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you never miss, i swear. the darkness is everything , i genuinely can't WAIT any longer for the next parts 🗣️😫

under his grasp

Pairings: Dark! Suitor! Marcus Acacius x Queen! reader

warnings: noncon, cheating, victim blaming, oral (f receiving), threats of rape (not to reader), noncon insinuations (not to reader), breeding kink, unprotected p in v, violence, etc

series masterlist

Seeing he had gone for good, you had dressed back into your wedding dress as it was the only comfort and clothes you had and decided to sleep in the marital couch, too scared that crawling in his bed would give him any ideas.

Morning came and you were up earlier than expected, sleep being scarce and more frightening than being awake. As your gaze searched around the room, the thick body of Acacius laid pleasantly in his bed. You tried to sleep longer, but handmaidens bustled into the room ready to prepare you for the first day of you endless nightmare.

They were quiet, Acacius’ handmaidens. They greeted you shyly, perhaps unknowing how to greet a Queen, and presented you a lavish turquoise gown; you allowed them to dress you as some stirred Acacius awake, but he batted them off, grumpily.

“I can dress myself.” He groaned, and you could tell that after he left you the night before, he had drunk.

Certain handmaiden caught your eye; she was young, similar to you physically, and she stood close to you. Her movements were timid, perhaps even more scared than the others. Your eyes followed her as she left the room.

True to his words, Acacius dressed himself in more casual robes; a beige picta. The silent was deafening, casting shadows over the dawn as you sat still, unaware of what to expect.

“When are we returning to the Palace?” You managed your courage to mutter, and Acacius finally posed his tired eyes on you.

“When you learn to be a good wife to me.” He answered sharply. “A husband cannot spend his nights looking for solace in another’s woman’s embrace.”

His words felt thick around him, his eyes glaring daggers. You felt a knot in your throat.

“Was that what you did after the events of last night?” You dared to ask him. He hesitated for a while, you could see it in his swerving eyes.

“Do not blame me, you decided not to comply.” He responded, and his feet padded closer to you, his broad figure becoming bigger and bigger.

“That didn’t deter you the other night.” You bit, rage lacing your words. “and I guess that didn’t deter you yesterday, as I can’t believe your other woman was whorish enough to sleep with a newly wed man.”

He chuckled at your words, pleased in his fantasy that you were portraying jealousy. “You would be surprise by how many girls like you dream of pleasing a General as myself.”

If that was true, then it felt unfair. For him to take you, just to dispose of you later, felt unfair. It all felt like a twisted joke, because despite not wanting him, he had done all of this for a reason.

“But just so you know,” He added, a sly grin on his face. “the one I bedded last night wasn’t compliant either.”

It felt like salt on a wound, and your face twisted into a bitter expression. He enjoyed it so much, the fight, your hatred, it fueled the fire in his loins.

“You are disgusting.” You spat, rising to your feet. “I cannot fathom how you portray yourself as the Hero-”

A sharp slap cut your words short, sending your face to the side as you gasped. His grip fell again on your face, now slightly more tender as he forced you to look at me.

“Oh, I am no Hero,” He sneered. “I am far more than that, I am your God now, and like Gods, I do not preach morality.”

You felt weak once again, but hatred still run through your veins as you glared at him. Your cheek stung.

“All this fighting has made me wanton.” He confessed, and your eyes widened in fear of his words. “after all, we must give Rome a heir.”

“You will be crowned King shortly,” You ushered, perhaps pleading. “you can have bastards and make them heir.”

He tutted at your excuses. “But I want you, darling; our heirs will rule Rome.”

“Why does it matter anymore?” You questioned, seeing impatience running through his features.

“Enough.” He barked, letting go of your chin. “Get on the bed.”

What if I say no?

What if I scream?

What if I comply?

Your mind raced, and he grew angry but you stood your ground. His lips almost curled into a smirk as he grabbed your forearms, as bruising as he had done the first night, and begun moving you towards the bed.

Your instinct kicked in, and you fought because complying was too humiliating for you. Kicking and clawing came to no avail as your back hit the soft, tousled fabrics of the bed.

“Are you going to behave or do I need to tie you down again and fuck you like a breeding mare?” He barked, and your arms grew weak under the threat. His gaze fell over the pretty dress that you wore, and he fought the urge to rip it apart. It was new, and a gift to you from him.

He opted for lifting your skirt and producing his manhood from beneath his robes. You didn’t want to look at it, feeling its weight on your leg was enough to tell you.

Your arms had fallen limp against the bed as he forced your thighs apart, presenting your cunt to his eyes.

“I realized I had forgotten something,” He confessed to you, and your mind screamed. “did not taste you properly yet.”

His dark eyes were set on you as he lowered his face to your exposed core, a pink tongue darting from his lips and licked a line along your seam. A whimper escaped your pressed lips, thighs shaking, and his mouth latched to you.

Like a man starved, he sucked your most intimate part, sending shivers along your body. Your nails dug into the covers, begging someone or something to stop the pleasure he was eliciting so darkly. But your hips buckled, making him even wilder as he thrusted his manhood into the bed. Like a man on a mission, he constrained his desires in order to get you to submit beneath him, which perhaps brought him more pleasure than the act itself.

A hand that was spreading your thighs apart let you free, but the limb curled itself into you, presenting yourself as soft mewls and squeaky moans left your lips. His fingers tangled themselves in the slick mess of arousal and saliva, pushing through your swollen walls; you jerked as he curled them inside, working your clit with his tongue.

There was a slight pain from the pressure, but it fueled the heat you felt, nipples pebbling against the silk of your dress and electricity jolting through you. Your thighs shut around his head, thick curls slightly matted from his efforts, and he knew.

A hand on your hip, holding you still, and now his digits thrusted in and out, fucking you until your legs wrapped around his neck, and you felt pressure relieve as you shot slick arousal directly into his face.

You didn’t care to try to reason what he had forced your body as you fell, spread, on the sheets, eyes lidded and throat hoarse from the war cry that had erupted from you.

Through your blurred vision you saw him rise on top of you, wiping you from his lips and face as his devoured all the essence you had poured onto him.

“No-” you whined as you felt the engorged tip of his cock pushing against your abused folds, hands rising to push at his chest.

“Come on, dumb girl,” he muttered at your skin, a hand gently taking your wrists above your head as the other propped your leg over his shoulder, letting himself slide right in with a pleased grunt. “I have pleased you, now do your duty.”

He sheathed himself in with a hiss, head bobbing back as your overstimulated core clenched around him. The sting had dissipated, and shame rose to your cheeks as you felt a need for it. The feeling, of needing to be fucked, pitifully reminded you of those nights along Lucius, the ones were his body heat felt like forbidden fruit, were you craved he would touch you, and were you would feel shame burn on you the next day as wild images blurred your thoughts.

