#Interesting Taste

[anqelbean]

SVSSS finished fic recs

Weeeeeee, I have so many bookmarks, I gotta do something with 'em, hope you enjoy! Most are gonna be BingQiu/Yuan

two lonely souls at sunset by lilacbuddy

Rating: T; Words: 38,049; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

“Who are you?” Luo Binghe asked coldly. Shen Yuan wanted to bury himself in the dirt. He couldn’t have made a bigger fool of himself. “I- This one is Shen Yuan, Lord Luo,” he hastily responded, dropping into a low bow to properly greet the emperor. Even after seven years in the palace, Shen Yuan still struggled with the formal speech of scholars and nobility. “Shen…” Luo Binghe whispered. Shen Yuan winced. Of course, Luo Binghe wouldn’t know who he was by name alone. “This one is Lord Luo’s fifth husband,” Shen Yuan answered. --- Or, Shen Yuan wants life to feel like an adventure, Luo Bingge wants someone to truly love him, and a magical road-trip will somehow solve both of their problems

The Employee of the Month is Actually a Virgin? by glowingreverie

Rating: G (though I'd argue it's T); Words: 2,993; Main Pairing: Bingqiu

"Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!" parody with Bingqiu. In which Luo Binghe is a sad virgin on his thirtieth birthday and Shen Qingqiu unknowingly makes him fall in love with him.

i'll be your boy backstage by nyoomerr

Rating: M; Words: 8,369; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

Do obsessions from other worlds form a basis for a healthy relationship? Asking for a friend.

affections touching across time by miss_coverly

Rating: T; Words: 2,616; Main Pairing: BingYuan

At first glance, the most reasonable explanation was that Shen Yuan had transmigrated into some web novel set during the Feudal Era, but a quick pat down of his intact clothes and beating heart had confirmed that he was still alive. Alive—and still in his own body. He earned a lot of stares from villagers, who endlessly muttered about his odd clothes, his odd haircut. One comment always cut above the rest, though, something about looking so much like the old Peak Lord, it’s a bit unnerving. Shen Yuan wasn’t sure what to make of all that, and furthermore, the only thing he found truly unnerving was how Luo Binghe couldn’t stand him. (Inuyasha au)

Proud Immortal Dragon Way by glacierdust

Rating: T; Words: 7,408; Main Pairing: BingYuan

The day Shen Yuan found a dragon on the balcony of his apartment, surrounded by burnt vines and fire roasted tomatoes, was the day his life changed. In other words, the local disaster millennial who can’t even take care of himself adopts an injured dragon.

The Way I Dreamed Of You by straightforwardly

Rating: E; Words: 3,397; Main Pairing: BingQiu

The one in which Without A Cure turns out to have another side-effect as well. Cat ears, ahoy! Or: while trapped inside the Holy Mausoleum, Shen Qingqiu goes into heat.

Top Notes of Violence by zarasu

Rating: T; Words: 3,679; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Luo Binghe has been born with a scent defect; no matter his mood, he always smells aggressive. In a world where everyone relies on their sense of smell, this means Binghe can't catch a break. Until he meets Shen Yuan.

and in dreaming, I know you by PandaFlower

Rating: M; Words: 3,548; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

Shen Yuan blinked, in the manner of a dreamer being both reeling with shock yet also numb to it. “Well, of course you are!” “Of course I am?” Luo Binghe parroted, arching one of his regal brows. “You’re exceedingly handsome,” Shen Yuan nodded sagely, this whole encounter made sense now, “and Luo Binghe is said to be the most attractive man in existence; naturally you must be him.” (In which Shen Yuan has a very strange dream.)

right from the start, I gave you my heart by nex_et_nox

Rating: T; Words: 11,322; Main Pairing: BingQiu

"Bro, you know how many words I wrote per day, and how many plants I created!” Shang Qinghua whines. "I can't remember them all, it's impossible." Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes. "It was used with Wife #418.” "That doesn't narrow it down any further. I'm not going to be able to guess it, so stop punishing me and just tell me how the flower nerfed you." Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth. Obviously he wants to draw this out to punish Shang Qinghua, but it kinda looks more like he's punishing himself. There's a muscle flexing in his jaw, and if he puts any more pressure on his fan's guard, it's going to snap. Uh, actually, Shen Qingqiu kind of looks like he's in pain— “A false dragonhead is also called an obedient plant. It’s in the name—the flower forces you to do whatever you're told," Shen Qingqiu spits out.

or: Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of one of Airplane's stupid wife-plot devices...just before a mission to Jinlan City.

The Short Way Home by zarasu

Rating: T; Words: 4,008; Main Pairing: BingQiu

After leaving the Abyss and joining Huan Hua Sect, Binghe decides to take a little trip to Qing Jing Peak. He puts his recently learned shape-shifting skills to good use and assumes the form of Ming Fan to just get a little peek at Shizun. What he finds there isn't quite what he expected. Shizun, a grieving widow?

Truly The Best Worst Timing by AceOfDivineChlorophyll

Rating: M; Words: 9,962; Main Pairing: BingQiu

So maybe taking a bath in a plague ridden city late at night after meeting up with your former disciple turned vengeful protagonist out to kill you wasn’t the brightest decision. Mu Qingfang insisted it would help relax him though! And in a way it did… just… after being jump scared by the vengeful protagonist.

Catboy Blues by posthumous_vigor

Rating: E; Words: 11,403; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Shen Qingqiu has a pet cat. The disciples dote on it, jokingly calling it “Shizun” because of the haughty way it carries itself and the green ribbon around its neck. Chief among its admirers is Luo Binghe, who treasures every moment of kindness shown to him. And the cat, with its sharp green eyes and human-like intelligence, is very kind to him. Meanwhile, Shen Yuan has some complicated feelings about being a catboy.

