#more specifically marcus

[gayorphandepression]

so i started watching lab rats,

[brother-emperors]

CAESAR AUGUSTUS AND MARCUS LICINIUS CRASSUS

this is about the spolia opima that crassus was robbed of lmao. like, yeah okay octavian could've asked him not to claim it, but nevertheless. a kind of theft happened there.

Fact and Fiction: Crassus, Augustus, and the Spolia Opima, Catherine McPherson

[masonspecialist]

I'm honestly so excited to see more of Li-Sar and their interest in the detective, specifically when it comes to how each RO is going to react to Li-Sar and their....everything lmao.

Specifically, since I'm on a Mason kick lately, I've been wondering about how Mason is going to react with someone as blatantly into the detective as he is. The entire series so far has been Mason completely oblivious to the fact that he wants more from the detective than just sex. And then we've got Li-Sar who's got no qualms about saying that the detective will be theirs after 2 seconds of being a corporal being.

Mason is going to have to be watch someone who is adamant about how much they want ALL of the detective, while he himself doesn't know that's what he wants too.

He knows the detective is important to him, that he feels peace and comfort whenever they're close, that he fully feels like himself whenever he's with the detective. But he doesn't connect that to being in love with the detective

So to see Li-Sar, someone who knows EXACTLY what they want from the detective. Someone who is determined to get that as well. I can't imagine Mason would take very well to that lol.

I'm very curious as to how that...unease, I suppose, from Mason will manifest as well.

I'm just overall incredibly excited to see how everything is going to go and how it's going to affect Mason to the point where he HAS to acknowledge what's between him and the detective

[skitskatdacat63]

F1 Drivers with Kangaroos - A right of passage for the Australian GP

+ bonus Koalas

[sukibenders]

Season three of ADOW was my favorite by far, mainly because of how it handled Matthew's character, but it still left me wanting answers for so many things, or at least see them addressed more (and it's understandable because I believe the show was canceled, so it ended at the third season). One being Marcus's and Matthew's relationship. Like, for the most part, you can tell things were rather tense between the pair even with their care for one another, that something had happened between them that left a stain. And when you find out that Matthew killed a lot of Marcus's children (it's been a minute since I watched the show so correct me if I'm wrong) because of blood rage, you understand why.

And, throughout the season, I kind of expected more from Marcus in regards to him being more upset to downright enraged at times towards Matthew, especially when the latter wasn't necessarily kind towards him at certain times (e.g. when Phoebe was trying to introduce herself and her relationship with Marcus, or the whole New Orleans ordeal). But there was so much left out when it came to Marcus's feelings that left me wanting more. Like it would have been so interesting to see them put more emphasis on Matthew's and Marcus's relationship as father and son (like how they do with Jack and Matthew), to Matthew who, with his complex feelings and relationship with Phillipe, sees it mirrored in a similar way between him and Marcus. Or to see Marcus carry a form of jealousy towards his brothers and sister because they'll get to see a version of Matthew that he never truly got until most of the damage had been done. The fact that the show hardly displays Marcus feeling some type of way about Matthew going out of his way to help Jack control his blood rage when, years back, he killed people who Marcus was close to and saw as a family for the same reason made me seethe (and the show lets you know how impactful what Matthew did was in many ways, verbally through Ransom's interactions with him and Jack). I needed more regarding Marcus!

[vickyvicarious]

Yes while Victor DID dream of kissing his cousin on the lips, when awake he doesn't seem to be maintaining this kind of romantic feelings that much. Maybe partly due to this being said in retrospect, or maybe because he doesn't really see her as a romantic partner. I haven't read many books with romance in them lately to compare (been reading Moby Dick, 20k Leagues, Jekyll And Hyde) but comparing the, contrary to popular belief, evident attraction between Jonathan and Mina, or between Marcus and Cosette (though in a different context) it reads are less romantic to me.

To be honest, I forgot about any such scene. So I looked it up, and, well...

At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured; and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain: I slept indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her; but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.

Yeah, there's a reason this scene didn't stick in my memory as 'Victor dreams about kissing Elizabeth' so much as 'Victor has pretty revealing nightmares about the things on his mind'. This kiss doesn't seem romantic to me at all.

Elizabeth is very clearly overlapping his mother here - quite literally, she turns into her. I think that points to a couple things.

First, Elizabeth greeted with a first kiss = Victor meeting his mother's final wishes (on her deathbed some of the final words were that she had always hoped to be made happy by seeing Victor and Elizabeth married).

And yet his kiss is the kiss of death, killing her = reflecting Victor's horror over what he's done, the Creature he created being something monstrous to his eyes (also foreshadowing how his relationship to her will put her in danger along with his other loved ones, but that's meta knowing how things with him and the Creature turn out)

Elizabeth becomes his mother's corpse as she dies = again the preoccupation with his mother. One of his stated goals was to eventually master bringing back the dead, and he embarked on this study not long after her death, so the link there feels pretty easy to make for me. After his 'failure' to make the beautiful human he imagined this now seems out of his reach too, and he's still grieving.

He wakes up shuddering and then Creature is looming over him... it all ties in much more to his feelings about what he has just done than his feelings about/for Elizabeth, in my eyes. The happy impulse doesn't read to me like genuine romantic feelings but more just the idea of a happier reality (the one his mother longed for).

I mean, Frankenstein is definitely not a romance, but neither are Dracula and Les Miserables. But they feature a romantic relationship, whereas in my opinion the role of Elizabeth and Victor's relationship is much more bound up in ideals and expectations and familial love than anything romantic.

