HOW DID I MISS THIS?! This Is So Sweet!!!!

HOW DID I MISS THIS?! This is so sweet!!!!

No Words Needed feat. Marcus Pike & f!reader

a @iamasaddie challenge fic | Rated: PG | word count: 694 warnings: body insecurities, self esteem issues, loud music, internalized fatphobia, sweet fluff, no smut A/N: Thank you to @noxturnalpascal + @strang3lov3 for their eyes and minds 💜 also, darn you @iamasaddie for having me write more fluffy Marcus!

Aries: Competitive but insecure

There is nothing an Aries cannot achieve once they set their mind to it—no mountain is too high. However, you will also find them nursing a hidden imposter syndrome that can chip away at their confidence if allowed free rein. 

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The music was loud. Too loud. Marcus had made himself come to this music festival, desperate to spend more time with you, but he was getting close to his breaking point with the incessant drum beats and the bright, flashing lights.

He felt out of place. He was older than the majority of the people swarming around him, not to mention heavier - feeling the full effects of his weight with his tight clothes and sweating body, but it was the over stimulation of the sights and sounds that had him just-about ready to leave without seeing you.

A younger couple ran into him as they giddily moved to get closer to the stage, bumping into his distended belly. It made him feel even more insecure about his presence, but it also ignited a determination in him to find you. He’d made it this far, he needed to see it through. 

Wading through the sea of bodies, he kept his head up, eyes scanning over the crowd trying to find you. You’d told him you’d have pink glow stick bunny ears on, and it was all he had to go on, since all cellphones were confiscated at the door. Marcus disliked that immensely; his history in the FBI leaving him not feeling comforted by random people in security t-shirts while simultaneously being untethered from his contact to the real world. 

As his mind was just about to delve into how he could levy a complaint and prove that his thoughts were correct on the matter, he spotted your glowing pink ears, bopping up and down to the music a few rows away. He smiled as he got closer, admiring the view of your cute butt in pink and purple sequined hot pants, gyrating to the same beat your ears bobbed around to. 

The insecurities he had before were replaced with ones entirely focused on you; he silently prayed that he wouldn’t fuck this up by being too needy or not tough enough. He couldn’t help but compare himself to the younger, thinner guys dancing around in various states of undress, showing off their chiseled, lithe bodies. His own heavier form was covered in a pink t-shirt and a pair of bright beach shorts, both approaching the ‘too-small’ range of fit. But the moment you turned and your eyes met his, all of his fears melted away. 

He offered you his trademark sweet smile and you in turn scampered up to him excitedly, grabbing his hands in yours and placing a pair of ear plugs on a beaded cord in his hands. A crescendo of feeling swelled up inside that you’d thought about his comfort enough to bring these for him. There would be no way to hear what the other was saying over the loud music anyway, but the way you both looked at each other, no words were needed to start putting Marcus’ concerns and self esteem issues to rest.

Your hand moved up to the back of his neck and you pulled him into a hug, while the other subtly rested on his chubby love handle. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back, trying to push aside his knee-jerk reaction to pull your hand away from feeling how big he was. You felt him stiffen a bit at where your hand rested and you gave his slight overhang a gentle squeeze. 

He pulled apart from you, eyes searching yours for some insincerity or teasing, but all he saw was you smiling up at him with genuine affection. 

The hand that was behind his neck slid down his chest and landed on his belly, and your mouth moved. The loud music absorbed the sound of your voice, but Marcus could read your lips. 

“I like you, Marcus.”

He blushed and smiled bashfully, finally content in the knowledge that he had nothing to be insecure about with you.

no more taglist - follow @beefnotes for fic notifs!

Well, that was down right delicious! 🥵

the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn." 

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him. 

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly. 

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together." 

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago. 

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his. 

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.  

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying. 

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins. 

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body. 

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come. 

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.  

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."  

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you. 

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure." 

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours. 

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore." 

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large. 

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine. 

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress.  You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air. 

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast. 

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game. 

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.  

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once." 

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves. 

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress. 

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you. 

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting. 

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders. 

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man. 

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue. 

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him. 

 You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again. 

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill. 

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.  

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back. 

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good. 

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt. 

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat. 

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish. 

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him. 

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees. 

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself." 

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his.  You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks. 

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great. 

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind. 

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all. 

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth. 

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done." 

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.  

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back. 

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb. 

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would. 

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders. 

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name. 

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him. 

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim. 

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs. 