Cold Hands, Warm Heart by Zizzani

Rating: T; Words: 16,274; Main Pairing: MoShang

“If the body can’t warm up, then things get uh, b-bad?” Mobei-jun cuts him a look that’s made for slaughter. “What does that mean?” “A-ah, it’s called hypothermia, my king.” “And you die once it happens.” Again, not a question. “You can.” When Mobei-jun makes an absolutely terrifying face, Shang Qinghua hastens to add, “But not instantly! Y-you can actually recover from it, if the hypothermia doesn’t progress too far.” “How far?” Mobei-jun growls. “There are f-f-f-five stages,” Shang Qinghua shivers out, lips numb. “The fifth stage is death.” - Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun have their spiritual powers sealed before getting dumped in a white-out snowstorm. Mobei-jun quickly learns that humans are far more susceptible to the cold than he thought.

so you have a bad day by tagteamme

Rating: E; Words: 30,999; Main Pairing: MoShang

Shang Qinghua is not stupid. It does not take a genius to know what it means when you ask a servant where your lord has left to and they readily supply the name of an exclusive brothel in between the two realms. Especially when it's after your utterly disastrous first time together. So he goes away for a bit to clear his head. And promptly gets kidnapped.

it's you I find like a ghost in my mind by nex_et_nox

Rating: M; Words: 20,751; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe doesn’t mean to reach out to Shen Qingqiu. It’s a combination of instinct, the force of habit, and sheer agonized longing that causes him to do it anyway. His physical body is safely ensconced in his rooms at Huan Hua Palace, where he has recently been accepted as a visiting disciple, but his mind— His mind is on Qing Jing Peak. He doesn’t even realize it isn’t one of his own dreams at first.

or: while at Huan Hua, Luo Binghe keeps sharing dreams with his shizun, and it doesn't take long to notice that there is something very, very wrong with Shizun's dreamscape

Immortal Lamb Crusader Way by Mikkeneko

Rating: T; Words: 15,181; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Shen Yuan finds himself transmigrated into the last video game he played before his death -- the dungeon-delving, cult-building anthro hit game of the year, Immortal Lamb Crusader Way. Much to his dismay he finds himself in the role of the BBEG, the God of Death, He Who Waits -- Shen Qingqiu! Is there any way he can guide the protagonist, Luo Binghe, to level-up and victory without falling victim himself to the Lamb Crusader's blade? And why does he want to pet the Lamb's fleecy head so badly? He's not a furry, okay! He's not!

The Black Lotus Lounge by honeylotus

Rating: E; Words: 10,633; Main Pairing: LesBingYuan

“I’m Luo Binghe. This is my place.” Shen Yuan’s eyes widen. Of all the people to take interest in her, ah!

continued by AMereDream

Rating: T; Words: 13,926; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

> ... and also, you've started reusing old text again. Kudos to you for almost making it six chapters without using the copy/paste button! The way you described Luo Binghe reacting to AU!Shen Qingqiu is almost exactly the same as the way you described the wife of the Pale Moon Arc, Chapter 3425 to be specific. Is it really that hard to come up with another turn of phrase, or are you just that lazy? And furthermore... (Read More) >> O.o what if its deliberate tho... >> "...the same as the way you described the wife..." Uhhh Airplane? That was an accident, right? Airplane?? (or, several weeks after Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had posted what he swore was the last chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way, a new chapter was uploaded to the site.)

Liquid Truth by zarasu

Rating: T; Words: 5,217; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu have been married for almost four years, and Shen Qingqiu decides it's high time he told his husband his little secret. Binghe doesn't quite react as expected.

Can’t You Just Believe Me? by AceOfDivineChlorophyll

Rating: T; Words: 6,928; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe finally had Shizun where he couldn’t escape, tied up and at his mercy and still the man wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t answer any of his questions and instead kept accusing Binghe of things he didn’t do. Fine, Shizun doesn’t want to talk, Luo Binghe can fix that. He doesn’t want to believe Binghe, he can fix that too. After all, this truth serum was strong enough to work even on Heavenly Demons.

Life is (not) a Hallmark Movie by mellicindi

Rating: T; Words: 143,334; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Shen Yuan isn't lonely. He's just overseas in a new city, trying to muddle his way through a business degree, and dealing with the side effects of his stupid intestines trying to kill him. So, maybe he sometimes watches ASMR to cope with his too-quiet apartment. Maybe he has a little bit of a parasocial-relationship-thing going on with one particular cooking ASMR channel. It's 2016, who doesn't? The point is, he's content with his quiet life. And then Shang Qinghua strong-arms him into watching one Hallmark Christmas movie, and it all goes to hell. Or: Shen Yuan is a Hallmark movie protagonist, Luo Binghe is a Lifetime movie protagonist, and somehow they make it work.

instructions unclear, ghost husband obtained by aksnevv

Rating: T; Words: 25,449; Main Pairing: BingQiu

To make things clear: Shen Qingqiu doesn't believe in ghosts or spirits. At least, he didn’t. But alas, it all started when a strangely suspicious blog posted over ten years prior was read to him on one fateful day. Who knew that just five hundred poorly-typed words written in comic sans on a clearly outdated website would lead to Shen Qingqiu dragging around a living (questionable), handsome (unfairly so) ghost that happens to be the subject of the most notorious urban legend-- following him around like a lovesick puppy, cooking him breakfast and ironing his clothes? Definitely not Shen Qingqiu.

All We Can Do Is Try by corduroyserpent

Rating: G; Words: 2,962; Main Pairing: TianXi

Su Xiyan has no trouble taking deadly poison…it's parenting she's worried about.