[hillerskaroyals]

i wanna see linda’s reaction to wilmon bc we know where kristina stands but we don’t know how linda feels post denial

will she blame wille for simon not pressing charges? will she forgive him for leaving simon to fend for himself? is she going to be disappointed in simon for going back to wille when marcus was a safe choice? is she ever gonna find out about the drugs? stay tuned to find out ig

[ringneckedpheasant]

had the second worst great clips visit of my life today but thank fucking gd my hair turned out Okay despite the other horrors

[sunnibits]

gotta say I think one of my favorite tropes of all time is character designs that change dramatically as the show progresses. like I love characters that acquire permanent scars and disabilities from their battles I love characters that get all their hair chopped off and then grow it out again and I love when they magically acquire cool white streaks in their hair, I love characters who go through several phases of different appearances I love characters who have significantly different outfits by the end of the show I love characters who reflect their personal development through their changing appearance I love characters who get a new look when they’re redeemed I love characters who get a new look when they’re corrupted I love characters who are visibly a completely different person by the end of the story than they are at the beginning!!! I love when you can actually see that a character has been changed by their experiences rather than coming out of ten seasons with the same exact design!!!!!!!

[brother-emperors]

spartacus and crassus :)

this is actually a rejected panel from a much longer comic I’ve been fucking around with on and off for awhile- I had plans to do a long form spartacus comic for a long time, I just keep missing the last book on my research list in second hand stores 😔 I always have money when the last copy sells out aughhh

anyway! I might call crassus my girl in the group chat, but I’ve actually spent more years wishing that spartacus got to run crassus through on his sword and then read the fate of rome out of his entrails. ALAS. on that note, isn’t it kind of interesting how spartacus’ funeral games for crixus turn roman order upside down and feel like both a foundational sacrifice and a curse? isn’t it kind of fun how crassus will not die in rome, and neither will pompey, who came in like a vulture to take credit for crassus’ work? (it’s VERY fun)

Plutarch, Crassus

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must. 

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege. 

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family. 

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture. 

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed. 

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child. 

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.” 

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

A Glimpse of Eternity ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

A Glimpse of Eternity | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): General Marcus Acacius x fem!palace sex worker

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  2.5k | CONTENT: legitimately saw the new Gladiator pics and immediately thought about being fisted by General Marcus idk what else to tell you lmao, some breeding kink ig?, slight subspace moments?, dirty talk but with that Ancient Roman flair, this is prob not very historically accurate but idgaf

| SYNOPSIS: You are one of Emperor Geta's comfort women, tasked with entertaining and pleasuring the palace guests, and you are assigned to General Acacius the night of a feast held in his honor.

"𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎." — 𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘶𝘴

As one of the few high ranking women of comfort in Emperor Geta’s palace, you were no stranger to the decadence and debauchery that a large celebration often brings. The battleworn and extolled military men, fresh off their wave of conquest and destruction, were most frequently the guests of honor, and they were always enthusiastic to delight in the revelry of victory, wine, and women.

Your position afforded you an agreeable life for the most part. It was certainly better than striking out on your own, fending for yourself in the notoriously unforgiving streets of Rome. An orphaned and unskilled female such as yourself would not fare well in such conditions, and you’d become quite accustomed to the social ranking that came with being owned by the Emperor himself. 

You have all the luxuries afforded to you that one could dream of in these times, and the men you host, though overeager and handsy, knew better than to mistreat the class of entertainment that Emperor Geta was kind enough to provide them. You were his property, and as such were not to be mistreated. Just as a guest would not break a priceless vase or seek entry to private areas in the palace without consent, the men knew better than to abuse the privilege of your company unless they wished to endure the wrath of the Emperor.

You had a few repeat guests that would specifically request your coupling whenever they were staying at the palace, and it was often enjoyable getting caught up on the happenings of the world outside the marble walls. Sometimes you were assigned to a specific guest, and other times you were simply asked to be present and make yourself available to any suitor who showed interest.

It wasn’t uncommon for the men to get so carried away in their merriment that they were too drunk to perform. In those cases you made sure to tend to them should they need assistance getting to bed or finding themselves sick in the middle of the night when the fatty meats and wine caught up with them. On rare occasions there were men skilled and sober enough to bring you to completion, but the standard lack of personal pleasure didn’t bother you too much. After all, it was your duty to ensure your male guests were satisfied with their stay at the palace overnight, and you had a sense of pride that you’d never garnered a single complaint.

Tonight the Emperor was hosting a celebration in honor of a top ranking General whose ruthless and unwavering prowess secured a highly sought after peninsula in the Emperor’s name. It meant more resources and labor for the Empire, and General Marcus Acacius was heralded as a hero for his efforts. You and the other women had been instructed to make your appearance after the other entertainers had performed. It wasn’t until the last minute you were informed that you had been assigned to the General and were to “see to his every need and wish” during his stay.

You’d been doing this long enough that you were only mildly flustered with the news, but you were level headed by the time you made it to the grand hall. You were aware of his reputation, and his strong features fit rather well with what you knew of him. A proud nose, broad shoulders, downturned mouth with pensive forehead wrinkles. His hands easily grasped the entirety of his goblet. He was handsome and possessed an authoritative presence that you suspected would carry over to the bedchambers. 

“General Acacius, might I join you this evening?” you greet warmly.

His eyes slide over to you, giving your form an assessing gaze, before nodding and gesturing to the empty seat beside him. You thank him for the invitation and hold yourself as tall as you can next to him. His size is even more impressive side by side. You introduce yourself and comment on how well he looks considering he’d just arrived from his travels early this morning. No doubt the handmaidens had bathed and clothed him upon his arrival. He’s not much for conversation, so you follow his lead and quietly watch the partygoers together.

