Gladiator/Gladiator 2

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One-shots

Imagine: If Emma was 5 years old when the curse hit and she had a baby sister

Serie(s)

Y/N Gold-Charming Masterlist (A/N: This was originally going to be a series. But for now this story is discontinued)

Part 1

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Welcome all my multifandom geeks! So...I am new to the multifandom, (I do have a Wattpad account that has two stories so far, I am working on more), but anyway, I am new to writing multifandom stories, so please do not judge me. I may not frequently write multifandom stories, because life gets in the way. Anyway, so yay, I hope you all enjoy my blog. 

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 | Marcus Acacius x f!reader

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summary | A female gladiator plucked from the arena by the most powerful general in Rome, convinced to serve under his command. You learn that his taste for blood might not be so different from your own.

author's note | the horny demons strike again. this has a little plot, thanks to the beautiful minds of @ovaryacted and @kedsandtubesocks who deal with my crazy so generously.

content warning | 18+ mdni, set pre-gladiator ii, description of war & mistreatment of women in roman society, female gladiator, dark-ish!acacius, reader has minimal backstory, but is revealed to be nameless (uses monikers given to her: medusa, fury, minerva), fighting, m*rder, blood tw, gore tw, sa warning (i have it annotated further below with content, but nothing graphic) acacius covered in someone elses blood as he fucks you, copious smut, biting as a little treat

word count — 8k

“How much?” Acacius inquires, tapping his finger against the iron bars holding you prisoner, staring back at the men. The ginger twins and a man—no, a general. Dressed in a toga of thick material, embroidered with intricate designs, gold bangles at his wrist, a telltale sign of high honor. 

“Oh, she is…” The older one, Geta, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he shakes his head, “priceless—quite the fighter, too.”

“Does she have a name?” 

Geta smirks to himself, “They call her Medusa. She favors beheading, it seems.” Geta waggles a finger through the bars and smirks, nose scrunching as he addresses you, “Correct?” 

You ignore him, responding with a stare—much like your given moniker; if looks could kill.

“She’s bested them all,” Caracalla boasts from beside his brother, Dundus fiddling with his hair from where she was perched on his shoulder, “even our lion that we’ve had since kids.”

“It was a stupid idea, your fault,” Geta retorts, “but—again, she’s not for sale.”

“I’ll conquer India within the next few nightfalls, a handful of new gladiators fresh for the choosing, for your entertainment—how does that sound?”

Greedy as they were and entirely too incompetent, Caracalla agrees before his brother can open his mouth. 

“Will you bring her back to visit?” Caracalla inquires with an underlying excitement—the poor brother was nothing but a dunce, erratic and impulsive, but all too easy to manipulate. “The others may miss her.”

“Indeed,” Another swift but convincing lie, Caracalla and Acacius shake hands on the deal before Geta can retort, fuming with rage as he stomps away.

He’d taken a liking to your fighting style despite his distaste for the arena. Strategic and skilled, brute strength and a drive that was built around pure survival but somehow all while maintaining the perfect amount of gracefulness that men did not. Constant calculation, finesse, it was like an art.

He’s gone through several guards over his rule, some from sacrifice but others out of pure ignorance. He needed a strong base, malleable but resistant. He could shape you into a leader, he thinks. He knows.

Your hard stare is like ice as the keys jingle into the lock, a defining click a resounding echo of freedom and General Acacius extends his palm.

A gesture of freedom, a new life, trepidation fills you despite your yearn for a way out of this prison. Here it was, served up on a platter covered in intricate facets of white and gold, stubble brushing his cheeks and soft brown eyes offering kindness.

This was not a man of sheer violence, not the tales they tell about him—this was a man of trouble, conflict, and an instinct to protect himself. And he’d chosen you.

Your hands slips into his, a similar roughness to match his own and scars that Acacius knew well enough of—you were a true fighter, a warrior.

The two boys—calling the men would be too easy, they often acted like spoiled children, were already off to their own chambers, and Acacius had only dropped his hard facade slightly, still under the watchful eye of Rome’s guards, he led you onto your new life.

-

“I cannot accept,” You argue, as respectful as you could manage, hands crossed firmly over your front, near your waist as you spoke to General Acacius in his private office at home, a place few have stepped foot into, but yet somehow, again, you were given a free pass.

“Are you refusing my order?” Acacius counters, there’s pillowyness to his tone, almost taunting.

“Sir—er, General,” It was all new to you, formalities, structure, rules, “I…am a woman.”

“I am not blind,” Acacius squints his eyes slightly, before leaning back in the creaky chair, “my men—they will not question my choices. They listen, they do their duties. They need strong leadership. Gladiator, I believe you can bestow that upon them.”

“I am a stranger to you, you know nothing of me,” You tell him, a full truth, “General, I fear you may have made the wrong decision, I am not what you think I—”

Silently, Acacius fingers curl around the handle to a drawer hidden behind his desk, pulling out a sharp knife with a handle carved of bone, twisting it in his grip before he’s rearing his arm back, throwing it in your direction.

It zips by with force, the tip of the knife snagging and burying itself deep into the wall behind you, your head whipping to the side to follow it, the sharp blade barely missing the skin of your ear. 

Quick reflexes. You turn back to a smirking Acacius.

“I am positive, had I thrown that between your eyes you would have caught it without overthinking the consequences—most of my men would do the same,” Acacius lectures, standing with his brutish frame and walking toward the wall, the soft flow of a breeze kissing at your fists.

“Though, I have another proposition,” Acacius says lightly, twisting the knife in his hand, the pointing spinning against his fingertip as he circles around you, “—attack me.”

“Sir,” You argue, “that surely defeats the purpose of—”

His fist balls up tight and aims for your side. Acacius sees it, the anticipation as you block his hand. He chuckles underneath his breath, “Please, continue,” He teases, twisting out of your grip to pull another punch that you block with ease—he was going easy, you think.

Natural reaction takes hold and his test quickly turns into a full-out brawl, twisting and slipping underneath his grip until you have him pinned against a nearby wall, teeth bared with his forearm pressed against his throat, struggling to grip his free arm.

The real test is here, as Acacius bares the knife near your neck, an immediate reaction to protect yourself rather than go for the kill shot, knowing that anyone of normal skill would be too full of bloodlust to think of anything other than killing you. Protection and defense came first, taking the small nick of a cut to your own forearm before you’re knocking the knife out of his hand and wrestling him to the ground with a swift kick to his leg, rendering him helpless.

“Indeed, you are exactly what I think you are,” Acacius says with finality, “I want you to lead my personal guard. Whatever it is I must do to obtain that, my lady I will do—riches, bribery—”

You push away from him with a heavy exhale, standing and adjusting your clothes, brushing your hair away from your face, “No need, I will do it.”

Acacius rolls to his back, hand extending once more. 

This time, it is you offering the help as he uses the leverage to rise to his feet before speaking to you with a triumphant tone. 

“Commander,” He grins, “let us plan.”

–

He often asks of your lineage, your home. But, there is nothing to offer. A long conquered piece of land now under the rule of Rome and a home that was never a home. An orphan you had always been, nameless, taking greedily whatever name was bestowed upon you. 

In the arena it was Medusa, the tale of a vicious woman with god-like power. Caracalla had told you of the story, the boys having taken a liking to you in different ways. Geta was fiendish, hungry, often seeking you out for his own pleasure to which you wouldn’t deny. Couldn’t. He could be rough, but he wasn’t.

He seemed lonely, the poor boy.

Carcalla was only searching for a friend despite his unruly, chaotic nature. When he wasn’t ruling with tyranny over Rome, terrorizing the townspeople, he was telling you stories.

Other times it was only she. Or her. Or just girl. The girl.

You were only what people assumed of you, expected you to be.

“Medusa, ay?” A greasy looking man confirms, one of the six men who were to be under your command, “The gladiator?”

“You will respect her,” General Acacius had warned them, “or an apology will be your dying breath.”

It had struck most of them with fear. Most of them.

And for many nights, countless, it seems—the transition of leadership was smooth. You had an unyielding grip on them, awaiting direction, following your orders. It was the kind of rush most would only dream of, and as a woman, it was an unforeseen privilege. 

“They address you as Medusa, too,” Acacius notes during a roundtable session as the other men wander off for dinner, “do you wish for them to address you differently?”

“I have no name, General,” You admit, “I am whatever I must be. If they think of me as so, that is what I am. Though, I would love to turn a few of them into stone, given I was granted her powers.”

“I believe you could manage that feat without them,” Acacius jokes, “—but, nameless? Even at birth?”

“I know nothing of my birth parents. They told me I was found wrapped in cloth under the bridge that led into the town your army eventually turned to rubble,” A bittersweet feeling, speaking unusually out of term, facing him with the facts, “though, it does not matter. I enjoy the fear they have of me, keeps wandering hands at bay.”

Such an enigma, Acacius eyes you curiously. It was the most you’ve opened up to him since retrieving you from your cell, and even then, still forcing him to face the consequences of war.

The guilt followed him at every waking moment.

“Do you need anything further of me, General?” You ask politely, “You have spoiled my appetite as of late and your men are greedy with the stew.”