How to Catch a Mer-Snake (No Net Required!) by corduroyserpent

Rating: G; Words: 7,522; Main Pairing: GongZhi

Zhuzhi-lang doesn’t get close—wary as he is of strangers—but he does gather the courage to sneak a tiny peek above the waves. He makes sure not to show too much of himself, only the very little needed to see what’s happening.  And what he sees is…well…it's a boy. Slightly older than Luo Binghe, with long dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck.  A human. - Was anyone going to tell Gongyi Xiao there was a whole boyfriend hidden under the ocean or was he just supposed to save a mer-snake's life and find out himself?

a touch of honey by goatpunch

Rating: G; Words: 5,366; Main Pairing: GongZhi

Zhuzhi-lang is trying to make it as a writer, but his life is interrupted by a certain (annoyingly handsome) barista at his favorite coffee spot. It doesn't help when his friends and family seem intent on setting the two of them up.

grow beyond by AMereDream

Rating: T; Words: 5,790; Main Pairing: QiJiu

It all began when Shen Qingqiu brought a baby to the twice-yearly Peak Lord Meeting. Or, perhaps it all started nine months before that, when Shen Qingqiu stumbled upon a very special plant.

some little nothings by tagteamme

Rating: E; Words: 6,986; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe has been acting a little strange. Well— not strange in the traditional sense. He’s not been acting moody, nor has he been acting irritable or rude or secretive. Instead, he’s been… respectful. In the way he talks, in the way he touches, in the distance that he keeps. And the fact that he’s keeping distance to begin with. While Shen Qingqiu theoretically should appreciate the breathing space, in reality it’s been sort of irritating. More than anything, he wants to know why Luo Binghe has stopped properly taking him to bed.

From the Heights by any_open_eye

Rating: E; Words: 9,222; Main Pairing: BingYuan

"Are you here to watch me bathe? That's rude." The dog huffs out a breath, sitting down in front of the bath. Shen Yuan can't resist reaching out to pat it on the head. It really is a handsome beast, once you get over the teeth and the rumbling growls. The strangely intelligent eyes. "Where do you come from, anyway? I've never seen anything like you." The dog licks his fingers. (Shen Yuan finds an injured monster high on the mountain. He brings it home.)

The Dumb Teacher Self-Saving System by Fluffy_Nightmare

Rating: G; Words: 4,263; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Luo Binghe had a hard time reading Shen Yuan. The youth's face appeared to be forged from pure and cold jade, not flesh and blood, as he never showed any emotions. From time to time the peak lord could spot disgust or contempt when the demon-king-to-be looked at him, but nothing beyond that. Shen Qingqiu never smiled, never shed a tear, but it was to be expected. After all, he was a scum protagonist of “The Bloody Path of the Immortal Demon” - a web novel written by a user Frost, the one containing more backstabbing, revenge plans and dead bodies than a history of the last hundred years of humanity. For him to show his weaknesses was unthinkable. Soon, it would change.

Welcome To My Table (Bring Your Hunger) by SpiritOfFox

Rating: M; Words: 50,442; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Shen Yuan died, woke up, then almost died again. Afraid for his life as a demon in the spirit caves of Cang Qiong he runs as far as he could... Only he didn't count on Peak Lord Luo chasing him down. AKA a role-reversal fic where Luo Binghe's secrets have secrets and Shen Yuan is in no way ready to live as a demon in the world of the hit stallion novel he transmigrated into.

the hands by which he fell by airplanelanding (TheCourtSorcerer)

Rating: T; Words: 7,513; Main Pairing: BingQiu

But he didn’t run, and maybe that was more devastating. More devastating, more soul-crushing, more heart-shattering—because he flinched. The moment Luo Binghe lifted a hand to his face, inches from touching him, his shizun, Shen Qingqiu, poised and aloof and composed and fearless Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, flinched. And, oh, if that didn’t hurt. Or Jinlan City but Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe actually talk.

residue of yesterday by el_em_en_oh_pee

Rating: E; Words: 8,928; Main Pairing: LesBingQiu

It took Shen Qingqiu an embarrassingly long time to realize that Luo Binghe was literally there in her dreams. Her first thought was, 'This didn't happen in Proud Immortal Demon Way?!' Her second thought was, 'Luo Binghe's clearly been practicing a lot... and making quite a bit of progress.' Her third thought was, frankly, embarrassing. But as a noted fan/hater of Proud Immortal Demon Way, it was just so cool to see the protagonist acquire new skills! Skills that, when fully blackened, would no doubt lead to Shen Qingqiu's undoing. Whoops.

A Guilty Conscience by Underworld_Melon

Rating: T; Words: 1,882; Main Pairing: BingQiu

“Shizun should know,” Binghe says, smoothly caressing his hair with the bloodied hand and a voice rich like honey, “that this heavenly demon knows ways to find out if one is lying.” or Shen Qingqiu is in the Huan Hua Palace. Binghe reads his mind. It all goes very well.

wonderstruck (blushing all the way home) by sweetdreamers

Rating: T; Words: 10,143; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe wants to combust. His professor should be illegal. Or at least labelled with a warning. Too much exposure to one (1) Shen Qingqiu will cause spontaneous combustion. Approach at your own risk. - or, slytherin!binghe pining after oblivious potions master!shen qingqiu

dirty imbecile by plutoisgay

Rating: E; Words: 11,559; Main Pairing: LesBinggeYuan

Shen Yuan never asked questions when customers came seeking her out, even as they increasingly asked for targeted death spells or life-long, horrid curses. It wasn’t any of her business, and she needn’t get involved with the carriage-wreck that was those revenge plots. Even when she had to etch the same words ‘icy river’ again and again into beautifully carved cutlery and plates and vases, as red-faced women reached her shop in swarms as the months passed by, asking for monstrosity inducing curses, for seals that cause the downfall of kingdoms, for targeted attacks against a woman who had a better life than any of those that slithered their way into Shen Yuan’s business. Shen Yuan became experienced in carving ‘Luo Binghe’ into the tiny spots of her work, hidden by a neat handle or painted design. She didn’t ask questions, even as word reached her city that a new demon had risen to power, quickly taking control of the two demonic realms and coming for the final one left untouched. - A mysterious cultivator stumbles across Shen Yuan's home, in dire need of nurture and care. Shen Yuan calls BS. Luo Binghe, as things will have it, is not a force to be trifled with.

