#you cannot possibly tell me this does not have

[shotmrmiller]

in which johnny gifts the love of his life a sex toy outta nowhere

when you mumble into the phone that you miss him, johnny, he pauses for a second, then tells you he's going to bring you a gift back home. "to keep ye company, hen." after, he locks himself in a bathroom stall and watches you play with yourself until you both come.

but you'd thought he'd bring you a pet. a live animal that needs a cage to be brought across the world, not a long, slim unmarked box.

it's a sex toy. and it's rather large, at that. your hand wraps around the base, fingertips still a good inch apart.

"and i'm supposed to be using that?" his arms wrap around your waist, his thick stubble grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, raising goose flesh.

"don't like it? only had ye in mind, hen." he presses a wet kiss on your fluttering pulse. you've never really talked about toys in your relationship. you don't need them, of course, and johnny more than makes up for the time lost between you two whenever he's home but this?

"i don't know," you mumble. "a bullet would've made more sense, i think. at most a rose." his hands run up your sides, to the swell of your breasts and give you a gentle squeeze. he doesn't believe the tripe of people valuing size over all else, does he? the thing is easily as thick as your forearm and it's corded with veins. and it's uncut. whoever is making these are going to extreme lengths to make it as realistic as possible.

he bucks his hips, prominent bulge in his jeans coming to rest in the small of your back. of course he'd get excited. menace.

"ye willnae have t'use it alone now tha' i'm here. 'sides, i think ye'd look perfect with my pretty kitty stretched thin around it." johnny grabs your hips firmly, creating small divots as his grip tightens. "maybe i'll watch ye fuck yerself on it, hm? lap at yer clit while ye do." liquid heat pools in your belly, pulsing hot between your legs.

he really wants you to use it, given by his ragged breathing and he rutting himself against you. fine. "okay. just, not right now, yeah? i want only you in me." his eyes burn fluorescent as he nods, his large hand cradling your head as he pulls you in for a kiss.

you missed this. the sweet sting of his cock sliding home in your aching cunt, the sharp pinch below your navel when his tip comes to sit snugly against the plug of your womb. you've missed this. missed him.

maybe he'll forget all about that monstrosity sitting in the box.

-

he doesn't. he's bringing it up hours later, his spend still dripping warm on your thighs. johnny cannot be serious.

"course i am, hen." his fingers sweep at the hair stuck to your sweat-slick forehead. "is it a crime to want to see ye split open on some- something else?"

you think nothing of his stutter. "alright," you groan. if that's what he wants. it'll be interesting to see just how much you can take. you'll never tell him that your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought, his cum trickling out faster, pooling on the sheets.

-

it's not warm. the tip of it presses against your swollen entrance, cold in contrast to your heated flesh. johnny watches you swallow a gasp, your trembling hands reaching for his as you slide down an inch, two, three. johnny's cum is wonderful lube, but the searing burn- the size of toy is overwhelming, your walls being wrenched apart as you glide down further. johnny presses a prickly kiss on your cheek, cooing in your ear all the while his clever fingers draw gentle circles on your clit. "focus on breathin', bonnie. yer tensin' up."

desire begins to bubble beneath your skin, pleasure causing your muscles to warm and slacken, and after a long couple of minutes, you find yourself at the base.

but then johnny grabs your hips from behind and pulls- oh. "that's it." if you'd thought the toy had originally been in your stomach, it's now in your throat. "pretty as a peach, hen. jus' wha' i wanted to see." a shiver dances up your spine, notches trembling as you get used to the unforgiving stretch of the toy. his breath warms the side of your neck. "on yer go."

you come around it no less than three times, leaving it milky and johnny cleans it up with his mouth before he cleans you up.

-

the girth of it is something you'll never get used to but it does get easier. when johnny goes back to work, he tells you that all he asks for are videos of you using it. for his collection, he greedily says.

you send him as many as you can, no matter the hours. just a quick nsfw text before getting his thumbs up and away it goes. it's incredibly fun. the relationship hadn't been dull by any means, but this just feels invigorating. you feel rejuvenated. that johnny is your biggest cheerleader while using it is such a bonus.

you oughta marry him. maybe you'll elope the next time he's home. but when the next time comes, johnny calls you instead of messaging you the usual be home soon text.

and it sends you reeling.

bonnie. the toy treat ye well while i was gone?

no better than you could me, but yeah. i'm still sore from using it in the last video i sent you.

that's great. if ye like the toy then ye'll love the real thing, i ken. we'll be there in 10.

[absurdthirst]

The Future of Rome {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.6k

Warnings: Mentions of orgies, whores, cuckolding, voyeurism, oral sex (male and female receiving), cream pie, breeding, mentions of feeding kink, vaginal sex, pregnancy, betrayal, conspiracy, murder

Comments: When Caracalla is unable to father a child on you, his empress, he enlists General Marcus Acacius to be his proxy between your thighs. Needing his general's seed in his efforts to father the next ruler of Rome.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

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

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you watch as your husband, Emperor Caracalla of Rome, paces in the large room, screaming and shouting like an overgrown child. At times, it feels like that is what he is, a child. A man child who controls the largest empire in the world, alongside his brother Geta. The two of them engaged in squabbles that would have all of the citizens of Rome demanding new leadership if they knew of them. “You must carry a child!” He hisses, turning and glaring at you as if you are at fault for the monthly flow of blood that comes between your thighs like clockwork. “How have you not been bred yet? I fill you nearly every week.” His eyes narrow and he stops his stride to turn towards you. “Are you doing something? Taking some tonic to prevent a child from growing?” 

You sigh, shaking your head. “Of course I would not.” You tell him. “It is my duty to provide you with an heir. Before Geta.” You know your husband wishes to best his brother by having a child before he does. “You are still fucking your concubines.” You remind him. “None of them have fallen pregnant with your bastard. Perhaps your seed is bad.” You could be risking his wrath by telling him what no hippocrates would, but he has never sired one bastard and he indulges in orgies and women all the time. You have no love for the husband you had been forced to marry by your father in return for Rome not destroying your homelands.

Caracalla’s eyes grow wide and he hisses, striding over to you and you brace yourself as he hits you across the face with the back of his hand. You gasp and he looms over you, “you dare to insult me like that, uxor? I am divine. Ordained by the gods and you are? Some whore daughter of a King who wilted under the glory of the Roman army. You are fortunate I chose you to be Empress. An honor I bestow upon you and you have the gall to question my seed.” He rants but he knows you could be true. He longs to have an heir before his brother and even if he fucks you every day, you still bleed. He has never fathered a bastard. You cup your cheek, keeping your head down and he sighs, “we must seek a solution.” He declares, frowning as he considers his options to ensure he beats his brother to the heir.

You bite your lip to keep from crying, knowing that tears would only incense the man you are married to even more. Caracalla does not like to see you cry, even if he is cruel and cutting. When he punishes you for any perceived slight. Tears are a sign of weakness in his eyes and he will not have you shed them in his presence. “What solution would you have?” You know he cannot seek out a healer, the risk of rumor would be too great. Any kind of whisper about this would make its way back to Geta. 

He paces in front of the balcony, the linens flowing in the breeze. “I need an heir who will be strong, a fighter. I need a boy. I need you to give birth to the next heir. We need to ensure that you get pregnant as soon as possible.” He murmurs, speaking his mind and he finally turns to you. “We need to have someone else get you pregnant. We need - General Marcis Acacius.” He declares, eyes wide.

You frown, trying to recall what the man looks like. He has been away from Rome for nearly two years, since just after you had married Caracalla. “He looks nothing like you.” You point out.

“I don’t need him to look like me. I need a boy and he’s a strong fighter. He will give our child the characteristics he needs to lead Rome and her army.” He declares, “you will fuck him when he returns.” He orders and you swallow harshly, knowing you will struggle to have relations with a man that isn’t your husband but you have no choice but to do as he demands.

“I will gift you to him to fuck.” He continues on, a wild and honestly frightening smile splitting his face. “It will be an honor, for fighting so valiantly for Rome.” He isn’t talking to you, but rather plotting out what will happen. You can’t quite recall what Marcus Acacius looks like, but you hope that he will be quick to cum like Caracalla, or at least his seed will take root quickly.

****

Marcus looks up at the marbled entrance as he arrives at the palace to meet the Emperors and tell them about his success in person. He’s sent messengers but he must tell them of his accomplishments rather than be allowed to return to his home to relax. He sighs as he adjusts the white and gold tunic and armor that suffocates him. It’s for display, not ideal for battle, and he knows the Emperors will have a feast planned soon after his report and he’s expected to be on display. He scratches his cheek as he is escorted through the halls until he arrives in the grand hall where the Emperors are waiting. He strides to stand before them and bows his head, “Rome is in your hands.” He vows, “we have conquered Africa.” He announces, “for you and for Rome.”

Dressed in snowy white silk and gold, you are sitting off to the side, ignored by your husband and brother as they had waited for the general’s approach. You had heard the crowds outside the palace, the roars echoing dimly and you sat up slightly from the chaise when the doors had opened. Finding a much different man than you had expected walking confidently towards them. He’s older than you remembered, but his gray hair is still pleasant as it mixes with his darker locks. He’s handsome, not the sharp nosed beauty of your fair husband, but darker, broader. His nose is curved and his eyes are the color of night from where you sit. You want to see them up close. He’s large, larger than Caracalla and you wonder if you are the whore some have whispered you must be, for you want to see what this man would be like inside you.

Caracalla cannot let his brother know his plan. No one can know. Geta greets Marcus who bows his head and his dark eyes flick over to you for a moment. When you arrived at the palace you were reluctant to marry Caracalla. He remembers hearing the rumors of your attempts to escape, and the way Caracalla treats you from guards that he served with. He clenches his jaw, standing up straight and the Emperors sing his praises so he offers them polite smiles. He’s sick of war. He’s tired of fighting an endless battle for more land when the Roman Empire is struggling. People cannot eat. Men are dying. It’s an endless grab for power and the Emperors are not fighting for it themselves. “Tonight, we feast in your honor.” Geta declares, clapping Marcus on the back and he follows the Emperors to the head table where he will sit while the court and the senate celebrate his success.

When his eyes land on yours, a shiver races through your body. This is a man who has seen death. Dealt out harsh punishments and narrowly survived. He’s much more rugged, raw. So different from your spoiled and foppish husband. He should be a leader for Rome, rather than a man who has never seen war. You are ignored, so you undrape yourself from your seat and slowly stroll into the hall to join the festivities.

Marcus notices you as you sit down beside your husband and he’s taken back by how beautiful you are but he also sees the sadness in your eyes. The lifeless stare across the room tells him you’re lonely while your husband guzzles wine and cheers for the victory he played no physical part in. He does as is expected, eating and drinking his fill but he thinks about the starvation he witnessed, the poverty that the empire has caused from taxing too much and forcing more war on its people. “We shall acquire whores to pleasure you, General.” Geta insists, “you will be serviced until you feel rewarded for your victory for Rome.” The court cheers and Caracalla then leans in towards you, “return to your room. I want you ready to take the general.” He commands, whispering in your ear.

You don’t sigh, nodding and leaning in to kiss his cheek for show before you stand up and walk out of the room without looking back. Knowing the Emperor, he will want you nude and wearing some of the jewels that had been sent back to Rome as tribute. You have already been bathed and perfumed by your servants in anticipation of your husband fucking you tonight, but Caracalla always demands privacy in the wing of the palace you live in. His oddity will work in his favor for concealing who is planting his seed in your belly tonight.

Marcus is ready to head home when Caracalla whispers in his ear, “I wish to speak privately.” Marcus frowns as he pulls back to look into the manic eyes of the emperor and he knows he can never deny him. He nods and stands with the emperor. He bows to Geta even though the other emperor is busy with his tongue down a whore’s throat as the festivities begin. Caracalla dismisses his guards with a wave of his hand and he guides Marcus through the halls until he enters his private chambers. Marcus is anxious, wondering if the emperor is going to kill him even though the idea is laughable. He’s been a man of luxury. Only carrying a sword for show and never for battle. The emperor still doesn’t speak as he strides over to the doors and he opens them to display you on the bed naked and draped in jewels, a nervous look on your face. “What is the meaning of this?” Marcus demands, confused and wanting to leave to retire to his villa. Not to play games.

“I tried to imagine what kind of reward a man of your talents would enjoy.” Caracalla hums as he smirks victoriously. You are a gorgeous creature and he knows that the man will have no problem mounting you. “Whores are too boring, they have had too many men, been soiled by their pleasures.” He takes Marcus’s shoulders and turns him back towards you and the bed. “But an Empress’s cunt? She’s only had one other cock. She’s practically pure and it’s tight.” He chuckles. “My brother gives you a common whore to fuck, I give you a royal cunt.” Again, it’s a competition between the brothers and he’s determined to best Geta.

Marcus’s eyes widen at the Emperor’s offer and he looks over at you. His cock twitches under his tunic at the way you’re on display for him, but he wonders if this is some kind of test from the emperor. He swallows harshly and looks back at Caracalla. “You honor me but I am - I am satisfied with whores. I do not want to sully the empress with my - with my body. She is divine and deserves to be fucked by a man like you, a man chosen by the gods.”

You lift a brow, wondering what the Emperor will say to that. Would he admit that he has been unsuccessful in breeding you? That there is something wrong with him? Or will he blame it on you? There is no telling with Caracalla. You shift to your knees, spread apart on the bed so he can get a good look at your body.

Marcus’s cock twitches again, hardening as your breasts bounce and he swallows harshly, averting his eyes once again. “I don’t - I don’t understand.” Marcus admits, knowing that only the emperor can fuck the empress to get her with child. “I want you to fuck my uxor and I want to watch.” Caracalla confesses, “and I want you to spill your seed inside of her.”

His eyes slide over your body again and you can see the way his cock is starting to lift the fabric of his tunic. Your nipples are hardening because you are enticing this war-hardened general. “The emperor is very generous.” You tell Marcus, sliding a hand up to cup one tit. “He has never been one to share and yet he wishes to honor his general.” You don’t mention why he would want such a thing. “Do you not like cunt?” You ask, wondering if he might prefer the boys in the bath houses. You have heard rumors of some senators who often prefer the company of men than their wives. Perhaps the general is one of them.

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I- I do. It’s just -” He looks at Caracalla, “you’re the empress and I cannot - the heir cannot be from anyone but the emperor.” Marcus reasons and Caracalla reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, “you have to understand, General, I am asking you to fill up my wife. We have been unsuccessful in our venture to have an heir and I must beat my brother to it. I wish for you to spill your seed inside my empress…regardless of the consequences.” He declares and Marcus’s eyes widen slightly as he understands what is being asked of him.