But Acacius wouldn’t let you feel that need ever again, that you knew. He was an animal, biting into your soft skin as he rutted into you, as if trying to get closer. In a way, his assault felt like his desire to imprint on you, to make you yours, thing that he wouldn’t let you forget as he groaned and moaned it into your ear.

“There you are,” he mumbled, almost whispered, tightening the grip around your wrists unconsciously. “being fucking good for me, letting me fuck my wife.”

And you could fight it, you howled like a bitch in heat beneath him, letting General Acacius breed you despite the tears in your eyes. Your leg muscles stung beneath him, splayed like whore, for what felt like hours.

“Gonna finish inside you, paint your walls,” He panted into your ear before nibbling on your lobe. “gonna fuck the heir of Rome into you, dumb girl.”

True to his words, his pace picked up even more as he decided to finish the job. His grip snaked to your lower back as he pressed himself into you with a guttural groan, and you felt his sticky wetness inside of you, coating you; something you couldn’t clean up.

Perhaps this was for the better; the sooner you’d give him a heir the sooner he wouldn’t have an excuse to do this. But you knew that fantasy was unrealistic. Acacias had no excuse for enjoying the act so much.

His weight fell over you, shortening your breaths as you finally peered your eyes open, gaze cut by the mountains of muscular flesh of shoulder and back. The simple robe he had placed slipped from his body, and you felt sweat dampening as his torso pinned you down. His hand unwrapped his grip, knitting his fingers with yours. You begged he didn’t fall asleep.

But he didn’t, and you were grateful for that. Knowing he was crashing you, he tossed his body beside you on the bed. The silent rang in your ears; anticipation heavy, until he spoke.

“Each time you displease me, or deny me,” He said, threat and decisiveness in his voice. “I’d like you to think of our first night, and I’d like you to remember the pretty faces of the handmaidens I have here, at my power-and to know that I was considering you a Queen at the time.”

He had made his words clear.

this was my breakfast, literally! The way you write always mesmerizes me, and I have an odd obsession with it, I re-read these almost every night 😫💕 so, so beautiful, can't wait for MORE 🗣️

Control [prologue]

When an audition that could make your career is offered, you move back to New York and reconnect with your estranged father, and find out his old friend is the casting director, but you’ll have to do much more than wanted to get the role.

CONTENT WARNINGS! all my fics contain dark content including, but not limited to, noncon, dubcon, and explicit descriptions of violence and abuse. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. 18+, please!

Note; this is loosely based on Black Swan (2010). enjoy! hopefully. of course, love to @thehydraethereal.

You were 10 when you realised your father was selfish. No one else thought so—he was Captain America, for God’s sake! Always willing to risk his life for the nation and the world, but never for his only daughter, his only child. Maybe one could say you were the selfish one, but while you respected him as a hero, you resented him as a father. You had nightmares where he got hurt, and you pleaded with him to leave that life behind—he said he did this to protect you, but what use was your being alive if he never made time to see it? After the ordeal with the Sokovia Accords, his disappearance solidified your anger towards him. You weren’t even a teenager yet, and he did bother to even say goodbye.

Life with your mother wasn’t at all bad—she was wonderful, and supportive, and you understood why she left your father; just like you, she was always anxious about him, until she couldn’t take it anymore. You were young when your parents split, having just started grade one, but you refused to go with her, longing to look up to the superhero she left behind. You couldn’t understand why she would leave the bravest man on the planet, why she wanted him to stop saving the world, until you lived with him. There’s hardly anything worse than getting back from school to an empty house, staying up past midnight waiting for your father to come back, and then watching him limp in, battered and bruised, his suit dirty and ashen, and not being able to do anything to help him.

When you moved in with your mother, you still felt a part of you was just undiscovered. You had this nervous energy you needed to release, you felt the need to do something with your body like your father did, but running and boxing were too undisciplined for you, and made your life feel more out of control than it offered a respite, and that’s when you found dance. You could use your body to express yourself without fear of losing control: you never wanted to go back to not knowing what could happen. You were often told this was a detriment to your unmatched talent, your refusal to improvise and let go hindered your performance, but still you refused to let yourself fall victim to potential injury, you couldn’t bear to see your mother that stressed over someone’s health again.

There weren’t many ballerinas in the small town you lived in, and so your relative popularity didn’t mean too much to you, but when a New York instructor saw a small production of The Nutcracker, you, for the first time, really realised your true potential. Ballet was your life, but moving back to New York ten years after leaving made you nervous. How many times had The Avengers destroyed that city? And it wasn’t really fear of being a casualty that made you anxious, but rather the constant reminders you’d see of your father’s heroism, and that would undoubtedly bring back unpleasant memories.

You couldn’t pass up the opportunity to perform Swan Lake. Your mother said she couldn’t come with you to New York, and you understood why. Neither of you had much money—until you passed that audition and made a stable career out of it, you certainly weren’t going to make it in that big city.

Maybe this big step brought about a little recklessness, because despite your years of conditioning yourself to poise and composure, you felt compelled to try out for the Black Swan, and lose yourself this time, to a more bold and seductive style, possibly to show your father he had missed out on your transformation into a woman.

It wasn’t hard to track him down, and you were short with him on the phone.

“I’ve got an audition in NYC. I need a place to stay for a little. If it works out, I’ll be able to get a new place, if not, I move back home. It’ll be less than a month.”

“An… audition?” he started, and you could practically hear his brows furrow, but he seemed to think better than to ask too many questions, and he sounded almost desperate though he tried to keep his voice level. On the verge of begging, he continued, “That’ll be amazing— it— it’ll be alright, honeycakes.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to cringe at the nickname, instead overcome by a wave of nostalgia, somehow longing for a memory of fatherly love you never really had. You cleared your throat and gave a quick confirmation of the date you’d be arriving before hanging up, and deciding it would be best to hold your head in your hands for a little, taking deep breaths to process this.

You had packed very light—a single bag—to make sure he really got the message you didn’t plan on staying any longer than necessary. You're surprised that when get out the cab, he’s standing on the sidewalk, hesitantly waiting for you to step out. You nearly don’t recognise him: he has a full beard now, and even though it has been ten years, it seems his soul had been wearied beyond that, his demeanour close to flat until you step into view, and he stands straighter as he sucks in a deep breath and gives a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi,” he greets, slightly breathless.

“Hi, Dad.”

He sighs in relief when you say the word, and you know why: he had abandoned you, he was right to think you didn’t consider him your father anymore, but the word slipped out, and you couldn’t take it back if you wanted to.