Marriage By Proxy by x_los

Rating: M; Words: 5,464; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Peak lord Shen Qingqiu has been officially betrothed to the demonic prince Su Binghe via an intermediary. Prince Binghe's chamberlain is attentive, comely, and absolutely not the man Shen Qingqiu should be falling in love with.

murder cat sword only likes its wielder's boyfriend by PandaFlower

Rating: T; Words: 5,039; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

Instead of being found by Huan Hua Palace disciples, Luo Binghe meets a Wan Jian disciple who instantly falls in love with his sword. No, not that sword. Xin Mo.

It's Just A Matter Of When by ritualist

Rating: T; Words: 4,326; Main Pairing: BingYuan

“So I’ll need to be direct,” Binghe says. “Got it. What else?” “I’m not helping you,” Shang Qinghua says. “You haven’t even got his number and you’re already being unbearable about this.”

[skinreflectsthesun]

.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

The 8 Senses

The Autistic Teacher

[analogboii]

I got the blackout slush from sonic bc idk I hate myself what do you want from me.

but this looks like it DEFINITELY shouldn't go into my body.

[iwasmadetobeasoldier]

Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you tried to date LOKI?

[nira-mirror]

Pov: Soundwave

[writeouswriter]

People sorting ao3 solely by stats and only clicking on fics with a certain amount of kudos or comments, you will not survive the winter, nor the summer, nor at all, *brings out knife,* run

[02511213942]

katelyn and marissa's adventures in being normal cheerleaders for the world's most insane college sports team 🎉🎀🧡

[mantis1942]

Yesterday I felt really anxious and down bad because of everything going around not the way I expected so to calm down and switch my focus I collected those roses from garden and made a pink tea with them, really like to mix lots of different herbs all together

So I really recommend you to try that, first of all looks really cute!!! Second of all it tastes nice and calming taste is not really intense so mix it with some other herbs or green/fruit tea

[gutsby]

Bloodline

Pairing: Dark!Marcus Acacius x Reader

Summary: The General needs an heir.

Warnings: 18+. NONCON. FORCED IMPREGNATION. Unprotected p-in-v. Arranged marriage. Throatfucking. Face-slapping. Breeding kink. Praise and degradation. Age gap. Dacryphilia. Fear play. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: Silphium and pennyroyal (or ‘glechium’) were herbs commonly used for contraceptive purposes in ancient Rome.

Word count: 4.4k

You woke up knowing you were fucked.

In more ways than one: today brought your husband home from his latest campaign in Germania, and last week, your only batch of contraceptives was running low. Now, it was gone. You cursed the apothecary who had sworn she would procure your silphium drink before you were to see the General again, but presently, there was nothing more to be done. You had tracked your cycle and knew you were ovulating that week. You just hoped your husband would be too battle-weary and overwrought to seek a place in his bed, between your own legs, tonight.

‘Down’ came the order before the door to your chambers had even closed behind Marcus Acacius later that day.

Down meant he wanted you lying back.

Down meant your thighs had better be spread apart by the time he reached the bed. He wasn’t a patient man.

Down meant your meticulous menstrual contrivances had all been for nothing; you had been married to the General for almost a year, and in that time, you had promised yourself you would never bear him a child. While the only reason for your being forced to wed in the first place was to give him a son, you despised the idea of being the Emperor’s pawn. A vessel for the next awful bloodlusting boy to be born—you had been a present from your uncle Geta to Acacius, and ever since then, you had come to hate them both. You drank your herbal teas daily, without them ever knowing, and you feigned ignorance when, after months and months of the General’s best efforts, you never fell pregnant by him.

Today might very well be the day to change all that, if you had to judge by the look in your husband’s eyes, though.

The harsh, dark irises were alight as he approached you. Their gaze betrayed little more intrigue—or curiosity to know how you had been these last three weeks he was gone—than sheer lust. You could see it in his movements while he peeled his armor apart and drank your body in.

He shrugged the last scrap of metal and fabric away and climbed over you in bed. His motions were graceless, and his body was heavy. He smelled of dirt and blood.

“Wider,” he told you.

Wider your legs spread. He slipped between them, and with an affectionless, rough grip, he grabbed your wrist.

“Touch,” he commanded.

You obeyed that, too. Your fingers were guided to, and wrapped gingerly around, the thick, warm base you had come to know well since marrying Acacius. He pulsed proudly beneath your hand, and the grunt he gave said he was expecting this the whole long while he had been away. You stroked him slowly. Firmly. Contemplating.

“My love—” you started, low.

“Quiet.” Your husband’s voice swiftly supplanted yours.

It bid you to do as you were told, and open your mouth for nothing else but to pleasure the appendage you held.

You knew better than to speak in moments like these. But you also feared, for very good reason, that if you didn’t interject now, you may never get a chance to prevent this dreaded thing. It would only get harder.

He would only get harder.

“Husband,” you tried more warmly, stroking his cock as though you loved him, like weren’t repulsed by the thought of birthing his son. You forced your gaze up, too.

And no sooner had you done that when a hand landed across your face. Your cheek flamed; your skin bristled.

“My sweet wife insists on being heard, does she?” the General broke in, and you could tell it was through teeth, “Does it look like I’ve even begun to fuck you yet, girl?”

You shook your head that it didn’t. Your face stung, and you were about to look away when you felt the same hand that had delivered the last blow take your chin.