You offer to refill his drink, but he declines. He isn’t gluttonous or vain or rude, and as the festivities begin to wind down, you begin to wonder what this man’s vice was. It was imperative to understand these sorts of things because it dictated how you performed to ensure satisfaction. With little to go on, you were almost worried he didn’t want your company at all for the remainder of the evening. It was a relief when he informed you he was retiring for the night and extended an invitation to join him. You demurely accepted and walked quietly through the stone passageways that lead to the more opulent chambers where only the most highly regarded guests were permitted to stay.

“Have you had your fill of nourishment this evening?” he inquires.

“Yes, General. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. After you help me disrobe, I request that you do the same and return to me once you are ready.”

You help him out of his garments and try not to stare at the constellation of scarring that adorns his body. His form is muscular with some usual signs of age, but he is undoubtedly the most divine looking man you have ever entertained. His cock swings softly between his thick thighs, and he has no reaction when he catches you ogling him. You excuse yourself to the corner of the chambers to disrobe and freshen up before presenting your nude form for his examination. His eyes are half-lidded, but otherwise you can’t much tell a difference in his mood.

“What sort of pleasure do you offer to your companions, Little Dove?”

You smile brightly at the moniker, appreciating its reference to your attire decorated with small white birds. It wasn’t often a man would take note of such detail, let alone bestow you a personal endearment based on it.

“I offer whatever sort of pleasures you wish, General.”

“And what sort of pleasures do you wish, Little Dove?”

The question catches you off guard, but you maintain the easy back and forth as best you can. “I am sure whatever you have in mind will be immensely pleasurable, General,” you assure him as you slowly saunter towards him.

“That is not what I asked. Answer a question when I ask it of you.” His face is not unkind, but his words are firm.

“I– It is not something that often crosses my mind,” you admit. “My pleasure is gained from your satisfaction.”

“And what if I demand your pleasure above all else? What then would you have to say?”

You rack your brain for an answer and end up blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“It is… rather enjoyable to lay in each other’s company, is it not? Perhaps we could start there?” you suggest.

“Is that what you desire?” he presses. He stands, and your eyes zip to all the sinewy, strong flexing across his body.

“It is.”

“Then that is where we will begin.”

This is unlike any encounter you’ve had, and you are nearly at a loss for how to conduct yourself. After exploring the planes of his warm body for a few minutes and gladly receiving the same, your mind goes on autopilot. You attempt to initiate intimacy, but he rebuffs the mindless advance.

“I am well aware I can have you, but that is not what I seek,” he states plainly.

You shake your head, not fully understanding his meaning.

“It is not enough that I take your body. True capture means the mind must also be won. I ask for your entire being, Little Dove,” he explains matter of factly.

You’ve never had a partner speak to you this way, and you can feel the effect of it between your legs where wetness gathers. “Of course, General. Anything you wish you shall have.”

“We will see. Your surrender cannot be fabricated. The blood of the men I’ve killed that stains my hands and the sieged settlements I leave in my wake have left me with the ability to recognize genuine submission, and that is what I ask of you: full, true surrender.”

“I will do my best,” you promise.

“It is not a matter of effort. It is a matter of truly desiring to yield.”

“I feel the strings of that desire, General,” you say in a soft hush. As though to prove your point, you guide his hand between your legs and sigh at the rough, calloused fingertips that graze your most sensitive parts.

He finally seems content with your frame of mind and corresponding bodily reaction, and it is how you find yourself happily succumbing to every exploratory lick and caress and bite. Your thoughts are a nebulous oasis, gently washing back and forth as your bliss heightens. The candlelight is waning just as he presents you with what you think might have been his desire from the start.

“Do you give yourself to me, Little Dove? I wish to feel you from the inside. Your body craves my fingers. It pulls them inside hungrily no matter how many I give. You have taken four already with such greed.”

While it was true that your body steadily adjusted to his fingers, his hands were large and not the easiest to take. He was well-endowed, and that would’ve been plenty to handle on its own. You were certain that he would want to fuck you after this was done. The growing circumference of his fingers inside you had you worrying whether or not you could tolerate it. But you wanted to try. It felt good despite the initial pinching and tightness. His groans of approval every time you successfully took more only spurred you on. You felt yourself wanting to give everything over to him.

“Give me what I need. Only you know what I need,” you whimper.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your deference and repositions himself with additional vigor than just a few moments prior. Your back feels like it’s melted into the bedding as he props your legs open and situates himself in front of your entrance. You watch with bated breath as he cinches all of his fingers together and begins to steadily plunge them inside your messy opening, drenched in your arousal from the General’s relentless onslaught. 

“It is my intention to learn every want of your body so that I might break you apart piece by piece. Do you understand that, Little Dove?” he asks. 

He pushes his fingers further until you feel the sharp rounding of his knuckles against your pelvic bone. You gasp at the resistance and frantically scramble for something to ground yourself, finding his other hand already waiting for your use. You grasp it with both of yours and let him feed his middle and pointer fingers into your mouth. You instinctively suckle on them and close your eyes.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Feeding from nearly every hole, Little Dove. Your body already knows what your mind has decided. Your body responds to me and only me. It craves me as its master.”

You dumbly nod and suck harder on his fingers, getting lost in the sensation of them pressing onto your tongue and gathering a pool of saliva in the middle of your mouth.

“You will only know the desire and pleasure that is my hand piecing you back together,” he coos.

His knuckles begin to slide past your opening and sink into you. The burning lasts for several minutes, but you give in to the new and intoxicating feeling coursing in your body. Eventually the rest of his hand slides in without protest. It’s an odd shape to have housed inside you, but you focus on sucking his fingers. Blood rushes to your stretched walls and engorges the tissue, making everything feel warm and hypersensitive. You feel his hand make a fist inside you, and you cry out when he begins slowly pumping it in and out.

