarring to see you, to see any woman in his clothes, but Marcus grunts as he turns towards you. “Now I need to clean up.” He tells you, expecting you to demure and turn away so he can clean the dirt, sweat and blood off his skin and change into clean clothes.

You sit down on the chair that faces the bath and you stare at him, challenging him to strip off in front of you. You won’t shy away and give him the advantage even if he gave you the same courtesy. You want to irk him. Get inside his head. That’s your ticket to escape.

He watches you with a frown for a moment, but you just arch your brow and he snorts. Reaching for the thick leather ties of his chest plate to start stripping off the protective gear.

You watch the general that has stolen you from your home strip off. He’s strong, that’s evident in his form, but with each piece he removes, you see how war hardened he truly is. The deadly strength in his form has you shifting in your chair and when he pulls his tunic over his head, your throat goes dry at his exposed figure. His cock flaccid and you hate how your stomach twists at the sight of him.

He’s grateful that he’s got enough self control that his cock isn’t hard. You act like his body doesn’t affect you and he pretends like it’s nothing to be naked in front of you. “There are guards outside the tent.” He warns as he grabs his own linen and strides over to the bath, eager to clean up.

You roll your eyes at his warning and watch as he gets into the water, blood immediately turning the water red. You swallow at that. The blood of your men swirling in the water. “Is the Roman army always so brutal?” You ask, watching him wash the blood from his skin with the cloth that he grabbed.

“Your men attacked us.” Marcus reminds you. “We believed that we were simply fetching the emperor’s intended bride.” He sighs softly. “When they attacked us, we had no choice but to fight back, believing we were being drawn into a trap.” In truth, he regrets the bloodshed, and would have avoided it if he had known you were unaware of the emperor’s claim on your hand. “I don’t like killing needlessly.”

You swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes at the deception. Either by him right now or by the emperor you are intended to marry. “I never agreed to marry your emperor. I have never met him. What is he like? Is he cruel?” You ask, knowing some leaders can be too obsessed with themselves to do what’s right for their people.

“Sometimes.” Marcus tells you honestly. “He - has whims that drive him.” He knows that you could tell Caracalla and he would be angry at his general, but he also needs him to win the wars and claim the territories that he craves. “He will not like you running from him, he is used to being publicly adored.” He snorts, knowing how most really feel about the ruler.

You scoff and roll your eyes, “he sounds like a true Caesar. Self absorbed and focused on his own whims instead of helping the Romans achieve greatness. There’s no greatness in the vastness of the empire, there’s greatness within their people but from stories I have heard, they are starving. Taxed to their eyeballs and looking for salvation from anyone but their emperors.”

Marcus doesn’t confirm your comments, although they are true. “Then perhaps you as her empress can bring comfort to the people.” He tells you, continuing to wash. The water is murky now, but he feels better. He just needs to wash his back and his hair.

Your lip curls at the thought of marrying the emperor. You’ve heard rumors about him and his twin brother. How they make rash decisions based on emotions. “Perhaps I shall arrive and the emperor doesn’t deem me beautiful enough for his hand. Or maybe I will be too dumb. Or untameable. These are all things he should consider when picking a wife, no?” You tilt your head and look at the general’s back.

“You would think.” Marcus mumbles under his breath. “The emperor is very certain in his choices once he has made them.” Until he decides against them. He doesn’t tell you that, knowing it would be unfair to give you false hope. Caracalla wants you, so he will have you.

You huff, “I don’t know why he picked me. My lands are not conquered. My father will delegate someone to inherit the kingdom. I have nothing to offer.” You confess and Marcus grunts as he tries to clean his back. “

“I cannot claim to know what the emperor chose you.” He huffs, knowing he should have called his page into help. His muscles are sore from the fighting and he is not as limber as he might have been. He needs help to wash his back.

You see his struggle, your eyes glancing down to the knife that lays on the floor by the tub, clearly left there for him to use if needed. You see your chance. “I can assist you, General.” You say and stand up, kneeling next to the tub. He eyes you cautiously but hands the cloth to you. You grab the knife with your other hand and lean closer, starting to wash his back with the cloth. You see him relax slightly and decide to strike, dropping the cloth and bringing the knife up at the same moment.

Marcus reacts quickly, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. “You want to kill me?” He growls, scowling at you. “Do it when you’re the empress.” He tells you. “Until then, remember that I hold your life in my hands.”

You drop the knife and he catches it with his free hand, placing it on the other side of the tub. “You’d never escape without my men delivering you to the emperor. They are on orders to take you there even if I’m dead. You’ll be delivered to the emperor. Dead or alive.” He warns even though he knows it would be his head if you are delivered dead but he won’t be looking over his shoulder the entire journey home. “Fine.” You hiss, “you’re a bastard.” You growl and he chuckles, “nothing I haven’t heard before. Now, you were washing my back?” He reminds you, handing you the cloth. You roll your eyes and continue washing his back, knowing you’ll need to make a new plan.

He can hear you fume and plot needlessly as you roughly swipe the linen over his skin. “It will take us several weeks to get back to Rome.” He reminds you. “I would rather this be a pleasant trip.”

His tone makes you clench your jaw but you know you can’t run yet. You decide to focus on your survival and you know the General is key to that. You clean his back, your eyes trailing down his chest to take note of the scars and blemishes on his skin. “You have been fighting a long time.” You observe, “you must be weary.”

Marcus hums, knowing that he is weary of war and watching men die. One day he will fall on the field of battle and his fight will be over. “It is a heavy burden to watch men die.” He tells you. “Or be the cause of their death.”

You nod, seeing the haunted look in his eyes, and you are taken back by it. You had heard about the General, whispers from men who returned from far away lands that the General was lethal but right now you see a man who is tired of war and tired of death. “I can only imagine the things you have seen.” You hand the cloth back to him now that his back is clean and you reach for the oils, deciding to help him wash his hair. Perhaps you can win him over with kindness.

“My hope is that because I have seen them, my children will not have to.” He murmurs, even though he has no children. He sighs and shakes his head. “It does not matter. Wars will always be fought.”

You pour the oils into your palms, rubbing them together and you slide your fingers through his strands, your fingertips turning red as you wash his hair. “War will always be a man’s game. If women ruled the world, there would be no war. Simply silence.”

“Women are smarter than men.” Marcus’ eyes slide closed as he leans back. “I have always thought so. You might not have the strength that I do, but you think differently.” He chuckles.

You smirk, picking up the jug to rinse his hair, “women have their power between their legs. Men’s weakness is between their legs.” You say and Marcus snorts, closing his eyes as you slide your fingers through his hair.

“My father - he’s a good man. I- I want to thank you for sparing his life.” You murmur, admiring the general up close. He has lines on his face but he’s handsome. “Do you have a wife? Children? Back in Rome?”

“No.” Marcus’s brow pinches together for a moment. “My wife died in childbirth many years ago.” He hasn’t talked about Marcella in a long time, but he feels like he owes you a little bit of himself after all he’s taken from you.

Your stomach drops and you find yourself feeling sorry for him. “I’m sorry. No words can ever take away the pain I imagine you must feel.” You whisper, finding a vulnerable part of the war hardened General.

“They are running through the Elysian Fields, waiting for me.” He murmurs. “Or with the gods.” He sighs. “Or just gone. I don’t know. But it was a long time ago.”

“I am certain they are at peace, waiting for you. You shall die in bed knowing they are there waiting.” You say and he shakes his head, “I shall die on the battlefield. Killed by a man my junior. I have accepted my fate.” He murmurs and you sigh, “and I will not accept mine.” You withdraw your hands from his hair and grab the linens for him to dry off. “I am tired and hungry. I wish for your men to bring me a tray.”

He cracks an eye open and watches you. “I cannot have you telling Caracalla that you were starved on the journey to Rome.” He snorts before he grips the sides of the tub and heaves himself up with a groan. Water sluices down his body and he steps out of the tub onto the carpets lining the floor of his tent. Taking the linen with a nod of thanks, he quickly dries himself off and wraps the cloth around his waist to move to the tent flap and opens it. “Bring food and wine.” He orders one of the guards. “Enough for me and our guest.”

Your eyes follow his form, the muscles in his back moving in a way that has your throat dry. You need wine. That’s all. Yet why did you find yourself wanting to strip the linen from his waist and see more of him? “Thank you.” You murmur, certain that his men are whispering. “You will need to be careful. I’m sure you do not want your men spreading rumors that you are nude and in a tent with the future empress. The emperor will not take kindly to not having a pure bride.”

He lifts a brow, amused and confused by your worry of his own safety. “I thank you for your concern.” He nods as he moves over to the trunk you had pulled a tunic out of to get his own. “Although I doubt Caracalla will believe that I seduced you.”

You raise your eyebrows, “and why is that? You are too loyal to your emperor to imagine you committing such treason? Or am I not pretty enough for the revered General Marcus Acacius?” You scoff, wondering why he is so loyal to his Caesar when it’s clear he is weary.

He snorts and shakes his head. “You misunderstand.” He tells you. “I am old, scarred.” He gestures to his body. “Not young or handsome, rich or powerful.” He doesn’t bring up his rank, because you don’t seem like a woman who would care about a generator. “Caracalla would believe that I was too unappealing to seduce someone of your beauty.”

His answer makes your stomach lurch and you stand up, walking over to him. He puffs out his chest, prepared for your attack, but instead, you slide your hand down his covered chest. “You are not old. You are experienced. You have wisdom. And you are handsome. Weathered but I guarantee you any woman would eagerly slide into your bed. Do not discount yourself, general. You are appealing. You could seduce if you wanted to.” You pull your hand away, “Caracalla sounds like a fool if he believes otherwise.”

Marcus knows you are trying a new tactic and he frowns slightly. Your words make his body tighten in need but he doesn’t reach for you. “Perhaps I appeal to some.” He concedes, stepping away from you and reminding himself that you are trying to escape. “I am not worried about who would want me in their bed.”

You frown when he steps back. You may have been trying to form an escape plan but you genuinely mean your words. You sigh and make your way over to the chair just as his men bring in food and wine. You are starving and you should wait to see if Marcus eats first but you highly doubt he’d poison you when his job is to deliver you to the emperor.

He thanks his men and pours two large cups of wine before handing you one. “Drink.” He murmurs softly. “It has been a long day for you and you will make yourself sick if you do not drink and eat.” The sadness that had made your heart hurt has now been replaced with a fiery glow and he has to admire it, even if he needs to squash it. The men carry out the tub silently and he sits down on the bed since there is not another chair. He will have to have one brought, but for now, he will give it to you.

You know you can’t starve yourself in protest, you’ll need your strength if you want to attempt an escape again. You pick up the cup, taking a sip and you have to admit the Romans know their wine. You look at the meat and cheese on offer, taking some in your free hand and you chew on it, watching Marcus as he sits on the bed. “Will I have to share the tent with you?” You ask and he snorts, “I cannot have you running off again.” You nod, strangely feeling safer being in his tent. You know his men would likely take advantage of you on your own. Men at war are monsters, and you feel better knowing the General whose head depends on delivering you safe to his Emperor, is the one sharing your tent.

Marcus relaxes as you start to eat. His body is weary and he is tired, but he still watches you to make sure you don’t try to run. “Did you have a man you were to marry?” He asks. “In your land? Is that why you would not want to be empress?”

Your eyes flick up to meet his and you stare at him for a moment. You shake your head, “no. I did not. Many asked for my hand but I wanted to learn as much about my kingdom as possible from my father, to be the best Queen I could be for them. I was focused on training and politics. Not men.” You confess, “the only man I spent time with was my stallion.” You tease, placing a grape into your mouth.

“A wise choice.” He chuckles and takes a sip of his wine. “Horses are far better than people.” He sighs softly. “For what it's worth, I am sorry that your life has been disrupted and changed.” He murmurs.

It’s clear he genuinely feels that way and you nod, “thank you. I appreciate you being so honorable. A rare trait nowadays.” You sigh and he nods in agreement. You continue eating in silence until it’s time to sleep. “Will I be sleeping on the floor?” You ask, seeing one bed and nothing else for you to lay down on.

Marcus shakes his head. “You will sleep on the bed, with me.” You huff and he lifts a brow. “I will not touch you, except to make sure you do not try to escape.” He tells you. “Would you rather be tied to the bed so I can sleep?”

“I didn’t know you were that way inclined, General.” You tease, knowing that having an attitude won’t get you anywhere. You sigh and make your way over to the bed. “If we are to be sharing a bed for weeks, I pray you do not snore.” You slide under the sheets and turn on your side, not wanting to watch him as he settles in.

Marcus sets his cup down and kneels in front of a small altar he has set up for the gods. Lighting the incense to burn through the night for the souls that had been lost today in battle. He closes his eyes and murmurs a prayer. “Keep my men safe, allow them to return to their wives and mothers.” He says, like he does every night. “If my life must be the sacrifice for that, let it be done with honor.”

You listen to his prayer and you frown, maybe he isn’t a monster. He is praying for his men to return home safely even if it means his death. It takes you back and you turn to look at him as he stands up from his kneeling position. “You are different from most men, General.” You murmur.

“I will take comfort in your words when you are cursing me for completing my task.” He frowns slightly. “The gods have forced us together and I can only hope that there is a reason for it.” He sees you shiver and frowns, “do you need another fur?” He asks, thinking you might be cold since the temperature is dropping now the sun has gone down. He runs hot so he doesn’t sleep with many blankets no matter how cold it gets.

You nod, shivering under the sheets and he grabs another fur from the trunk, placing it over you, and you watch as he slides under the sheets beside you. “Goodnight, princesa.” He murmurs and turns his back to you after blowing out the candle next to the bed. You watch him as he relaxes and you close your eyes, sleep finally taking you after a traumatic day.

Marcus stays awake for a long time, listening as your breathing evens out and he sighs. “Damn you, Caracalla.” He curses softly, knowing that he would have never fought your people if he had known you were never in agreement to marry the emperor. Guilt swirls in his stomach and he wonders what the other man will do with you once he has his prize.

You awake with a start, confused by your location until you realize where you are and what happened. You blink and your lower lip trembles but you refuse to cry. You wake up a little more and realize you have shifted in your sleep and you are curled into the chest of the General, his arm under your head, and you gasp at the way you somehow curled around each other during your slumber.

Marcus is awake, he has been for hours but he refused to move when you were nestled up against him and sleeping peacefully. “Sleep deep, princesa?” He asks, his voice rough with disuse.

You immediately shift away from him, sitting up, and you’re flustered. You had liked how it felt in his arms and that scares you. “I- I’m sorry.” You choke out, shifting away from him.

“Do not apologize.” He murmurs, missing the feel of your body against his. “It is natural to seek out comfort when you are vulnerable.” He sighs. “Even if you would not when you are awake.” He groans as he shifts to sit up. “Come, I will have water brought for you to clean up and give you a moment of privacy for you to use the pot.” He motions over to a screen that he had ordered set up for your comfort when nature calls.

He’s considerate and that takes you back. “Thank you.” You murmur and he nods, shifting to stand up with a groan. You watch him leave the tent after putting on his sandals to get his men to bring water and you use the pot during his absence. His men bring water and you clean off behind the screen and Marcus returns with food and drink. It takes a while for his men to pack up camp but Marcus looks at you when you stand by his stallion. “I’d offer you a hand up but I know you are more than capable.” He says and you chuckle, reaching for the saddle to swing yourself up onto his stallion, wearing a new tunic from his trunk.

Marcus tries not to stare at your legs, his tunics much shorter than the dresses you have undoubtedly packed away in your things. Instead of saying something, he takes his cloak off and drapes it over your legs for warmth and privacy. “My men are not used to seeing such a beautiful woman.” He explains so you do not take offense before he pulls himself up behind you and takes the reins.

You scoff, “no need for flattery, General, I am willingly on your horse. I am not running away.” You lean back against him a little as he flicks the reins to move the stallion forward.

“No flattery, but the truth.” He hums in your ear. “The whore’s fuck them. But you are beautiful, untouched. Legs on display, you will have my men fighting to touch you and then I will have to kill them.”

“To preserve my innocence for the emperor.” You murmur, turning your head and your face is so close to his. Your eyes focused on him as he blindly controls the horse. “Yes.” He rasps and you hum, “you serve your emperor well, General. Many never see loyalty as strong as that in their lifetime. I wonder what would cause you to break that loyalty, make you throw your morality to the wind.”

He doesn’t answer, knowing that you don’t expect a reply. The army moves slowly and there are times that Marcus stops with you to let you attend to your needs before catching back up with the other officers. Many horses come up to him while you ride, asking questions or informing him of different things, but Marcus handles all of them with ease and grace, aware that the road is weary for everyone.

The sun beating down on you has you weary and you find yourself leaning back against the general, closing your eyes, and his arm wraps around you to keep you in place when you fall asleep. He’s spoken to you about Rome, answered your questions, and you have told him about your people, your lands, in between riders offering him questions or information.

Marcus looks down at you and sighs. He should slow the travel down. You are exhausted and he knows Caracalla will be less than pleased if you arrive worn out. He motions for his men to approach and speaks quietly. “We will make camp early every night.” He decides. “It will take longer to get home but the men will be better rested.” He isn’t doing it for the men, but for you. Perhaps by that time, you will have accepted your fate as empress. “Have the scouts find a place to rest for the night.”

Marcus shakes you awake gently when the horse has stopped moving. You gasp, reality hitting you once again, and you fluster, realizing that you fell asleep on him yet again. “I seem to be creating a habit. I’m sorry. You are welcome to wake me any time.” You say and he tuts, “you need your rest, princesa.” You don’t argue and you see the men starting to prepare camp. “I wish to have another bath.” You say and Marcus nods, swinging his leg over the horse and he holds his arms out for you to help you down. This time you allow it, his large hands gripping your waist as you are helped down from the horse and your chest is pressed against his, your head slightly tilted towards his face. “Thank you, General.” You murmur, patting his chest plate and stepping back, hating how your heart pounds at his proximity.

His dark eyes watch you. “You are welcome.” He nods and hands the reins of his horse off to one of the men. “Would you like for one of your trunks to be brought to my tent, or would you like to keep wearing my clothes?” He smirks slightly as he asks, secretly enjoying the way you look in his tunics.

You smirk, “I suppose I should wear my own clothes so you can have your cloak back during the rides.” You tap his chest plate, “I also would like to wear something that reminds me of home.” You murmur and he nods, calling over one of his men to retrieve your trunks. It doesn’t take long for the men to step up camp and you enter Marcus’s tent, grateful to be out of the sun, and you walk over to your trunk to open it, gathering the oils you wish to use for bathing.

The tub is brought into the tent by three men and set in the middle of the space. “We will bring hot water as quickly as it boils.” A young boy of fifteen informs you with a small blush. “The general ordered the water to be hotter than it was yesterday.”

“Thank you.” You tell the boy, knowing his mother must be worried sick about him wherever she is. You know Marcus is speaking to his men and won’t return until you are done with your bath. Two men return with pails full of steaming hot water and you thank them, watching them leave after they fill the tub. You’re just about to remove your tunic when the tent flap opens and one of the men return. “Did you forget something?” You ask and he chuckles darkly, “I wanted to see what the fuss is all about. Why did we lose men to retrieve you as our future empress? You must have a cunt made of gold.” He says and you try to open your mouth but he covers it with his palm, his other hand grabbing your waist to drag you against him. Your training kicks in and you bite down on his hand while elbowing him in the side, making him choke, and you rush out the tent, screaming for Marcus.

Marcus is talking with his men when he hears a scream of his name and instantly knows it’s you. His eyes dart towards the tent even as he draws his sword, lurching forward to race towards you as he sees your figure darting from between the tent and the men, looking behind you with an expression of pure terror. He sees one of his men chasing after you and he would have believed that you were trying to escape again if it weren’t for that scream and that you are racing towards him. When he reaches you, he throws his arm around your waist and drags you behind him roaring the name of the soldier as he plants his feet as a barrier between you and the other man. “What the fuck is going on?”

You cling to him, feeling safe with him in front of you. “He - he grabbed me in the tent. Came back alone and I tried to scream but he covered my mouth. He was - he said he wanted to know why I was chosen as empress. Said he wanted to know if I had a cunt made of gold.” The soldier scoffs, “she’s lying. She tried to escape. Bit my hand when I tried to stop her and she’s a lying cunt.”

“If she was trying to escape, she would not have screamed my name or run towards me.” Marcus growls, furious that one of his men would try to harm you. He points his sword at the man. “Tell the truth now or your death will be slow and painful.” He warns.

The soldier scoffs and rocks on his feet, his eyes narrowed towards you. “As if any man here would deny wanting to feel a virgin cunt around their cock? And the future empress? Fuck the Emperor and his ridiculous wars. We lost men retrieving this bitch. I wanted to see if she was worth the sacrifice.” He confesses, looking around to see if any of the others would back him up.

Marcus waits, giving the men time to speak up and voice their opinions but everyone is quiet. Feet shuffle and leathers creak as they stand and wait for their general’s wrath. He rocks his jaw. “I have lost men for a cause I would never have agreed with.” He admits. “But that is not her fault. And I have never condoned rape.”