You can see that Marcus Acacius is not a foolish man, he understands the danger he has found himself in. He cannot deny the Emperor, and he could never speak of it. “Maritus.” You murmur softly, bringing his attention back to you. “Tell the general what kind of son you wish to have.”

Caracalla senses Marcus’s panic and he smirks, “I want a warrior son. Someone who will be strong and fight for Rome, to protect our line.” He says even though he knows the child would not be his blood. “The name. My name must continue through him. I want a gladiator and you possess those traits. I wish for my son to have them. Do you wish to fill my beautiful wife with your seed and produce the next heir to the Roman Empire?” He asks even though he knows no one says no to the emperor.

You can see that Marcus is torn. He can’t say no, just like you could not run away from him when he had decided to take you as his empress. “He is handsome.” You coo. “Strong. He will put a son you will be proud of in my belly.” You tell your husband. “While enjoying himself by having an empress spread her thighs for him.”

Marcus knows he can’t refuse. He must fuck you and you’re a beautiful woman but he prays to the gods that the emperor doesn’t change his mind and punish you or him after the act is complete. “As my emperor wishes.” He nods and Caracalla claps, “excellent. My uxor will strip you. I wish to watch the act.” He says, spinning to make his way to the chair in the corner. Marcus is shocked that the man wants to watch but he doesn’t deny him, knowing that could be his head. He nods and walks over to the bed, waiting for your move.

Sliding off the bed, you stand straight, unashamed of your nudity. You might have only had Caracalla as a lover, but he often wanted you nude to just gaze upon you while you were together. You reach for the golden laurel on his head and remove it gently. “Tonight we will see if your prowess in battle is matched by your vigor in bed.” You smile at him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t change his mind. “If your cock truly is as big as your sword.” You giggle. “Some of the women you have fucked talk.”

Marcus’s cock is hardening with your words and your touch. You are one of the most beautiful women in the empire, if not the most, and Marcus is not immune to your beauty. You set his laurel down and Caracalla takes his place in the corner of the room. He flusters at his reputation and wonders what you will think of him. If he lives up to the rumors.

You try to forget your husband is watching, concentrating on the man in front of you. The gold wrist cuffs come off and you wonder if he would prefer the unadorned look. Rather than being weighed down by the ostentatious trappings of his role. You know you would rather live simply. “Relax, General.” You hum quietly. “The emperor has taught me how to please him. Hopefully I will please you as well.”

Marcus is nervous, anxious, and every emotion a man can be when he’s being used for his seed and watched as he pleasures the wife of one of the most powerful men in the empire. He keeps his hands by his sides until you reach for the hem of his tunic. He’s ashamedly hard, unable to be anything but when you are in front of him. You smell delicious and he knows he’d be diving into your cunt if you came to his home without your status and stature.

Biting your lip, you lift the tunic to reveal his hard cock and you moan softly. “Step back, let me look.” Caracalla demands and you turn to the side to show the emperor his cock. “He is very well endowed.” Your husband smirks. “Good. I would hate for my son to have a less than impressive cock.” He is very proud of his own, even if he is not as thick as Marcus. You reach down and brush your finger over the length as you pull the tunic over his head.

He hisses when your fingers brush his length and you smirk, tossing his tunic aside. Caracalla often indulges in men when he is in the throes of an orgy and he is impressed by the general. His shoulders are broad and muscular. Strong arms. Tapered waist and a full head of hair, albeit graying, even in his ripe age. This is the man who could sire him a son who would be legendary in Rome. “Kiss him.” Caracalla demands, wanting to be in control even if it is not his seed securing his lineage.

You lick your lips, leaning in and press your lips to the slightly chapped ones of the general. You sense his hesitation, knowing that he is unsure of the motives behind this. Instead of pulling back, you press your breasts against his chest, feeling the light hairs covering his skin tickle you.

His fingers flex and Caracalla chuckles, “you can touch her, General.” There’s the permission Marcus needs. His hands slide along your back, pulling you even closer and one hand slides up your body to cup your cheek, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue finds yours and you squeak, unused to such aggressive kissing. Caracalla likes softer especially when he’s wanting the opposite of his lovers or orgies.

Your husband hums, reaching for his wine with one hand and reaching down to squeeze his cock with the other. If it would not potentially ruin the chances of you conceiving a child, he would join you. See how Marcus kisses. Instead, he takes pleasure in knowing that the most powerful general in his army is following his orders even off the battlefield.

Marcus groans into your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass while he grips the back of your neck. He’s relieved that he sought the company of a whore before arriving back in Rome. He would embarrass himself if he were pent up. He loves the way your fingers tangle in his hair and he is glad to see the empress is not shy about taking what she wants.

The emperor very rarely lets you do what you wish, so this is a new experience for you and you are greedy for it. “Get on your knees.” The order comes from behind you and makes you pull away. Aware that Caracalla will still try to dictate the way you are fucked. “Let the general see you on your knees before him and feel your mouth around his cock.”

Marcus inhales sharply as he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. His sandals are still on his feet while his cock throbs from arousal. Your eyes are sultry as you look up at him,  looking like Venus herself. He swallows and hisses softly when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

You squeeze him gently, feeling him throb in your hand and you roll back the foreskin. You have pleasured your husband like this countless times and he claims you are good at it, so hopefully you don’t disappoint the general. Leaning forward, you press your tongue flat against the tip and then curl it around the head as you take him into your mouth. The general has bathed, so he tastes clean and musky.

His fingers flex by his side as you take him into your mouth. He groans quietly but Caracalla shakes his head, "I want to hear how my empress is making you feel." He demands and Marcus nods, groaning louder when you take him deeper into your mouth. "Fuck." He curses, his hand finding your cheek as he looks down at you.

You hum at his rough praise, feeling the way his hips slightly rock, like he wants to take control and fuck your mouth. Taking him deeper, you moan when the first spurt of his salty seed hits your tongue, a little treat to tell you he is enjoying it.

His eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the feel of your mouth around his cock. He can tell you’re not as experienced as the whores he has had but you are enthusiastic and he fucking loves that. “Open your eyes, Acacius.” Caracalla orders, wanting to see the pleasure on the man’s face.

You take him deep right as he opens his eyes and they widen in shock as he chokes out a sound that goes straight to your cunt. Pleased that you can make a man as strong and fierce as the general choke on his own breath. You start to bob your head quickly, wanting to hear more and to see his face screw up in pleasure.

Marcus groans, his chin resting on his chest as he watches you take his cock. “Fuck.” He grunts as your hands rest on his thighs as you take his cock in your mouth. His stomach clenches and he moans, shaking his head. “I am - I’m going to- shit. Stop.” He pleads, his cock twitching in your mouth.

You are surprised that he is already about to cum, but maybe he has been without the pleasure of a woman for too long. You pull off his cock, panting yourself as you wipe your chin. Your cunt is dripping and you are eager to see if his cock scrubs against your walls the way you hope he does. Despite your initial reservations about having sex with someone else, you now find yourself looking forward to fucking this man

He is shocked how quickly you worked him up but perhaps it’s because this is not a whore he’s paid for. You are the most coveted woman in the empire, a prize to your husband, and you’re on your knees for him. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. He looks worked up and the emperor smirks, “you need to spill inside her. Uxor, lay down on the bed and spread your legs for the general. Let him see how wet you get sucking a cock.”

You shift to your feet and turn around. Your eyes slide to your husband and you see that he is turned on, his own cock tenting his tunic. Laying down, you spread your legs. Bending your knees you run your hands down to spread the lips of your sex for him to see. “Soaked.” You moan softly.

Marcus’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your wet cunt. You’re dripping and he loves it. He reaches down to squeeze his cock as he shuffles closer. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. “You can fuck her, Acacius. You have the emperor’s blessing. Fill her with your seed and create the next emperor of Rome.” He demands and Marcus shifts to kneel on the bed. His free hand slides up your thigh until he’s pushing two thick digits into your dripping cunt.

Your eyes flutter closed on a loud moan, feeling the way his fingers stretch you out. His hands are rough, the skin scraping so deliciously inside you and making your legs shift and shake around his hips. This man will be so different from the only other man you have had sex with, you know that instinctively and for a split second, you pray to the gods that it will take more than one time for him to successfully fill you with his seed. 

He pumps his fingers, loving how wet you are around them, and he groans when you squeeze his digits. He wants you to cum like this. His thumb against your clit, he curls his fingers while your emperor watches you. His fingers squeeze his cock through his tunic while Marcus strokes his cock with his fist.

Your body responds to the sure, deep pumps of his fingers into your cunt. “Gods.” You whimper, watching as his dark, intense eyes watch his fingers move inside you. Completely focused on making you feel blissful before he mounts you. You won’t say that your husband hasn’t pleasured you, but it’s always been a byproduct of his own, rather than his complete goal. “It feels so good. His fingers are magical.”

Caracalla smirks as he watches your back arch and you moan as Marcus pumps his fingers into you. The room is filled with a squelch as you take what he gives you. “That’s it, Empress.” He coos, pressing his thumb harder against your clit.

You pant out your first name. “Call me by my name when you are inside me.” You order breathlessly, wanting to hear him say your name. Turning your head, you look to your husband behind you, seeing that he is actually enjoying watching you like this. You know he has attended many orgies and probably watched many people have sex, but his eyes are alight with glee, watching this general touch you.

Marcus watches you as you take his fingers and groans at the way you are fluttering around his digits. He says your name as a demand, wanting you to fall apart for him before he fucks you full of his seed. Caracalla watches and smirks, his cock now pulled out so he can slowly jerk himself at the sight in front of him.

Whimpering quietly, your body starts to react. Toes curling and thighs shaking as your cunt clenches down around his thick fingers. “Marcus!” Your gasp of his name is loud, almost surprised as the intense pleasure rips through you, his fingers pressing against something wonderful inside you.

He groans, cock twitching in his hand as you soak his digits and Caracalla chuckles, “she loves your fingers, General.” Marcus smirks and works you through it, pulling his fingers out after you start to whine. “You want me to fuck you, Empress?” He asks, smirking as he jerks his cock against your pelvis.

You moan, nodding as you try to roll your hips down. He looks confident now, like the general you know he must be on the battlefield. “I do, General. Fuck me full.”

He nods, shifting to position his cock at your entrance, swiping it through your folds as he groans softly when he notches himself at your entrance and starts to push inside you with a soft groan of your name. You’re so tight and hot, his eyes flutter closed at the way you feel around him. 

He’s thick. Thicker than Caracalla, stretching you more than his fingers did and pulling a long, wanton moan from your chest. You are taking another man. Having his cock inside you and you hear your husband groan as he watches. He sounds almost envious, but you can only care about the way Marcus fills you right now. “Fuck.” You whine when his hips are flush and his cock is pushed deep and kissing your womb. “Your cock is made by the gods.” You praise breathlessly.

Marcus looks down at you, his chest heaving at the way you are taking his cock and he shifts to his forearms so he can hover over you. Your legs lift to wrap around his hips and his face hovers near yours. “You’re so tight.” He hisses and Caracalla smirks, “I told you. She’s like a virgin.” He declares as he squeezes his cock in his hand, working himself as Marcus starts to move inside you.

That first thrust is a sharp snap of his hips. Making you scream and your nails dig into his biceps. Marcus freezes, fearing that he had made an error, but your thighs tighten. “More, move general.” You demand, wanting to see if he can make you scream like that again.

He loves the way you command him, reminding him of your status. He relaxes now that he knows he didn’t hurt you and he rocks his hips, pushing deep into you. “Empress. Scream for me.” He growls, leaning in to kiss your neck since he doesn’t know if kissing is permissible. His hips rock forward as he pushes against your cervix.

You moan softly, knowing that he will make you scream if he moves like this inside you. “Kiss him.” Caracalla orders, giving permission and you quickly turn your head to press your lips to Marcus's as his head comes up. He rocks into you steadily, your fingers tracing over the scars on his back and side as he fucks you. Mapping the wars that he has fought and the times he has survived to experience this moment. “So deep.” You whimper. 

He is lost in the feel of your hot cunt around his cock. Your body takes everything he gives you. His hips slap against your ass and he shifts his weight onto one arm so he can grab your thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach as he sinks impossibly deeper into you. His tongue sliding against yours to swallow your moan.

You don’t even think about Caracalla, although you hear the sound of him stroking his cock. Too taken by the way that Marcus fucks you. He’s rougher, harder than your husband and his pace makes your walls flutter around his cock every time he drills into you. It’s so wicked, forbidden and the people of Rome would be horrified if they knew that their Empress was being fucked like a common whore, but you love it. 

He groans into your mouth as you grip his shoulders and he rocks harder into you, wanting to feel you cum around him. His hand slides up your thigh until he’s rubbing your clit. He may have had many whores but he’s always prided himself on ensuring they were pleasured too. “Empress.” He groans against your chin, “want you to cum for me.”

You whine into his mouth when he comes back to kiss you. Rocking up against his fingers as you try to get as close as possible to him. One hand slides down to his ass, feeling it flex as he pumps into you. “Yes. Yes.” You chant, eyes closed in bliss.

Marcus grunts as he grinds into you, his fingers rubbing your clit faster as he wants you to cum for him. He kisses along your neck and Caracalla is invisible to him as he focuses completely on you. “Cum for me.” He demands and you cry into his mouth as you fall apart for him.

It’s good, better than any pleasure Caracalla has ever given you but you can never admit that. Your body trembles under his as your walls spasm around him. Making him groan as you gasp out his name. “Marcus!” You feel how you soak his cock and the sounds it makes as he fucks you through it.

He loves the way you squeeze him and he hisses your name, rocking into you. He knows he should hold off, make you fall apart again but he is wound up by the circumstances. “Fill her up, Acacius.” Caracalla demands and Marcus buries his face in your neck as he thrusts a half dozen more times until he’s pushing deep and filling you up with hot spurts of cum.

The hot splash of his seed makes you whine, eyes closed as you feel him ride out his pleasure, cock pulsing inside you. He doesn’t pull out of you immediately and you enjoy his weight on top of you. He is heavier, broader than your husband and you like feeling like you are at his mercy. The sweat slick skin of his back slides under your fingers and you stroke it and you sigh in bliss.

Marcus shifts to take his weight off you and he swallows harshly. He hasn’t cum that hard since he was with his wife. He kisses your neck without Caracalla seeing it and your emperor stands, cock in his hand, to stand at the foot of the bed. “Pull out of her. I want to see your seed drip out of her.” He demands and Marcus shifts to pull out of you. He lays beside you and Caracalla stands there, eyes dark as he takes in the sight of your dripping cunt.

You can’t really tell what your husband is thinking, his eyes wide and slightly manic. He’s not upset, that much you can tell. “What do you think, maritus?” You ask softly.