“Ssshhh sshhhh, let your body do what your mind has decreed,” he soothes.

You whimper and suckle as he fucks you with his fist. He groans as he watches your gaped hole suck him back in over and over. You feel a tight coil in your belly build, and he must sense it, too, because he props himself up straighter again and hums contentedly.

“You are an exceptional creature, Little Dove. Reaching the greatest pleasures by letting yourself be my little fuck hole, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you cry. “I’m your fuck hole. Only yours.”

His pace picks up like he’s become a bit crazed at your rambling submission.

“That’s right, Little Dove,” he grits. “You will see my face, imagine my touch, and dream of my domination in every man you lay with from this day onward.”

Your jaw and body are slack as the power of his drives rocks you back and forth. You don’t have the lucidity to warn him that your climax is quickly approaching.

“I will not be content until you are ruined for any other man,” he snarls.

You swear you can feel every crevice and curve and bend of his fist as you clench down on it. Your vision is a flat white that matches the deafening silence that overcomes you as your orgasm tears through you. It’s a mixture of the most painful and the most pleasurable orgasm you’ve ever experienced, and well after it ebbs your legs continue to shake with the force of it.

You barely register your limbs being moved and adjusted. You regain a bit of clarity when you feel his wide cockhead notch at your wrecked hole and plunge inside in one smooth motion. He lets out a ragged moan, and it sends you right back into that foggy euphoria. He thrusts fast and deep, murmuring platitudes and filthiness into the shell of your ear as he chases his high.

His hands grip the meat of your sides so tight you’re sure there’ll be marks by morning. A firm grip on your jaw shakes you from your blissful floating.

“Look into the eye of the man who conquered you,” he hisses. “Look into my eyes while I fill you.”

With great effort you keep your lids parted and take in the glorious sight of his face twisting and contorting as he begins pulsing inside the pitches of your cunt. Every thrust pushes some of his spend out, and for a fleeting moment you wish you could keep every drop inside you. With one final snap of his hips, he finishes and sags into your body below him. His breath is hot and humid on your neck, heartbeat hammering against your chest, and you wrap your legs and arms around him as though you fear his departure.

“I must stay inside, Little Dove. Plug you with my seed. Fuck you ‘til it takes,” he rambles a little breathlessly.

You smile against his neck and welcome the surrender.

[shamixlour]

The Bear - 3x03

The way he looks at Syd here. I found it extremely interesting and back then I understood it a certain way but now that I have the whole context, meaning I have finished watching season 3...well I see it in a totally different light. Okay this might be a bit long one but here me out. 

At first, I thought Carmy was mad. They were in the rush of service and some plates took longer than necessary to be ready and so he was in his full-asshole Chef mode, running expo in a way that was cold and stressing. I thought he was simply angry because Sydney went to help Tina with the pasta cooking/plating. 

I still think he is mad but with the events in the following episodes, I believe it is way more than that, I think it is much deeper than I expected it to be and I might be reading into this too much but I made another meta and I feel like I cannot speak about this scene without bringing the Carmy scene at Ever in 3x10. 

Now, I think Carmy is jealous. I believe he is impressed. He is mad. He is so fucking envious. He is scared, petrified even. Carmy is in awe and quite astonished. 

That is how I see it now.

The thing is Sydney is portrayed as being impatient, and sure she might have shown some signs of being so regarding certain aspects but when it comes to cooking, when it comes to leading a team, when it comes to being the Chef of cuisine, when it is about running her kitchen, her cooks, she is patient. 

Sydney is patient and calm and pedagogue. She is willing to repeat, to assist and to help. She does not shout, she does not squeeze you even more into the panic of the kitchen even if the situation pleads her to do so. Sydney is loving, caring and fulfilling. She brings back your confidence up, she highlights your strengths, she shows that she trusts you. Sydney is willing to wait, repeat and assist you without doing it all for you even under the humongous pressure of time and peak service. She provides the tools, shows you how to use them in the most efficient way and lets you do it, her hand ready to chime in if needed, if you ask for it. Essentialy, she's a humonguous talented force that whispers you that you can do it. You can do it, Tina. You can do it, Marcus. You can do it.

We saw that during season 1. We saw that again during season 2. She is special, she is something. We saw that once more during season 3, more precisely with Tina, taking the seconds necessary to show her multiple times how to properly cook the pasta and plate it correctly even under the pressure of service. She sets aside her work and helps, guiding Tina with utmost care. She was annoyed too. She was stressed. It was in the middle of service, it delayed everything but Sydney still helped. 

And what did Carmy do in those specific instances? 

He shouted. He was cold, destroying Tina’s confidence, spitting deprecating comments. He did not help. He did not love. He did not care. Sure, he’s under pressure but Sydney is too and yet Sydney stopped and went to Tina, she understood her distress, she felt her silent cry of help and crossed the kitchen to her, steadying Tina again, calmly, without harsh words, without being a total prick even if the situation was nerve-wracking. 

Carmy saw that. He looked at that interaction, watched Sydney be a teacher, a pedagogue, he saw Sydney be the Chef he is not. The Chef he probably never will be. He gazed at something that he does not know how to do, at something he did not even think possible in a kitchen. 

He looked at it and was mad, impressed, envious and solemn. He looked at Sydney as if she is special, as if this is special and something. Something that was worth taking a few seconds to stop, to see and take in. The few seconds he pointedly declared they did not have to Tina.

That is something.

