#Acta Non Verba

[mojowitchcraft]

Stobin Girls Night

Comissioned Emily @/kasphacked on twitter to draw this stobin moment from my fic Acta, Non Verba they're so cute I'm obsessed with them!!

See below the cut for a snippet of the fic and an alternate version of the art ⤵️

"Pshhh, he’s not even that cute,” Eddie lies. Steve is that cute, Eddie was helplessly drawn to him from the moment he saw that swoop of hair three years ago at an Alpha Sig kegger.

Apparently, Eddie walked right into the trap that Chrissy set, because she turns around her phone with a flourish, satisfied smirk on her face. “You sure about that?”

It’s a selfie of Steve and his friend Robin, wearing face masks and cuddly-looking pajamas, both of them have fuzzy pink headbands holding their hair back. Steve looks disgustingly cute, so cute that Eddie lets out an embarrassing little keening noise that he tries to cover with a grunt. 

“I hate you.”

“Five more minutes,” Robin reminds him with a nudge. 

Steve drops his hand down into his lap, pretending like he wasn’t about to scratch his nose and mess up his hydrating face mask like he always does. When he got to her dorm room earlier she’d brightly announced that he looked tired and started pulling out different options to fix him up. Robin’s all about self-care lately, and frankly, Steve’s skin has never been better, so he trusts her guidance. 

10 Things I Hate About You is playing on Robin’s laptop, and she keeps teasing him for going googly-eyed over Heath Ledger. “Seriously, how did you not realize you were into dudes sooner?” she asks, thwacking him with a pillow as he watches Patrick serenade Kat.

“I’m sure I knew, I just didn’t… know? If that makes sense?” He picks at the mask on his chin where it’s gone all tacky. “I just always liked girls too so I didn’t really notice? I dunno, it’s hard to explain.”

Robin softens immediately. “Don’t worry, I get it. I mean, I always knew I liked girls, but it’s easy to just…” She wiggles her hand like it’s a fish swimming upstream. “Go with the flow.”

They watch the movie for a few minutes before Robin speaks up again. “He looks a lot like Eddie, y’know… I think you have a type.”

“Sure… I guess I do,” Steve snorts.

Read the rest of the fic on Ao3 🧢 🤘

[mateuscosme]

[onlyhurtforaminute]

DEITUS-FALLEN

[bobmorane]

I really don't care what people politics are, i mean im pretty conservative by some people's standards, progressive by others. I got people with pronouns in their bios and neo-fascists following me. I really don't give a shit, i judge people by the content of their character. If that makes you mad well just fuck off and live your life. You only got one and its not very long...

[norbert-weber]

20240927  ACTA NON VERBA

Acta, non verba.Taten, nicht Worte.Ähnlich wie “Taten sagen mehr als Worte” drückt diese lateinische Redewendung aus, dass man danach handeln oder seine Erklärungen immer durch Taten untermauern sollte. 20240927  PHOTO-ART-WEBER  NORBERT WEBER GERMANY SMARTPHONE-PHOTOGRAPHY FLOWER-PHOTOGRAPHY PHOTOGRAPHY WEBER NORBERT  ○#photoart  #fotografie #monochrome  #b&w#abstract #art #abstractart…

[myownwholewildworld]

v. a Roman’s rotten heart - acta, non verba

chapter 4 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: temptation is sweeter than honey. a/n: well, well, well, what can i say other than this whole chapter had me howling? over half of it is smut, so if that's not your thing, i'm sorry? 🤓 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, starvation, marital abuse, infidelity. some fluff because cormag is a grumpy sweetheart. marcus is the praise/consent king. very soft!marcus (yes, this is a warning). he talks you through it. a lot of fingering. nipple play. unprotected piv. reverse lap dance and reverse cowgirl positions. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd, very minimal editing (soz). w/c: ~8.8k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Come see me tonight,” Marcus almost begged you as you turned around in his embrace.

He had you pinned against the wall of the garderobe, the small room filled with the scent of wine and sex.

You chuckled, eyeing him through your lashes. It was a good sign that he was eager, but you wondered if he was just trying to bed you, fuck you and then be done with you. All men were the same, especially men like him — drunk with power, believing they were above everyone else, that they could get anyone to bend to their will.

And… was not that what you were trying to do anyway?

“I’ll see what I can do,” you conceded, leaving him hanging. “But won’t you have an early day tomorrow? I’m sure being the General of Rome have you waking up like an early bird.”

You were fishing for information, and hoped he would bite the bait.

Surprisingly, he did.

“Tomorrow we are going on a reconnaissance mission around the area, stalk out some points of interest where…” he trailed off, probably realising he had spoken too much. “But I don’t mind having a late night when I know it will be worth it.”

He surely knew how to make one feel fucking special. But what he said was like gold dust to you — it wasn’t much, but enough to get your plan working. You’d need to speak to some people, see what could be arranged, but if it worked out, perhaps your people could instil some fear in those rotten Roman hearts.

You wondered if Marcus’ was as rotten as his people’s. An idea of him had formed in your mind, and it contradicted what he had shown you so far. But only a man with a rotten heart could cause so much pain, so much grief.

You chewed your bottom lip, crouching for a second to collect the jug you had dropped before.

“If I finish early after cleaning up all the mess of your birthday’s celebration…” you teased.

“Right,” Marcus took a step back, liberating you from the warm prison of his body. “You go first, I’ll wait a couple of minutes then leave.”

“Such a gentleman, worried about my reputation,” you mocked him a bit, hand on the doorknob.

“I am,” Marcus replied, and you were not sure if he was joking back or being serious.

You didn’t stay to find out, scurrying away down the hallway straight to the kitchens. There were a lot of people in the small room, with Cormag at the forefront of it, barking commands and orders to everyone. The air was heavy, a cloud of smoke collecting close to the low ceiling.

The poor cook was profusely sweating near the hearth, his paw stirring a cauldron with a big wooden spoon.

“Ye deaf lad?! Bring that over right now!” the old git screamed at the top of his lungs, breaking into a coughing fit a second later.

Tomorrow you would make sure to put out the fire and clean that damn chimney, because one of these days Cormag was going to cough up a lung. You wouldn’t tell him though, otherwise he would try and talk you out of it, pointing out that it was no job for a lady. As if you cared.

Placing the empty jug down on one of counters, you saw Brighid and Isla tattling in a corner, giggling and blushing. You could only imagine what they were talking about. Had Brighid recognised you? It was dark inside the garderobe, and Marcus had tried to shield you from her, but the maid could be very perceptive.

Then Brighid swept the room and waved at you to come over, still snickering.

You steeled your back and sauntered towards them, not sure what to expect.

“Oh, mo bana-phrionnsa, you’re not going to believe what I just saw!” she squealed, almost too excitedly. “I just saw the Roman General fucking one of the harlots in the garderobe!”

Should you take offense in being mistaken for a prostitute? Perhaps you should but didn’t. It was actually a relief. Being caught red-handed sheathing Acacius’ cock in a crowded event like this would have been bad, really bad.

“Did you now?!” you faked the same level of excitement, sharing in the gossip.

The rest of the night was a haze, serving plates and taking empty ones away, cleaning up after the unwanted guests, replenishing wine and beer one pint after the next. Your feet hurt, although the dull, pleasant aching between your legs had nothing to do with standing up for hours. You had Marcus to thank for that.

Perhaps you were being paranoid, but you felt strangers’ eyes on you for the remainder of the night. You had avoided looking at the dais the whole evening, slightly worried that if your eyes lingered on him for too long, people would notice and add up your absence with his. That wasn’t the kind of attention you needed.

The last of the Romans had left now while you and the maids continued to clean after them. Marcus and Maximus were the last ones to exit the great hall, and you could sense the General’s brown eyes burning through your skin as he walked towards the double doors. You didn’t look his way, although the temptation was there. You knew if you did, you would not be able to stop yourself from following him to his room.

Two hours had gone by, and you were knackered. Rummaging through a basket, you found one of the plums that Cormag had gotten for you from Fachabair, jumped and sat on the clean counter. Your feet dangled in front of you, your mind stuck in that garderobe.

You were so distracted, your heart almost escaped your chest when someone spoke behind you.

“Meanbh-chuileag (Highland midge),” you almost fell from the counter when you turned around to look at the old cook.

“Cormag! I almost threw up my heart right now,” you accused him, his hearty laugh reverberating in the room.

“Didnae ye hear my ol’ knees clicking? Umnae (am not) that stealthy, fear beag (little one). What are you doing here? It’s so late, you should be in bed,” he questioned you, stopping in front of you with arms folded.

You rolled your eyes — Cormag was too close to a father figure to you, so you would sometimes give him the same attitude you did your dad.

“I was about to go, just wanted something sweet before I left.”

“Is that why all the plums are disappearing so quickly?” his brows knitted together, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Coireach (guilty). They are just too sweet. Didnae you say you bought them for me exclusively?”

“Exclusively? Now I don’t recall saying that, ye wee liar,” Cormag joked, his expression softening. “Are you and your family having enough to eat?”

The old man had a nose for hunger. While you were not starving, you did save as much food as possible so your niece and nephew would not go to bed with an empty belly. Bonnie was trying her best to keep you all fed, but four more mouths to cater for in the household meant that resources were a tad scarce. Your sister’s children were used to Cormag’s cooking, not having known hunger for a single day of their lives. And you didn’t want that to change now.

“We are making ends meet,” you eluded, shrugging, while sinking your teeth in the plum.

Cormag tutted at you and with no other words, he veered around and shuffled around in the kitchen. You watched him with curiosity, not sure of what he was doing. Got off the counter to drop the stone in the bin.

“Here, you take all of this with you, and I won’t accept no for an answer,” Cormag placed down a basket full of food. “They are leftovers from tonight. Brighid, Isla and the lads have already had their share.”

You could smell the stew even with the tiny cauldron covered. Fresh vegetables, berries, bread, and, of course, quite a few plums along with other seasonal fruits. All that food would keep you all fed for a few days.

His generosity made the knot in your throat swell, your eyes lighting up with unspent tears. You had not expected to feel emotional, but the cook’s kindness reminded you too much of the family you had lost.

“Cormag,” you whispered, fearing your voice might crack, “mòran taing (thank you).”

He waved one of his paws, making light of the situation.

“Dinnae mention it. You still have a few inches to grow,” he jested, palming your shoulder.

His joke worked — it lightened your mood.

“I am six and twenty. I don’t think I’m growing any more than this,” you chortled, grabbing the basket to rest it on your hip. “Awright, I’m leaving before you diminish the castle’s reserves.”

“Off you go then,” his hands did a brushing motion, the man almost pushing you out of his kitchen.

If you had planned on visiting Marcus tonight, that had now changed — carrying all this food to Bonnie’s home was your main priority. You couldn’t wait to see the sparkle in your niece and nephew’s eyes when they woke up in the morning, plums and berries ready for them to break their fast.

Marcus knew that the rebels would be up in arms, but he did not expect them to be so bloodthirsty. The barbarians from the Highlands were not going to go down quietly, he had come to learn.

He had lost at least a dozen of men in the skirmish. They had been ambushed in their way to Cùil Lodair (Culloden), and none of his trackers had seen any indication of the small legion being followed. The moment they entered the woods and the path narrowed, arrows flew from tree to tree. Hell ensued, a dance of swords quickly singing its melody up to the treetops.