He smirks, jerking his cock as he kneels on the bed. “I want to cover you in my seed.” He says as he watches you while you lay on the bed, chest heaving.

You don’t dare look over at Marcus, keeping your eyes on your husband as he starts to buck into his hand. You can tell he’s already close from the groans. “Cover me.” You urge him, spreading your thighs wider. “Coat me and we will pray to the gods that they will give you a strong child.”

Caracalla doesn’t hesitate as he starts to cover you. Hot drops of his seed hitting your skin and covering your cunt that is still creamy from Marcus’s cum. “That’s it. It’s - our warrior.” He groans as he works himself empty of every drop while Marcus relaxes beside you.

You reach down and swipe your fingers through his seed and bring it up to your mouth. He loves when you taste him and he finally milks the last drops out of his cock as you moan softly, licking your digits clean.

Caracalla smirks, “perfect. Fucking perfect. You will be with child before we know it.” He says as he looks over at Marcus, “I want you here to fill her up every day until she’s with child.” He demands, “you will remain here in our quarters. No one will question you because we have no guards inside.”

You are surprised by the Emperor’s order, but you don’t question it. “Will you be present every time, or do you want him to fill me as often as possible?” You ask, looking over at the general to see what he thinks.

Marcus knows he cannot say no. He nods and shifts to sit up on the bed. “I shall do as my emperor desires.” He promises and Caracalla smirks, “you’ll fill her up every single day until it takes.” He demands and Marcus bows his head. “I will let you two decide the times. I cannot afford to spend too much time here and I don’t want people to get suspicious.”

“Of course, maritus.” You shift to your knees and press your lips to your husband’s briefly and he huffs before pushing you back down to the bed. “You must lay there.” He tells you. “Lift your hips so his seed isn’t wasted.”

Marcus reaches for his tunic, suddenly feeling awkward as he redresses while you lay down and keep your hips tilted. He possibly just got the empress pregnant and no one can ever know. The senate would have him killed for his treason, Geta certainly would. Caracalla tucks himself away and strides over to clap Marcus on the back. “I’ll show you to your rooms and we will have your things brought to the palace.” Marcus nods, letting the emperor guide him through the halls until he’s in an ornate room. “You have one job now, General. Fuck my uxor and fill her until it takes.” Caracalla says, his eyes a little manic. Marcus nods and watches the emperor leave. He looks around and sighs, wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

You lay with your hips for an hour. Bored and replaying your encounter with Marcus as Caracalla’s cum dries on your skin. He’s a better lover than your husband and you are ashamed of it, but you are looking forward to having him in your bed again.

Marcus looks around the room, unsure of what to do or say as he comes to the realization that his dream of enjoying time alone in his villa is long gone. He’s under the thumb of the emperor now and he must do as he says otherwise he will face execution.

****

The next afternoon, you find Marcus on the balcony, appearing deep in thought. “I am not disturbing you, am I General?” You ask softly, waiting by the pillar for him to acknowledge you. You wonder what he thinks about this, about being commanded to fill you with his child.

Marcus turns to look at you, reminded of how beautiful you are as the sun shines on your face. “Good day, Empress. You’re not disturbing me.” He promises, “are you well?” He asks, wanting to make sure he hasn’t harmed you.

“I am.” You smile as you walk out onto the balcony and look at the gardens below. “Sore, in a very good way.” You assure him, glancing over at him before looking back out at the neatly manicured hedges and plants. “I hope that you do not feed trapped here.” You murmur softly. “I am sure you are used to doing what you wish when you wish it.”

Marcus looks down at the olive trees and sighs, his hands wringing together. “You and I both know we have no choice but to follow the orders of the Emperor. I did not imagine returning from war to engage in the breeding of the empress. You are a beautiful woman and if you were not the uxor of Caracalla, I would be thanking the gods for letting me be in your bed, but the circumstances are…unusual. As long as you have need of me, I’m at your service.” He assures you, “it is not a task to fuck you but I worry for the day the emperor changes his mind.”

“Caracalla cannot have anyone know about his bad seed.” You murmur quietly. “Especially not Geta. He will not change his mind, but…..” you look around and lower your voice. “I do not trust that he might get rid of you once I have given birth to a son.”

Marcus turns to look at you again, “I would not be surprised but I’d rather have that issue several moons from now instead of being killed for not following orders. It will not be a hard task to put a child in you but you must tell me if you do not wish to take me.” He insists, “I do not want to fuck an unwilling woman.”

You snort, turning to look out at the gardens so he doesn’t see your embarrassment. “He would have my tongue cut out for admitting this, but you are better.” You admit softly. “I spent an hour with my hips tilted towards the gods, replaying what you had just done to me, imagining it happening again and again.”

Marcus turns to look at you, eyebrows raised, and he cannot deny that his cock twitches while his chest puffs with pride. “Is that so? Do you wish for us to…repeat the event soon to ensure the next emperor of Rome? I must admit that I have had many women, most of them whores, but no one has made me cum as hard as you did.”

That makes you straighten, pleased by the notion that you can bring this general to his knees. Making his core quiver in pleasure despite your lack of experience with partners. You bite your lip and turn towards him. “Perhaps we should retire and make sure that we have enough energy for our next session?” You ask, your fingers sliding along the smooth marble edge of the balcony to touch his hand. “The emperor was most insistent that you fill me often. I believe that we should obey his orders.” 

Marcus smirks, seeing the eager look in your eyes, and he leans closer. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the emperor. Shall we convene in your quarters or mine?” He asks, his eyes dropping down to your lips. You’re forbidden to everyone except Caracalla and now…him. It’s intoxicating especially when you tell him he’s better. Even if it’s just to float his ego. 

“Yours.” You decide, wondering if it will be acceptable to him. “Unless you need to leave again as soon as it’s done?” You ask, hoping that he would not want you to leave. You spend a lot of time by yourself and you are curious to hear about his campaigns and the places he has seen. 

He glances back over the gardens, “I am here to fulfill an order from the emperor and I wish to do it to the best of my ability. Let us retire to my quarters and you are welcome to remain as long as you please.” He promises and he wants to speak to you about your former kingdom, your father, and the army who took you from your home to deliver you to the Emperor.

Nodding, you feel that same odd sense of giddiness that had overcome you last night. A forbiddenness that has been temporarily allowed, even ordained by the gods. A taste of normalcy, where you can pretend that you are not an Empress. Nothing but a woman that this handsome, virile man wants. “Call me by my name.” You ask, almost as a plea. 

His eyes meet yours and he licks his lips as he says your name. He loves the smile you give him in return and his hand brushes yours, “lead the way, empress.” He demands, saying your name again when you narrow your eyes at him.

“Do you prefer to be called by your rank or your name?” You ask softly, turning away from the balcony and walking back inside with him towards his chamber.

“You can call me by my name.” He says, following you as you walk through the hallway to his newly assigned quarters. It’s more than anything he’s ever had before. Even in his beautiful villa. He follows you inside and shuts the door behind you, “you are exquisite.” He declares when you turn to look at him.

“Do you claim those words for every whore you fuck?” You ask curiously, tilting your head as you smile at him, showing him that you are teasing. “Or do you save that for the special ones?”

Marcus shakes his head, “there’s usually no words when I have a whore in my quarters. I like to speak with my actions. Not my words.” He confesses, stepping over to you. He reaches up to cup your cheeks, “you truly are Venus herself.” He murmurs, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours.

“You are handsome.” You admit breathlessly. “Strong, fierce. Like Apollo.” Your hands run up the soft white tunic he is wearing. “I thought so last night when you were inside me. Riding me hard and yet-“ your lips brush against his. “Your lips were tender.”

His cock twitches at the soft contact of your lips and he can’t help it. He grabs the back of your neck and drags you closer to him, tilting his head so he can press his lips to yours. You’re so soft against him, pliable as his other hand grips your waist.

He’s so dominant, in control. You can tell this is a man who is used to being in charge, taking what he needs to take. You don’t resist, pressing yourself against his hard body, letting the kiss deepen as you open your mouth and let out a soft moan.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans you relinquish power to him. You’re so eager to please. He wants to taste you though, all of you. His mouth pulls away from yours so he can kiss along your jaw down to your neck, and he starts walking you backwards towards his bed.

You let him guide you, willing to do whatever he wants. Although it’s easy to see that he wants your dress off when his fingers reach for the ornate pin on your shoulder that keeps the material up. You wonder if it will be different this time since Caracalla isn’t watching.

He pulls on the pin and your robes fall to the marbled floor, exposing you to the cool breeze and he pushes you back onto the bed, loving the way your tits bounce as you fall backwards. He wants to taste you so he grabs your waist, lifting you higher up the bed, and he pushes your thighs apart, wasting no time before he dives in to slide his tongue through your folds.

You gasp in surprise, eyes widening as you lurch up. It’s not that you’ve never had this kind of attention, but that it’s rare. Caracalla prefers to have your mouth on him. Your fingers tangle into his hair and you moan loudly when he flicks his tongue over your clit.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal. His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart so he can slide his tongue against your clit. “Fuck.” He curses when he pulls back for a moment, spreading you with his thumbs so he can suck your clit into his mouth.

You whine his name, closing your eyes. “Marcus.” Your hips roll up until he throws one arm over your waist to pin you down. Holding you in place while he does wonderful things to your cunt with his tongue.

He laps at your cunt, wanting to hear you fall apart for him. There’s no rush for this. Caracalla isn’t watching and you are alone with the general. He approaches your cunt like a battlefield, using the best method to make you fall apart for him. He laps at your clit, his fingers digging into your thigh as he pushes it towards your stomach with a groan.

You pull your thighs back like he wants, reaching down and holding them so he can lick as deep as he wants into you. Moaning out his name again as he continues to feast on your cunt like a man who has been given his last meal besides an execution.

He groans into your flesh, loving the way you open yourself up for him, and he slides his tongue as deep as he can go, loving the tang of your arousal and the way you moan his name.

He groans in your flesh, vibrating it deep into your core and it makes you clench around his tongue. Pushing your hips down against his face, you want to grind into it. To ride his tongue. You’ve heard of such things, witnessed some of the orgies when you had been spying on your husband’s parties after you had been sent off to bed. “Marcus, oh fuck. I- it’s so good.”

He loves hearing your cry of pleasure and his nose presses against your clit. His hand on your hips slides up to squeeze your breast, wanting you to cry out his name again. At this moment, he doesn’t care about anyone hearing your cries even though the Emperor wants this to be your dirty secret. He groans and pinches your nipple, wanting you to fall apart again.

You shiver, your legs tremble as you climb closer to your peak. Feeling your body start to buck again as he pinches your nipple again. “Cum for me and I’ll fuck you.” He rasps out, pulling away from your cunt long enough to order you to cum before he dives back into it. Throwing you over the edge with another swipe of his tongue, your cunt starts to gush in pleasure as you clench around nothing.

He laps up every drop you offer. Like elixir, he greedily sucks at your folds and your clit, working you through your orgasm as his fingers grip your body to keep you in place until you push his head away, overstimulated. He’s aching, hard and pressing into the bed.

“Gods.” You pant, pushing to your elbows and looking down at him. “You are good at that.” You reach down and grab his shoulder to drag him up. “Kiss me.” You beg, not caring that your juices are on his mouth. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

He cannot deny you anything. Shifting onto his knees, his cock tenting his tunic as he leans down to press his lips to yours. He shifts his weight to push against you and he hisses when you reach for the hem of his tunic to pull it over his head, breaking the kiss.

“You are gorgeous.” You whisper, reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. “Do you like to fuck away the heat of battle when you come back to your tent?” You ask curiously. “Do you prefer a softer touch then to counteract the violence of earlier?”

He groans, looking down at your soft hand around his cock, “it depends. Mostly it’s rough, fuck away the adrenaline.” He says and leans in to kiss along your jaw as he holds his weight over you. “Gods, you are - let me inside you.” He pleads, needing to feel your hot cunt again.

You spread your thighs wider, lifting a leg to hook onto the side of his hip. “Fuck me.” You order him, surprised that he had even asked permission.

You release his cock and he grips himself, pumping his length a few times, squeezing as he positions himself at your dripping entrance. He slowly pushes into you, wanting to feel how hot and wet you are as he gives you inch after inch of his cock.

It’s slower than last night. As if he is savoring every inch as he pushes inside you. You don’t rush him, enjoying the way his cock scrubs against your walls slowly, breaking you open and making your cunt fit him inside. Holding onto his shoulders, you encourage him with your sounds, moaning in pleasure and caressing his skin as he pauses halfway inside you.

He surges forward to press his lips to yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he pushes the rest of the way inside you. His cock twitches once he presses against your cervix, groaning at how you’re gripping him. His hand caresses your side as he slides his hand up to your breast.

His grip on your flesh is possessive, sure. Taking more liberties now that your husband is not directing his movements. “I’m yours now.” You murmur softly in encouragement. “Touch me. Explore me. Use me how you want.”

He knows you’re not his, can never be his, but you are in this moment, and he’s greedy. He groans, kissing along your neck, and he ducks his head down to take your nipple into his mouth. He bites down, sucking on the hardened nub, and he loves how you cry out at his touch.

You love your breasts being played with. Caracalla has a feeding obsession, wishing that you produced milk, but hopefully soon you will be able to. You wonder if Marcus would want to taste milk from your breasts.

He groans at the way your hand tangles in his hair and he starts to move inside you. “Fuck. You feel so good.” He murmurs against your sternum, turning his head to take your other nipple into his mouth.

You whimper his name, letting him rock you closer to pleasure as he suckles at your breast. “Fuck, you- I can’t describe it.” You admit breathlessly. “You are like a god.”

He chuckles, his breath washing over you, and he grabs your thigh, “you’re a goddess. Fucking - fuck. You’re Venus. I am merely here to worship you.” He declares, his voice is raspy.

It’s intimate, so intimate that it makes your eyes wet with yearning. He feels like he is speaking to your soul, even if it is just the moment. You aren’t used to such soft words and you turn your head to press kisses to his broad shoulder, not wanting him to see you choked up.

He shouldn’t feel like this, like this is right where he should be. You belong to Caracalla and he should still mourn his wife, but the way you take his cock has him groaning your name into your neck as he tries to conceal the way you’re making him feel.

Your body responds to him so easily, making every roll of his hips push you higher. The pants and moans grow steadier every time he pushes deep and the inhale of anticipation when he draws back. The rhythm is one that neither one of you questions, each pushing towards pleasure together. “Fuck.”

He wants you to cum for him, needs to hear and feel it. He grabs your other thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach so you are folded over. He groans your name, kissing along your jaw to press his lips to yours. He slides his tongue into your mouth and drops his hips to grind his pelvis against yours.