“You are dismissed,” He speaks distantly, turning over the thick, coarse paper with a drawn out map of the territory they were to invade soon, a lingering well wish leaving his lips, “sleep well, commander.”

Unfortunately, you’ve turned to sleeping with a knife under your bedroll—with a lingering ache of betrayal, you weren’t allowing yourself to lower your guard.

-

The attacks do not start at night. Rather during the day, when the General is off and away, scouting ahead further when half of his army while the other half sticks at camp, keeping claim.

That is when the insults come, the disbelief, the mockery.

Most of his men settled with the idea, having accepted your position even if it displeased them. 

But, there was one. Like a bull—hardheaded and stocky, fists and arms like clubs, testosterone radiating from his body in crashing waves. He wants you to fear him, submit to him. 

You feel it. You see it. And you’ve been through it before, other large and brutish gladiators thinking with their muscles rather than their brains. It wouldn’t take long for them to meet their demise, but this one was…different.

He approaches you with a smile than anyone could see right through, a finger brushing your cheek as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in to brush his lips against the shell of it.

“They are hungry,” He drips of vicious intention, “—I say, you give us a show. Entertain us, Medusa.”

Your eyes snap to him, staring him down.

“Pitiful Acacius isn’t here to save you,” He warns, “though, I have reason to believe he is as weak as most men—spread your legs and he’ll be begging for a taste, too.”

“I will gut you where you stand,” You warn, reaching for the thick machete at your waist, “you’re like a pig. Brainless and greedy for whatever you can get. Touch me, I dare you.”

The rest of the men are relatively quiet, but they do not stop him. Smirks and half-smiles hidden behind their cups, lounging on a log near their tents, enjoying the entertainment. 

It was nightfall, the fire crackling between you and them, a towering presence at your backside.

And as he dares to, his hand slides up your waist. 

Without hesitation you flip the weapon in your grip, grabbing at his wrist and slicing at his arm—a featherlight touch, it was merrily a glorified papercut, but his eyes widened in shock.

“Let us see how well you touch without fingers,” You threaten, flipping the machete until it is pointing in his face, death grip on the handle if he dared to take it, taunting him with the sharp end of your blade, “hands?”

That deep, rumbling sound of hooves approaches through the darkness, everyone slowly falling back into their paces as you welcome back your General with a forced smile.

Acacius hands off the reins to another rider, taking scope of the situation that seemed to be defusing in front of him, but still—he notices. His eyes trade glances between you both before he nods at you to follow him.

Speaking under his breath, “The others have coined you as fury,” He laughs softly at the pseudonym, “little fury, they tell me. Like the Furies. I cannot say I disagree with them. Has he been pestering you long?”

Your brow furrows at the reference, lost on your ill-informed mind.

“Long enough,” You answer honestly, “though, he was bestowed a parting gift this time.”

You raise your blade, his blood still painting the weapon.

He raises the curtain to his tent, allowing you to enter before him.

“Do you know nothing of the Furies?”

“I was not privy to bedtime tales, General.”

He nods, thoughtful as his lips pull together in a thin line, slowly removing his armor as he sits, directing for you to take a seat opposite of him, a few feet away on a decaying stump.

“Goddesses,” He states simply, “of vengeance, striking the wicked down. You have…fire, deep within you. Do not let them put it out, it is your weapon.”

You nod obediently, feeling the humidity stick to your skin, clothes glued to your body as you sit in the uncomfortable heat. There was no world in which you felt safe enough to strip down, quell your body of this unbearable summer weather. You would rather suffer, thick garb covering your body.

Acacius tilts his head, but does not comment.

“I require your protection tomorrow, we must scout an additional day and I fear danger is imminent—relay this to them,” He instructs, “and my lady, if you fear they will visit you at night, that they might strike when you’re vulnerable, you are welcome here.”

He already anticipates your response—he knows, but the gesture was an offer. A kindness. 

“If they try, you will be searching for new men by sunrise, General.”

Acacius smirks in amusement, nodding to your words.

“It would not be difficult to replace them,” He notes, “though, little fury, you are irreplaceable.” 

-

General Acacius wasn’t an easy man to protect, but you managed. Over the few weeks that you had taken point within his guard it has leant you plenty of opportunities to prove your worth, slaughtering opposing soldiers like cattle for the glory of Rome, his booming voice pronouncing vie victis as the dead are laid rest under fire and smoke.

But, conflict comes when you are faced with a decision as the camp was raided under complete, utter darkness. It was your shift to guard the General, perched outside of his tent with constant, roaming eyes. Eventually, you drift. It was peaceful, nature taking hold and pulling you under, awoken to the sound of blood curdling screams, the ground painted with the innards of both Acacius’ men and the others.

You were forced with a choice—defend the camp, something Acacius would have told you to do in a moment of desperation, a self-sacrificing man himself. Ironic, given your position, that you even think otherwise. Of course, your feet pull you toward him, whipping the flowing fabric of his tent door back.

There was a knife at his neck, a man towering over him. He’d snuck past—taken advantage of your exhaustion and your mistake was putting the General’s life at risk, his face stoic as he pushed back against the blade with his palm.

Without thinking, you rush toward the man, pulling back at his collar to plunge the knife pointed at Acacius into his own throat, a silent death through the notch of his neck, the blood flowing out like a river, tossing the lifeless man to the side before you’re reaching for your General.

“Do not worry,” He assures you as he rises, still groggy from sleep, “go—protect our camp.”

“But, General,” You plead, not realizing that your hand was grasping on his own, or that he had initiated the touch as a gentle push, a confirmation that he was truly alright, “it is my fault.”

His eyes peer behind you and to the man lying lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around his body.

“Though, it seems you have done your duty,” Acacius comments, head turned down as he stares at the body before his eyes peer up at you under his dark lashes, pensive, “now—kill them.”

-

You had lost a hundred or so men, nothing to the army of five thousand, but any loss was felt within General Acacius’ army—men of honor, with families or not, deserved a proper farewell. 

Covered in the blood of many, some of your friends and some of strangers, hair matted and reeking of death, you approach General Acacius who was sending off a group of men to begin digging the mass grave to dispose of the bodies.

Your body ached, bruised and nicked from battle—you had killed at least five hundred men alone. Pure rage and fury, not a memory of it as you approached him now, a blank stare void of emotion that concerns Acacius, his hand reaching for your wrist as you begin to pass him, heading for your own tent to collapse in exhaustion. 

“You did well,” He notes, catching your gaze as he turns his head to infiltrate your line of sight, “wash off before you turn in, you…reek. There’s a river beyond the bend—clean, warm.”

You nod despite only paying half-attention to his words, walking mindlessly toward the river before you are faced with the unfortunate crowd of men, undressed to their natural state, avoiding the watchful eyes and preying gazes, stripping your armor off down near the empty end of the river, pulling at your tangled hair, pulling off each remaining piece of clothing despite your body’s protest, screaming for relief.

It wasn’t unfamiliar, the looks—you bathed alongside all the men under the arena without a thought, knowing most of them were vying for freedom and wouldn’t dare risk it by allowing their cocks to work overtime, forgetting rational thought.

But, to them, you were a trophy. Someone—something, to be conquered.

The thin, flimsy undergarments come off last, stepping into the water and sinking down slowly. The blood washes away as you scrub, back turned as you dip your head into the water before committing  entirely, plugging your nose as you dip underneath the water, finding peace in the silence.

“I had my doubts, Medusa,” A voice bellows from behind as you rise, your eyes peeling open with a quickly growing annoyance, “of you being a true woman, but—”

“Careful,” One of the men warned, a stable boy, “she will run to the general.”

It was the same man from many nights ago, big and brutish, always looking for a fight, even with the other men. He hadn’t learned his lesson, clearly. 

“Acacius is busy,” He retorts, “so—what say you give us the show you owe us?”

You stand frozen in place, staring daggers at the man who seems only more amused as the anger in you builds, permeates.

(sa themes below: noncon touching, reader is naked in front of several men)

“Get out of the water,” He demands, “unless you prefer I come get you.”

You survey your choices, knowing that staying in the water wasn’t a safe option. They can and will wait you out. Your eyes track toward your clothes, further away than you had left them. Your eyes track the scar on his forearm and you smirk, teething peeking out behind your lips, “How beautiful,” You tell him, his eyes slowly following your own, “quite the scar, is it not? Fancy another?”

You spot the knife sheathed in his leather belt, taking your chances despite the vulnerability that remains with your naked frame on full display as you retreat from the water, he nods with confidence as you approach, a faint whistle in the distance that you’ve heard before. The oaf seems to ignore it, though. His large hand comes to your breast in an instant, body dripping wet and a sickness churning in your gut as the sticks of torch and fire approach amongst the murmuring crowd of men, less than subtle about the rowdiness that was ensuing.

He pulls you into his body with a greedy hunger as his opposite hands gropes at your backside, following the curve of your ass as your hand snakes toward the blade, but the voice that rips through the crowd is enough to wake the dead, silence falling over the area in an instant.