[alisonsfics]

too good to me

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader

summary: after weeks of stress and being on edge, carmy blows up and yells at marcus, but carmy holds such a special place in your heart that you go to his apartment afterward to see how he’s doing

word count: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, arguing, general angst and then fluff

You all knew that something had been on Carmy’s mind. The past few weeks, he’d been more than just anxious. He was really putting his perfectionist tendencies to the extreme. It had been three weeks since officially opening The Bear.

Carmy knew that the first few weeks were crucial to a new business, especially one as volatile as a new-age restaurant. He’d been stressed, which was nothing new for him. But, it was more extreme. He had gotten into an hour-long screaming match with Richie about what specific angle the hostess stand should be pointed.

Everyone was trying to keep Carmy calm, but it had to be done carefully. If he picked up on a tone that was too sympathetic, he’d yell “I’m fine,” and storm off.

With everyone walking on eggshells around him, the tickets for the orders got a little jumbled and in a backwards order.

“Somebody better fucking fix this.” Carmy said, running his hand through his hair. You’d seen him do that move a hundred times, and it usually meant that everything was getting overwhelming. “It’s alright, Carmy. I can handle this. Just go take a quick break outside for me, please?” You asked him.

You were Carmy’s weak spot.

He’d always had a special place in his heart for you. He was wrapped around your finger. If anyone else had told him to take a break, he would have told them to fuck off.

Carmy walked around the corner, where Marcus walked up to him with a new pastry in hand. “Hey, chef. I was thinking we could add a new pastry to the menu for that special event next week?” Marcus asked. It was a perfectly innocent question, especially since Marcus didn’t have any urgent work to be done. In that moment, Marcus was just lacking in reading the room.

“Tonight’s service is a disaster, and you’re wasting your fucking time doing this?” Carmy yelled, smacking the dish out of Marcus’ hand.

That was too far. Farther than Carmy had ever pushed it.

You inserted yourself between the two men. “Marcus, you okay?” You asked him. He nodded his head, but looked down at a small cut on the back of his hand. You placed your hand on his forearm. “Go get that cut washed, and then help Sydney sort out those tickets please.” You said, remaining calm.

“Yes, chef,” Marcus said, walking towards the sink.

Carmy was frozen in place, like even he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “You,” you started to say, turning around to face Carmy.

“I know,” he said, softly.

“Go home, Berzatto. You need to cool off.” You said, trying to be firm but also gentle. Carmy huffed and ran his hand through his hair again. “But I just…one more—” he started to say.

“Home, Carmen.” You repeated, firmer this time. You called him many things: Carmy, Carm, Bear, and the occasional pet name, but never Carmen.

He walked away, but you heard him slam his hand against the wall as he left.

Still rattled from the whole encounter, you tried to get back on your game. “Syd, you’ve got this,” you encouraged your friend, as she directed the kitchen. The rest of the service was a little bumpy as all of you were still a little distracted.

At the end of the service, you were all silently cleaning up your stations. Normally at this point in the night, you were all catching up and joking around with each other. But instead, you all were recalling the night’s events in your heads.

You lightly knocked on the door of the office, where Sugar was sitting and looking through some forms. “Hey, Nat. You mind if I head out a little early? Richie said he’d clean up my station. I was gonna go check on Carmy and see if he’s alright. I’ve been really worried about him.” You told her.

“Yeah yeah, go for it. I think he’ll want to see you. And it’ll be good for him to talk to someone, and you’re the only one he really talks to.” Sugar told you, pulling you in for a quick hug before you left. She hesitated. “Let me know how he is…I’m worried about him,” she told you, softly.

“I will, I promise.” You said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. You turned to leave the office. “Carm’s lucky to have you,” she told you as you walked away. You turned backwards as you kept walking. “The feelings mutual,” you added.

You walked up to Carmy’s apartment and knocked on the door. “Carmy, it’s me, please let me in,” you said.

You heard silence on the other side of the door. You fished your spare key out of your pocket and slid it into the lock. You turned the key slowly and let yourself into his apartment.

You walked into his dark apartment. You saw Carmy’s silhouette as he sat on the couch, staring out the window.

“I gave you that key for emergencies.” He said, coldly. You flipped on the light switch, bringing some light into the dark apartment. “I think what I saw earlier calls for a little intervention, don’t you?” You asked. Carmy sat in silence, continuing to stare out the window. You walked around to the front of the couch so you could face him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He said, still refusing to look at you. Carmy felt guilty about what he’d done. He’d never yelled at you before, and he was ashamed that you had to see him scream like that. Carmy cared more about your opinion than he did about anyone else’s.

You walked towards Carmy, only stopping inches in front of him. “When was the last time you ate?” You asked, blatantly. He leaned back against the couch, trying to add some more distance between you both. He shrugged, genuinely not knowing the answer to your question.

You dug into your work bag and pulled out a takeout box. You stopped by Carmy’s favorite burger restaurant in Chicago to grab him some food. You knew Carmy would sometimes forget to eat when he was feeling anxious. “Eat it,” you told him, handing the box over to him.

He reluctantly opened the box and started eating. You set your work bag on the ground and sat down on the chair that faced the couch.

Carmy shifted nervously in his seat as your gaze was set on him. He was unnerved that you weren’t talking about what happened at the restaurant.

Carmy could normally read you like the back of his hand, but something about your current expression was throwing him off. He couldn’t tell if you were going to scream at him or not.

“Are you here to yell at me like everybody else? I already know I screwed up. I shouldn’t have yelled at Marcus, and I shouldn’t have argued when you told me to leave.” He told you, hoping he could apologize and avoid you yelling at him.

“You know that I’m not here to yell at you. You really fucked up, but Marcus knows that you were just stressed. I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay because I’ve never seen you blow up like that” You said, finally showing your cards. Carmy frowned, looking guilty.