The soldier scoffs, “men have taken what isn’t theirs throughout history. We need to remember that. Perhaps the General wants to save her for himself? That’s why he is kept in his tent.” The soldier digs a deeper hole and you step around Marcus. “I never asked to be taken from my home, from my people. I am sorry you lost men, so did I. I never asked for this and I certainly never asked to be taken against my will.” You stand tall, not letting the men see you are afraid.

Marcus lets you speak, knowing that it is your right. “You dared to try to defile the future empress of Rome.” He reminds the man. “Dishonoring your house, your name.” He reaches out and pulls you behind him again and steps forward. “The gods will judge you.” He declares, his sword coming up with a quick swing of his arms and he beheads your attacker without any hesitation. The headless body stands for a moment before collapsing onto the ground as his head rolls away. “Any man who seeks to take what is not his will be given the same.” His voice lifts and his words are stern. He looks back at the body and spits on it before dropping his sword.

You don’t flinch at the sight of the beheaded man. You’ve witnessed worse as the Princess of your kingdom. You never shied away from the horrors of war, knowing that you needed to experience it to lead your men. Marcus grabs your arm but you’re not scared of him as he escorts you to his tent. He releases your arm as soon as the flap to the tent closes and you turn to face him. “I’m sorry.” You spit out, worried that he’s angry with you.

“Did you try to seduce him?” Marcus demands and you hiss in anger. “No! I did not try to seduce him!” You look angry, but he can tell you are being truthful. “Then you have no reason to be sorry, princesa.” He responds quietly. “He made his decision to act like he did and it cost him his life. You did not cause it.”

You nod, knowing he's being reasonable, and you sigh, glancing at the bath. "I would like to bathe now." You say and Marcus has the man's blood splattered on his face. "You need to as well." You observe and he nods, "I will leave you." He says and you reach for his hand, "no. Can you - can you stay? I don't want to be alone." You plead softly and he nods, looking down at your hand. He turns his back to give you your privacy and you undress, sinking into the water.

Rage arms in his veins and he doesn’t dare to look into the mirror right now. Afraid of his own reaction. He hasn’t killed the man because he had attacked the future empress, he had killed him because he had dared to touch you. The possessiveness that is silent in his system is not good and he clenches his fists as he takes several deep breaths to calm himself down.

You slide your oils along your skin and it hits you. A sob escapes your lips as the reality of the past few days hits hard. You have been taken from your home, nearly watched your father be killed, nearly assaulted, and you are to marry a man you've never met. Your emotions run high and you sob, tears dropping into the water.

Marcus hears your muffled sobs and they rip at his heart. “You’re safe, princesa.” He says roughly, thinking you are overwhelmed from your attack. “No one will harm you while I live.”

His words wrap around you and you feel safe with the man tasked to take you. You are conflicted and your sobs calm, inhaling deeply as you wash your face, "thank you, Marcus." You murmur, watching his back as he stands guard.

“And I am sorry.” He confesses softly, feeling more like himself now. He doesn’t turn around and watches the tent flap for any movement outside. His back is tense as he stays turned away from you and you wash quickly, standing up, and you wrap the linen around your form. “You can look now.” You say, certain that he wants to wash off the blood of the dead soldier. “I have oils you can use.”

“Thank you.” He nods his head and starts to strip, not realizing his body is still hard. His cock jutting up in frustration and arousal. He knows you are not looking, so he doesn’t bother to turn away as he strips down.

You turn towards the tub at the same time he’s stripped and stepping in. His cock hard and your eyes widen. You have never seen a man naked like that before and it has your face heating up. “I have - the oils.” You choke, holding them out to him as he sinks into the water.

He sees how wide your eyes are and looks down. “Forgive me, princesa.” He murmurs, reaching out slowly to take the oils. “It sometimes happens on its own.” He confesses. “You don’t need to worry that I will act like the man I just killed.”

You shake your head, “no. No. I know. I just - I’ve never seen - you are beautiful.” You murmur, knowing he wouldn’t hurt you. Whether that’s for the emperor’s sake or yours, you don’t know, but you know he hasn’t harmed you.

His eyes watch you, surprised that you are saying such things to him. At least you don’t fear him. “I am just a man.” He tells you. “Thank you.”

You shake your head, “you’re a good man. You could’ve treated me badly, let your men touch him, maybe even taken me for yourself, but you didn’t. You’re a good man, Marcus.” You murmur, shifting to kneel by the tub.

He shakes his head. “Don’t praise me too quickly, princesa.” He growls softly. “You don’t know what I have thought, imagined.” His fingers curl around the edge of the tub and he looks back at you after looking away.

You frown, tilting your head in curiosity, “tell me what you’ve thought, imagined. Perhaps it will tarnish my opinion of you but I need to know.” You say, knowing you cannot hide from the truth. It’s better to face reality when you are on a journey to marry a man you do not know.

“Touching you.” Marcus confesses. “Taking you, for my own, seizing your innocence and showing you what it is like to have a man between your thighs.” He swallows harshly. “Not to have you as a prize but to experience your fiery passions and see what you could be.”

His words immediately make your stomach twist, your cunt clenching around nothing in a feeling not entirely foreign to you. You shuffle closer, placing your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “I had a dream earlier. When I was riding on your horse. The rhythm of the horse and you pressed against me…I imagined you inside me, taking me without anyone knowing.” You confess and slide your hand lower, your eyes watching him for any protest as your hand trails until you are wrapping your fingers around his cock. He chokes, “you don’t-” You shush him, “let me touch you, General. Show me what to do.”

He should push your hand away, refuse you, but he feels frozen in place. His cock twitches in your hand, making the water ripple slightly and you gasp while tightening your grip on him. His hand slowly uncurls from the edge of tub and he covers your hand with his much larger one and he groans softly when he starts to slowly guide you in how to stroke him.

You are fascinated by the look on his face. He looks wrecked already and you love that you are making him feel this way. You squeeze him when his hand tightens around yours, setting the pace he wants.

“You don’t-“ Marcus closes his eyes and pants slightly. “It’s- just like that.” He tells you, knowing that you will do what you like and he’s too worked up to deny you.

You don’t listen to his protest because you want to do this. “You should know by now that I never do anything I don’t want to do, General.” You smirk and continue pumping his cock.

He knows that, he knows it very well. He lets go of your hand and lets you control his pleasure as you stroke. “Admire that.” He grunts.

You feel empowered by the way he groans, withering under your touch. This powerful general is moaning your name and you control his pleasure. It’s intoxicating and makes you wet as you control this part of your destiny. “I know. You are unlike any man I’ve ever known. So strong. So powerful. Yet you don’t abuse your position. I admire that.”

He groans softly. “Real power doesn’t require abuse.” He had learned that from Marcus Aurelias and Maximus when he was younger and he had never forgotten it.

You continue pumping him, moving your hand a little faster and his hand falls away to grip the side of the tub, his neck elongated when he throws his head back. You can’t help but lean in to kiss the skin there.

The groan he gives you is almost pained, pleasurable in the most gut wrenching way. He says your name again, trying not to rock his hips up as you touch him. “That’s it, princesa.” He praises.

You kiss his neck, loving how you can feel his pulse beneath your lips while you squeeze his cock, instinctively twisting your wrist as you pump his cock. You want him to fall apart for you.

Marcus gasps out your name softly and he feels his body tense. Knowing that he is about to cum, he locks eyes with you.

You look at him, loving the way his lip curls slightly and you pump his cock. feeling it pulse in your grip and finally, he lets out a low groan of your name. Spurts of cum hit the back of your hand and his stomach and you watch him in fascination and arousal.

He rides out his orgasm with a groan and reaches down and stops your hand. “Princesa- you have to stop.” He tells you, wondering what you thought of the first time you touched a man.

His plea makes you chuckle and you loosen your grip on his cock, letting it soften against his belly, and you reach for the cloth to wash his skin. “You look so beautiful when you fall apart.” You murmur, caressing his cheek with your other hand.

“I should not have let you touch me.” He murmurs softly. “But there is something about you that makes me reckless.”The emperor would have him killed if he ever found out, but Marcus can’t find it in himself to care right now. “Did you enjoy making me weak?”

You lower your hand and dry your other hand off on the linen, still kneeling by the tub. “I did.” You smirk at the relaxed look on his face, “here are the oils.” You hand him one, “I’m sure you want to clean up after an arduous day.” You say and you offer him a shy smile now that the lust has passed from his eyes.

Marcus frowns for a moment before he takes the oils from your hand. “Thank you.” He should touch you, to give you the same pleasure, but you don’t seem to be wanting it. “I try to be clean when I sleep.” He tells you. “I rest better.”

You nod, shifting to stand up and you grab a tunic from his trunk, letting the linen drop from your body to pull his tunic over your head, letting him see your bare back and ass. You feel his eyes on you and that makes you smirk as you turn to face him while he washes off with the oils you gave him.

He feels like it’s deliberate, you wearing his tunic again. “You like my clothes.” He notices how you show off slightly, twisting as flaunting the shorter hem with a smirk on your face. “And you wonder why I view you as mine.” He snorts.

“They are more comfortable than my clothes.” You confess, brushing down the hem, “and I like that they are yours.” You add, making your way over to his bed to sit down, watching him rinse off and he shifts to stand up, water dripping from his form and you unashamedly drag your eyes down his body. “It makes me think that I’m yours.”

He stares at you for a moment. “I could give you pleasure.” He offers, wanting to touch you. “You would stay pure and still know what it’s like to have a man touch you.” It’s a risky offer, but he wants to have some claim over you right now.

His offer makes your body warm and you arch as he reaches for linen to dry himself off after he steps out the tub. He steps towards you once the linen is wrapped around his waist and you shift to kneel on the bed, reaching for the hem of his tunic to remove it. You pull it over your head and toss it to the floor, “touch me, Marcus. I want to know what it’s like.” You order, knowing you should hate the man who kidnapped you from your home but you want him, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

His gaze is focused, intense as he admires your body. “You are beautiful.” He growls, eyes roaming from your tits to your thighs, drinking in the sight of the curls that cover your cunt. “Lay back and spread your legs.” He orders. “Close your eyes to start.”

You follow his order, laying down on the pillows of his bed. Your heart is pounding and your stomach twists with anticipation when you spread your legs, allowing him to see your wet folds. “Close your eyes.” He reminds you and you close them, shivering in anticipation.

Marcus comes over to the bed and slides his hand up your thigh and holds your waist while he leans in and presses his lips to yours gently. Kissing you softly for your first kiss and capturing your gasp and sliding his tongue into your mouth when you open up slightly.

You reach up to cup his cheek, unsure of what to do. You’ve never kissed anyone before and you find yourself too eager, knocking your nose against his. He chuckles against your lips and tilts his head, sliding his tongue back into your mouth and you moan, keeping your eyes closed.

You yield to him, giving him a sense of conquest because he knows you would not just give in to anyone. His hand slides up and cups your breast as he breaks off the kiss to move his lips down your body. “Princesa, I will make you moan in pleasure and shake apart on this bed.” He promises right before he wraps his lips around your other nipple as he squeezes your tit in his hand.

You gasp, tangling your fingers in his damp hair while he bites and sucks on your nipple. “Oh gods.” You moan, your cunt clenching around nothing and you love these sensations. It’s more than you’ve ever felt. He releases your nipple with a pop and switches to the other one, making you whimper, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him between your thighs.

Marcus kneels between your spread thighs. Kissing and flicking his tongue against your sensitive nipples and switching back and forth between them. Until your legs are pressing against his hips and your whimpers have become loud. He can smell the arousal from how wet you are becoming and he bites down on your hard nipple before pulling off of it and kissing down your stomach. “Your cunt aches, doesn’t it?” He asks, wedging his shoulders between your thighs and hooking your legs over them. “Throbs?”

You nod, lost in the haze of the pleasure he’s already given you. You open your eyes to look down at him, his dark eyes fixed on your cunt and you whimper again. “It does. I- I need - I don’t know. Your fingers. Anything.” You beg a little, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Nothing but my tongue inside you.” He promises, knowing he can’t risk your innocence that way. He knows he can make you cum on his tongue. “Now you can watch.” He smirks. “Watch as I service you, show you what it feels like to have your cunt eaten.”

You watch him kiss your thigh, his breath washing hot over your cunt and you can’t stop the whine that escapes your lips. “Please, Marcus.” He chuckles and grips your thigh, keeping you spread open as he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds. The sound that escapes you is almost inhuman. You’ve never felt the wet, hot glide of a tongue there and it makes you cry out.

Your scent is almost as intoxicating as your taste. Marcus groans heavily as he takes another taste with a swipe of his tongue. Settling in to bury his face in your cunt and devour you completely. It has been a long time since he has tasted a woman and you make him ravenous.

His tongue carves a path no one else has taken and your back arches as the pleasure clouds your mind. You love it. You moan his name and tangle your fingers in his hair, letting him decide how he’s going to ruin you with his tongue.

Marcus focuses on your sounds. Sliding his tongue and flicking it to pull the prettiest sounds from you and repeating the actions when you obviously enjoy it. He loves how you are giving yourself into his care and letting him show you these pleasures. Claiming a piece of you that you could never give someone else because it is his.

Your hips rock up unconsciously trying to chase his tongue but he throws his arm over your waist, keeping you still so he can push his tongue into your dripping cunt. “Oh fuck.” You curse, “Marcus. That - it feels so good.” You almost choke on your words, overwhelmed by the feelings.

He hums against your folds, his nose pressed against your clit as he works his tongue deeper inside you. Feeling the way your walls try to clench down around him and he knows you would feel exquisite around his cock, but he can’t take your innocence.

He works you higher and higher with each swipe of his tongue. His broad shoulders stretch you wide for him to have access to all of you and he sucks on your clit, making you cry out loud enough that you’re certain his men hear you.

Marcus pulls his head away and smirks at you. “Not so loud, princesa.” He coos teasingly. “The men already think I am keeping you for myself.” He dives back into your folds after you slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

You love how he’s claiming you like this. You want the men to know you are being kept by him but you understand how that’s dangerous for you both. You feel your stomach twist with a foreign feeling, clenching and your thighs tighten as the feeling spreads until you are moaning into your hand as you fall apart for him.

Marcus continues to suck on your clit, watching you with a possessive gaze and feeling his cock harden again. He can’t take you, but he wants you to enjoy every second of pleasure that courses through your veins. Pulling away when you are whimpering, before it turns to pain, he kisses your clit once more. His mouth is soaked with your juices and he licks his lips. “Beautiful, princesa.”

You whimper, overly sensitive to his touch and you run your fingers through his hair, loving how he looks ravenous still. “I wish you could fully claim me.” You confess breathlessly, “fill me up.”

“I cannot.” He comes up and presses his lips to your softly. “Not because I do not want to.” He promises. “I would not put you in that kind of danger.”

You sigh, nodding in understanding that the emperor would want a pure woman for empress otherwise you’ll likely be killed. You caress his cheek and swing your leg over his, feeling his hardening cock against your thigh. “Do you want me to-?” You ask but he shakes his head, reaching for your wandering hand to bring it to his chest. “No. Let’s rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead when you curl into his chest. “Goodnight Marcus.” You whisper and he hums, “goodnight, princesa.”

****

Everyday, he pleasures you with his mouth, spending more and more time with you wrapped around him as you muffle your cries. Sometimes even risking touching your clit while you are riding to the next encampment. He talks with you outside the bed, having thoughtful conversations and learning about you. Falling for you. You are sexy and intelligent, far too good for the spoiled emperor, but it is not his decision to make.

You blink as you awaken before Marcus. A rare opportunity. You look at him as he sleeps, the sheets and furs at his waist and his arm is under you, making your heart flutter. You’ve fallen for the man tasked with bringing you to the emperor. He’s strong, brave, smart, and not to blame for your kidnapping. He’s loyal and follows orders but he’s been in your bed, pleasuring you. You see his hard cock, tenting the sheets and you whimper, still wet from your nightly routine of him eating your cunt. You move slowly, not wanting to startle him, and you shift to straddle him. He doesn’t awaken and you smirk, deciding to take action when he won’t. He clearly wants you and he’s too rigid to take what is already his. You shift the sheets down and grip his cock, hovering naked over him, you decide to take your fate into your own hands and position him at your entrance. You sink down, watching his brow furrow as he stretches you out with his cock.

Marcus groans at the pleasure of his dreams, although night spent dreaming of being buried in your cunt. Of filling you until you are round with his child and keeping you. Your weight shifts and you hiss slightly, breaking through his sleep until his eyes open. Marcus grabs your hips, gasping your name as he tries to lift you off his cock before the damage can be done but all he manages is to bury himself deeper as he lurches up. “What have you done? Princesa-“ he chokes out, unable to say anything else as the weight of your actions washes over him. You are no longer pure.

You giggle, bending over to kiss him softly, “I don’t care. I want you. I don’t give a shit if the emperor knows I’m pure or sullied. I will claim I had lovers in my kingdom. He sent you so far away to claim me with no knowledge of my purity. I want you, Marcus. I’m yours. All of me.” You promise, kissing his chin as you adjust to his cock inside of you.

He closes his eyes and sighs softly, hands sliding up your back gently, caressing your spine. “He doesn’t deserve you.” He murmurs quietly. He loves you, he has completely been ensnared by your grace and beauty, your brilliance and your strength. “I am yours, princesa. Completely.”

You grin, pecking his lips, “I love you, General.” You promise and start to move on top of him. “Show me. I don’t - this is all new to me.” You murmur, reaching for his hands to bring them to your hips, wanting him to guide you.

“Does it hurt?” He frowns slightly and you roll your eyes and clench down around him. “No, it feels incredible.” You promise breathlessly. “Good.” Marcus hums. “Riding a man is similar to riding a horse.” He flashes you a grin. “Roll your hips and keep your seat.”

You furrow your brow in concentration and work on rocking your hips like you’re riding a horse. You tense your thighs and moan when the sensation makes your spine tingle. “Oh gods.” You choke, “you feel so big inside me.” You grab his hand to place it on your belly so he can feel himself pressing against your womb.

Marcus growls in pleasure, watching you with dark eyes and tensing underneath you. “You feel perfect around my cock, princesa. So tight.” He rocks his hips up slightly and makes your tits bounce.

You moan when he rocks his hips up and you fall forward onto his chest, your hands pressed against his pecs and you rock back onto his cock. He feels incredible inside you and you love it. He feels like everything you’ve imagined since you started an intimate relationship with him. “Fuck.” You curse, feeling him twitch inside you and he grabs your hips, keeping you still so he can thrust up into you. “Ohhhh.” Your moan is garbled as you let him fuck you and it has your body tensing. You clamp down on his cock, eyes squeezed shut at how good it feels.

He can’t spill inside you. He can’t risk planting his seed in your womb. He plants his feet on the bed and holds you tight. “Cum for me.” He growls. “Cum, princesa.”

His words tip you over the edge, crying out as you collapse against his chest. Cunt spasming around his cock as you soak him.

Marcus flips you over, needing to be in control so that he can pull out of you when he’s about to cum. Now that you have seen the stars, he starts to hammer into you ruthlessly. Groaning your name as he fucks you.

You watch him, jaw clenched as he fucks into you hard and fast. You are pushed up the bed and the sheets shoved to the floor as he fucks you. You cling to him, scratching down his back as he prolongs your orgasm and you want him to cum for you. “Shit, I need - want to see you cum.”

“Have to- have to pull out.” He pants, neck straining and he grits his teeth. “Fuck.” He hisses, loving how wet and tight you are. How you fit around him like armor. He rocks his hips another half dozen times and when you nip his jaw with your teeth, he’s pulling back. Quickly pulling out of your cunt and throbbing against your belly as he paints your skin with his seed. “Fuuuuuuuck.”

You can’t deny you’re disappointed he didn’t fill you up but you know it’s too risky. Arriving in Rome full of his baby would be a death sentence and you reach between you, pumping his cock to wring him dry with a moan of his name in the aftermath of your pleasure.

Marcus rocks his hips into your grip until every drop of his cum is painting your skin. “I love you, princesa.” He murmurs softly, leaning in and kissing your lips before he shifts off of you to collect a linen to clean you up.

“I love you too, my General.” You murmur, watching him as he carefully cleans your skin. You love him. That much is clear and you don’t know what the days ahead hold for you but you know you must let him go when the time comes. For both your sakes. For now, you’ll enjoy the journey to Rome.

****

“Princesa-“ Marcus wakes with a groan as you slip into his bedchambers he has been graciously given until the wedding between you and Caracalla. The emperor had been very pleased with your arrival and had arranged feasts and games in honor of the upcoming nuptials. All arranged to best his brother and to show off the extravagance of Rome. Tonight, Marcus had drank too much heavy wine during the feast, trying to drink his sorrows away since you will be marrying the emperor in two days time. “You should not be here.” Every night since arriving, you have snuck into his bed and every night he reminds you that this is risky. Even as he is pulling you towards him, he knows he should push you away. You are already naked, having stripped before slipping into his bed.

“I know but I need you, Marcus. We don’t have a lot of time left before I am in Caracalla’s bed. You are dreading marrying the emperor. He’s childish, selfish, and clearly deranged. You do not want to marry him but you have no choice. He’s already threatened you when you pushed back on the wedding being so soon. You straddle him, leaning down to kiss his lips, “take me, Marcus. I want you to claim me. Show me that I belong to you.”