With his wounds still fresh and healing, Marcus had been able to knock down the first two men that approached him. Maximus and Cassius had come to his aid in time — the warmth soaking the tunic underneath his armour a good indication that he was bleeding again.

The General looked around him before jumping onto Faun’s back. Death followed him everywhere he went, like an old companion stalking his every step. He should be used to it by now—the reeking stench of humanity’s demise—but the truth was, Marcus never would. It never became easier, just manageable, but his duty to Rome had him drown the lingering doubts living quietly in the back of his mind.

After an unsuccessful mission—never made it past the woods—they returned to the castle, carrying their own dead and leaving behind a pile of bodies for their people to mourn and bury.

His muscles ached with exhaustion as he crossed the barbican. A dense fog had settled in the bailey, not a soul to be seen. As he trudged forward and the warm air of the keep hit his damp skin, his senses flared — alert, hoping to cross eyes with you.

Marcus had not seen you since his birthday. Despite asking you to join you that evening, you had not shown up at his door. He had waited up for a couple of hours and when reality dawned, he called it a night, somewhat resigned.

Perhaps it was for the best. He was a married man, after all. It was normal for men to take up a mistress or two, but Marcus was the kind to think that matrimony was holy — despite the hardships and the cheating, that was. At least, that was his mind up until he met you.

Should not be after a woman who was several years younger than himself either, he thought with a pout. But whatever spell you had him under, he could not break free from. You were like the opium poppy — your mere proximity could soothe pain, but also cause it.

“You need to get that stitched up again, Acacius,” Cassius pointed out, interrupting his line of thought.

Marcus’ palm was pressing on the wound on his hip — he had almost forgotten about the pain, the thought of you soothing.

“I’ll call for Atticus,” Maximus chipped in, and Marcus nodded.

“Shite!” you staggered backwards.

The hardened soot and coal you had been poking at with a broomstick to unblock the chimney’s breast dislodged from the inner walls. Snapping your head back, your face was saved by hair’s breadth, but the black ash had cascaded down your chest, staining the red linen dress you were fashioning today.

You clapped your hands together, a cloud of soot flying around you as you tried to shake off the rest of it off your clothes.

Huffing and puffing, you grabbed the damn broomstick and brush the mess off the floor. At least the chimney was unblocked now, so the air would not be loaded with smoke when the hearth was ignited again.

At least the kitchen was empty, so no one was witness to what has happened. Not that you were a refined lady worries about being seen like this, but you just knew that if Cormag was around, he would be giving you hell.

Once you were done, you left the kitchen and sauntered towards the doors to the bailey. You were in dire need of a dunking to clean yourself — you knew the perfect secluded spot on River Ness’ bank, one you had been going to since you were a child.

“Callie?”

The voice behind you made your heart skip a beat and your feet freeze. One you would now recognise anywhere.

“Dux Meus,” you murmured, turning around to face the fire of your desire.

Dux Meus. His lower tummy burnt at the words.

The last thing Marcus had hoped to see this fine morning was you standing in the hallway, a red dress hugging the hourglass figure he longed for. Your chest was covered in what seemed to be ash and soot, a deep black staining ruining the front of your pretty dress. It spread to your neck, your cheeks, the tip of your nose — and your green eyes so bright that they were pulling him in.

“What’s happened?”

“A minor inconvenience in the kitchens, Dominus. I was unblocking the chimney’s breast and, well…” you lifted your arms and pointed at yourself. “I guess my reflexes are not as sharp as I would have liked.”

Marcus grinned, the annoyance in your voice adding to the entertainment.

“I guess not,” he hummed, his fingertips burning to touch you. “I can help you,” the words escaped him before his brain was able to catch up with his own intentions.

I can help you clean yourself, he meant.

Your eyes locked for what felt like an eternity, the pupils in your orbs flickering, pondering.

One of your brows raised in your forehead and you took a step forward towards him.

“Only if it is not inconvenient for you, Dux Meus,” you cooed with a girlish smile.

“Of course not,” he quickly replied. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

“I believe your pretty dress is ruined,” Marcus husked, the damp rag brushing the exposed skin of your clavicle.

This was fucking torture. He was playing a game, and your patience was running thin. He had been paying immense attention to every inch of your skin, cleaning off all soot and ash. You knew he was debating, but he wouldn’t have taken you to his bedchambers—your room—if he hadn’t had something in mind.

The same thing you had in mind, to be completely honest.

“It appears so,” you said, sliding your hand to his.

To hell with subtleties — the tension was eating you up.

You guided his hand, the one holding the linen cloth, to the valley between the swell of your boobs. Slowly you pushed it down, one corner of the rag disappearing between your breasts.

Marcus didn’t say a word. And he didn’t need to, because the way he was looking at you—like a man who had not drunk water in days—was speaking for him.

You were not sure who had taken the initiative, but soon enough you were in his embrace, his mouth warming your lips as his hands rested gently on either side of your waist.

“I need you,” you mumbled, possibly being sincere for the first time.

You had not been able to stop thinking about what happened in the garderobe. Every time the memory came back, you would find yourself rubbing your knees together to quench the thirst between your thighs.

Marcus groaned in reply, his hands harsher now as they found the buttons on the back. With steady fingers, he undid every single one of them until your dress cascaded off your body and gathered at your feet. Soon your loincloth was also on the floor, leaving you completely naked.

The General took a step back to take in the sight of you — the intensity in his brown eyes making you blush as he studied every square inch of your body.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered, one hand reaching up to cup one of your breasts, his thumb skimming the nipple. You pursed your lips at the gentle touch. “You are beautiful, mel.”

Then he bowed down to kiss you again, and he took control of your hands to show you how to undress him. So you did under his delicate guidance, until you both were equally bare.

Marcus’ body was a woman’s dream — or, at least, yours. Toned but not too muscular, a hard chest, strong and defined arms, his lower tummy slightly softer with the passage of time, a pronounced V line, and then a happy, hairy trail that your eyes eagerly followed.

His cock had started to harden, the tip pearly with his excitement. The length was generous, but the girth was what caught your attention.

No wonder why he couldn’t fit it in the first time. Perhaps it hadn’t been your body’s rejection, but that Marcus’ dick was thick, very thick.

“It’s alright, honey, we’ll make it work,” he hummed, his thumb tilting your chin up to press a soft kiss on your mouth.

Then he walked to the bed—his ass, goddamn his ass—and sat on the feathery mattress.

You were standing there, completely naked and suddenly you felt shy — your arms wrapping around your body to try and cover yourself up. Your skin had bristled, not because of the room temperature, but because you felt completely exposed to him.

Being shy was not something you were used to, but everything you had endured with your late husband had taken a toll on you, one you had not expected at all. It pained you to acknowledge that Iain might have broken your spirit a tad more than what you would have liked to admit.

Marcus’ nudity should have calmed you, but instead it made your eyes widened and your heart pound harder.

He was big, really big ― to the point that you pondered if he would ever fit inside you. No wonder why he had only fucked you with the tip a couple of days ago. Taking more inches of his cock seemed like an unachievable task, at least for you. You were no stranger to sex, having been subdued to satisfy all of Iain’s vices, but this… this was too fucking different to what you had expected.

Doubt nagged at your mind, questioning yourself. Perhaps this was all a bad idea, wanting to seduce Marcus to get information off him. But you truly didn’t see any other way of obtaining what you needed ― leverage.

Marcus extended one of his hands towards you.

“It’s alright, melculum. Just want to make you feel good,” he husked, his palm an open invitation to join him, sat on the bed. Your bed.

You slipped your hand to his and he pulled you gently until you were sat on his bare lap. His hardening dick rested on the side of your left thigh, warm and heavy. His right hand traced mindless lines on your back, while his left caressed your belly, the pads of his fingers lightly stroking your mound.

With eyes shut, you sighed, relaxing at his touch. Marcus kissed your shoulder, then the curvature of your neck.

“That’s it, mel, relax. We are not doing anything you don’t want to,” he whispered.

And you believed him. Knew better than trusting your enemy, but his voice was so reassuring, there was no more room for your initial doubt.

His left hand surprised you travelling up instead of down, cupping your left breast while his thumb stroked your nipple. A shiver of need went down your spine, soothed by the gentle pet of his right hand on your back. His beard scratched your bristled skin as he crouched down a little to trap your taut nipple between his lips.

Inevitably, your head tilted back, mouth agape with short breaths. Marcus worked your nipple diligently, the warmth of his lips dripping onto the wrinkled nub. And even as you started trembling on his lap, he did not stop. If anything, your little gasps and quiet moans spurred him on, his tongue flicking your nipple.

The sensation was too much ― Marcus latched on your breast as a man starved, his broad hand cradling your breast with reverence. He was intent on making it good for you and not asking for anything in return. But your instinct wanted you to reciprocate, you needed to do something.

Your left hand found his stiffened cock, leaned against your thigh. Tentatively, your fingertips stroked the leaky mushroom head, which gifted you a deep groan coming from his chest. Hearing him moan around your nipple was a great incentive to explore him a bit more, so you swiped his glans with your thumb, collecting a pearl of precum and buttering it onto his tacky skin.

“You don’t have to,” he purred between licks.

“But I want to,” you cooed back, mind mushy with pleasure.

Marcus’ efforts on your nipple doubled, twirling the tight button between his teeth and pulling slightly before soothing the gesture with a wet kiss on your bud. You couldn’t help but whimper, dampness gathering between your thighs.

As if he knew how drenched you were getting, the hand that cupped your breast slowly trailed down until it found your mound again. His ring finger stroked the outline of your seam a few times, your knees pressed together so your juices wouldn’t leak out.

“Let me see how wet you are, please,” Marcus murmured in a moment of reprieve, his lips pecking your nipple with every word he spoke.

You couldn’t resist him, not anymore, so you parted your legs just enough to let his hand slip between your thighs. The moment his ring finger dunked in your warmth, you both moaned in unison. The pad of his finger slid across your velvety skin, from your clenching hole to your writhing clit, a few times, as if he wanted to get acquainted with the map of your pussy.

“You’re soaking,” he grunted. “So damn wet for me, melculum.”

His words in combination with his cheeky finger short-circuited your brain, that coiling sensation you had been craving these last two days starting to take form low in your belly. It was warm in here now, so much your cheeks flushed as if you had drunk a pint of uisge beatha.

With lazy strokes on your soggy slit, Marcus’ tongue kept on licking and flicking your nipple, now completely sodden with his spit. His digit worked you slowly too, moving up and down between your swollen pussy lips until it caught on your needy clit. You sobbed quietly at the touch, and sensing how much you enjoyed that, Marcus repeated it.

Soon enough you were mewling into the abyss as the General pressed languid circles on your bundle of nerves at the same time he was lapping at the tip of your boob. And the moment he sunk the first phalange of his ring finger in your leaking hole, your wails just grew louder.

With an unhurried pace, he pumped the tip of his digit in and out of you, feeling your inner walls relaxing around him. A couple of minutes later, your walls had adjusted to the intrusion, his finger now completely buried in your seeping hole down to the knuckle.