He surprisingly pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tightly, but you can’t bring yourself to return his embrace. He awkwardly pulls away and takes a step back.

“You’re so grown up,” he whispers as he looks at you, something like regret in his eyes. And you want to make a snarky comment about how he missed out on it but bite your tongue and give a slight smile and a small nod, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Welcome home.”

♬

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10, @mybabygirllove, @chinggay85-blog]

ℐ am DECEASED. You amaze me, really. I am stuck at the same scene in my drafts while you write these so seemingly effortless but they turn out SO GOOD, the plot lines up and the darknesssss ugh. And him>>> thank you for writing this!

nena mala

Summary: After the fall of the godfathers, Peña takes his personally desired target.

Pairings: Dark! Javier Peña x Dark! Reader

Warnings: consensual turns to noncon, hate fucking, drug trafficker reader, probably very uncannon because I am in the first season but I needed to write this, reader is veeery horny, un protected sex (p in v), oral sex (f receiving), choking, slapping, arresting (?, fingering, creampie, if you dont know Spanish i can translate it for you, degradation, tell me if I missed anything.

You celebrated the fall of the godfathers; finally achieving a monopoly of the cocaine trafficking into USA. Your club boomed with people, some friends, some willing to change sides after events and some clueless of what was being celebrated.

You pulled the hem of your dress down as you slithered through the crowd, a bottle of expensive whiskey in one hand as men dragged their eyes over you; if only they knew how dangerous it would be for them to even try something. Escobar and those guys may be upfront, but you slipped through shadows and actually fucking knew how to launder money.

A gentle tap on your shoulder made you twirl on your heels, almost slipping due to the alcohol in your veins, and you came face to face with one of your guys. He leaned in to your ear, whispering discretely.

"Hay un chancho acá; del DEA."

Your eyes scanned the venue, squinting to see through the party lights until your gaze fell on him. Thick shoulders bulging from a thin shirt, tan skin and tell tale porn star mustache. Javier Peña, your darkest dream. He stood by the bar, dark eyes scanning around. Oh, how you wished that he would chase you too.

"Gracias." You whispered back, patting his back, before making your way to the bar. Smoothly, your perched yourself beside him, as if pretending to order.

"Gabriel," You called your bar tender, perhaps louder than you should. "Un caipi porfa."

It must had worked, because you felt him settle beside you.

"Isn't that bottle enough?" He teased, thick accent sending shivers down your spine. You realized you still had the bottle clenched in your hand, embarrassment slightly rose your cheeks.

"This goes back to the bar;" You lied through your teeth, placing the bottle in some confused bar tender's hand. "Gotta keep my establishment running."

You looked over your shoulder to him, towering over your back. A glimpse of understandment flashed through his eyes, and you could almost eat him up right there.

"Ah, so you work here?" He questioned, but it felt teasingly. His forearm propped itself next to yours.

"I am the owner." You clarified, grabbing the Caipirinha that was served to you as your voice slurred. The cold glass wet your hand, almost as much as he was wetting your thong. "La mujer de la noche."

You gave him the name of the bar in a singsong voice, shoulder gently nudging against his chest. Almost as if it was a signal, his free hand fell on your lower back.

"Then congratulation on the business," He chuckled, taking the drink from your hand confidently and sipping it. "Celebrating anything tonight?"

He nodded to your extravagant outfit, the little black dress that clung to your body and the golden jewelry. True gold, not anything the other girls around you had. A smile forced itself in your lips drunkenly, but you couldn't actually tell a DEA what you were celebrating, despite how your intoxicated and excited mind wanted to.

"Nothing special; I could dress up like this to do my gardening."

You felt so hot flirting like this; you wanted Javier Peña to notice you for years. You almost got jealous seeing him running around the Godfathers, and seeing his veiny hands up close made you wish he would bend you over and cuff you up.

"Then I'd really like to have you as a neighbor." He joked and you laughed, as if his DEA salary could ever afford a house next to your fucking Villa.

"You surely are better than the ones I have." You retorted. Your only neighbors were now in jail.

"They give you a hard time?" He asked, and you were devouring the amount of attention he was placing on you. You leaned in closer, chest now perked barely grazing under his pecs through the thin clothing between you, and you smelled his perfume; whiskey, cigarettes and eucalyptus.

"I'd probably say I give them a hard time, considering how they look at me." You bit, using the excuse of the loud music to get as close as possible. He looked down at you, and you almost could see his mind hesitating his response.

"Then why don't you take me back to your place and give them something else to look at?"

You almost squealed, but you had to kept your cool. You bit your lip, because you possibly couldn't take him home. It was a one way ticket to a tax evasion fine, and if he searched hard enough, you'd probably end up in the same place as your neighbors.

"Can't leave the club like this," You said, painfully, seeing disappointment in his eyes made you panic; you spoke quickly, fearing he could take it the wrong way. "but my office is free, and right upstairs."

You didn't play along the game, you had faltered, but Javier was so close to you, you couldn't even think properly. He looked surprised at your crassness, but the smile didn't falter from his lips, tucked beneath that dreamy mustache you wanted to feel scratch your skin.

"Lead the way then." He muttered, eyes dangerous. As you turned around, draping his hand over your shoulder, a grin plastered on your face.

You barely reached the stairs when he had spun your around and slammed you to the wall, lips pushing against yours. An arm slithered around your back as a hand gripped your ass, hard. You melted like jelly into his arms as he pressed his hard onto you.

"Come on," You whined, the second his lips left yours and begun sucking your neck. "I wanna sit on that big nose of yours."

You felt your cheeks blush instantly, but words spilled out of your mouth carelessly. He roared in laughter, so you just pulled him into your office.

He ferociously pushed you into your zebra print couch, falling along you. The fabric of his jeans dragged against your open thighs, zipper falling almost like a puzzle piece against your panty clad slit. You moaned at the feeling, soaking through so much you wouldn't be surprised if you had left a spot. A hand hiking up your dress, your tangling in his curls while the other dig your claws into his shoulder.

He pulled away and you almost whined at the loss of his body heat. However, as he slipped off your underwear you couldn't be less bothered. He eyed your cunt, hungrily as he spread your thighs further apart. Leaning over, he placed a kiss over your dripping slit before licking a stripe along. Your eyes rolled all the way back as a breathy, needy moan erupted through your stained lips.

He ate you like a man starved, playfully dragging his curved nose over your clit, as if making you remember your words. His tongue fucked into you, lips wrapped around your soft point, the alternation of events making you buck your hips wildly and his fucking mustache just rubbed perfectly against your mount. He brought you to the edge only to drag himself away from you and observe how you kicked your heels against the couch, clenching his hair tightly, attempting perhaps to get him closer.

