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audioaujom · 5 months ago

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3: Who Was Right All Along

MITT Hub, <prev, next >

Welcome back! This is the last relatively light chapter (lol) before the real shit hits the fan and the whump I started this fic for begins. What ever could be happening to Logan in the time it takes for Virgil to find him? In other news, I’m considering whether or not to add enemies to friends/lovers to the overall tags. Anyway, enjoy!

Word Count: 1519

Virgil threaded his way through the more crowded streets, the sun rising higher in the sky as the day continued. He kept a careful eye on everyone around him as he followed Patton’s directions, but stopped upon seeing someone sitting off by themselves outside of the square.

The guy looked queasy, his face pale and body shaking a bit as he took small sips from a flask of water in his hands.

“You look pale there, you okay?” Virgil asked, pushing his hood back as he approached.

This guy has seen some shit. What the hell happened?

“Yeah, just… shaken up from something this morning.” The guy explained, brushing a hand back through his messy brown hair. He looked up at Virgil, offering him a drink. “…I’m Thomas.”

“Virgil.” Virgil hesitated a moment before taking it, sipping some water and passing it back. “So, Thomas, can you tell me what happened?”

“I had to get up early this morning to help pick up some deliveries for my mom. As I was heading through the town square, the Hanover twins stopped me. Real dicks, those guys, but you can’t exactly say no, you know?”

“Yeah. Keep going.” Virgil nodded, dread starting to creep into his mind as the twins were mentioned.

Why do I feel like I know where this is heading?

“Well, Prescott was bragging about some ritual thing that proved he was ‘worthy’.” Thomas was clearly uncomfortable, scratching at the back of his neck and staring down at the street. “All of a sudden this guy comes up to him and asks if he’s talking about this thing they do where they… murder… kids…” His voice waned and got quieter, Virgil’s eyes widening.

“What?”

He knew the family was crazy, but killing kids? That… seemed about right, actually.

Maybe Logan’s not so crazy after all.

“Worst thing is that neither of the twins denied it.” Thomas stared down at his hands, rubbing them together anxiously. “I felt sick after realizing that’s what he was talking about, so I got away from the conversation as fast as I could. Last I heard, Maxwell had run off to get their mother. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“...the guy who came up to them. What did he look like?”

“Uh… About my height, I guess? Sorta dark brown hair kinda swept out of his face, greenish eyes, glasses.” Thomas offered, Virgil sighing to himself as it all clicked into place.

“Let me guess, wearing a button up tucked into his slacks?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I know the guy.” Virgil admitted, Thomas nodding a bit to himself.

“Well, I hope he’s alright, then.”

“Yeah… We’ll see about that.” Virgil mumbled to himself, hoping Thomas couldn’t hear him. “You should be careful, though. Maybe take some time off.”

Thomas blinked, confused, but nodded nonetheless. “Okay. Thanks. For uh… listening. And the advice.”

“Yeah.” Virgil barely registered Thomas’ goodbye as he was too busy staring at the flash of plate armor from the nearby square. Stepping out of the street to get a better view, Virgil’s well-trained eyes narrowed in on the Hanover crest on the upper corner of the knight’s breastplate.

He took off through the crowd after putting his hood back up, expertly weaving unnoticed through the crowd to shadow the guard, waiting for him to head into an unoccupied street with one hand resting on the dagger concealed behind his back.

The moment the two were out of view Virgil threw an arm out, causing the knight to stumble back into the nearest wall as Virgil whirled around to pin him, using his other hand to draw his dagger and place the tip of the blade against his throat.

“You.” Virgil’s voice was low, the knight staring dumbfoundedly at him as his hands raised up towards his shoulders as best he could. “You work with them, don’t you?”

“Well now, I’m afraid I don’t know what—“

“Don’t lie. Besides, it was a rhetorical question.” Virgil cut him off by pressing the blade further into his skin, the first drop of blood starting to force its way out under the dagger. “I need to know if you were there this morning during the fight or not.”

“What ever could you be talking about?” The knight wheezed a little, trying to keep his breathing shallow so as to not cut himself further. It was mostly successful.

“Were you there this morning during the fight? Yes or no?” Virgil was losing his patience, the knight seeming to finally take notice of this as he sighed and gulped nervously.

“Well, I wasn’t there for the actual fight, I don't think. I was just posted outside the Hanover art gallery, so I was only involved after the guy ran.”

“Tall, brown hair, glasses?”

“What? Yeah, I guess.” The knight was confused, but still affirmed Virgil’s description. It’s not like he had many options. “We were ordered to catch him, so we did.”

“Shit, this is bad.” Virgil muttered to himself, glancing around a bit before glaring pointedly back up at him. “Where did you take him?”

“What?”

“It’s important!” Adjusting his grip on the dagger, Virgil huffed and got further up into the guy’s face. “Where the hell did you take him?”

“Jesus flipping Christ, man, what is your problem?” The guy cringed a little, turning his head a little to the side before realizing Virgil wasn’t going to let up. “Geez, alright! I took him back to the Hanover house, and that was that.”

“Dammit. He could already be dead.” Virgil let go of the knight, slipping the dagger back in its sheath as he all but paced in the street and began mumbling to himself. “How am I gonna tell Patton?”