Your moan is sealed into your mouth with his lips, or maybe it’s absorbed by him. All you know is that your nails dig into his shoulders as he works himself deep into your cunt. Pressing harder and harder with every roll of his hips. “Oh gods!”

Your cry into his mouth makes him smile against your chin, rocking into you a little faster as you clamp down on his cock. His pelvis and balls are soaked with your release and he hisses when you squeeze him like a vice. “Fuck.” He grunts, eyes closing as he works you through it. He pulls out when you relax beneath him and he rolls over, your body on top of his. “Ride me, empress. I want you to take another wave of pleasure from my body.” He demands, smacking your ass.

Eyes wide, you sit up, your hands on his chest. “I’ve never- never been in charge before.” You admit, even though you would love to do such a thing. “I- help me?” You ask, grinding down on his length and wanting him inside you again.

He suppresses his chuckle at your wide, uncertain eyes, but he loves how you look on top of him and the fact that you haven’t done this before. He reaches down to grip his cock, telling you to lift up. You shift to lift up and he positions his cock so you can sink back down onto him. “Rock your hips.” He commands, wanting to help you ride him.

He feels different from this angle. Bigger. His cock pressing against different parts of your walls and you gasp in pleasure when you roll back down on him. “Gods.” Your eyes close and you lean back, enjoying the way his cock stretches you this way. “You feel even bigger. Like you are right here.” Your hand covers your stomach. “You are in my womb.”

“I will be. I will fill you until it takes.” He promises, his hands gripping your hips. He helps you start to rock and you moan, your mouth falling open and he loves the way your tits bounce as you start to get a rhythm together.

It’s so different, being in charge. If you slow down or grind down harder, Marcus groans and twitches inside you. Like he’s enjoying you using him. Your body moves eagerly, loving the sounds he makes as he digs his fingers into your hips. “Gods, your cock is made for my cunt.”

“That’s it, empress. Take what you want from me. Use me.” He demands, his hand slapping your ass while the other grips your waist. He watches you take your pleasure and he loves the way your chest heaves when you get the angle just right.

You squeal when he slaps your ass again, clenching down around him. He is so commanding, even when he is under you and yet he lets you control him. If you pulled off his cock right now, you know he would let you. It’s freedom, and you’re breathless when you collapse onto his chest to press your lips to his.

He groans, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to keep you close, his tongue sliding against yours. He loves the way you rock back onto him and he wants you to make yourself cum. He needs you to cum again for him.

You lean into the kiss. Continuing to work yourself on his cock. Whining softly when your cunt starts to pulse until you are locking down around him with a cry into his mouth.

He groans when you cum for him again, soaking him, and he wraps his arms around you. He hisses your name and starts to thrust up into you. He can’t hold off any longer as he works himself towards your orgasm. He pushes deep into you, his cock twitching inside you as he starts to paint your walls with his cum.

You turn and press kisses to his jawline and moans softly. “That feels so good.” You murmur, resting your head against his shoulder and feel him riding out his high.

He pants as he closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He’s never felt like this before. Like his soul is leaving his body. He caresses your spine, fingers lazily trailing along your skin as he breathes you in.

“Can I stay like this?” You ask softly, content to lay just like you are if he will let you. You reason that having his cock still stuffed inside you is even better than tilting your hips up. “Am I too heavy?”

He shakes his head, “no, not too heavy. You can stay like this.” He says softly, closing his eyes as he enjoys the weight of you on top of him. He feels tired, his eyes still closed as his cock softens inside you.

You don’t realize you fell asleep until you wake up. Still on top of him with his arms secured around you. Holding you in place as he breathes softly underneath you. He’s still sleeping, making you softly turn your head up and watch him. He’s beautiful when he sleeps and you hope that the child you have looks like him.

Marcus wakes up when he feels your stare and he offers you a soft smile, “wore me out.” His chuckles vibrate through you and he sighs, glancing over at the balcony to see the sun is setting. “The Emperor will be wanting your presence.” He says softly, “we must clean up and I’ll leave you to your peace.”

“The emperor is attending a feast tonight.” You hum, knowing that you should probably keep your distance from the general when you are not letting him fill you. “I will be presented and then expected to leave before the festivities begin.” You snort. “There will be an orgy.”

Marcus snorts, “I never understood the appeal.” He confesses, “I like connection. Even with the whores I bedded, I felt connected to them even if only for the night.” He admits before he bites his lip, “do you like your life here or do you miss your home?”

“I miss home.” You want to hope that he will not tell the emperor. He doesn’t like when you admit somewhere else might be better than Rome. “I don’t have many people who will talk to me. Or spend time with me. I’m lonely.” You sigh. “Only to be seen and to bear the emperor's children.” Your father had sent you to marry the younger brother in order to preserve peace for your realm.

Marcus sighs, “I’m sure you do. I miss my village. When I was a boy, my father was killed in war and my mother struggled to survive, to feed us. As soon as I was able, I left to join the army. I wanted to send coin back to my mother but by the time I returned home, she was dead.” He murmurs, brow furrowed because he hasn’t thought about this for so long. “I threw myself into the fight until I met my wife. She was the daughter of a noble and I never imagined I’d be able to ask for her hand, so I fought hard to rise in the ranks until I could ask her father for his blessing. When we married, I was so happy, and she became with child. Then the day of our son’s birth…she died. So did he.” He’s lost in the agony of the memory, swallowing harshly as he tightens his grip on you.

You sigh softly and reach up to caress his cheek. Even though their deaths weren’t recent, you can see the despair on his face. “My prayers to the gods that they are peaceful together in death.” You murmur softly. “You gave yourself to the army and to Rome after that.” You know what it feels like to have nothing to live for, you feel like a prisoner with a decorative chain around your neck. Leaning in, you press your lips to his in a kiss meant to comfort.

He sighs into the kiss, cupping your cheek as he kisses you softly. “And now I give myself to her Empress.” He murmurs, “I shall fetch us some wine.” He says and you nod, shifting off him and he moves off the bed so he can get you a cup of wine.

He moves easily in his own skin, unashamed by his nudity and the body he possesses. He is not as firm as he might have been in his youth, but there is a leanness to him still that makes the broadness of his shoulders and bulk of his muscles incredibly appealing. There is a strength in his frame that Caracalla could never possess. “Do you mind?” You ask softly. “Knowing that your child will be claimed by Rome?”

He pours the wine as he contemplates his answer, “I have no choice. Even if it is not my wish, I cannot say no. As for the child…I am a general. I will die in battle and I would wish for my child to be taken care of. I know this child will be taken care of to the fullest extent.” He confesses, “I can die in peace.”

It’s wise, pragmatic even, but you still feel a sudden wave of sadness thinking about this man falling in battle. “Then I must learn all I can about you.” You murmur softly, smiling when he walks back over and hands the cup to you. “So I can tell him stories about a man that he should admire.”

Marcus offers you a soft smile, appreciating you wanting to tell your child about him. “He can never know that Caracalla is not his father.” Marcus reminds you, “he must be the rightful heir. But if you wish to tell him about your friend, I am willing to share myself with you.” He offers, “but you must tell me more about his mother,”

“That sounds fair.” You smile and take a sip of the wine as you lounge in his bed, completely nude. This is the most relaxed you have been since you have been sent to Rome and you know it is because of him, “I will tell you everything.” You promise.

****

Marcus groans as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him again as sweat glistens on his skin. He grunts, jaw clenched as he rocks into you from behind, his hips hitting your ass so the only noise in the room is slapping skin. He's been fucking you for two months now, spending nearly every night in your bed. Caracalla has entertained himself with his whores and orgies, leaving Marcus to make you scream his name every night.

You collapse down to your elbows, face on the cool sheets as he fucks you through the spasms of pleasure. “Amor, cum for me.” You beg, losing yourself to the moment and slipping up. Calling him an endearment you have kept inside you for weeks now. You spend all day, everyday with Marcus. Falling in love with the general and wishing that you were free to be with him. You feel as if he cares for you, but that just might be the sex that he enjoys.

Your words send him over the edge and he pushes deep as he cums, painting your walls for the umpteenth time. You missed your bleed last month but no one announced a pregnancy, wanting to be sure that you are with child. Marcus is reluctant to have it declared, knowing that his duty will be done and he will be sent away back to his villa, away from you. You are unlike any woman he's ever known. Strong, smart, beautiful, and you are lonely. He senses how isolated you are so he has spent a lot of time with you, discussing his battles, your battles - different in their methods but no less weary - and he has fallen for you. You are not his though, you belong to Caracalla and if he even dared to think about you being his, he would be killed.

Whining in pleasure as he fills you, your legs slide out from under you. Bringing you down to the bed and knowing that he will follow you. You love how close the two of you are, how he loves to touch you and keep touching you. You catch your breath and start to giggle softly, feeling him twitch when your walls clench around him in the aftershocks. “I love how you feel inside me.” You hum, lazy now that your body has been used and satisfied equally.

Marcus follows you, keeping his weight off of you just in case you are with child, and he kisses along your back. “You take me so well.” He murmurs, resting his forehead on your lower neck as he hovers over you. “Do you think…do you think you are with child?”

“I should not say this, but I hope I am not.” You sigh softly. “I have become accustomed to you in my bed and between my thighs. I do not want to give such a pleasure up.”

Marcus pulls out of you and shifts to lay down beside you, “perhaps…perhaps we can continue this. Ask the Emperor if he will allow us to copulate until the babe is born. He may allow us to continue in each other’s company, saying it’s to ensure the baby’s health.” He ponders, reaching out to cup your cheek, “I do not wish to give you up just yet.”

“I do not want to give you up either.” You confess softly, leaning into his touch. “You have become important to me. I….care for you.” It’s dangerous to admit, but you have to tell him that much at least. “I will ask the emperor to continue spending time with you.” You promise.

Marcus knows the request could be easily denied but he wants to continue spending time with you. He nods, shifting to pull you into his chest, burying his nose in your neck. He's gotten lazy, not wanting to train when he could be spending time with you.

****

“Congratulations, empress.” The Hippocrates you had called to the suite beams at you as he packs away his tools and tinctures. “The emperor will be pleased and the empire will drink to the health of your child.” You cover your womb protectively and wonder how Caracalla will take the news. Even though he had demanded this, he could always have a different view now that it is done. “Thank you.”

Caracalla is beaming when you tell him the news, pleased that his plan has worked and he can tell his brother that his child will be the next in line. “If it’s a son.” Geta hums and Caracalla nods, “it will be. A strong boy.” He celebrates by holding a party and you are alone, needing “to rest and protect the baby” in your quarters when Marcus enters, his brow furrowed. “What is the occasion for the orgy?” He asks, not having heard the news yet as he was training with his men all day.

When Marcus comes in, you rush over to him, flinging yourself into his arms and pressing your lips to his. Now truly able to celebrate the baby since his father has come home. “I am carrying your child.” You whisper softly, “your child. Not Caracalla’s.” You bite your lip and reach down to cover your womb. “I do not feel as if this child is his. It belongs to the man I love.”

Marcus’s eyes widen at the news and he pulls back to look down at your hand on your stomach. “Our child.” He murmurs in awe, unable to believe it’s happened despite him spending every night in your bed. He grabs the back of your neck, dragging you to his lips, and he pulls back after several moments to declare “I love you.”

You close your eyes in relief, letting out a small sob. “I love you too, Marcus.” You whisper softly. “In another life, we would be together.” You hate that you are the empress, that you are Caracalla’s wife and not his. “I wish we could change our fate.”

Marcus nods, “me too.” He cups your cheeks and sighs, “I love you, amor.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead, “for now, let us enjoy our time together before I am sent away. Let me worship the mother of my child.” He declares, shifting to kneel down in front of you.

“I will talk to the emperor.” You hadn’t had a chance to talk with him in private before he was rushing off to plan a feast and orgy to celebrate ‘his’ virility. Reaching down, you run your fingers through his dark curls and pray to the gods your babe has those same locks.

Marcus lifts your tunic, exposing your body to his hungry gaze, and he leans in to kiss your lower stomach as you bunch your tunic up under your breasts. His hands caress the back of your legs as he kisses down to your mound, burying his nose in the curls at the apex of your thighs. “Want to taste you.” He murmurs against your skin, shifting so he can slide his tongue through your folds.

Marcus is very talented with his tongue. He has proven that over the past months and you moan in pleasure. He lifts a leg onto his shoulder and you feel so exposed. Like a god being serviced by a mere mortal. He makes everything good. “Marcus.” You pant, closing your eyes briefly before you look down at him on his knees. Wanting to memorize this moment in fear that you might not have it again.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal, sliding his tongue through your folds and lapping at your clit like he’s worshiping Venus. He wants to savor every second of being with you before he’s sent away. It could be any second Caracalla decides his job is complete and sends him back to his villa.

His hands hold you in place, keeping you upright while he takes his time to lick through your folds and making you moan his name loudly.

He squeezes your ass just as the doors open and Caracalla strides in, dressed in his robes and taking a moment from the party. “Ah, Acacius. You are taking care of the Empress. Well done on ensuring I have an heir.” Caracalla watches as Marcus doesn’t stop, his tongue lapping at you. “I heard that fucking during pregnancy ensures a boy. I want a son. You will remain here in the palace to make sure I have an heir.” He declares, his cock twitching at the way you moan and Marcus sucks on your clit.

Your eyes find your husband, his face filled with pride and lust. “Yes.” You agree quickly, since it’s exactly what you want. “You need a son, my emperor.” You moan. “He will keep filling me, making sure you get what you need. A strong son.” You bite your lip. “He has served his emperor well and will continue to do so.”

Marcus loves your praise, continuing to ignore Caracalla’s presence as he works you towards your orgasm. He wants to be greedy, to have you like this for as long as he can before he has to leave you. “Keep pleasuring her, Acacius.” Caracalla orders and spins in his heel, wanting to enjoy his evening at the party celebrating his heir. “Keep her cumming.” He shouts back before he shuts the door and leaves you and Marcus together.

You push his head away as soon as the door slams shut and you drop to your knees. Needing to kiss Marcus now that you know that he’s not going to be sent away.

Marcus whines into your mouth in protest but he can't deny you. He cups your cheek and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his other hand grabs your ass to pull you against him, his cock hard under his tunic.

You kiss deeply, thoroughly. Panting into his mouth and gasping for air when you break apart. “I love you.” You moan. “I need you inside me. Here, now.”

He grabs your thighs, lifting you so you are hovering over him as he kneels on the floor. "Take my cock and put me inside you." He demands, holding your weight over his body.