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle. 

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.  

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars. 

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest. 

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll. 

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.  

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you. 

"Say it." 

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust. 

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face. 

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire." 

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt. 

"Say it." 

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking. 

"I am . . . I am. . ." 

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is. 

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!" 

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum. 

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it. 

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair. 

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls. 

"Are you satisfied?" 

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth. 

"I am, wife." 

Aww! Thank you! They definitely have a special place in my heart as well ❤️

Parents to Lovers Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

These are all stand alone one shots, they are listed here chronologically but posting wise it’s random. ❤️

Paint with Me: You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Friday Night: First time Frankie tells you he loves you and finally meeting the boys.

Play Date Hookup: Frankie arrives early to pick up Missy. ✨NEW✨

Between Us: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Goober: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.

🥵🥵🥵

Well this put me in a better mood!

circumstance

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a stormy night, you’re haunted by a ghost from your past.

Warnings: dub con | unprotected p in v sex | creampie | unsanitary sexual practices | cheating | coercion | possessiveness | (brief) fingering (f receiving) | biting | oral (f receiving) (mentioned) | mentions of food and alcohol | mentions of blood and war

Notes: God idk what it is with me and seeing random pictures of Pedro characters that make me go feral. Anyways, wrote this in an hour, hope this is anything. I had Latin in school but I’m not vouching for any of the Latin words in this. I mostly wrote this because I’ve had a vendetta against international bestselling author Robert Harris ever since I was 15 years old. This is loosely based on a scene from his novel Imperium that has been haunting me for almost 20 years now. Also based on this post by @ozarkthedog.

***

There’s war. Outside the city, the land is burning. Behind the city walls, life goes on as it always has. There’s decadence and dissipation and life. That’s your part of the story. That’s all you’ve ever known. The comfort and the safety. That’s all you’ve ever needed to feel fulfilled.

During the night, when the city quiets down, when the people return to their homes and the public life ceases, you can sometimes hear it, like a storm brewing over the distant sea, like the rumbling of a volcano miles and miles away, taking deep breaths before spewing its fiery death. On clear nights, nights free of clouds and wind, nights where the air is so heavy it feels like a blanket weighing you down, you can even see it, the light from the battlefield, the glow of a carnage that swallows everything, even itself.

This night isn’t clear at all. This night brought rain and hail and thunder so violent it shakes the foundations of your house. You’re alone, reclining on your triclinium, too drained from dinner to move much. The storm promised some reprieve from the muggy summer air, but the heat is worse now than it was this afternoon. The wine you had with your meal, the glass in front of you now refilled a third time, combined with the weather makes your head feel like it has been wrapped in wool. Even breathing seems laborious.

But there are footsteps against mosaic floors, and footsteps mean visitors and visitors mean business. Business at such a late hour is never a good sign. With a groan you stand, with a sigh you straighten your tunic, and then the footsteps are drowned by a clap of thunder so loud you flinch.

What follows it is not the sight of one of your servants or even your husband. In the gloomy darkness that always follows a flash of lightning a shadow moves into the room, and when your eyes have adjusted to the dim lights of the lucernae all around you, you flinch again, this time with cause.

A man is standing before you, looking like the slain ghost of a soldier from the battlefield nearby. He is covered in dirt and grime, wet from the rain, wet from the blood he has recently spilled. His armor looks black in the darkness, and your eyes flicker to his side in trepidation only to discover that he’s still wearing his sword. He’s still wearing his sword, going against the rules of your house, the rules of your husband.

“Where is he?” the stranger asks, his voice deep and dangerous like the thunder outside.

You could play dumb, you could act like you don’t know who he’s talking about, but in that voice you discover something familiar, like a memory of a distant dream, never quite forgotten.

“He isn’t here,” you reply. “He might come back later, but he’s with the senate.”

The man steps closer, quick strides that take him right to the foot of your triclinium. You step backward until you reach its head, trying to put the piece of furniture between the two of you. Your hands are clammy.

“Good,” the stranger answers with a twitch of his lips that’s all too familiar for all the wrong reasons. “I promised you I’d be back for you, and I always keep my promises.”

There’s a doorway behind you leading through a small peristyle straight to your husband’s tablinum. You glance at the court, at the shrubs and flowers and fountains that you know are there but that are currently hidden by curtains of rain and darkness.

“Don’t –,” the stranger starts, but it comes too late.