“I’m sorry, dead? That can’t be right.” The guy chuckled nervously, watching Virgil. “What absurd reason would they have to kill a regular old guy like him?”

“Apparently he discovered they kill kids for shits. I’d say that warrants him being silenced.”

The knight stared at Virgil for a long moment, face flabbergasted as he desperately tried to catch up to what he just heard, breaking the silence a moment later with a loud and stuttered, “They what?!”

“How the hell do you work for them and not know what they do in their spare time?” Virgil stopped in his pacing, giving him a disgusted look that the knight very much did not appreciate.

“I’m not exactly privy to family matters, you… overgrown cloaked raccoon!” He crossed his arms, looking away defensively. “I barely even know their names, let alone know about their crazy murder rituals!”

“What, so you’re just some dumb pretty boy for show?” Virgil smirked, leaning back against the wall opposite him. “Do you even have any combat skills or are you just there to make the others look good?”

“How dare you say something so insulting! I am a knight of the Hanover family, and I—“

Waving a dismissive hand in the air, Virgil nervously bit at his lip and stared down at the stone road between his feet. “Yeah yeah, shut it, pretty boy. I need to make a plan and don’t need your ignorance rubbing off on me.”

The knight was silent for several long moments before he spoke up again, quieter. “You really think they’re going to kill him? For discovering they’re some crazy murder cult?”

“The only way to find out is to ask him.”

“Okay.” He nodded once, seeming more sure of himself. He smacked his cheeks hard a couple of times, before taking a deep breath and composing himself completely. “I can do that.”

Startled, Virgil looked back up. “What?”

“I’ve got unrestricted access to the house and I can find and talk to him. If there’s any truth to what he says, I… I can probably get him out.”

“You’d do that?” Virgil asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. “You know that if they catch you they could kill you too, right?”

“If they’re really as crazy as either of you say, I’d rather take my chances than just keep working for them.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I don’t think I could focus on working knowing what I know, anyway.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Whatever you find out, let’s meet again soon.” It’s not that Virgil trusted this guy, but if he wanted to find Logan—for Patton’s sake, of course, not because he was actually worried at all—this idiot was his best shot.

“When and where?”

“I’ll find you.”

“Well, that sounds very delightful and not ominous at all.” The knight nodded, before adding with a chuckle, “Sure you can?”

“Hey, remember that I got the jump on you this time, so I can easily do it again.” Virgil shrugged, smirking. “See you around, pretty boy.”

Virgil’s cloak swished behind him as he pulled the hood up, disappearing into the crowd as the now indigent knight called after him.

“My name is Roman!” He waited for a moment, seeing another smirk sent his way from a little ways off. “Not that you bothered to ask. Asshole.”

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juletheghoul · 4 months ago

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The General

a/n: So, the Roman got me. It was to be expected, honestly lol. I am well aware we know practically nothing about this character but I couldn't help myself. I wrote reader as a slave here, if you aren't into that - no worries. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for letting me flood her with my thoughts and ideas and for helping me flesh it out🩷 Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, some dirty talk, creampie, alcohol, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) one creepy dude making a pass, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

reblogs are appreciated

Series masterlist Masterlist next chapter; the baths

He comes through the tent flap late into the night, covered in blood, grime, and rage, and yet - you are there to greet him. The gods have seen it fit to bestow him with another day of victory, another day of life and with that life, comes his expectations of you.

You rush to pour the water you’ve kept hot at his fire into the basin he uses to wash, eyes scanning quickly for the clean linens he uses to cleanse himself of the gore of battle, and making yourself scarce once the basin is full.

He says nothing, but he has no need to.

You watch from your place at the edge of his vision, every nerve and receptor in your body honed to anticipate his needs.

His armor needs to be cleaned before first light, thank the Gods I didn’t fall asleep. I will need to mend the tear in his tunic as well–

His hand shot out, face up towards you, interrupting your mental tally of his state but your body responds quicker than your mind and you’re there in an instant, placing the clean linen into his dampened hand. Still, he says nothing.

You move towards his table while he finishes, shuffling his maps and well laid battle plans with great care in order to set out the olives and cheese he likes, the crusty bread and the dark wine he prefers.

“General.” The gruff voice at the tent flap scares you half to death, but you don’t cry out. You’re too well-trained for that. A few of his soldiers stand at the threshold. “We wish to share a cup, a toast to your victory.” They are eager, the red glint of blood still fresh in their eyes.

He grunts in response, but gestures to his table before giving you a pointed look. You rush to fetch more cups, setting them down at the extra places at his table. They are all seated by the time you finish pouring for them, and with another glance from Marcus–your general–you move to fetch more food from his stores.

They’re raucous, the heat of the battle still coursing through their veins. Where Marcus is focused on calming the blood, they are eager to stoke the fire. They are either oblivious to his dark mood, or unbothered by it.

“More wine!” One of them cries out, despite the way the General’s jaw clenches. You hurry to comply, pouring into the younger man's cup without spilling. “You are lucky General Acacius, a pretty, young, thing like this waiting to warm your bed of a night,” he leers up at you, his gaze slipping across your body like eels in a bowl, “would you share your wealth, I wonder.” His other hand slides up the back of your thigh causing you to gasp, his touch wholly unwelcome.