“God, you’re too good to me. I acted like a piece of shit today, and you’re still trying to make sure I’m okay.” He said, still amazed by the love you had for him. He was looking at you like you were his whole world.

He set down the takeout box and used his hand to call you over to him. You stood up and walked towards him, and he patted the seat next to him.

You joined him on the couch. You both were sitting so close together that you were practically in his lap. He turned his body so he could face you.

He let his hand rest on your thigh, feeling more grateful for you than he ever had. You let your fingers caress his bicep, “you deserve to be okay. I want you to be okay,” you said, softly.

You studied his face. You noticed the small bags that had formed under his eyes. You wondered when the last time he’d actually gotten a good night’s sleep was.

You softly brushed his hair out of his face. When he was stressed, Carmy liked to pull on a certain strand of hair right in the front. You knew him like the back of your hand. You noticed all of his quirks; quirks that most people never picked up on.

Carmy watched as you gently tried to soothe him. He was sure you could see the adoration in his eyes.

“I hope you know how perfect you are. You always know exactly what to say.” He said, smiling at you. He pulled your hand away from his hair and interlaced your fingers. He’d wanted to kiss the back of your hand, but couldn’t push himself to do it.

“Do you wanna talk about why you’ve been so stressed recently?” You asked. You were treading lightly, but you wanted to understand what was making him so anxious. You hated seeing him push everyone away, and you wanted to help in any way you could.

He shrugged. “It’s just the restaurant,” he said, not knowing how else to explain it.

“The restaurant is doing amazing though, Carmy. You have no need to stress about that. You’ve been doing such a great job.” You told him, sincerely.

You watched him get a little more nervous. He was looking down at his lap, avoiding meeting your gaze. You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, trying to silently reassure him.

“You can tell me anything, Carm,” you said, softly.

“You just mean so much to me,” he started to explain. You were a little confused as to where he was going with this conversation. The room was silent as Carmy gathered his thoughts.

“Everything at the restaurant has been going so well. Every time my life has ever gone well, something terrible has happened next. I feel like I’m just waiting for everything to…I don’t know, crumble? Losing the restaurant would be terrible, but losing you and the rest of the team would be devastating. You guys are my family.” He told you, his voice cracking with emotion.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. You quickly pulled him into you arms, giving him the tightest hug you could. He clutched onto you like he was scared you’d disappear if he let you go.

“You aren’t going to lose anybody,” you said, holding back tears just from watching how emotional Carmy was.

The soft leather scent of Carmy’s cologne occupied your thoughts as you held him close. You both stayed attached like that for a few minutes. The room was silent, but a comfortable silent.

When you both finally pulled apart, Carmy dried the tears off his cheeks. “Nothing bad is going to happen with the restaurant. We’re all family, and that doesn’t go away based on what happens with the restaurant. You will never lose me, or any of us.” You promised him.

You earned a small chuckle from Carmy when you held your pinky up to him. “You won’t lose me either,” he said, dutifully going through with your pinky promise.

You both stared into each other’s eyes, unsure what to say next. The tension in the air nearly made it hard to breathe.

“I should probably get going and let you have the rest of your evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said, standing up from the couch.

You had never felt so awkward around Carmy. Just the task of walking to the front door felt like a giant opportunity to embarrass yourself. Carmy also quickly jumped up from the couch, feeling equally self-conscious.

His hand lightly grazed your back as he led you back to the front door. “Thank you for coming over and talking to me. You really helped calm me down.” He said, sincerely. You smiled and nodded your head at him.

“Make sure to call me if you ever need to talk about anything. I promise that I’ll always be here to listen,” you assured him.

The tension returned.

You both chose to avoid it.

“Well, goodnight,” you both quickly said, at the same time. You rushed out the door, and Carmy closed it behind you.

The door clicked into place and seemingly broke you both out of your trance.

You both realized you had missed the perfect opportunity. The perfect opportunity to finally confess those feelings that had been weighing you down.

You lowered your head, almost shamefully, and started walking down the hallway.

Carmy leaned his head against the closed door, wondering how he could have missed it. The girl of his dreams was walking down the hallway away from his apartment, away from him.

He started to walk towards his bedroom when he suddenly thought “fuck it,” and turned around.

At the same time in the hallway, you had the same thought.

Your heart beating in your ears, you turned on your heel and headed back towards Carmy’s apartment.

Carmy started walking back towards the front door. Before he could reach the door, he watched the knob spin and the door fling open.

You were back and standing in front of him.

Realizing you both had the same idea, Carmy quickly closed the gap between the two of you. His strong tattooed hands cupped your cheeks as he finally kissed you. You kissed him back immediately, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

He moved one of his hands away from you, but just a second, so he could quickly close the front door behind you.

He pushed you against the back of the door. The back of your head bumped against the door causing you to grin against the kiss. “Oh, shit, sorry. You okay?” he asked, cupping the back of your head. You quickly nodded your head. “I’m fine, I promise.” You said, grabbing his collar and pulling him back to kiss you.

He smirked against your lips at your eagerness to not break the kiss for even a second. He held onto your waist and pinned you against the door, while you wrapped your arms around his neck and toyed with his hair.

His lips felt perfect against yours. The kiss was somehow everything you’d dreamed of but completely unexpected.

You shifted your weight against him, gently nudging him away from the door. Carmy picked up on what you were doing. You noticed his signature smirk as he guided you towards the couch.

You fell back onto the couch, pulling Carmy down on top of you. All his weight landed on you, causing you to wince. “Sorry, that more violent than it was supposed to be.” He said, sheepishly. He quickly shifted his weight, so he was holding himself above you.