You turn and run, skip down the two steps from the porch into the garden itself, your feet splashing into puddles as you run and run. Heavy footfalls behind you, heavy breathing, and a heaviness in your heart, calling back to a similar moment years ago that happened on such a different day full of laughter and sunshine and secret kisses exchanged in secret corners.

You reach the doorway to the tablinum. “Stop!” you bellow, and to your surprise he does. To your surprise, this works, and you don’t know what to do with that. “What do you want, Acacius?” you ask, your heart growing even heavier when you name him.

“You know what I want,” he answers, the rain loudly hammering against his armor, the water dousing his hair, making his curls stick to his forehead. “I came back to collect what you owe me.”

“We were children,” you remind him.

He’s up the steps faster than you can say those three words, the years between now and that summer afternoon seemingly having left no traces.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he growls, the storm raging over the city reflected in his eyes.

You step backwards into the tablinum, one hand protectively slung across your stomach. “You should leave, Acacius. I have nothing more to say to you.”

But there is only so far you can go before your back connects with your husband’s writing desk. And once it does there is nowhere for you to run to.

“I don’t need you to say anything.” His face is cast in shadows now, but when another flash lights up the night sky, you see that his expression is completely blank. “I just need you to lift up those expensive skirts of yours and let me take what’s mine.”

“Go back to that battlefield of yours,” you reply. “Go back and defend Rome like you’re supposed to. Or are you too much of a coward still?”

You should have known he would not take that kindly, should have known that provoking him wouldn’t make him leave. But when you feel his cold, wet hand wrapped around your wrist, when you’re being yanked into his chest, turned around, and shoved up against the desk, it still catches you by surprise. Some part of you, the one that never left that sunny afternoon, didn’t think he’d have it in him. Another part wanted him to.

His body presses into you with such force the desk scrapes against the stone floor with a creak loud enough to be heard over the storm. The sound that cannot be heard is the gasp you let out when he pushes up your tunic, exposing your legs to the humid night air.

“Don’t –,” you start.

He shushes you, one dirty finger touching your lips. You can smell the storm and the blood on him. He can feel your shaky breath.

“Just this once,” he mumbles into your hair.

Maybe you should fight this, but you don’t know how. He kicks your feet apart, and maybe you should kick back, connect your heel to his shin, and run. He bites the spot where your neck connects to your shoulder, and maybe you should bite his finger that is now resting against your lips while the rest of his hand is wrapped around your chin and throat, bite down hard until the bone cracks. He runs his other hand down your backside and pushes it between your legs, groaning at the warmth and wetness he finds there, and maybe you should use this moment of weakness to climb across the desk and search for something to defend yourself with.

All of it passes and you do nothing. All of it passes and you push backward against him, sucking his finger in between your lips. He pulls it out of your mouth, grabs the hair at the back of your neck, and pushes your head down toward the desk, your shoulders straining in protest. The groan you let loose is read as defiance by him.

“I told you to be quiet,” he hisses. “Just …”

He trails off and at first you don’t know why but then the hand at the back of your neck is gone and you sigh with relief, a sound that turns into something less human when he pushes two fingers into you.

“God, you’re tight,” he groans, his forehead resting against your shoulder.

“Please …,” you try again, but you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for.

There’s a rustling sound behind you, leather and fabric being moved frantically, and then his fingers are gone, replaced by something thick and heavy spreading you open. You lift yourself up on the tips of your toes, trying to adjust, trying to lessen the burn, but he digs his fingers into your hips and pushes you back down, right onto him.

“Stay,” he orders. “Just … just take it.”

His words are slurred now, and your vision is blurry, your eyes wet from biting your lip so hard you can taste blood on your tongue. He rocks into you, and your nails scrape against the wood of your husband’s desk, leaving marks in their wake. But you do as you’re told.

“That’s better.” He bites your shoulder again and you gasp from the sudden burst of pain, gasp from the way you constrict around him in response. He laughs, a rumbling like thunder, then pushes your upper body against the wood, holding you down, one hand in your hair, the other firmly locking your hip in place.

Another bolt of lightning must have illuminated your face, turned sideways for him to see the trepidation in your eyes because he says, “Don’t cry. I’m going to take good care of you.”

You don’t know how to tell him that you’re not crying because you’re afraid of him. You’re crying because you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this way, the last time sex wasn’t just a duty you had to fulfill but something someone wanted from you, and just from you, so much so he would abandon his duty to take what’s his. You don’t know how to tell him you’re terrified of what that discovery might mean for you and your marriage, how you’re hoping your husband is going to walk in right this very moment and free you from the bonds that bind you to him.