He cannot deny you, not when his own heart aches so fiercely because of your fates. “I love you.” He promises, reaching up and cupping your cheek as he wraps his other arm around you to roll you into your back. “You are mine. I have touched you in ways no other man ever has.”

You look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and you ache for him. You want to be in his bed every night. You want to be his. You don’t give a damn about being empress, you want to be his wife. Even without a title. You’re wet for him already, having thought about him all day, and he groans when he slides the head of his cock through your folds.

“Mine, princesa.” Marcus promises with a groan as he starts to push into you slowly. Rolling his hips as he savors the feel of breaking you open again. No matter how often you have had sex, he is obsessed with the way your body gives under the pressure of his cock against your walls.

You take him like you’re made for him and you think you are. You are destined for each other but unable to be together. Star crossed lovers. You throw your head back as he rocks into you, his lips finding your neck and you grip his shoulders, “I love you.” You gasp, wrapping your legs around him.

“Isn’t this sweet?” Dread races down Marcus’s spine as he hears a voice that makes him freeze above you. The voice of his emperor. Twisting his head, he finds Geta smirking as he strolls into the light from a corner of the room. “You love each other.” He hums mockingly, eyes alight with manic glee. “I told my brother that there was something between you, but he didn’t believe me.” Anger flashes across the man’s face before it’s replaced with nonchalance. “Now he will.” He declares before he raises his voice. “Guards!”

You cry out as Marcus pulls out of you and is immediately ripped off of you, guards grabbing him and you try to scramble from the bed but the guards grab your legs, pulling you back and you scream as you are held naked in front of Geta who walks over to you and grips your chin. Your lip curls in disgust and he chuckles, “my brother thought he was so clever, bringing a foreign princess to marry. He hoped you’d be pliable, dutiful, obedient. You wouldn’t be corrupted by the pleasures of Rome but it appears our great General has shown them to you. Taken you as his own despite his emperor’s orders. You’re nothing but a foreign whore.” Geta scoffs and you can’t help it. You spit at him and he hisses, his hand coming up to slap your cheek.

“Don’t touch her!” Marcus barks, but the men who are holding him are not his own soldiers, loyal to him. They are loyal to Geta, to Caracalla. The emperor turns towards Marcus with a raised brow and a smirk on his face. “I believe those were your orders, General.” He snorts. “You disobeyed.”

Your cheek stings but you don't let Geta see you cry, knowing this means your death. You doubt the Emperors will allow this to pass without punishment but you will not be a withering flower. You'll stand strong until the last moment.

“I seduced her.” Marcus confesses, hoping that you might be spared from execution. “Take my life and spare her.”

"No!" You cry and try to move but the guards keep you against them. "No. I - I let him seduce me. I should've kept my legs shut. He's a man. He took what was offered. Take me. Not him." You plead, knowing Rome needs him. They never needed you. Marcus shakes his head and Geta chuckles, his lips pouting, "awwww the lovers want to die for each other. No need. You'll die together. In front of Rome." He promises and looks to the guards, "take them to the cells."

Marcus starts to struggle, shouting at Geta and the men until he is hit over the head with a sword and crumples to the ground unconscious. Dragged away without any consideration as you are pulled out of the room, still naked, to be taken to the cells beneath the palace.

You are dragged down to the cells and you are pushed into one, thrown on the floor without any clothes given to you. You hear the door to the cell next to you open and your eyes widen, knowing Marcus will be there. You wait until the footsteps of the guard fade and you rush up to the door, gripping the bars. "Marcus." You call, hoping he is awake and can hear you, "Marcus."

Marcus groans, head pounding but he hears you call his name again. “Princesa.” He chokes out, stumbling to his feet and managing to make it to the door. His head is bleeding and his eyes can’t focus, but he doesn’t care about that. “Are you hurt?” He demands.

"No. No. Are you okay?" You ask, wanting to hear that he's not in pain. "I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle." He says and you rest your forehead against the bars, "how do we escape?" You ask, hoping he has a plan.

Marcus closes his eyes. “We don’t.” He admits quietly. “My men have been sent home, everyone here is loyal to the emperors.” He sighs. “I failed you, Princesa.”

You choke on a sob, the reality of your fate hitting you and you sink down against the door, resting your back against it. "I wish things were different. We never should have come to Rome. We could've gone back to my lands. You could've been my prince and we - we would get married, have children. We could've - we could've died in old age, in peace."

“Not in this life, my love.” Marcus knows that he must face death with strength, but tears slip down his cheeks for you. “In another life, perhaps.” He closes his eyes. “I will search for you.”

You nod even though he can't see you, "in another life. I'll love you even in death, my General. I'll find you in the next life." You promise, "I'll never stop searching." You sob and before you know it, you hear footsteps from the hall and your heart pounds. "Marcus!" You cry and you back up when the door is pushed open. "It's okay. What are you doing?" He growls when he's pushed back into the cell. "You will bathe and dress. You'll be brought in front of the emperors." The guards order and a tub is brought in, a handmaid bringing your clothes to dress you and do your hair.

Marcus prays that Caracalla has overruled Geta. That he will spare your life. “Do what they say.” He orders you softly. “Do what you must to survive.” He knows his own life is forfeit but if you live, he will die at peace.

You are silent as you dress, preparing to stand before the emperors, and the guards soon arrive to take you away. The door is opened, your hand maid crying which makes your stomach twist, but you keep your head high. You want to speak to Marcus before you’re dragged off so you step towards his door. He’s standing then and you reach between the bars to touch him. “I love you. I don’t regret a thing.” You promise, “I love you, Marcus.” You promise and the guards drag you away, making you cry out as Marcus says “I love you too. Always.” You keep your head high as you’re escorted through the halls until you are taken outside. You frown and that frown turns into panic when you approach a large platform. People gathered in the piazza with the emperors sat down in their thrones. “Ah, welcome.” Geta says your name as you are shoved onto the platform and your hands shake but you grab your robes. Caracalla walks over to you, gripping your chin, “you betrayed me. You let him touch you. I cannot have a whore for empress. I could never confirm my heir is mine. You’ll suffer for your affair. I must show Rome that we do not allow such insolence.” Caracalla hisses and you know that this is the moment you die. You refuse to let them see that you’re terrified and you are pushed to kneel after your hands are tied behind your back. You keep your shoulders back as the soldier pulls his sword from his side and you hear a cry. Turning your head, you see Marcus being dragged to the side of the platform and your strength dissolves. He is to be killed as well. “Ah, General. Please watch. You’ll see what we do to traitors to the empire. Stand there and watch her die. You’ll soon be joining her.” The emperors laugh and you have tears running down your cheeks as Marcus tries to get out of the grip of the five men holding him. “I love you.” You mouth just as the sword is brought down and it all goes black.

“Nooooooo!” Marcus howls in rage as your head is separated from your body and he struggles against the men, breaking free with one hand and grabbing for the swords they carry. Tears sting his eyes and all he can think about is avenging you. Killing the emperors that have ordered your death. “Bastard!” He shouts out, the people silent as they watch the commotion. “She was never yours! She never agreed to marry you! You kidnapped her from her home!” He shouts, wanting the people to know exactly why you had died. How you had been brought to Rome. The soldiers holding him had fallen back after he had grabbed the sword. “She was not yours to claim! She was mine!”

Caracalla raises his hand, telling the soldiers to come forward to surround Marcus as he swings the sword. "I sent for her. She was mine from the moment my soldiers left Rome to find her. She was my key to securing her lands. You had orders and you failed. You fucked her, claimed her as yours, without permission and the gods will punish you. Who wants their emperor to be justified?" Caracalla asks the crowd who cheers, "the people want their emperor to be happy. And you know what would make me happy? Seeing you dead beside her. Traitors in life and in death." He claps his hands and the soldiers move closer to Marcus.

Marcus knows he will die, that is his fate, especially now that you are already walking through the Elysian Fields. Instead of battling the men who have been ordered to kill him, he drops his sword. “Rome will consume you.” He predicts. “She will rise against you and you will fall.”

Caracalla scoffs and Geta rolls his eyes while the soldiers grab Marcus and drag him to the stage. He kneels down, jaw clenched in defiance, and he growls, "fuck the emperors." His last words before the sword comes down and his head rolls on the floor moments later. The emperor grins, reaching down to grab his head, blood dripping onto the floor. "May everyone know that this is what Rome does to traitors. Even a General and a Princess are not exempt from the hand of the law." Caracalla declares and the crowd is silent. General Marcus Acacius is dead. The Roman Empire is crumbling.

****

All his life, Marcus has awoken with the knowledge that he has walked these roads before. It had been present every day, even if he could not articulate it. The sense that he had smelled that scent before, or tasted that fruit is always hanging on the edge of his consciousness. The nagging sense of déjà vu that had plagued him. His grandmother had called him an old soul, one who had lived lives before and it makes sense, considering he was named after a Roman general who had betrayed his emperors for love.

You huff as you drag your suitcase up the steps to the hotel your best friend had booked for her wedding. Of course she had to get married in Rome. Her husband-to-be is from the city. She had met him during her semester abroad and now years later they are getting married. You had flown over to Italy to be her maid of honor. You take a break and wipe your brow, your dress taking up a lot of space in your case, and you inhale deeply as you drag your case up the stairs to the entrance of the hotel. "Fuck me." You pant when you walk into the glass door, your brain starved of oxygen after your climb. You hear a chuckle behind you and you groan when a large hand reaches for the door to open it. You hear him ask you something in Italian, and you frown, head hurting, and you try to remember the phrases from the book you bought with you. "I'm sorry. I don't speak Italian." You say as you turn to look at him, and your eyes widen. Your embarrassment has been witnessed by the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.

The second he sees the eyes of the pretty American, he knows that he’s met you before. In some life. It’s the instant quickening of his heart racing in his chest makes him smile. “Why would you come to Rome if you do not speak Italian?” He teases, reaching for your bag to take it for you.

He feels familiar and you wonder why, your heart pounding in your chest and your palms get sweaty as he carries your bag into the cool reception area. "Thank you. And for the record, I have been studying. Piacere di conoscerla." Your brow furrows in concentration and the man smiles at you, making you feel even more lightheaded. He grins, "pleasure to meet you." He replies in English and asks your name. You give it to him and his brow furrows, his stomach twisting. "My father is a historian. He loves Ancient Rome. He has come here many times on different trips for work." You confess, unsure why you are telling a stranger this but it feels like you've known him your entire life.

“Interesting.” Marcus licks his lips. “There was once a Princesa during the reign of Emperors Geta and Caracalla with that name.” He tells you. “Do you know the story?” He asks, wondering if you are here by chance, but he feels like you are not. “The lovers, right?” You ask, nodding and he smiles. “General Marcus Acacius fetched her from her home, stole her - from a bordering kingdom.” He had been told the story so many times as a child he can recite it by heart. “Falling for the strong and brave princesa during their journey to Rome where she was to marry Emperor Caracalla. They became lovers, star crossed, of course.” He frowns slightly, feeling an ache in his heart like he did every time this part of the story was told. “He watched as she was executed by the Emperor’s command after they were discovered but not before they had vowed to find each other in the next life.”

“How tragic and romantic. Put Romeo and Juliet to shame.” You quip and he nods, “their story was told many times during the fall of the empire. If a general wasn’t immune from punishment, then the plebeians certainly weren’t. The uprising began that day and Rome crumbled eventually.” He tells you and you nod, “I hope they found each other in another life.” You confess and tilt your head, “I still don’t know your name.” Just as the words leave your mouth, there’s footsteps down the stairs and your best friend squeals as she rushes towards you. “You’re here!” She hugs you and you hug her back, excited for her and her wedding. “And I see you have already met our best man. This is Marcus.” She says and you look at the man who helped you with your case. You murmur your name, “and Marcus. Like the story.” You offer him a soft smile and he winks at you, turning towards the groom to embrace him with a hug. “Antonio and Marcus served in the army together.” Lucille whispers as you turn to look at the men and you watch Marcus. He’s older than you, but he’s handsome. “And he’s single.” Your friend whispers and you roll your eyes, “don’t. I don’t want to be a cliché.” You whisper back and she giggles, taking your hand to drag you to the reception. She speaks in Italian to check you in and soon enough, a key is placed in your hand.

Antonio smirks as Marcus watches you walk away. “I didn’t tell you her name so it would be a surprise.” He chuckles, knowing how much Marcus enjoys telling that story of the Roman General. Marcus snorts and shakes his head. “I was watching her ass.” He tells his best friend honestly, who laughs. “She’s single.” He informs him. “Marnie made sure to tell me to pass that along.” He grins at Marcus. “I think she’s hoping that our two best friends hook up at her wedding.”

Marcus snorts, “you know I have that thing with Maria.” He says and Antonio rolls his eyes, “where you fuck her and she goes off to date men twice her age for money and she won’t commit? I love you, man, but you know that’s not serious. You want serious. You want the whole package.” Antonio knows his best friend and Marcus sighs, watching you as you walk towards the stairs with your case. “Get her case. Your rooms are next to each other. Marnie’s doing.” The groom holds his hands up and Marcus snorts but follows his direction. “Can I get your bag?” He asks and you nod, “I’m not built for this. We have elevators as big as a bathroom in the States.” You joke and Marnie beams as she looks between you. “Go settle in. We have a welcome dinner at eight and tomorrow it’s a spa day before the rehearsal dinner.” She says and you nod, hugging her before you make your way upstairs, followed by Marcus who carries your case. “What have you got in here? Bricks?” He teases and you giggle, “a girl has to be prepared for anything.” You tease and step onto the floor where your room is. You look at the numbers until you find it, placing the key card against the lock. “Thank you for carrying my case.” You say to Marcus after he places your case down in your room, his chest heaving a little and you get a little lost in his dark eyes. “You’re welcome, princesa.” He teases and your stomach lurches, your heart pounding at the nickname. “Thank you, General.” You tease, reminded of the story. His eyes widen a little and he reaches for his key card. “Turns out I’m next door so if you need anything, just knock.” He says and you nod, “thanks again.” He shuts your door and you slump down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with a smile on your face. Maybe coming to this wedding alone wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Marcus has already unpacked his tuxedo hanging up and he sighs, feeling restless. He can hear you moving around next door and he decides to go see if you would like to sightsee with a translator. He feels drawn to you and Antonio is right, his arrangement with Maria isn’t satisfying. He needs to know if the connection he feels to you is real. He checks his hair and feels like his stomach is twisting as he knocks on your door.

You had showered and gotten changed into a sundress. The Italian sun is still hot and you are surprised by the knock on your door. You walk over to it, opening it and your heart thumps when you see Marcus standing there. “Hi.” You offer softly and he rubs the back of his neck, “hi. I, uh, I wondered if you wanted to see some of the sights. I know you’re going to be busy with wedding stuff but I have a friend who does tours and I wanted to show you Rome.” Your eyes widen at the gesture and he falters, “or not. If you’re busy.” You shake your head, “no. I’d love to. Let me just grab my purse.” You step back to grab your things and make sure you have your room key then you step into the hall with Marcus.

Marcus smiles as he guides you towards the stairs. “It has been a long time since I have walked the ruins as a tourist.” He explains. “I am an archeologist. So this is my passion and my job.”

“Wow. You know your stuff.” You grin, excited to see the sights with someone who knows so much about the ruins. You make your way downstairs and you adjust your purse on your shoulder as you exit the hotel and make your way down the stairs where you met Marcus. “No need for a gym with these steps.” You joke as you make your way down and Marcus chuckles, “we are a city of walkers but we do have quicker ways to get around.” He guides you over to his Vespa and your eyes widen, “I’ve never - this would be my first time.” You confess and Marcus opens the seat to grab two helmets. “You’ll be safe. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You nod and he places the helmet on your head, buckling it under your chin and you bite your lip at the feel of his hands on your skin.

Marcus feels his skin tingling when he touches you and once your helmet is in place, he smiles as he turns to climb on. “Wrap your arms around me, Princesa.” He instructs. “I would let you ride in front of me, but your pretty dress would fly up.” He’s smirking slightly, but you just nod and take a moment to settle in behind him, the weight of your arms comforting around his stomach. “I will keep you safe.” He promises.”

For some reason, his words warm you to your core and you believe him. He revs the engine and pulls away after kicking the kickstand up and you’re soon riding through the streets of Rome. Your eyes are wide at the sights and you wrap your arms around him a little tighter, letting him take you where he wants to go. You’re happy to be with him, feeling a sense of comfort like you’ve never known before.

American tourists have movies about Roman holidays so Marcus might zip through traffic a little more recklessly than he might have normally. If only to feel you squeeze him a little tighter, turning back to see your eyes wide as you take in the city he loves. Smiling like you are flying through the air. Perhaps a little romantic dreaminess in your eyes, like it’s something out of a fairy tale. He takes you around to all the famous sights. Skirting along the edges of the cars as he makes his way to the best examples of Ancient Rome, his own dig site.

You watch the city pass by until Marcus comes to a stop in an area that’s fenced off from the public. “Are we allowed to be here?” You ask, glancing around as he swings his leg over the bike and helps you over, reaching up to unbuckle your helmet. “We are allowed to be here” is all he says and you trust him as he locks the bike and takes your hand to guide you to the padlock. He pulls the key from his pants and opens it, escorting you inside the restricted area. “What is this?” You ask and he flicks on some of the overhead lamps, showcasing the dig site. “My latest project.” He says and your eyes widen, “wow.”

He watches as you look around curiously, the building had been built to protect the site and he smiles as he motions to the half excavated site. “We are right outside what would have been Geta and Caracalla’s palace.” He explains motioning to the center of the sight. “This area was their piazza, the place where they showed Rome their treachery.” He frowns slightly. “This is the spot where the general and the princesa were executed.” He hops down into the pit, to the stone platform and offers his hand to you to help you down. “Eventually, the people of Rome would have both emperors killed right here as well.”

As soon as he says the words, a sense of dread washes over you and you shiver, your head aching as a flash of a crowd looking up at you hits you. “Are you okay?” Marcus asks and you inhale deeply, nodding as you look at the site. “Yeah. Just - a lot of history to take in.” You confess and take his hand, letting him help you down to inspect the site he had excavated.

He wonders if you feel it, if the icy fingers of dread had inched down your spine. If you remembered like he had. People would think that he was crazy if he told them the truth. “We found the site a year ago.” He murmurs, his voice not carrying very far as he crouches down. “But we have uncovered so much. Look, there is a sword right here.” The first layers of the artifact have been uncovered but removing and cataloging the items had not been possible before he had closed the site for the wedding. His team would not work without him there.

You kneel down beside him, eying the sword that looks so familiar. “Incredible. Did - did you feel that? The dread?” You ask, voicing his question as the feeling hovers over you like this is an area you’ve been to before. “It’s so strange. I feel like I know this place.” You confess and glance down at the sword, “this sword feels familiar but it can’t be. It’s just my mind.”

“I feel it.” Marcus admits quietly, reaching for your hand and guiding it towards the relic. “I want to see something.” He murmurs, hoping you get the same flashback he does when he touches the sword.

Your fingertips touch the sword and you gasp, seeing an image of Marcus but he’s wearing armor, a scar on his face, and he is holding the sword, standing beside two men with blonde hair. “Oh my God.” You choke and he tilts his head, “what did you see?” He asks and you swallow, your throat dry. “You. But - but you’re wearing armor. Ancient armor. You’re standing next to two men with blonde hair.” You reveal, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Princesa.” Marcus murmurs, reaching out and cupping your cheeks as he turns towards you. “I have been looking for you for lifetimes.” He confesses softly. “Always looking, never finding you, until now.” He frowns slightly and sighs. “I was killed, right after you were, right here. Our bodies next to one another.” He sees the confusion in your eyes. “We are fated to be together again, since we were star-crossed so many years ago.”

You are confused, trying to process his words and the images become clearer. You and Marcus knew each other, loved each other, in another life. You can see the love in his eyes despite knowing each other for a few mere hours. You lean closer, “Marcus. Finally.” You murmur, pressing your forehead against his as it all becomes clearer. You have found him. Your love. “This is crazy.” You confess, gripping his wrists but you don’t love his hands, “you don’t even know me as I am now.”

“It does not matter.” Marcus hums. “I know your soul, just as you know mine.” His thumb brushes gently over your cheekbone. “I have waited so long to see you again, to kiss you once more.” All his relationships have never worked because they weren’t you, his princesa.

You can’t believe this is happening but it feels so right, like this is what you’ve been waiting for. All those relationships that fell apart because they weren’t him. You can’t help it. You surge forward to press your lips to his and you immediately feel like you’re home when his lips touch yours. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before.

Marcus groans into your mouth, pulling you closer and thanking the gods that he had been right. That he had trusted his instincts. “Princesa,” he growls, sliding his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss.

You let go of his wrists and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours. His tongue sliding against yours and you whimper into his mouth, flashes of the time you spent with Marcus in a past life go through your mind and make you fall in love with a man you knew all those lifetimes ago.

Marcus kisses you again and again, learning how you like to be kissed now and it fuses with the memories he has carried for his entire life. Breaking away to look into your eyes as he pants slightly. “I am sorry.” He murmurs softly. “I wish I could have protected you then.”