You both were giggly as these little mishaps continued to happen. It suited your relationship. You both had always been able to joke with each other, especially because of your matching sense of humor. It made sense that when you both finally got together that Carmy would accidentally bump your head against the door. But it didn’t make things awkward. You both were so comfortable just giggling with each other.

“Get back here, Berzatto,” you said, connecting your lips again. He quickly obliged. While Carmy loved laughing with you, he had been waiting years to kiss you and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled as he kissed you. You quickly slipped his tshirt over his head and tossed it to the side.

Then, you both heard a strange muffled sound. You pulled out of the kiss and gave Carmy a concerned look. It sounded like someone was in the apartment.

Your face completely changed when you realized what it was. “Carmy, that’s your phone. You butt dialed someone,” you whispered. His eyes also grew wide. He quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket, hoping he could hang up and not say anything.

Once his phone was in his hand, he realized it was a FaceTime call and he was now face-to-face with his sister.

“Oh, shit. Sugar?” He said, the shock clear on his face. You immediately held your hand over your mouth, trying to remain completely silent.

“Hey, uh yeah. You called me? Are you okay?” She asked, confused by the whole situation.

“Oh, I must’ve done it on accident, sorry. Listen, I’m really sorry about yelling tonight. I’m gonna come in tomorrow and apologize to everyone though.” He said, sincerely. You were finding it so hard to not giggle. He was on the phone with Sugar while lying directly on top of you, and you just had to stay silent.

“It’s okay, Carm. Everyone knows you’ve been going through a lot. Y/N was going to head over to your apartment. Did you talk to her?” Natalie asked, genuinely invested.

Carmy quickly nodded his head. “Yeah, she came by earlier and we talked. I’m doing a lot better. Yeah, she’s umm—” Carmy stalled as he tried to come up with a lie.

Natalie picked up on his hesitation immediately. “Oh shit. Is she— are you two— wait is she there now?” She asked, putting it all together. You froze, trying to anticipate Carmy’s next move.

He quickly sat up on the couch before pulling you into his lap. “Hi, Nat,” you said, smiling at the camera and bracing for her reaction. You both watched her jaw drop.

“Did my two favorite people finally confess their love for each other? Oh, you guys,” she awed, being able to read you both just from the way you both were blushing.

Carmy buried his face in your neck. He knew how long Natalie had been rooting for this to happen, and he was having a hard time controlling how red his face was.

“You’re good for him. I’m really happy for you guys,” she said to you. You smiled in return and thanked her.

“Well, I’ll let you both get back to it.” She said, winking at you both and ending the call.

“So, how long before everybody knows?” He asked you. You just laughed in response, knowing it wouldn’t be long.

“I think she’s already sent an all-caps text to Sydney and Richie, and the rest of them will know before we go into work tomorrow.” You told him, honestly.

“We could just stay here tomorrow. We don’t really need to go in, right?” He said, pressing kisses to your cheek.

“Would that be the responsible thing to do?” You teased him. He chuckled and pecked your lips. “You know I would spend every second with you, whether it was responsible or not.” He told you.

You giggled, stopping him from kissing you. “Awww we’re only fifteen minutes in and I’m already your biggest weakness? You big softie,” You continued to joke around with him.

“You’ve always been my weakness, sweetheart,” he said, quickly picking up and carrying you to his bedroom.

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[rainy-day-gracie]

wedding night (1)

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

[soov]

𔓕　KEEP JAZZ A(LiVE)。 ㅤceo .ᐟ 𝓟ark 𝓙ongseong

（ 命 ）fem reader 、15OO words　fluff ⋄ ceo au, s2l and estabilished relationship　─　kissing, suggestive & mentions of food。

in which you and jay coincidentally go to the same live jazz restaurant, and end up with your dates being at his house after some of his wooing.

Jazz and food — is there a greater combination? You liked to believe that there wasn’t, especially after discovering L'Arôme, a restaurant unexpectedly close to your house hidden by a narrow cobblestone path and many vine branches.

L'Arôme was easily one of the most beautiful places you had ever visited. The dim atmosphere and yellowish lamps managed to make the open interior look cozier than it should. The walls were mostly textured with burnished concrete; the plants that grew on the outside of the restaurant, too, covered the inside of it.

The ambiance was jaw-dropping, the food was delicious, and the live jazz music was equally as perfect. Marcus and Thereza, the old, retired couple who played the saxophone and piano out of love for music, had also gotten a special place in your heart.

You started to love the place even more when a certain man began to frequent it every late Friday as you did.

He was exceptionally charming, white shirt neatly rolled up to his elbows, hair combed back, and a Rolex on his wrist. Despite him looking like the embodiment of luxury, what attracted your attention were his courteous interactions with the employees, and the polite small-talk he had with the musicians to compliment them.

“Men like him still exist?” It seemed that even the people who worked there pondered the same thing. At least, that was what your bartender told you.

The raven-haired man left you intrigued for his next visits; even more so when he pulled out a tiny moleskin and pen out of his pocket, jotting down notes whilst carefully listening to the music, and occasionally stealing a bite of his dish.

You didn’t notice how he gazed back at you until he cracked one of his peaceful smiles, making you immediately look back to your glass of wine sheepishly.

He kept exchanging glances and grins with you before he finally came up to you one night.

“Can I sit here? Don’t worry, I’ll pay for my food.” He pointed to the wooden chair in front of you, and you agreed, of course. Why wouldn’t you?