Acacius starts to lose control of his body then. He’s pushing himself up deeper and deeper into you, groaning louder with each thrust. You know those sounds, dread them when they’re coming from your husband, encourage them now with desperate whimpers of your own. He grips your hair again, pulls you up flush against his chest so hard you yelp with pain, fumbles with your tunic until he finds that bundle of nerves between your legs that he loved to kiss when you were both free to enjoy each other’s company. But it’s just for a brief moment he considers your pleasure before hitting the desk with his open palm, holding onto the wood, and letting go.

You close your eyes, waiting. It doesn’t take long for him to let out a sigh, to still deep inside of you. You can feel him twitch, you feel his hot release, but most of all you feel the sting of a promise broken. Your whole body is on edge, wound up, pulled taut, and there is nothing he’s going to do about it.

When he’s done, he pulls out of you and lets your tunic fall down around your legs. You turn to face him, your cheeks burning with shame, but his face is once again hidden behind all those shadows that come with a starless night.

“You wanted to take good care of me,” you point out, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I just did,” he says, running his thumb from the corner of his mouth along his bottom lip. “You’re mine now. Leave that between your legs for him to find.”

“Acacius …,” you try, a name once so familiar then so strange now growing familiar again.

He crowds you against the desk, chest to chest this time, and wraps his thick fingers around your throat. The kiss he presses to your lips is hard, devoid of all tenderness. “Mine,” he repeats. “Never forget that.” And then he’s nothing more than heavy footsteps against mosaic floors.

So does reader! 😂🤣❤️ Glad you enjoyed babe! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Play Date Hookup

Summary: Frankie arrives early to pick up Missy.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Sexting, being parents, unprotected piv, creampie

A/N: Thank you very much @beefrobeefcal and @strang3lov3 for lending your eyes on this one ❤️ @jay-zzle basically makes all the moodboards for me(with the exception of a few) and continues to surprise me over and over again with her talents! 😍 ilysm!!!

Masterlist||Parents to Lovers||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

“Down the hall and it’s the last door on the left,” Benny points, and grumbling in response,  Frankie makes his way towards Benny’s new bedroom. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Benny,” Frankie mutters, carrying the box Will shoved into his arms, “The fuck do you have in here? Weights?”

Frankie makes it to Benny’s room, barely able to hold the box any longer before it falls to the floor, the contents spilling out onto the hardwood floor.

“Fuck,” Frankie mutters, whipping around to make sure no one followed him in to see the box fumble, wiping his forearm across his sweaty brow he looks down at the mess he has to pick up. Playboys. Hundreds of playboys spilled out of the box.

After picking one up, Frankie quietly makes his way to the door, peering out to see if anyone is coming before closing the door and browsing the dirty magazine. He finds a model that slightly resembles you and his cock twitches, smirking as he pulls out his phone.

Frankie: You busy?

You: Making the girls lunch

Frankie: Thinking about you

You: Yeah? What about me?

Frankie: Oh ya know 🐱

You: Francisco! Naughty, naughty 😈 

Frankie: Wanna eat your pussy so bad baby

You: How about I ride you instead?

Frankie: Fuuuuuuck I’m supposed to be helping Benny move and now I’ve got a fucking boner

You: Show me? 😏

Frankie sighs, looking down at the tent in his jeans. Fuck it, he thinks, undoing his jeans. He slides them down to the middle of his thighs and moves his boxers down just enough that his cock springs free. He holds his dick in one hand and his phone in the other, getting the perfect angle.

“Hey man, there’s mor-“ Santi comes barging into the room, “What the fuck?”

“Fuck!” Frankie says, turning around, and pulling up his pants.

“What’s going on?” Will asks coming up the hallway.

“Fish is taking a pic of his dick!” Santi hollers out laughing.

“Fuck off!” Frankie huffs, buttoning and zipping his pants back up. His face feels like it’s on fire with how red it must be, turning around all three of them standing there looking at him.

“Fish, you’re supposed to be helping me move!” Benny laughs, “Not sexting your girl!”

“Ha. Ha.” Frankie mocks, “Lady gets what the lady wants,” he shrugs.

The guys continue to laugh, shaking their heads.

“Come on Fish,” Will says, “Let’s get the rest of this shit done and maybe you can leave early for your girl.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Frankie grumbles, looking at the pic he took before sending it to you.