"Gonna give you the good thing," He groaned darkly, fingers now working your heels off you, hastily. Once he got them off, he plunged two fingers into your weeping cunt, making your gasp at the sudden intrusion as a small sting formed around the stretch of his fingers. "Can't believe a fucking club owner has this tight of a pussy."

You ignored the sexism and stereotype in his words, eyes clenched shut as you babbled to his fingers scissoring in you. You heard faintly the sound of a zipper, and peered open to see. The well trimmed patch of pubic hair, the red big tip point angrily to the sky, a vein that traveled down his shaft. "Javi, please."

Javi; the nickname you had given him since you saw his handsome face on the TV, it made you giggle like a teenager every time you discussed him with your girl friends.

"I'm going, sweetheart." He hushed, and your heart swelled at the nickname. He took his fingers out with a faint pop from your wetness and you spread your thighs even further apart, if possibly. He smeared your wetness across his dick, giving it a few good-luck pumps. Your mouth salivated at the sight, and your hands slipped to undo the buttons of his shirt, desperate to touch more of him.

He slipped the tip in and your eyes watered, pleasure shooting through your core.

"Just fucking ram it in, Javier." You demanded impatiently. He snickered, hands gripping your hips before he shot you menacing look. Propping himself in his knees, he slammed into you.

You moaned loudly, head rolling over the edge as you stretched around him. No thick fingers could have prepared you for this; he grunted, letting you know he hadn't expected it either. In your brief glory, he leaned over your body, mouth slotting against your ear, nibbling in your lobe and whispering, seductively.

"Never told you my name, honey."

You felt as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown over you as shivers ran your spine and your eyes burst open. You attempted to laugh, mind thinking of an excuse as he dragged his cock achingly slow in and out.

"I-I know," You sputtered, hands perhaps holding so tight into his shoulder as if measuring your strength. "I have every-" he had plunged into you more deeper than he had done before, forcing a stutter. "everyone who comes into-into my club registered."

He hummed, continuing his tortuously slow pace. You felt your thighs clench against his hips, waiting his response. You felt slightly more relieved as he begun thrusting quicker.

"And the name of your club is so intriguing." He spoke through his groans, although his words were so concise they felt rehearsed. "The lady of the night; I heard that name in my job."

Fuck. No. Stop. Red flags bloomed in your temple as you froze.

"Care to hear the story?" He asked, but his tone wasn't like the questions he had asked down in the bar. He stopped his ministrations, perchance attempting to concentrate himself. "She's a drug trafficker that currently has two million pounds entering the United States from, guess where, Colombia."

Yeah. He had you. Panic took control as your body begun shivering, violently. You managed to push him off your ear, seeing his face. Your juices glistened against his mustache as his teeth formed an almost casual smirk; lit by the dim warm light of your office, his face was contorted into the most pleasured expression. You panicked, hands pushing against shoulders which barely budged. He tutted, lips still stretched as he easily overpowered your wrists in his clasp.

He called your name, in full, not even the name you had on the club paper and the people around you knew you by; your actual fucking name. "You lied to me, bebita."

His cock was still kissing your uterus, you were sure you were so tense you had clenched around him like a vice.

"You lied to me," He repeated. "you actually are fucking celebrating your competition's downfall."

Yep. Correct, Perhaps if you agreed he'd let you go.

"Get off me," You snapped, teeth bared. "I'll scream."

He cackled almost childishly, before letting his free hand cradle your cheek. The sudden tenderness felt off.

"You can scream all you want, got the fucking police outside." He muttered. "all I needed was a quick arrest; but you presented yourself so easily," He begun rocking his hips once again. "So I thought, why don't I take my commission for the head ache you have caused me?"

His hand left your cheek and fell to cover your mouth, seizing your your shaking jaw in the process. You closed your eyes, thoughts rushing to your now sober head. The air was filled with the squelching noise of his dick ramming in and out and his heavy pleasure groans. He suddenly sighted, as if savoring the moment, and his hands blindly turned your body around, pressing his barely dressed chest to you damp back. Your chest spilled from the armrest, and you took the opportunity as he held your hip with one hand and aligned his cock.

"HELP-"

His forearm slapped against your neck, bicep bulging against your cheek as he choked words out of your mouth.

"Careful there," He rasped, sheathing himself in. You whimpered at the new angle. "Don't make me do anything you wouldn't like, at least not so fast."

He began curling his hips into you, allowing you some breathe. Not that you could breathe well, his pace had become brutal, as if punishing you from every fucking gram you sold. The couch creaked as he placed all his hip strength in his thrusts. He panted like a dog, allowing thick moans to fill your ears.

"Nena mala, muy mala," He howled, pulling the straps of your dress down to grip your tits. Rough, calloused hands fidgeting with your nipples. "Just need some good cock to put you on your place, huh? un buen pito para esta putita?"

Hand on your tit, bicep choking you and dick all the way down to your abdomen, and you felt yourself clenching around him. As if he knew- he probably did, given by the short breaths he took- his hand fell down to between your legs. He found your clit easily, as if he had learned were it was, and rubbed it with the same pressure he was imprinting his cock into you. Too hard for your taste, but he was barely giving your the luxury of not choking your lights out.

No no no no, you though as you felt it. Sparking down from your chest to your core, forcing your muscles taut, sending more and more dampness around your bodies. With a wail you came around his cock, tears of humiliation spilling down your cheek and onto his tan skin.

It drove him wild, wild enough to stop choking you and hoisting your bodies up into the air, the hand that was pleasuring you rising to slap against your ass cheek as he rutted in wildly.

"Nena mala," He grunted as if that was the only thing running through his brain, punctuating his words with messy thrusts and sharp slaps to the side of your cheek. "gonna fucking teach you to behave."

Three final hits and he was holding down your lower stomach, pressing into you as hot ropes of cum painted your insides. He kept you like that for a while, and you felt crushed as he propped his weight in your shaky knees. His head came to lay on your shoulder and he suddenly was pressing kisses into your neck as a faux action of love. Your breathe hitched, sobs unable to properly escape as you hyperventilated. He produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, probably you had felt them when you groped his ass but chose to ignore it. He clanked them around your wrists, and you allowed him to before dropping you face first into the couch, with your dress still ridden up to your back and neckline still pulled down and cum still dripping into your legs and ass still stinging. He placed a cigarette over his lips as he zipped his pants up, shirt still torn apart.

"It's a pity;" He spoke, muffled as he lit the tip of the cigarette dangling from his mouth. "You are really pretty."

You craned your neck to look at him, taking a drag. Smoke circled around him as his body shined with sweat, your lipstick stained along his face and neck.

"But hey, the justice system is rigged; could get you out early if you behave for me."