“Remove your hand,” Acacius voice travels, the same booming voice he uses to declare victory over a new territory, “or I will remove it myself.”

“General,” The man addressed in a drunkish manner, inviting, “she was offering—Medusa, tell him.”

Your silence is expected, his hand wandering toward your other breast, biting hard enough at the inside of your cheek that it draws blood—Acacius sees your hand wrapping around the blade and speaks again, approaches closer as the mud sticks to his boots, “I will tell you once more. Remove it.”

The man eyes you with disdain, dropping his hands away as you relinquish your hold of his weapon, allowing the breath caught in your chest to escape, but it doesn’t stop the touch that follows, taunting with its intention as his palm curls around the back of your head, tilting your head to the side as he squeezes, “I forget—you are the General’s property after all.”

(end of sa themes)

“Take him,” He orders the other lingering guards, men who’ve never shown you anything other than respect—they value their lives and limbs, as any sane person would, “and start the fire.”

Acacius looks around at the lingering eyes, “I suggest all of you return to camp. Now.”

That was all it took, most of them scrambling for their own clothes and armor as they retreated like scurrying mice or dogs with their tail between their legs, leaving you under Acacius' careful gaze. He reaches down to fetch you dirtied clothes, looking them over with disgust.

He removes the black cape around his shoulders without a word, opening it as an offering. Desperate to cover yourself, you slip your arms in the sleeves with his help, his eyes wandering no further than your face as you turn to him, tucking the cape around yourself. He reaches for the hood, pulling it down.

“Come,” He demands, “I would like you to witness.”

–

The screams are audible as you approach camp, a few feet behind Acacius as he rounds the fire and separates the crowd to create a path, approaching the man bound at his feet, one arm roped at his side and secured away, leaving him to fight the men that held him down.

“General, gen—general, I am sorry,” He pleads, “she—you do not understand, she taunts. She is poison, not a leader,” He continues, despite Acacius lack of response, making a motion with his hand to remove the man’s weapon and hand it to him, pulling it from it’s leather cover and examining the blade, he makes a soft sound to himself, “Acacius—you have known me for years. Do not let this woman trick you.”

“Gag him,” He ignores his pleading, leaning down to grip the hand of the man bound below, “your humility is amusing, but your greed is what is costing you. She has shown you mercy, but I will not.”

The cut isn’t a clean slice, either. It takes several swings before the limb detaches, blood spurting out of the appendage as the man screams in pain, dragged helplessly toward the fire before they’re cauterizing the wound—your body unreactive as you watch but silently stewing with frustration.

He had spared the man, sure. But, making a show of it? A mockery?

“Commander, with me,” General Acacius demands, waiting for you to snap back into reality, your eyes meeting his face, blood covering his armor and hands, somehow avoidant of most of the mess.

When you are alone, you don’t hold back.

“I would have handled him,” You tell him, “killed him myself.”

“This is not the arena, we do not go around slaughtering our men without reason,” Acacius retorts, “he will be demoted and replaced and be a reminder to the others that you—”

“I do not need you defending my honor, General.”

“Men will not change, this—society, it does not cater to your safety. To them, women are nothing but vanity and pleasure—”

“And property,” You remark, “lest you forget how you obtained me, General.”

Acacius approaches you near the table at the center of his tent, only a foot away as he removes his armor plate, pulling it over his head, “Had I not, you would have paid for your own freedom eventually. I needed a leader—strong, smart, powerful.”

“By punishing that man, you are sending the message that I need my battles fought for me,” You argue, “and as if these men did not already think I was the General’s plaything, what will they think now?”

Acacius sighs through his nose, pulling at the fabric of his tunic that bares his chest, “I believe they will behave,” He tells you, “because you will not be as kind when you take their heads. He was an example and a pain in my ass for years, he deserved more than that.”

“And what will they think of me now? I am naked under this cloak, your cloak. I must walk the path back to my tent surrounded by men deprived of the things your bestial minds crave.”

Acacius chuckles to himself, “I have been thinking,” He begins, “that you deserve a new name. Something indicative of all that you are. Some of the men award each other with monikers of war. Medusa seems to have become more of a taunt, in light of recent events.”

He unties the leather bands at his wrist, eyeing you with a mischievous gaze as he keeps you waiting, “Have you heard the tale of Minerva, my lady?”

It isn’t a surprise, but you shake your head.

“A goddess of many things—strategy, warfare, victory, and justice…but mostly importantly, wisdom. I have seen the way you command the battlefield, it is not lost on me.”

“You have…many stories, General.”

“My mother told me one every night as she tucked me, it seems they have stuck with me.”

Tell me more, the words linger in the back of your throat.

“I am barely standing, General. I must retire for the night.”

“Indeed,” He agrees, shamelessly stripping down to his undergarments to walk toward the clean bowl of water and wash away the drying blood, “and Minerva,” the name is completely foreign, but you respond with a hum, “your position is yours alone. You have earned it. Do not let them tell you otherwise.”

-

Like Medusa, the name sticks.

And thankfully, you were a few weeks away from a much-earned break from war, returning to Rome as a free woman for the first time, having finally fallen into a comfortable rhythm with the rest of his personal guards—a mutual respect that had been missing, men waiting for your command.

Long nights of planning spent in Acacius tent, surrounded by the other guards until they filter out one by one, growing curiosity and questions lead to many hours of conversation that you, for many months, had been deprived of in the arena.

“You did promise my return,” You remind him, “they will be expecting you to keep that.”

“They are young, fickle men,” Acacius berates with amusement, “I am sure they have moved on.”

“Do you fear them? The emperors?”

“They are spoiled brats,” Acacius responds, an answer in itself.

“They would visit me often,” You admit, “Caracalla seemed to be—it seems the syphilis in his loins was truly affecting his brains, often he would not even make sense. Or he would come to me, complaining of his brother.”

“You had built quite the rapor,” Acacius notes with a smile, sipping at the broth from his stew as he invites you to sit on his fancy, expensive bed cot. Much nicer than your own, cushioned and wrapped in velvet, “What of Geta?”

“He liked my breasts,” You begin bluntly, “and my—”

“He forced himself upon you?”

“I was property of Rome, Acacius,” You didn’t often say his name in such a relaxed way, blaming it on the full belly and exhaustion, “therefore I was his. I have suffered much worse than a lonely man searching for comfort.”

Acacius seems thoughtful, pensive as he stirs at his quickly diminishing stew. He does catch your lingering gaze on his face after a while, mesmerized by the scar underneath his eye, he encourages you.

“Ask, if you are so curious, my lady,” He places his bowl to the side, empty.

“Your scar,” You nod, pressing your finger in a mirroring way under your eye, “is there a story?”

“Nothing to be told with boast,” He chuckles, “a wound of battle, is all. Like many of the scars on my body,” He tells you, raising his naked forearm to display the various scars, noting the few that paint his clavicle, “and you, Minerva?”

It seems to have become a particular quirk of his, a lilt to his voice as he calls you by your given name—the others have become accustomed to it, too. But, with Acacius, it felt special. Treasured.

You raise your eyebrows at his question, quietly unlacing your top to pull it down your shoulder, sliding a hand over your breast to respect the dynamic between you both—him being your general and you, his subordinate. His eyes squint as he examines the jagged and staggered scar on the side of your breasts—not quite faded, healed but relatively fresh.

“He is a biter,” You warn him with amusement, “Geta.”

Only one scar, given by one of the emperors, somehow untouched from real battle. It was miraculous. You readjust your top, feeling the heat from your neck rise to your face at what you had just willingly offered over to Acacius. Unfortunately, he had a way of lowering your guard.

With that talk, it seemed like a true breakthrough in your partnership with Acacius.

He always allowed you to speak for yourself, never overstepping the boundary you had argued with him over, leading the charge with an iron fist and handling the younger, fresh faced soldiers who just seemed…lost. 

It was hard to ignore the lingering glances over time, often during meetings as you spoke, not a look of attention but rather…ravishing. Hungry, but in a subdued manner. You weren’t sure where the lines had blurred, but they had.

Possibly somewhere within the long nights of conversation or the lingering touches that shouldn’t have been as charged as they were, handing over a piece of armor or blade and his calloused fingertips would circle your wrist, pause, before his brain would catch up to his actions. 

“Go on,” He encourages after a final night of victory and triumph, many of the men howling and singing tunes around the fire, drinking from their cups and enjoying the pleasures of alcohol and comradery, “you are missing the fun,” He was unnaturally quiet, subdued to his quarters, leaning against the outside of his tent as he watched with amusement but subtle dismay.

A younger man approaches with his hand extended, a gleeful expression on his face, “Minerva, please—come, you must enjoy the party, too.”

The general gives you an expectant look as you let the young man lead you away, curling his fingers around your own and pulling you with vigor, cheering loudly to blend in with the energy of the men despite how you worry about the man several feet away, your eyes tracking his disappearing figure as he slips into his tent, eventually pulled away by another man, one of the guardsmen who adored you, asking for a dance.

You agree hesitantly as the crowd roars louder, eyes searching for the exact reason as you see a few men leading a line of women into camp, little clothing to allow them modesty, a less than subtle shushing come from the men as they lead them deeper into camp, and the fear in you tells you to run to the General.