Frankie: [image attached] I hope you know I love you because I just got fucking caught since you wanted a dick pic so bad  😜

You: Mmmm I love you too babe 😘

—

“Girls! Lunchtime!”

Frankie had volunteered to help Benny move into his new place which meant Missy was hanging out with you and Nora until he was done. Nora and Missy come bounding into the kitchen, sitting down at their plates and digging into the bag of chips on the table to pile on their plates.

“Hungry?” You ask with a laugh.

Missy and Nora nod while grabbing a handful of chips to shove in their mouths.

“How much more time do we have?” Nora asks with a mouthful.

“Sweetie, don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

“My bad,” Nora says, while Missy giggles.

You glance at your watch checking the time before picking up your sandwich.

“Looks like you girls have about an hour left before Missy’s dad comes to get her.”

“Can we play in the sprinkler after we eat?!”

“Can we?!” Missy asks with the same puppy dog eyes as her father.

“I guess that would be okay,” you shrug, “you can just borrow Nora’s old swimsuit, it should fit.”

“Yes!” Both girls shriek in triumph, picking up their sandwiches and taking big bites to try and finish faster.

“Hey now, slow down,” you murmur after taking a bite of your sandwich, trying to cover your mouth with your hand.

“Momma,” Nora says, “Don’t talk with food in your mouth!”

—

The girls are outside running through the sprinkler while you clean up the kitchen from lunch. You hear your ringtone blaring just as you finish putting dishes in the dishwasher. The picture of Frankie from your first date shows up on the screen, causing a grin to spread across your face.

“Hello?”

“Hey babe,” Frankie says, even though you can’t see him you can hear the smile on his face.

“Hey babe! Ooo-la-la!” You hear in the background along with someone moaning, “Oh Fish!” And obnoxious kissing sounds.

“Fuck off!” Frankie grumbles as the background noise gets softer and softer, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s all good,” you laugh, “How are the guys?”

“Being assholes,” Frankie grunts, “but they also wanted me to forward their hellos”

“Tell them I say the same and that I don’t call you Fish,” you say, unable to wipe the grin off your face.

“No you do not,” Frankie purrs into the receiver, “Miss you baby.”

“Frankie,” you groan, “Don’t start that.”

“Start what?” He asks with fake shock in his tone.

“You know what!”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, “How’s Missy? Is she behaving?”

“She’s good! Frankie, she always behaves, stop worrying about that. You’ve done good with her,” you smile, looking out the kitchen window, “They’re outside right now running through the sprinkler.”

“Do I need to stop at my place and get clothes for her?”

“Nah,” you say with a shrug, “She’s wearing Nora’s old swimsuit.”

“Okay,” Frankie laughs, “Oh before I forget! Benny is going to throw a barbecue at his house once he gets settled and he would like it if you and Nora came too.”

“Frankie,” you say softly, “As much as I would love to. Is that really a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Me and Nora showing up to Benny’s,” you sigh, “Nora and Missy don’t know that I know your friends or that we’re together, I think it might give off a confusing message.”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs, “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m sorry babe, I really am.”

“No it’s okay, I just didn’t think about that.”

“One day,” you sigh dreamily.

“One day,” Frankie repeats, “I better go, I think we might finish sooner than we thought but I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” you smile, “Just let me know. I love you!”

“I love you too babe, I’ll see you soon.”

—

Your phone pings and a text from Frankie pops up.

Frankie: Hey. Girls still playing in sprinkler?

You: Hey. Yeah

Frankie: Come let me in 😉

Confused for a moment, stepping towards your front door peering through the peephole to see Frankie standing on your front porch. Smirking, you open the door.

“What are yo-“ Before you can even finish your sentence Frankie grabs you pulling you into a hungry kiss, letting out a soft moan when his hands grab your ass.

“Frankie,” you whisper, pushing your hands softly against his chest, “We can’t.”

“They’re distracted,” He hums, his nose tracing along your jaw, nipping your neck gently, “We can make it quick.”

You can hear the girls' laughter outside, he’s right - they are distracted. Nora won’t leave that sprinkler until someone makes her and Missy won’t leave it unless Nora does.

“Okay,” you smirk, hands trailing down to his waist, hooking your fingers into the belt loops on his jeans and pulling him towards the couch “But seriously we need to make it fast.”

Frankie nods with a dopey grin, and pushing him to sit, you straddle him. His hands immediately grip your hips, pulling you down on the bulge trapped in his jeans.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he sighs as your lips trail along his neck, softly sucking on his pulse point causing him to groan.