ℐ am literally amazed. Like, how do you come up with this? It is so beautifully written that I felt like I was right 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 and so deliciously dark, it is the 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 dark! Acacius fic I've ever read (and I've read a lot lol).

Hold them down

Summary: After years of missing your husband, your suitor decides to take matters into his hands.

Pairings: Dark! Suitor! Marcus Acacius x Queen! Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Noncon, unprotected sex (p in v) forced infidelity?, plotting of rape, historical inaccuracies, manipulation, rough rough sex, loss of virginity (and related blood), breeding kink, size kink, corruption kink, bondage, planned murder, dark dark and dark,

Inspired by the Epic Musical and the original Odyssey!

After the Twin Emperors had fallen, the Gladiator Hanno rose to power, being recognized by Lucilla as his long lost son, Lucius Verus. Succeeding his rise to power, his first order was to have Macrinus, a wealthy businessman and slave owner, executed for his treason against the Democracy of Rome and clear General Acacius' name.

Having decided not to love another woman after the death of his wife, he opted for a political marriage to benefit the city. Cherry picked by senators as the finest of eligible bachelors, you were a perfect match for the new Emperor.

Arriving to Rome from your certainly smaller yet blooming city, Lucius had clarified that he didn't intend in taking you as a lover, rather than as a companion and ally for his ruling; and when the day of giving the kingdom a heir came, the affair would be short and, well he didn't exactly said that word but, meaningless.

You weren't discontented in his boundaries, you weren't there to find a lover but to enlarge the possibilities of your kingdom. As years went by, Lucius had become tender with you, unlike the city that suddenly demanded a Prince. However, as Rome transitioned into a prosperous city, the people seemed to be appeased by being fed and war-less.

As a way to erase Geta and Caracalla's history, Lucius decided to free the colonies in Africa himself, so two years after your marriage he had embarked.

"Take care of Rome for me." He smiled in your bittersweet goodbye, holding your hands in his.

"And who will take care of me then?" You joked, feeling the rough finger pads of his work torn hands; his eyes fell behind your frame, with a confident smile.

"I actually have that covered;" You followed his eye line to see the broad, dark figure behind you. General Marcus Acacius himself, for some a Valiant Hero of Rome, for others, another victim of the deceased emperors' terror. "Acacius will be your personal Guard, in case anyone attempts anything against the Empress of Rome."

Despite the eerie way the General's big brown eyes seemed to narrow over you, you learnt to feel safe with his presence, despite being behind you at all time. It kept you calm as people begun questioning the Emperor's absence, a you begun to question it too.

A year passed, and rumors spread about wars breaking out in the colonies due to their new found freedom. Exploited colonies at war trying to survive from spoils of war, predictable really, but Lucius had wrote to you, soothing you that he was aiding the reconstruction of those societies. That was the last time he had wrote.

Another year went by, and the flourishing nature of Rome kept people from questioning the Emperor's absence, but not you. Your nights became sleepless, as you pondered around your room, perhaps hoping for sudden news, confirmation of something, anything. It was a cold night when your insomnia made you think about the man standing outside your bedroom door. General Acacius.

Silently, in case you regretted it, you tiptoed towards the big ornate door from your shared chambers, and cracked it open. There he stood, clad in his armor as the dim lights of the hallway torches illuminated his face; his right cheekbone held a scar, visible in the warm lighting as he slowly came to look at you. In his two years as your shadow, you had never taken your time to look at him.

"My Queen," He whispered sternly, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you still awake at this hours?"

You licked your lips guiltily, and his gaze fell onto the thin, almost see through sleepwear you had on under the blanket draped over your shoulders. He could trace the outline of your navel...

"May you come in?" You asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your shoulder as you realized how inappropriate this was, but you didn't care; perhaps his war experience could help you calm down. "I cannot conceal sleep, and someone to talk to could be nice."

He obeyed silently, sneaking through the crack on the door. The Emperor's chambers held an extravagant amount of luxuries, left behind by the old Emperor Geta; Lucius had wanted to get rid of them, but as producing an heir, he never got the time to do it.

Acacius' gaze fell over the bed, only your side disrupted as if Lucius was coming back anytime soon. You had sat down in a velvet chair beside the fireplace, hands clutched over a golden cup of raspberry wine. He walked over to you in slow steps, as if expecting you to tell him the issue and leave when commanded. If you hadn't gazed expectantly at the chair beside you, he probably wouldn't have sat down.

"I am unease by Lucius' absence," You confessed, despite the obviousness. "I heard rumors he was fine, back in Numidia, building houses, but he hasn't written to me in over a year."

Acacius hummed, showing he was listening, however your wild eyes indicated that you wanted an answer. "Your concern is reasonable, my Empress, the city shares your discomfort."

You furrowed your brows at his words, surprised the matter was relevant enough to discuss. "I had only heard some questions, but I believe the people knew his circumstances."

"It isn't that they dislike you;" He clarified, sending relief down your stomach. "In fact, they adore you."

You felt your lips twist into a small smile in his words.

"They adore you so much they trust you to rule if, of course let's pray not, Lucius doesn't return."

Your stomach sank once again at the possibility, but Acacius gave you a warm smirk, as if it was a compliment.

"The issue is..." He hesitated, and you saw the reflection of the flames in the brown of his eyes as he looked at you, seriously. "the succession."

You hummed, intrigued to what he was meaning. Your eyes asked him to explain more, and he let out a breathe when the blanket slipped off your shoulders, allowing him to see the outline of sometihing far more tempting than your navel.

"If Lucius hasn't been home for almost two years by now, and you haven't been with child yet, the senate fears the throne may spiral once again to a tyrant after your passing."

You shook your head in confusion, a new worry appearing and attaching itself to your chest. "Why haven't I been informed of this fear?"

Acacius chuckled lightly, as if you were too naive to understand; it made you feel small, stupid.

"They do not wish to offend you, my majesty." He explained, and you scowled. "Now, you are in your prime age for...carrying an heir...but if Lucius is to be gone for longer, let's say four more years, you'd be pass that age, and thus..."

"Anyone could take the throne." You completed, understatement dooming in your features. "But I couldn't...Lucius could be back tomorrow for all I know."

"There still is time," He reassured, taking the cup of wine from the table. "but the lack of knowledge of his stance is, as you say, uneasy for most of the Senate, and of course the people of Rome."

As you sipped more wine, you leaned over the armrest of your chair, as if wishing to keep the conversation as private as possible, but all he could see was the way your breast, unconsciously, became visible from your neckline. His breathe hitched.

"As a knowledgeable and prestigious General," You asked, eyes wide and frantic. "what should I do?"