You shake your head, pecking his lips. “Don’t. There’s nothing you could’ve done. We were destined for death and we are here now. We are safe. We can be together. I- I live in the States and you’re here but…one of us will have to move. I do love pasta.” You confess with a smirk, “and Italian men.”

Marcus chuckles softly and lifts his chin to kiss your forehead. “How do you feel about living in an apartment that overlooks the old city?” He asks. “My place is only a few blocks from here. I’m staying in the hotel because of the wedding party and being the best man.”

“I’d say I better start learning Italian.” You grin, knowing your parents won’t understand your move but you do. There’s no way you’re going to be parted from him now. Marcus chuckles and it warms you. “We should be heading back for the welcome dinner.” He says after he checks his watch and you nod, letting him help you stand up and you glance around the place where you were killed all those years ago. He escorts you back to his Vespa and you are back in the hotel after he speeds through the small streets of the city. He holds your hand as you enter the hotel and you are soon outside your rooms, “I better get ready for the dinner.” You murmur, leaning against him and you kiss his jaw.

“You will look gorgeous, princesa.” He murmurs, turning his head and kissing your lips again. “Although I cannot say you look better than the bride, it will be bad manners.”

You giggle, “no. She will look gorgeous. God, I want to invite you into my room but we don’t have time.” You whine, sliding your hands down his linen shirt, “later. Later I want you in my bed, baby.”

Marcus hums in agreement. “Tonight.” He agrees. “No one will interrupt us. I can relearn how you taste.” He growls, leaning in and nibbling on your earlobe. “I can recall it even now, princesa.”

Anyone who could hear you would think you’re crazy but to you and Marcus, this is very real. You whimper and step back before you allow yourself to give in and forget about the reason that you’re here. You shower and dress in one of the pretty dresses you’d packed for the wedding events, grabbing your clutch, and you hear a knock on your door. You open it and see Marcus standing at your door, looking devastatingly handsome in his jacket with his shirt slightly unbuttoned. “God, this isn’t fair. Do you think they’d miss the best man and maid of honor if we went missing?” You tease, trailing your eyes along his form.

His eyes flash in amusement and even though he wants to push you back into the room and strip you out of the at dress, he extends his arm. “It’s an Italian wedding.” He jokes. “They expect it.” You beam at his offer and immediately step forward and wrap your hand around his arm. “Tell me, princesa, do you still like to ride horses?”

You nod, “I grew up riding horses. Felt instantly drawn to it and now I know why.” You squeeze his arm and he helps you downstairs to the welcome dinner full of family and friends. Marnie and Antonio see you and Marcus, their eyebrows raised as you hold hands and Marnie giggles, “I didn’t think you two would hook up that fast. But it seems my matchmaking skills have surpassed my expectations.” She teases and you grin, looking at Marcus, “it feels like I’ve known him forever.” Marcus winks at you and your friends beam until they are dragged away and Marcus takes you to the bar to get you a drink.

Marcus keeps his hand on your waist possessively as he turns towards the bartender. “What kind of drink would you like, princesa?” He asks, making you smile at the nickname. “Whatever you will have.” He nods and loves how you trust him with choosing for you. “Renato Ratti Barolo Serradenari.” He tells the bartender before he leans into your ear. “It reminds me of the wine we drank while we were traveling to Rome.”

You grin, “we drank a lot of wine during that journey and I seem to remember you drank it from me instead of a cup many times.” You smirk and he chuckles, his hand sliding a little lower, “best way to drink it.” You giggle and the bartender sets your glasses down just as a hand curls around Marcus’s arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you, lover.” She coos, leaning in towards Marcus.

“Maria.” Marcus lifts a brow as he turns towards the statuesque blonde. “I didn’t think you could come?” She had claimed that she was too busy to accompany him, and now she is here when he would want her anywhere else. “My schedule cleared.” Her bright smile is stiff, having been canceled on by her current conquest. It’s frustrating and she needs the comfort of Marcus before she starts her search for a wealthy man to marry again. “Now I’m all yours for the weekend.” She promises, dropping a kiss on the edge of his mouth before turning towards you. “Oh! Who is your little friend?” The first part of the conversation was in Italian, but now she switches to English for your benefit.

Marcus says your name, “she’s the maid of honor and my date.” He confesses, “the love of my life and I will be spending tonight with her. I’m glad you could make it Maria but tonight, I have my princesa.” He squeezes your waist and you lean into him, giving her a smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You don’t feel threatened, knowing Marcus wouldn’t continue his relationship with her now that he’s found you again.

“The love of your life?” She huffs in confusion, not expecting him to so blatantly turn down her company. “Princesa?” Her eyes narrow. “That nickname you moan every night in your sleep? This is her?”

Marcus nods, rubbing your hip, “it’s her. I have long dreamed of this beautiful creature and now she’s here. I am hers and she is mine.” He admits and your heart thumps, knowing this sounds crazy but you are a love story centuries in the making. You place your hand on his chest, “yours.” You promise and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

Maria is dumbfounded, unable to speak and she turns on her heel and walks away. He pulls you closer. “Apologies, princesa.” He murmurs softly. “I did not know she would show up, but I will talk with her and let her know that we are no more.” He gazes into your eyes lovingly. “No one else could ever capture my interest.”

You shake your head, "it's okay. We didn't even know this was possible until today. I cannot be angry with you for keeping company." You caress his chest, "and we know the truth. Everyone else is going to be confused." You remind him and he nods, knowing that the story is unbelievable. You are soon seated opposite each other at the welcome dinner and you stretch your leg out to caress his while everyone eats their dessert.

His dark eyes meet yours, smirking slightly as you trail your foot up his let and press against his crotch lightly. Despite the centuries apart, you are still bold and have no problem in taking what you want. He reaches down and squeezes your foot playfully while Antonio asks him a question that makes him look away from you.

Marnie grabs your attention, talking to you about the spa session for tomorrow and you half listen, watching Marcus speak to the groom until the bride nudges you. "What's up with your both? It's like you've known each other forever." She observes and you shrug, "it just feels right. Like I was meant for him." You see Marcus wink at you from across the table, caressing your foot. "Good. I thought he was perfect for you." You nod and smirk at Marcus, eager for him.

“Maria looked unhappy.” Antonio observes with a smirk. He’s never hidden the fact that he’s never cared for Marcus’s previous lover so he seems to be thrilled. “Just- don’t hurt her. Marnie will make me hurt you if you do.” He jokes, rolling his eyes, but Marcus snorts. “I would rather cut my own arm off.” He promises seriously. “She is precious and I will keep her heart safe.”

You feel bad but you are eager for the dinner to be over and not soon enough, it is. "Go. Go." Marnie orders when you hug her and you reach for Marcus's hand when you are finally free of maid of honor duty for the night. He smirks, guiding you through the crowd until you are walking up the stairs and you giggle when he slaps your ass.

He is eager to touch you again. To find out if the same things he had done to you so long ago still works. “You have no problem with the stairs now.” He teases, chuckling when you huff and roll your eyes.

You open your clutch, finding your keycard when you reach your door and you moan when he presses against you, his lips finding your neck and his hands on your hips. You lean back against him, tilting your head as you blindly try to unlock the door.

“Princesa, when was the last time you had a man touch you?” He doesn’t care that you’ve had other lovers, he just wants to make sure that he prepares you properly. He twitches against your ass and grinds against you. “Eaten your pussy like it is a luscious desert?”

You whimper at his words, "I had - my ex and I broke up a few weeks ago. It didn't work. I didn't know why but he wasn't you. I've been tested." You reassure him, "no one has ever made me feel like this and you haven't even touched me." You whine and grind back against him, the door finally opening with a beep.

“I’ll get tested.” He promises, sure that Maria wouldn’t give him something, but he will want to give you that reassurance. “This time I can wear a condom.” He guides you inside and spins you around to press you against the door as it closes. “Then I will spill inside you like I wanted to do so many times we were together in that life.”

You moan, "yes. So many times I wanted you to do it. Knock me up and claim me so he couldn't." You confess, your hands sliding up to push his jacket from his shoulders, your fingers immediately working on the buttons of his shirt when the jacket is on the ground.

He holds your chin with his two fingers and tips your head up to take his kiss, pouring himself into the way his mouth slots against yours. Pressing you into the door more firmly as he grabs your ass and pulls you up to allow your legs to wrap around his waist.

You wrap your legs around him and he turns, carrying you over to the bed, your heels dropping to the floor on the journey over and you moan when he lays you down. "I've missed this view." You tease while he shrugs off his shirt, exposing his chest.

“That bed in our tent, covered with furs to keep you warm.” He chuckles. “Although you preferred to wear me at night.” His hands slide under your dress to drag your panties down and peel them off your legs to toss away. “Wearing my tunics.”

You sigh in delight when his hands caress your legs after he tosses your panties over his shoulder. "You loved me in those tunics." You giggle and he nods, "I fucking did." You grin and his hands push your dress higher, "don't tease me, baby. I have waited many lifetimes for this moment."

“Not teasing.” He huffs. “Appreciating.” He reaches under your arm for the zipper to your dress. “We have all night. Nothing to stop us or come between us.” He reaches for the strap and drag them down to expose your tits to his delighted eyes. “Watching you bathe that first time made me ache. Wanted you then.”

You lift your hips so he can drag your dress off your body and you shiver in anticipation. "I would've taken you that night. I hated you for kidnapping me but also thought you were incredibly strong and handsome. I would've let you fuck me but I was pissed at you." You smirk until his hands find your tits, squeezing them to make you moan his name.

He loves that you’ve retained all your memories, or recovered them. Knowing that while you have to learn about each other now, you do know the people you used to be, the history you shared. “I was still denying myself.” He settles down between your thighs and presses his nose against your bare cunt. “No hair.” He hums, inhaling your scent with a grin. “But you still smell the same. Let me see if you taste the same.”

You can't believe how many memories are coming back to you when hours ago, you didn't know the man between your thighs existed. His tongue slides through your folds and you moan, closing your eyes as your fingers tangle in his hair.

He can almost smell the smoke from the camp fires as he licks into you. Tasting you again and twitching against the sheets of the bed. Groaning as he holds your thighs and pulls them apart even more to devour your cunt properly.

You lift your thighs a little higher, your hands cupping your tits as his tongue makes your mind go blank. "Fuck." You pant, "that's so good." You compliment him as his tongue slides through your folds like he's been there a thousand times and in a way, he has.

Marcus doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue inside you, remembering how much you had loved it and he grunts in approval when you whine in pleasure. Wanting to make you cum like this once more. His fingers dig into your thighs as he eats you ravenously.

His nose presses against your clit and you whimper, one hand coming down to run your fingers through his hair. He is pushing his tongue into you like a man starved and your thighs press against his head, wanting to keep him between your thighs.

He feels your stomach heave and he throws an arm over your waist to keep you pinned to the bed. Loving how responsive you are and desperate to cum you appear. Trying to roll your hips down to his tongue.

You haven't felt like this before and your body is so heated, overwhelmed by how he's making you feel. You moan, your chest heaving as he slides his tongue up to suck on your clit. "Oh God, yes!" You cry, your walls starting to flutter around his tongue.

Marcus growls into your folds, throbbing in need as you soak his mouth and chin. Loving how your thighs squeeze his head harshly while your back bows up.

He laps at you, working you through it, and you whimper, "fuck. You are so good. I need to see you, Marcus. Need to see you again." You plead, lowering your thighs from his face.

Marcus stretches tall and climbs off the bed so he can unbutton his pants. The suit he had worn didn’t require a belt and his shoes were toed off near the door. Leaving him to pull down his pants and boxer briefs, letting his hard cock spring free.

You groan, shifting onto your knees and after he kicks his pants aside, you shuffle closer as he stands at the foot of the bed. "Fuck. So thick." You moan and you grip his cock, leaning in to take his cock between your lips.

Marcus moans, reaching down and caressing your cheek, “still so damn eager.” He chuckles, eyes fluttering from the way your tongue presses against the sensitive head of his cock when you roll the foreskin down.

You moan at the salty taste of his cock as you take him deeper. You have memories now of doing this many times but right now, it’s your first time in this lifetime and you are eager to enjoy it.

He doesn’t rock his hips, letting you set your own pace and he admires the length of your lashes as your eyes flutter up at him. “So beautiful.” He coos, caressing your cheek again. “My princesa is beautiful in every lifetime.”

His words have you dripping and you start to rock your jaw, watching him until you move a little faster and you close your eyes in concentration. Your palms dig into the mattress as you keep yourself upright while you take his cock down your throat.

Marcus grits his teeth, enjoying the pleasure of your mouth, but he wants to be inside you. He wants to have your walls squeezing him tight as he makes you cum. “Good girl.” He hums, pulling back.

You whine when he starts to pull you off his cock, spit dripping down your chin, and he grabs your waist to shift you to lay down against the pillows. "Want to be inside you." He murmurs and caresses your leg, "let me grab a condom." He says and walks over to his bag, shuffling until he's walking back to the bed, kneeling on it as he opens the packet.

He knows that as soon as he gets his results back, he will be discarding the condom, but he needs to do this. He pinches the tip and holds himself while rolling the rubber down his length. “Dreamed about this.” He groans, leaning forward and kissing you again.

You cup his cheeks, your heartbeat in your ears as you watch him settle between your thighs. "I love you." You murmur, unable to believe you've been reunited like this. He shuffles closer and you gasp when he starts to push into you. "You okay, princesa?" He asks and you nod, "perfect. I feel perfect." You promise, wrapping your legs around him.

He groans, the way you squeeze him changing from the placement of your hips. You are hot and tight, perfect and he feels like he’s come home. “You are so wonderful, princesa.” He praises breathless as he starts to slowly pull back to surge forward again.

You let him rock into you, take control, and you caress his shoulders and back. “No scars.” You observe, “not battle hardened.” You murmur, sliding your hands down his chest.

He can’t tell if you are disappointed or pleased, but he continues to thrust, picking up the pace and smirking when you whimper. “Feel good, princesa?”

You nod, “so good. I’ve missed you so much.” You confess even though this morning you had no memory of him. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him. You try to rock up to meet his thrusts and you caress his skin, “I’m so happy you are unharmed.” You answer his unspoken question .

“Life is more complicated but easier.” He huffs, turning and scattering kisses over your shoulder. “We are free to love, to go where we wish.”

“I know. Imagine explaining the Internet.” You joke breathlessly and he chuckles against your skin, continuing to rock into you. “Fuck. And modern birth control. I got an IUD so no unexpected - I really thought that was going to happen to us back then.” You confess, “then I would’ve been killed.”

“It was not meant to be.” He presses his lips to yours again. “Maybe in this life.” He grinds into you, stealing your breath on a moan as he chuckles against your lips.

“We are together in this life.” You murmur against his lips and you moan, sliding your tongue against his as he rocks into you. It’s everything that’s been missing from your life and you love him. God, you love him. You whimper when he adjusts his hips and hits something delicious inside you.

“There?” He groans your name into your mouth and slides down to his elbows, pushing his arms under you because he needs to feel closer. It’s not enough, it might never be enough. He concentrates on that spot, wanting to see you fall over the edge and have a new memory of you.

You nod, your mouth falling open as he rocks into you and you pant, your walls fluttering around his cock. "Shit, baby. I - fuck. You're gonna make me-" You choke as you fall apart, clamping down on his cock and pulsing around him.

Marcus hisses, gritting his teeth while you soak him in your juices. Loving how you are coming apart for him. “Fuck, fuck.” He groans, trying to fuck you through it but his thrusts are harder.

You slide your hands down to his ass, squeezing, “cum for me, General. I want to see you cum.” You plead, groaning when his face screws up and he twitches inside you, spilling inside the condom. You slide your hands up his back and whimper, loving how he looks when he cums for you.

Marcus strains over you, working himself through it with a grinding circular motion of his hips until he is collapsing into you. “Fuck.” He pants. “Perfect, princesa, you are so perfect.”

You sigh, loving how he feels on top of you, your hands caressing his back as he presses you into the mattress. You feel complete, like you’re where you were always supposed to be.

****

“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest declares and you grin, looking at Marcus. His face is bright and he surges forward to press his lips to yours, spinning you to dip you as he smiles against your lips. The city of Rome as your background along with a beautiful sunset. Marnie and Antonio stand either side clapping and you kiss your husband. It may have taken many lifetimes but you and Marcus finally found each other again. No one, not even an emperor, can separate you now.

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius imagine #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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kitten4sannie · 4 months ago

Text

blood pact

pairing: vampire! wooyoung x human! reader (fem)

genre: vampire society au, a lil bit of angst, smut

summary: living in a city overrun by bloodsuckers is already hard enough on its own, but you’re really put to the test when one of them ends up being your only hope in the face of danger.

w.c: 4.3k

warnings: blood/injury, depictions of violence, death(s)? of a few vampires, hard-ish dom (slight tamer)! wooyoung, subby (tiny bit bratty)! reader, these mfs are nasty alr, some light brat taming, one or two little slaps, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, blood kink obv <3 (includes blood drinking/sharing), kissing, oral (giving), throat fucking, brief breath play, pain kink, mutual masturbation, lotus position but it’s rough !!, creampie

a/n: oh mannn i’m a bit late again 😣 but im excited to share this one with you all !! i wanted to thank my dear lily for beta reading this one for me and giving me lovely feedback that helps me grow as a writer, it truly means the world to me my dear 🩷 once again i do apologize if this fic seems disjointed in any way ,, things have been a bit weird but i won’t let life stop me from sharing nasty smut >:((( lol i hope you enjoy and please lemme know what you thought <33

song rec: dirt - depeche mode (we’re taking it wayyy back with this one <3)

fictober 2024

You were never able to pinpoint exactly when humanity went to shit, as it had always been in a state of constant conflict and disarray, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a raging dumpster fire — one that was close to impossible to put out once it was lit. Unbeknownst to humans, there was a society of vampires that lived in the shadows for centuries, waiting patiently until it was the perfect time to make their existence known and feared. What better time to take over the world than when the humans were too busy being at each other’s throats to even realize they had a common enemy, one that would drain them of their life source within a blink of an eye?

Anyone with a pulse had no choice but to fall in line and succumb to their undead overlords, having to make up their mind about whether they would like to join forces with the enemy by desecrating their DNA and joining those that single-handedly brought upon humanity’s destruction, or grovel at their feet and become a slave, a house pet of sorts whose soul purpose was to feed and entertain their blood-sucking masters.

It was not an easy choice for most, and especially for you, so you simply found another solution — blend in. If you embodied everything a vampire was, even down to their immeasurable sense of pride and entitlement, how could they tell you apart from the others? And when they saw through your ruse, you would drive a stake through their still heart. You would never join their empire, let alone be one of their toys, especially not for some pompous undead prick that would treat you like a glorified juice box.

Yet, here you were, drunk off your ass at a gothic nightclub that welcomed vampiric guests and shunned anyone with a beating heart, unless they were owned and branded.

“Gimme another whiskey, neat,” you slurred, holding your empty shot glass to the poor excuse of a human bartender standing on the other side of the bar. You scoffed at the jeweled collar he wore around his neck, knowing he was owned by whatever undead asshole that ran the nightclub. You had your own collar, of course, but you had taken it from someone that was…no longer in need of it. You did what you had to, to make it through another night in the corrupted world you regretfully called your home.

“I should cut you off, y’know, especially after being such a dick to me all night,” the man mumbled, despite reaching underneath the bar to grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and filling your glass back up, not wanting to risk angering his superiors.

“But, you won’t. Your vampiric asshole of a boss wouldn’t like that you’re denying a paying customer.” You stuck your tongue out at the man, much to his dismay. You sipped on the whiskey, liking the way it burned as it went down your throat, grateful that you could still feel something, even if it was a drunkenness that would most likely do irreversible damage to your liver. It’s not like your life really mattered, not in this timeline, at least.

You lazily held your glass up in his direction, blowing a few strands of loose hair out of your eyes. The man simply held up the empty bottle and gave you a tight smile. “All out. Now, would you pay your tab?”

“Fineeee, oh my god,” you groaned dramatically, standing up from the barstool and wobbling a bit, fishing for your wallet somewhere inside your worn trench coat. When you opened it up, you came upon the discovery that it was completely empty, looking up to find fear inside the bartender’s eyes. “L-listen, I can replace that bottle, okay? I-I’ll…just need to stop by the local temp agency first.”

“I think you should leave, before they catch wind of this…” the bartender warned you under his breath, unconsciously tugging at his collar.

Swallowing harshly, you glanced around the crowded, dingy club past the collar of your coat, before stumbling your way past many vampire patrons that were drunk off the blood of their human pets who stayed close to them, wishing your blurry surroundings weren’t moving in slow motion. Paranoid that somebody was following you, you looked past your shoulder, only seeing the same crowd of drunken patrons. Temporarily relieved, you swiftly faced forward again, only to accidentally bump into someone face-first, your teeth clinking into the metal of their lip ring, your hands almost getting caught in the many necklaces they were wearing. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t kill me,” you automatically apologized, already knowing they weren’t human based on the lack of a collar and color in their cheeks.

“If I wanted to, I would,” Wooyoung teased in his own special way, quite aware of the way your heart rate spiked as soon as his light, airy words reached your ears. He enjoyed playing around with his food as much as the next vampire, but lately, it’s grown quite dull, like everything else in his never-ending life.