“I’ve missed you too,” you giggle, grinding your core against him. Frankie’s mouth drops open at the friction, “But you gotta be quiet too,” you say smirking as you undo his belt.

“Up,” he grunts, slapping the side of your ass. Hastily he maneuvers your body so that your chest is against the arm of the couch, slipping your leggings and underwear off you just enough and he lets out a pained groan seeing your wet slit, “Fuck, wish we had more time.”

You feel his thumbs spreading your lips open and his breath ghosting against your core, giving a barely there kiss to your bundle of nerves.

“Frankie,” you whine, “Please.”

“Tranquilita,” Frankie huffs, his thumb running circles against your clit,  “Wish I could give this pussy the treatment she deserves.”

“Fuck,” you moan, “We don’t have that kind of time, baby.”

“I know,” Frankie sighs, as you hear the button and zip of his jeans, the rustle of them being pushed down, turning your head you see his hand gripping his shaft, a soft groan crawls out his throat as he gives it a few pumps before pressing against your entrance. The head swiping up and down along your slit, causing you to squirm. Frankie grips your hip sharply to keep you still, pushing his cock in, your walls parting to make room for him. Simultaneous groans come from the both of you as he pushes in deeper until you feel his hips against your backside.

“Fuck baby,” Frankie groans, his hand on your hip gripping tighter, “Feel so fucking good.”

“Move,” you whine, hands gripping the cushion in front of you, “I need you to move.”

Frankie hums, pulling out an inch and slowly moving back into your heat. His other hand moves to the opposite hip, placing a firm grip there.

“Frankie,” you whine again, trying to move your hips against him but his hold on them becomes even tighter “More. I need more.”

“Tranquilita bebé,” Frankie says calmly, still keeping the same tempo working you open, “Gotta get used to it first, don’t wanna hurt you.”

He was right, the last time you had a quickie it hurt, but this was starting to feel like torture. Slowly rutting into you, you want it harder, want to feel him tomorrow every time you moved.

“Fuck,” Frankie softly hisses, feeling his cock pull out until only the tip is inside before plunging back into you harshly.

“Oh god,” you gasp, feeling his length scrub along your walls, “Frankie!”

Frankie’s hips begin to snap into you at a frenzied pace, the sound of skin clapping bouncing around your ears. His hand slides down between your thighs to access that sweet spot, swirling two fingers around it, causing you to let out a loud moan.

“Bebé,” Frankie tuts, his arm leaving your hip to lean over you, his chest flush with your back, slowing the pace of his hips, “Gonna need you to hold those noises in for me,” he whispers into your ear, giving your neck a soft bite.

“Mmhhmm,” you choke out, feeling the flutter of your walls as he hits that spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry.

“God damn it,” Frankie groans, sucking in a sharp breath and pistoning into your cunt, “I need you to come,” moving his fingers faster against your clit.

Your grip on the couch becomes tighter, that warm feeling below your belly button becoming a raging inferno, the sound of your wetness smacking against Frankie’s balls as he continues brutally rutting into you.

“Fu-“ you start to sob as he clamps his hand across your mouth, leaving you to whimper into his hand as you reach your peak, coming undone beneath him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Frankie pants, beginning to chase his own climax as your walls constrict his cock, hips losing their rhythm, “Where can I - fuck - come? Where?”

You grip his hand moving it from your mouth, “I- In- Inside,” you stutter out.

“Dios mío,” he growls, grinding into you, feeling his cock twitch as he paints your walls with his spend, slumping against you, “Fuck me,” he whispers between your shoulder blades.

“Well,” you smile, “I didn’t do that but you did just fuck me.”

Frankie lets out a small laugh, rolling his forehead against your upper back with a shake of his head.

“You’re something else, bebé,” Frankie laughs, pulling out as you both groan.

There’s a smack at the backdoor and you hear your name being yelled.

“Nora fell!” Missy shouts from behind the door.

“Fuck,” you say, quickly sitting up, pulling your underwear and leggings up, “Mom duty.”

I’m so glad you’re loving this unintentional series! ❤️

Parents to Lovers Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

These are all stand alone one shots, there is no specific order. Only thing they have in common is it’s the same universe ❤️

Paint with Me: You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Friday Night: First time Frankie tells you he loves you and finally meeting the boys.

Play Date Hookup: Frankie arrives early to pick up Missy.

Between Us: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Goober: On a stormy night, a dog makes a dash for the garage. Frankie is insistent, like all dad's, they are not keeping that damn dog.