He pretended to think for a while then sighed. "In confidence, I believe you should wait for him, perhaps a year or two, and if he isn't here by then and you haven't received any notice, you should remarry, just for the sake of your wellness and the city's."

You almost gasped from his words, the alcohol inhibiting your senses. "My sake?" You manage to question him, words starting to slur. Of course they did, you had been drinking for hours trying to catch sleep.

"The people may believe that you are intertwined in the fall of the city," he whispered, eyes wild as if he was personally offended by what the people may do. "They can believe you have arranged it all to set someone in the throne, they might riot, and we know from our old Emperors that rioting never goes well; imagine what they could do to a women such as yourself."

Acacius' words stained your mind for the next year, as Lucius failed to prove his existence once again. You had proposed the idea to the Senate, who seemed surprised by your initiative; Acacius had later told you that they didn't expect a woman as devoted as you to determine that if Lucius didn't appear or made himself known in the next year, you would seek another man to remarry to provide the heir, but that it was what all of them believed to be correct. You had grown fond of him in the last year, inviting him for wine in those restless nights and him informing you from what the Senate was too scared to tell you. As Lucius had grown to be a close friend, so did Acacius.

Which is why, after two years had passed and you had to teary-eyed greet the suitors that had came wishing to become the Emperor of Rome, you were taken a back when General Acacius presented himself before any of them, asking for your hand. His thick frame, clad in his white honorary attire along with ten of his best trained soldiers trailing behind him, had profusely scared all the other suitors that stumbled and staggered on their words after him.

Which is what made you jump on him like a rabid dog once they had gone to their rooms and Acacius was the only one i the throne room with you. Standing up from your golden throne, identical to the empty one beside you, your feet stomped near him. He was awfully tranquil, almost smirking at you.

"May I know why you have proposed as a suitor?" You bellowed at him, praying this was a sick, twisted joke, like you had joked that your "Guard dog" of a General would scare them off.

"Because, my Empress, the senate and I believe that a true Emperor needs to be one who knows how to handle the rise of Rome into democracy." He explained, and you felt a pang of betrayal, jealousy even, as the Senate had allegedly preferred to discuss such matters with him rather than the actual Empress. "One that has aided in it's rise and is skilled at controlling the city; one that could guide you through ruling."

"You said they trusted me." You protested, looking up at him; despite being furious, you could see by the way he craned his neck to look down at you that he didn't feel threatened, at all.

"They do, I assure you that; but the uneducated and starved people of Rome won't take a women as an Emperor, much less if she has some foreigner as a husband." The way he sneered at you told you he had this planned. "But you and I know that you are smart enough to know I am your best opportunity; I am a war Hero and a symbol of democracy, my Empress, the people would riot if you chose any other man."

You glared, never expecting this from him. He enjoyed the way you stormed out of his view, silky dress swishing as he laughed so hard, he almost dropped the carefully stacked letters that told him Lucius would be home in six months.

Almost as if you knew, you had delayed your choice for four months by then, posing impossible challenge after challenge, simply to get on Acacius nerves. But he did not even falter; even if it was bringing dozens of water buckets across the city, taming wild horses or swimming with crocodiles to retreat minuscules gold pieces from the bottom of the murky river, Acacius managed to have win after win. For most people, it was becoming clearly ridiculous how adamant you were against Acacius.

If he had proposed the idea to you things would have been different, but he had planted seeds of doubts in the Senate about your capabilities, evidenced by your revengeful behavior in presenting tasks. The more you fought with Acacius, the more the Senate seemed to become wary of you and the more the people of Rome called you frivolous. You acknowledged the last part, as you were now dedicating more time in plotting unachievable tasks than governing the city.

As grief for mourning Lucius meddled with the new issues of the city, Acacius looked at you victoriously; naked war torn torso and a shining emerald in his hand as he retrieved from the river, almost waving goodbye to the last bunch of suitors you have scared away.

Almost 5 months had passed since you had greeted the suitors, and the only one still standing was Acacius. As you walked into the Senate's room, you caught wind of something that drove you wild.

"If the wedding is going to be next week, then we would need to at least levy taxes until the end of the season to compensate for the rise-"

"What wedding?" You bellowed, and the Senator who was speaking quickly silenced himself as the whole room turned their heads towards you. Marcus stood, dressed in his best, before rising his goblet to you; it took you a while to see from where he was rising from, Lucius' throne.

"There aren't anymore suitors," He informed, and his name rolled out of his tongue mockingly. "Next year you'll turn 28, and we cannot risk it anymore."

"And has this council decided this over me, their Empress?" Your gaze fell on the senators around you, men who rolled their eyes as if you were taking up their time; as if calling your self the Empress was a mockery. "Has the council forget Lucius had chose me to rule by his side and not just to produce an heir?"

"This Council had chosen you," Acacius corrected, and you felt the tips of your ears burn up in embarrassment. "and if Lucius had given the city an heir this wouldn't be an issue, but he didn't and thus, I am the most suitable option."

You dug your nails into your palms, seething at him.

"And this Council believes it is correct to plan a wedding without consulting the bride?" You hissed at them. “What do the people think?”

"There had been riots in the south due to the succession," A senator informed you. "You would have known if you had attended the last meeting."

You felt fury pile up in your throat, as if itching to scream, because no one that even told you about the last meeting. You felt caged by these men, and Acacius grinning peacefully at you, that conniving snake of a man had turned the Council against you.

You sighed, tears kissing the brim of your eyes in frustration before clapping your hands together. “If the people of Rome wish me to marry, I will, however please give me a week to mourn, properly, the loss of our Emperor. I will marry Marcus Acacius in two weeks time, without complaint.”

Acacius’ smiled fell, and you believed your surrender had annoyed him.

“Haven’t you got two years already to do so?” He bit at you, and the Senate looked around bewildered by Acacius sudden lack of manners.

“Oh I know it is a selfish desire, but it would facilitate the process for me.” You pouted to the people of the Senate, who became more understanding after you agreed to marry him. “If that is all, I am to leave.”

You walked through the door calmly, running the second the Council could no longer see you. He had trapped you, backed you up against a wall and showed your scared self to the whole Senate of Rome. As you unlocked the door, precaution you took everyday since Acacius had proposed, you felt a shadow lurk around the corner. You almost jump when you saw him, striding towards you. If you were to open the door, he could have pushed inside, and if you stayed there, god knows what he could do. So you stayed frozen.

He called your name, rather than my Empress; it was a way of stabilizing dominance. You glared at him, hand on the door knob.

“I hope that you can come to see our marriage as more than a political ploy.” He grinned, as if he was one of those brand new suitors that attempted to gain your trust while flirting. “I certainly can’t wait to give the city an heir.”