The General tilted it back up to his.

You felt him harden even more seeing tears start to well.

“Whatever it is, tell me after. I’ve waited too long for this.”

From his tone, you could tell that meant more than sex.

An heir.

He must have known you were withholding something.

Your hand moved quicker. More nervously. Worrying.

“Allow me to…to use my mouth, then. I-In other ways.” You hated even saying it. Your voice trembled as you did.

Silently, you braced yourself for another hit. Your wrist worked relentlessly, moving up and down the man’s shaft with little more intelligible thought in your head than the fear of being punished by him, when it stopped.

The General halted all movements of your hand. He eyed you once, uncaring, and then shook his head. The next thing you knew, you were being shoved off of the bed.

You never thought you would feel such relief sinking to your knees on the floor. You were good at this—could finish your husband off in under two minutes, easy—and for once, you were happy to feel the man’s fist in your hair. Holding you firm, guiding you fast, and being his normal gruff, callous self to force you onto his cock.

He filled your mouth quickly. Though it might not have meant much to a girl who had never seen, much less sucked, a dick in her life before becoming a wife, Marcus was big. He fit uncomfortably between your lips and stretched your jaw until it ached. At length, you let him move your face up and down, again and again, wetting his shaft with your slick, shiny, delicate strings of saliva. You almost felt grateful to be made to move so fast, so your tongue couldn’t get fully acquainted with his taste. You gagged lightly when he shoved you down to the base. Your eyes rolled back; his belly grazed your nose.

“You look better when I’m in you,” Marcus said coldly.

He dragged your head back, and you inhaled a breath. Your eyes rose to his, and he smiled—he saw tears again.

You blinked and let your expression fall limply, knowing how much he loved seeing you weak. You took the tip between the seam of your lips, and you kissed it once. Then you kissed it again. Your mind grew dizzy with the idea that you might actually get to swallow his load and be left alone the rest of the night if you only kept going.

You opened wider to do just that when next you heard:

“You’ll look better with my child inside you.”

As if galvanized by some sharp, unseen electric current, you wrapped your lips around his head. Fully. You tried enveloping the rest with your mouth, desperate to get your husband’s mind off of putting himself anywhere but at the back of your throat, and you hummed. The man above you gladly pushed himself further. You choked.

And just when you were about to force a breath through your nose, flatten your tongue and prepare to go deeper on the man you disliked most in this world, you felt him coax your gaze up to him. Tears were streaming down your cheeks at this point. You had to blink once or twice to even see him. When you had, you found him beaming.

For once, the General’s gaze was soft as he watched you.

You felt him tug your hair forward, and your lips went with it. Your throat resisted at first, but then it relented. In just a few moments, he was sliding down your throat.

You felt powerless. Your husband seemed to know.

“We’ve been unlucky, haven’t we?” he asked.

Surely, the question was meant to be rhetorical, for you couldn’t move your mouth without gagging on his cock.

Instead, you blinked. More tears flowed down your face.

“Nearly a year of being my wife, and still no child.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve taken him for contrite.

He sounded like he could’ve been forlorn, but the tone he used was too smooth. Slow. His voice was like molasses, almost. And then he moved his hips and sank in deeper. Your throat opened because it had no say in the matter.

You blinked harder, and more tears fell.

Please cum, please cum, please cum—

“I have it on good authority that a girl your age should be as fertile as anything. It shouldn’t take this long to take.”

—just finish, just finish, just finish where you are.

Marcus shifted again, and this time, you couldn’t control the spasm in your throat. You just coughed, and sputtered, and gagged down his length. You jerked your head pathetically under his hold, and just barely were you able to steal a gasp of air. The man loosened up.

And though his touch was less tight, his voice almost soft, and his eyes as bright as they had ever been, the words that followed after struck your senses like a fire.

Practically searing the insides of your skull when it came:

“You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”

You would’ve liked to swallow, but your esophagus was too chock-full of cock. Your lips were stretched, tongue flattened along his length, and your cheeks were now glistening with tears—from the strain of your husband’s intrusion, for one, and the fear of what he might already know, for another. You felt the head of his cock slide deeper down your wet and velvety channel before carving a path back up. Its ascent was slow. Teasing.

The fingers that were threaded through your hair held your head in place as he withdrew all the way to the tip.

“Answer me, wife.”

When you hesitated, the General slapped you again. His cock fell out of your mouth, and you coughed reflexively.

“I-I-I don’t…I don’t know what—”

“Think harder.”

A hit was shortly delivered to the other side of your face. You flinched, and winced, and right before you tried answering again, you felt your jaw forced open for something else. Rather than being made to let words fill the space, your husband’s cock was thrust in. It went far.

Your mouth was leaking with drool now. You couldn’t contain the spit. If anything, the General seemed to enjoy that as he slid himself further. Then he grunted.

“Why is it I’ve filled you with enough cum to paint the fucking Coliseum, and you still haven’t give me a son?”

You gagged. Your hands flew to his strong, bare thighs to grab the flesh out of habit, and once again, he withdrew.

“Why?!”

“I don’t know!”

Of course you did.

Still, you shook your head and kept your gaze plastered on his, begging for some shred of lenience. If he’d had any within him, you reckoned you weren’t seeing it that day. Before you could stop him, the General forced his way back into your mouth, and shortly down your throat.

“I think you’re a lying—” He jerked his hips once, to stab the very back of that place, “—pathetic fucking whore.”

You tried to whine in protest, but the sound was shortly muffled by his cockhead gliding back and forth in that wet, fleshy passage. Its path was suffocating. Your eyes almost rolled back from how fucking awful he tasted.

Please, please, your nails scratched at his legs like some kind of wordless entreaty. Your gaze was glossy and wet.