“It is not what you think,” The young man tells you, “they are dancers—no harm will—”

You bypass him, straight toward the men leading the path, stopping them cold.

“They are not here against their will, my lady.” He assures you, though, that could be argued.

“Minerva, Acacius has made it clear that harming women, you—is far worse a crime than anything else. Truly, it is not what you believe it to be.”

“I am telling the General, informing him of their presence,” You admit, “so I suggest you and the rest of the cattle be on your best behavior?”

They both give crisp, curt nods.

As you make the direct line for Acacius’ tent, you are ignorant to his silent plea for privacy at the tied rope, intertwined with gold fabric, pushing apart the fabric doors without much of a thought, reality hitting you as you catch a glimpse of his naked frame, patting down his body with a clean cloth as he washed himself, other hand curved around his cock as he stretched his neck up and back, the water splashing as he dipped the towel into the basin, only aware of your present when you make a small, unrecognizable sound as a result of your own stupidity. 

“I—General,” Your eyes widen as they take on a mind of their own, straight down the valley of his chest as he turns to you, quickly spinning on your heels, “I should have—I apologize, uh, the men…they are—”

“I was informed,” He assures, “and they have been warned, I assure you.”

“Yes, hm—um,” It was the only time Acacius had seen you flustered

“I assumed the rope was a clear message,” Acacius teases, “but—it is not your fault. I should have informed you of their…antics.”

He pulls the tight, fabric shorts over his hips, clearing his throat, peering over your shoulder you breathe a sigh of relief, “General, I would like to apologize for—” You swallow, watching as he turned barefoot on his heels, the fabric of the immodest undergarments curving around the stretch of his cock, half-hard under the fabric and the outline of thick head pushing against the linen.

You don’t realize how long you’re staring until he’s approaching with a tap of his finger on the underside of your chin, “There is no need for that,” He assures you, your nose scrunching up in confusion at the sudden touch, feeling the subtle shift as he reaches behind you for the clothes folded on the table at your backside, “surely you must return to the party,” He encourages, “celebrate a well-earned victory.”

“Why?” You counter, “When you will not.”

“Minerva,” He warns.

“You are distracted,” You note, watching as Acacius now avoids your gaze, “it is worrying me.”

He cannot admit the reason why. That it may be you. 

“Acacius,” You call his name, hoping that will break through to him.

“Leave me,” He asks, rather than demanding, “I need to rest.”

It was a lie, but you do not fight him on it.

–

Silence blankets the camp in the early morning hours—the witching hours, as you’ve come to know them. Sleeping securely in your tent, bedroll tucked under your head as you drift. Unaware of the creeping men planning your untimely demise, assuring that the entire camp was asleep before they strike, arms and legs rendered useless as the third shoves a piece of cloth into your mouth and ties it around the back of your head, screams muffled behind the fabric, stripped of your weapons. Helpless, they think.

During the struggle, one of them grows frustrated, banging the hard rock against your skull and plunging you back into darkness.

When you come to, you are unclear of where you are, but it was outside, arms above your head against the thick limb, feet bound tight as well, a sting and a string of wetness running down the side of your face as your blurry vision becomes clear.

“Little Minerva,” the voice begins mockingly, all too familiar to your ears, “he has named you—you must feel special, ay?”

He kneels in front of you, the one hand he has left curling around the forearm of what was left of his other appendage, “And you expect to return back to Rome as a free woman,” He laughs, snorts wetly through his nose, “I assure you that will not happen. Rather, you will be a dead one.”

The other two lingering figures join in on the laughter.

“How did you say it?” He taunts, “I will gut you where you stand?”

“It took three of you to capture me,” You retort, “your confidence is lacking sorely.”

He clears the back of his throat, rearing up a ball of saliva in his mouth before he’s spitting at you.

“I will slaughter all of you with my hands,” You promise, “untie me, unless you are fearful.”

Driven by ego, it doesn’t take much for him to agree.

But, as he had underestimated you the first time, and the second, he would regret the third.

The two men come at you first, enough tussling and your teeth ripping into the ear of one of them, searching blindly for a thick, heavy and sharp edge branch that would handle the weight of piercing through skin and muscle, finding the right weapon at the perfect moment—the attacker rearing back as the other approached, driving the make-shift stake through his chest as the other tackled you to the ground, a poor miscalculation on his part as you get your legs around his neck, arms pinned at an painful, awkward ankle until his neck snaps from the force, the ox-like man awaiting in the shadows like a coward, blood spilling from your mouth as you scream.

The heavy hooves approach like roaring thunder and the instant your attacker catches on, his attempts to flee are ruined by the barricade of men at all angles, General Acacius at the head of the charge, a rageful expression on his face. Feral unlike you have ever seen.

He jumps off of his horse, ordering the men to capture the surviving man once again, looking around at the lifeless bodies beside you, assuring his men he would handle you and the mess, demanding they return to camp at once. 

You look around aimlessly, blood staining your face as Acacius struggles to capture your attention, eventually resorting to a strong, demanding hold on your face, cradling your head with his hands.

“Are you wounded?” He asks, then notices the trail of blood from your scalp, pushing away the hair to reveal with gash from the rock they had attacked you with, grimacing as he runs his finger over the wound in worry.

Suddenly, you are stricken with a need, “Give me your sword,” You tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own, “I need your sword.” His movements are too slow, still concerned with you that you reach for the weapon yourself.

Pulling away, you approach one of the dead men with the sword, swinging it up over your head and down with force, beheading him in one go, before switching to the other man, less finesse as you swing—again and again, until there is nothing but a pool of blood, bone, and brain—Acacius steps in eventually, tossing the sword away as he holds you arms in his fierce grip, letting the screams rip from your chest as he sways with you, eventually falling to your knees in exhaustion. He uses his bare hands to wipe the blood away from your neck, your face, feeling the soft shake of your body as you sob in silence, overcome with an emotion you so rarely let surface.

–

The public execution follows the next morning, everyone rousing from their tents to the loud, blaring horn from the ship just off shore—Acacius had assisted you back to camp on his horse, slumped against his back as you rode until the trampling finally stopped, sliding off the horse and into Acacius’ arms as he led you inside his tent.

He didn’t sleep the entire night, watching over you instead—he rarely blinked, staring off into nothingness as he tried to keep the vicious rage at bay, by morning, he was itching.

“You may stay,” He tells you, “your head—I cleaned it while you slept.”

You shove his hand away as he attempts to help you sit, slowly dressing yourself, eventually putting together the fact that Acacius had undressed and bathed you at some point throughout the night, not a speck of blood or spit remaining.

“Are you ordering me to stay?”

Acacius shakes his head, his hand still hovering close by.

“Then I will attend.”

He doesn’t argue against it and there is, despite your weariness to admit, a relief of your chest as Acacius rears back his blade, silencing the final scream the man lets out, pleading for his life. The blood sprays over his face, a strong grimace at the sheer strength it takes to behead the man, but the general manages it with one strike of his blade.

His speech follows, a deep and unsettling warning to all of his men. A final one.

Men, wide-eyed with fear, agree without resistance before he sends them off to ready the ship for departure and a meal before they begin their long trek back to Rome—he is less than gentle as he grabs your wrist without warning and pulls you alongside him, back to his tent.

–

He ties the rope with a stiff tug, before turning to you, stumbling on your feet as pull off his cape, having offered it to you for a second time, assuring that dressing in your usually armor wasn’t needed today, not as you began your travels, a flowing dress tied at your shoulder and waist that you were used to wearing during the showings back in Rome, parading you around like a prize.

“Acacius, perhaps you should sit,” You suggest, watching his hands curl into fists at his sides before he’s spinning on his heels and toward you, cradling your face like he had the night prior, but even this close, it felt like he was trying to keep you at a distance, “—I am sorry, if I did something—”

“I crave you,” Acacius admits, “you must know.”

Your lips part, gearing up the courage to speak, but falling short.

“Nights I have spent,” He breathes, shaking his head, the curls tickling your forehead as they meet, “thinking—wondering—”

“Acacius, why now?” You question him, “As we are homebound, back to your wife. Surely, she would have my head.”

Acacius shakes his head with a soft, but fond laugh.

“Our marriage is complex,” He explains, “Something I do not care to explain in great detail at this moment, you see—,” His hand curves around the side of your neck, tilting your head up, lips grazing against his own as he speaks, “I had no such intention for things to get like this, but you have proven to make things…difficult, for me,” He breathes out through his mouth, his eyes opening slowly to meet yours, “and I need you, should you have me.”

You could easily deny him, knowing he would back off in an instant. But, like this, clearly driven by adrenaline and instinct, riding the high of such a charged execution, he was craving something deeper than an outlet to release the built up tension. 

He craved connection—through little moments of conversation and touches, someone at level-ground, an equal. You were his equal. He’d given you so much since, and you would be lying to yourself if you denied the thoughts that had riddled your mind too.

“I do not much prefer a soft touch,” You finally reply, “or gentle care.”