The way he looked at you urged you to run and hide.

“I have nothing to discuss with you, Acacius.” You responded, pushing the door slightly open to slip inside. “You have betrayed my trust.”

As you were about close the gap from were to entered, the General placed his big hands on the door, speaking to you from the ajar door.

“What is it, my Empress?” He pressed, the door becoming thousand times heavier under his strength. “Are you scared about the consummation, because you and Lucius had never really…?”

With a burst of strength you managed to push the door closed, resting your sweaty eyebrow to the cool ornate door as tears begun pouring from your eyes. Since Acacius had proposed you stopped inviting him at night, and locked the door. Some nights, as wind rustles trees and all you heard was his feet creaking the floorboards outside your room, you could also hear a faint rustle, and attempt to open your locked door, as if you could have forgotten to lock it some day.

That was another thing that was slowly driving you mad.

The next week went by organizing wedding affairs, and you begun to question what your plan was after begging to get married in two weeks. It had been stupid, you guessed, something that had strikes over your head as you looked over at a statue of Athena. You prayed for her strength.

Acacius loomed over your figure as he had done years before your friendship had bloomed, although the ghost of a creeping grin appeared in his face more than usually. You attempted really, to see the good side, but the fact that he had manipulated you into proposing the idea and then used it to his advantage deeply sickened you.

It was about two days from the wedding day when Acacius had disappeared almost all day, and you felt at peace by his absence. As the tailor arranged your wedding dress, clearly just a reconstruction of the old one, you heard him gallop through the entrance of the Palace, holding something on his hand.

“The Emperor is dead.” He told the Senate, holding up a letter he had received from the colonies. “Let the news not startle us from guiding Rome towards glory.”

You furrowed your brows, Lucilla next to you breaking into a deep sob.

“What does the letter say?” You asked him, and he looked at you as if you were testing him.

“Would be cruel to discuss the details of the dead infront of his mother, my future wife.”

You almost felt bile rising up to your throat from the words he said.

That night you became even more restless, so much it physically hurt. The night had been one of the coldest the was and a thundering storm had grown from the coast of Rome up until the palace. It felt like a message from the Gods, with all the thundering you couldn’t hear the door knob nor the hushed whispers behind it.

Your eyes were closed but just a thin layer of drowsiness was on top of you, not enough for you to peacefully sleep without the hammering at your temple. That is when you felt the bed dip beside you, and his scent brought you jumping up.

“Lucius?” You questioned through the darkness of the night, his perfume thick in the air.

“I am so sorry to inform you that Lucius is gone.”

Acacius. Your blood froze as your eyes fluttered open. In the darkness, the door hadn’t been opened because you could have seen the torch lights from the crack. There had been another way he had gotten in.

“However, he will return tomorrow night, to find his wife has remarried.”

You looked over his figure, lit by the moonlight entering from the balcony.

Broad shoulders and the willowy of his Roman nose.

“But he might as well return tomorrow morning, and that is why I must secure my claim.”

He spoke with such tranquility it send shivers down your spine. The fireplace had gone off, leaving burning embers. You looked at the door once again, still locked, by the time you could have gotten there he would have caught you. He was stronger, faster and more agile.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked him, voice quivering. He begun untying his armor, letting it clank slowly into the ground, accompanying the sound of lightning outside.

“Because I had been tempted with you from the day you arrived, little girl.” The nickname felt warm, but it spat out of his tongue like poison. “I was the one who had saved the city, but Prince Lucius got the crown, the power, and he got you.”

“Wh-What is it about me that you want?” You choked out, breathing startling as his robes pooled at his feet.

“If Lucius is set to return and you have already consummated your marriage to me, my heir would be on the throne.” He explained, and you got a deja vu of that night when you had invited him in; the same tone. “You’ll probably still be married to him, due to the coincidence, but you will be carrying my child. It will be our secret to history; an Emperor, son of a General.”

You slowly pulled the blankets from your body, thinking that if you were to arrive to the balcony, perhaps you could scream for help.

“Wasn’t it me that you wanted?” You persisted, entertaining him to distract him as you feet softly touched the cool marble floor, he had hunched over to undo his sandals.

“Well, of course, but the Emperor is gone a lot, he is too busy to notice-“

The sound of your feet padding against the floor made him turn, seeing you race until the balcony. He jumped over the bed, eyes rabid as a predator chasing a prey. The cold air of the balcony struck you, along with droplets of rain that all over you. Gripping onto the bannister, you screamed, but no sound came out, his hand clapped tightly over your mouth as his other clung to your torso, securing you to him.

“Stupid girl.” He bellowed, dragging you inside. You could feet the heat of his naked body, chest pressed against you, as you felt his stiffening cock against your lower back. It all felt too real, suddenly. He tossed you to the bed, climbing on top quickly and caging you. Just his immense back was enough to restrict your movements. You cried and punched his chest, attempting to push him to no avail.

As one hand splashed across your chest to keep you still, the other moved down, slipping between your silk gown. It dragged punishing between your tights, forcing them apart with his thick waist. It found the patch of pubic hair, hiding something sweet for him in its center. You could almost hear him smirk.

“Are you wet?” He asked, teasingly as his index finger ran across your slit. He then took his hand back out, presenting two fingers to you. “Suck, and make them wet or I’ll fuck you as dry as you are right now. Don’t you dare bite.”

You opened your mouth slightly, and he introduced two thick digits into your mouth; your tongue swirled around them, tasting the strong taste of perfume. He had taken the time to put on Lucius’ scent, perhaps to taunt you.

Once pleased, he pulled them out of your mouth and directed them to where they were before, bunching your dress at your hips. His fingers now grazed more softly, wet, and he rubbed them into your slit, finding a beaded nerve at the top.

You had touched yourself before; sometimes Lucius would come back drunk after dealing with claims and work all day; you excused him such actions, he had a lot to deal with. And he wouldn’t touch you, but he would hug you and hold you close, and that minimum amount of contact would drive you wild. You knew what was coming when he began circling around your flesh, the wetness that spread and threatened to burst at the tip of your lips.

“Feel how wet are you getting for me? has your husband ever get you like this?” He pressed, slipping one thick digit inside; your walls swallowed it, hugging it tightly; he almost moaned at the heat, the tightness of your core. “Are the rumors true? that you have never consummated your marriage?”

His voice was stern once again, as if he was one of the court ladies asking you about it; you thought to tell him the typical lie, that you had consummated but the stress of running the rising Rome had taken a toll on you, and that you will wait. However, you thought for a second that if you were honest perhaps he would stop.

“Yes,” you spat, eyes shut tightly as you felt your body betraying you, hips almost buckling. “we never…never had the chance.”