You could scarcely muster the strength to meet his own, but when you did, you found your husband smiling back.

He slid out of your mouth, and you could breathe again.

“We’ll try once more,” he said, pulling you up to your feet by your armpits, like he might treat a toy he didn’t like. When you were standing upright between his legs, you felt a shudder pass through your frame, and you tried to hide it. He leaned in: “Why haven’t you given me a son?”

“My body must not be r-ready.”

Wrong answer, apparently.

He slapped you again.

By now, your face was blooming with pain. Your skin stung, and your eyes burned, and you could still feel a trace of his precum trickling down your throat, and you hated him so much. But you had to be stoic. Insensitive.

Inventive.

“Silphium,” you stuttered out, before swallowing the awful tang you sensed and recollecting yourself, barely, “Pennyroyal, too. I hear there are…concoctions that help to make the womb more…more…hospitable, I believe.”

You were lying through your fucking teeth. Knowing your husband was far too dense and war-crazed to have ever consulted an apothecary in his life, and hoping he’d be stupid enough to accept whatever it was you said. When it came to things concerning your health, he rarely cared.

You swallowed hard and for once, felt a little more stable.

Then you were shoved onto the bed again, and any semblance of composure was sucked from your bones. You fell pathetically against the plush, satin covers of maroon and gold and were prone for no more than two seconds before the General started tearing your clothes.

“We’ll see,” he said simply.

He flipped you onto your back, and you writhed without really meaning to. You were operating on pure instinct, feeling a man nearly three times your age moving his hands across your front and ripping fabric left and right. It wasn’t fair. You could hold your tongue if he hit you hard enough, but your muscles fared worse when it came to constraining their natural inclinations. You kicked your feet, you squealed, then you begged him—

“Please, stop! I’m not ready yet! I can’t— I can’t— STOP!”

This was just like your wedding night. Only worse, because you knew exactly what lay in store with harrowing clarity and certainty. The General grinned.

“Pennyroyal, huh?” he sneered, yanking your clothes away while you thrashed and tried to push his hands off, “Is that what my wife needs to be ‘ready’ to bear sons?”

“Yes!”

“Silphium?”

“Please, please.”

There were fresh tears brimming in your eyes when he peeled the last scrap of covering off of your body and shoved you back down. You were shaking, and he was smiling, and as much as you knew the man hated being defied, you reckoned he took pleasure from the chase. Seeing the moisture well up and spill, feeling you crawl back in bed, meet his greedy, calloused hands and beg him over and over again not to make you do it, not now.

You could hardly even see him through your tears, but you felt him. Sensed his lower half forcing its way between your legs and then his member coming to rest on your belly. You squirmed at the feeling of your spit still coating him, and now brushing against you. You sobbed.

“You can’t keep forcing yourself inside me—”

“I can.”

“Won’t make a baby stick if you just—”

“I will.”

You felt betrayed. All your life you’d been force-fed these sunny, sanguine ideals of what motherhood was going to be, and this was all it was? After cherishing that prized thing between your thighs—like virginity were some real gift to be given—for so long, this is who owned it now? The General hadn’t had so much as a fraction of the compassion or patience a wife needed to feel secure. He didn’t treasure you, or care for your pleasure, or do anything to soothe the ache of his repeated intrusions. You couldn’t begin to think what he’d be like as a father.

Presently, he smoothed your hair from your face; not to comfort you any, but to make sure that he could see your expression when he sank himself in. When he took again.

“We’ll have to seek the Emperor’s best,” he murmured.

Your husband gripped one of your knees, and at the same time, held himself. You felt his thick, leaking head trail from your navel to your pubic bone, down exactly where you wanted him least. You tried to protest, but his grasp on your leg only tightened. He pressed you down into the mattress and wiped his cock between your folds.

“This pennyroyal you mention…” Marcus went on.

For some reason, your legs tensed as he said it.

“Or silphium. Whatever it is. Can we get it?”

His tip teased your soft, swollen clit—a place he rarely cared to touch—and, against your will, your body started.

Some minuscule ripple of pleasure there. You swallowed.

“Yes. We can. Please, just—” You glanced down between your body and the General’s then, and the sight nearly sent your head spinning. He looked so big. And cruel. And dripping with precum across your puffy, wet skin.

He knew this act well. You knew this act well enough, but for some reason, you thought your actions aimed at forestalling the inevitable might succeed this time.

You reached for his wrist, and your eyes pleaded with his.

“Don’t do this again,” you whimpered, feeling pathetic.

The General only shook his head, and he held on tighter.

“As your husband, I’ll do this as often as I please. And you’ll learn to like it, if you just stop fighting,” he said.

He found your dripping entrance, like he always did.

“Just let me in. Let me feel her, honey, I deserve it.”

You shook your head, but he pushed on anyway. Your stomach clenched, your walls tensed, and, in spite of your body’s strongest attempts, your husband notched the first inch of himself inside. He let out a happy sigh.

“That’s it. That’s a good wife,” he told you contentedly.

His girth was too much. It was always too much. No matter how slow he went, or how much you tried to prepare yourself, it always hurt. You whimpered at that feeling and had to bite your bottom lip to keep the sound from slipping out. Marcus nodded and kissed your cheek

“Sweet girl. ‘S’all she needed, see? One little inch, or—”

His words were cut short. Then he thrust in all the way.

“—eight, maybe.”

You shrieked and met his palm. It clamped over your lips.

That first stroke was torture. Dragging back was even worse. Re-sheathing himself and making you listen to his wretched grunts and groans of pleasure was pure agony.

“Will the herbs help? Pussy feels plenty ready to me.”

He was mocking you now. Your whines were stifled under his hand and your walls were forced wider for his girth as he sawed back and forth, over and over, without mercy.

“Nod if you want it,” he panted, “Nod if you need that.”