“O-oh!” you squeaked, letting out a nervous laugh, sticking one hand into your coat pocket to wrap your fingers around the sharp stake you carried with you everywhere.

He brought one manicured finger up to tap against the jewel sitting snugly against your collared neck, leaning in to press his lips against the slope of your ear. “I’d take you right here in front of everyone, drink you dry. Let them all enjoy the pretty sounds you’d make. Does that sound fun?”

“Oh, you can try it, if you want,” you goaded him, looking up at him with your big doe eyes once he pulled back, wondering if he knew just how unhinged you were, just how on the edge you really were. “But, what happens if I’m poisonous? I might not be worth the stomachache.”

Wooyoung chuckled to himself, not used to any human acting so boldly towards him. “Fair point, human.”

“Y/N,” you corrected him, letting go of you weapon in favor of wrapping your finger around one of his silver necklaces, teasing him back in your own way. “You should at least know my name if you’re going to drink from me.”

Wooyoung mused at your actions, studying you with his sly fox eyes, licking at the mole on his lip. He would’ve pursed you if you hadn’t suddenly gotten spooked by something, turning his head to watch you continue making your way out of the club, noticing that the owner quickly followed after you. Things were certainly getting interesting.

By the time you inhaled the cold night air into your lungs, you had already broke out into a sweat. You let your heavy coat hang off past your shoulders and leaned back against a nearby wall, regretting all the alcohol you had subjected your poor body into taking. “Fuck me…” you groaned, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back into the cool concrete behind you, hoping that would make the world stop spinning.

“Is that an invitation…?” asked the very vampire you had been talking shit about to the bartender just a few minutes earlier. “It’s the least you could offer me in exchange for all the whiskey you drank in my club, filthy human.”

Your blood ran cold. “D-don’t you even think about touching me…You aren’t my owner.”

“Oh, because of this little collar you have on? You really don’t have a clue about our kind, do you? There’s no pheromones on you, just your own filthy human scent,” the vampire chided, running his finger along the worn band of your lace collar. It made your skin crawl. You struggled to keep down all the alcohol you had drowned yourself in. Just then, he ripped it from your neck and replaced it with his slender fingers, squeezing around it until your vision grew just that more blurry. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost time that you haven’t been used like a proper toy.”

Blinding rage joined the revulsion you felt for the individual that continued to toy with you as though you were a defenseless child, the culmination of it churning around inside your body like molten hot lava ready to pour out of you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” you barked, shoving your hands into his shoulders as hard as you could, your feverish anger growing that much more when he hardly moved.

In response, the vampire tugged your coat down and ripped open your top, causing the buttons to fly off. His abhorrent words became nothing more than radio static inside your ringing ears, once you saw red, clutching the wooden stake inside your pocket so tightly that it pierced your fragile skin. You reeled your arm back and drove it straight into the owner’s side, so violently that the wood split into shards, not letting go of it until you knew that it was lodged deeply inside him, wishing, hoping he felt even a fragment of the pain his kind had caused you. “Die,” you muttered, searching his eyes for some sign of shock, regret, grief, anything.

Confusion overtook your flushed features when the man simply laughed directly in your face, as though he were savoring a joke that you weren’t in on, suddenly feeling a white hot burning pain inside your abdomen. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t, not while you were gurgling on your own blood. You looked down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your stomach, reality hitting you like a ton of bricks, rendering it impossible to draw in air.

“It never ceases to amuse me when a blood bag thinks they can stop someone like me with something as silly as a wooden stake,” he began, letting out a small hum, as he drove his ritual dagger in as far as it could go. He leaned in close to you, twisting the knife around inside you just to hear the delightful sounds of agony that escaped your red tinted lips. “I’ve been alive longer than your entire bloodline, pathetic human, and I’ll be outliving you tonight.” And with that, the club owner ripped the dagger back out and strolled back into the building, licking the crimson that still ran down the sides of his blade.

You should’ve known this would happen eventually in a world like this. You had no power from the very start. Why had you been blind to the truth until this very moment, when all you could see was your precious blood leaving your body? Regardless, it was far too late to ruminate over trivial things. Death’s gentle whispers were lulling you to sleep, its sweet promises of rest numbing out most of the visceral emotions that coursed through your veins. Slumping against the wall, you held your middle with trembling hands, gazing up at the full moon that loomed over you, wanting to enjoy her beauty one last time — at least, until someone blocked your view.

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you see I’m dying here? Let me look at the moon in peace…” you murmured, weakly glaring up at the stranger you had met inside that godforsaken club only a couple minutes ago.

“You still got some fire in you, doncha, sweetheart?” Wooyoung mused, crouching down so you were at eye level, reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. “But, you’ll die of blood loss soon…pity.”

“You’re very observant,” you replied snarkily, leaning your head back into the wall, your vision growing darker by the second. You let out a long, defeated sigh, choking a bit on the blood left inside your raw throat. “Are you just here to watch me die? If that’s the case, can you do me a favor and make it quick?”

“You didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.” He leaned in close to you, his crimson eyes shining that much brighter when he asked, “Don’t you want revenge?”

His question echoed inside your mind, once as a whisper, and eventually as a desperate plea. “And what if I do…? It’s not like I can do much now…”

“Let me turn you.” He bared his fangs. “You’ll live, and you’ll be so much stronger than ever before.” He watched as your eyes widened, then returned to normal, figuring you were weighing your options, though they were vastly limited. “You’ll be free to take his life away, do with it as you please, just like he was going to do to you. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

A few drops of blood dribbled down the side of your mouth. The sand in your hourglass was about to run out. “What do you get in return?”

Wooyoung’s lips curled up into a sadistic smile, his eyes resembling glowing crescent moons. “I’ll be your Master, of course. It’s only fair, being your savior, and all.”

Though that was the very last thing you wanted, you were far too stubborn to die out in such a pathetic fashion. Not only that, but you were being offered the deal of a lifetime, at the end of your lifetime, to be exact, and in exchange for your mortal soul, you could enact sweet, sweet revenge and have a new tale to tell, one that no man or monster could ever take from you.

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Wooyoung joked slyly, tapping the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Alright, deal, but make it quick–” you were barely able to enunciate, before Wooyoung was all over you, one hand holding the side of your head, while the other felt where your artery was, immediately sinking his fangs deep into your neck to start the transformation process.

When you came to, you looked up at your savior, your eyes as red as the blood he had sucked out of you, all of the immense pain that plagued your body gone as quickly as it came, instead replaced by an indescribable thirst.

“How do you feel, pet?” Wooyoung asked, licking remnants of your life source from his manicured fingers.

You bared your new, needle sharp fangs to your Master. “Hungry.”

He smiled at you like a proud father would. “I think I know how we can fix that.”

The last thing the vampiric club owner expected to see when he was sitting inside the comfort of his secluded office was the human woman he had just murdered out of cold blood stomping up to his desk and tossing it out of the way like it wasn’t made of marble.

“H-hey, we can talk about this, right?” he asked nervously, holding his hands up, along with the stacks of cash that were in between his grubby fingers. “You want money? You can have it!”

You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards you so violently, he just about broke his neck. “I don’t want money. I want your life.”

When Wooyoung casually strolled into the cush office and pressed his back against the opaque door, the other vampire pleaded at him with his wide eyes. “Wooyoung, baby, this is your favorite club, isn’t it? Haven’t I treated you good here?”

“Y/N will treat you good too, don’t worry,” he reassures sweetly, dragging his tongue across his pointed teeth. He brought his finger up to his chin like he just remembered something, nodding to himself. “Ahh, she does bite, though.”

Just as Wooyoung’s cackles rang out inside the vast room, the club owner shifted his frightened gaze to you just in time to see your jaw open wide, gulping at the sheer size of your fangs. And just like that, you bit down onto the vampire’s neck, getting a good grip on his skin, before swiftly turning your head and causing a fountain of blood to rain over you.

Once you were done feeding, there was hardly anything left of the club owner. Most of him was inside you, and the rest was left splattered across the pedestrian paintings he had up on the walls. Still sitting on the floor near scattered, bloodied hundred dollar bills, you licked up the rest of him from your fingers, your entire body vibrating with pleasure now that your killer was no longer with you, and for other reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with your new body and your newfound love for excess.

Wooyoung clapped his hands together with giddy delight, giving the top of your head a few pats as a reward. “What a good girl. Do you feel full?”

Shaking your head, you reached up to Wooyoung’s waistband, undoing the belt buckle and easing his pants down, licking at your red stained lips all the while. The burning, mind-melting desire to consume didn’t leave you, it only multiplied. It clouded your mind, made you feel like you might lose your mind if you didn’t make it stop. “Not enough…my throat…need it filled…”

“Ahh, I see,” Wooyoung sighed knowingly. This always happened with the humans he turned; they turned into insatiable monsters, always driven by their need for more. He could never get tired of it. Leaning his back against the dripping wall, he reached down to slide his fingers into your soft hair, angling your head upwards, cooing softly at you as he pushed his way into your mouth. “Be careful with your fangs, sweetheart.”

Relaxing your throat upon the sudden intrusion, you opened your mouth wider, as to not pierce Wooyoung’s cock with your new fangs, feeling content once the entirety of his twitching length fit snugly inside. It was when the vampire thrusted further into your throat that you made a wet gagging sound, tears forming inside your crimson eyes, closing them.

“Ah, ah,” Wooyoung tutted, giving your cheek a light smack, smiling sweetly down at you when your eyes opened back up. “That’s right, you better look at me with those pretty eyes of yours if you’re going to take me down your throat like this. That’s what a good pet does.”

Once Wooyoung started to fuck your throat, eager to fill it with his cum, his pale fingers pulling tightly at your hair, you did your best not to choke around him, welcoming him in again, over and over, until saliva and pre-cum dripped down your chin and along your bare chest.

“Mmnh….nnnhmm…” you moaned in approval, reaching up to hold onto his bucking hips, digging your nails into his protruding hip bones. You blinked more tears away, wanting to see Wooyoung’s sadistic face without the constant blurriness that plagued your vision. Whether you had a penchant for punishment or you were simply bloodthirsty, it caused you to prod at the vampire’s cock with your fangs, the tangy flavor of iron joining the abundance of precum that lubed up your throat.

“Fuck, you’re a naughty girl, biting me like that,” Wooyoung hissed in between violent thrusts, suddenly holding your head still when the entirety of his cock was inside your throat, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, satisfied with the filthy gurgling noises you couldn’t help but make for him, feeling more of your spit drip down his heavy balls. He smacked his hand against your cheek again, watching it grow rosy, before pinching your nose tightly. “But, you can’t help it, huh? You just want to be put in your place. I can’t blame you for that.”

The sensation was suffocating, the feeling of being used added onto the constant buzz of pleasure that was running through your veins; it was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. It almost made you wish that you had let yourself be turned a long time ago. No one could stop you now, not even him. Maybe your humanity was slipping away from you, much like your sanity with each passing moment.

It wasn’t until you could breathe again and something warm, heavy, was pressing down on the tip of your tongue that you faded back into reality, just in time for Wooyoung to shoot a seemingly never-ending cumshot down the back of your aching throat.

“You’ll swallow, won’t you?” he asked sweetly, giving the bottom of your chin a light tickle with his clawed fingers.

When you stuck out your tongue to show him that nothing was left, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and yanked you towards him, biting the tip of your tongue to draw blood. You watched him suck it off with half-lidded eyes, having to close your thighs together to keep a fresh wave of slick from dripping out of you.

Before you knew it, he was on the floor with you, not even needing to pull you into his lap, groaning into your mouth as you climbed into it yourself, the heated kiss you shared consisting mostly of tongue, pointed teeth, and blood. You swapped red-tinted saliva back and forth, your hands working in tandem to tear off each other’s clothes and grope one another wherever you could, trying to create as much friction between your lower halves as you could, Wooyoung’s stiff cock rubbing deliciously into your clothed cunt.

You broke the kiss when your thirst once again grew too strong to ignore, reaching up to run your index finger over the mole on Wooyoung’s glistening bottom lip, hissing softly when he pierced it with one of his fangs. You both watched the blood slowly trickle down along your skin, sharing a similar look with one another, before you leaned in to lap it up, your tongues meeting in the middle.

As though telepathically connected, you reached to slip your panties off from underneath your skirt the same time Wooyoung undid the buttons of his pants, immediately rubbing at yourselves in order to get off as quickly as possible.

“Look at me when you cum,” Wooyoung demanded between huffs of air, staring you down past his wispy lashes, the speed at which he was stroking his cock producing lewd squelching sounds, his slender fingers slicked up with his abundant pre-cum.

Trembling, you opened up your teary eyes to look at Wooyoung, the indescribable pleasure etched into his face causing you to throb nonstop, curling your fingers up in just the right way to launch you into a world of ecstasy. “C-cumming…”

Wooyoung groaned at the sight and feeling of your release spilling into his lap, squeezing his hand tightly around the base of his cock, hot spurts of cum landing on your abdomen and dripping down your bare cunt, not even caring that you both dirted his designer jeans with your shared arousal. “I’m gonna make you do that again, on my cock this time, you hear me?” he growled at you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you down onto his growing erection.

“Fuck,” you gasped sharply, holding onto his shoulders to keep your composure, your thighs still shaking from your residual pleasure, a low, burning pain present within your core as your hole stretched to accommodate the vampire’s size. “T-too much…”

Wooyoung’s ego just about doubled in that moment, his ringed fingers closing in on your soft waist, suddenly bucking his hips up into you like it was his sole mission to do so in the afterlife. Smiling smugly at the small, broken noises he was punching out of you with his vicious thrusts, he couldn’t help but let out a few crazed giggles. “Can’t take it now that I’m rearranging these pretty guts of yours, huh?” He mirrored your pout, his lower lip jutting out. “But, I thought you were my cum slut, my good little blood whore.”

“I am…! I–fuck, I am, Master…!” you found yourself crying out, tears inside your hazy eyes, tasting dried blood when you wet your dry lips, knowing you wouldn’t even recognize your reflection if you saw it now. You were a new model, remolded, changed for the better.

His hypnotic eyes began to glow. “Be a good sleeve and take it for your Master, yeah?”

You did as he said, taking everything he gave you like a pliant doll, letting him lick, bite, drink from you, and fuck you dumb for as long as his still heart desired, wondering if he was even aware of how much your blood boiled inside you.

Wooyoung was just like the others. They were all the same, treating you like a helpless toy, using you for their enjoyment and tossing you aside when they were bored, viewing your humanity as your downfall, and perhaps they were right. Like two magnets, you couldn’t live without the other, and now, you were a monster like him, one in the same.

Just as you both reached your climax together, holding desperately onto one another, Wooyoung’s bewitching gaze no longer holding captive, you felt a supreme power rise within yourself. You didn’t need him, not when you were now your own Master. The only thing you served now was your endless hunger.

Wooyoung couldn’t get you off once you latched onto his neck, gasping and sputtering, his constant struggles only forcing your fangs just that much deeper into his skin and the artery you had targeted, digging his claws into your back as a last ditch effort. “But, we…we made a pact,” he coughed out, his gravelly voice reflecting the immense pain he felt. He couldn’t fight back any longer, simply slumping back against the wall to accept his fate, holding his hand up to his torn neck, despite it not doing anything to prevent the crimson from flowing through his fingers. “I don’t understand…”

“I recall warning you that I was poisonous,” you replied softly, licking remnants of his precious life source from your stained lips.

He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes resembling half-moons. “Fair point, human…”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung smut #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez fanfic #kpop smut

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nymphea0 · 4 months ago

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The Duke And His secret

Yan! Matthias x Reader

Oneshot Story.

Warnings : mentions of nudity, use of power, mention of sleeping pills, Bird corpse, some light mature content.

Manhwa : 울어 봐, 빌어도 좋고.Cry, Even Better if You Beg. Cry, Even if You Pray.

Author & Ilustration : Solche & Van J.

Word Count : 3.25K word.

Hi Neva again... i didn't post any story a few days ago, mybe? i always forget that i have a tumblr TvT... hope you all are doing well and having a nice day, i never expected my last story character manhwa Ishakan will be liked so much, i'm glad you all like my story, mybe after this story i will update Ishakan's story soon.

Well, for your information. Solche, the author who made Cry, Even Better if You Beg. Has 3 other stories too!, Solche has a style of writing stories in dark romance but realistic version? I'm not so sure. And all the stories, every ML character is a complex character in each of the 3 stories, Matthias is the darkest black character among them all, He is the definition of Black Fleg, not a red flag, but black!, I wonder if you all like it if I write this character again? Like Bastian and Bjorn?.

might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my first oneshot story,love.- Neva🦋🦋

12-xx-01xx

Birds chirp throughout the Arvis paradise forest, so green and beautiful, so fertile and very pleasing to the eye to see every corner.

But the beauty must be broken by the loud sound of the nobles' annual hunting rifles in the Arvis region.

The sound of horse hooves and the barking of hunting dogs accompany every corner of the Arvis paradise forest.

Three pairs of teenagers are running along the outskirts of the road that is indeed not passed by the nobles.

Layla Llewellyn, Kyle Etman, and you.

Each of you holds a small shovel to bury every bird carcass from the nobles' hunt that lies pitifully along the hunting path.

"They're crazy! How could they be so relaxed hunting such beautiful animals!" Again, it will always be like this, where Layla will complain and cry, and Kyle will calm her down, while you, well you just sigh and dirty your dress.

Lyla is the niece of the gardener of the Arvis residence, Kyle is the son of a doctor, while you, you are just the daughter of an Earl from an empire quite far from the Berg empire.

Your soft and smooth white dress is now dirty from the dirt from the action of burying the bird's corpse, while Kyle is busy calming the crying Lyla.

While you are busy digging the ground you feel someone watching you, slowly raising your head, looking straight there your Amethyst eyes collide with sky-blue eyes, the eyes of the young duke of Arvis, Matthias Von Herhardt, Arvis's perfect work from the Berg empire, a skilled hunter, the , Lyla's natural enemy who loves birds.

There he is, on his horse, still fully dressed for hunting, tall, handsome and masculine, no wonder all the women in Berg want to marry him.

That's what's in your mind, you just stare at him for a moment then go back to burying the bodies of these poor birds.

"Come on Lyla, there's no point in crying, let's bury them properly"

Kyle's voice was very loud but gentle when calming Lyla who was busy crying

In the end you spent the afternoon together burying the carcasses of birds from the nobles' annual hunt.

Walking in your now dirty white dress, it was certain that the maids and especially your mother would scold you.

Lyla she just looked at you and smiled guiltily with Kyle beside her who also looked at you guiltily.

"Well, you guys should take me to hidden places in this Arvis forest, as payment for me burying all the bird corpses" Kyle and Lyla spoke softly excitedly, especially Lyla who hugged you tightly.

"Of course!! We will definitely take you to a place you've never seen!"

Look at these two cinnamon rolls, they are so cute!.

You still remember when you first arrived in the Berg Empire, the Arvis region, your mother's hometown. Your father is an Earl who fell in love with your mother, the daughter of a Baron from Arvis, they met at the annual event of nobles from all over the world held in the Berg Empire.

From their love you came, your father loves and cares for you very much, you inherited your mother's soft and beautiful face, while the rest, like snow-white hair, and your Amethyst Eyes you got from your father.

The combination of your father and mother, this is also what makes your grandmother and grandfather spoil and love you very much, they are like seeing your father but the female version.

In addition to the fact that your father loves your mother and you very much, your father made a small agenda that every 2 years you, your mother, and your father, will visit the Berg Empire, your mother's hometown Arvis.

The baron's residence is very different from the earl's residence where you live, if the Earl's residence is full of white buildings that have intricate carvings and statues that you will wonder which is the main residence, then the Baron's residence is only a 2-story building that is not so big with a fairly large yard.

Well, whatever it is, home is home.

That was when you first met Lyla and Kayle, at that time you were still 11 years old, and now you are 14 years old.

This is the second time you have visited your mother's hometown. For you, Arvis is beautiful, especially the forest, but your instincts say that behind the beauty there must always be ugliness that is hidden tightly, but you don't know what the ugliness is.

After separating from Lyla and Kyle, you were scolded by your mother to the fullest. That is a sign that your mother loves you very much.

While your father just laughed out loud seeing your condition.

"Well, I thought our stray kitten likes to explore Tera, look at her hair, Hahaha" laughing out loud until he almost spilled the coffee in his hand.

"Don't defend her Vincent! This could become a habit!"

Finally you and your father knelt down with your mother holding a broom standing upright scolding the two of you who were behaving immaturely and childishly. The baron's residence is as comfortable as Arvis' heaven and the servants greatly adore your harmonious family atmosphere which is very different from other nobles.

Your father's name is Vincent Zeredith Von Alvern. A noble from an empire quite far from the Berg Empire.

Your mother's name is Teresa Von Adelaide.

Your father is a noble with the title of earl of the Alvern Territory.

And your mother is the daughter of a baron from the Berg Empire, the Arvis Territory, the Adelaide Baron family.

The afternoon where this is your second day in Arvis, you visit the Berg Empire, Meet the emperor and empress.

After visiting your father and mother let you go exploring within a period of only the Arvis forest and nothing more.