He silences you with a kiss, bruising and tense as he licks into your mouth, hungrily searching for more areas to taste and devour, licking along the column of your neck as the blood of another smeared into your skin, his fingers working quietly to undo your dress, in turn wrestling with his armor and clothes, nearly ripping the fabric of his shirt from his body as you claw at him.

Wet kisses and clashing tongues fill the silent room, a screeching sound as your back hits the roundtable before he’s lifting from the back of your thighs and scooting you onto the surface, naked and bare as he spreads your thighs apart to move between them, clearly restraining himself as he licks, teeth grazing carefully.

“I enjoy them,” You admit, “Do not hold back, Acacius. They are what I will keep with me, if this be the only time.”

Like a dog cut loose of his chain, his teeth sink into the breasts mirror the mark of the other, hissing as his teeth break through the skin just enough for the subtle trickling of blood to rise to the surface before he’s soothing the wound with his tongue, staring up at you through a half-lidded gaze, prowling for more. He dips lower, falling to his knees as he pulls you toward the end of the table, ass hanging near the edge as his teeth sink into your thigh, near the swell of your cunt as you moan, fingers digging into sweaty, matted curls.

“Acacius,” You plead breathily, “I want your mouth.”

Where—it did not matter. But, Acacius fulfills that need as he licks a broad strip through your cunt, nose buried in the coarse curls, still smelling of the fresh soap he had bathed you in, taking delicate care as he washed your body, letting you slump into him, soaking him in the process. 

“Yes, that—” You respond airily, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue dips inside of you, swirling your slick around on his tongue and sucking harshly at your clit, staring up at you daringly from his position beneath you, unwavering, “oh, gods above…”

Acacius chuckles below you,the sound vibrating against your cunt as your moans increase rapidly, thick fingers dipping inside your pulsating core, “This high—it feels like—”

He rises to press a kiss against your stomach, climbing, tongue licking over your belly button and between your breasts, “—like…” He encourages, “come on, my lady, do not sell out on me now,”

“Like a battle high,” You admit with a faint laugh, “though, different, but….”

He understands, driven by unbridled need, uncapped adrenaline. 

“Well, vae victis,” He taunts, “now—come here,” He squeezes at your hips and pulls you to him, his cock stiff, throbbing  between your legs before he is twisting and spinning you around, feet planting against the ground as he bends you over, fisting himself tight as he rubs his thick cock head between your folds, watching as your wetness coats him, sinking into your fluttering hole with little resistance, a sweet cacophony of noises releasing from your throat as you grip onto nothing, hand curling into a fist as you moan, open-mouthed and shameless.

“Harder,” You beg, forcing the word out between thrusts, blunt fingernails clawing at your hips, attempting to pull you in closer despite your proximity, as if he could consume and even that wouldn’t be enough, “Acacius, please.”

It was like instinct, his hand sliding up the back of your thigh to lift your leg up, pinning it up—up, until you feel the ache in your sore muscles as he holds you in place with a fist between the bend of your knee, heaving breaths at your neck as he fucks you into the hard surface of the table.

It was a pain you would feel in your bones, that would carry with you into the morning, marks that would last for longer, a remnant of this moment, the mess of blood smearing on your own skin as he melts against you, forehead resting against your shoulder as his gaze follows the movement of his hips, slow but powered thrusts that drilled into you, clawing at his skin to leave your own bruises. The hand that brushes against your core is your ultimate demise, feeling breathless as your orgasm pulls you under, muffled sobs into your fist as you bite down, fearful that it might draw attention. Though, Acacius seems preoccupied, still.

His hand seeks your neck, digging in as he pulled you up, “To your knees,” He demands softly, your body moving out a memory, dropping to the floor—though, the sight is much more tantalizing, Acacius fisting his cock tight, feral as he teeth were bared, like a man fresh from the slaughter, he comes with a deep and guttural groan, your tongue sliding against the underside of his bulbous head, thick spurts coating your tongue, his body shaking as you pull away, swallowing all that he had offered with a steady, locked gaze. He assists you upright, steadying you.

“For a man who has such a distaste for unnecessary violence, you wear it well,” It wasn’t a compliment, rather an observation, his eyes tracking your naked frame, fingertips tracing the curves of your body in admiration. 

“You are quite inspiring, Minerva,” He admits, gathering your thick dress and helping you redress in silence, tying the material around your body, “not everyone deserves mercy.”

Your smile is rare, but it is beautiful. And he wasn’t a man for such dramatics.

But, it could bring him to his knees, he thinks.

About Me

I am 20 years old. 

I am in my 2nd year of community college

I love to read and write fanfiction whenever I have the time.

Likes: Fanfiction, Sports, Fine Arts, Science, Reading, Writing, Brownies, Cookies, Sweets and Candy, My Phone, TikTok, YouTube 

Dislikes: Mushroom, Math, Being Bored, Not having a book to read, Mondays, Waking up in the morning

So, yay, that’s a little bit about me. 

*Reason I am not putting my name, birthday, and all that stuff here is because you do not know who can steal your personal identity.*

STAY SAFE GUYS, AND STAY IN SCHOOL!

ONE SHOT (FOR NOW) ===================

Imagine: If Emma was 5 years old when the curse was cast and she was sent through the wardrobe. And she had a newborn baby sister (the second daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming), who was swept up in the Evil Queen’s curse, and she was placed as the adopted daughter of Rumpelstiltskin

*This means Emma is 30 instead of 25* *Henry is still 10 years old. Emma had him later. Elizabeth is 16-years-old. Her aging got slowed down because of the curse.* *⚠️SPOILER WARNINGS⚠️ to whoever hasn’t seen Once Upon A Time* A/N: THIS WAS GOING TO BE A SERIES BUT THE IDEA'S I HAD FOR THIS SERIES ARE NOT FULLY COMPLETED ALSO I AM A COLLEGE STUDENT SO I AM VERY BUSY OUAT MASTERLIST

========================================

Cast:

Lana Parilla as Regina Mills/The Evil Queen

Jennifer Morrison as Emma Swan aka The Savior

Ginnifer Goodwin as Mary Margaret/Snow White

Josh Dallas as David Nolan/Prince David “James” “Charming”

Jared S. Gilmore as Henry Mills

Robert Carlyle as Mr. Gold/Rumplestiltskin

Bailee Madison as Elizabeth Gold-Charming

=======================================

“We will always find you”

=======================================

A/N: Please do not judge me this is my first time writing something like this

A hospital bed comes into view of everyone

Emma:

(Emma, Regina, Dr. Whale, and Mother Superior are gathered in Henry’s room at the hospital.

Regina: No… No…

Emma: I love you, Henry.

(Emma kisses Henry on the forehead, which causes the spell he was under to be broken. A pulse of magic spreads throughout Storybrooke. He wakes up and gasps.)

Henry: I love you, too. You saved me.

Regina: You did it.

(The pulse of magic awakens everyone in the town. Soon, a crowd begins to gather in Henry’s room.)

Emma: Henry… What’s going on?

Regina: No…

Henry: The curse. I think you broke it.

Mother Superior: That was true love’s kiss.

Regina: No, no…

Mother Superior: If I were you, Your Majesty, I’d find a place to hide.

Regina: Henry… No matter what you think, no matter what anyone tells you, I do love you.

(Regina flees the room.)

(David, after turning back from the edge of Storybrooke, sees Mary Margaret in the street.)

David: Snow!

MMB: Charming.

(The two run towards each other.)

MMB: You found me.

David: Did you ever doubt I would?

(They kiss.)

———–

(Mr. Gold and Belle continue to watch the purple smoke pour out of the well.)

Belle: I-I don’t understand.

Mr. Gold: We’re in a land without magic, Belle. And I’m bringing it. Magic… Is coming.

Belle: Why?

Mr. Gold: Why? Because of magic… Is power.

(The purple smoke continues to engulf Storybrooke. Regina, still observing from the window, smiles. The smoke wraps around the clock tower, as the clock strikes 8:15.)

----------------------------------------------

Few minutes prior to these events

Elizabeth POV

I was waiting back at my Papa's pawn shop for him to come back.

He told me he would prefer I stay inside the safety of the pawn shop seeing as all the chaos that has been happening as of late.

And then he just dashed off with the woman he keeps calling Belle.

Everything as of late has been whacko. More whacko than average. I just wish I knew what was going on

'It all started the day Emma Swan rolled into town' I think as I lay on a cot in the back room of the pawn shop.

'Not that I'm blaming Emma.'

'I really want to go see if Henry is okay. He's my only friend in the small, weird town.'

"I mean it's not like Papa will notice I'm gone at all," I say as I get off the cot I was just lying on.

I reach down and grab my shoes and put them on. I then go over to the coat rack and grab my jacket and my scarf, seeing as it is a little windy outside.

I walk toward the entrance of the pawn shop and twist the knob and open the door to the outside world.

The minute I laid my feet outside there was a slight gust of wind and I felt goosebumps go all over my body making me shiver.

I turn in the direction of the hospital and start to walk that way wrapping my jacket closer to me.

"I have a really bad feeling about this," I say to no one.