You fumble with his tunic, reaching underneath and pumping his cock before you line him up with your cunt. Moaning when he slowly lowers you down on him. “Fuck, amor.” You whimper, feeling him like it’s the first time all over again. You feel like you’re more sensitive but it just might be from the emotional turmoil.

Marcus inhales deeply when you sink down on him, engulfing him in your wet, hot cunt. "Fuck." He pants against your jaw as you grip his shoulders when he's fully inside you. "I love you." He murmurs against your skin, wanting you to know how he feels.

Your arms are around his shoulders, fingers tangling into his hair as he holds you up in his thighs. “I love you.” You promise him, knowing that even if your body belongs to Caracalla, your heart belongs to him. “You are my one love. Forever.”

“Fuck. I love you. Never thought - never imagined I could ever feel like this again. Fuck, I want you to - to take all of me and cum again.” He demands, starting to work you on his cock.

You moan in agreement, letting him take charge and control your pleasure. He’s so good at it. There’s only been a handful of times you’ve not cum on his cock and that was only because he was so worked up he came too quickly. However he had made sure he had pleasured you with his fingers and tongue afterwards.

He rocks you on his cock, wanting you to soak his cock again, and he grips your thighs. “Fuck, te amo, amor.” He rasps, leaning in to press his lips to your neck, tasting the sweat and salt of your skin.

Your eyes water and you wish for a split second that Caracalla was dead and you could celebrate your love. Holding him close, your walls are already trembling around his cock as he rocks up into you. “Yes.” You moan, loving when he uses his mother’s tongue.

He is lost in the feel of you, his cock twitching inside you as he rocks into you. He imagines for a brief moment, a life where he can be with you. A life together with your child. It's not possible though. The Emperor would have him killed, could still have him killed, and it's a dangerous game that Marcus has gotten involved in.

Your toes push off on marble floors, helping you bounce on his cock and you could stay just like this with him forever. You want to stay like this. “I love you. You are my love, my amor.” You moan in his ear. “I would be Marcus Acacius’s wife.”

Your words are treason but they make his cock twitch inside you, closer to his orgasm. He groans your name, pressing his lips to yours as he rocks a little faster, needing to feel you clamp down on his cock. “You’d be mine. I’d die for you.” He promises, “mine. Mine. Mine.” He growls against your lips.

You both are vowing things to each other that would have you both killed, but you don’t care. His next thrust pushes you over the edge and you cry out into his mouth as your walls soak him in hot waves of your pleasure.

His hand finds your ass, rocking you as you shudder through your orgasm, and he groans, thrusting a few more times before he falls apart. “Fuck. Fuck. Empress.” He pants, cock throbbing as he paints your walls, his hands squeezing you closer to him.

You cling to him, both relieved that he is going to stay beside you for the foreseeable future and desperate to never have him leave you at all. “You are perfect.” You kiss his neck gently, stroking his back over his tunic that he couldn’t be bothered to take off. Both of you are still dressed, but the moment had been perfect regardless.

He snorts, knowing he’s not perfect, but he wants you and he is going to protect you and the baby until his last breath. Caracalla wants him to stay and that is the best thing he can wish for right now. “Let’s get you cleaned up and settled. You need to rest for the baby.” He reminds you and helps you shift off his cock.

Grinning, you look down at him as he climbs to his feet. “You are going to be overprotective from now on?” You ask, already aware of the answer. He will be protective, he will take care of you. You are already in love with the baby in your belly and you feel like he is the same way.

****

"Fuck, amor." Marcus groans as you rock on top of him. Your bump pressing against his stomach as he rests his back on the wall while you ride his cock. Your knees dig into the bed beneath and his hands cup your sensitive breasts. He's been in your bedchamber for the past six months and he falls more in love with you with each passing day. It will surely kill him to leave you when he is ordered to return to war, but he will go. You can never be his. Caracalla will never permit a divorce and he will be killed for treason. He must go after the babe is born.

Caracalla hadn’t spent more than an hour a week with you, carousing and spending every night having an orgy. He claims he is excited for his child, but he only brings you out to brag about his soon to be born son before he leaves you in Marcus’s care. You are scared, because you know how precarious a position you are in. But you can only survive.

"That's it. Take what you want from me. It's yours. I'm yours." He vows, his dark eyes watching you as you bounce on his cock. Your belly is round and heavy with his child. It's something he never imagined having again after he lost his wife. He's addicted to you and he doesn't know how he's going to leave after the baby is born.

“Marcus.” You moan, leaning back and knowing that he will make sure you are comfortable and safe. “My general, my warrior.” You have been thinking about something dangerous, but you can’t think about it when he’s deep inside you. “I love you.”

He caresses your hips, leaning in to take a sensitive nipple between his lips, and he suckles lightly. He has gotten too comfortable being away from the battles the Emperors send him into, but right now, he doesn’t want to die like that. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you at this moment, no one else but you and him. His hand slides across your hip to find your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves to push you over the edge.

Carrying his baby has made you so sensitive to his touch that it only takes a few strokes of his thumb before you cry out. Your body shaking and your hips grinding down while your cunt locks down around his cock and your juices coat him.

He hisses your name as you clamp down around him, his eyes fluttering shut for a few moments as he lets you ride your high, until he’s squeezing your hips and thrusting up into you.

“Cum for me.” You beg softly, burying your face into the side of his neck so you can breathe him in. “I want to feel you inside me. Carry you with me even more.”

He groans, rocking up into you with a hiss as he gets closer to his orgasm. “Fuck. Gonna - fuck. Shit. Empress.” He moans your name as he pushes deep inside your pulsing cunt and he falls apart, painting your walls with his seed as he clenches his eyes shut.

You hum quietly, stroking his neck as he catches his breath. Feeling the baby move slightly and biting your lip. “We need to use your favor in the Senate.” You lean close and whisper the treasonous words into his ear. “Stage a coup. Revolt.” You pull back and look into his eyes seriously. “Kill the emperors.”

Marcus inhales sharply, his head turning so he can look into your eyes to see if you are testing him or if you’re serious. When he sees your eyes, he knows you’re serious and he swallows harshly, “it won’t be easy. Trying to convince the senate without the emperors finding out.” He admits quietly, “and they could find out and kill me.”

“Set the meetings.” You had thought long and hard about it. “I will convince them, I will do the talking. If our plot is found out, Caracalla could not immediately put me to death. Geta would discover the child is not truly his and he will never allow that.” You caress his cheek. “I wish to have you installed to rule as proctor for ‘his’ child.” You know the senate could never find out that the child isn’t Caracalla’s but no one but you and Marcus know this truth besides your husband.

Marcus caresses your spine, knowing that you could risk everything you’ve created, your life, your child, it’s all on the line. “Amor…” He murmurs and you cup his cheek, “I will never be allowed to be my own person. I will never be allowed to love you freely unless you do this.” You tell him and he nods, swallowing harshly, “I’ll get it organized.” He promises, “we will see it done.”

“Thank you, my love.” You lean in and press your lips to his. “I fear for our child raised under Caracalla’s direction.” Even if you are the mother, the fact that the baby would be proclaimed the emperor’s heir would mean he would be guided by your childish and evil husband. “I want him to grow up to be like his father.”

Marcus caresses your cheek, knowing there is no choice. If he looks back, he knows that he had to make this choice at some point. He never truly wanted to let you or his child go. The next morning, he dresses for court and decides to start with the hardest senator to convince, Brutus. A man who struggled to watch the Emperors rule but had loyalty to Rome. Marcus approaches him under the guise of talk of war, and Brutus nods, wandering off into a quiet corner of the senate to speak. “I fear we cannot speak in these quarters. Come to my villa, we can speak freely.” Marcus says and Brutus nods, unaware that you will be meeting with the men.

You pace, nervous about what you should say, would say. This is the most dangerous undertaking you have ever attempted. Not even trying to run away from your fate was as dangerous as this. You are trying to change your fate. The senators could be allies, or they could stab you in the back.

Brutus enters the room with Marcus, his head held high but his eyes widen when he sees the Empress standing there, her bump protruding beneath her tunic. “Empress.” He greets you, bowing his head.

“Brutus.” You greet him cautiously, but with a gracious smile on your face as you rub the swell of your stomach, bringing his eyes down to the baby. You will leverage the child in your womb. For your freedom, and perhaps Rome’s as well. “I trust you are well?” You ask kindly. “Please sit. The wine has been especially good lately.” It’s been watered down for your use, but you nod to Marcus to pour the senator a cup. “I hope you do not mind the subterfuge, I needed to speak with you and did not wish to summon you myself.”

Marcus pours the cup of wine and hands it to Brutus who nods, thanking Marcus, before his attention turns back to you. "I trust you are well, that the future Emperor is well?" He asks, and you nod in response, "he is lively. Due any day now." You declare and Marcus clears his throat, "the heir is the reason why we called you here.”

You wait for Brutus to turn back to you curiously, setting his cup down. You take a deep breath and caress your stomach. “It is no secret that unrest in Rome is at an all time high.” You murmur softly. “People are starving and while General Acacious has not been sent off on another expensive and bloody campaign, he will be soon.” You pause and sigh. “I fear for the future of Rome, of my son’s legacy that he will inherit.”

Brutus looks at Marcus who stands there, spine straight and steely eyed as your treasonous words are aired. Brutus could go tell the Emperors and you would be killed as soon as the babe is born, Marcus would be hanged the next day. However, Brutus doesn't run off. He nods, setting his cup down, "it is true that the empire is on a precipice. It could be the fall of Rome or her glory continues. The Emperors are driven by lust and greed. Their actions are selfish and make the lowest Roman anxious for change. We will fall if we allow the Emperors to continue down this path."

“There is another solution.” You suggest, rubbing your stomach again. “In my belly lies the next emperor of Rome. Ready to be guided by wise and cautious men.” Your eyes slide over to Marcus briefly. “Men who know the true cost of war and would be able to teach our emperor those lessons without it harming Rome’s people.” You look back at Brutus. “Men such as our senators, you, nurturing a leader that will take Rome to an even greater height.”

Brutus frowns, looking over at Marcus, knowing that the man who will assist in raising the young Emperor will be him. "And how would we remove our problem?" Brutus asks, eyebrows raised. 

"I say we speak to the senators...establish a coup. My husband and brother-in-law would never see it coming." You say and Brutus takes a gulp of his wine before he says, "I will start speaking to the senators tomorrow."

“I hope that we can count on your discretion.” You add, pushing out of your seat and moving over to the senator. “We are on the cusp of change.” You murmur softly. “If it is the ruin of Rome or the brightness of her future, I leave that to your hands.”

Brutus nods, "if this gets out, it will be death for us all. We won't risk it." The senator promises and he looks over at Marcus, "you shall be the one who the senate turns to?" He asks and Marcus nods, making Brutus smile. "very well. I will do what needs to be done."

You nod to the senator when he leaves, Marcus walking out with him and you start to pace. Wondering if you have just signed your death papers or if you will be successful.

****

The senate is abuzz with chatter until Caracalla and Geta enter the chamber. The senators stand straighter and Marcus stands there, dressed in his official robes with the golden laurel wreath shining. He looks regal and the Emperors slosh wine across the marble floor as they greet the senators with wide grins. Brutus looks over at his fellow senators, his hand resting on his dagger. "Emperors." He greets them, walking towards them, and his eyes meet Marcus's for a moment. "The senate and I have been in discussions about the future of Rome." He declares and Geta hums, "and what a wonderful future it will be." 

Marcus sighs, "we aren't so sure. Romans are starving, you tax them more and more every day to fund your wars and your lavish lifestyle." Marcus declares and Caracalla spins around, his eyes narrowed at the accusations, "you dare to spit these treasonous words?" He demands and Marcus shakes his head, "you are draining Rome dry. Her empire will be no more." He says louder and the senators nod while Brutus steps forward, "your leadership has driven Rome to the edge and we want to save our empire before it falls." Brutus declares and he steps up behind Geta while Marcus moves towards Caracalla. It happens in a flash, the daggers pulled out and embedded in the lower backs of the Emperors who cry out, cups of wine falling to the floor. The other senators rush forward, daggers in their hands as they each take a turn stabbing the emperors until blood runs along the marbled floors.

Your cry from your chamber is loud and pained, servants rushing and whispering through the halls. The Hippocrates has been summoned and the labor seems to be quick. The new heir to the throne of Rome is insistent on being born today. It takes your mind off of your worries. Your waters had broken almost as soon as Marcus had left to join the senators. You know that they had planned to kill your husband and his brother today, but the pains had taken over all thoughts so you had not been able to fret over the hours as they passed. 

Blood covers the floor of the senate as Caracalla and Geta lay dead, blood pouring from their mouths. It turns out they betrayed a lot of senators, made promises they couldn’t keep. The senators didn’t take a lot of convincing to remove them from power. “It is done.” Brutus declares, “a new emperor shall be born any moment but we need someone in the interim. An emperor who will represent us, save Rome and her people from ruin. I nominate General Marcus Acacius.” Brutus declares and Marcus’s eyes widen. He didn’t expect to be nominated, feeling that Brutus would want to take control. “I second that nomination.” Drusus announces and one by one, the senate declares Marcus to be the next emperor. The General is speechless, knowing he could easily be taken down like Caracalla and Geta, but this means he gets to have you. “I accept. I will serve as Emperor for all, we will make Rome prosperous and safe.” He promises as a servant rushes in to announce, “the empress is in labor.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he rushes from the senate, running through the marbled halls in his mission to get to you. He doesn’t care that men shouldn’t be in the birthing room as he pushes through and stumbles to your bedside. “Amor. I’m here, I’m here.” He promises, blood still on his hands as he reaches for yours.

“Is it done?” You gasp out, scared for a brief moment that Marcus had been injured, but he would not have been able to come to your side if the plot had been foiled. “It is.” He murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. You don’t even care that the servants can see, that the rumors will spread across Rome of your relationship with the General. He ignores the Hippocrates’s complaints about him being there as another pain rips through you and you scream, fingers crushing his own hand until the pain passes and you are panting for air. Your child is safe. Boy or girl, they will be free of your husband’s influence. “We need-” you gasp. “A ruler until the baby is older.” 

"The senate has voted. They have chosen me to be Emperor until the child is old enough." He confesses, "I did not want to become Emperor but I want to save Rome and her people from destitution." He admits just as another pain causes you to grip his hand.

Your hiss is low and almost animalistic, the pains feeling like you are being ripped in two, but you know that it is natural. Surprised that the senate had voted for Marcus, you can’t help but be pleased by that outcome. It would ensure that you do not have to be apart. He will have a large role in raising your child together. “The babe is coming.” The Hippocrates tells you from between your legs, frowning at Marcus as he looks down to see the head. “You must push, empress. As hard as you can.”