You weren’t sure if he meant the herbs or him. Slowly, and knowing he’d hit you if you didn’t, you nodded.

The General grinned. He didn’t hesitate to speak again.

“Good. Now you can stop soliciting apothecaries behind my back and using these same herbs as contraceptives.”

Your stomach dropped. Your eyes widened, though you knew it was a stupid thing to do when the man’s gaze was practically scorching through your own. You froze.

Your husband wedged his cock even deeper, and you felt him in your cervix—unprotected from any medicine now.

Medicine that he knew about, too, apparently.

You had no choice but to whimper when he kept digging his strong hips into yours, repeatedly, battering that soft, sensitive, defenseless place with his dick like he owned it. You wanted to kick your legs but sensed it was useless. General Acacius would get what he wanted.

What he needed was a son. You could see it in his eyes.

“My stupid, silly wife,” the General chided you, now fucking in deeper than he’d done before. Taunting, “I hope our son gets my brain, or the poor boy’s fucked.”

You wanted to cry. You were still sobbing, but the tears had come with such force before that there didn’t seem to be enough moisture in your body to allow them now. Any wetness, it seemed, was inside your legs, allowing your husband to pound into you with complete abandon.

Skin slapped skin. The man’s breaths grew quicker, more frantic, while your own you wished would halt altogether. His hand moved from your mouth to take your chin in his palm; he looked proud as he drilled your soft, limp body.

“Finish. Please,” you whimpered, all fight extinguished.

You didn’t know what else to say. Your husband had caught you, somehow, and probably knew as well as you that your body would now be forced to accept whatever he gave it. When that warm, throbbing member between your legs had had its fill and the man had decided he’d humiliated you enough, he’d paint your insides white. He’d shoot thick, hot ropes of cum where you’d dreaded him most, and in all likelihood, that seed would take. If not today, then tonight, tomorrow or the next day—there was no clear end in sight until the General had secured the heir he so desperately wanted. What Geta promised.

And you would be a mother, whether you liked it or not.

Every subsequent thrust, grunt, and groan rang hollow to you then. It was like your mind was lost from your body, your brain an open wound, and what was left of you simply splayed on that bed. Unmoving. Unfeeling. Being fucked and filled up without a modicum of concern for your humanity. Or what remained, anyway.

When he was finished and he could feel your body stuffed with his greedy, sticky release, the General leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead.

He seemed more confident than ever as he spoke.

“I can feel my legacy has already been cemented.”

As it turned out, a month was enough.

Within the year, you gave birth to a son.

This was no great shock to you—getting forcefucked every night for five weeks straight would’ve done the trick for any woman in your position, you supposed.

What surprised you most was how gentle the General became after learning you were pregnant with his child. Ever the paragon of paternal affection and husbandly devotion to you from that moment forward, you were convinced the man had been transformed overnight. He never spoke so much as an unkind word to you, or gave a glance that said anything less than that he was in love and elated to help you bring new life into this world. He never forced himself on you in bed. You could sleep again

One morning, you were cradling your baby in your arms. In just a few short weeks, you had already memorized every inch of his soft, sweet face. And you knew from the first you’d never love a single creature more on this earth

When your husband approached, you smiled—beaming.

“How is my son?” came the deep warble of his voice.

You drew the blanket back an inch with just your finger; beneath the soft cloth, the two of you could see that the infant was sleeping peacefully. He made a delicate sound, and you were half-certain you could hear the General’s heart splintering in two along with it. He dropped to his knees beside you, where he leaned in near and let his eyes say all the rest. They were cheery. Wet.

Sometimes, you, too, enjoyed seeing him cry.

You pet his wavy grey locks and gave them a tug.

“Is he exactly as you pictured? Your legacy?” You smiled.

Marcus blinked, letting two warm tears trickle down.

“Better than I could have dreamed him myself.”

That made your heart swell with a still larger ache. This was all your husband had ever wanted—wrapped up in your arms and swaddled with wool. Your son looked like him, too. You could see the General’s appreciation of this every time his eyes fell to the child, and every time his gaze drifted to you. There was admiration. Adoration.

Love, for once.

“Will he be a soldier like his father?” you asked next.

“A much braver one than I ever was.”

“Will he do Emperor Geta proud by this calling?”

Once more, your husband’s eyes flitted from the baby up to you. His look was soft as he reached out for your hand.

“There isn’t a doubt in my mind of that, my love.”

You squeezed his palm. You couldn’t help yourself.

“And will he carry the Acacius family name with pride?”

At that, the General’s hesitation was even shorter than the last. He swiftly confirmed that his son would, indeed, wear his name like a badge of honor. There wasn’t a shred of uncertainty on that front, he assured you.

His smile was so wide you couldn’t help but mirror it.

Even as you slid the knife from in between the folds of your son’s blanket, you were smiling at him all the while.

“And what if he doesn’t?” you asked quietly.

The General’s gaze fell to the blade next.

You thought he might die on the spot.

“What if he bears no name at all?”

The serrated edge now hovered over the baby’s throat. When Marcus jerked toward the thing, instinctively, you only lowered it more. Brought the silver closer to skin.

“Please— You— you can’t— can’t— can’t— please stop.”

He was fumbling for words. You didn’t blame him.

“Your precious legacy is a fragile thing, General.”

And with that, you drew the knife closer.

Your husband let out a strangled noise.

Right when he rose to knock the weapon out of your hand, you took it and flipped it back around to him.

Your first stab was swift. Into his chest.

“My child will never know your name.”

It was clear the injury stunned him.

When you plunged the knife in again, the man let out another sound—this time, a grunt of pain—and you wedged it deeper. You didn’t flinch when his face twisted

“My son will take my name.”

Frankly, with the trauma your blade had already inflicted on his chest, you didn’t expect the General to be able to say a word. Or resist. By the look of horror in his eyes, you could tell he was capable of listening, though.