Running excitedly, the lilac dress that fits your body moves gently in the wind, Your snow-white hair moves gently as you run, you wait at the usual place where Lyla and Kyle and you chatted 2 years ago, at a large tree, a willow tree.

You stood under a willow tree looking around the beautiful Arvis Lake, butterflies flying around you, various colors.

You sat looking at Arvis Lake while waiting for Lyla and Kyle to come.

Unfortunately you did not know and did not realize that, at Arvis Lake, someone had been watching you closely.

Matthias as usual at the age of 17, did his noble routine as a duke of Arvis and.

That afternoon was very hot, naked, Matthias swam around Arvis Lake in the Annex, a private place that not many people visited, while swimming, Matthias saw the willow tree that Layla usually sat on, the same tree where he caught Layla accidentally seeing him swimming naked.

For Matthias Layla was just an ordinary girl, a girl who went through a normal life path in Arvis.

expert layla what matthias saw was you, busy laughing softly playing with the butterflies around you, your long and soft white hair for matthias was like snow in spring.

If lyla is the sun and a little bird, then you are snow and a kitten.

Matthias already knows you even if you don't know him.

Imperial palace berg

Matthias, 11 years old.

With his mother Elysee von herhardt, and his grandmother Norma Catharina Von herhardt, chatting with various nobles from all over the empire.

Looking around matthias' eyes accidentally saw the other side of the room where he saw a girl who he thought was 8 years old.

A petite body, a soft and smooth blue dress, the type of noble child in general, but that white hair, for matthias it was like the white color of snow.

Time passed quite a long time, but the main event was not over yet, bored looking around and only chatting with the old noble. Matthias excused himself to go to the imperial garden.

Tak

The sound of his leather shoes with quite sharp heels made quite a loud noise in the middle of his journey to the garden.

Upon arriving at the garden, Matthias saw the girl again, the same girl he saw at the imperial party.

There the girl stood in the middle of the rose garden, busy looking at the roses that were as red as blood, a stark contrast to her snow-white hair.

Whether he realized it or not, little Matthias was already by the side of the girl who stole his attention.

"Do you like roses?"

In Matthias' entire life, it had never occurred to him to start a conversation first, but here he was, talking to a girl who he estimated was not that far from him.

The white-haired girl turned around and looked at Matthias in confusion.

Bright amethyst eyes met sky-blue eyes. Purple and blue.

Matthias in his life he had never seen someone with amethyst eyes like the girl in front of him.

Usually the colors he saw were hazel, gray, yellow, blue, dark blue, and green, but purple... that was something new.

The snow-haired girl answered.

"I like it, why ask?"

Matthias was not sure but as if his mouth moved on its own and answered.

"I also like roses just like you"

That night. Matthias never asked the name of the snow-haired girl with purple Amethyst eyes.

Neither his mother nor grandmother knew that he met a girl who was not much different from him, at the annual noble event in the corner of the world.

For Matthias the snow-white-haired girl with purple amethyst eyes was his secret, his little secret that he didn't want people to know.

Matthias swam in the Arvis lake, annex, staring at you who was busy looking at butterflies, not realizing that someone was staring at you.

He saw you 2 days ago, with the doctor's son and the gardener's nephew, for Matthias Kyle is a volatile teenager, Layla is an ordinary girl and you, for Matthias you are noble lady who befriends a commoner? Clearly that is a deviation from social life of aristocrat.

A deviant noblewoman who hangs out with commoners.

Busy burying the carcasses of birds hunted by nobles and himself.

For Matthias, Layla is a girl who likes to cry, is troublesome and goes the wrong way.

And you for Matthias are a deviant noble lady, who really likes to dirty your dress, you look like a cat who is not aware of being covered in mud all over her body.

Chuckling softly, how could he forget you. you, the same girl he met 6 years ago, his little secret.

That afternoon you were busy playing with Lyla and Kayle, walking slowly along the Arvis forest path or people call it Arvis heaven.

Busy staring at the wild flowers and you saw a wild rose bush, with white and pink colors that clashed. Once again you ruined your dress, well anyway the roses were beautiful and you didn't expect a white stray kitten to be caught there.

Feeling pity and sympathy you knelt down which made your dress that was already torn by the thorns of the wild bushes become even more damaged by the dirt of the ground, slowly releasing the white kitten. which was caught between the tendrils of wild grass you didn't even realize that your chain bracelet with amethyst diamonds was caught there, fortunately there were no wounds on the cute cat, you put the kitten gently on the ground.

The white kitten was busy licking its tiny feet, you had to restrain yourself from squeezing and kissing the kitten affectionately.

You were busy admiring the white kitten until you didn't realize a horse neighing sound was right not far behind you, you turned around slowly, there you saw, the young duke Arvis in his hunting suit, you saw him holding his rifle, the rifle was pointing right in the middle of the position, between you and the white kitten.

You felt that this young duke wanted to hunt the kitten, quickly you stood up and in a position to block the duke's rifle

"Don't! Duke do you also hunt a cats?! Aren't birds enough for you?"

Looking annoyed at the duke arvis who had now gotten off his horse.

Walking slowly the young duke arvis stopped in front of you, he was tall, sturdy and fit, the body type of a trained soldier.

You were only as tall as his chest, amethyst and blue eyes collided with each other.

"Duke? Do you know who I am?" A soft and deep voice came from the duke in front of you.

"Who doesn't know the duke, the perfect work of god from the arvis region, the young duke herhardt, Matthias Von Herhardt"

You answered casually which was answered by a chuckle from him.

You almost wanted to slap his face, you didn't know why but you didn't like the way he chuckled! Just almost.

"You know me, but I don't know you, why don't you introduce yourself to me?" Matthias' soft but deep baritone voice spoke to you.

You introduced yourself to him.

"Which family are you from?" Matthias asked you again.

"Alvern, Roshanette Empire, Alvern Territory"

Answering casually because you don't want to be familiar with this man!.

Silence fell on the two people, the man was busy staring at the woman, while the woman was busy staring at the kitten that was right under his left foot.

Because you didn't want to linger there with the young duke Arvis, you gently picked up the kitten.

"Nice to meet you, Duke, have a nice day"

Then you went to take the kitten away from him.

Matthias he was still standing there staring at the place where you were standing in front of him.

You were so small, so fragile, Matthias was sure that if he touched an inch of your hand, maybe you would be crushed in his grip.

When he was about to return to his horse, Matthias' eyes accidentally caught the soft gleam of the wild grass tendrils.

Walking slowly towards the weeds, crouching down and there Matthias saw, the diamond chain bracelet that had an amethyst color was caught around the weeds.

Grinning slowly, Matthias took the bracelet, even when the bracelet was in his hand, it was very small, Matthias measured the hole of the bracelet on his finger, and it only fit 3 fingers.

Chuckling softly Matthias returned to his horse while carrying the item he took happily and he was not sure whether to return it or not.

Unfortunately for Matthias that was the last time you and him met.

7 years, 7 years Matthias has not seen you, he still keeps your bracelet that he stole secretly take and never returned to you.

For 7 long years, he had to go through 2 years of war, a time when he pretended to be engaged to his distant cousin, Claudine, many rumors fell on him saying that he was playing behind his back with Lyla, the gardener's niece just because Matthias liked to make her cry like accidentally throwing her hat to the lake and almost drowned.

Or hunted migratory animals just to say the sentence that Layla was just an ordinary girl and to make layla know her place .

His engagement with Claudine ended in failure because Claudine loved Rittie, her other distant cousin.

And the engagement between Layla and Kyle, 2 unstable teenagers who were strange in Matthias' eyes.

That night Matthias, his grandmother and his mother ate quietly, only the sound of spoons and forks could be heard

"Matthias, how long will you continue to reject proposals from several noble families?"

Elysee his mother looked at Matthias with tired eyes.

While his grandmother just chuckled softly.

"Are you really with that garden girl ?!"

Elysee stared at Matthias' eyes uneasy.

Matthias he just ate and drank quietly he didn't even answer his mother's question.

"Matthias Von Herhardt! Answer your mother!." Staring fiercely at Matthias, her only child, Elysee, gripped the fork and knife tightly in her hands.

"Mother, even flies will be attracted to dirt rather than rumors of nobles"

Matthias spoke with an authoritative language, if traced, Matthias said that did his mother prefer to hear rumors of nobles that were not true?

Before Elysee had time to speak, Matthias said again.

"1 month, give me 1 month, and I will bring a wife, mother"

After saying that, Matthias left the dining room.

You, 21 years old, very young and beautiful, you are currently at the age where noble ladies get married.

But instead of getting married, your parents asked you to focus on studying and pursuing your dreams, make yourself happy and have fun.

You are studying medicine, mental health and psychology.

You are currently in the Berg Empire, after 7 years of never returning.

Unlike 7 years ago where you were with your parents, this time you were alone, considering you were old enough.

You visited only for a moment, to see Kyle and Lyla who were getting married.

Currently you were at the baron's residence of your mother's family, even though your grandparents had passed away, the baron's residence was still well maintained.

You spent the remaining 2 days shopping and helping Layla.

The 3rd day, you spent your time in the Arvis forest alone.

Staring around the forest that you passed through 7 years ago with Kyle and Layla, you didn't expect that now they would be getting married.

You stared at a flock of birds flying, until you felt a cold metal object pressing against the back of your head.

Turning slowly, exactly about 3 feet away, stood the duke of Arvis, Matthias von Herhardt! The man you least wanted to meet!

Matthias stood in all his glory pointing his hunting rifle at you.

Matthias thinks you are too much, leaving without saying goodbye and then coming so suddenly, how can he be calm when his heart beats so fast just by muttering your name, just by seeing you breathe.

You haven't changed at all, for Matthias you are still the white-haired girl, the noble lady who got into the hang out with commoners, and the noble lady who is like a stray cat who likes to dirty her dress with dirt and mud.

"Duke, do you intend to kill me?"

Asking Matthias carefully.

Instead of lowering his muzzle, Matthias chuckled and said

"Why is that? Are you afraid of me?"

You looked at Matthias in disgust.

"Everyone would be afraid if a stranger suddenly pointed a gun at their head"

Again, Matthias only answered with a laugh that seemed to be mocking you.

"Well, it's not wrong"

Unfortunately, that afternoon you spent being forced to accompany Matthias hunting! He used his authority, saying that you were in his territory, and someone who was not from this territory had to obey the orders of the one who held the highest position.

You felt like slapping, hitting, and swearing at the man sitting on his horse! As for you?! You were walking holding his rifle that you were sure weighed almost 4 kg!

This duke is crazy! He must be the incarnation of the devil!

"Lady, are you cursing me?" Matthias grinned slightly, looking down at where you were walking while holding his rifle.

"I'm not the duke, why should I even do that?"

Answering half-truthfully. You almost rolled your eyes in annoyance!

Matthias he just grinned slightly looking at you, it was very clear to him that you were cursing him, it was very entertaining for him, your expression really wanted to make him bite your cheek in annoyance. He had to be patient, just a little longer, and you would be his.

That afternoon you spent your time reluctantly becoming Matthias' assistant.

You are only 5 days in the Berg Empire after that you will return to the Roshanette Empire, Alvern region.

Unfortunately for you it seems like it was just a dream for you.

You don't know what what happened to you, after becoming Matthias's hunting rifle assistant that afternoon, right when Matthias was taking you back to Baron Adelaide's residence.

You felt like your head was hit by a very hard object, before you even had time to be inside the residence, you only saw darkness and a warm arm hugging you.

The Annex, another residence in the main area of the Herhardt residence, was Matthias's main house, Matthias's main residence as a duke and where he relaxed and was himself. Surrounded by the clear Arvis lake which was connected by a pier that was integrated with his residence in the Annex.

Slowly smoking a tobacco cigarette, Matthias stared at you there, his little secret, sleeping soundly in his bed.

Matthias knew this was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, he had held himself back enough, looking around the room, which was currently very messy, furniture was destroyed, clothes were scattered, and the bed was very messy.

Matthias has claimed you as his, maybe you will hate him, but Matthias doesn't care, it took him 7 years to realize that he loves you, love? Matthias wanted to laugh so much, in his entire life, he never thought he could fall in love and feel love.

Slowly extinguishing his cigarette, Matthias walked towards the bed, opening your legs a little, that's where Matthias saw the remaining traces of your love activities left behind.

Chuckling softly, Matthias looked at you, your eyes were swollen from crying, even though you were on sleeping pills, you were still able to refuse him.

Looking at your ring finger which now has a diamond ring embedded in it.

Tomorrow Matthias will marry you, make you Duchess Herhardt and tell your parents in the Roshanette Empire, that their child is married.

Matthias only needs 1 week to find a wife, which is you, and 1 month is a phrase that Matthias plays with and gives to his mother as another form of sentence, namely

"In 1 month I will give you a grandson and bring a wife , so be patient mother, soon you will have daughter in law and became a grandma".

Matthias has got you, his, his life, his woman, his wife, the mother of his children, his little secret.

Even if you try to run away from him, Matthias will lock you away from the outside world, whatever it is you are his.

Kissing your forehead softly, Matthias looks at you with love, passion and a deep sense of possessiveness and obsession.

You are his little secret, his secret that he really doesn't want anyone else to see, hear or interact with. Because you are his.

His secret, his little secret.

*Source Image : pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 ,OG story, Project Dark Manhwa Character Oneshot.

Special Story for my Love; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut

Tag list; @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions , Always be good people Dear. Much love , Neva🦋🦋.

#obsessed #possesive #yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #manhwa x reader #yandere manhwa #yandere manhwa x reader #matthias x reader #cry or better yet beg #Matthias Von Herhardt #nevaerah

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pinacoladamatata · 1 year ago

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anyway got this cover of hurt on repeat while i draw surely nothing sad will come of this

#AND YOU COULD HAVE IT ALL #MY EMPIRE OF DIRT

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caladblog · 2 months ago

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A BASIC GUIDE TO VICTORIAN CLOTHING, FOR FANDOMS

wherein VICTORIAN CLOTHING is understood to mean "common clothing from the 1830s to the end of the century, in fashion as set by London and followed to a greater or lesser extent in the rest of the British empire"

This is very much meant as a starting point or a cheat sheet, not a comprehensive historical essay, for people who want to know what the Fuck is happening under that morning coat and/or dress the size of a kitchen table. I've also included a little bit on likely materials and colors so you can add some texture to your fics.

Here's the rule of thumb: Victorians loved LAYERS, BUTTONS, and DECORATIVE SHIT. When in doubt, slap several layers of clothing on your guy, button 'em all together, and flourish the hell out of the top layer. Congrats, you have dressed a Victorian.

Read on for details! And check my reblogs for a note on trans characters. A Part 2 on Mending/Laundry is in the works, because it had a much bigger impact on Victorian dress at all levels of society than it does on modern fashion and I think it's worth talking about.

UNDERWEAR FOR MEN:

a warm and comfortable and easily washable undershirt (typically called a vest) with sleeves that went down to the wrist

drawers, also warm and comfortable and easily washable and covering the whole legs, fastened with buttons or ties at the waist and ankles

pair of socks

If you cover your whole body in this base layer made of undyed, unfashionable, who-cares-if-it's-stained fabric, the sweat and dirt of your body stays on this easily-washable layer and spares the outer layers of clothing that would be damaged by hot water and soaps, or at least that was the philosophy.

The most common fabric for this underwear was flannel, as it was cheap and fairly soft. Bands of cotton could be stitched to the inside of the wrists, ankles, waists, and collar if you found the wool itchy. Socks were almost always knitted wool, holes or thin spots mended with darning whether you were poor or rich.

UNDERWEAR FOR WOMEN:

the chemise / shift: a simple, short-sleeved cotton tube that fell to the mid-thigh

other underwear requires a bit of a history lesson, sorry. At the beginning of the century, you wore like 85 petticoats and no bloomers. Then crinolines--a sort of metal cage skirt that held your dress away from your body to obtain the fashionable wide silhouette--were invented in the 1850s. It was great, because they replaced 30lbs of underskirts, but also inconvenient, in that hoops of steel are inherently bouncy. To preserve modesty (and also warmth) women began wearing bloomers, open in the middle and buttoning at the waist and either at or below the knee. These were also made of plain cotton and only occasionally decorated with a bit of lace-- for all your underthings, male or female, you wanted to be able to 1) make a bunch of sets quickly and cheaply so you could change every day without needing to launder as often and 2) use cloth that could be laundered easily.

stockings were longer and more decorative than men's socks, made of wool, cotton, or silk. White was popular at the beginning of the century, but bright colors and patterns became fashionable in the middle, and conservative black stockings dominated the end of the era. Wool fabrics were the most common, warmest, and cheapest; silk stockings were for very wealthy and fashionable women as they required the most care. Near the end of the century stockings were suspended from the corset, but up til that point stockings were held up by garters tied above the knee.

MIDDLE LAYERS FOR MEN:

shirts, with much longer tails than the button-up shirts we're used to, with a buttoned slit that only went about halfway down the chest rather than all the way down the front of the garment. Lots of volume in the sleeve around the armpit, buttoned up at the cuff. At the beginning of the period, rich men's shirts were checked or patterned while working men's shirts were white(ish), but this swapped over the course of the century as colored fabric became cheaper. (It hides stains better.) The gentleman's shirt from midcentury onward was a crisp, bright white.

As a middle layer, parts of it (like the cuffs and front) could be seen in public, but you absolutely could not go out without a waistcoat and jacket. You only removed your jacket and showed your shirtsleeves at the end of the day, amongst your family.

Trousers were held up by braces / suspenders that went over the shoulders, not belts that fastened around the waist, and you did NOT let them show. They were meant to be covered entirely by waistcoats.

MIDDLE LAYERS FOR WOMEN:

As a very carefully tailored and shaped garment that couldn't really be washed, corsets went over the shift. All women wore them, even laborers, even prisoners and people in workhouses as part of their (institution-provided and deliberately demeaning) uniform. They were viewed as necessary armor to support your weak internal organs, and the physically upright posture they created went hand in hand with moral uprightness in the Victorian mind. They could lace up in the front or back, and the boning could be made of steel (cheap and sturdy) or whalebone (springier and therefore a bit more comfortable) or wood (if you are truly broke AF) or even just stiff cord (mostly for young girls, in which they were called stays).

camisoles (also called vests or corset covers) were tailored shirts worn over the corset, and could be either extremely decorative with embroidery and lace or plainer and made for warmth.

then you've got the crinoline, tied at the waist, a skirt made of steel hoops as already described.

then a couple of petticoats, decorated at the hem for fashion, layered for warmth and to hide the crinoline's hoops.

OUTERWEAR FOR MEN:

trousers, made of cotton or wool. The big differences between Victorian trousers and today's are 1) zippers hadn't been invented yet, the flies were buttoned and 2) the modern waist sits around the hipbones, while the Victorian waist was at the bottom of the ribcage.

jackets, made of thick heavily felted wool that was decently wind- and rain-proof. Darker colors in jackets and trousers lasted longer, so light-colored cloth was mostly worn by the young and rich (or those who wanted to look rich) and flashy.

waistcoats were where the fashion REALLY was. As the back was always made of plain cotton not meant to be seen, even poor men could often afford the cost of the fabric needed to make a neat waistcoat. The front could be made of embroidered silk for luxury, wool for added warmth, or printed cotton making full use of the brilliantly-colored (and relatively cheap) dyes that had just been invented. It's a little bit like people today wearing simple suits and shirts paired with wild socks.

OUTERWEAR FOR WOMEN:

and here you finally get to the f*cking dress. I couldn't possibly go into all the variations on dresses in this era, but I can say that bright colors and patterns were common for women of all classes (but were also part of the ever-present anxiety about people acting "above their station", if a maid dressed too fashionably). The design of the sleeves and the decoration of the hems changed regularly with fashion, as did the precise shape of the feminine silhouette, but the bodice was always tight and the skirts were always full. The average woman would spend more money on flourishes--ribbons, lace, other trimmings--than the dress itself, largely because the average level of skill in sewing was so high that they mostly bought the fabric for the dress and cut & sewed it themselves.

ACCESSORIES FOR MEN:

the collar was not an integral part of the shirt! It was detachable and had to be washed, starched, and ironed separately. Laborers didn't wear them, just a loosely-tied cloth around their neck, but a stand-up collar was necessary for anyone working in a business setting whether you're rich or making really terrible clerk's wages. Turned-down collars like the ones on most of our shirts today were informal and for wealthy men at leisure.

a stock or necktie, ideally black silk. Modern neckties weren't around yet, but the century moved slowly towards that and away from cravats.

gloves. Especially when status was a concern, so, men outside the home not engaged in business and servants waiting on their masters. These were tight-fitting, pale in color, and damn near impossible to launder and mend.

ACCESSORIES FOR WOMEN:

a shawl, often. Your lower half would be covered in stockings and plentiful skirts, while your upper half would only have a few layers that were usually made of cotton, so freezing your tits off was unfortunately common.

gloves. Like men's gloves, these were also status symbols worn when visiting your acquaintances or waiting on your masters. The vast vast majority of servants were women, and the rough labor of washing and cleaning fell to them, so these gloves also covered the evidence of that rough work.

HATS/BONNETS:

Everybody wore a hat when out in public. It's just what you did. The type of hat varied based on fashion, occupation, and social standing, but you had SOME kind of thing on your head when you left the house.