-----------------------------------

I walk for a little bit till I reach the edge of the town square.

Just as I go to turn the corner a feel a sharp breeze blow through my head making me go stalk still at the corner of Maine Street.

A whole bunch of memories start flooding into my brain. Funny thing is I don't remember any of these memories, like at all. I get sweeped into my brain and start relieving memories I do not remember at all.

Elizabeth Memories

Still Elizabeth POV

A dwarf tells Mary Margaret to keep pushing and David Nolan stands next to her encouraging her.

'Why are Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan in these memories?' I ask myself out loud. No one heard me.

I kept watching.

I noticed off to the side a little behind David Nolan was a small, young girl no more than 5 years old. She was wearing a beautiful snow white dress, and cute little white shoes, and she had her hair up in a half up half down with little jewels and a white bow in her hair. She looked nervous about who must be her parents.

I looked back toward Mary Margaret and David Nolan.

"Just one more push your Majesty" with one final push her baby was out.

"Oh...oh" Mary Margaret said in pain, relief and happiness.

"Congratulations your Majesty"

'Your Majesty?!?' why was this short man calling Mary Margaret your Majesty? I'm so lost and confused right now.

'Just keep watching!' I tell myself. And I did.

"You did it, Snow. You did it. Your okay!" David said in a soothing caring tone

'Wait what Snow? As in Snow White. The same one from Henry's Storybook' I ask myself. I'm now totally lost.

"I sure did Charming. I sure did" Snow? says

'Snow, Charming. WTF! This has to be a figment of my imagination. No way any of this is real' I say out loud.

I see out of the corner of my eye the young girl walk toward Charming?!?

I'm so lost and confused.

The young girl hugs her dads legs and he pats her head while hold Snows? hand with the other.

The dwarf size man comes back with the little girl wrapped and swaddled in a cloth switched baby blanket.

I decide to walk forward and see what was on it.

"What shall you name her your highness?" the dwarf man asks

Snow and Charming? (man this is still confusing, what this got to do with me at all) looked at each other with a knowing look.

"Elizabeth. Her name shall be Elizabeth!!!"

I froze. I stopped walking toward the bed.

'Elizabeth. No way. That's my name. No, it has to be a coincidence? This all has to be a coincidence'

I get out of my frozen state and walk around the canopy bed and go to the other side to get a look at the baby in Snow's arms.

I look at the baby and it looks so similar to me. Its facial features are so similar to mine.

'Wait! If that's me then where's....' I trail off.

'Henry always mentions Emma as Snow and Charming oldest daughter. Wait that means that....'

I turn my head toward the little girl and now I see it.

I see it all. OMG! That little's girls facial features look so familiar earlier now I know why.

This girl is Emma!

'That means that this Enchanted Forest really exists and that Henry was right the entire time about me being the long-lost daughter of Snow and Charming...Mary Margaret and David Nolan. GAH this is so confusing it's annoying'

I then hear what is warning bells in the distance.

I panic internally. I look toward my parents? gosh, that's weird to say. I love Mr. Gold as my Papa. My mind snaps back. Mr. Gold, omg!

Wait that means Henry was right about him being Rumplestiltskin as well. OMG, I'm the adopted daughter of Rumplestiltskin. Well, now when I say it like that...it sounds cool and awesome.

Anyway back to the situation.

They take about how the Evil Queen is here and how Charming needs to get Emma to the wardrobe.

He and snow fight and he finally goes. But not before giving her a kiss.

"Come back to me," she says, "I always will" charming says in return and he takes off with 5-year-old Emma in one of his arms (Emma is on his hip) and a sword in the other.

They turned the hall and I decided to go see what happens so I follow Charming. Not before turning back to my biological mother, and seeing her coddling crying 1 minute old me in her arms.

I reluctantly turn and follow in the way Charming went

{Time skip - we all know what happens with Charming, the Evil Queens Guards, Snow (but this time she has baby Elizabeth in her arms), and the Evil Queen}

I saw the room get covered in some dark mist that is supposed to be this curse that Henry keeps talking about.

Memories end

I gasp and open my eyes. I then blink my eyes to readjust them to the sun.

I then take in my surroundings and see a whole lot of people in the town square and the streets now.

Some run to others and hug them. Others seem to look confused about what's going on. I then see two figures off in the distance and now exactly who they are.

MY BIOLOGICAL PARENTS - Snow White and Prince David "Charming"

I see they are having a moment so I go to walk back to Papa's? (do I still call him that anymore? ) I think about the whole biological parent reveal through my memories and my mind goes back to Mr. Gold, my cursed version father. 'What will Snow and Charming think to know one of their biggest enemies (I know through Henry's little book ok) raising their biological daughter.' I stop walking and stay in place on the sidewalk. I have left the town square by now and headed back toward the pawnshop

I think about this predicament with a serious-looking but sad-looking face. I then come to a realization.

"You know what! I don't care if Snow and Charming hate it. He was the one that raised me all these years. He was the one who was there for me when I got sick or needed a shoulder to cry on (other than Henry). He tucked me in at night and loved and cherished me. If that changes because Emma broke the curse. I'll be damned if I let that happen. Rumplestiltskin is my father and so is Charming (David). They're both going to have to share me. Rumple technically is my legal guardian. They'll both have to live with that. If one of them doesn't (*cough cough Charming*) so be it but I not changing my mind" I was proud of myself and I kept walking toward the pawn shop.

I go to turn around for a second after I heard a scream and a shout from some people and I wish I didn't.

"Maybe I really should have stayed inside the pawn shop today" I whisper to myself flabbergasted as I see what is in front of me.

It's the same giant purple cloud of smoke from my memories.

It's sweeping right over everything and everyone in Storybrooke.

I saw it sweep through Mary Margaret and David Nolan

And it came toward me at a somewhat rapid rate covering me in a cooling mist and wind.

It didn't seem to do any harm to anyone.

I shrug once it cleared and kept walking toward the Pawnshop.

I finally make it to the pawn shop and open the door and go inside before shutting the door.

I begin to make my way to the back of the shop when I feel a gust of power all over my body.

I lean on the counter for support. Laying both my hands on the counter, I close my eyes and try to calm heart rate.

To much has happened tody. I don't know what that feeling was but I don't want to know right now.

Between finding out my heritage and then finding out h=who my adopted father is and then who I am, I don't want to know what that was.

I kept my hands on the counter, with my eyes closed and breathing evenly. My heart rate calmed down.

I then lean off the counter and start walking to the back room.

I get behind the curtain when I hear the bell above the door to the shop go off.

"Ugh!" I say over dramatically. That's when I hear his voice.

"Elizabeth darling, you in here!" That's Papa's voice I wiplash my head around and practically run through the curtains.

Yup, it was definitely him!

He was looking at Belle asking if she was okay. She said yes.

He then looks up towards me and gives me a little smile.

That did it for me.

I ran toward him and practically bear-tackled him into a hug. (We did not land on the floor)

He was surprised, to say the least, from what I can tell from his hitched breath.

He moved his cane to his left hand and put his right over my shoulder pulling me into a hug.

I hug back tighter refusing to let go.

He sighed eventually "Darling you'll have to let me go you know that right" in his Scottish accent.

Me being the man baby I am whine and say"Nahuhu" hugging tighter.

He just laughs and I love the feeling of that laugh.

"Okay darling time to let go!" he says sweetly and jokingly

"mhh fine. Just one more minute Papa!" I whisper.

Rumplestiltskin POV

'Did she just call me Papa?!!?' I thought surprised. I hug here back anyway.

"Fine one more minute darling!" I say.

I look toward Belle and she is looking at me so lovingly.

God I love this woman.

God I love Elizabeth she's like my daughter to me.

Going by the fact that she did not run off toward Snow and Charming the first minute she got, I take it she still sees me as her Papa.

Papa! Gosh I haven't been called that in a lifetime.

I know she knows her parentage.

I also know she wasn't in here the whole time.

She must have got the little memories she had as a baby back.

"Time to let go now darling"

She reluctantly let's go. I grab Ella's hand and she looks me in the eyes. she looks at me with love. Even though I'm the Dark one. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know that one though.

Back to Elizabeth's POV

I reluctantly let go of my Papa.

Yes, I said it he is and always will be my Papa. No matter who he is. Idk what happened in the past back in the Enchanted Forest whatever happened I do not blame him.

Awkward silence endures

Papa coughs and finally says "Well...It's been a long day. Why don't we close the shop up early ey!"

"Sure!" I say

Papa, Belle and I go about cleaning the store up and closing up. Unfortenatly not locking the door. But the sign is flipped to closed now. Papa and I are behind the counter. I lean on his shoulder. And I swore I saw a smile for a minute

I pick my head off my head, and see him smirk "Was that I smile I saw?"

"No, whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean Papa?"

"Do you mean this?" and then he proceeds to tickle me.

I end up on the floor laughing-crying.

Belle went in the back a while ago to get rest.

Just Papa and I

Papa soon ask me something unexpected "Darling, why did you not go back to your biological family? I'm sure they miss you!"

I shrug and sigh a sad smile he looks at me with a knowing look.