“If you would like to keep your hands, I suggest you keep them to yourself.” His voice cuts through the air, “Come girl, take my cup away. I have no taste for wine just now.” You move away from the unwanted touch and towards Marcus, avoiding his eyes to complete the task at hand. “Go now, all of you. I will see you in the morning.” He moves from his place at the table, and if the others are unwilling to comply, they make no mention of it. The table is clear by the time he comes back, absent unwanted company.

He says nothing while removing his armor, but you rush to his side to assist anyway, carefully putting the pieces aside to clean.

The mood shifts, and his gaze now bores into you, and your heart races to feel it. Where the other man's eyes made your skin crawl, Marcus’ eyes feel like a caress. You feel them on the slit in your tunic, where your thigh is exposed. You feel them on your chest when you turn towards him to help take his chest plate off.

Goose flesh spreads like a stain across your skin, and your cunt weeps for him, betraying any thoughts that you might not want what he quite obviously wants to give you. The proof of it tenting his tunic when the leather Pteruges are removed.

Those brutal hands, the ones that’d been covered in blood and grime not an hour past, now grab onto your hips, the grip hard enough to bruise. The thin linen shift does nothing to insulate you from his heat, does nothing to dull the press of his want against your belly. Any doubts swimming in your mind about crossing this line with him–again–are silenced when the linen is all but ripped off, leaving you almost shivering in his arms.

The arousal is something fierce, an entity all in its own and it responds to his brusque movements with a perverse glee. It sets your nerves alight, drips down onto your thighs as he herds you towards his bed mat. His intensity infects you, it strengthens your grip, you’d swear it sharpened your nails by the way you rip at the very tunic you’re going to have to mend.

You land on your back amongst his linens and he’s quick to follow you there. It takes less than a breath for him to shrug everything off, both of you as nude as the day you were born.

“Open your legs.” His voice is gruff, and thick with want, the same want that smears fat pearly drops against the skin of your thigh.

Your nipples harden, drawing both his eye, and his mouth as you hurry to comply. He bites, pulling a gasp from your lips. His tongue quickly soothes it though, this is his pattern, an addictive balance of pain and pleasure. First one breast, then the other gets his attention, but only briefly, his desire burns too brightly.

You only manage to pull his face up to yours before his cock finally slips into your wet heat, feeding a gasp directly into his mouth when you take his kiss with a force to rival his own.

The size of him always shocks you into silence. He isn’t the first man to have you this way, your chastity had been gone long before you came into his service; you were glad of it to feel the way he molded you to accept him though. Now, and every time he’s been inside you.

His stroke is brutal, it’s hard, and rough and all but moves you higher onto his mat. It’s perfect.

Your knees hitch high onto his hips, just as he raises one knee to press against the back of your thigh for purchase and it pays off because he finds the spot that makes you keen.

He lets out a breathy laugh, relishing the state of you and the euphoria of your climax is far too close to feel any shame. Instead your cunt floods him, the slip of him moving so noisy and vulgar and welcome and blissful it pushes you closer still.

“More, please—“ you moan out the words, the first words you’ve spoken to him since he’d returned from a day of violence and he corrects you even now.

“More what,” he grunts, anger and ecstasy shining on his visage, “speak correctly, girl.” His voice is clipped, his movements faltering and you know he’s close.

“More please, Dominus.” They’re a whimper, and he responds to them just how you hoped he might. He moves quickly and for a moment you can see how he’s earned his reputation, agile and smooth and within a moment he sits back on his haunches, pulling your hips up to meet his thrusts.

You don’t know whether to scream, or weep, either way you thank the Gods for putting you in this man’s way. The pleasure is peppered with pain where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, and you know you will feel the ache of holding them open tomorrow, but it’s so hard to care when it feels so good.

The precipice looms, the shadow of the climax clouding anything and everything and when you reach down towards where you’re spread wide, it only takes a couple of quick, wet circles at your clit to float away.

He groans, hips stuttering and you know you’ve taken him over the edge with you, you can feel the evidence of it painting your insides. His eyes glaze over as he watches himself fill you to the brim, slack-jaw and drunk on his orgasm and your flesh on display for him.

“I expect you to remain full of my gift-“ his tone is filthy, lust and victory of a different kind on his features as he grinds himself deeper, “until I take you again.” He hisses the last few words out, pulling his softening cock out to inspect his mess. “Am I understood?”

“Yes Dominus.” The words are sweet as summer fruit on your tongue, eager to please him.

He smiles, but it’s predatory and it makes you clench around nothing, your body betraying your words when you feel his spend dripping out in front of his eyes.

He tsks, pushing it back in with thick fingers.

“You are well aware I don’t tolerate such insolence.” His eyes narrow, but his mood is still playful, removing his fingers from your cunt, only to stick them in your mouth. “Now, get some rest. I expect you up at first light.” He speaks with absolute authority as you suck his fingers clean, and nod.

------

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #Marcus acacias x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #marcus x reader

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