Marcus is suddenly taken back to the moment when his wife was laboring and after the silence that lingered in the air when the boy was born sleeping, he remembers his wife's cry of agony until she started convulsing. His grip on your hand tightens as his heart pounds, terrified that he is going to lose you in the same way.

Gritting your teeth, nodding as you sit up and start to scream as you bear down as hard as you can. Sweat is pouring off of you and for a moment, you want to give up and tell them that you cannot do it. The pressure on your hand makes you look up. Seeing the horror on Marcus’s face, you know that he is scared for you. For the baby. Closing your eyes, you push again, feeling the pressure suddenly release and hearing the Hippocrates exclaim happily, “a boy!”

Marcus is shaking when he hears the babe cry out and he knows he's alive. He looks at you, wanting to see if you are okay as the hippocrates cradles the crying baby who has a mop of black hair.

You hear the hushed whispers, but you don’t care. You don’t care if all of Rome knows that the baby that will one day be Emperor is Marcus’s. The Hippocrates cleans the baby up while the servants start to massage your stomach, making you wince in pain but it’s all forgotten when the babe is placed into your arms. Making you cry happy tears as you kiss his head softly.

Marcus stares down at the babe in your arms, his cries echoing in the room, and Marcus falls instantly in love. His son. He will never allow harm to come to the boy, and he will claim him as his. He is Emperor now, he can do as he wishes in regards to his personal life. He wishes to marry you and claim the child as his. “I love you.” Marcus declares, uncaring of anyone else in the room, and he leans in to kiss the forehead of the crying baby. “My son.” He whispers, wanting him to know how much he already adores him.

You beam as you look at Marcus and your son. The future is far brighter now that your love has done the impossible. He and the senate have toppled the emperors and restored order without needless bloodshed. “I love you too.” You promise, leaning forward and kissing him boldly. “Both of us do, my emperor.”

****

Marcus wraps his arm around your waist, the golden laurel on his head matches yours as you stand on the balcony. “Do you, Maximis Acacius, vow to dedicate your life to the Roman Empire and her people?” Brutus asks, his hair now greying like Marcus’s. “I do.” Maximus vows, his head nodding. Marcus is proud of his son who he has trained to be the emperor. He claimed him as his son after he was sworn in as emperor and the empire celebrated having a new emperor with a son to take over. Since that day, you and Marcus have had 3 more children who stand beside you, proud of their brother who is taking his rightful place.

You look out over the crowd, a smile on your face bright and proud. You have been incredibly lucky, Marcus has been a wonderful emperor. Rome has flourished under his care and now he willingly turns the reins over to Maximus like he had planned when he was born. “I love you.” You murmur as the crowd roars in celebration of the new emperor.

Marcus turns to look at you, older but no less beautiful. You are his world - you and the children. He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, “I love you.” He promises, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. His entire world has changed thanks to Caracalla’s mad idea to have another man conceive the heir to Rome. In the end, Marcus is the one who won with his son as emperor and the empress as his uxor.

[pleasantspark]

What do you think of this potential 4chan leak that Lucifer is the one responsible for the hierarchy and that Sloth, Gluttony and Lust are considered good sins? https://desuarchive.org/co/thread/145383112/#145394767

> Lucifer created the terrible hierarchy of Hell as well as the Deadly Sins. He is described as a moral neutral sin.

Well, neutral is far cutting it, remember he caused nearly everything to happen in Hell. He's described as sexy, when the only sexy thing about him is his depression. No one pointed out that Lucifer was at fault for all the things to begin with, but no people are like "B-B-B-B-BUT, we needed a story to kick off Charlie!" I feel like it's stupid, also, I am a depressed person and whenever a character who is depressed does something bad, they always have to empthize on the "UWU Depressed shit" which is shit you'd see on r/gachalifecringe or r/gachaclubcringe (Which I am a moderator on, and let me tell you, the Gacha side of the Hazbin Fandom is fucked up.). I feel like most don't care because they'd much rather ship RadioApple then point out the absolute fuckery that is Lucifer himself.

>The good sins are Asmodeus, Bee, and Belphegor. The bad sins are Satan, Leviathan, and Mammon. Beelzebub actively hates the hierarchy and how it treats her hellhounds, but there isn't anything she can do about it.

Okay, first off all the sins are bad, they cannot just pick and choose. For FUCKS sake, you know who her favorite is, the funny thing is, I like Mammon, he's cute and his design/accent are great (But nothing comes greater then Jeice), so she failed at making villains scary when all they are is extremely comical people who suck at villianing and suck at life.

> Leviathan is female and a fashion queen. Alot of Envy will be focused on fashion.

Paint me green and call me a fucking pickle, more backlash would be fucking impossible. Remind me what the fuck does Fashion have to do with Envy?

Sure, people can be envious of others looks, but that ISN'T the only thing possible to be envious of.

This is Leviathan from my Universe, he's a victim of abuse from his father. (Who by the way died because of the effect he has on people, later on.)

According to Levi's official description on the Wikia:

Leviathan isn't actually Envious, rather the curse he has causes anyone nearby of him close or not to get envious of him as a person which is the main reason why Agatha is acting out.

This would've been better, but complicated storylines and things pulled from TVTropes isn't what Viz likes. Yes, Leviathan is meant to be Stolas from HB but better, and yes, I DO VOICE LEVI.

So what's the issue with Levi liking fashion? Well, it's obvious that she needs another Diva because at this rate Velvette isn't enough, and most of the fuckers in the Pride Ring seems to be fitted for other rings too.

I feel like she's trying to assign something to these character's to make them unique, but they aren't.

Lucifer is literally the Sin of Pride, and the only thing prideful about him is his fruitiness, so add that to the level of "Bible things that Viv added" he's far from prideful, and that's a fact.

Coming from someone whose gay myself.

Mammon, oh sweet sweet Mammon, is just the Greedlr, but a Fat Nickado Avocado Characters, minus the screaming and fits. And aussie. Because "oooo people with accents arre baad"

Beezlebub, is just, well a Bee, because "HAHAH FUNNI BEE-ZLEBUB" she wanted to relieve her golden years of AMVs and Animation Meme-Esque content, also so she can brush hands with Kesha-Senpai. I swear to fuck, she asskisses alot.

And I am BARELY getting started.

> Stella is a decent mom to Octavia. She doesn't have many powers and isn't summoned to Earth like Stolas is.

If she's such a great Mom, you so claim she is, Viv, then why not show and NOT FUCKING TELL. All we see of her, is the way to make the audience feel bad for a [N word, black POC here. Don't wanna say it.] that ain't shit, Doja Cat was right, he ain't shit.

This is ridiculous, this was seen with Jeffy in SML, he was a hated character, Logan tried every trick in the book to get the audience to feel bad for him (I.E. Giving him an emotional manipulative mom, losing his sister, WITNESSING HIS LITTLE SISTER GETTING MOLESTED, etc etc) but the problem with making an auidence feel bad for the character, it gives a in character excuse to let them continue being pricks without any character development.

In conclusion:

More pointless rep that will be thrown out as soon as it appears

More things to hype up, but ultimately fumble the bag

It sucks

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 13

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on the amazing @discoscoob 's concept & bot!

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven. twelve.

Thirteen.

At the crack of dawn Donaka wakes you with open-mouthed kisses on your neck and his cock stuffing you full. He is careful with you, as careful as he can be, taking you with the steady slowness of breaking waves, and if you didn’t know any better, you almost could have mistaken the way he fucked you for lovemaking. 

“My pretty girl,” he whispers in your hair. “Had to have your sweet little pussy again.” Despite the languid pace its not long before he fills you with hot streams of his cum. 

Afterwards, he smacks you on the ass, telling you, “You’re going to be late for work.” 

You are shocked, but at the same time, grateful for the opportunity to get away from him. You cannot think in his company. He gives you no peace. You frown at him, but slip into the shower without a word. As you leave he calls after you, “This is where you sleep now, y/n. Don’t forget it.” 

He relishes the glare you shoot him across the room, smirking at the challenge in your eyes. “Go on, defy me, bunny. See what happens.”

A tiny growl escapes your throat, your voice refusing to cooperate in forming actual words. 

“What was that?”

“Fine,” you grind out between your teeth, before slipping out the door.

When you join the ranks to receive your tasks for the day, Mrs. Yeung, the chief housekeeper, does not give you a second look. Perhaps she knows where her bread is buttered, and passing judgment on Mr. Mark’s new plaything will not serve her. Mei, however, is shooting you playful looks, and you know you will be interrogated later when she gets you alone. 

What the fuck are you going to say? 

You find yourself contemplating the height of the garden walls, wondering how far you might get should you just scale one and make your way down the road, hop a bus, go to the Embassy on the other side of the island. However, you’re sure Donaka is watching through his cameras. The dark little eyes tucked up in the corners of the rooms and outside never seemed so sinister before as they do now. You never really thought about how completely he can surveil his domain from the comfort of his office chair. 

You never cared before, because you were never up to something. 

That is when it dawns on you. You cannot stop yourself from taking a detour back into your room, and you check every corner, nook, and cranny. You find it tucked within an affixed wall decoration. A tiny camera, pointed right at your bed. 

The things he surely watched you do, long before you had any inkling…

It makes you simultaneously hot all over with rage–and you hate to admit, titillation. He really does like to watch.

You would have to remember that. It might prove his only weakness.

You are so fucked. 

Feeling completely overwhelmed, all you want to do is curl up on your bed and have a good, ugly, soul-expunging cry. However, there’s the possibility he’s watching you, and so you put on a brave face, shoving it all down and flipping off the little black eye in the wall before going back to work. 

***

You think you feel a little better, when you’re in the media room later, carefully dusting the screens and cables. All that goes up in smoke when Donaka slips through the door silently, pausing to look upon you like a predator at the treeline evaluating the quickest path to its prey. 

You straighten, meeting his gaze with your heart in your throat. What is he up to now?

With a little smirk he pads on bare feet to the couch, seating himself like a pasha in the center with his arms up on the back. He is…still so beautiful it hurts, and you find you are grinding your teeth as you stand there silently, waiting.

When the silence between you draws on, it’s no surprise that you are the one to break first. 

“Am I in your way?” you ask, glancing back at the wall full of screens. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and he’s here just to watch TV. 

“Not at all,” he answers smugly, still staring you down. 

Ah. Then he’s here for you. Great. 

You sigh, and decide to go back to what you were doing, rather than quiver like a mouse trapped in a cage with a snake. “Don’t you have a company to run or something?” you grouse at him. 

“The key to good management is proper delegation.”

“Wow, that’s a fancy way of saying ‘I have underlings to do my dirty work.’” It’s possible you lace your words with a bit of mockery, and maybe you shouldn’t bait this man…but then again, there is a part of you that wants to bait him. You want him to do something so truly awful, so unforgivable that the confusion in your heart will solidify to stone, and you will no longer be conflicted about this man, and what you want from him. 

However, he simply chuckles at your insouciance, sounding 300 percent the villain that he is. “I doubt you even really know what my company truly does.” 

You blink at that. He runs a security firm. You realize…that really could be a blanket term for so many things. “I guess I just assume you keep an eye on things for rich clients,” you say, waving at all the monitors. “You clearly like to watch.” 

You insinuate that you know he had a camera in your room. You wonder if he watched you nearly break down. You wonder if he cares. 

You can’t help but notice his pale, elegant bare feet–his long toes curl as he smirks at you. Is he enjoying this little bout of verbal sparring? 

“That I do, y/n.” He tilts his head, his gaze sweeping you up and down. “It’s not all we do though at Security System Alliance. Sometimes a situation with our clients requires a physical touch.”

So he has commando operatives at his beck and call as well. Not a huge surprise, considering. You can’t tell if he’s threatening you, or simply making conversation. 

“Interesting. What kind of situations? I hear kidnapping is a big problem with the uber rich these days.” 

His smile widens, and you decide that yes, he is enjoying this game of double-speak. “So it is. Obviously I can’t disclose details, but we did secure the safe return of a billionaire’s son not so long ago.”

“Was there a ransom?”

“They wanted 20 million dollars.”

“Did they get it?” 

“Some of it.” 

You take a step closer, your hands on your hips. 

“Did you orchestrate the kidnapping in the first place?”

Now his smile is like a baring of teeth for you. “Oh, that would be dastardly.”

It’s not a yes…but it’s not a no. 

“You just seem to have experience in such things.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment. You seemed satisfied with the results earlier.” 

You grip your dusting rag, a fine trembling running down your arms, and you narrowly resist the temptation to throw it at his head. The feminine urge to break things and scream.  “Is this something you’ve done to other women?” you ask quietly. You don’t really expect him to answer you truthfully–but suddenly you need to know.     

“No,” he answers, his tone equally hushed. “My relationships with women are usually more transactional.”

You frown at that. Does he mean prostitutes? Or mistresses who expect to be paid in housing and gifts and an allowance…? You suppose he sort of tried that with you, with the bracelet. It didn’t exactly work in his favor, so he had to resort to other tactics.

You wonder if you’d just given in back then, if he’d already be bored with you now? Is that the key to your freedom? That tremble has made its way to your core now. You feel cold all over, and a little sick.

He sees this change in you, and the smile on his face fades. “Come here,” he orders, holding out his hand. 

“No.” 

“Don’t make me ask twice.” 

You’d thought you were feeling better, but you realize you just managed to push it all down to function. The pain and the fear and the anger wells up inside you with a vengeance, and you do throw the rag at him–then you run, even though deep down you know there isn’t a hope in hell for you to actually escape him. You round the couch and he utterly surprises you when he vaults over the back of it, lithe as a panther. 

When he grabs you up with those long arms you snarl and squirm like a wild little animal and none of it does you a damn bit of good. He crushes you against him, and you can’t help it. You start to cry again against his chest, pushing at him at first, and then simply gripping fistfulls of his nice shirt while you stain it with your tears and snot and probably saliva too.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough of that.” He doesn’t yell at you, sounding more bored than anything. You realize that this is not the fun part of the game for him. Bastard. He picks you up and carries you back to the couch, sitting with you cradled in his lap. 

“I realize this development will take a period of adjustment for you, but I suggest you calm down.”

He says it so clinically, and that wildness rises in you again. A feral need to struggle and fight no matter the cost, your sense of self-preservation flown completely out of the window. “I suggest you eat a bag of dicks,” you snarl, starting to thrash in his arms again. He adjusts his hold on you with his arm pinning you across the chest, and that’s when you really fuck up. 

You bite him, and you get him good, clamping your teeth down on the meaty part of his forearm. He actually cries out, which is satisfying for about 2 seconds before he has you flipped and thrown down on the couch across his lap, pinning your face into the cushions with that big hand spanning the whole back of your head. 