During that dinner, you found out that his name is Park Jongseong, but he prefers going by Jay. He loves traveling and learning about new cultures, cooking, and sometimes composing songs, hence the notebook. He learned that you enjoy fashion and cats. You two discovered that among your many shared tastes, perfumes and scents were your top ones. Ironic, considering the name of the place where you two met.

Jay did not pay his bill that night, by the way, but rather his and yours when you had a quick restroom break. When it was time for you to leave, he ordered you a cab, making sure you were alright before closing its door.

He did that for the next few weeks, and in a specific one, Jay called you asking if the meetup could be an actual date. And again, you agreed. Why wouldn’t you?

So he showed up with a suit of your favorite color. You didn’t remember that well when you told him what it was, but he still remembered it, just like your favorite flowers in the bouquet he held. Even with all his grand gestures, Jongseong was a simple man — just a kiss on his tan cheek before you hopped in the cab made him weak on his knees.

The pattern kept going on up ‘till he asked you to be his girlfriend, and the next dates moved to his million-dollar penthouse. You didn’t get how crazy money he made in his CEO job until he picked you up in his sleek black Porsche and drove you to one of the best neighborhoods in the city. When he already had such manners and looked like a sculpture manually carved by the Greek gods, his money wasn’t that much of a big deal.

And with all that being said, Jay was ten thousand times happier with having your Friday dates in the coziness and intimacy of his home.

“Jay, baby, I wanna help too...” You mumbled with your arms nestled around his waist, chin on his broad back as you watched him set up the final touches to the seasoned meat to get it to the oven.

“You’re helping already with your hugs,” he said back, chuckling when you whined against his cashmere sweater.

“Doesn’t count,” you huffed, “you already had prepared everything before I arrived. You’re no fun.”

He couldn’t help but laugh again, “I didn’t fill our glasses with wine, though. You can help me with that.” Jay suggested, washing his hands off.

With grumbles of defeat, you made your way to his wine wall, picking up an unopened bottle of your favorite. After you began dating him, you had turned into a somewhat wine expert with all the knowledge he shared.

Popping the bottle open, you poured the drink into two burgundy glasses, taking a sip of yours and leaving it near the charcuterie board on the coffee table.

Jay changed the vinyl playing to a copy of Thereza’s and Marcus’ jazz album that he bought from them, one of their original songs playing smoothly in the background. He soon approached you, hand reached out in reverence. “Can I have this dance?”

You beamed and nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and allowing him to encircle your waist. “This is nice.” You commented and he nodded in agreement.

“Really nice.”

His thumbs rubbed your sides while your fingertips ran through his strands, meekly massaging his scalp. Jay melted into you, his cheek resting on your shoulder as if wanting to get even closer during the slow dance.

“You’re gonna suffocate me, Jay,” you choked out with a giggle, and he immediately took a step back, though still leaning on your body.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

When his apology got dismissed, he tugged you to the living room quickly without even bothering to say a word. You let out a quiet laugh when he sat down and pulled you to his lap.

“What’s up with the commotion?” You prodded at his slightly uncommon clinginess and quietude.

Your boyfriend shrugged, his chin on your chest and an impish smile on his lips as he stared up at you, “Just missed you.” Jongseong explained in a gentle tone.

There were multiple reasons for his homesickness, and one of them was the twelve-day business trip that he had to take to Russia, making your date on the weekend prior get canceled. You didn’t blame him for wanting attention.

“You’re cute when you’re all clingy like that,” pointing out, you made sure to leave a peck on his exposed forehead, nose, and lips.

With an uninterested ‘mhm’, he kept you in place by grasping the back of your head with a firm grip. Jay kissed you slowly — and a tad bit messily — to make good use of the short period he’d have with you until his next business trip. His plush lips didn’t leave yours for a second, occasionally nibbling on them up to when he had to pull away for air.

He leaned back on the couch, trying to create distance between you. However, his eyes never left your face, devouring every curve and contour as if you were the last meal he would ever have. “You’re pretty.”

“You sound like you just started to find me pretty.”

Jay huffed in disbelief at your taunt, a toothy grin and a nose wrinkle appearing, “Take a compliment, will you?”

“Alright. Thanks, then.” You shrugged and turned in his lap to grab your glass of wine by the coffee table. Taking a sip, you hummed at the feeling of Jay’s lazy kisses and pecks along your neck. “Needy, huh?”

“You entertain me.” He muttered back with a gentle bite to your skin, mentally patting himself on the back for the little yelp of surprise you let out.

Park kept pampering you during your small snack break, focused on being as doting as he could only until the oven’s timer ticked. His hand cupped your hips as you left his lap, making sure that you were balanced before letting go of you.

You got the tray out of the oven and carefully rested it on the well-decorated dining table. Your boyfriend approached you, chivalrously taking off the protection glove from your hand and pulling out the chair for you.

And as you both suited yourselves and enjoyed his cooking, you once again realized how much of a good cook Jay was.

“S’too good, Jay,” you mumbled with a finger hooked in front of your lips, munching happily on the absurdly good side dishes he made.

“Thank you, I know it is.” Jay proudly admitted, mostly joking around with you, but happy with the outcome of the plates.

You scoffed with a small grin, “No need to get all cocky now.”

“Maybe there is. I have a feeling my girl likes when I’m cocky.” He quipped back, showing that you really entertained him in his playful moments.

He used the dinner to fill you in the details of his trip that he didn’t say through text, feeling bashful whenever you gasped or quipped with a question.

Eventually, the conversation turned to his guitar, and soon he was strumming his favorite songs on the couch while you relaxed against him.

Seemed like it was about time you added Jay to the top of your ranking.

⠀ ⠀ SOOV © 2O24

STiCKY NOTES ⋄ for my biggest inspiration ever since animeblr HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAEL!! @boyfhee