He chuckled, deep in his chest. “Then I’ll have another thing he doesn’t.”

His jealousy was almost childlike; he wished you because you weren’t his.

His fingers worked inside you, preparing you. Your mind, fogged with pleasure, attempted to see any way you could fight back; perhaps he’d be weaker once he entered you. Perchance you’d loose that part of you but escape his seed.

Seeing you still, the hand holding you down came up to rip the top of your night gown as a thunder cracked the sky. Your peaks hardened under the unforgiving cold night, and your body started to yearn for the heat of his body. His gaze roamed your tits, recalling the first night you had invited him in, perfect in form and size for him despite you not being keen on them.

“Such a fucking good pair,” He murmured, hand skimming over them, groping them barbarically as his other hand sped up, adding another finger, eliciting a gasp from you. “once you are my wife you aren’t going to parade around court with those skimpy dresses you love, or invite any guards inside at such hours of the night.”

Through your gasp you had realized that his words were becoming sloppier, he was forgetting his plans. You had to wait. He pinched your nipple as he begun curling his fingers, sending a jolt of energy and pressure to your core, places you had never reached.

You felt sudden emptiness when he pulled out his fingers, and you met out a shuddered sight of relief. Tears ran into your scalp, tears you hadn’t notice you were crying. His hand dipped between his naked body as the other finished ripping your nightgown, and as he let out a grunt you knew he was grabbing his cock. It bumped against your leg, and its own weight made you cry harder; you knew he was big.

“Still,” he commanded, seeing you shake. “Or I’ll shove it all in.”

You did your best, clenching your eyes as you attempted to wake up from this nightmare. Praying that it was once, that is.

He pressed the tip in, almost as big as your fist. The big head slowly broke through your walls, and he was shaking now too, lips parted and eyes clenched, that was all you could see as lightning striked the sky once again. “Feels so good,” he muttered under his breath, gripping your shoulders tightly. “I’m sorry-I can’t-“

He pushed in, all eight inches of himself and you let out a sharp cry he shushed pressing his lips towards him. Full and tasting of wine, a breathe than had fanned over your cheek but you had chosen to ignore. The scruff of his beard scratched against your face, but the pain of his cock was worse.

Thick and long, it had broken through the thin barrier of skin; your hymen or constricting walls, you didn’t know. He planted his weight in his knees and forearms, caging you as your legs dangled at the side of his imposing hips.

“I am not sorry for what I am doing.” He clarified, voice airy from delight. “But I am sorry for this, my queen, I cannot control it.”

Before you could confuse yourself about what he meant, he begun thrusting into you, curling his hips as some animal in heat. Your moans were in pain and his were in pleasure as he melted onto you; he was fucking you so hard you felt as if he was trying to imprint the shape of his cock into you; it felt like hours, and it probably was too, his lips momentarily trying to catch your unresponsive ones, silencing moans and cries.

You knew then that there was no escape, no way you could push this man off you. You felt something wet growing, but now you were sure it wasn’t arousal.

“So good of a pussy,” He grunted into your ear, now gripping your thigh as if he was attempting to spread you even more open. “gonna fuck a son into you, make you finally mine.”

His words only created more tears, as if that was their only aim.

“Such a sweet Empress, s-so eager to please everyone, such a fucking. Good. Girl.”

He synced his thrusts with the last words, each more punishing than the previous.

“So loyal too,” he cooed, mockingly, teeth kneeding at your neck. “loyal to her absent husband.”

He was leaving marks, you knew that. His arm suddenly wrapped around you waist, muscle flexing as he hoists into the air and you fell down deeper into his cock. Your arms braced itself in his shoulder for support, sheets almost sticking to your back due to the sweat that had pooled. One hand in your lower back and and the other groping your ass tightly as he fucked into the air, making you feel every ridge and vein in his member.

“Gonna cum,” he confessed, unashamed. “right into this cunt.”

“No no please-” you mustered all your strength to say, but he was far too gone, plopping you once again on the bed but then bringing your thighs together and slinging your legs over his shoulder, clutching them together as his cock came in and out almost fully. His final thrusts felt as if he was trying to reach your guts, cock tensing and twitching inside you, before shooting hot ropes of cum right into you as his full body weight fell onto you, stretching you to the point your knees almost touched your face. He caught himself in his hands a few moments later, pulling out.

You hadn’t noticed, but the sun begun to peak from the balcony, signaling morning. The tears had dried from your face. As your legs fell back onto the bed, you saw the blood. Around your thighs, into the bed and around his cock and pubic hair. Staining the scene as a gruesome crime scene.

You felt your cunt start to throb, painfully. Your hand stopped by your pelvis, also in pain alike your legs.

“Took it so good,” he praised, and now you could see him better. Body scarred, some fresh scars from your scratching, wild brown curly hair, his take tell scar on his left cheekbone and blown out dark eyes. He was terrifying as he observed your core, blood and cum and arousal just peeking through the swollen folds. “but I forgot something.”

No, you thought, too tired to protest as his fingers found your sensitive pussy once more. You shook your head as your hand attempted to grip his, but he looked at you as a warning.

“Need to make you cum.” He demanded, fingers slipping in way easily than before. “Quickly.”

It sounded like a promise, but it was his aim. Two fingers lodged inside you, a thumb in your clit and his other hand gripping your fighting wrists. Curling his fingers and rubbing you, was all it take. You felt the pleasure build up, and shame spread through your face as the faucet turned on and you sobbed once again.

If he was to rape you, that was one thing, but if he was to make you cum on his fingers, make you feel pleasure in all of this, that was twisted. That was a blow in your honor.

He wouldn’t stop, a bit more forceful that you would have desired, but he was a man on a mission. You suddenly felt as if you needed to pee, shame flickering over your body as you tried to shut your legs, but his hand was stern and no amount of pressure would make him retreat.

He managed to bring you to your climax, pleased smirk plastered on his face as your pussy begun shooting arousal. You cried harder, choking through moans from the pleasure he was forcing upon you, seeing how you soaked his softening cock and hand. He took his hand out, wet and crimson stained, and brought it to his lips. He hummed at the taste of you.

“Gotta taste this pussy some day, perhaps tomorrow in our wedding night.”

You were too gone to actually listen to his words as he used the scraps of your night gown to clean the blood on his body, and slipped into his armor once again.

He then walked over to you, picking once again the scraps and tearing them into long pieces. He grabbed your wrists and you allowed him, too tired to fight him.

He used the straps to tie you to the bedhead; then pulling another piece to go around your mouth. It was futile to attempt anything.

“A Numidian ship is embarking today, carrying your precious husband, let’s see if I can get to him first.”

And he left you, bound and naked.