You heaved, pursing your lips in a vain attempt to control your moaning, but the pleasure building up inside you was too great to bear. Too intense to ignore. You bit down your bottom lip until you almost drew blood, your hips bucking up with a mind of their own.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you feel that?” Marcus’ devilish mouth abandoned your nipple, lips pressed against your ear. “Come for me, please. Melt for me.”

You resisted, wanting to prolong this moment. It felt too good to let it go just yet, albeit your whole body was commending you to. Your insides tightened around Marcus’ lone finger as you tried to hold on to the feeling a little longer.

You were so lost to the new sensations, you hadn’t realised your own fingers were wrapping snugly around Marcus’ throbbing erection. Hoping he would falter, you began to pump him slowly, his hot glans leaking onto the skin of your thigh.

“Don’t be a tease, mel, don’t want to come yet,” he groaned in your ear. His finger suddenly left your insides to slap your hand away from his shaft.

You sobbed at the emptiness, the coiling feeling starting to diminish. The idea of not finding relief haunted you, so you obeyed his command.

Your fingers found his wrist, gripping it tight and guiding him back to your beating cunt. You coaxed your pussy lips apart with his fingers and silently begged him to resume where he had left off.

“Are you going to be good for me and come?” he asked, kissing your shoulder. “Do you promise?”

You nodded with vehemency.

“Good girl.”

With more urgency now, Marcus worked you back to the edge of the pleasure cliff, forcing you to climb up to the top with a relentless pace. Every time his ring finger bottomed out inside you, his thumb would flick your burning clit. The repeated tease of his hand was your undoing.

Teary eyes and parted lips, you moaned as an enormous wave washed over you, the coil inside finally snapping with a force unknown to mankind. Or, at least, unknown to you. Marcus kept on fingering you throughout, pulling the last bit of pleasure out of you until you were spent.

You hadn’t realised how much you had leaked until you felt his wet thigh underneath, sticky and warm with your release.

“I’m sorry, I’ll clean―” you tried to move off his lap, but Marcus’ strong arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you on his lap.

“Don’t apologise, it’s normal. It means you’re enjoying it,” he reassured you, then lifted his gaze to yours, a lingering question dancing in his dilated pupils. “I thought you were a widow?”

He was not wrong. But not all men spent the time he was taking to make it pleasurable for women.

“I am. But my late husband only cared about himself,” you told the truth, a crack of sincerity in your carefully built façade. “Never took the time to… make it good for me.”

Marcus frowned with incomprehension at your revelation, his mouth falling into a flat line. Was that a ray of anger? If it was, it quickly disappeared from his brown eyes.

Judging by what had just happened, you knew he was the complete opposite to Iain in that respect.

“Two days ago, in the garderobe. Was that your first time orgasming?”

You pouted, feeling like the conversation was taking a very personal turn. But you didn’t want to lie to him, there was enough deceit between you two. So you nodded, eyes withdrawn with a tinge of embarrassment.

Marcus cursed himself, annoyed with something although you didn’t know what. Annoyed with you, perhaps?

His thumb stroked your bottom lip, soothing the grimace showing on your face.

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have taken you like that. This should have been the first time you climaxed, melculum. I am sorry,” he apologised, and your heart jolted.

He was angry with himself. But the whole thing had been so good, you wouldn’t have done anything different. The memory of Marcus’ tip fucking the first two inches of your pussy had kept you warm at night.

“What? Nay, don’t. It was good, really good. I wouldn’t change a thing about what happened,” you quickly replied.

And what was worst, you actually meant it.

For a minute, Marcus didn’t speak a word, studying your face expression until he reached the conclusion that you were not lying.

“Stand up for me,” he said out of nowhere.

You obliged, the tremor of your knees almost gone. standing in front of him, he leaned forward, hands on either side of your waist, to kiss your mound. The intimacy of such gesture caught you off guard. Then he leaned back and dragged his body on the bed until he was sat in the middle of it, back resting against the headboard, knees bent with his soles resting flat on the silky bedsheets.

He palmed his thigh, his cock so erect it twitched with every heartbeat against his happy trail.

“Come here,” he mumbled with need.

You might not know what you had to do, but your body definitely knew what it needed to do to chase that high again. So you crawled on the bed until you were straddling him, the tip of his throbbing cock kissing your hooded clit.

Marcus’ hand cupped your ass, and then tutted.

“Not yet, mel, I need to make sure you are completely ready,” he husked.

It was your time to frown.

“I am ready,” you assured him.

“It was only one finger, sweetheart―”

“One thick finger,” you remarked, snappy.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yes, but I need you to take all of this,” he whispered, his hand gripping the base of his cock to direct your attention there.

He was girthy. Probably too girthy. One of his fingers was nothing in comparison.

You swallowed, your gaze looking for his.

“Yeah, I know, dove. We’ll take it slow,” he leaned forward a bit to kiss your right nipple. “Turn around, I want you to sit on my lap with your back resting on my chest.”

The promise of another climax numbed your mind, so you did exactly as he had asked. Sat on his lap, you leaned back until your bare back met his hard torso. His knees were still bent, and he slipped his forearms under your thighs to lift them up over his own thighs. The back of your thighs were now resting on top of his, and when Marcus pulled his knees apart, your legs followed the motion, leaving you completely open and exposed.

When your eyes drifted down your own body, you saw Marcus’ erection poking in between your thighs, gently lodged between your pussy lips. His hips moved slightly under you, his length skidding along your drenched fold, the head disappearing from sight as it dragged backwards across your seam. It hitched in your entrance, just briefly ― then Marcus tugged his hips upwards and his glans reappeared again, protruding where your slit began.

Marcus repeated the whole process a few times, his name dripping from your mouth in choked moans. He buried his crooked nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“You feel like heaven right now,” he mumbled, kissing the nape of your neck. “Play with your boobs for me, mel, my hands are about to be very busy, sadly can’t be everywhere.”

His request had your cunt gushing some more, if that was even possible. You felt so wet down there, you even wondered if there was something wrong with you. Couldn’t be that out of all men on this world, the one who killed your family was who had you melting under his touch.

Feeling a bubble of slick leaking from your hole on his thudding shaft, you leaned your head back on his shoulder and moved your hair out of the way, some ginger curls cascading down your front, covering your breasts. Cupped your underboob and pushed them up, creating a deep valley between your tits.

“That’s it, stroke them for me, melculum,” he mused as both of his hands rode up your inner thigs until your pussy was framed between them. “Brush both of your nipples with your thumbs, just lightly. Don’t be too harsh with them, they are sensitive.”

Marcus talked you through playing with your buds, petting them gently as he was telling you. While doing so, his left hand grabbed at his cock and began to pump himself, while his right started working your clit again. Looking down, you just caught a glimpse, which sent you trembling on his lap like a newborn foal.

He cupped your mound, the pads of all his fingers rubbing your clit leisurely, as if you had all time in the world. The fire burning between your legs hiked up your spine the moment Marcus let go of his cock and it sat snug against your pussy again, his fingers stopping for a second.

You whimpered in protest, your nipples hardening under the touch of your thumbs.

“Shh, it’s okay, Callie,” he heartened you, only to resume the petting of your slick nub. You let go a sigh of relief. “There you go.”

His free hand went down your thigh to find your drooling entrance, testing it out with one finger. Your pussy sheathed it with ease and Marcus hummed behind you.

“You’re much more relaxed now,” he praised. “Pinch those nipples for me, twist them gently between your thumb and index.” You did as you were told, another wail tearing your throat apart. “Yes, just like that, you’re doing so well, mel.” He gave you a moment to acclimatise to the feeling of having hands everywhere ― your nipples, your clit, your hole. It was almost too much. “Now, suck on your thumbs so they are wet and go back to rub those beautiful buds for me. Imagine they are my fingers. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, desperate. Doing exactly as you were told, the sudden cold of your spit on your nipples made the sensitive skin under your thumbs wrinkle. The brief pain transformed into something else, hellfire running through your veins.

So focused on your breasts, you had almost forgotten about Marcus fingering your pussy and smothering your clit at the same time. Your toes curled, hips bucking up, so close to that cliff again, one you would throw yourself off gladly.

“You’re doing very well―so, so well,” Marcus’ praise was like music to your ears, all your nerve endings firing with delight. “You think you can take another finger?”

You sobbed, shaking your head.

“Yes, please,” you begged.

As promised, Marcus introduced his middle finger, the pads of both dragging along your anterior wall to find that sweet, soft spot. Your hips jerked up and then back down on him, grinding a circular motion on his lower tummy.

“Well done, mel. I am sure we can get your sweet tight pussy to make room for me.”

His cock twitched between your thighs, leaking, and you knew he was as desperate as you. So, while one hand skimmed your nipple, the other drifted down to caress his glans with your thumb. Marcus rumbled underneath, his breath hitching with a quiet moan ― you did it again.

His fingers sunk inside of you effortlessly now, pumping in and out and all you could hear were the squelching noises coming from your swollen lips. It should have felt embarrassing, but it had the opposite effect on you ― if anything, they made you gush even more.

“If you can take three fingers… shit…” Marcus almost lost his composure there, “if you can, then you’ll be ready, sweetheart. Shall we try?”

You gripped his beating erection harder in response, mewling audibly now with every stroke on your clit, every thrust of his fingers, the caress of your own thumb on your nipple… Then the third finger went in smoothly and you saw stars behind your closed eyes.

It just was too much. Your knees quivered and so did your cunt, clutching on his fingers. You felt your inner walls contracting, but this time it was different ― it wasn’t to get the fingers out, but to push them as far in as you could. And Marcus obliged, bottoming out, then slipping them out and back in. The coil inside you twisted feverishly and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

You started wailing, grinding your ass against his tummy, in an attempt to increase the friction in your drenched opening, in your clit, everywhere.

“You’re close, mel, you’re so close,” Marcus huffed. “I want to try something. Do you trust me?”

You were barely able to nod at his words ― right now, you would do anything he asked for.

His fingers left your hole with a pop, and the second hand stopped petting your clit right when you were so close to fall off the cliff of your pleasure.

You panicked, tears brimming now as a sense of anxiety peaked inside you.

“M-Ma-Marcus,” you complained in a stutter, your whole body shaking.

You didn’t have much time to finish your protest, because he grabbed your hand off his cock and pushed your fingers against your clit. He showed you how to move them in circles, coaching you for a minute, teaching you how to pleasure yourself.

“Keep touching your sweet little clit for me, deliciae (darling),” Marcus groaned, his voice raspy and deep. “I’m going in. I want you to come while you sheathe me.”

And with no further ado, he slipped his forearms under your thighs, lifted you off his lap to align the tip of his veiny dick with your entrance. Slowly he dropped you, his length furrowing its way up your cavity with no difficulty.

The moment his glans was sat and more inches intruded, you finally came. The strength of your release had your whole being shaken up, your climax so intense you couldn’t see anything even through half-lidded eyes. Feral moans escaped your lips, every inch of Marcus’ cock intensifying the climax that had you on its tight grip.

Your inner walls hugged his cock, choked it actually. Your heart was racing so fast, you could feel the heartbeat in your quivering cunt, a sensation so overwhelming it almost sent you over the edge again.

You hadn’t realised, but Marcus was completely seated inside you, buried down to the hilt, his balls intimately kissing your puffy lips. Fullness tugged at your walls, stretching them, still adapting around his girth. He was everywhere ― filling every crevice, every nook and cranny. You felt his presence so intensely, it was staggering.