SOME SPECIFIC CLOTHES:

Fishermen wore knitted jumpers instead of jackets. Laborers out in the country (muddy when it rained, dusty when it didn't) wore gaiters, which were basically just rectangles or tubes of cheap-ass sacking that tied around the ankle and below the knee to keep the mud / dust off their trousers. Surgeons and people who worked a lot with ink (clerks, stationers) had sleeves, which were tubes of canvas that tied around the wrist and elbow to protect their shirtsleeves. The advantage of sleeves and gaiters is that you can remove them, toss them in a bucket of water, and beat the shit out of them to wash them without worrying about rips or tears OR getting the stains (mud, ink, blood, etc) onto your other clothes.

Maids and other laborers didn't wear crinolines, but they did wear a corset and a couple of petticoats under their dress.

More prosperous laborers might still own a collar / crinoline, but only wear it to church on Sundays or other occasions that called for nice dress.

When at home and not working or entertaining visitors, both men and women would wear slippers that could be super fancy or very simple or your kid's first sewing project, etc etc. Depends on your preference.

Men would sleep in long, loose nightshirts and women would sleep in long, loose nightdresses. Practically speaking there wasn't much difference between these garments; both might be decorated a bit with embroidery or lace. Rich people would have finer fabrics, fashionable people would have more decoration, poor people might just sleep in whatever combination of day clothes is the most comfortable. Fairly straightforward.

TO RECAP

MEN: vest + drawers + socks > shirt > trousers + braces + collar > waistcoat + stock or necktie > jacket + shoes or boots > hat

WOMEN: shift + bloomers (optional) + stockings > corset > camisole > crinoline > petticoats (minimum 2) > dress > shawl > shoes + bonnet

===

SOURCES

How to Be a Victorian, by Ruth Goodman

Inside the Victorian Home, by Judith Flanders

Episode 342 of Antiques Freaks, Historical Costuming for The Terror (2018)-- the first ~8 minutes talk about men's clothes in general, then they go into naval uniforms until minute 15ish.

#fallen london #the terror amc #at least those are the two fandoms i learned this shit for lol

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 2/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 here. Word count: 5.1 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Part two! I don't usually rec music for my fics but if this fic was a song, it would be Dead can Dance’s In Power we Entrust the Love Advocated.

You wake up with a giant plastered on your back.

His bed is far more comfortable than your own, soft and cushy, and there must be flowers somewhere in the hay because there is a surprisingly pleasant odour lingering in the air as you come to. The mattress overall doesn’t reek of too much sweat: some poor slave must change the fillings often enough for König’s stench not to settle on the bed. Actually, you’ve slept quite nicely, despite being embraced by an ogre the whole night.

König has slept like a stone, too, but stirs when you start to shift. You turn on your back and find his drowsy stare on you: it’s generous and warm as he pulls you closer to him. You could roll your eyes when you notice he’s hard down there again – he’s probably hard all the time, whether in bed with a woman or raging on the battlefield, sticking his swords into some poor man’s gut.

“Gut geschlafen?” He asks, and you reckon he’s trying to ask if you’ve slept well – in his domain, in his embrace, after he just slaughtered half of your village.

You give him another pout, which is starting to become your signature expression now. He replies to your grumpiness with a smile, his own trademark move, the one that threatens to strip you from all your arms. He squeezes you fondly against his chest, and then his hand starts to wander: he plays with your tits again, then slinks further down to brush your navel. When he crosses the border and heads straight toward your womanhood, you seize his arm.

He whines softly at your refusal, but to your surprise, he actually stops. You let him go as he moves back up and stay immobile under his touch, amidst the flowery scent and the faint stench of dirt and man sweat, sighing as he cups your breast again. He doesn’t seem to get enough of them, and they’re beginning to feel sore: he gave them so much attention last night already and is now at them again.

You pull his hand away, but this time, he doesn’t respect your wishes but resists you. Trying to hinder a man who’s as strong as a bull is futile, but you have an attempt at it anyway. It turns into a play fight: you wrench his hand down, he drags it back up. Up and down and up and down, as if your breast is a hill he needs to conquer at all costs. But he’s the only one who finds any amusement in your silly game: eyes narrowing again with a smile, a few soft chuckles under that hood telling you he enjoys it when you fight him a little.

It all ends when you finally slap him.

It’s neither a good nor a hard slap, and his mask muffles whatever sound was supposed to give you at least some measure of satisfaction.

But he stops... And laughs.

“Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige.”

His language is harsh and throaty, abrupt, and you tell him that, safe with the knowledge that he can’t understand a word you say either.

“You talk ugly,” you complain and watch him up and down, searching for a clue that would tell you that he somehow understands your insult. König simply thunders with another mirthful laugh at your morning crank.

“Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg.”

He looks down at you like he’s the Sun God now, thoroughly life-giving and kind. Then he dares to bend forward and press a kiss on your forehead.

“Go away,” you try to push him back with your hands - the hood prevents you from feeling his skin and breath and lips, but the… intimacy is still too much.

“Brute,” you want to spit the word out but end up sounding like a child attempting to quarrel instead. And he’s laughing at you again, both with his eyes and his mouth, covered by that darned hood. You don’t know why on earth you would think that such a charming laugh must come from an equally charming mouth.

He finally retreats and rises from the bed, stretching out his arms. The broad muscles on his back are exposed to the frigid air and his cock is jutting out, long and veined, completely unaffected by the cold. This beast is ripe and ready for another day, and you swallow when you see him in his full glory again, tall and wide and strong, looking like he’s about to eat an entire boar and fuck ten women in the process.

“Schön,” he comments as he turns to look down at you, lying naked and sweet there in his bed. He looks at you like you are the most lovely, adorable, difficult little thing. He even gives his horse cock a few good strokes while taking your sleepy little pouts in.

“Ugly,” you slur back, and he winks at you.

Gods… You’re too hot and riled to even speak.

You choose to vehemently stay in bed as König starts his day: eats some fruit from the table - still naked - pours himself some wine and washes his mouth with it, tears a handful of bread from a loaf and starts to eat with his mouth open, munching loudly under that hood, walking around without bothering to cover himself and that ungodly erection that is bouncing in the air without a care in the world.

You, on the other hand, escape back under the warm covers of the furs, but your eyes never leave König. He draws the draping flap of his tent aside - still naked - giving his soldiers a good view of his morning wood, a lovely chance to get a look at their champion. Perhaps it’s his way of saying good morning, you think bitterly. Then he leaves, probably to take a piss, and you’re more and more convinced that this man is the worst beast that has ever walked this earth.

You’re still under the furs when he returns and finally gives you the grace of clothing himself. It’s stupid that you mourn losing the sight of those shoulders and feel a bit disappointed when his cock disappears under the red tunic. His manhood doesn’t look any less intimidating even when growing soft; it’s still long and veiny and thick, and you find yourself… curious. Just curious.

He doesn’t put his armour on this time, chooses to wear only his tunic and sandals and a pair of hard-boiled leather cuffs to protect the vital veins on the wrists. He does take one Gladius with him, though - a sign of distrust in his own men or a Roman custom, you can’t tell.

He’s already at the mouth of the tent when he turns and points at you, now with a good amount of sternness in his voice.

“Du. Bleibst.”

…

He’s away the whole day. Probably drawing plans at some field war council, eating and drinking and bouncing some poor girl on his knee.

Even the thought makes your nose wrinkle and your stomach churn. Of course there are other trophies, and of course men want to show them off, pass them around, give their commanders a chance to give each woman a good squeeze. König has probably stuck that cock into a few women by now. Moaning, screaming women.

Or then he just settles for annoying their poor senses out of them…

You can’t deny that you’re relieved he hasn’t thrown you to the wolves yet, not even after you denied him. Wondering why on earth he would even want to listen to your wishes gives you an awful headache, and the image of him laughing at - or with - some other shy captive girl is making you uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that you throw the skins away after noon, and decide you’re not going to just succumb to your fate, least of all give in to sadness and apathy.

You eat this and that from his table like you’re not a slave girl but an honoured guest, a queen. You eat his figs and his bread and some smoked meat; you even drink some of his wine, as sour as it is. You’re a bit tipsy when you go through all his belongings, which are not as abundant or exciting as you thought they would be.

You thought you’d find tiny chests filled with gold coins and rings. You thought you’d come by dried body parts taken as trophies, perhaps the crown of some long-forgotten Hibernian king. But there are only a few trinkets under his bed, a huge bow and some arrows, his armour and the second Gladius, perfectly stored above the ground so that rust and mould wouldn’t bite them. There are jugs of wine and some firewood and oil for the braziers, there’s water and benches and the table and lots and lots of candles in different shapes and sizes… But that’s it. There’s no hoard, no treasure, nothing to prove to you that this brute is just another Roman soldier trying to gather a fortune by raping and pillaging so that he can go and retire early from all the bloodshed.

And it makes you shiver. Does he do this just for the sake of it, only because he enjoys killing so much? What is his reason to fight?

The only item that sends an odd sting in your heart is a small wooden statue. You feel like a thief when you rummage through a small satchel you find next to his breastplate, the only place you didn’t feel like peeking into because it looked so… personal.

Proving to yourself that you don’t care about his privacy or feelings, you end up pushing your fingers inside it anyway, meeting this peculiar carved piece of wood. There is nothing else there in the satchel, just the statue, and you feel yourself swallow a lump in your throat as you see it depicts a lush, buxom woman. Her breasts are nearly the size of her belly, larger than her head, and you realize that it is clearly the statue of the Great Mother this brute carries with him.

You put it back quickly, feeling a tingling in your fingers and a rapid flutter in your heart, as if you had just poked into something quite sacred. And it is sacred, the Mother. You wonder why, for the love of all the gods, this man would keep such a divine and fertile amulet near him. The statue is supposed to be a vessel for wishes and fortune; it is an idol of worship. König seems like the last man on earth to take up worshipping women.

You just want to get out of this place but can’t. There’s no one to go back to: your chief is dead, the people have fled, the rest of the warriors are scattered across the land. You have no idea where your brother might even be.

You have no wish to escape this tent; you have no desire whatsoever to step a foot outside and show yourself to his hungry men.

König comes back after nightfall and is not surprised at all to find you haven’t escaped. He’s not surprised that you have eaten some of his food either; he doesn’t even scold you. But then the eternal groping starts again as he gets undressed and lays himself down next to you.

You don’t even know why you allow him to touch you. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s better to just let him caress you if he wants; it’s better to suffer the weight of his hands on you if it means he won’t rape you with that cock. If you don’t complain, perhaps he will settle for squeezing and petting and stroking you.

But your body is a traitor: it’s hungry for him, for some ungodly reason, and always craves for more. You say to yourself that you only allow this to happen because it’s a condition, a compromise, a meeting in the middle. You never acknowledge the way your nether lips puff up like a fat flower every time he fondles your breasts. You pay no attention to how wet you get when he caresses your face, your waist, even your thighs, every part of you except the place between your legs, the place you kind of want him to touch... If only he would be gentle and didn’t get too excited, you’d let him touch you there, too, as sick and accursed as it is.

And it’s all good until he starts to hum.

It may be some song from his homeland, the land of ugly brutes, but it’s not a crude giant song… In fact, it’s a rather beautiful, melancholy tune. Your body is relaxed and your pussy is wet; your nipples are tight and pleased as he pets you slowly, lovingly - but that song is too much. You don’t want him to see you cry, not even a single tear, and now there’s an entire flood about to occur.

“Don’t touch me,” you whisper, trying not to choke on your sorrow. He doesn’t stop - of course he doesn’t. He gets bolder by the day, and he can see that you’re enjoying yourself. In a way.

"Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden?" He asks, soft and tender, so incredibly gentle that the tears are about to burst forth at any given moment now.

“Ich glaube das tust du,” he rumbles when you don’t answer him. His hand is heavy and broad on your hip as he finally stops caressing you. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it causes the glimmer in your eyes to fall. Tears roll down your cheeks and into your hair, as you lie there next to a titan, about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…?”

You want to shout at him to shut up already, to stop talking so gently, asking you questions you don’t understand, to stop trying to find a way to communicate with you through song and hum and touch. The hand on your hip moves, slowly, with devastating cunning towards your core. He’s about to touch you there, to try and feel if you’re wet... If you’d like it that he pounded you a little. You wonder if he would do that gently too, and almost laugh through your tears. It will be your undoing if he finds out that you’re soaked all the way to your thighs, aching to feel him inside you, even a finger, just something…

“No… Nein,” you rule out sternly, opening a new way of communication. You don’t know if the word is correct, but he catches it immediately and stops.

“Nein?”

He sounds both happy and sad; happy that you try to use his language, sad that you use it to give him such a disappointing command.

“No touching,” you repeat and open your eyes, finding his hazy figure hovering above you. You barely discern the gulf of sadness in his eyes, but it is there: undisguised, trying to reach out and join with yours. Gods… How strangely appropriate it is that you are both so very alive, wanting to be devoured by each other’s hunger and lust, only to find yourselves on the brink of tears and hollow loss.

“No... No touching…”

“Verstanden.”

He takes his hand away from you and turns, not even joining you under the fur tonight.

…

The next morning, you wake up attached to him.

Somehow you’ve managed to wriggle under his furs and, on top of that, crawled to hug his side like this. You blame the spring cold for it, of course. Your heart bangs against your ribs as you notice how tightly you’re squeezing him, breasts pressed flush against his hard middle, belly fluttering against his hip. You’ve even draped your leg across his so that your poor, lonely cunt is resting right there over his thigh.

You swear in your mind with all the words and terms you know and can think of.

How the hell are you supposed to detach from a giant without waking him up? His arm is around you, holding you loosely in a warm, pleasing shackle. He feels so, so good - blazing, big and safe, so incredibly nice. You never knew sleeping next to a man could feel so nice. You’re half asleep still, mainly because his body and scent make you feel like you’ve had too much wine again.

You allow yourself a few more moments before you rip yourself off him. Or at least, try to: the arm snares you the instant you attempt to move. It prevents you from leaving him, and you end up hovering awkwardly there, almost on top of him, tits pointing straight at his face, panicked, doe-eyed stare guided to his unwavering blue eyes, open, and regarding you with warm love.

And the damned man smirks again.

“No touching?” He inquires with silly, completely feigned shyness.

“Shut up,” you breathe and try to get off of him, but his other hand comes to brush your cheek next, and you freeze.

“Schön… Pretty,” he tries, and you nearly whimper at the sound of your native tongue in his mouth.

Pretty… Is that what the word means, the odd ugly word he has repeated ever since he stole you?

His eyes are warm and his hand is gentle as he caresses your cheek, and the snare around your waist tightens. Softly… Invitingly.

“Stop it,” you whisper, on the brink of tears again, because this time, your shields and armour and weapons are gone. You just woke up to a feeling of odd contentment, fulfilment, even joy.

And it’s not right.

He has no right to be this gentle with you.

You sniffle and sigh, and cast your eyes down to the chest that belongs to a giant. But you can’t deny that there must be a heart under there. A human heart under your palm. Your hand is right there over the strong beat because you’ve tried to push yourself away, and he won’t let you go. Another tear falls somewhere in the hair of his chest, and he rumbles with such compassion that you want to slap him again, hit his chest with your tiny little fists and bawl.

What you do instead is break down and let the ocean take you. You cry and sob and wail, right there in front of him, until he turns you on your stomach and comes to rest halfway on top of you. Through your tears, you understand that he’s trying to soothe you with his weight. It’s pure insanity how well it works. It releases a whole well of grief, and you start to shake with the cries; your whole body shudders with the sorrow as you retch it all out while König continues to caress you like a pet. He strokes your hair, pets your back, he even pats your ass as if you’re just a baby.

You cry long and hard, so long that he eventually lets out a long, deep sigh. When you’ve calmed down a bit and remain still, sniffling occasionally while squeezing the furs in your fist, trying to remember what it is to be an animal with feelings other than just sorrow, he leaves you.

He simply rises, and gets dressed, and leaves.

That is very much what you don’t need right now, much to your surprise. He was good at consoling you, as odd as it sounds.

Cold starts to creep in when there is no warm body next to you, and your skin misses the calloused gentleness of his palms. You wouldn’t mind if he wanted to hum that song to you now. But the darned bastard had to leave just when you were about to turn and cup his hooded face in return...

König comes back after a short while, but he’s not alone. You gather the furs against your chest, horrified and angry when you notice he returns to the tent with a short old man, vigorous and busy, but so tiny in stature that you doubt he was ever a warrior. You wonder if this is another foreigner or if you have the dubious pleasure of meeting your first genuine Roman.

They both stare at you, quite nonchalantly, while you sit there on the bed and try to cover your nakedness with animal skins while having red eyes and a pair of uninviting, quivering, puffed-up lips.

The short fellow looks you up and down, then turns to talk to König in what appears to be this giant’s mother tongue. It’s a curt suggestion, muttered under his breath, and you realize König must’ve fetched a translator for you.

Oh, good Mother... Great Mother.

You watch these two men before you in a state of stunned shock, as König looks at you, then back at the old man, and nods. The Roman looks slightly vexed as if he just got up too. Then he starts to speak.

“Excuse our manners... We are men at war. If you wish to get dressed, we will wait outside.”

You blink at your own language being spoken to you, perfectly discernable but accompanied by a thick accent. You nod, and the men leave, returning only after you’ve dressed and cleared your throat in the tent.

“He asks if he killed your husband,” the translator starts immediately while König goes to sit on his favourite Roman bench. You’re wide awake now, and the nauseating feeling of being suddenly in the middle of an interrogation rises to your throat with a clot.

“He… What? No,” your eyes dart to König, who is looking at you with his undying ardour. For a man with so much sadness in his soul, he’s surprisingly carefree when he wants to.

“Do you have a husband?”

You gulp at the questions levelled at you. König keeps watching you intently, and you choose to look at the old translator instead, shaking your head slowly. The men exchange a few words, and the Roman turns to scold you with his stare.

“Master reminds you that it is wrong to lie,” he says, putting a lot more weight on his words this time. Roman or not, he calls this giant master, which means that he is just another slave in this camp. You swallow again and try to think, think, think; all the while König’s stare strips you of all your pretences, garments and words.

He thinks you’re trying to hide some imaginary husband, you understand and consider whether you should say that you have a husband: if there is any benefit you could gain from such a lie. König would only probably try to hunt him down… But what if he found out you were telling him tales? Would he feed you to his horny war dogs then?

“I’m not lying,” you say through slightly gritted teeth.

There is another exchange of words before the translator turns to you again.

“Are you untouched?”

“What…?”

“Master asks if you are a virgin.”

The translator is utterly unfazed, and mainly looks like he has better things to do than get to the bottom of whether there has been a cock inside you yet.

“That’s none of his business,” you hiss. The old man turns and starts to translate your words with a dull look.

“Wait—don’t tell him that,” you take a panicked step forward.

Oh good Father in the Sky… Strike these men down so that I may be freed from them.

They pay you no attention; a few sentences pass from mouth to mouth, and the old man nods.

“Master says you are clearly a maiden,” he declares. You peek a glance at König, who is looking at you with hunger, and not the kind of hunger people look at their breakfasts with. Your breathing is getting out of hand, and when he opens his legs wider, clearly making more room for a rising cock, you decide to throw caution in the wind.

“You know what? Your master can go fuck himself with a stick for all I care…!”

The old man turns. He doesn’t even care to sigh; he merely opens his mouth to give your words to König.

“Don’t you dare translate that!”

Finally, the old man sighs. He looks at the ceiling as if begging his gods to take him away from this tent. König’s stare flashes between you two, and he is evidently curious. Clearly, this is the most exciting conversation he’s ever had.

“Was sagt sie?”

“Tell him that I want to be freed,” you hurry to say before the translator can tell your insults to König. After a brief conversation, König leans forward in his chair to see the effect his words have on you.

“He says he can’t do that,” the Roman informs. “His soldiers will find you and take you.”

You close your mouth and try to even your breaths. No one says, You don’t want that. Everybody in this tent knows you don’t want that.

“He asks if he killed your brother or your father.”

You sniffle, quite involuntarily.

“No. He didn’t.”

“Then why are you angry and sad?”

There is a hint of genuine interest in the man’s voice. Both of these men are confused as to why you would bawl your eyes out after the massacre of your people.

"Because… Because he…"

“He says it is a man’s duty to die in battle. You should be proud of your fallen ones, not cry and feel sorry for them.”

“Tell him that he can go fuck himself,” you shout, not giving a single shit anymore about whether he translates the words or not.

To no one’s surprise, he does.

“He says he’d rather fuck you,” he returns to you with König’s message.

You can’t bear to look your captor’s way, and still, that’s exactly what you do. You look at the giant as he stares at you, keen and hard and patient. But you know his patience has its limits. It’s almost like a promise, the way he leans forward in that chair and looks at you from under the hood, shameless and challenging.

“Never,” you guide your words to König now. It’s a brave little whisper, but you know that it’s a lie. Even the Great Mother knows you’re lying. You almost hear the cackle of the old woman rising from the earthen ground, from the chthonic depths, to mock you and your vows.