“That hurt,” he snarls, and you wonder what he has in store for you now. Good. You hope it’s something terrible, so you can get on with the business of hating him. This hovering in limbo shit is too much agony. 

“I hope it gets infected.” 

You expect him to yell at you. Curse you. Hurt you. 

You do not expect him to throw back his head and laugh. 

“Oh, my sweet little bunny. You stupid girl.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You need to learn the art of self-restraint. I’ll be more than happy to teach it to you.” 

You open your mouth to scream, but he pushes you down into the couch cushions, muffling your cries, nearly suffocating you. “You can be quiet, or I can gag you.” 

You go deathly still at that, ceasing to even breathe, the thought is so abhorrent to you. 

“Ah, there’s my good girl.” He strokes the backs of your legs, from the curve of your calf up the soft flesh of your thigh, then higher beneath your skirt, toying with the seam of your panties. It feels horribly wonderful and far too intimate and you can’t sit still in his lap while he touches you like this right after you were just fighting for your life. “Be still,” he warns you. “Or I’ll tie you.” 

There it is again. The threat from before, and you really believe he’d do it now. You force yourself to go still in his lap, the only motion the fine trembling you cannot seem to stop that still plagues your limbs. 

“That’s much better,” he purrs, hooking his finger into the waistband of your panties, slowly drawing them down to your knees. When his questing hand slides up your skirt again, palming the curve of your ass he gives an appreciative groan. “I should bite you,” he muses, pinching you alarmingly close to the juncture of your thighs. “Right here, see how you like it.”

Maybe he expects you to squeal or whine, but you just sigh like you’re already tired of this shit, and you wish he’d get it over with. A fresh stream of tears has started falling from your eyes, beading on the leather upholstery. You’ll probably get into trouble for that too. 

“Oh, am I boring you?” he asks, half amused, half annoyed. 

“Yes,” you answer, and that’s when he pushes your skirt up to your waist and spanks your right buttcheek, the perfect snap loud as a crack of lightning in the room. You can’t help but scream then, and he chuckles as he finally gets the reaction he wants. 

“If you’re going to behave like a naughty child, I suppose I’ll discipline you like one.”  

“Gross.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Do I?” 

Smack! 

This time you don’t scream, but you do jump, squirming in his lap. 

“Fuck!” 

Smack! This time on the left cheek, and you bite the inside of your lip hard enough to make yourself bleed, though you stay silent. 

He lets you stew in the burning pain that spreads across your skin, before soothing your flesh with a featherlight touch afterwards that incredibly—inexplicably–makes you throb between your legs. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

“I came in here to offer you a treat for good behavior,” he muses almost absently. “But I’m afraid that’s gone completely out the window.”  You can’t help but think he’s trying to make your relationship transactional, like he’d said before. Spread the blame, and the temptation, out between you, rather than rest it completely on his shoulders. 

“I don’t want it,” you grumble into the leather beneath you. 

“Oh, I think you do. You think you’re above the temptations of wealth? No one is. It’s just a matter of finding the things you want, and I’m certain this would have hit the target.” 

A long silence draws out between you. You hate it, that you want to know what he concocted, what he thinks he knows about you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Yet here you are, bent over his lap with your bare ass in the air–what dignity is left to you? At last you take the bait. 

“What is it?”

“I would rephrase that, if I were you.” 

You sigh, consider telling him to fuck off, and decide you don’t have the fortitude today to stand up to whatever he would do to you after. Another battle, lost to this man. 

“What carefully considered bribery did I miss out on in my headstrong resistance to your charms, Sir?” 

This makes him laugh like the villain he is. “Oh that was good. I liked that.” He continues to draw light circles upon your buttocks and the backs of your thighs, driving you mad with his gentle touch. Despite the fact that he has–not to put too fine a point on it–already murdered your pussy, your center throbs and weeps in response to his hands upon you like this. He is carefully avoiding touching you there, teasing you mercilessly with his fingertips, but if he did dip in a finger he would find you soaked. 

“Maybe I could be convinced to tell you, if you make it up to me. You’ve been a very bad girl.” 

You know you are a depraved thing, when your treacherous clit throbs in answer to this suggestion. Thinking you know what he wants, because you can feel the bulge of his hard cock pressing against your side, you make to get up. 

Immediately he pins you back down, his fingers fisting in your hair. It sends a thrill down your spine, and you shift your hips in response, pressing your thighs in hope of some relief. “Did I say you could get up?” 

Oh. 

God fucking dammit. 

“How can I make it up to you, Sir?” 

Even the sound of his dark chuckle strums at your clit, turning you into an angry, needy little mess in his lap. 

“Get on your knees, bunny.” He guides you to the floor between his legs, slow but exacting, his fingers still tangled in your hair. Looking up at him like this from beneath your lashes wreaks unspeakable mayhem upon your sense of reason, and all you can think is that you’re fucked. Well and totally fucked, because you still can’t make your mind up about this man. 

“Take it out.” 

You shouldn’t enjoy running your palms up the lean length of his thighs encased in fine fabric, the way that you do. Your hands should shake more, as you undo his designer belt and the clasp of his trousers, carefully pulling the zipper down. The impressive length of his manhood strains against his briefs, and you shouldn’t feel this thrill of excitement as his cock springs free as you pull the last barrier down. 

You dare to look up at him again, gauging his mood. The truth is that you enjoy giving head, when you’re in love and you feel safe and you’re having a good time. One of those is completely off the table–the other two, you’re still on the fence about. 

“If I feel the slightest hint of teeth you will regret it.” 

“I’m not going to bite off my favorite part of you,” you fire back, and you get lucky when this seems to delight him, winning a huff of laughter.

“Good. Give it a kiss then.” 

You do as you’re told, and do him one better, taking his head between your lips and swirling your tongue around that nerve-rich flesh. You feel him relax beneath you, a low moan your reward as you take him further into your mouth, almost to the hilt. He lets you do what you want with him, seeming to enjoy your freestyling lips and tongue upon his hard shaft. You forget yourself, teasing the throbbing vein ever so lightly with your bottom teeth. It earns you a growl of warning–you shouldn’t laugh, muffled as it is with your mouthful–but you do. 

You know it’s your punishment, when his hold tightens in your hair at the back of your head, guiding you down down down onto his erection. He is too big to fit completely into your mouth. You try, and fail to suppress your gag reflex. But he holds you, not letting you up. 

“Relax,” he orders with new steel in his tone. “You can do it.” 

With tears in your eyes you fight to ease him into the back of your throat, taking him a little further. “That’s my good girl.” Now he guides you his with his hand on your head, merciless as he fucks your face with his huge cock. “Swallow it all, bunny.” It’s the only warning you get before a flood of spend fills your throat and your mouth, his iron-grip in your hair preventing you from moving anywhere but down upon him. You struggle to swallow, trying not to make a mess all over his expensive dress pants. When at last he lets you go, you gulp and gasp for air, wiping at the corner of your mouth.

He smirks down at you, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction but still shining black as a shark’s. It takes every iota of your self control not to say what you’re thinking: asshole. 

Maybe you can be taught.  

“Not bad. We’ll work on that.” You fall back on your butt on the floor when he releases you, and you watch as he puts himself away and stands, leaving you a crumpled mess on the floor at his feet. You can tell he enjoys this vantage, towering over you. Who says you have no self-control? Because you are so tempted to punch him in the balls, even if you know he would end you for it. 

“See you tonight, honey.” 

You can hardly believe he’s leaving after that–leaving you in a haggard little unsatisfied pile. Only with his hand on the door does he turn back to you, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t you dare touch yourself. I’ll know.”

You acknowledge this directive with a frustrated little growl, banging your head on the cushioned edge of the couch. He takes this as close enough to acknowledgement, sweeping out of the room with a wicked chuckle. You stay on the floor for a good half hour, trying to process this latest indignity, and begging your body to calm the fuck down. Remember, that you hurt everywhere? Your libido is not so convinced. 

Neither go well for you, so in the end you just give up, get up, and go back to what you were doing with the taste of Donaka Mark still sharp and astringent on your tongue.

Bastard. Maybe escape won’t be enough. The longer this goes on…the more you want revenge.

[queerprayers]

I’m unemployed dropped out of school before I reached high school and am unbaptised. Does God care about someone like that

Welcome, beloved, to the blog of a high school dropout who walks dogs (but has never actually been employed anywhere), and was baptized as a baby and so did not have any choice in the matter! God cares about both of us, and has given us ways to serve Them in our own lives, as we are now.

Your employment status can obviously matter quite a bit in terms of survival, because of the world we live in, but itself has no bearing on your relationship with God. Whatever the reason you don't have a job, you have a life worthy of care, from those around you and from God. Being employed has never been a Christian focus--devoting your life to God has. Capitalism has changed so much, but please know that the ways the system (and those misled by it) shames you do not reflect the will of God. No human system can decide your worth.

Your level of education, similarly, doesn't say anything about you that God cares about. I dropped out of school for health reasons--whatever yours are, even if you don't feel they're good, whatever! High school was invented like 200 years ago, and has nothing to do with God's care for you. Education is holy--reading, talking to different kinds of people, learning about history and the natural world, thinking about God. This knowledge is in schools but it's also everywhere else. I'm not telling everyone reading this to drop out of high school, but I am saying that there are so many beautiful paths without it. I would also point out that in many places, there is support for people who left schooling early--my city, for instance, has free GED (high school equivalency diploma) programs. If that's something you want to change (of your own volition, not because God will care about you any differently), it's very possible that you can.

Baptism is the most easily changed thing on this list, if you seek it. Most churches require some discussion beforehand, maybe a class to learn about the denomination, but there aren't huge barriers (and there is no test of worthiness). If it's not in your future, for whatever reason, I can still tell you God cares about you, fully, as you are. Baptism is lots of things for lots of people--a symbol, a physical manifestation of grace, a welcoming into a Christian community, a sealing of a covenant--but it has never been the first moment of care from God. That has already passed--it was the first moment you existed. To say you need to be baptized for God to care about you is to say that God doesn't care about anyone from any other religion, or about those who die before baptism--what a sad life that would be. What a limiting belief.

I don't know you, but I have faith you treat others well. I have faith you wouldn't tell me God didn't care about me because of my job or schooling. So don't do that to yourself. I hate to break it to you, but you have no say in the matter. It doesn't matter how worthy you are, or how much you're succeeding by our current society's standards. God is love, a love which keeps no record of wrongs, a love which does not weigh with the measures of this world, a love which cannot be contained in the rituals of an institutional church, a love which does not require knowledge or action or belief to surround us. We are saved by this love, not by a diploma or paycheck or a pastor's words.

Go in peace, beloved. Glorify God with your life, not with someone else's. And anyone who tells you that there are limits on God's care is not talking about the God of the Bible--who works through the underdog, who turns any idea of worthiness on its head, who picks the younger son and the tax collector, the unwed mother and the poor father. God comes to where we are, and takes us by the hand.

<3 Johanna

[ctrl-alt-em]

Communication is Key

Robin

I am Morven Hellwain. You have carried my spirit in your body for the last two months. As I am sure you have not figured out, when you lose consciousness, I gain control of our shared vessel. I need you to sleep as frequently as possible. Additionally, avoid bodily harm. I do not appreciate having to cast Cure Wounds when I wake.

Dear Morven Hellwain

Are you the reason for all the strange happenings? Did you explode the wolves? Lug says you killed that monster in the bunk house.

I go to sleep every night. I guess it is every other night? I don’t think I can sleep more than that and still help.

Thank you for healing my leg. Happen says he did not aim for me. His sprites played a mean prank.

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

I cannot fathom how you think you, the village idiot, can be of any help. The only way you can help is by ensuring I am in control as much of the time as possible.

As for your initial questions, yes, I am. I cannot imagine anything of note occurring in your proximity without my influence. I am not directly responsible for the wolves’ destruction; the recent unpredictable outcomes of spells is to blame. You need not concern yourself with magic.

Dear Morven Hellwain

I was not the village idiot. That was Young Man Dan. I was the spit-turner before I lost my job seven weeks ago.

I can be a great help! I helped save Lug from those men. I even injured one! And I was the one that got help when that man turned into a monster. Happen said I did a good job. I even helped us meet our friends and join our adventuring party. You are just upset that I can help just as much as you. I understand that. I was jealous of Tilly the spitturn dog too at first.

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

From the other's accounts of the confrontation with the mob, it does not sound like you played a needed role. It is no show of strength or skill to hit a blinded, maimed man with stale bread. As for the combat at Folkmoot, others surely would have heard and come to our aid, supposing I did not defeat the abomination before their arrival. You did nothing a dog would not be capable of. A dog likely would have been of greater help and less of liability.

Robin

You will get us both killed if you disregard my advice. Your 'help' is not needed nor wanted, I assure you.

To Morven Hellwain

I was thinking about back home, all the weird things people kept telling me. Leslie, the head cook, was cross with me. She said I missed work twice and that I insulted her in the market. I had no idea what she was talking about. I assumed she mistook me for someone else and I tried to tell her so. She said I was lying and fired me! It occurred to me that she might not have been lying. Was it you she saw? Are you the reason I lost my job?

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

Of all the things you could waste my time with, you chose this? Your 'job' is hardly worth the ink we are wasting writing about it. I will acknowledge that I was in control of our body several times before our departure. I did lose my patience with several of the dimwitted residents of the village so I very well may have offended the head 'cook'. I would not consider the loss of any great consequence. If anything, it is beneficial. Your 'occupation' would have delayed your departure for Folkmoot. You may thank me for my help in your next note. Hopefully, the writing will tire you.

To Morven

And what about my house? Did you tell the apothecary she could give it to her goat? If you wanted to run me out of my village so bad, you could have written to me earlier.

From Robin

Robin

If I recall correctly, and I do, the old hag asked me, "How I am supposed to keep a roof over my goat's head if you don't pay?" To that, I said, "Give the fucking goat my roof. I don't care." And I continue to not care. Your hovel was little more than a goat's shelter anyway.

I have spoken with Happen and he is aware of a root that induces a harmless sleep state. I have procured some. It is in the outer pouch of our bag.

To Morven

It is not our bag. It is my bag. And I don't need anything to help me sleep. A long day of traveling with my friends does that enough. Seeing as I have no work or home to return to, I will be with them for the foreseeable future regardless of our mission.

If you want to be helpful, Morven, you will tell me how to use magic myself and how I get you out of me.

From Robin

Robin

You cannot use magic. It would require innate talent or years of study, neither of which you have. Unless such fantasies lull you into a slumber, do not concern yourself with such endeavors.