“Oh Gods…” Marcus sounded like he was within an inch of his life. “You feel so good, melculum. So warm, so wet, s-so… uhm… so tight. Heaven on Earth,” he prayed in a hush, his tone almost breaking. “How… are you feeling?”

“Blissed out,” you hummed. “Full, in the best way possible.”

Those were all the words Marcus needed to hear from you. He had been to hell and back, and even though his cock had been barely stimulated, he was throbbing for you. Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he felt this… needy.

And now he was in heaven, his shaft sweetly embraced by your wet warmth. A gift you were, sent by Gods themselves ― there was no other explanation.

Marcus’ forearms were still resting on the back of your thighs, then he hoisted you up ever so slightly, moving you up his length so you would free a few inches of his cock. The cold air of the room clung onto his damp shaft, a shiver running down his spine, then placed you back down on his lap.

Every time he pushed you up and down on his lap, you would moan like a woman possessed. Your little sobs and whimpers were the best melody he had ever listened to ― so quiet, yet so wanton. They filled your mouth and spilt over your lips like honey. He would drink them right now if he could.

His dick pulsated hard when your pussy fluttered around him, then your walls tensed around him and Marcus snapped his head back against the headboard, a feral groan ringing in his eardrums.

“Do that again, please,” he requested, all his fingers digging in the flesh of your thighs.

“W-what?”

“Squeeze your walls for me, sweetheart. Hug me tight,” Marcus mumbled, struggling towards the end the moment you did exactly as he asked. “For everything that is holy―”

And you did it again, his words dying out as you clamped down on him with a strength that had him delirious. His mind spiralled down and just in the last second, Marcus stopped himself from coming.

“Such a mischievous nymph you are,” it wasn’t an accusation but a compliment. “Let me see if you’re still playing with that taut pearl in your pussy the way I’ve shown you.”

When he looked over your shoulder, you coaxed your sodden flaps apart for him, showing him how your fingertips worked your clit. Marcus’ hips jerked up at the irresistible sight, burying himself further down in you. His waist waved underneath you, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“You’re doing great, mel. Such a good girl,” he moaned in your ear, nipping your lobe. “Do you like that, hm? Rubbing your tight little button?”

Your reply was a trembling whimper, your pursed bottom lip quivering with your eyes shut. Your brows were knitting together, bunny lines hugging your upturned nose. Marcus could feel your need, your palpitations. Your desperation.

“Is it too much, melculum?” You nodded, almost crying now. “I know, sweetheart, but we can remedy that. Do you want to come so you feel better?” Another nod of your head. “Alright, do you think you can ride me?”

“Aye, I want to ride you, Marcus,” you sobbed his name, his balls tensing up into his lower tummy.

Marcus let go of your thighs and helped you accommodate your knees to either side of him, so you were straddling him backwards. His hands caressed your round ass cheeks, eyes locked on where your bodies connected.

“Do whatever feels right, honey.”

Overtaken by instinct, you leaned forward and placed your hands between his calves, fisting the bedsheets as you started bouncing your hips up and down on his lap. Marcus let you find your rhythm, standing still underneath, letting you use him as needed.

The sweet choke of your pussy was too much ― too tight, too wet, too warm. This was the best he had felt in fucking decades, all thanks to you. Slowly, he matched your thrusts with his own, fucking up into you, meeting you halfway while his hands on your hips kept you grounded.

The slapping of his testicles on your swollen fold went on for a few minutes, a lewd cacophony echoing between the walls of his bedchamber. And soon enough he found himself grasping for control, his cock pulsating uncontrollably inside you.

You might have felt his pulse, because you spoke between choked wails.

“You can come inside, I can take―”

“What? No,” his response was instinctual, cutting you off before you finished. “You don’t need to take anything.”

Because the mere idea of you drinking some sort of potion so his seed wouldn’t take made him sick. Was that what your late husband had taught you? Was that how you were treated in bed, like a simple plaything to be used to satiate a man’s lust?

Those thoughts were deserted the moment your entrance squeezed hard around him, your moans mixing with the clapping sound of skin on skin. You pushed down your hips onto his lap, your sweet ass flush with his lower tummy. He felt another orgasm hit you and Marcus fucked you through it, steadily rutting up into you.

His own climax was near, all his muscles tensing with anticipation, his hips stuttering. With the last drop of his sanity, he lifted your butt up, his erection becoming free and resting between the swells of your ass cheeks. A second later, white ropes painted the small of your back while Marcus let go of a guttural groan.

With a fucked-out expression and a sweet grin, you looked over your shoulder and down at his spent sliding down your back. Marcus reached for the bedsheet and cleaned his cum off your skin delicately, his brown eyes fixed on your emerald ones.

“You’ve done extremely well for me, melculum. Exquisitely well,” he remarked, his hands smoothing over your thighs. “Come here.”

You turned around and laid down besides him, the upper half of your body resting on top of his torso. Your cheek rested on his sternum while his fingers traced invisible lanes on your arm, just above your elbow.

A moment of quietness lingered as your rapid breaths calmed down, your hearts settling back into a normal pace at the same time.

“I thought it was bad for you,” you muttered, the palm of your hand splaying right underneath his belly button.

“What was?” Marcus asked, confused.

“Uhmm…” you paused for a second, dubious, but then decided to trust him with your questions. “Coming outside. I was told it was extremely painful for the man to come if you are not buried… deep inside of a pussy.”

Your words awakened something with him, something dark and primal ― protective. For a moment, Marcus wished your husband was alive, so he could teach him how to be a real man. He had started to create a picture of what your sex life had been so far, and it wasn’t a pretty one.

In retrospect, he regretted having taken you so hastily in the garderobe. Barely took the time to work you to a climax. Marcus had paid worshipping attention to your breasts, but when it came to your clit, he had not been as attentive. Marcus should have shown you how good that could feel, should have taken his sweet time like he had done today, but he had been too anxious to fuck you.

Marcus looked for the best way to tell you without making you feel naïve. He didn’t want you thinking something like that, that he would force his seed on you for his own pleasure.

“That’s not how it is, mel. I’m sorry you’ve been told that,” his lips brushed your red crown, then pressed a kiss on your forehead. Could you hear how hard his heart was pounding with rage? One he was trying to quiet down. “I can come outside just fine, that’s not an issue. I prefer that a thousand times over you having to drink some nasty potion that will end up hurting you.”

His care for you was genuine, and Marcus was shocked at the truth that thought held. He barely knew you, but what he had seen of you so far had him reeled in like a fish attached to a rusty hook.

You were so direct, snappy even, with a sarcastic retort always at the ready. Your strong personality was refreshing, especially to someone like Marcus, used to be surrounded by women who would bow their head down at the sight of him. But knowing this side of you now―a tad insecure and inexperienced, rediscovering what sex was really like―, he wondered how much of your façade was just that, a carefully built stonewall to keep people at bay.

“Oh, I see,” you muttered, the skin between your brows pinching.

Marcus tilted your chin up with his thumb. His gaze roved over your face, studying it and finding that you seemed to be upset, possibly with yourself. He didn’t like that.

His thumb stroked your bottom lip to relax your pouting expression.

“If you were told such a thing, it’s normal that you believed it. I just don’t want to lie to you, don’t want to take advantage of you, melculum. I want you to enjoy yourself, to discover what you like and don’t like in bed.” The hand that was caressing your arm travelled down your back, went over the swell of your round globes until he found the slick of your arousal clinging onto your pussy lips. He stroked them carefully, buttering your sticky cunt with your own juices. “This is how I want you, sweetheart. Creamy and satisfied. That’s all I care about.”

You hummed at his words, eyes shut and mouth agape. His fingers pried your pussy open, the cold air on your wet, sensitive skin made you shiver on his chest.

Acacius knew too damn well what he was doing, taunting you again like this. You didn’t think you had it in yourself to come again, but the General seemed to think otherwise.

His index found your clit and stroked it maddingly slow. Seemed like he was right.

You gasped, chewing your bottom lip, your mind drifting away at his intimate touch.

“I think you can come for me again, don’t you?”

You whimpered in response, lifting your bent left leg until it rested on of his lap, so he could reach your swollen, reddened pussy better. You humped the side of his thigh, grinding on his hairy skin to get you off.

“You’re drenched,” he purred with satisfaction, kissing your forehead as your seeping hole sucked in his finger eagerly. You moaned. “Seems like you need me to take care of you again, mel.”

His fingering had you drooling onto his chest until you came again, sobbing like a babe gasping for their first breath. Your limbs felt numb as your pussy pulsed a few more times, releasing the last of your arousal onto Marcus’ palm. He rubbed your seam, cupping your whole pussy, until you were completely done.

Then tapped your cunt softly, gently. “Feeling calmer now?”

You nodded, blissed out and speechless.

You remained on top of his chest while coming down from your latest high. You had lost count of how many times Marcus had made you come now, but keeping count had not been on your foremind. What you had realised though was that this―whatever this was―was dangerous.

You had expected Marcus to behave exactly like Iain ― to take you how he wanted and discard you when he was done with you. Yet here he was, making sure you had no more orgasm to give him tonight. This was not your plan at all ― you banked on him being a complete monster who would ravish you given the chance.

This could complicate everything, and you even wondered if you should stop this madness before shit got too real.

A man with a rotten heart would not have you question your decisions. Perhaps it wasn’t rotten, only spoilt.

It’s just sex, a means to an end. Doesn’t matter how good, how fucking delicious he makes it to be. Fuck him, enjoy it, get what you need from him, then destroy him. Easy, you reminded yourself, albeit with less determination than before.

“I should be going,” you mumbled, unwilling to leave this bed despite the inner talk you just gave yourself ― your bed that now was his.

“So soon?” he whispered, his lips twitching in a pout.

Damn him for making it difficult to leave.

“My aunt will be wondering where I’ve gone. Can’t risk her coming here looking for me, can we?” you tried to make light of the situation with a white lie.

“I guess not,” he finally agreed after a brief silence, then kissed your forehead. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Patience is a virtue, Marcus,” you mocked him a bit, sitting up on the bed. “And mine has run out, I’m afraid. Aye, I’ll come tomorrow.”

Marcus sat up on bed too, hugging your waist, his mouth dangerously close to yours.

“I will make sure that you come tomorrow, mel,” the double meaning was not lost on you, even less on your gushing pussy.

You swallowed a whimper, kissing his lips briefly to then jump out of bed and grab your clothes off the floor. You put them on as fast as you could.

“You better,” you threatened him, softening the gesture with a wink, before you disappeared through the door.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[acta-x-non-x-verba]

I think Sabertooth stretches out on warm rocks like a big kitty.

[memento-mori-ad-maiora]

❛ As an offering for our Father, we will today surrender nine human lives. ❜

Arty watches from their balcony seat dressed in the same grab as the rest of the cultists. Green eyes pierced down at the head priest and sacrifices wondering if they honestly believed in the demon the lot followed or perhaps they liked having the opportunity to kill such a large group with not one person to stop them. It was most likely that. The thrill of getting away with something like that. Arty could imagine.