You hear the old man’s words from somewhere far away, from underwater, as König’s stare wrestles you down and takes away your little knife. He subdues you even when he’s sitting, and shares a string of words: a harsh promise. You hold your breath as his cock gives a pulse under that tunic, and your eyes fall, fall, fall onto it, because there’s no escape…

“He says he can make you feel good,” the voice says, and you can’t even hear who speaks. Your mouth is full of water, but you swallow it down, then shoot your way up to the surface, up, up, up into the sunlight, until you can breathe again.

You rip your eyes from König and look at the Roman translator with loathing and contempt.

“You can leave now. This conversation is over.”

Then you turn, trying not to pay any attention to the hushed conversation that proceeds behind your back. The man leaves the tent: you can hear it, and you can also hear how König rises from the chair and walks right behind you.

“No… afraid,” his hands come to rest on your shoulders, but you don’t even flinch. You knew he was going to touch you again. Perhaps you were even looking forward to it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you start to argue, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“You like trees?”

He speaks your words, not good, but he speaks them. You wonder if he has known parts of your tongue all along and has simply concealed it. Has he understood what you’ve said to him…? All the slurs and stupid things? Mother, grant mercy…

“Why would I like—What kind of question is that?”

“Climbed a tree,” he explains cheerfully behind you. You turn and look up, yet again rendered weak. Giants are supposed to be stupid. They’re not supposed to know the language of faeries…

“Nosy,” he brushes your cheek with a smile in his eyes.

“Nosy?”

You huff - as if you wanted to be there and witness him.

As if you had a choice after the seer pushed you on this insane, cruel path.

“Wanted to see me so bad?” König tilts his head playfully.

Gods… You can only look at him with brows curling with helpless frustration, lip trembling from how he seems to know your every little secret. He nods when you don’t say yes or no. He’s perfectly happy to read all the answers from your eyes.

“Ich wusste, dass es so war,” he changes into his own language, and you don’t need to understand the words he says.

You know he knows. He knows you, he knows you to your core, and it doesn’t really matter in which circumstances you two met. He knows far more than you, something about souls and how they’re supposed to meet, how little squirrels and giants belong together, as crazy as it is. That there is no chance in life: no, it was meant that you two meet. To him, it was no coincidence that you practically dropped into his lap from that tree.

“Did you like what you see?”

He holds your shoulders gently as you quiver and shake inside.

“No,” you peep.

“I like what I see,” he declares; a benevolent god.

…

A/N:. Thank you so much for your love and interest in this fic! As you may have noticed the fic now has 4 parts, which is because the 3rd chapter got too chunky and I had to split it 😇 Next part might take a while because I'm moving soon, but let me tell you... These guys will be put into *situations*. Oh, and a reminder that I don't have a taglist for this so please check any future updates from my pinned masterlist post 🩷

Translations:

Gut geschlafen? - Sleep well?

Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige. - Yes, I know. I killed your people. I deserve a slap.

Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg. - It is lovely to talk to you. But now I have to go.

Du. Bleibst. - You. Stay.

Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden? - Do you like being petted?

Ich glaube das tust du. - I think you do.

Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…? - Have you ever been touched…?

Verstanden. - Understood.

Was sagt sie? - What does she say?

Ich wusste dass es so war - I knew it was so.

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig cod #cod x reader #könig fluff #könig smut #historical au #Roman soldier!König

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months ago

Text

We're Not Okay - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x veterinarian!Female Reader

Summary: Two people, each carrying their own trauma, find themselves in a place where they can begin to heal their wounds and mend their hearts together.

Words Count: 3,400

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“This is the first time I’ve heard a fox's voice,” said your father, Toni, as he shivered, pulling his jacket suit tighter around himself. The cold air bit at both of you as snow threatened to fall. Toni, at 50 years old, stood taller than you, his grey hair contrasting against the bleak sky.

He kept close behind as you worked at the conservation center, his eyes darting downward to ensure his pristine Italian leather shoes avoided mud or puddles. Unlike him, you wore a rugged outdoor outfit, complete with sturdy boots, befitting your role as a veterinarian and co-owner of the conservation—a job you’d been committed to since leaving home at seventeen.

“You could have waited in the visitor’s room,” you said, glancing over your shoulder while examining the fox.

“I can’t,” he replied, his voice tinged with anxiousness.

You let out a long sigh, turning your attention back to the fox—a sleek creature with bright orange fur streaked with hints of white, its ears flicking nervously as you checked for injuries. Its amber eyes watched you warily, a mix of fear and exhaustion evident.

Once your work was done, you exited the cage with Toni following closely. Both of you headed toward the main house, the crunch of gravel underfoot breaking the tense silence.

Toni’s eyes caught something unusual. “Wow. What’s that?” He pointed toward a cage set apart from the rest.

“Wait…! Don’t go near—” you shouted, but it was too late. Toni had already stepped closer.

“AHH!” He fell to the ground, his face pale and eyes wide. He trembled as he stared at the creature inside.

The white wolf looked directly at him, its majestic fur glistening like freshly fallen snow. Though intimidating with its piercing blue eyes and muscular build, it limped, favoring one injured leg.

You rushed over and dragged your father away from the cage. “I can’t even get close to him,” you muttered, exasperated.

Toni stood, brushing the dirt from his customized jacket, his face a mixture of frustration and fear. “I’ve been spat on, peed on, and now nearly eaten by the animals here.”

“Why are you even here if you hate it so much?” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just like my two older brothers. They come here, disrupt my work, and complain.”

“Ew… this place stinks. How do you stand it?” your first brother had sneered on his last visit.

“This owl is interesting. Do you sell them? I know plenty of people who’d pay,” the second one had added.

“GET OUT!” you’d yelled, seething with fury.

All the men in your family despised the outdoors. City people, through and through, they were consumed with managing their nightclub empire—a world you had rejected wholeheartedly. That life, everything they represented, was what drove you away to this sanctuary of yours.

Toni shifted nervously, glancing at you with rare vulnerability. It was an odd sight—the formidable nightclub owner and fierce businessman, now reduced to unease in your presence.

“Here’s the thing. I need… No.” He shook his head and corrected himself, “We need your help.”

“Me?” You arched an eyebrow. “How?” The question dripped with skepticism. You, a conservationist and veterinarian, had severed ties with their business long ago.

“Because of COVID-19, many businesses have been hit hard, including ours,” Toni said, his shoulders sagging.

You crossed your arms tighter, a flicker of resentment surfacing. After you’d left home, you’d turned a blind eye to everything related to their business. “Well, good. I hope that place burns to the ground.”

Toni’s face fell. “I know you hate it, but it’s my livelihood.” He sighed deeply. “Business is bad. There’s a chance it’ll go bankrupt.”

“Then sell it,” you said with a dismissive wave. “Most men your age are enjoying retirement.”

“Bah! No. I’m still in my prime!” He straightened his back defensively.

“Get to the point. What do you want?” you demanded.

“There’s someone willing to invest. But… there’s a catch,” Toni admitted, his eyes pleading. “Do you know Barnes?”

“Hmm… Yeah. The family that donates a lot to wildlife causes, including this place.”

“That’s right.” Toni nodded eagerly.

“So Barnes wants to invest in your nightclub?” You were incredulous. “Why?”

“That’s how Barnes gets richer—diversifying. And they’ve chosen our business. But there’s a condition.” Toni’s expression grew grave.

A pit formed in your stomach. Whatever it was, you knew it couldn’t be good.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

“The Barneses want to send their oldest grandchild here,” said Toni, his voice low as if dreading your reaction.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. “This isn’t a daycare or rehab facility for humans.”

“I know, I know.” He raised his hands defensively. “That’s what I’ve been telling them. But they won’t budge. If I don’t bring their grandchild here, they won’t invest in the nightclub.”

“Ridiculous!” you snapped, your eyes narrowing. “Why drag me into this? The animals here are victims, and this place is their sanctuary, not some personal favor zone.”

“I knew you’d hate it,” Toni said, shifting uncomfortably. “But I thought you might change your mind after hearing me out.”

You crossed your arms, skeptically raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m all ears. What kind of offer could possibly make me reconsider?”

“This… isn’t easy for me,” he admitted, swallowing hard. “But I’ll give you what you’ve wanted for a long time. I’ll remove you from the family registry.”

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Wow. You must really need this investment.”

Toni nodded, his shoulders slumping, revealing the weight of his desperation. “But you don’t…” His voice faltered, as if hoping you’d ask for anything else instead of severing family ties completely.

“Fine.” The single word was delivered coolly as you turned on your heel, walking away without looking back. Toni’s face fell, his hope visibly deflated.

“Do you really hate me that much?” he called out, his voice cracking slightly. “That you want nothing to do with us?”

You stopped mid-step, your back still to him. “I do.” The words were blunt and final, hitting him like a physical blow.

A silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind. “Because of you, I’m reminded of that incident,” you said quietly, more to yourself than him, before walking away, leaving him standing there, hurt and alone.

That night, sleep eluded you. Memories from your childhood swirled in your mind, refusing to let you rest. Growing up as the child of a nightclub owner was no fairytale. Your home was a chaotic tangle of bright lights and dark secrets. You’d seen things a child shouldn’t—dangerous deals, late-night arguments, drunken patrons—and it left scars.

The confusion was only magnified by two stepmothers and two stepbrothers. Making a family tree in school was always a nightmare. That business stole away what innocence you had left. That was why you fled, finding solace in the simplicity and quiet resilience of animals.

"Owooooooo," A wolf’s howl pierced the still night air, low and haunting.

The sound sent a chill down your spine but also pulled you from your thoughts. Grabbing your jacket, you decided to check on the white wolf.

The wolf’s enclosure was isolated from the others. Previously placed near the fox, it had made every nearby animal skittish and restless, so it was moved here. The wolf stood under the pale moonlight, its white fur glistening like freshly fallen snow, every movement tinged with raw strength despite the noticeable limp in its gait. It tilted its head back and howled again, a mournful, soul-stirring sound.

You stepped closer to the cage, your breath fogging in the cold air. The white wolf’s piercing blue eyes locked onto you, unblinking. When it first arrived, it had been painfully thin, its ribs visible under its fur, and its injured leg had been in dire condition. Despite its weakened state, it had always reacted with hostility—growling, baring its sharp teeth whenever you approached.

You stopped just outside the cage’s boundary. “Can’t sleep?” you asked softly. “Me neither.”

The wolf let out another long, mournful howl, as if acknowledging your words. Its gaze was intense, wary, but something flickered in its eyes—pain, maybe even recognition.

“You’ve been hurt a lot,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. The wolf’s ears twitched, a small but telling sign that it was listening, though its muscles remained taut, ready to spring at the first hint of danger. You leaned against the cold metal bars, feeling the chill seep through your jacket. The wolf’s intense gaze never wavered, its blue eyes seeming to pierce right through you, mirroring a pain you recognized all too well. This raw, unfiltered connection made the air feel heavier, the silence more profound.

This was why you worked here. It wasn’t just about caring for wounded animals; it was about caring for yourself. The conservation was a sanctuary, not only for those with fur and feathers but for a heart battered by memories of your past.

Every injured creature, every frightened animal you helped heal, was a step toward mending yourself. You’d left a life that was full of noise, chaos, and hollow family ties that never really felt like home. Here, there was simplicity in purpose and purity in your connection with these beings—no lies, no hidden motives, only survival, trust, and the instinctual drive to heal.

When you saw the wolf growl and lash out in fear or defiance, you understood. Its isolation mirrored your own self-imposed solitude. You, too, had learned to push others away to protect yourself. In mending its wounds, in helping it trust again, you hoped to do the same for yourself. Piece by piece. Scar by scar.

You sighed, your breath visible in the cold air. “It’s going to be okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than the wolf. It didn’t respond, of course, but its ears twitched again. You let yourself believe that, maybe, it understood on some level. Maybe, just like you, it wanted to believe that healing was possible—even after so much pain.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

The inside of the luxurious jeep exuded opulence—soft leather seats, dark wood paneling, and the faint scent of expensive cologne mingling with polished leather. In the spacious backseat sat two men.

One of them, Jimmy Barnes, carried himself with a commanding presence. His gray hair was impeccably styled, and lines of experience etched his face, giving him the aura of a leader used to control. Everything about him, from the sharp cut of his suit to his steely gaze, spoke of power and purpose.

Beside him, his eldest son, James Buchanan Barnes—known as Bucky—stared blankly out the window. The passing landscape rolled by, ignored and unremarked upon, as the silence between father and son stretched uncomfortably. The trip had already dragged on for four hours, and not a single word had passed between them.

Jimmy shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He glanced at Bucky, his eyes softening momentarily before hardening again as he struggled to maintain composure. He drew a breath and spoke, his voice firm but tinged with an edge of weariness.

“Bucky.”

There was no response. Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on the blur of trees outside, as if he hadn’t heard anything at all.

Jimmy clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the cane resting against his knee. He let out a deep sigh, exhaling the frustration he’d been holding. “Bucky,” he repeated, more gently this time. Still nothing. Jimmy's shoulders sagged slightly, a rare crack in his usually impenetrable facade.

Bucky, his firstborn from his marriage to his late first wife, hadn’t spoken a word in years. As a child, something had happened—something that had stolen his voice and left scars too deep for therapists and experts to reach.

Every attempt to coax him out of his silence had met with failure. Over time, Bucky had also developed acute anxiety around people, making even the simplest social interactions a nightmare. Recently, though, they’d discovered a sliver of hope: Bucky seemed calmer, even a little more at ease, around animals.

Jimmy’s thoughts drifted back to his meeting with Toni. What had started as a business discussion quickly shifted when Toni mentioned his daughter—a veterinarian with her own conservation center. The idea had taken root then and there.

This might be what Bucky needed. It was a desperate measure, but Jimmy would go to any length to see his son improve—for Bucky’s sake, and for the sake of their family legacy.

Jimmy shifted again, leaning closer to Bucky, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “We’re going somewhere different today,” he said, trying to inject warmth into his tone. “You’ll like it. Animals, open air… it’s good.”

Bucky didn’t move, but a slight tension in his shoulders betrayed that he’d heard. The silence lingered heavily between them, but Jimmy took it as a small victory. He leaned back, looking out his own window, his expression hardening once more. He needed this to work. Bucky had to get better—for himself, for the company, and for the legacy he would one day inherit.

The jeep rolled on, carrying them both toward an uncertain future.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

When Jimmy and Bucky arrived, the scene was more than just a simple visit; it was practically an event. The luxurious jeep pulled up, its polished exterior gleaming even in the muted light. Two men stepped out, flanked by a small team of guards who maintained a cautious but respectful distance. You observed the scene with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Guards? It felt excessive.

Toni walked over with a strained smile, clearly trying to mask his nerves. He gestured toward the older man with an air of forced calm. “This is Jimmy Barnes,” Toni said, his voice firm but tinged with unease. “Jimmy, this is my daughter.”

You extended a hand politely, meeting Jimmy’s piercing gaze. His handshake was strong, controlled—a man used to holding power. “Pleasure to meet you,” you said, maintaining eye contact.

Jimmy nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Thank you for having us,” he replied. “I’ve heard good things.”

“Of course,” you said, feeling the weight of his words. There was a formality in his tone, but a glimmer of desperation lingered beneath. You turned your attention to the younger man beside him. “And you must be Bucky.” You spoke gently, but Bucky didn’t respond. He barely seemed to register your presence, his gaze fixed on the ground or wandering elsewhere.

Jimmy’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. He shifted his weight, a sign of his frustration, though he kept his voice even. “Bucky,” he said again, a touch softer this time. There was no answer. Only the quiet rustling of leaves in the wind.

You looked at Jimmy, feeling the tension simmering beneath the surface. “He can take his time,” you offered quietly, hoping to ease the pressure. “There’s no rush here.”

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. “Thank you,” he said, his tone softer now. “It’s… difficult. You understand.”

“I do,” you nodded, choosing your words carefully. “We all need space to find our way. Animals teach me that every day.”

Bucky, seemingly oblivious to the exchange, took a few hesitant steps toward the enclosures. You and Jimmy watched as he moved, his posture guarded but curious.

“He’s calmer around animals,” Jimmy said, almost to himself. There was a mix of hope and despair in his voice. “People make it… harder.”

You nodded, choosing to focus on Bucky. “I’ve seen it happen before,” you said quietly. “Sometimes, animals understand what we can’t.”

Jimmy studied you for a moment, as if weighing your words. “I hope you’re right,” he said finally, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his otherwise controlled exterior. “This has to work.”

“It’s a journey,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “There are no guarantees. But we’ll do our best.”

As Bucky moved closer to the enclosures, something strange happened—the animals turned their attention to him. Every single one of them stopped what they were doing and sat down, as if sensing something unseen. You blinked in surprise, feeling a chill run down your spine. This wasn’t normal behavior.

The white wolf, isolated from the rest due to its intimidating presence, suddenly stood. Its pristine fur gleamed in the sunlight as it limped toward Bucky. You held your breath, instinctively stepping forward in case something went wrong. But Bucky extended a hand, slow and gentle. The wolf hesitated for a brief moment before closing the distance, nudging Bucky’s hand with its nose. Your eyes widened. This was the first time the white wolf had willingly approached anyone. Even you—who spent countless hours caring for it—had never been received this way. It always kept its distance, aloof and wary.

Jimmy watched the scene unfold, his eyes brightening with a mix of hope and disbelief. He turned to you, his voice low but firm. “I have a feeling this place can help him.” There was a pause, heavy with meaning. “If it does, I’ll donate a substantial sum to support your work here.”

“Thank… thank you,” you managed, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. You inclined your head, feeling the weight of his words settle on your shoulders.

Jimmy nodded and began to walk back to the car, the guards moving in step with him. Toni lingered for a moment. He stepped closer, his expression softened as he took your hand. “Please,” he whispered, his grip warm but trembling slightly. “Help me this time.”

You bit your lip, uncertainty swirling within you. “I’m still not sure about this.”

Toni’s eyes met yours, a mixture of hope and desperation. “You can do this. You’ve always managed to handle things on your own.” He gave you a thumbs up, a strained but genuine smile on his lips, before turning to follow Jimmy.

You watched him go, your heart tightening. “No, I’m not,” you whispered to yourself, your shoulders sagging as the weight of the situation pressed down. Outwardly, you might appear strong and unshakable, but inside, the scars of the past left you vulnerable and weary. Every act of strength was a battle, every decision a reminder of what you had to protect.

When the car disappeared from view, you turned your attention back to Bucky.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

You and Bucky stood in awkward silence after the initial introductions. The air was heavy, almost stifling, as you struggled to find the right words. Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder, his expression distant and unreadable. Finally, you sighed softly, deciding to break the silence.

“Come on,” you said gently, gesturing for him to follow. “Let me show you your room.”

Bucky fell into step behind you, his movements quiet but tense. As you walked, you explained, “We keep things pretty simple around here. Meals are communal. Everyone—workers, volunteers—we all eat together.” You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “You don’t have to join if you’re not ready. No pressure.”

Bucky’s only response was a brief nod. It was mechanical, almost detached, but at least it was acknowledgment. You offered a small smile, even though he wasn’t looking at you. “There’s food available whenever you want it,” you continued softly. “And if you need anything, just let me know.”

He said nothing, his eyes wandering to the walls as if searching for an escape. You let out a quiet breath, your heart heavy. You knew this kind of pain—it mirrored the animals you cared for here. The ones who recoiled from touch, who couldn’t trust, who flinched at the slightest movement. Healing took time. It required patience, and you were prepared to give him both. You just hoped he’d let you.

When night fell, the dining room filled with the usual chatter of workers and volunteers unwinding from the day. You scanned the room but didn’t see Bucky. It wasn’t surprising—socializing with strangers was probably overwhelming for him. Silently, you prepared a tray of food and carried it to his room, setting it carefully in front of the door. You didn’t knock. You didn’t want to intrude. Instead, you walked away quietly, hoping he would eat when he was ready.

As you settled into your own bed later that night, a strange unease crept over you. The quiet felt oppressive—too quiet. Usually, the white wolf’s mournful howls punctuated the stillness, a sound you’d grown oddly comforted by. Tonight, there was nothing. It gnawed at you, pulling you from bed and urging you out into the night.

Your steps quickened as you made your way toward the white wolf’s enclosure. The moon cast pale light over the grounds, and there, standing face to face with the wolf, was Bucky.

Neither of them moved. They simply stared at each other, as if sharing an unspoken language that only they could understand. The wolf’s icy-blue eyes were locked onto Bucky, unblinking, while Bucky’s expression was raw, a mixture of pain and something else you couldn’t quite name—recognition, perhaps.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. “Hi…” you said softly, taking slow, cautious steps forward. You didn’t want to startle either of them.

Bucky flinched at the sound of your voice, his head snapping toward you. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a split second, you saw fear flash across his face. He turned and bolted, his footsteps muffled by the grass. As he disappeared into the shadows, the white wolf turned its attention to you. It let out a low, warning growl, its body tense and protective.

'What was that?' You froze, raising your hands slowly in a gesture of peace. “It’s okay,” you murmured, though your pulse raced. The wolf’s eyes never left you, its growl deepening. You felt like an intruder—like you’d interrupted something sacred.

What had just happened? Why did it feel like you were the outsider, the third party in whatever silent connection Bucky and the wolf shared?

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