"I'm just not sure, Papa. I mean I did just find out TODAY that I'm from a realm full of fairytales and mythical creatures. And better yet I'm one of the two children of Snow White and Prince Charming. Which to me is just weird. The Disney movie version of Snow White never had Prince Charming I thought that was Sleeping Beauty and why are you laughing"

"The fact that you compared your biological mother to a Disney movie is funny" I gave him a look "Sorry carry on dearie"

"I'm just not sure how they'll look at me, ya know"

"Is it the fact that the Evil Queen made me your adoptive father? Or the fact that I'm Rumplestiltskin and their worst enemy?"

I frown at that last one but I say "Idk anymore"

"Go to them dearie they are your family after all!?!"

"But you are also my family," I say back

He frowns confused and gives me a look to elaborate

"The curse may have been the cause of my separation from my family. But without it, I wouldn't have found the best Papa in all the realms. You were there for me through everything. I practically grew up with the most sweet person I know. I mean a little mean and cruel..."He hits my arm sarcastically at that comment, "But sweet too"

At the end of my little speech, I turn to him and he's silently crying so I give him a hug which he returns.

We pull away

"They may be my family, but you Rumplestiltskin will always be my Papa."

{Time skip - the town getting mad they are not back home, planning to take down Regina, her getting locked up}

Charming POV (Suprise)

I can't believe Emma did it. She broke the curse.

I looked over toward Snow as we began to walk toward Gold's pawn shop.

I just realized where's Elizabeth.

I stop walking and thought hard.

The curse broke so where is she?

Emma and Snow noticed I stopped walking and came back to me.

Snow asked "What's wrong?"

"The curse is broken, right?"

"Yes?!?" Emma said

I turn to Snow and say, "Then where's Elizabeth!" Snow finally got it and gasped

"Elizabeth?!?!" Snow said

"Whose Elizabeth?" Emma asked, "Was she that baby girl in my memories?"

I nod. "She's your baby sister!"

Emma looked shocked but rubbed it off.

"I have a baby sister!" Emma said.

"Yup!" Snow and I said

After a while we kept walking toward Gold's Pawnshop.

We made it there and Emma opened the door and I did not believe who was standing behind the counter with Gold.

Snow gasp.

Gold and the girl looked toward us.

silence

Gold then spoke saying "Can we help you dearie's?"

I ignored him and looked at the young woman in his company. I recognize that chin and those eyes and hair anywhere!

I then spoke in a soft but loud tone "Elizabeth!"

The young girl looked at us in shock, recognition, and fright.

Snows POV

My darling baby girl is here with HIM.

But why?!? Charming asked "Why are you here...with HIM?" in a venomous tone.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because next thing I new Charming was up against the wall a knee to his chest along with a sword aimed right at his heart. With Elizabeth wielding the sword.

She spoke with so much venom "You..Take..That..Back"

This was such a long day.

Charming was stunned

Gold...Rumple came and pulled her back with a bit of a struggle but pulled her back a good couple of feet from Charming.

I ran and helped him up.

We both looked back toward our darling baby girl as she stared toward her father with venom in her tone but fear in her eyes.

Rumplestiltskin POV

'Stupid Charmings' I say in my head

Here I am trying to hold back my darling little girl from killing her other father. As much as I would love for her to actually do it, she would be devastated after, so second best option then.

Elizabeth POV

How dare he say that about my Papa? I'm going to tear him a new one.

I didn't think in my fit of rage as I grabbed the closet sharp object and pinned him to the wall and aimed the sword at his chest right above his heart.

I had so much anger inside me, but so much fear.

Papa got me off him before taking the sword from me and pushing me gently back toward the counter as I looked at my biological dad with venon, anger and fear.

"Geez! Definitely my temper thats for sure!"

That's it. I try to run at him but I was pulled back by Belle this time.

I was too busy staring at my biological family.

Belle then gently said to me "Go take a nap hmm? Or go meditate it will help but don't do this"

I sigh before going to the back to meditate.

Charming POV

Elizabeth went to the back of the store to do something to calm her down.

We looked toward Gold...Rumple whatever.

"Can you please tell me why you came so I can go back to calming my darling daughter down?"

Now that just shocked me

"Wait a damn minute! Daughter! She is not your daughter she is ours! Why the hell would she be your...." I did not get to finish the sentence before i got blasted back to a wall by an unknown force. I slumped down and Snow and Emma came and helped me up.

We looked in Rumple's direction but our gaze move to Elizabeth who had a fireball conjured in her hand.

Elizabeth POV

I heard yelling and went back to the main area of the shop.

'Protect Papa' was all I heard in my head, it was like I heard a voice in my head, I felt a tingle in my arms and all throughout my body as I got up and rushed back to the front of the pawn shop. I somehow summoned a ball of light 'magic' to my hands and blasted it toward Charming.

He got back up with Emma and Snow's help and every just looked flabbergasted at me.

I sigh defeated.

"Papa Imma take a walk" and turn toward the front door and don't stop to hear a response

Rumplestiltskin POV

Okay! You know what she needs fresh air. Just hope she doesn't go far.

"Now what do you need dearies"

{They explain}

[Time skip - 2 hours later]

Elizabeth POV

I was at Henry's castle.

I like it up here.

The wind blowing all around me, the world is just so calm and still up here. No worries at all.

I don’t know how much time last but it must be close to 3pm due the sun being lower.

I hear footsteps approach my sitting spot on the castle and I look up to see Henry. I proceed to stand up Henry gives me a hand and I look around and ‘yep, just as I thought my biological family is here. No wait it’s just David. Where’s Emma and Mary Margret’

I sigh and Henry must’ve noticed I noticed him.

Henry's eyes meet mine, filled with a child's earnest curiosity. "But, Elizabeth, he's your real dad."

I sigh, attempting to distill complex emotions into words suitable for a ten-year-old. "Henry, I was just a tiny baby when the curse brought me to Storybrooke. Snow White and Prince Charming are my biological parents, and I can't change that. But growing up, it was Rumplestiltskin who played the role of Papa, guiding me until I turned sixteen. They weren't there for me, curse or not. Family isn't just about blood; it's about who was there for you when you needed them."

He processes my words, and a thoughtful expression replaces the initial confusion. Finally, he wraps his arms around my legs and whispers something to David as he runs off.

Alone, I turn towards the horizon, and my thoughts spill into the quiet air.

A wise man once told me family don't end in blood. But it doesn't start there either. Family cares about you. Not what you can do for them. Family's there. They got your back. Even when it hurts. That's family.

Supernatural, Dean Winchester

Merlin AU

FEM! OC | Imagine Headcannon

Imagine if Merlin and Arthur knew each other before Season 1. Imagine if Uther, Arthur's father, and Igraine, Arthur's father, were friends with Merlin's parents Balinor and Hunith, before the Great Purge and before Uther band all magic practices. What if when Merlin comes to Camelot and after he saves Arthur he finds out that he and Arthur's parents were once friends and that he was betrothed to Arthur by their parents.

What if Merlin and Arthur became married and were actually in love with one another?

(Arthur is 2 years older than Merlin. In S1 of the show, Merlin is 17 years old and Arthur is 20 years old.)

Merlin came 2 years prior to season 1 and married him.

Merlin was 17 when he married 20-year-old Arthur Pendragon.

They are actually both in love with each other (#merthur). Merlin is still born with magic and is still Emerys. Arthur knows that he has Magic.

Instead of Merlin coming to Camelot in Season 1 it is Elizabeth James (OC). She was born to a Sorceror/Dragon Lord and a farmer's daughter two towns/villages east of the town Merlin grew up in, Ealdor. The town's name was Ambonisa. Gaius is Elizabeth's mother's half-brother, making him her uncle.

*Basically Elizabeth James replaces Merlin as a servant and Merlin replaces Qwenievere as Arthur’s love interest and Queen. (I know Arthur and Gwen don't get together or married till like S3, but I think this is a great story idea. Especially to all the fans of the BBC Merlin series who ship Arthur and Merlin together. I know I certainly ship Arthur and Merlin)*

A/N: The idea for this story came to me while watching Merthur TikTok. I ship Merthur all the way. Best ship in the whole series. Also the GIF images are not mine. Credit to whoever made these GIF's they are amazing

The Clouds and The Stars

Request: Yes or No

Sequel one shot to The Sun and Moon!