[gracieheartspedro]

an: hiii lovers! this is the first year I'm doing this! I have been compiling my favorite fics this year and wanted to list them all out for you! there's a wide variety of characters here, so I am organizing them that way. just note, I am not putting all their warnings as all these fics have their own warning lists. please don't read anything that'll make you uncomfortable.

all these fics are smutty. I am a bit of a whore.

also would love to say that these may not have been written this year, simply just ones I've read this year!

happy reading <3

Joel Miller:

bitter by @pedgito - a moment of desperation and a kind gesture leads you down an inescapable path alongside two brothers and a town with a nasty secret

cherry thrill by @hellishjoel - your tattoo artist, joel miller, takes your virginity.

Homemade by @gutsby - While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

The Hills by @honeyedmiller - drugs. sex. fame. joel miller—the very man you despise. something about hollywood or other. it all seems to become a blurred line when you get invited to an oscars after party at a house in the hills.

Dirty Laundry by @pedgito - you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

Brat (the entire series) by @shellshocklove - joel is having a brat summer.

The Right Kind of Wrong by @myownwholewildworld - your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it?

October's End by @salingers - a filthy halloween night with your dad's best friend, joel miller.

that's the way road dogs do it by @joelsdagger - on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past.

wherever you stray, i'll follow by @cavillscurls - Joel resents the choice to allow an unmated omega into Jackson—until he’s the only one who can help her feel at home.

absolution (the entire series) by @pedgito - Moving in with your soon-to-be stepfather under the roof of his brother, Joel, ends up being a turning point of change in your life.

positions by @hellishjoel - You and Joel mutually pleasure each other while “researching” porn. 

hook em (series) by @joeloverture - trying to get back at your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you right into the arms of his coach. you plan on staying there for a little while.

Dave York:

let them feel by @guiltyasdave

Notes On Tutoring by @honestly-shite - Mr York becomes your new classical guitar tutor in your final year at music college. A dark, mysterious man, you struggle to get a read on him but that doesn't stop you from finding many ways to push his buttons. You manage to infuriate him with your stubbornness and forced complacency but there is definitely something else too. There's a pull that you feel whenever he is near. You wonder if he feels it too.

Javier Peña:

Unscripted Desire (the entire series) by @gothcsz - you’re a camerawoman that shoots pornos. javier peña is the pornstar you can’t stand. why is it that you’re always so affected by him?

When in Positano by @honeyedmiller - honeymooning in italy with your husband is a dream, especially when he reveals he wants to start a family with you.

three's a crowd by @amanitacowboy - you hadn't been with a woman for years, but for javi? you would do anything he asked and more

helping hand by @mrsmando - you and javi take a bath together.

Marcus Acacius:

Acta Non Verba by @myownwholewildworld - scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all.

Shadows of the love under the laurel by @stylesispunk - In the shadows of the Roman Empire, you, a devoted servant, discover love with the honorable General Marcus Acacius. You both navigate the treacherous current of social expectations when a looming marriage comes to risk everything.

Prima Nocta by @fuckyeahdindjarin - Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Dieter Bravo:

It's Only Make Believe by @jennaispunk - What began as a publicity stunt turns into much more than you expected.

bouquet by @mypoisonedvine - being quarantined in his hotel room has dieter getting a little stir crazy, and when the drugs run out, he has to find a new vice. that's how he found you.

salt, shot, lime by @freelancearsonist - You meet your celebrity crush in a bar; he turns out to be a lot more fun than you expected.

Lucien Flores:

Mutual by @luxurychristmaspudding - you and lucien have both been invited to this dinner with explicit instructions: play nice. but it's kind of hard when you can't stand each other. even harder when the meaning begins to blur with his hands on you.

Fortnight by @pedgito - it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

Azalea by @morallyinept - A man from your past shows up at a party and leaves you on the cusp of making a life changing choice. Do you stay, or do you leave with him?

Frankie Morales:

Listen by @luxurychristmaspudding - you’ve been serving frankie and his friends at your bar for months. despite your wishing and wanting, the shy pilot doesn’t work up the nerve to ask you out before santi introduces you to his buddy, joel.

End Up Here by @undrthelights - you’ve had a distaste for frankie for as long as you can remember, so how did you end up here?

Din Djarin:

New Perspective by @mellowswriting - teaching the infamous Mandalorian to slow down and enjoy life isn't easy. it takes planning, patience - and silken sheets apparently.

just can’t say goodbye by @saradika

Ellie Williams:

make a woman out of me by @pearlcigs - you swore to yourself you only longed for ellie in a platonic way, but as you get older you seem to realize just how pretty she really is.

too little too late by @elleloquently - " can you see me? i'm waiting for the right time / I can't read you but if you want, the pleasure's all mine "

Infiltration by @astralnymphh - your suspicious encounter has given ellie her five minutes and her knife—but can she truly measure insincerity?

Abby Anderson:

hers only by @abbyshands - gf!abby does not like clara, the gym trainer who can’t keep her hands off you. so who’s surprised when she loses her composure, channeling her rage in the form of rough, hard sex?

good luck, babe! by @studioghibelli - your boyfriend has been cheating on you. when you confront the woman he’s been seeing, she offers you a proposition.

don't fuck your coworkers by @untitledgf-pdf - you're a server and abby is a line cook

Eddie Munson:

please, please, please by @/keeryhours - Eddie is no stranger to the Hawkins legal system. It’s no surprise to anyone when he’s dragged in cuffs again, but it is unexpected when someone catches his eye - the police chief’s daughter.

COME AGAIN by @mediocredreams - When you go to your best friend for dating advice, his perverted ways come in handy.

Secrets I Have Held In My Heart (Are Harder to Hide Than I Thought) by @andvys - A weekend alone with Eddie at Steve's cabin reveals all yours and his deepest desires, feelings you were too afraid to act upon bubbling to the surface, leading to a steamy night that might change you and your best friend forever.

smoke me out by @strangerstilinski - you and eddie are friends — and really, what's a little shotgunning amongst friends?

[kaszuma]

Certainly Yours | Hoshina Soshiro

Masterlist

--

Synopsis: Soshiro Hoshina was meticulous when it comes to the blade. Sharp and steadfast, he'll take any opportunity to prove his existence in the wake of a world full of firearms and weaponry. Though despite his dedication, It just hadn't occured to him that a silent support had been ushering him forward. A presence which has been there since the beginning of his career. And just like the rest who had been a witness to your impending romance. He had begun to see that he was never one without the other.

A silent pledge to Certainly be Yours, if you'll have him.

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mutual Pining (More to be updated)

Part 1 | Certainly Yours

Part 2 | Cat and Mouse

Part 3 | Acta, Non Verba

Part 4 | Second Guesses

Part 5 | Oxygen is all we need (NSFW)

Part 6 | Bad Habits

Part 0 | Mockery (SPECIAL)

Part 7 | Aere Perennius

Part 8 | Reverence (NSFW)

Part 9 | Catharsis (NSFW)

Part 10 | Coming Soon...

Part 11 | Coming Soon...

Part 12 | Coming Soon...

Part 13 | Coming Soon...

--

Notes: This series will have explicit content. So please be advised as per the warnings of each chapter before proceeding. 😊🫶

[mojowitchcraft]

Acta, Non Verba

Summary:

Steve Harrington is starting his senior year off right. He’s the president of Alpha Sigma Phi and determined to usher in a new season of inclusivity, starting with making a move on Eddie Munson—the guy he’s been crushing on for longer than he’d like to admit.

September: Senior Year 

Steve Harrington has never had a real conversation with Eddie Munson before, but he has plans to change that tonight. 

Well, he’s bought from him. So he’s like, talked to him in the way that you talk to the dude selling you weed… or E, or coke, or shrooms, or whatever else that was on hand and guaranteed to get you blitzed out of your mind. Steve had a wild party phase, alright? But that’s behind him—he sticks to weed now. 

Lost in thought, Steve eyes Eddie curiously across the party raging on at Alpha Sig. He’d always noticed Eddie before, how could he not? Good looking guy with long dark curls, big brown eyes, and a mysterious scar on his chin that creeps up and bisects his lip. Eddie Munson just looks… interesting.

Read the rest of Chapter 1 on Ao3 🧢 🤘

[yanny09]

MORE LATIN PHRASES FOR THE GODS??

Aphrodite: Amor vincit omnia, love conquers all Acta non verba, actions not words dictum factum, what is said is done Fons vitae caritas, love is the fountain of life hermes Sequere pecuniam, follow the money Omne initium difficile est, every beginning is difficult Omne initium difficile est, bravefully and faithfully Libertas perfundet omnia luce, freedom will flood all things with light Persephone: In absentia lucis, tenebrae vincunt, in absence of light darkness prevails Suum cuique, to each their own Pro bono, for the good memento vivire, remember to live Dionysus: omnes sumus peccatores, we are all sinners pelle sub agnina latitat mes saepe lupina, beneath the lambs skin lurks a wolfs mind viviamus moriendum est, let us live since we must die Apollo virbis defectis musica inspit

[writing-reference-redux]

I felt like sharing my collection of Latin phrases that may make good fanfic or fanart titles or inspiration. Some of the translations may be off, so you might want to double-check them before use. Also, I used capitalization liberally so you might also want to check where capitalization is actually indicated.

Ab Intra (From Within)

Acta Est Fabula (The play has been performed)

Acta Sancti ___ (The Deeds of Saint ___)

Ad Undas (to the waves / to hell)

Advocatus Diaboli (Devil's advocate)

Aegri Somnia (a sick man's dreams / troubled dreams)

Alea Iacta Est (the die has been cast / point of no return)

Apologia Pro Vita Sua (defense of one's life)

Caetera Desunt (the rest is missing)

Cedere Nescio (I know not how to yield)

Damnatio Memoriae (damnation of memory / denying someone ever lived)

De Nobis Fabula Narratur (their story is our story)

Decessit Vita Patris (died before their father)

Diem Perdidi (I have lost the day)

Dies Tenebrosa Sicut Nox (a day as dark as night)

Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim (some day this pain will be useful to you)

Dulce Est Desipere In Loco (It is sweet on occasion to play the fool)

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus (while we live, let us live)

Dux Bellorum (war leader)

Ex Umbra In Solem (from the shadow into the light)

Festina Lente (hurry slowly)

Fortis Cadere, Cedere Non Potest (the brave may fall, but can not yield)

Fui Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum (I once was what you are, you will be what I am)

Graviora Manent (heavier things remain / the worst is yet to come)

Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (one day, this will be pleasing to remember)

Hic Mortui Vivunt (here the dead speak)

Hinc Illae Lacrimae (hence those tears)

Hodie Mihi, Cras Tibi (Today it's me, tomorrow it will be you - of death)

In Ictu Oculi (in the blink of an eye)

In Somnis Veritas (in dreams there is truth)

Inter Spem Et Metum (between hope and fear)

Lapsus Memoriae (slip of memory)

Luctor, Non Mergor (I struggle, but am not overwhelmed)

Lux Ex Tenebris (light from darkness)

Media Vita In Morte Sumus (In the midst of our lives we die)

Memento Mori (remember that you will die)

Memento Vivere (remember to live)

Morior Invictus (I die unvanquished / death before defeat)

Mundus Senescit (the world grows old)

Nemini Parco (I spare no one - death)

Nitimur In Vetitum (we strive for the forbidden)

Non Ducor, Duco (I am not led; I lead)

Non Omnis Moriar (I shall not all die / part of me will survive beyond death)

Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor (now I know what love is)

Oderint Dum Metuant (let them hate, so long as they fear)

Omnia Mutantur (everything changes)

Onus Probandi (burden of proof)

Opera Posthuma (posthumous works)

Ophidia In Herba (a snake in the grass)

Pax Aeterna (eternal peace - a common epitaph)

Primum Non Nocere (first do no harm)

Pulvis Et Umbra Sumus (we are dust and shadow)

Quis Leget Haec? (who will read this?)