Now, he would be forced to hear it all.

See his own life taken away from him.

And feel the blade thrust in when you punctured his front for the third and final time. Your eyes were shining now.

Still cradling your child, still holding his gaze, still smiling like this was the single greatest day you’d lived to see.

“Acacius, your bloodline dies with me.”

[greatbigbellies]

THE GREAT BIG GRAVID PREGNANCY KINK ASK GAME

There are some very fun preg or belly kink ask games out there, but the one's I've seen are typically focused on one flavor of said kink, or aren't strictly pregnancy-focused or are heavily gendered.

So I thought I'd to cook up 50 fun, kinky but not outright explicit, questions for an ask game. All pretty broad in application, and gender neutral! Please enjoy! _______________________________________________________

What's your favorite aspect of pregnancy? What makes it hot for you in a kink sense?

Would you rather be with someone who IS pregnant, or be pregnant YOURSELF? (or both?)

Do you prefer pregnant bellies that sit high, or carry low?

Do you prefer a pregnant belly that leans more "torpedo belly" or "beachball belly", or something else?

Favorite pregnancy blemish (stretchmarks, veins, linea nigra, ect), if any?

If you could only pick one, would you keep hyperpreg, rapid preg, or perma preg? Why?

Favorite NON-physical attribute of pregnancy? (Ex: cravings, pregnancy brain, nesting)

Most niche part of pregnancy that fits into your kink?

How pregnant is TOO pregnant where it stops being hot?

Thoughts on ill-fitting/outgrowing clothes with pregnancy?

Do you prefer bare, partially covered, or tightly clothed pregnant bellies?

Do you have a favorite occupation to see a pregnant person performing?

In preg kink writings, when a pregnancy is abnormal in any way, do you prefer when it's supernatural (fantasy), technological (sci-fi), explained some other way, or not explained at all?

Who are some of your favorite preg kink artists/blogs?

Do you prefer when a pregnancy is super encumbering, or doesn't limit the pregnant person in an extreme way?

How do you feel about pregnancy and stuckage?

How do you feel about pregnancy and stuffing, or vore, or wg, or inflation, or any other kink that increases belly size?

How do you feel about pregnancy paired with another, non-belly related kink? (asker may specify)

Thoughts on pregnant belly worship?

Thoughts on pregnant belly manipulation? (like pushing on or shaking a pregnant belly)

What's something kinky you would love to do to a pregnant belly, outside of the realm of normal pampering or worship?

What's an outfit you'd love to see a pregnant person wear?

For kink purposes, what's your favorite stage of pregnancy?

Favorite view for a belly? (straight on, side profile, POV looking down as though it's yours, ect)

Do you prefer a pregnant person dressed to the nines, or basically in their pajamas?

Describe one of your most self indulgent preg kink fantasies in full.

Do you prefer super active pregnant bellies, or bellies with calmer babies?

Do you prefer smooth and blemishless pregnant bellies, or ones with lots of marks and veins and strain?

Favorite non-belly physical attribute of a pregnant person?

Favorite state for a belly button on a pregnant belly? (innie, outie, flat, ect)

Thoughts on pregnant bellies with a soft layer of chub around them?

Favorite word to describe a pregnant belly?

Do you prefer when a pregnant person is "maxed out" and at the height of their possible growth, or big but still growing, lending to some anticipation for what's to come?

What's your ideal rapid preg growth speed? How long should it ideally take to go from a flat tummy to full term?

Do you prefer a large/overdue singleton, or a batch of multiples?

What what point does "high order multiples" become "hyper preg" to you?

Thoughts on monsterpreg? If you enjoy it, what's your favorite monster to be/see someone pregnant with?

If you enjoy pregnancy encumbering mobility, do you prefer if its due to size, or weight? or both?

Do you think of a pregnancy kink as a more "vanilla" kink, or as one of the weirder ones?

What are some aspects of pregnancy that you enjoy in a kink way that AREN'T the pregnancy itself? (Ex: breeding, labor, birth, lactation, ect)

Have you told anyone you know IRL about your pregnancy kink? If so, who (within reason privacy wise), and how did they take it?

Favorite piece of pregnancy-centric media? (could be for kink purposes or otherwise)

Favorite part of a pregnant belly?

Thoughts on belly piercings on pregnant bellies?

In a kink context, what's an activity you would you like to be doing/see someone doing while pregnant?

At what point does a pregnant belly go from "big" to "huge"?

Do you have any preg kink "guilty pleasures"? What is one, if you have any and are willing to share?

Do you have another kink that you enjoy mixing with pregnancy? If so, what is it?

Do you have any irl stories or anecdotes that relate to your pregnancy kink in way way? Care to share?

In as much detail as possible, what's your IDEAL pregnant belly?

[thehmn]

You, a dummy: If you don’t have the same tastes in food, drinks, fashion or anything else I enjoy as me then you are wrong and I will judge and mock you.

Me, and intellectual: We have different tastes? Wonderful! Then we won’t have to fight over who gets the last piece.

[violent138]

My personal headcanon for Clark Kent interviewing Bruce Wayne (when neither of them know each other's secret identity) is that Clark is the one person Bruce doesn't flirt with and leaves with a halfway coherent interview. A reluctantly impressed Perry White sends Clark repeatedly to get quotes, and work on more articles, leading to Bruce and Clark having several calls, some of which jokingly get called "off the record calls". This goes on for several months before they realize that's just called being friends, they hang out, and they have their identity reveal, it's less jarring because they know a lot about each other and Bruce informs Clark that he's sending Clark a suit made of more durable materials when Bruce realizes how rippable it is during making out.

[sebille]

Oh the little change in his expression

[zu-is-here]

who are you without your battle body?