Pronouns: He/Him/His

~~~

Married life... such a curious thing. Many grew up with an expectation as to how it would be, mostly based on their own parents' relationship. There were the happy parents who formed a love match and loved each other with their whole hearts. There were the friendly parents who were more friends than partners but still cared for one another. Then, there were the saddening parents who either due to a forced marriage or perhaps because of time grew to despise each other, only tolerating each other for the sake of their children whom they unknowingly harm with their arguments and jabs. 

(Y/N) grew up with friendly parents. Lucy and Henry had ended their respective social seasons by marrying under the guise of being madly in love in order to chase after what they truly wanted, even if their desires had to be kept behind closed doors and only exposed to trusted individuals. Secrecy had always been a part of his life, even when it involved marriage, and he supposed now, as he lied in bed and watched the sun peek through the curtains, he'd truly followed in his parents' footsteps. At least, however, he'd found someone. Found more than one, in fact. 

"Love," (Y/N) couldn't help but smile as Anthony sighed into his ear, his muscular arm tightening around him and pulling him closer to his chest. Anthony buried his face in the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, lips pressing against his skin before he hooked his chin over (Y/N)'s shoulder. He gently nudged him, a soft grunt leaving him when (Y/N) remained still. "Love."

"What is it?" (Y/N) chuckled and finally shifted, moving onto his back and peering up at Anthony when he propped himself up onto his elbow. Anthony smiled at him, cheeky and pleased, one hand moving to cup his face and rub his thumb soothingly over his cheek, a warm twinkle in his dark eyes. (Y/N) felt his skin flush under such an adoring gaze. 

"I simply wished to see my husband's beautiful face, is all." Anthony cooed, and (Y/N) smile widened tenfold, a bashful and breathy laugh escaping him. They weren't married to each other, not legally or in the eyes of the church at least, but in their hearts and to their families they were. Many in the ton suspected but with Queen Charlotte's silence and Lady Whistledown calling their dance together a 'much-needed change for such dreary balls', anyone with suspicions or beliefs remained silent. Of course, they still had to remain a secret, lest someone grew annoyed enough to reach out to the church. 

"Such a charmer, Anthony." (Y/N) spoke teasingly, sighing softly against Anthony's mouth when he swooped down to kiss him. Anthony pressed harder against his lips and fully rolled over, laying ontop of the painter and only pulling away to trail kisses down his jawline and to his neck. Always so hungry, so needy and clingy. "Anthony, we have things to do-"

"They can wait," Anthony murmured against his skin, one hand slipping under his shirt while the other took his hand and locked their fingers together. (Y/N) rolled his eyes and released a breathy laugh, breath nearly hitching when Anthony needily rolled his hips. "We have time."

"It's an important day, Anthony. Francesca will need her brother today, you know." (Y/N) reminded him, dipping his fingers beneath Anthony's chin and gripping it lightly so he could tilt his head up. Anthony sighed dramatically, putting his full weight down on him and bringing their intertwined hands toward his face, a gentle kiss pressing against the back of (Y/N)'s hand. (Y/N) smiled.

"Suppose we should be quick, then." Anthony grinned mischievously, his free hand pushing up (Y/N)'s shirt and head dipping to pepper kisses along his stomach. 

"Anthony!" (Y/N) tried not to laugh too loudly, mindful of those still slumbering in the nearby rooms. He could hear the maids and servants bustling around, likely readying the house and preparing breakfast. Such a big day for the Bridgerton family again, and yet, there lied the Viscount, acting like a hormonal boy all over again. (Y/N) swatted at his shoulder and pushed himself up but it only prompted Anthony's head to dip even lower. "Anthony Bridgerton!"

Releasing a muffled laugh, Anthony finally relented and sat back, his hand still keeping an iron grip on (Y/N)'s no matter how hard the painter trying to pull back. (Y/N) groaned again in fake annoyance that only made Anthony giggle like a child and reach out to pull him onto his lap. He leaned in, pressing their lips together again. (Y/N) melted against him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, squeezing Anthony's hand and feeling his fingers tighten even more. 

"If only-" (Y/N) leaned back, briefly interrupted when Anthony pecked his lips again. "-you put this much effort into having an heir with Steph." 

"Mm, I've been busy and she seems more than content with her... lady friends," Anthony said, nuzzling his face into (Y/N)'s chest. "If you'd been a lady, I'm certain you'd be expecting by now." 

"Yes, I'm aware. You've made that abundantly clear, Lord Bridgerton. I don't understand how you can have this much stamina." (Y/N) shook his head with a soft laugh, sweetly kissing the top of his head and exhaling softly. "But, I am not a lady nor your wife, Anthony. You need an heir. I'm sure it won't take too many attempts."

"And what of you and Kate? I'm sure you nor she will have this difficulty if you try for children of your own. We have each other's blessings, you know. If you'd like to have a child-"

"We've been breaching the topic, actually." (Y/N) revealed, finally untangling his hand from Anthony's and rising up from the bed, searching for the clothes he kept in Anthony's home for days he spent the night. Because of their predicament regarding Anthony's position as Viscount and their inability to wed publicly or have children, both men agreed to take on brides. Stephanie provided the perfect candidate for Viscountess and (Y/N) had always held affection for Kate. "She's more than happy to have children. She thinks two is a good number, in fact, so they have someone to keep them company."

"How many do you think Steph will want?" Anthony sighed, standing up as well to get dressed.

"Well, if you have a boy first... I think you'll both be content with just one." (Y/N) chuckled, slipping his coat on and adjusting the ends of it while Anthony began taking clothes out of the closet. The thought of parenthood, of fatherhood, hung over the two of them, both exciting and nerve-wracking. The four of them would care for the children together, that'd already been agreed upon, but still... bringing life into the world? It made (Y/N) queasy yet... pleased. 

"If you and I could have children," Anthony whistled sharply, a grin spreading across his face and fingers swiftly buttoning up his shirt. "We'd have a bigger brood than Mother." 

"I don't doubt it." (Y/N) retrieved Anthony's coat from its spot draped over the armrest and approached him, helping him slip his arms through and adjusting it for him. He smiled, finishing the last button of his shirt and fixing the collar before tugging Anthony closer to kiss him. "You're insatiable, Anthony."

"Only for you." Anthony cooed, gearing up to lean in again but the sound of the door opening made him pause.

Stephanie dramatically gasped at the sight of them, lifting a hand to her head and fanning herself rapidly. "Oh, Kate, what ever will we do? How could they do this to us?" She gasped again, a teasing smile stretching across her face as Kate giggled and gently nudged her and walked further into the room. (Y/N) rolled his eyes at Stephanie but smiled widely at Kate, pulling away from Anthony to extend his arms out toward her. 

"My darling wife." He greeted warmly, coiling his arms around her waist and planting a kiss between her brows. Kate hummed softly, leaning her head down to rest it on his shoulder. Stephanie stopped at Anthony's side, taking a quick look over his clothes before nodding approvingly and curling her arm around his. 

"Shall we get to it? Breakfast is ready and Violet has been fretting over Francesca nonstop. She's worried about the poor girl." Stephanie told them and Anthony sighed heavily, leaning over to kiss (Y/N)'s temple and nod to Kate. The Viscount and Viscountess fell into conversation and exited the room, leaving Kate and (Y/N) alone. 

"So, my darling husband," Kate began with a small laugh, lifting her head and smoothing out his shirt with her palms, her keen eyes searching for anything out of place before rising to look him in the eye. She smiled, pecking his cheek. "We have a long day ahead of us, as you know. Ready for this social season?"

"As long as I have you and Anthony and Steph, I'll always be ready."

Imagine: Draco Malfoy has a little sister named Elizabeth Malfoy, who is one year young get than him. She was sorted into Gryffindor Draco’s 2nd year at Hogwarts.

Headcannon's

She met Harry, Hermione and Ron on the Hogwarts Express because Draco would not allow her to sit with him and his friends

She stumbled upon their carriage by mistake and asked if she could sit there

They said yes and introduced themselves.

She came in and sat down and introduced herself as Elizabeth Malfoy and Ron went bonkers

Harry told him to not judge a book by its cover and to shut up

The Sorting ceremony happened and everyone looked at her as her names was called expecting the hat to sort her into Slytherin

The hat was on her for longer than 5 minutes

Professors started whispering around her About being a Hat Stall

They were all shocked, including herself, when the hat shouted “Gryffindor”

She was frightened

She sat there frightened till McGonagall told her she needs to join the Gryffindor table

Someone clapped first and everyone else started clapping awkwardly

She got off the stool and walked down the steps to the Gryffindor table

As she walks down she looks to her older brother Draco and he is in shock

They just stare at one another till she is dragged by Harry to sit down

During the feast Ron would not stop smack talking her family

This causes Harry to stand up amd smack him upside the head

Harry says he lost his appetite and then turns to Elizabeth and asks if she wants to go up to the common room early

She nods her head yes because she is in shock that Harry Freaking Potter who is a year above her is being nice to her the daughter of Lucius Malfoy.

Elizabeth just follow behind Harry as he walks out the Great Hall with Ron yelling behind them at them in the background throwing slurs and stuff

Elizabeth is in shock of the moving stair case

She stops Harry before they can walk up the stair case and ask why he is being nice to her

Harry says “Just because your Draco’s sister does not mean you are like him”

Elizabeth’s eyes are watering but she holds them back because “A Malfoy does not cry”

An Unwanted Marriage (Marcus Acacius x Female OC)

CAST

Pedro Pascal as General Marcus Acacius

Anna Popplewell as Lady Cassandra "Casey" Acacius neé Gracchus

Derek Jacobi as Senator Gaius Sempronius Gracchus

Joseph Quinn as Emperor Publis Septimus Geta

Fred Hechiner as Emperor Caracalla

Connie Nielsen as Lucilla

Rest of the cast as themselves