Quod Periit, Periit (what Is gone is gone)

Res, Non Verba (deeds, not words)

Respice Finem (consider the end)

Scientia Et Sapientia (knowledge and wisdom)

Seculo Seculorum (forever and ever)

Sed Terrae Graviora Manent (but on earth, worse things await)

Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum (if you want peace, prepare for war)

Sic Infit (so it begins)

Sic Vita Est (such is life)

Silentium Est Aureum (silence is golden)

Sine Nomine (without a name / author unknown)

Sola Dosis Facit Venemum (the dose makes the poison)

Solvitur Ambulando (it is solved by walking / simple tests find solutions)

Stamus Contra Malum (we stand against evil)

Succisa Virescit (cut down, we grow back stronger)

Sum Quod Eris (I am what you will be - of death)

Summum Bonum (the supreme good)

Summum Malum (the supreme evil)

Sunt Lacrimae Rerum (there are tears for things)

Sunt Omnes Unum (they are all one)

Tabula Rasa (blank slate)

Transire Benefaciendo (to travel along while doing good)

Tu Fui Ego Eris (I was you; you will be me - of death)

Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor (where there is love, there is pain)

Ultima Forsan (perhaps the last / sundial quote "perhaps your last hour")

Usque Ad Finem (until the end / fight to the death)

Vacate Et Scire (Be still and know)

Vi Et Animo (with heart and soul)

Victoria Aut Mors (victory or death)

Vincit Qui Patitur (he conquers who endures)

Vita Ante Acta (a life done before - of reincarnation)

Vivere Militare Est (to live is to fight)

Vox Clamantis In Deserto (the voice of one crying in the wilderness)

There are also some longer ones that may not make good titles because of their length, but are still worth inclusion:

Aut Simul Stabunt Aut Simul Cadent (they will either stand together or fall together)

Flectere Si Nequeo Superos, Acheronta Movebo (if I can not reach Heaven I will raise Hell)

Forsan Et Haec Olim Meminisse Iuvabit (perhaps even these things will be good to remember one day)

Igitur Qui Desiderat Pacem, Praeparet Bellum (therefore whoever desires peace, let him prepare for war)

In Regione Caecorum Rex Est Luscus (in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king)

Minus Malum Toleratur Ut Maius Tollat (choose the lesser evil so a greater evil may be averted)

Quem Deus Vult Perdere, Dementat Prius (whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad)

Ubi Sunt, Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt? (Where are they, those who have gone before us?)

Virtus Junxit Mors Non Separabit (that which virtue unites, let not death separate)

[areyouwell]

Acta Non Verba

Ch.3

Ch.2, Ch.1 <–

Warnings: Violence (obvs)

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Word Count: 6K

A/N: just a short chapter for this one, with Christmas on the horizon, haven't had much time to write, my job has me working 24/7 (including Christmas day ;-; ) so expect a little more from me and this series around the end of Jan, when everything starts to calm the fuck down :') anyhow, until then, enjoy <3

🏷: @speeedybaby @ltristessedureratoujours @froggieeez @ayamenimthiriel @daddyslittlevillain @chubbyhedgehog @marifilue @galacticglitterglue @salemslostwitch @m1cky-y-y

Sleep. It was something reserved only for those living a life of peace. Or for those who were too exhausted to think about or care about the horrors in day-to-day life. You, however, were neither of them. Sure, you were exhausted, but the idea of drifting off only to relive a life you’d put far behind you wasn’t something you were too keen on. And whilst the surprisingly warm embrace of your companion would have been enough to lull even the most stubborn insomniacs to sleep, you didn’t want to. Because waking up screaming and covered in sweat wasn’t worth the few fitful hours of shuteye. 

Logan, on the other hand, oh how you envied his steady breaths and light snores. Was this how all those at this school slept? Soundless and dreamless? Well, not quite soundless, but the sentiment was the same. You’d been going over the events of the night. It must have been De Voss who tipped off the guards. How else could they have possibly known you were down there? You’d made a glaringly obvious mistake when you’d given your mutant ‘pet’ a name. And De Voss didn’t seem like the kind of man that missed mistakes like that. 

You wondered where the caged mutants had got to. Wondered if they were okay, if they were still free. What if those guards had spent all fucking night hunting them down. You knew the system. You knew how prized some of those ‘pets’ would have been. How much money would have been bet on them? The intricate dealings between owners and slavers. How many of them would have been sent to fight in those godforsaken cages? How many of them would have become trophies? Paraded around at events just like this one? 

It was no wonder you refused to sleep with thoughts such like these circling your head. And it only took another moment before you gingerly pulled the covers from your body and slid from Logan’s hold, trying your damnest not to wake him. You didn’t want to deal with whatever the fuck was happening between the two of you right now. You didn’t have time for it. And, to be honest, you didn’t have the willpower. It scared you shitless, the thought of liking somebody like that. Because the last shit-stick you’d liked branded your face and sold you off like cattle. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?

And just like that, you shut down whatever the fuck could have been blossoming in your chest. It was a dangerous road and not one you particularly cared to go down again. Silent as death, you crouched to where you’d discarded your clothes, grimacing as your fingertips brushed the slightly damp fabric, and lamenting your life choices when you realised you’d have to put them back on. Not exactly the best outfit to go out galavanting in the dark, but it wasn’t like you’d brought your pack with you when you sprinted out into the rain. That still lay abandoned in that damn guest room, along with a bunch more incriminating evidence that the Furies were there. Thank fuck you didn’t decide to label your t-shirts. 

You shimmied back into your dress, shivering slightly as the frigid fabric clung to the warmth of your body, before threading the strap of your heel around your ankle. You didn’t have the nerve to pull your underwear back on, choosing instead to forgo the wildly uncomfortable sensation of having something disgustingly damp cling to your waist and disappear into your ass. Absolutely not. 

Finally managing to fiddle with the final strap of your heel without waking Logan, you sent one last glance in his direction, something painful twinging in your chest. He looked so inviting. So comforting. You knew you should probably leave some kind of note or something, at least explaining where you’d gone, but with the serious lack of dry paper and pen, there was nothing you could do. Anyway, it wasn’t like you owed him anything. No. Just the fact that he’d come here to help you. And stayed by your side. And given you one of the best nights of your life…

Yeah. Didn’t owe him anything. 

Clenching your jaw, you turned away, trying to walk without the stiletto of your heel touching the ground. You’d barely managed to cross the centre of the room before you were frozen in place by the last sound you’d expected to hear. A knock. On the door. Timid and quick, but it was a knock nonetheless. 

You whirled as Logan bolted upright, his breathing heavy, eyes wild as he looked around the room as if trying to make sense of both where he was and what the hell was happening. His eyes locked with yours, confusion etched in his handsome features before accusing realisation furrowed his brow, and you were forced to look away before you could catch the hurt in his eyes. He knew you were leaving. In the middle of the night. Without telling him where you were going or what you were doing. 

And after you’d both shared so much…

The knock sounded again, this time a little harder, and accompanied by a little push against the door. Throwing the blanket from his legs, Logan rushed to pull on his briefs and slacks, clothes which were much dryer than yours, likely due to the fact that he’d taken the time and care to lay them out, whereas you simply let your dress crumple into a pile. Bastard. 

You turned back to the door, taking a single step forward, still careful of your heels on the wooden floor, before a broad hand wrapped around your wrist. It was impossible to stop the instinctive urge to snatch your hand away, but you supposed it could be forgiven considering the fact you were on high alert with someone knocking on the door of the place you’d chosen to hide in. You glanced behind you to find Logan already looking at you with a hardened gaze, silently shaking his head, his arm still outstretched from where you’d just snatched your hand away. You gestured to the door with your head, frantic frustration dancing in your eyes, as if silently trying to justify your actions. ‘What if they’re hurt?’

‘What if they’re not?’

‘It’s a mutant, I can feel it and I know you can smell it.’

‘Doesn’t mean y’should open the door.’

“Isn’t this what you people at that fucking school do? Open the door to others who need help?” Your hiss was barely audible, but you knew he’d heard you from the way he bristled.

“Fuckin’– fine. But I’ll do it.” He snapped, sending you another hard glare before storming as quietly as he could to the door, breezing past you without a second look. So much for slipping out into the night…

Logan paused for a breath, hand braced on the door handle. You were right. It was a mutant. One smelling like rain and forests. Although that could just be because it had been raining and he was stranded in the middle of the damn woods. He shook his head, unable to believe he was about to open the door after barely escaping a fucking mutant slave gala, but you had one of those faces that was hard to say no to. 

Wasn’t it a shame then, you were about to leave? 

Slowly, and with no small degree of apprehension, Logan pulled the door open, the hinges creaking ever to slightly. But before he could open it any further, a blur of blonde and orange sped into the room, no higher than his kneecaps, and stuck itself to your leg. You let out a small yelp, struggling to hold your footing as whatever it was that had just burst in latched onto your calf like a limpet, small claws digging into your flesh. 

“Wh–” you began, before finally registering just exactly what it was you were seeing. The mutant girl from before, that same dirty blonde hair sticking up in all directions, only this time it was riddled with leaves and twigs. 

And two tiny, pointed orange ears poked out from the top of her head. You swore they weren’t there earlier. And when she looked up at you, her eyes no longer bore a resemblance to that of a human’s. Rather, they were much more catlike. Pupils like dinner plates in the low lighting, a striped ginger tail sweeping and brushing up your leg. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. If she’d managed to escape, perhaps others had too. Perhaps they were still out there, not yet captured. Maybe the guards had given up? It had seemed so unlikely not moments ago, but now? With this little wild bundle of newfound hope, perhaps they’d be okay. 

Crouching down, you carded your hands through her messy hair, little sticks falling onto the wooden floor, your fingers scratching just behind her ear enough to make it twitch slightly. She didn’t say anything, only grinned at you with little pointed canines. Holy shit she was fucking adorable. 

“You okay?” You asked softly, and Logan crouched next to you, a placid smile pulling at his lips. He was right in his analysis earlier. You were remarkably good with kids. The girl nodded her head, leaves drifting from her hair and you chuckled gently, picking the remaining foliage from her tangled locks. “Where’d you get to then, huh?”

“Little Wildling wriggled from my hold the moment we set foot into the woods. Got a good set of claws on ‘er.” Logan pointed out to where those very same claws were still leaving little dents in your calf.

“No kidding…” You winced slightly as she shifted from your leg to clamber over to Logan, climbing his arm like she would a tree, and you couldn’t stifle your small laugh at his faux irritation. Wilding’s ear flicked in retaliation to his expression, her claws digging in a little further as she scaled his shoulders, enough for Logan to huff and grimace.

“Alrigh’ kiddo, that’s enough. C’mere…” he reached behind his head to where she’d made herself comfortable, feeling around for the scruff of her neck before she lashed out at his hand, ears flattened against her head and baring her sharp little teeth with a surprisingly vicious hiss. Logan recoiled almost instantly.