I am looking into potential methods to separate us. However, until magic has been returned to its original state and I gather more information on what caused my spirit to enter your body in the first place, no significant progress can be made. You need not be involved.

To Morven

How can I not get involved when I already am? You’re in my head! You walk around in my body half the time! I should be the only one in my body!

And how do you know I don’t have inate innate talent? Maybe I just haven’t had need to use it.

From Robin

Robin

Knock yourself out as soon as you see this. Lug, Cressida, and Willowfine have been captured by a group of zealots and I need to go save their skins.

To Morven

No need to worry. Me and Happen did it ourselves. You should have seen how far Lug hit this one guy with his hammer once we got him out.

From Robin

Robin

That is not what I told you to do. You will get us both killed.

Willowfine said she saw you use magic. I can only assume you located a scroll and stumbled your way into using it correctly.

To Morven

You were wrong, Morven. I do have a talent for magic, no scroll needed, whatever those are. Mine is not as pretty or orderly as yours but I can cast spells. Cressida thinks that might be why you didn’t have trouble casting in my body.

You may thank me for my help in your next note. I will not ask you to knock yourself out because I have manners.

From Robin

Robin

I have spoken with Cressida and Willowfine regarding your spelling casting. As must I detest to acknowledge it, I suppose it makes sense. Either my spirit brought my magic potential with it or my spirit was attracted to your magic potential. I do believe the first one is the more likely of the two. It still stands that between the two of us, I am the more proficient and thus should handle any and all confrontations.

To Morven

Willowfine says we should try to come to a compromise. She said our attempts to screw with each other and limit the other’s time awake is annoying.

How about a deal? If I find myself in situations that I cannot handle, I will find a way to allow you to take control if you agree to cease trying to stay awake for days on end. If the group stops to sleep, you sleep and let me take control.

From Robin

Robin

After much strong arming from the others, I agree to your terms.

Robin

Why am I not surprised you have Wild Magic? Of all sorcerous origins, you draw power from the most unruly and unpredictable.

With that said, I request that you cast something that will offer you improved defense or evasion when in a confrontation. You cannot rely on Acid Splash only.

- Morven

[helpmeimblorboing]

I really like imagining Nie Huaisang’s response to Jiang Cheng’s whole shtick post-WWX-death, because, you CANNOT tell me that he wouldn’t immediately draw parallels, true or not, to his own shit with Nie Mingjue.

Like I can just imagine him thinking while talking to Jiang Cheng like “You were so unwilling to accept the notion of a world where your brother was dead that you were willing to spend your entire life chasing a ghost. That’s admirable. I admire that. Maybe if I had done that, Da-ge wouldn’t have…”

And meanwhile Jiang Cheng is just seething, fully convinced that he was chasing after Wei Wuxian’s ghost because he just hated him so gosh-darn much. Like, not to stir up any debate or piss off any of the more opinionated people on this site, but I genuinely don’t think JC hated WWX as much as he, or the jianghu, thought he did.

Hate can drive a person to do many things, but I genuinely don’t think it’s possible for hate to drive a person to chase a dead man for thirteen years. Five ? Maybe. Seven is pushing it. But thirteen ? The only kind of hate powerful enough to do that is hate adulterated with at least a sprinkling of love

And I think that creates a really interesting contrast, one Nie Huaisang, who disguises his hate and grief behind walls of obliviousness, all the while drowning in regret and despair, and one Jiang Cheng, who disguises his grief and regret behind walls of hate so solid that he’s managed to fool even himself

Both of them wearing masks. Both of them pretending to be whole after the death of their sibling(s). Neither of them actually okay

On the other hand, maybe Jiang Cheng does just fully despise Wei Wuxian, which just makes the whole thing hilarious instead of melancholic. Like here Huaisang is, drawing up elaborate manuscripts of the tragic story of the Yunmeng Shuangjie, and meanwhile Jiang Cheng is just the living representation of that one neighbour who’s been pissed off at you for a full decade because you accidentally insulted her apple cobbler at a meet one time

And once again, that’s a really interesting contrast, because, Huaisang holds grudges too, but unlike Jiang Cheng, who goes around announcing his hate, Huaisang hides it behind faked incompetence and obliviousness

Either way, it’s an enjoyable experience

[reidology13]

I tell someone I love them (just as a distraction)

Spencer Reid x fem famous!reader

Summary: In the depths of his addiction, Spencer finds someone who needs an escape as much as he does.

cw: talk of addiction, allusions to sex (no actual smut), angst no happy ending

Meaningless whispers of ‘I love you’ mumbled between laboured breaths and cold kisses in an apartment that doesn’t feel like mine. The sheen of sweat that coats his body is nearly constant these days, it has nothing to do with physical exertion. The glaze over his hollow eyes is the furthest possible thing from pleasure, although by now he might have his wires crossed. His face is beautiful, and I can see myself marrying it in another life, one where my chest isn’t as hollow as his cheeks. A life where I don’t have to ignore the fresh scars in the crook of his elbow as I pull his shirt off.

I am not in that world, and neither is he, a reality that I cannot grieve because this is what I asked for, what I have been working for since before I can remember. The parties that leave me empty and sick, the performances that start the moment I leave the stage, the new friends who tag along for my name. I love him because he doesn’t care about any of it, if only because he’s too high to care about much at all.

I don’t feel anything when I finish, I’m not sure he does, either. I watch as he disappears from my side, already scrambling to his bag, searching through it until he finds what he needs. He slips into the bathroom, finally taking his chance to feel something after the numbness of the night. He has his escape, he used to be mine. I wonder if one day the chemicals he defiles his veins with will stop calming his ever racing mind, or if I just need a higher dose.

When he comes back, I pull him close to me, dragging him back down into the bedsheets and sweat. It works this time, my skin alight with every electrifying touch as his fingers dance gracefully across my body. His hands shake as they move, a feeling that makes my nerves sing as a lump forms in my throat and my heart sinks to my stomach. He looks up at me with those brown eyes that would be so gorgeous if they held any emotion, anything but that violent hunger for a craving he should have satisfied moments earlier. He can’t up his dose as easily as I can, can’t pull his vice back to bed without the risk of never waking up. He doesn’t bother saying that he loves me this time, we both know it’s not true. Or maybe it is, but there are things he loves much more, and telling me he loves me debases one of the only pure things left in the world. I’m glad he doesn’t try this time.

He holds me afterwards, his trembling body not yet ready to stand up, or maybe he knows that the moment he does he’ll be back inside the bathroom. I turn my head away, and as he buries his face in my shoulder, I pretend I don’t feel the apology he mouths against my glass skin. He runs a hand down my upper arm, his touch tentative and light, scared that I’ll shatter into a million pieces. My heart does. If he knows about the tear that runs down my face, he ignores it, and I’m not surprised. Ignorance is what we’re good at, after all.

When I wake up, he’s gone, slipped into the early morning, or called into the job that he shouldn’t be doing in his condition. I crawl out of my cold, damp sheets, the disgusting aftermath of our night. The sick feeling that perpetually sits in my gut, loosening under him, twisting tighter under the sun of the next day. 

Slowly, I peel back the layers of sticky fabric, watching how they cling to my skin and each other as I force them into the washing machine. I turn it on.

Fresh sheets are laid out on my bed, sheets that haven’t yet witnessed the tornado of us, still clean and untainted by tears and sweat and words that never mean anything. I lay the sheet over the mattress, fighting to wrap it around all four corners as it perpetually escapes one, always sitting just slightly wrong. I place the pillows down carefully, fighting the urge to punch them like I’ve been wanting to punch his face every time he shows up at my door.

I can see myself marrying him in this world, too, getting him the help he needs and staying with him through it all. He would be able to be there for me when I need it, not an escape from, but support through the other parts of my life, a person to love and talk to about the hard things. But I know that is still impossible. One day, he will sober up and disappear, or I will be an uninvited guest at his funeral. There’s no option that ends well for both of us, the best we can do is take it as it happens and ignore everything.

I watch as the last blanket floats down over the bed, carelessly adjusting its corners. It looks exactly the same.

[isolaradiale]

. . . . .

"Mmhm, I see, I see... Your father did tell us you had a bit of a mishap with your art project. We couldn't help coming to give some advice." Solaris muses, circling the diorama of the city. Currently, it's been moved to a coffee table.

"Yes, he told me I should try and spin it as if I had done such a thing on purpose. But I don't see how I could possibly..." "Oh, we had an idea for that!"

Mimosa flutters from behind, resting her hands on Janus' shoulders. The glint of mischief hiding in her rosy glasses does not escape his notice.

"We could help you mirror it in the city proper, you know!" "What?" "It's an interesting theory. The structures you made still stand, but what gives them life and personality has been greyed out." "I wouldn't say that--" "So how do you fix it? Do you paint them with the hues and values they're supposed to be, or do you pick something new?" "What do you do with the spots where the paint bled together? Do you paint over that, too?"

As the two bounce back and forth in this terrible game of brainstorming, Janus begins to put his hands to his cheeks in mounting horror.

"Oh, no. No no no. Absolutely not--" "If we make someone look like an old black and white movie, what happens? Will they try to change to technicolour?" "Would they paint themselves the colour palettes they're used to? Maybe it's something entirely different. If we make those hues correspond with their personalities..." "I--I'll have no part in this! The last time something like this happened, everything--" "Ah-ah, don't worry."

Mimosa leaves Janus side to twirl next to Solaris, who makes an artful pose himself, as if framing the splotchy mess of a diorama in his hands.

"We have this one completely under control. Not like last time." "I'll make sure of it. Just a little bit of editing... ah, Mimosa, what if we..."

Janus can only move his head as the two take their leave, watching them scheme and snicker. He turns back to look at the model of the city. And in a scramble that almost makes him trip over his own feet, he rushes to his boxes of paints.

"--I have to at least put the base coat back on, or they really won't have anything at all!"

. . . . .

Welcome to another zany event for the fall season! It looks like Mimosa and Solaris aren't done causing trouble, but this time, it should be harmless. Right? (Right...?)

Taking inspiration from a creative mishap, the Stars have decided to effectively render the city in greyscale--including the people residing in it--to see what really makes everyone so colourful. Thankfully, most people will start with a base hue.

What does that mean, though? Here's a handy-dandy list of notes!

As soon as it strikes midnight that night, your muse will find that they've been completely greyscaled, save for one colour that represents who they are at their core, and only that colour! - Think of it like those 'what colour is your soul' quizzes. If your muse was only one hue, what would it be? For example, a character that is inherently cheery might turn completely yellow or pink, while a hot-headed character may turn red or orange to reflect their personality.

Your muse cannot help but feel and act whatever hue/personality they seem to be. However! The more your muse interacts with the people around them, the more colours (and feelings/facets of their personality) will open up to them. This will also physically reflect on them. - If your cheery yellow muse bumps into a sad, blue muse, you'll both have a new colour to express. Now you can feel happy (yellow) AND sad (blue)! And perhaps a sort of melancholy joy, like watching your best friend win that prize you wanted instead of you. Of course, you're happy for them, but sad you didn't win. - Or maybe those two colours mix into being green with envy... And suddenly, you have a new colour ;3

Any inanimate object your muse interacts with (except their Island Issued Cell Phone) will take on your muse's hue. Every step you take will leave a colourful footprint in its wake, every hand rail will have colourful handprints. More on that later.

With enough interactions and perspectives, your muse will be back to their old selves in no time! If, that is, they want to go back to their old selves at all. Maybe another colour palette suits them better than before...?

"It can't be that easy, though."

And, you're right! The experiment did more than reduce everyone to solid (or no) colours! Some other strange things are happening, too. Such as...

The NPCs of the city have not escaped unscathed. Unlike you, though, they have no hue to them at all. However, they'll absorb colours from your muses by proximity and action. - If your deep-green jealous muse is around, NPCs will turn deep-green too, and may want what you have--and might try to take it by force. But a calm mint-coloured muse may just leave you alone and soak up some vibes. - This extends to creatures of the island, too, so watch out!

Sources of water in the city (the ocean, lakes, ponds, swimming pools, etc) will wash away at least one colour from you. (You can still drink and cook with it without any effect, though.) Better not get caught in a rainstorm any time soon!

To combat this, you can find paint cans with a random colour paint in them around the city. You never know what you're going to get, though!

The city itself is completely greyscale, so navigating it might be a challenge without any colourful landmarks to stand out. That being said, your muse will leave colour wherever they go, like they're a giant paint roller. And so will everyone else's muses! Figuring out populated areas will be Very Easy, but you might get disoriented in places that don't get a lot of foot traffic.

These are the major issues...... for now :)

FAQ

"Do I have to pick a hue at the beginning? I can't decide on one."

It's entirely possible that your muse can start in greyscale, and just has No Personality. In that case, they'll take on the hue of the first person they interact with.

"What do we do if a colour has multiple associations with it?"

Each association of that colour is a valid one, and there are no incorrect colour associations. Each colour is whatever you need it to be in the moment. The definition of "red" for your muse may not match the "red" of your RP partner--and that's okay! What may be helpful is to make an event info post explaining your colour choice, how you interpret it, and how it would affect your character!

"Do we have to stick to basic colours like red, yellow, green, blue, etc?"

Nope. Maybe your muse is a mauve, emerald, beige, or aquamarine. Pick any colour you think is best for the moment!

"In theory, could we use the paint cans laying around to add hues to others by splashing them with it or something?"

PVP is enabled, if you want to be a menace! (with mun permission, of course)

"Is the comic in black and white for plot reasons?"

No, I'm just lazy :c

Have a question you don't see on here? You can message the Masterlist!

See you in a week! Make sure to get as many colour perspectives as you can, okay? :)

[coldtortelloni]

doomed yuri.....

[silusvesuius]

nnnnnnnnnnnnno maa'am

[sokovianfortune]

elsa yelling at jack that she doesn’t care about his systems is so funny to me. like ohhhh girl you will though. you’re going to care so much.

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the fabulous @cordiallyfuturedwight and @jimin-gaon <33 here's the december list

apologies for being late again new year same me: @aprylynn @jiminsproof @pauls-mccharmly @thvinyl @visionsofgideontheninth @btsbs @kimchokejin @jihopesjoint @eoieopda @monismochi 💜 and anyone else who feels so inclined MWAH p.s. please do tag me anyway if you've already done it

[ttngummybear]

Why do people on reddit have to fuck around with you and make you feel like an idiot for asking a question instead of just answering the question?

[cinnamon-bunni]

NOT okay right now im thinking abt pokemon leaving scars on their trainers + everyday, domestic problems.....

[marymycete]

I think far too often about the two interactions we see with rose outside of the realm of consciousness ; a member of the hound wolf squad and an agent of the BSAA and how vastly different their treatment of her is