“Well… that told you.” You jabbed lightly, and he rolled his eyes pointedly, his disobedient smile still pulling at his lips. Only to expand into a full grin as Wildling leapt from his shoulders onto yours, curing her little body across the back of your neck, her tail flicking from side to side as she got comfortable. “And I guess that told me…” you muttered to Logan’s endless amusement as you both stood from the uncomfortable crouch. 

“Where were you going…? Earlier?” He asked, the mood had suddenly and drastically shifted from surprisingly peaceful to despondent. You stayed silent for a moment, absently scratching behind Widling’s orange ears, listening to a slow rumble of what you interpreted as a pur coming from her throat before you answered honestly. 

“I was going to look for them—the mutants we freed. I– I couldn’t stop thinking about them. About the ‘what ifs’, you know? And if I found them, it’s guarantee safety for them and peace of mind for me. Boss has never turned anyone away. Not once. That’s what we do. We take them in, the mutants we rescue, and we find places for them, families, if they’re little like this one.” You gesture to Wildling on your shoulders, the girl seemingly realising you were talking about her and lazily opening her eyes. 

Logan nodded, though he seemed sceptical. “And, what? You just were just gonna skip out? Not even tell me where you’re goin’?” He asked, exhaustion creeping into his tone. You wanted to clap back. Wanted to snap at him about just when the hell it became his business where you went and what you did. Why the hell did he care so damn much when you’d barely known each other longer than twenty-four hours? And just why the hell he thought he should be privy to the things you do?

But you could ask him none of that, because Wildling shot like a lightning bolt from your shoulders, four scratch marks sliced through your dress as she landed on the floor with catlike grace and paused for a moment. Your impending argument was cut remarkably short as you held your silence, trying in vain to figure out just what the hell she was doing. The fur on her tail had puffed up, and you’d spent enough time around alley-cats to know she was on edge. Crouched on all fours, she sidestepped towards the door, before flattening her ears and bolting from the cabin. 

“Wilding!” You shouted after her, and Logan barely had time to think before you were out the door following her, your voice echoing through the trees. He had a split second to decide that shoes really weren’t necessary before he was racing out after the both of you, adrenaline suddenly pumping through his veins. 

At least it had stopped raining, but that realisation couldn’t have been further from his mind as he thundered through the undergrowth, fending off stray twigs and sticks with his forearms just as he watched you burst through the treeline and into the field beyond. Christ, you were quick. Was that a part of your mutation? He guessed that since you could control blood and everything else, you could force it to pump faster around your system. You were a match for his own enhanced physical attributes, and now it made sense as to how you could drag fully grown, burly men through dark alleyways. 

“Wildling!” He heard you call again, you steps slowing to a complete stop as you whipped around, looking for where the little mutant had bounded off to. She seemed so on edge before she leapt out the door, it put his own senses on high alert. Just what was it that she had seen? What had spooked her so badly that she had to run away?

Or rather, what instinct had been activated for her to run toward?

Catching up with you, Logan placed a hand on your shoulder, feeling your skin warm beneath his touch. But you didn’t turn to him. You eyes were closed in concentration, eyes flickering behind closed lids as your fingers flexed by your sides, brows furrowed as he watched you silently use your mutation to search for her, pulling at various threads around you. 

Only, there were far too many to unpick. It was a tangled mess of mutant blood, tangents of crimson flowing off into all directions, and all balling into one singular location. She must be there. That must have been what she sensed. 

You picked and pulled at the mess of threads, trying to discern one mutation from another, sifting through firestarters and earthbreakers, cloaks and daggers, before you found the little feline hidden amongst the other ferals. Your eyes flew open, instantly greeted by Logan’s concerned visage, his hand having travelled from your shoulder to the side of your neck as if to help you ground yourself. You hadn’t even noticed he’d caught up with you until now.

“Got her.” Was all you said, and Logan only nodded before following your lead, taking off at a run back into the woods, his hand held tightly in yours. You didn’t have the mind to contemplate what that meant, all you knew was that something was very, very wrong. Why were there so many signatures? And all in one place? Had they all found each other? Were they banding together? You couldn’t blame them in they were. Hell, you’d probably join them, help them take down the mansion if Tiss hadn’t burned it to the ground.

Which she still hadn’t. 

No, you couldn’t think about that either. You had to focus, put one foot in front of the other, following the slight pull of their blood through the trees, lightly stepping over fallen logs and piles of sticks. 

But you were too focused. Too focused on finding Wildling to realise you were about to stumble into a roundup. And it was only due to Logan yanking you back against his chest did you avoid detection, muffled shouts ringing out in the vast, grassy clearing ahead. You’d been right earlier. Your instincts were on point. The fucking tenacious cockroaches back in the gala had sent every guard under the sun looking for their lost property, rounding them up like cattle to slaughter. 

Logan’s hand tightened around yours, his other arm subtly snaking around your midsection in caution. He knew you well enough by now to know that you weren’t about to stand by and let this happen. You were impulsive, damn right reckless, and any decision made from pure fury would likely get them all killed. Wildling included. But sanding here, taking in the scene, he could understand why. Torchlight illuminated hundreds of mutants standing in line, shackles binding their hands, collars choking those few who they deemed too wild or powerful to subdue. 

And he barely managed to stifle a low growl as he saw Wildling was one of them, the little girl hissing and screeching as she fought to tear the collar from her neck, though any animalistic qualities she possessed before had long been siphoned from her, the suppressant doing its job to perfection. She was helpless. 

He almost heard your blood boiling in your veins, your pulse quickening with utter, unending fury, and his hold on you tightened. You whipped your head around to look at him, your eyes wild with unrestrained rage, glaring fire into his damn soul. 

“I’ll give you one chance to let me go before I tear you apart from the inside.” You spat viciously, your nails digging into his forearm as you fought for freedom. But he didn’t relent, choosing instead to look back to the clearing, turning his head to the sound of distant trucks. No doubt the collection convoy. Fuck, he was running out of time. 

“Think. You run in now, they’re all dead, including you–”

“I don’t give a shit about me, I’m not letting them go back to that life.” You hissed back, still writhing in his hold. Your words were like a slap to the face. He should have known, really. Your actions spoke volumes. Of course you didn’t care what happened to you. It was written all over your face, your body. 

Your heart.

“You’re not,” he spoke with enough conviction to make you pause your struggles, glancing back briefly to the line of mutants. “You wanna give 'em the best chance at escape, you’re gonna listen to me, okay?” 

You huffed indignantly, your instinct reaction to punch him in the face being shoved aside by the look in his eye. He had a plan, which was a darn sight more than what you had. So gritting your teeth and pursing your lips, you nodded reluctantly, and Logan relinquished his tight hold on you. 

Though never letting go completely. 

“Alright… what’ve you got?”

The rumbling of trucks only grew louder as Logan strode out into the clearing, not bothering to sneak his way through. There was no point. These people couldn’t hurt him, and every collar they had to spare already had a neck occupying it. Metal ground against bone as his claws slowly slid from his knuckles, attracting the attention of every masked guard in the area. Though what struck him as odd, was that none of them looked like the security back at the country house. They didn’t even smell the same. Did they have some special ops unit? How fucking rich were these people?

“Stop!” One on the left yelled out harshly, and suddenly, every gun in the area was pointed in his direction, trigger-happy fingers poised for fire. He cracked his neck. Maybe he was wrong earlier. This was more than likely going to hurt…

“Don’t think these ones belong to you, bub.” Logan drawled, paying no mind to the command and continuing to stride forward, the line of mutants all looking at one another in hopeful confusion, muttering senselessly until a whip was cracked. A fucking whip. 

Logan took a deep breath, calming his primal rage. He needed to keep his head. Or this wouldn’t work. 

“Who do you belong to?” Another called out, causing him to roll his eyes. He didn’t belong to anyone, and not so long ago he would have said some sappy shit about Jean. But things had changed. He was no longer tethered. Not to her. 

“I don’t belong to anyone. More than I could say about you.” He continued, keeping his voice casual but still walking like a predator, confident in his own strength. Armour and weaponry clattered as various other guards jogged into yet another line, and Logan briefly wondered whether geometry was a part of their training. 

“Stop or we shoot!” The one from before shouted, and the line all crouched in true military sync. Must be some special ops corps. Logan simply huffed a single laugh, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“Alright then. Shoot.” He held out his arms as if welcoming the hail of bullets that was about to rain down hard. And whilst he could sense the hesitation in the guards' movements, it only took one stray bullet to his shoulder for the prattle of gunfire to split the skies. An inferno raged across the front of his chest, crimson spraying from each individual impact, and soon enough he was engulfed in a cloud of his own blood, the air wet and thick with copper. But he grit his teeth, enduring the hellfire for a few moments longer, before the bullets start to thin, his body devouring entire rounds of lead. With the last crack, he fell to his knee, breathing hard against the searing agony, spitting scarlet saliva into the damp grass. 

He was definitely wrong earlier. That fucking hurt. But he also felt a sick sense of satisfaction as the guards took a confused step back, one of them turning to the closest collared mutant as if to weigh up his options. Which one was more powerful? Which would be the least risky to free in exchange for putting one of those damn collars on him. 

That was until the blood in the grass started to writhe and twist like snakes, coiling together in thick tendrils, and a savage grin split his lips. 

“Lights out, boys.” He growled before the earth erupted around him, numerous wicked spears of solid blood burst forward through the line, impaling guard after guard and sending them screaming in agony back into the canopy. Tentacles whipped and slashed from around his feet, bypassing him completely to havoc the gunmen, dismembering limbs, eviscerating heads. It was an absolute bloodbath, the kind of situation your mutation sang the strongest. You used their own blood against them, now stepping from the shadows of the tree line and into the strobe torchlight, wielding their spraying sanguine with reckless abandon until there was nothing left but corpses, their screams silenced into the night. 

Logan winced as his body rejected bullet after bullet, lead clinking on the ground around him as it burned back through his skin before the wounds sealed up, the only trace of hurt being the fact he was caked in crimson. Those tentacles stilled as you slowly released your hold on them, splashing back to the grass as they returned to liquid, and the quiet was deafening after the cacophonous din of death. 

Taking all but a second to breathe, you jogged over to the shackled mutants, quickly whipping up a blade of bood to slice through the iron, and whilst there was nothing you could do about the shackles themselves, you effortlessly shattered the chains, a chorus of whispered thank yous reaching your ears before, one by one, they disappeared off into the trees. 

Shaking himself of any remaining bullets, Logan pushed to his feet, leaving his claws extended as he joined you, delicately slicing through the collar around a woman’s neck, a glowing light re-entering her eyes as the suppressant fell away, her hands balling with subdued power. You glanced at him, gratitude shining in your eyes as you worked free another, using that little blade you’d conjured to work through the intricate lock before the light faded from the back and it broke away. You had to jump back as a pair of brilliant white wings exploded from his shoulder blades, and without another word, he took off into the night. 

“That was impressive…” you murmured, turning to look at where he’d crouched in front of Wildling, surgically removing the collar from around her little neck. “If a little horrifying.”

With the girl now free, her eyes snapped back to those of a cat, little ears growing atop her head as her tail whipped around excitedly before she took off in the direction of a fallen guard, his head no longer attached to his shoulders. Logan stood once again, his claws retracting back between his knuckles. 

“Right back atcha toots,” he smirked, though his eyes held so much honesty you thought your heart would burst right from your chest. “You mind…?” He asked, gesturing to the fact he was still covered in blood, and you were broken from your daze a little cruelly. 

“Oh, sure.” You shrugged, your fingers flexing as you pulled the blood from his body, sending it splattering against the grass. A kernel of guilt kindled in your gut as you remembered you were going to leave him and disappear off into the night. Truthfully, you didn’t know what you would have done if you’d encountered this alone. Because you couldn’t have done it without him. “I’m sorry… for leaving. It’s just–”

“It’s fine.” He interjected dismissively, and that guilt only grew.

“No. It’s not. Look, I’m not used to working with others. Sure, I work with Mags and Tiss, but usually we’re off on our own. But I, uh, have you to thank for this. So. Thanks.” You managed awkwardly, barely managing to maintain eye contact as his features softened slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

“Not used to that either, huh?” He provoked harmlessly, and you blew out a breath of relief. 

“No, not really,” you chuckled, stepping up to stand by his side, watching Wilding play with the limp limbs across the clearing. It would have been sweet if it wasn’t so twisted. “But you’ve stuck around longer than I thought you would so, guess I’m gonna have to get used to these things.” You lightly bumped his shoulder with yours, and Logan swore he felt something in his chest shift, gazing down at the way you looked at Wildling, with gentle softness. Akin to the way you looked at him last night. His knuckles grazed the back of your hand, and he took advantage of the way you paused slightly to lock his little finger around yours.

It took you a moment to recover, but when you did, Logan savoured the way the side of your head rested against his shoulder, taking in the surprisingly pleasant sight of Wildling giggling as she kicked about an empty helmet. At least there was no severed head inside. 

Your heart settled steadily. Everything felt… peaceful. Calm. Like something had been set right in the world.

Until it wasn’t.

A singular torchlight rose from the ground across the clearing, a singular guard struggling to his feet, rifle aimed directly at the squealing little girl. Her ears twitched as she slowly stopped playing, taking a step back from the empty helmet and looking up toward the source of the light. 

Your breath was ragged in your throat as your head turned from the direction of the gun to where Wildling was standing, her hands held in the air, terror written all over her features. With wide eyes and trembling lips, time seemed to slow. You looked back to the sole gunman, feeling sick to your stomach, a scream tearing from your chest as you launched into a run, your legs shaking with every thundering step. 

Logan roared your name. Not your alias, your name, reaching for you just in time to barely graze your arm before you were already too far for him to catch. But you were focused, your eyes narrowing on your target as you surged forward, suddenly illuminated as you crossed into the beam, and the crack of a single gunshot split the air just as you hurled a spear of blood through the air to dully thud into his chest.

And just like that, time resumed, your entire weight thrown forward toward the kid, crashing into her and tumbling through the grass, your arms falling loose as you let go of her smaller frame, leaving her to lie in the mud whilst you rolled slightly. Everything hurt. Everything burned. But that wasn’t your concern. Your concern was the kid. 

Logan’s blood stilled in his veins as he watched the two of you fall to the ground, and his legs were moving before he’d even registered it, his arms swinging by his sides as he slid to where Wildling was lying still, the only sounds of her still being alive were the weak coughs wracking her diaphragm. 

“Y’alright?” He asked frantically, his hands roaming her shoulders, and arms, eyes quickly scanning her ragged clothing for any signs of blood. But there was nothing. She was shaken, sure, but she was fine. She was okay. And it was only when she nodded slightly, her eyes still wide, did he realise those weak coughs weren’t coming from her. He whipped around, face paling.

You were lying a few paces away, struggling to haul yourself to your feet, your arms giving out the moment you put any pressure on them. “Stay here kid,” he instructed absently, Wildling nodding again, her brows pinched as he left her side to be by yours. 

“The kid, is– is the kid o-okay? Is she okay?” You asked frantically through pained gasps, grimacing as every breath sliced your throat open, a sharp rasp flying from your bloodied lips. Logan dropped to his knees, his eyes instantly falling to the blooming crimson stain just below your ribs, warmth coating his hands as he placed his palm atop the wound. You’d taken the bullet. For a kid you didn’t even know. You’d saved her life. And now you were trying desperately to make sure she was okay, despite your body taking its sweet time to heal up. 

“The kid’s fine, seems you took the fall for her,” he huffed a smile and you visibly relaxed, your heaving breaths slowing as you no longer had to fight to get to her. “How long’d ya take to heal up? We gotta go.” He glanced up to where the gunman had last been seen, only to peer into absolute darkness. No torchlight, no telltale shifting of boots. Only that same distant sound of rolling trucks and your struggling breaths.

“Heal…?” you repeated like he’d made a joke, coughing crimson as you laughed slightly. “I can’t heal Logan. Not– not like you can.” You explained quietly, your voice scratchy and thick. And for the second time that night, Logan’s face paled, his blood turning to ice. 

“You… you can manipulate blood. Of course, you can heal.” He urged through grit teeth, frustrated that you thought now was the time to be playing stupid fucking games like this. But then he saw the way you smiled a little sadly, shaking your head.

“Can’t heal things, Logan. Can o– only hurt them.” And it was then everything made sense. The scars. The bandages. You acrobatics. You can’t heal. This wasn’t you acting as a shield. This was your sacrifice. You’d told him there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do to stop these people. This was the manifestation of your vows. Of your promises. You’d saved her life. 

But at the price of your own. 

Shit. Shit.

“No… no no no c’mon,” He hauled you closer into his chest, heart twisting as your features scrunched in agony, pain rippling through your nerves at the added pressure of another hand on your wound. You cracked your eyes open, looking up from where Logan had tucked you against his body to see Wildling, her eyes lined with tears, her little hands atop Logan’s own, blood staining her fingernails. A new, involuntary shiver caught your bones as a chill you’d never felt before seeped through your flesh. You knew what this was. You’d seen it time and time again. But this was the first time you’d felt it yourself. 

Your body was shutting down. 

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, just gotta stay with us, yeah? Jus’ stay with us,” Logan pleaded, the one hand not cradling your bullet wound smoothing through your hair, and you used your failing strength to lean into his touch, his hand warm against your frigid skin. Your pale lips cracked into another small smile, and Logan’s heart shattered along with it. “C’mon sweetheart, just a little longer, you’re gonna be fine.” His voice cracked slightly, and he tensed his jaw against the burning in his eyes. 

You shook your head again, your movements much slower than they were a few moments ago. “I’m tired, Logan… Just let me rest. ‘M so tired.” Your head lulled against his chest, eyes drawing closed and desperation clawed at his throat, the cold hands of grief clutching his windpipe.

“No!” He barked, jostling you back awake and causing Wildling to jump a little. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to drag me into this and then just leave. I haven’t– you don’t even– fuck!” He hissed, and Wildling placed a little hand on his forearm in comfort, despite her own eyes streaming with tears. “You don’t get to leave me.” He whispered, his tone a raw, open wound as his head bowed to rest against yours. A reluctant sob burst from his lips when he felt your hand slowly thread through his hair, knowing you were using what little remained of your strength to provide what little comfort you could. 

“It wasn’t meant to last,” you breathed, and he couldn’t understand what you meant. His involvement in your cause, or whatever budding relationship you had cultivated last night. “It never was.”

Your hand fell from his hair, lightly thudding on the grass and Wildling whimpered, taking your hand in her own and holding it against her cheek. Logan felt you slacken in his hold as the whirring of a jet engine hummed overhead, the trees bending and creaking above as the wind kicked up dead leaves and dust. But he didn’t look up. Couldn’t tear himself away from you long enough. He held your body in a tight embrace, refusing to believe you were gone. You still had so much to do, you couldn’t die here. But he couldn’t hear your pulse. Couldn’t feel the fire in your heart. Even your scent had dulled. 

He couldn’t understand it. He barely knew you. Why did it feel like he’d lost a part of himself? Why did it feel like his world just came to a grinding halt? Why did the world suddenly seem so cold?

Wildling sidled next to him, gripping his arm as footsteps crunched through the frosted grass, and he barely raised his head when a familiar voice sounded in the darkness. A voice that, until recently, would make his heart skip.

“Logan?”

It was Jean.

[mattydemise]

Acta non verba

[myownwholewildworld]

you know when a whole scene unravels in your imagination and the smutty demons commend you to write it even though you were supposed to be writing something else?? yeah, this is a by-product of that. here's a small tease of chapter 5 of ACTA, NON VERBA. enjoy the filth x warnings: 18+, mdni. smut.

READ CHAPTER 5.

“Let me see how wet you are, please,” Marcus murmured in a moment of reprieve, his lips pecking your nipple with every word he spoke.

You couldn’t resist him, not anymore, so you parted your legs just enough to let his hand slip between your thighs. The moment his ring finger dunked in your warmth, you both moaned in unison. The pad of his finger slid across your velvety skin, from your clenching hole to your writhing clit, a few times, as if he wanted to get acquainted with the map of your pussy.

“You’re soaking,” he grunted. “So damn wet for me, melculum.”

His words in combination with his cheeky finger short-circuited your brain, that coiling sensation you had been craving these last two days starting to take form low in your belly. It was warm in here now, so much your cheeks flushed as if you had drunk a pint of uisge beatha.

With lazy strokes on your soggy slit, Marcus’ tongue kept on licking and flicking your nipple, now completely sodden with his spit. His digit worked you slowly too, moving up and down between your swollen pussy lips until it caught on your needy clit. You sobbed quietly at the touch, and sensing how much you enjoyed that, Marcus repeated it.

Soon enough you were mewling into the abyss as the General pressed languid circles on your bundle of nerves at the same time he was lapping at the tip of your boob. And the moment he sunk the first phalange of his ring finger in your leaking hole, your wails just grew louder.

With an unhurried pace, he pumped the tip of his digit in and out of you, feeling your inner walls relaxing around him. A couple of minutes later, your walls had adjusted to the intrusion, his finger now completely buried in your seeping hole down to the knuckle.

You heaved, pursing your lips in a vain attempt to control your moaning, but the pleasure building up inside you was too great to bear. Too intense to ignore. You bit down your bottom lip until you almost drew blood, your hips bucking up with a mind of their own.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you feel that?” Marcus’ devilish mouth abandoned your nipple, lips pressed against your ear. “Come for me, please. Melt for me.”

You resisted, wanting to prolong this moment. It felt too good to let it go just yet, albeit your whole body was commending you to. Your insides tightened around Marcus’ lone finger as you tried to hold on to the feeling a little longer.

You were so lost to the new sensations, you hadn’t realised your own fingers were wrapping snugly around Marcus’ throbbing erection. Hoping he would falter, you began to pump him slowly, his hot glans leaking onto the skin of your thigh.

“Don’t be a tease, mel, don’t want to come yet,” he groaned in your ear. His finger suddenly left your insides to slap your hand away from his shaft.

You sobbed at the emptiness, the coiling feeling starting to diminish. The idea of not finding relief haunted you, so you obeyed his command.

Your fingers found his wrist, gripping it tight and guiding him back to your beating cunt. You coaxed your pussy lips apart with his fingers and silently begged him to resume where he had left off.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent