#Rampant Lions Press

[uwmspeccoll]

Marbled Monday

It's time for a fancy schmancy Marbled Monday! I spied this gold-speckled marbling while pulling books for a class. It is a book of poems simply titled Verses: 1928-1972 by British civil servant, soldier, banker, writer, and poet Jasper Rootham. It was published by Rampant Lions Press in Cambridge, England in an edition of 500 copies in 1972.

The marbling is really lovely, with dark grey, maroon/mauve, cream, and brown with added spots of shiny gold, all dropped in the bath and then swirled together. It is most likely an example of the Placard pattern, which is similar to Fantasy or Fountain, but less structured and uniform. This marbling, combined with the maroon bookcloth spine that features gold stamping, gives the book quite a sophisticated feel.

View more Marbled Monday posts.

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

[ozarkthedog]

𝐯𝐢𝐬

summary: Logan's feeling impulsive before a mission and you happen to be within reach aka he fucks you in the jet.

pairing: Logan Howlett x afab mutant!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. feral!Logan. rough sex. dirty talk. bicep choking. biting. spit kink. reader can read minds and regenerate. size difference. brief mention of blood. pure filth - no plot. unbeta'd. w.c: 1.1k

an: this look fucks me up every time I see it, so I had to write something.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Logan fumes with pent-up energy.

He knows he needs to take care of it, or else he's gonna snap. He hopes Scott shows up soon; throwing a few digs at the younger cyclopes will relax him. Still, he stalks back and forth in the empty jet, from cockpit to tail, puffing on a cigar that's smoked down to a nub of tobacco when his ears prick.

He turns just in time to watch you walk up the ramp. You're suited to the nines and ready for the mission, your leather outfit hugging every curve on your body.

Logan feels the rampant energy to kill slowly morphing into one of possession.

You catch his wandering eyes as you reach the top. Flashes of snarling teeth, slapping flesh, and debauched moans spark before your eyes as Logan looks you over.

"Logan," you greet him with a wry smile as the older, silver haired mutant rolls his cigar between his lips and nods. His energy permeates the hull of the jet; he's like a wolf standing over maimed prey.

"Ready for this?" Logan asks, breaking the silence and stepping closer to you. He's so large and consuming; he'd scare you if you didn't have the power of mind control.

"I'm always ready." You quip, jutting your chin.

Logan snorts, cigar snatched between his pearly whites. "That so?"

You reply with a teasing hum as your fingers dance over his suited pecs.

"Think you can take me?" He steps even closer, nudging his larger body against your smaller one before flicking the cigar nub to the ground.

You cock your head, eyelashes fluttering. "Why don't you find out."

He grips your shoulders, spinning you on the spot, and shoves you against the wall of the jet; its gentle thrum vibrates your body as he presses himself against your back. "I can smell you, you know."

Your heart beats wildly like a hummingbird. You'd been aching since you stepped onto the jet. "Don't know what you're talking about." You purr dumbly.

Logan snickers at the blatant lie. "Keep those hands where I can see 'em," he grunts, gripping your hips and yanking you back. Your hands glide down the metal wall as your ass nestles against his cock. He's got you in a vulnerable position, bent over and exposed; any of your teammates could walk onto the jet any second. The thought makes you clench.

Logan unzips your suit from the waist down and groans as your curves spill from the tight material. You hide your face in the crook of your elbow as he takes in the sinful sight. "Y'sure are a pretty lil' thing." He comments against your cunt as hot breath ghosts over your core.

Two brute hands palm your ass, roughly kneading the curves before pulling them apart and brazenly spitting on your cunt.

A gasp catches in your throat, and it makes Logan smirk. "Knew you were a dirty girl."

As your lips part to reply snarkily, a hot tongue drags up your puffy folds from clit to taint, leaving no inch untouched.

Logan eats you alive.

At least that's what it feels like as he tightens his hold on your hips, making sure you don't pull away for a second to leave him chasing after you.

He smothers his face into your folds like a lion eating a fresh kill. His tongue lashes against your clit, sending rapturous shock waves up your spine. His nose nudges your taint as he roughly pulls you closer and spears his tongue into your core. He pushes and shoves your hips back and forth, making you ride his tongue until your knees buckle and you gasp his name over and over like a prayer. A dark growl vibrates your cunt as your slick spills into his mouth, and then he's gone.

As you're left reeling from the mindnumbing bliss, wondering why he stopped, he takes advantage and hooks a strong arm around your neck and lifts until your spine is flush with his chest, effectively trapping you in a headlock.

His bicep presses against your carotid as his cock catches on your soaked opening, making you stumble. "Can feel 'er clenchin'," he rumbles, and his beard scratches the soft skin of your temple. "Don't worry, Sugar. I'm gonna take good care'a 'er."

He sheaths himself in one devastating thrust. You have no choice but to take everything he gives you. Your cunt molds around his length, morphing and reshaping into the shape of his cock as he presses into the deepest part of you. He cruelly grinds his hips, kissing your cervix and tearing soft cries from your lips.

He fucks you with a steady pace, withdrawing his cock until the bulbous head catches on your withering hole before plunging it back in. Each shove forces you onto your toes. You anxiously grip his ungodly thick forearm for support.

The metal hull of the jet does nothing to tamper the lewd sounds of slapping skin and sticky arousal.

He presses his leather-clad forearm against your chin, tipping your head against his chest, forcing you to stare up at him. His features drip with untamed darkness as he smirks down at you. For a moment, fear tingles at the base of your spine.

"Gonna be drippin' out in the field," he chastises. "Wonder who else'll smell you?"

Logan's hips begin to pound against the curve of your ass savagely; muscles ripple, and skin rolls like waves; he chases his high like a man possessed.

The feral, all-consuming vigor from the older man rushes through you like a tidal wave, drowning your senses and free will. Your orgasm ignites, sparking so quickly you're powerless to the blinding pleasure that flares deep in your belly.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, growling like a wolf as he comes. His fingers dig into your flesh, pulling a soft, pitiful whine from your body. Copper fills his senses as your blood washes over his tongue, awakening his primal senses. The pain from his touch has your cunt swirling once more. No man could mark you like Logan, nor would you want one to.

Logan unhinges his jaw and eases himself from your warmth with a hiss. As the teeth-sized holes on your neck instantly begin to heal, he licks away the crimson that stains his lips. Your inner thighs glisten, stained with your combined arousal, as you lean against the wall of the jet, catching your breath.

"Made quite a mess, Sugar." Logan can't help but drag his fingers through the gluey spend. His gloved digits prod your swollen folds as he pushes the heady mixture back inside your warmth.

A lithe whine pours from your lips as he teasingly curls his fingers along your walls for added measure. "Think you can keep from drippin' while fightin' the bad guys?"

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[delirious-donna]

The Best Worst Father’s Day [Nanami Kento]

an: I wrote this in like 20 minutes because i was ‘inspired’. Kento deserves a fantastic Father’s Day but let’s be real… kids are not always willing to deliver

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: fluff, mention of a child, suggestive at the end, kids being assholes, tantrums (not just the kid), Kento being a fucking hero, breeding kink (if you squint)

Masterlist

It was Father’s Day and it also marked the day that your precious bundle of not-so-small joy decided that they were going to be a nightmare. All day.

The morning started out on the right foot, Kento snoozing peacefully with his sleep-soaked face pressed into the spill of your cleavage, a subtle drunk smile plastered to his face. Awoken by the telltale stomps of what your child affectionately tried to pass as tiptoes grew closer to your bedroom door, you blinked away the dregs of sleep just in time. A head peeked inside, drowsy and rubbing their eyes with a beloved teddy bear tucked under one arm like a newspaper.

You smiled and whispered a good morning before pressing your finger to your lips and pointing to their sleeping father. The answering giggle melted your heart as you heard them scamper downstairs, awaiting their breakfast and entertainment for the morning.

Lost in a kaleidoscope of rose-tinted memories that led to this moment, you combed softly through the blond locks of hair hanging low on his brow. Kento shifted, his eyebrows pinching and smoothing out until he rolled over and continued to sleep. He deserved it, he really did.

All those nighttime feedings, endless nappies changed, hours of reflux and windings that never seemed to yield results. The skinned knees and the tears. A million cups of tea at your bedside table before your bleary eyes even opened for the day. Car seats researched to the nth degree for safety reviews and practicality. First steps. Their first word, and of course it was ‘dada’.

The years had sped by at an alarming rate, feeling as those dark tortuous hours in the depths of winter were only yesterday. There had been far more good times than bad, and without Kento by your side the whole time, you weren’t sure how you would have managed. He might not be your Father, but you were determined his day would be one of the best.

However, that slice of idyllic tranquility would be the last, although you did not yet know it.

Whether the stars had misaligned or some demonic imp had decided today was the perfect day to toy with the emotions of a young child, you didn’t know. What you did know was that they were ‘on one’, and no amount of coaxing or reminders of whose special day it was would deter their rampant destruction.

Kento, diligent and steadfast as ever, refused to back away from the plate. He smiled through the gift giving which consisted of a beautiful handmade card by his darling angel, the very same darling angel who was kicking off because they couldn’t watch their favourite tv show right now. Aptly, the bottle of whisky could not have been a better choice, and he glanced surreptitiously at you with a knowing smile.

From there it went from bad to worse. Tantrums and tears, and not only from the hellspawn, ensued. Your sobs of “you’re meant to be relaxing today, not doing all of this” fell on deaf ears. No amount of cajoling or attempts by you were working, leaving Kento to swoop in like a hero just minus the cape and with the addition of a garish tie.

You watched from the kitchen door, enormous mug of tea in hand and a tissue dabbing your puffy eyes as Kento chased your child around the garden. The laughter broke your heart, but in that way that a happy ending in a movie also broke your heart.

There he was, the man infamously referred to as stoic and reserved, growling like a lion and throwing your little darling around to hollering whoops of laughter. If only they could see what you saw, if only they had known right from day one that behind the cool facade was a man that would do anything for his family—for his wife.

With energy levels finally depleted and the boss level of bath and bedtime tackled and won, you fell into his open arms. Your nose buried in the collar of his shirt, inhaling the spice from dinner on his skin and drinking in the warmth he exuded.

“I’m sorry, Kento,” you mumbled, lip wobbling from the stresses of the day. The anger that had sizzled in your veins only hours ago defused into a mass of misery.

“For what?”

“For the shitshow that was today! Don’t ‘for what’ me.”

Kento tilted your head up, his thumb beneath your chin and his lips upon yours in a soft rush that surprised you. The red wine from dinner melted onto your tongue, pushed deeper as he took and took, only to give back everything and more.

Finally, he pulled back with a contented hum. “Father’s Day is all well and good, but you gave me the best gift you ever could years ago… a baby that has grown into a wilful little mischief maker just like their mother.”

If you weren’t already emotional, you sure were now. Tears brimmed in your eyes only to be caught on the pads of his thumbs. Soft kisses decorated your cheeks and you grasped fistfuls of his shirt in earnest.

“Better stop talking like that, or I’ll give you another one, mister.”

“Mm, now that has made my day. I’ll give you to the count of ten to strip and kneel on the bed,” he breathed in your ear, biting the shell and playfully grabbing at your backside.

“One… two…”

[novaursa]

Flames in the West

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: for better or worse

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The day of Aegon’s second nameday dawned with the bright promise of revelry and spectacle. The sprawling woods outside the king’s hunting pavilion were alive with the sounds of horns, the bark of hounds, and the murmur of lords and ladies dressed in their finery. You stood at the edge of the gathering with Ser Gwayne Hightower, your reluctant escort for the day, though his easy demeanor made him bearable company.

Your sister, Rhaenyra, had stalked off toward her horse earlier, muttering darkly about the endless flattery and sycophancy that came with these events. You suspected she wouldn’t stay long before riding off into the woods on her own—leaving you to observe the spectacle.

It was then that you noticed him: Lord Jason Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as he approached Rhaenyra with a swagger that could rival a peacock. His crimson-and-gold doublet was immaculate, embroidered with lions rampant that caught the light with every movement. Even from a distance, you could see the self-assured smirk on his face as he stepped into your sister’s path.

“Is he…?” you murmured, your lips curving in a bemused smile.

“About to make a fool of himself?” Gwayne supplied with a smirk of his own. “Most certainly.”

You leaned forward slightly, ears straining to catch the words exchanged between them. Jason was in the midst of an elaborate speech about Casterly Rock, the grandeur of the West, and how “a future queen deserves a home as magnificent as her station.” Rhaenyra’s expression shifted from polite disinterest to outright disdain.

“I have no need for Casterly Rock, my lord,” she said icily, cutting through his rehearsed charm. “And even less need for a husband chosen for his wealth.”

Jason faltered, but only briefly. “But surely, Princess, you would consider—”

“No.” Rhaenyra’s reply was final, leaving Jason standing there, stunned, as she brushed past him and disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you remarked loudly enough for Jason to hear, “Well, that was a rather pathetic display for the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Jason turned on his heel, his eyes narrowing as they landed on you. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his voice tight with indignation.

“Oh, don’t mind her, my lord,” Gwayne interjected, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “She’s just an avid observer of courtly theatrics.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting Jason’s glare with a smirk. “If you’re going to woo a dragon, my lord, you might consider bringing more than your… oversized ego.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—amusement, perhaps? “And what would you suggest, Princess? Shall I compose a sonnet or slay a dragon for her favor?”

“Considering you’ve already wounded her ears with your drivel, a heroic feat might be a welcome change,” you shot back.

Gwayne chuckled openly now, clearly enjoying the exchange. Jason, however, took a step closer, his broad shoulders squared and his gaze unwavering. “I’ll have you know, Princess, that I am perfectly capable of charming anyone I set my sights on.”

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Anyone, you say? And yet here you are, rejected by one sister and attempting to defend your honor to the other. Perhaps you should aim lower, my lord. The kennel master’s daughter might appreciate your… charms.”

Jason laughed, the sound surprising you with its warmth. “Ah, so you’ve claws as sharp as your sister’s tongue. Tell me, do all Targaryen women delight in tormenting men, or is it just the two of you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Gwayne stepped in, raising a hand. “My lord, if you value your pride, I suggest you retreat now. She’s only warming up.”

Jason gave Gwayne a pointed look but then turned back to you, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I enjoy the challenge.”

Before you could muster a retort, Gwayne gently took your arm. “Come, Princess. Let’s leave the lion to lick his wounds.”

As the two of you walked away, Gwayne leaned in conspiratorially. “You do realize he enjoyed every moment of that, don’t you?”

You glanced over your shoulder to see Jason watching you, his smile still lingering. “If that’s what he considers enjoyable,” you muttered, shaking your head, “the man must lead a very dull life.”

“And yet,” Gwayne said, grinning, “he’s still watching you.”

You refused to turn around again, though the faintest blush colored your cheeks. “Perhaps he’s hoping for another lesson in humility.”

“Or perhaps,” Gwayne said, his voice teasing, “he’s already planning his next move.”

The thought unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

The royal pavilion was an elaborate affair of black-and-red drapery, with King Viserys seated at its heart, a goblet of wine in one hand and a faint scowl on his face. He leaned back in his chair, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. Around him, lords and attendants bustled, speaking in low tones or presenting trifles meant to curry favor.

Lord Jason Lannister strode in with the kind of confidence that only a man from the richest house in Westeros could muster. His polished boots clicked against the floorboards as he carried a gleaming spear in both hands, its shaft carved from rare duskwood and tipped with gold. The weapon practically gleamed with opulence.

“Your Grace,” Jason began, bowing low as he approached. “A small token to commemorate Prince Aegon’s nameday and the hunt. Forged in the Golden Gallery by the finest smiths of the Rock.”

Viserys straightened slightly, his eyes appraising the craftsmanship of the spear. It was magnificent, he had to admit, and he gave a slow nod of approval. “Impressive work, Lord Jason. My son will no doubt treasure it—assuming he doesn’t poke someone’s eye out first.”

A ripple of polite laughter passed through the tent, but Jason’s expression remained serious. He placed the spear on a stand near the king, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Your Grace, if I may, there is another matter I wish to discuss.”

Viserys’s groan was barely concealed. “If this is about my daughter Rhaenyra, I’ll save us both the trouble and tell you what I’ve told every other lord who’s come sniffing around her skirts: she will choose when the time comes. Until then, my answer is no.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard, before recovering with a polite smile. “Ah, Your Grace, I fear there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not here to petition for the hand of Princess Rhaenyra.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Lord Lyonel Strong, who stood quietly by his side. “You’re not?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“No, Your Grace,” Jason clarified, a flicker of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. “My petition concerns your younger daughter, Princess Y/N.”

There was a beat of stunned silence in the pavilion. Viserys froze mid-sip of his wine, his goblet hovering in the air as if he hadn’t heard correctly. Beside him, Lyonel’s bushy brows climbed so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

“My… youngest daughter?” Viserys repeated slowly, as though Jason had just declared his intention to marry a dragon.

Jason nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Grace. Princess Y/N.”

Viserys blinked, leaning forward in his chair. “Are you certain? Because if memory serves, my youngest daughter stood beside her sister not two hours ago, calling you”—he paused, as though recalling the exact phrasing—“ah yes, an ‘overdressed peacock with the wit of a trout.’”

A murmur of stifled laughter rippled through the pavilion, and even Lyonel coughed into his hand to mask a grin. Jason, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

“She did, Your Grace,” Jason admitted, his expression resolute. “And yet, I find myself more determined than ever.”

Viserys stared at him, utterly baffled. “Are you a glutton for punishment, Lord Jason? Because I can assure you, my youngest daughter is no more likely to flatter your ego than her sister.”

Jason offered a crooked smile, his usual bravado tinged with surprising sincerity. “It is not flattery I seek, Your Grace. Your younger daughter possesses a sharp wit and a keen mind, traits I’ve come to admire. I am quite serious in my intentions.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely toward Lyonel. “Do you hear this, Lord Strong? The man brings me a spear, not for Rhaenyra, not even for Aegon, but to chase after a girl who just insulted him to his face.”

Lyonel cleared his throat, his expression carefully neutral. “It is… bold, Your Grace.”

“Bold is one word for it,” Viserys muttered, shaking his head. “Mad, perhaps, is another.”

Jason, undeterred, stepped forward. “I am prepared to prove my worth, Your Grace. If the princess wishes to insult me again, I will accept it gladly. But my resolve will not waver.”

Viserys rubbed his temples, sighing deeply. “You are either the bravest or the most foolish man in Westeros, Lord Jason.”

“Perhaps both, Your Grace,” Jason replied with a self-deprecating chuckle.

The king exchanged another look with Lyonel, who shrugged as if to say, Well, stranger things have happened. Finally, Viserys waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll not stop you from trying, but don’t come crying to me when she brands you an imbecile and sends you packing.”

Jason bowed low, his grin returning. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, I am up to the challenge.”

As Jason left the tent, Lyonel turned to Viserys with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think he’ll survive?”

Viserys snorted into his wine. “If he does, it’ll be a miracle. Or perhaps I’ll need to have Maesters on hand for the bruises to his pride.”

The day was alive with the energy of the hunt: the baying of hounds, the sharp trill of horns, and the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor. The air was crisp and carried the faint smell of pine and damp earth. You strode alongside your father, King Viserys, as you always did during royal hunts, clad in a practical riding outfit that allowed for movement but still bore the Targaryen sigil embroidered on your chest. A bow was slung over your shoulder, and you carried yourself with ease, ignoring the glances from the courtiers trailing behind.

Ahead of you, Viserys chatted animatedly with Otto Hightower, who appeared more interested in keeping pace than engaging in the conversation. Behind you, Lord Jason Lannister loomed, his usual swagger muted as he kept his eyes firmly on you.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Jason began, his tone overly polite as he fell into step beside you, “but I must say, it’s unusual for a lady—let alone a princess—to partake in something as… rough as a hunt.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Unusual, perhaps, to someone who knows only boring ladies.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by your quick retort, but he recovered swiftly. “I wouldn’t call them boring, Princess. Simply more… traditional.”

You snorted, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Traditional? You mean they sit around embroidering lions and gossiping about who wore the finest gown at the last feast?”

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “I assure you, Lord Jason, I would rather face a charging boar than suffer through another discussion about the texture of Dornish silks.”

Ahead of you, Viserys glanced over his shoulder, clearly enjoying the exchange. “You’ve done it now, Lord Jason,” he called back, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve given her an opening.”

Otto smirked faintly but said nothing, his sharp eyes flicking between you and the Lannister lord. Jason cleared his throat, determined to press on. “I only meant that it’s rare to find a princess with such… unconventional tastes.”

“Unconventional?” you echoed, your tone laced with mock offense. “Is it unconventional to enjoy the thrill of a hunt, or are you implying that princesses should stick to sipping wine and giggling behind fans?”

Jason hesitated, visibly choosing his words with care. “I would never suggest such a thing. Only that—well, most ladies of your station prefer less hazardous pastimes.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a smirk played on your lips. “Ah, so you think me incapable of handling the hazards? Shall I remind you, my lord, that I have participated in hunts since I was a child? Or would you like a demonstration?”

Jason’s lips twitched into a smile, despite himself. “I’ve no doubt of your skill, Princess. But surely there are better ways to spend one’s time?”

“Better than this?” you asked, gesturing to the sprawling woods around you. “And what would you suggest, Lord Jason? Lounging in a gilded hall while you regale me with tales of Casterly Rock’s grandeur?”

Viserys let out a bark of laughter, clapping Otto on the shoulder. “I told you, Otto. She’s got her mother’s fire. Poor lad doesn’t stand a chance.”

Otto hummed thoughtfully, his amusement plain. “It seems the Lannisters are as persistent as they are wealthy.”

Jason straightened, clearly aware of the audience but unwilling to back down. “Perhaps persistence is exactly what’s needed to win a Targaryen’s favor.”

You tilted your head, feigning contemplation. “Perhaps. Though persistence without substance is just a louder way to waste my time.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the hunters nearby, and even Viserys shook his head in mock pity. Jason, to his credit, took the jibe in stride, his smile unwavering. “Then perhaps you’d allow me to prove my substance, Princess.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your smirk growing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll try, my lord. Whether you succeed is another matter.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the horns blew again, signaling the sighting of prey. Viserys raised his hand to quiet the group, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Enough banter, you two. Let’s see if we can bring down something worthy of my son’s feast.”

As the group moved forward, Jason lingered just a step behind you. “You’ve a sharp tongue, Princess,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “I quite like it.”

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “Careful, my lord,” you said lightly. “You might cut yourself.”

Jason laughed softly, shaking his head, and fell silent. For now.

The feasting tent was alive with laughter, clinking goblets, and the aroma of roasted meats. Lords and ladies were seated in clusters, exchanging pleasantries and gossip as the servants flitted about, filling cups and replenishing platters. At the table reserved for House Lannister, Lord Jason Lannister had finally taken his seat next to his twin brother, Tyland, who had arrived earlier and was already halfway through his goblet of wine.

Jason dropped into his chair with a theatrical sigh, grabbing his goblet and draining half of it in one go. Tyland arched an eyebrow at his brother, clearly intrigued.

“Well, you look like you’ve fought a battle,” Tyland observed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “I take it your courtship of the youngest princess didn’t go as planned?”

Jason straightened in his seat, brushing imaginary dust from his doublet. “It went fine. Better than fine, actually. Remarkably well.”

Tyland snorted, taking another sip of wine. “Is that so? Because the way I heard it, she called you something along the lines of…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. “Ah yes, an ‘overgrown lion cub with more mane than brains.’”

Jason paused mid-drink, lowering his goblet as he mulled that over. “Did she actually say that?”

Tyland’s smirk widened. “Word travels fast, dear brother. You’re the talk of the hunt.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, she’s sharp-tongued, but it’s all part of the charm.”

Tyland gave him a long, incredulous look. “The charm? Jason, she’s insulted you three times today. Once in front of the king.”

Jason leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, a slow grin spreading across his face. “And wasn’t it magnificent?”

Tyland nearly choked on his wine. “Magnificent? Have you gone mad? Most men would’ve turned tail after the first barb.”

Jason shrugged, his grin not faltering. “Most men don’t have the spine for a real challenge. But the princess? She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Clever, bold, utterly fearless.”

Tyland tilted his head, studying his brother as though he were a foreign creature. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? You sound like a lovesick minstrel.”

Jason laughed, gesturing for a servant to refill his goblet. “I’ve never been better, Tyland. And mark my words, I’m not giving up.”

Tyland sighed, rubbing his temples as though the very idea gave him a headache. “Jason, you do realize she’s as likely to throw that goblet at your head as she is to accept your advances?”

Jason grinned, raising his refilled goblet. “Then I’ll duck and try again.”

Tyland let out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, Tyland. I’m in love.”

Tyland stared at him for a moment, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You’ve spent all of one day bickering with her, and you’re calling it love?”

Jason shrugged again, completely unbothered. “It’s the beginning of something. I can feel it.”

Tyland sighed, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “To your perseverance, brother. And to the princess’s patience—she’ll need it.”

Jason clinked his goblet against Tyland’s with a laugh, his mind already racing with plans for his next move. Tyland, meanwhile, settled back into his seat, muttering under his breath, “Overgrown lion cub indeed.”

The royal hunt had concluded in success—or what could loosely be called success. King Viserys had driven his spear into a fine stag, though the beast was brown, not the white hart they had hoped for. Still, the king’s mood was jovial as the procession returned to camp, the deer tied to a cart and the hounds trotting proudly alongside.

You dismounted from your horse, smoothing your riding attire and dusting off your gloves. The camp bustled with activity, and you were eager to slip away and check on your sister, who had yet to return. But as you turned to leave, you were intercepted by none other than Jason Lannister.

“Princess,” he began, his tone as smooth as polished gold, “a moment of your time.”

You sighed inwardly but forced a polite smile. “Lord Jason. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jason fell into step beside you as you walked toward the campfires, his confident grin firmly in place. “I merely wished to offer my congratulations on the hunt. Though, truth be told, I suspect you would’ve done just as well, had you been given the chance.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, unsure whether to interpret his words as flattery or a subtle dig. “A kind sentiment, my lord, though I doubt the stag would agree.”

Jason chuckled, unperturbed. “No doubt. But, Princess, I must say, there’s something quite striking about a woman who defies convention. It’s… refreshing.”

“Refreshing,” you echoed, your voice dry. “Like a cold bath in the middle of winter.”

He grinned at your sarcasm. “Exactly. Though I imagine even the coldest waters would be warmed by your presence.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him with an arched brow. “Lord Jason, is there a point to this conversation, or are you simply practicing your flowery speeches?”

Jason hesitated for only a fraction of a second before recovering, his grin widening. “Perhaps both. But more importantly, I wanted to speak to you about my earlier… proposal.”

You opened your mouth to respond—no doubt with a scathing remark—but the sound of hoofbeats interrupted you. Turning toward the commotion, you spotted Rhaenyra riding into camp, her white hair streaked with mud and blood, and a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Behind her rode Ser Criston Cole, his expression impassive but his armor smeared with evidence of their kill. A massive boar was strapped across the back of their horse, its tusks gleaming in the fading light.

“Excuse me, my lord,” you said quickly, seizing the opportunity to escape. “I must go and greet my sister.”

Jason stepped in front of you, holding up a hand. “Wait. Just a moment longer.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Lord Jason, whatever it is, make it quick.”

He straightened, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. “I understand you may think me arrogant—or, as you so eloquently put it earlier, an ‘overgrown lion cub.’ But I am sincere in my intentions, Princess. Casterly Rock is a grand place, a fitting home for a woman as remarkable as yourself. All I ask is that you reconsider.”

You stared at him, caught between exasperation and surprise. “You truly don’t give up, do you?”

Jason smiled, the hint of a boyish charm breaking through his usual bravado. “Never.”

Letting out a long breath, you gave a small shrug. “Fine. I’ll reconsider.”

Jason blinked, as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, sidestepping him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak with my sister before she starts skinning that boar.”

Jason remained frozen for a moment, processing your words. Then, realization dawned on his face, and his grin returned in full force. “You said yes.”

You turned back briefly, giving him a flat look. “I said I’d reconsider, Lord Jason. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

But Jason was already beaming, his chest puffed out like a victorious knight. “Still, it’s progress.”

Shaking your head, you hurried toward Rhaenyra, who was dismounting her horse with Ser Criston’s help. As you approached, you could hear Jason’s triumphant declaration behind you:

“Tyland! She didn’t call me an insult this time!”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at you, her lips twitching in amusement. “What was that about?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the question. “Nothing worth discussing. Now, tell me—how does one kill a boar and look like they’ve wrestled a dragon in the process?”

Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Perhaps I’ll teach you one day—assuming you survive Lord Lannister’s wooing.”

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

The end of the celebrations marked a flurry of activity in the royal camp. Servants bustled about, packing away tents and preparing carriages, while lords and ladies exchanged pleasantries before departing for their respective holds. You stood near your father’s retinue, helping to secure the last of your belongings while your sister Rhaenyra leaned casually against her horse, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she remarked, her tone laced with amusement.

“I’ve had a long few days,” you replied, brushing dust from your gloves.

“Hmm,” she mused, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain lion, would it?”

You shot her a warning glance, but before you could reply, the subject of her teasing appeared. Jason Lannister strode across the camp, his crimson-and-gold cloak billowing dramatically behind him, his golden mane practically glowing in the morning light. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of a bard’s tale, which only made his approach all the more exasperating.

“Princess,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the bustle. “A word, if you please.”

Rhaenyra straightened, her smirk widening. “This should be entertaining,” she murmured, stepping back to watch.

You turned to face him, sighing softly. “Lord Jason, if this is about—”

“Your answer,” he interrupted, his grin as confident as ever. “The celebrations are over, and I must know where we stand.”

Before you could respond, King Viserys appeared, his crown slightly askew as he cradled a goblet of wine. Behind him, Queen Alicent stood holding Prince Aegon, her expression carefully neutral, though her eyes flicked curiously between you and Jason.

“Jason,” Viserys said, his tone weary but good-natured. “Still lingering, are you?”

Jason bowed deeply. “Your Grace. Forgive my persistence, but I wished to speak with the princess before her departure.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Jason. “Ah. This again.”

He turned to you, rubbing his temples as though the matter was giving him a headache. “Well, daughter? What’s your answer? I leave the choice to you.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on you. Rhaenyra looked thoroughly entertained, while Alicent’s expression betrayed nothing. Jason, of course, was grinning like a boy about to win a prize.

Finally, you let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I suppose… I’ll accept.”

Jason’s grin widened, though he looked momentarily stunned, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree. “You will?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone almost resigned. “If only to stop your endless pestering.”

Rhaenyra laughed outright, covering her mouth with her hand as Viserys gave you a long, bemused look. “Well,” he muttered, scratching his beard. “Congratulations, I suppose.”

Jason straightened, clearly taking this as a full endorsement. “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you, the princess will be treated like a queen at Casterly Rock.”

Viserys glanced at you again, his expression skeptical. “Let’s hope she doesn’t regret it.”

Jason turned back to you, his grin still firmly in place. “You won’t regret this, Princess. I’ll ensure you have everything you could ever want.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Including peace and quiet?”

Jason laughed, utterly undeterred. “If that’s what you desire, then yes.”

Viserys groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days bickering, at least do it somewhere I don’t have to hear it.”

Rhaenyra, still chuckling, mounted her horse and gave you a sly look. “Safe travels, sister. And do try not to murder him before you reach Casterly Rock.”

You shot her a glare but couldn’t suppress a small smile. As Jason turned to escort you toward your own horse, you muttered under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Jason, ever the optimist, leaned in with a grin. “The adventure of a lifetime, Princess.”

And with that, the two of you joined the departing procession, your father still muttering behind you, “The Seven save us all.”

[bonelessghoul]

In the Shadows of Chains |2|

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female!OC

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: not many I don’t think, just twisted ways of the Emperors and drinking heavily

Summary: In the wake of the Emperor’s interest, Julia downplays its intensity as another festivity pulls in the attendance of Romes elite. But here where distractions are meant to be embraced, Julia finds herself out of her General’s protection and the lions den of the twins.

Note: I hope everyone liked the first part! I’ve had some good response but I’m about just keeping it rolling and letting my thoughts run rampant here so pls keep the feedback and reblogs coming <3

Part One

The intimate gathering was a stark contrast to the prior night. Here, in the heart of Rome’s elite at the top of the hill, the air was heavy with wine and intrigue, a quieter but no less dangerous battlefield. The twins, Geta and Caracalla, lounged at the forefront of the room, their every move commanding attention as women and men alike swarmed their sides. Laughter rippled through the hall, but Julia’s focus remained on the goblet in her hand as it did the night before.

She had welcomed herself to more wine than she ought to, but the buzzing warmth in her chest dulled the edges of her despair. Among the other ladies of status—some already wed, some still entertaining suitors—she found a reprieve from the suffocating gazes of the men who filled the room as they lounged in a small corner.

“And what of the Emperor, Julia?” said Lady Claudia, pulling her attention back into the conversation.

The question cut through the laughter like a blade. Julia froze, her goblet poised halfway to her lips. She realized her friends looked upon her with envy at this and not caution for her safety.

Her friend grinned as she edged on, “Rumor has it his gaze hasn’t left you since the games. Surely that must excite you?”

Julia forced a light laugh, tilting her head with feigned indifference.

“Excite me? No. Terrify me? Perhaps.”

The ladies tittered, but her closest friend, Aurelia, gave her a knowing glance. Julia felt her cheeks warm, and not from the wine, but the simple fact that she should not have said something so bold in the open.

A woman with curls coiled down to her shoulders, Lady Cassia, was the next to entertain their banter as she eagerly leaned forward.

“Oh, come now, Julia. To be chosen by the Emperor himself is an honor few would deny. Or have you already set your sights elsewhere?”

Cassia was married to the son of the Quaestor and had no qualms with her life other than that of the Quaestor himself who made no secret in his admiration for young women. But she wouldn’t bring it up now as the thought of it lingered on the rim of her wine.

Julia’s fingers tightened around the goblet.

“I have. My heart lies with another.”

The declaration silenced the group, their wide eyes flicking to each other. Only Aurelia remained unshaken, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“Who?” Claudia pressed with a gasp, leaning forward.

Julia smiled coyly, taking another sip of wine that bitterly sunk down. “A story for another time, perhaps.”

The ladies groaned in unison, but Aurelia looped her arm through Julia’s, steering the conversation away by putting her head on her dear friends shoulder.

“Leave her be, you vultures. A woman’s heart is her own, after all.” Aurelia chided.

The tension eased, and the group dissolved into laughter once more. Together, they concocted small, playful schemes to amuse themselves: tipping the servants to pour more wine into the goblets of certain guests, rearranging the seating to spark rivalries among the young men, and whispering half-truths to redirect attention toward the other single ladies. It was what they did on nights like these, stemming from the games they played as children.

For a while, Julia felt light—free, even—as though her troubles could be drowned in laughter and wine if she focused on her friends enough. She could still feel the lingering gaze of the Emperor but she later low, staying close to her friends and weaving herself into the folds of their mischief as they scoured the party.

At times, even the General himself fell victim to her strikes. In these more intimate gatherings where not a soul was coherent and there was no talk of politics for once, Julia had a little bit more freedom to grab his hand or steal his own goblet to entice a chase. It was easily unnoticed in the myriad of tunics and curtains drawn about.

Maybe a part of her wanted to test what could be noticed.

But her Marcus resisted and she returned to Aurelia’s side. One minute she’d press a soft kiss to his behind a drape and the other she’d appear on the other end with her arms linked with Aurelia. For once, it felt like old times when her person went unnoticed.

But it wasn’t enough.

As the evening deepened, Geta’s piercing gaze found her, as unyielding as a predator stalking its prey. She pretended not to notice, ducking behind Lady Claudia to refill her goblet. Aurelia nudged her gently.

“Careful, Julia. You’ll only anger him more by hiding.”

“Better his anger than his affections.”

But she wasn’t fast enough. A sharp clap echoed through the hall as Geta stood, silencing the room.

“I fear they may be one in the same.”

The Emperor stood, eyes smeared with the haze of his signature look and fair colored locks damp across his forehead from the heat of alcohol. His clothes barely clung to him from hungry guests but he never failed to keep the valor of his status front and center. He looked sickeningly vile but sluggishly so.

“My dear guests,” he announced, his voice smooth yet sharp, “what is a gathering without entertainment?”

A ripple of unease passed through the room but everyone was focused on him. Everyone knew the kind of entertainment the twins favored. Julia felt her stomach twist as Geta’s eyes landed on her. His lips contorted into an attempt at a smile.

“Lady Julia,” he called, his tone dripping with mockery, “would you do us the honor of assisting in tonight’s amusements since you did so well earlier today?”

The room fell silent. Every eye turned to her. Julia’s breath caught, and her goblet trembled in her hand but she clutched it tight, letting the heat rise to her ears. She could faint? No, she was hardly convincing enough.

“Your Grace,” she began, her voice measured, “I’m afraid I am not well-suited for such a role.”

Geta’s smile widened, the corners of his mouth curling with cruelty like an animals lips peeling back before it pounced its prey. It was a smile that would break at any resistance.

“Nonsense. Surely Rome’s fairest rose would not deny us this simple pleasure?”

She glanced around, her heart pounding. Aurelia reached for her hand, but it was too late. A servant stepped forward, gesturing for her to follow. Reluctantly, Julia rose, forcing her trembling legs to carry her to the center of the room.

Caracalla, who could barely stand straight let alone keep his eyes open, gestured to a nearby soldier, who stepped forward with a tray. On it lay a single dagger, its blade gleaming under the flickering torchlight.

“A simple test of skill,” Caracalla said, picking up the dagger, swinging it back to her with its point nearly brushing her chest. “The lady shall aim for the target at the far wall.”

A murmur swept through the crowd. Julia’s mouth went dry as she glanced at the target—a crude wooden circle painted red had been rolled out from a shadow of the room and she half thought she was dreaming. Geta then appeared in front of her, putting himself between her and the wood with the dagger held out to her.

“And if I miss?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geta chuckled, his laughter as cold as the blade he extended toward her. “Then the consequences shall entertain us all.”

The room erupted in polite laughter, but the tension was palpable through Caracalla’s unsettling and shrill laugh. Julia swallowed hard, her eyes darting to Aurelia, who shook her head ever so slightly. Her eyes scanned the crowd for Marcus in one swift sweep but she could not find him.

With but no choice to follow, Julia stepped forward and took the dagger. Its weight was unfamiliar in her hand, but she steadied her grip, raising it toward the target. The room held its breath as she drew back her arm and threw.

The blade struck the wall, just shy of the target’s edge.

Geta’s laughter rang out, sharp and triumphant. “So close, yet so far,” he mused.

Before Julia could retreat, he gestured to the soldier again. Another dagger was brought forward, but this time, Geta’s smirk deepened

“Let us raise the stakes. Shall we?”

From the shadows, a small cage was brought forward. Inside, a trembling hare cowered. Julia’s stomach lurched.

“No,” she breathed, shaking her head. But at her refusal, his hand swiftly caught her jaw with a gentle yet stunning force that made her freeze. The clammy fingers that grasped her revolted her and she couldn’t even retreat.

“Come now, Lady Julia. Do you not wish to redeem yourself?” he asked, fingers tracing her jaw.

Her mind raced.

She could hear Aurelia’s voice urging her to refuse, feeling Marcus’s absence like a hollow ache in her chest. But what could she do?

The room was against her, the Emperor’s eyes burning into hers as she watched his pupils swallow his eyes whole with darkness. Even in her drunken state, her heart pulsed with the soul of defiance and she knew she would not hurt an animal. She’d sooner throw the dagger at another person.

But even as she challenged the Emperor, knowing she stood to face even worse consequences, he took his dagger back and tapped it in the air as he turned away.

When everything was contingent on the reaction of the Emperor, she felt her heart beat reverberating through her finger tips at full strength. His eyebrows twitched in thought and Caracalla drunkenly shouted his disapproval while another male servant stroked his hair. She hoped the calmness of the more twisted brother would ease Geta now.

“It seems the hare is too timid a challenge for Lady Julia. Perhaps we should aim higher.” he said to the crowd as faced them.

For a second, she released the breath she was holding in.

Sharply, he turned back around and his gaze pinned her in place, the wine coursing through her veins doing little to calm her.

“Your Grace, I—”

“You.” His voice cut through hers like a whip. “Shall be the target.”

The room gasped in unison. All eyes darted to Julia, their faces pale with unease. Even those accustomed to the twins’ cruel whims were struck by the audacity of this command.

Julia’s breath hitched. Her arms, still trembling from the earlier throw, hung uselessly at her sides in defeat. How could one escape this? The hare was looking at her in the arms of a servant, probably thinking ‘better you than me’ as her own morals took a higher ground.

“Oh, this will be fun!” Caracalla exclaimed, clapping his hands with childlike glee. “Come now, my Lady, don’t be shy!”

Then, she watched as the he took the knife from his brothers hand. Now she truly feared for her life and unfortunately, the Emperor had looked truly delighted.

“Let’s see what the Gods have in store for you, Lady Julia!”

The room buzzed with whispers, but no one dared openly object. Even the other women, bold in their earlier mischief, fell silent, their gazes cast downward.

As Julia’s legs threatened to buckle, a figure stepped forward, his voice steady and commanding. Even when she had barely made it to the wooden target, she was half tempted to run, but the servants hand still clutched her arm. As she watched her feet, vision going blurry, a hum in the air challenged her few senses and before she could register it, Julia’s head abruptly lifted to watch a gleam of silver cross her eyes and split the wood between her and the servants face.

She yelped, jumping out of the grasp of the servant, jumping from the dagger that nearly took her nose and froze in horror.

Caracalla laughed like a child, but Julia’s chest rose and fell with every breath and she looked at him wildly. If her mind had been anymore fogged she would have dug her nails into his neck herself. For a moment, she could only find peace in the dream of doing so.

But Geta merely stood and watched as his brother grabbed another dagger.

When she finally considered running, a figure with a red cape blocked her vision and she almost fell to the floor.

“Your Grace, if you must test your guests, test me.” said General Acacius, not pleading but cockily. “Let them test the very luck that has protected me through battlefields. Why waste such an entertaining moment on a woman with no victories or achievements?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as Marcus Acacius strode into the circle, his crimson cloak trailing behind him. Julia’s heart raced as their eyes met, his expression calm but unyielding. Oh, he would pay for those words later.

“The lady is far too delicate for such a challenge. Let me take her place.” He insisted, not wavering in his arrogance.

Geta tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“The mighty general, offering himself as a target? How noble.”

Before Marcus could reply, Aurelia stepped forward, her voice light and feigned with excitement.

“Or perhaps I should be the target! A little excitement never hurt anyone, especially when the General challenges the woman’s own victories.”

Her words, delivered with a playful smile and an unsteady balance as she held her wine, threw the room into confusion. The twins exchanged a glance, Caracalla’s glee faltering as he considered the possibilities.

“So many volunteers,” he murmured, rolling his eyes. “How tiresome.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the tension broke.

“Very well. The games bore me now. Lady Julia, come sit beside me.”

The crowd exhaled collectively, though unease lingered in their eyes. Julia hesitated, her legs heavy with dread but she was too tired to fight her stressor.

“Now, Lady Julia,” he commanded, his tone sharp.

Helpless, Julia moved to the dais where Geta lounged. He patted the armrest of his chair, gesturing for her to sit. She perched stiffly on the edge, her hands clutching her skirts as his fingers brushed against her chin.

“Such a delicate flower,” he mused, tilting her face toward him. His hand reached higher and stroked a strand of her hair. “Perhaps we should water you with more wine.”

He beckoned a servant, who refilled Julia’s goblet to the brim.

“Drink, my dear. You’ve earned it.”

Julia lifted the goblet to her lips, the sharp tang of wine burning her throat. Earned it? What could a girl do to rid her attention of the Emperor? Around her, the twins orchestrated more depraved games: slaves forced into humiliating contests, men of rank made to endure the brothers’ mockery, and the women silenced with forced laughter.

Through it all, Marcus lingered at the edge of the room, his gaze never leaving Julia. His presence was a fragile tether, keeping her grounded even as the world spun out of control.

The wine and the heat of the room conspired against her. Julia’s head swam, her vision blurring as laughter and clinking goblets blurred into a cacophony of noise.

She leaned forward slightly, her breath hitching

“Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I cannot—“

But before she could finish, her stomach churned violently. With a strangled gasp, she turned to the nearest plant, emptying the contents of her stomach in front of the stunned crowd.

The room fell deathly silent and she had now wished that the dagger struck her earlier.

Geta leaned back, his expression unreadable, though his fingers drummed against the armrest. Was this what it took to divert the gaze of the emperor?

“She’s unwell!” Aurelia exclaimed, rushing to Julia’s side. “I should have seen it sooner, the heat baring down upon her all day—she’s been pale all evening.”

Before Geta could respond, she felt Aurelia’s arms as frail as her own drag her away. Even though her stomach felt clearer, her mind spun faster and she was fearful that she couldn’t keep her legs beneath her as her friend pulled her away.

“Aurelia…I can’t do this.” Julia spewed out, sandals shuffling across the marble floors.

“We’re almost there, Julia. No one’s around anymore.” Her friend huffed

“I’ll see her to your chambers,” a voice said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Even with her eyes closed and the pull of her dearest friend, Julia could hear that it was Marcus who had been the distant footsteps trailing behind them. Before she could turn to see him though, the General had swiftly come behind her and lifted her into his arms. But the movement made her stomach churn.

“Marcus…don’t!” Julia groaned, wincing and squeezing her eyes shut.

The cool night air hit Julia’s face as Marcus carried her through the quiet corridors of the villas to where her closest friend resided. She buried her face against his chest, mortified and exhausted.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered in and out of sleep called upon by the wine.

Visions of what had occurred just moments ago flashed across her mind; the dagger, the wine, the grip of Geta’s fingers upon her jaw.

“You shouldn’t have drank so much wine, my love.” Marcus said, his voice playful beyond her closed eyes.

Julia grimaced, her face scrunching against his chest. “You would too if you felt the way I did.”

“Maybe your illness shied him away.” Aurelia said, her voice distant to her ears.

A hopeless grin crossed her face but it faded quickly, the rocking and sloshing movement of his arms reminiscent of the worst kind of sea sickness. The cold air was a relief but not cold enough as sweat beaded her forehead. Before she knew it though, she was in Aurelia’s private quarters judging by the scents of potent rosemary and basil. It was Aurelia’s favorite and a warm reminder of safety.

“Oh, I cannot face the next day. My father will be so embarrassed to hear what I’ve done.” Julia said, the weight of her actions rushing in on her.

The strong arms of her General disappeared beneath her was replaced by the soft sheets of her dear friends guest room. It was once her own room that she now left behind for her husbands. Her eyes opened to see their faces faintly lit by flames across the room and both looked down upon her with a subtle sadness.

Marcus brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering.

“Rest now. We’ll figure this out.”

Aurelia sat beside Julia, offering her a reassuring smile.

“You’re not alone in this, Julia. We’ll protect you.”

For the first time that evening, Julia felt a flicker of hope. Despite the darkness surrounding her, the bonds of love and friendship remained unbroken at last. Her day had been an emotionally challenging one pulling her in a new direction with every shift of the suns shadow. But her hand reached up to Marcus’s, the calluses soft against her cheeks.

“I suppose we will only find out by arriving to the next day.” Julia sighed.

Finally rested and no longer swaying in her belly, Julia could focus her attention upon a new plan. She could hardly put it together but all she could do was dream of her life with Marcus. Even as he sat next to her, determined more than she, her mind drifted to another lifetime with him.

“I will be here that day and the next.” He whispered, stroking the hair off her face.

It’s repetitiveness lulled her to sleep and she dreamt of him the whole night through.

[demonvampire180writes]

Date at the Zoo

Find me on Ao3!

At precisely seven o'clock on Saturday morning, Tommy and Buck’s doorbell rang. Groaning, Buck turned to his other side and wrapped his arm tightly around his husband's waist, grumbling curse words over the sound of Tommy’s quiet chuckling. “It’s too early.” He groaned, leaning until his head was pressed between the older man’s shoulder blades.

Tommy patted his hand and replied, “Babe-” He didn’t even get another word out before there was another knock and then the persistent ringing of the doorbell. It kept going until Buck groaned and shot out of bed, wearing nothing but his grey sweats.

“I’m coming, quit it with the damn doorbell!” He shouted, ruffling his mass of curls as he shuffled from their bedroom and down the stairs. Throwing open the front door, he was greeted by a small child tackling his legs, nearly sending him sprawling. Thankfully his quick reflexes allowed him to grab onto the door frame before he went down. Blinking, sleep still in his eyes, he stared blearily down at the face of his adorable niece, Jee-yun, who he swore grew six inches every time he saw her. She was almost to his waist already. He swore it was only yesterday that she was clinging to his knees half the time while running rampant around his loft the other half.

On the other side of the threshold, his brother-in-law stared at him with a shit eating grin on his face while his sister stood there looking exasperated. “Sorry bud, did I wake ya?” Chimney asked, playing the fool like a champ.

“Sorry for the early wake up call.” Maddie said, sounding only mildly apologetic. “She was just so excited that we figured she could spend more of the day with her favorite uncle.”

“I’m her only uncle.” Buck yawned, though he couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face as he hefted his niece into his arms. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and planted a wet kiss on his cheek, giggling.

“Hey, I resent that.” Tommy’s voice came from behind him, but a moment later his warm arm was wrapped around his waist as lips brushed his cheek in a soft kiss. “Morning Chim. Maddie.” He greeted him with more warmth in his voice than Buck could currently muster. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Jee-yun’s hair which she repaid with a kiss to his nose. Tommy ruffled her black hair, tied into adorable twin buns, grinning.

“Morning Tommy. We really appreciate you guys taking her today.” Maddie leaned in to give her brother-in-law a hug, which Buck scowled at, having not gotten his own. She dared to wink at him as she leaned back. “It feels like we haven't had a day to ourselves in… God. I don’t even remember when.”

Chimney looked at his watch. “Well. I had fewer grey hairs then so… Never?”

This caused all four of them to laugh and just as they were settling down, a new vehicle pulled into the driveway. A moment later, Eddie hopped out of the driver’s seat with Christopher in hot pursuit. “Well, well, well, look who’s awake. I thought I was gonna have to break in.” Eddie confessed with a grin just as dastardly as Chimney’s, pushing past his other family to reach in for a hug, carefully avoiding his niece, before turning to Tommy for a half hug handshake. “Christopher was so excited he could hardly sleep.”

“Daaaad!” The almost adult cried out, cheeks turning pink. “That’s not true. It’s just the zoo.”

Buck set Jee down, she was beginning to squirm anyway and she wanted a hug from her other uncle, and said, “Oh, I see how it is. The almost adult thinks he’s too cool for the zoo. Maybe we shouldn’t bring him along. Whadda ya think, Tommy? Think we should just leave him here to house sit?”

Tommy nodded as though his husband were giving the most sage of advice. “I guess house sitting is way cooler than seeing a bunch of lions, and tigers, and bears oh my.”

Chris made it to the door, and rather than going around his uncles, he decided to break straight through their arms to get into the house. “Not you too, Buck! I never said that.” Quieter he admitted, “I want to see the animals, too.” And even quieter. “And I want to hang out with my cousins.” Every single adult smiled at that, remembering what it was like to be that age and thinking that being with family wasn’t cool but secretly loving it anyway.

Eddie watched him with a fond expression for a moment before turning back to the others. He reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. Opening it, he pulled out two twenties and tried to hand them over. “For admission, and lunch.”

Both men looked at Eddie. Then each other. Then at Eddie again. Tommy quirked one brow while Buck raised both, looking incredulous, and ridiculous in his shirtless state. “Eddie. Edmundo. Diaz. In what world do you think that you’d be paying for your son on our outing?” He motioned back and forth between him and Tommy. Tommy crossed his arms, biceps bulging in his sleep shirt. “My nephew is our responsibility today.”

Chimney snorted. “I think you might have offended them, Edmundo.”

“Shut up Chimney.” The tip of Eddie’s ears had gone a little red as he stuffed the money back in his wallet before stashing that away as well.  “Anyway, I’m gonna enjoy my responsibility free day while you guys babysit. Have fun.” He leaned around Buck and Tommy and yelled into the house, “Have fun Christopher, love you bud!” before turning without another word and scurrying back to his car.

“We’re taking off, too. Call us if you need anything. Jee-yun, we’ll see you later, okay? Be good for Uncle Buck and Uncle Tommy.” Maddie crouched and pulled her daughter into a tight hug, kissing her head repeatedly until the young girl squealed and pulled away. She was immediately pulled into her fathers tight embrace and attacked with even more kisses, which she took until she didn’t, escaping into the house after her cousin. “Love you!” Her parents called after her, chuckling. “See you boys later.” Maddie pulled her younger brother into a hug this time and attacked him with forehead kisses until he too pulled away.

“I’m not kissing ya.” Chimney said, looking between the Buckley siblings. “That’s Tommy’s job.”

Buck blushed crimson, embarrassed even after all these years. “Get outta here.” He shooed them away with a flick of his hand. Grinning, they turned and headed down the front walk, giving a backwards wave as they did. Once they’d pulled out of the driveway, Buck gave in to the yawn he’d been suppressing. “Coffee. I need coffee. And lots of it.”

“Whatever you need, babe.” Tommy kissed his temple, pulling him back inside with a huge grin. “Who wants pancakes?” He yelled, pulling his half asleep husband along with him as a chorus of me’s followed the question.

Two hours, two pots of coffee and an absurd number of pancakes later, the doorbell rang once again. This time Buck was ready, dressed in a pair of slim fitting jeans and a plain white long sleeve tee. He pulled open his front door to see the Wilson family standing there, Mara and Denny both wearing a small backpack. Hen and Karen grinned at him. “They’re yours now, no take backsies.” Hen warned, shoving her kids through the door. Karen snorted.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Buck rolled his eyes even as he captured each kid in a hug, much to Denny’s chagrin and Mara’s delight. She’d really blossomed over the last three years. While she still struggled, she’d made a lot of strides forward and was slowly getting back to being a normal, pre-teen girl. “Jee, Christopher, your cousins are here. Time to get ready.” He yelled into the house. He got a noise of consent in reply.

“Are you sure you’ve got this?” Karen asked, stroking Mara’s head, which she leaned into.

“Two teenagers, a pre-teen, and a six year old. What could possibly go wrong?”

“With you, Evan “Buck” Buckley-Kinard? Just about anything-” Hen said.

“And everything.” Karen finished.

He snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll have Tommy with me, it’ll be fine.”

The women gave each other a pointed glance before turning to their friend, and chosen family, and shrugged. “I’m not sure that that’ll do a whole lot of extra good but you’re emergency responders. They could be in worse hands.” Karen said, wrapping hand around her wife’s neck and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“That’s true. Anyway, if you need something, anything at all, call us. We’ll be available.”

“Quit acting like you’re sending these guys to the battlefield. We’ve got this. Go enjoy your day off.” Buck reached out and carefully took Mara out from her mom’s grasp and wrapped her in a one armed hug. “I’m sure there’s plenty of things you can do when you’re alone.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively to which both women snorted and Denny called out gross! “Now get off my lawn.” He put on his best old man voice as he waved at Karen and Hen, behesting them to get out of his sight. They chuckled before yelling out a Love you guys, and see you later as they disappeared down the walk. Mara shyly waved them off even as she snuggled deeper into her uncle’s side.

Once they’d driven off, Buck turned to Mara and asked, “We’ve still got a few pancakes left, how do you feel about eating them?” Her face lit up and she nodded enthusiastically. “Great. Why don’t you go eat while we wrangle everyone else?” He shook her gently before sending her into the kitchen. Denny had already plated some delicious looking hotcakes and microwaved them to toasty perfection, setting them down on the table just as his sister slid into the chair. “Tommy, go get dressed.” Buck ordered, kissing the man even as he shoved him towards the stairs. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

“Sir yes sir.” The man replied with a sass no one could compare to, even offering a two fingered salute. Buck rolled his eyes, the tiniest smirk on his lips that he hid away so his husband didn’t think he condoned such behavior. (Which he totally did, but Tommy couldn’t know that.)

Twenty minutes later the six of them were piled into Tommy’s SUV and on their way to the Los Angeles Zoo. Denny and Christopher chattered nonstop about video games the entire way while Mara asked Jee about which animals she was most excited to see. Buck sat in the passenger seat, his hand holding Tommy’s thigh. When they arrived, he was relieved to see that it wasn't overly crowded. It was a Wednesday morning at 10 AM but in LA, that meant nothing. As Tommy maneuvered around the parking lot into a space, Buck turned in his seat and turned his serious voice on. “Rules for today. Stay together. No running off. Mara, Jee, if you guys need to go to the bathroom or anything, ask Tommy or me. I don’t want you going anywhere alone, understand?” Both girls nodded. “Christopher and Denny, I know you’re almost adults but you’re still our responsibility so if you have to go, tell us.” They both nodded. “Christopher.”

“Yes Buck?”

“Are you okay with your crutches, or do you want us to see if they have a wheelchair available?”

The boy contemplated for a moment, even glancing at his braces in the very back, before saying, “I think I’ve got it, but maybe we could take one with us just in case.”

“Sounds like a plan. Now. Let’s get in there and have fun.” Buck fisted the air and let out a whoop which his companions readily copied. He also took a moment to appreciate Christopher’s growth. When he was younger, he’d have fought about being offered a wheelchair because he hated feeling singled out, but as he’d gotten older, he’d realized that it was just another tool to make his life easier. He still tried to use his crutches as much as possible, but he recognized that on days like today, where they’d be a lot of walking on sometimes uneven ground, it was better to just accept that he’d tire out more easily, and that the day didn’t have to end early just because he was being stubborn.

They piled out. Buck took Jee’s hand in his left and Tommy’s in his right, herding the older three kids in front of him. “I want to see the big cats.” Denny said, a skip in his step.

“I want to see the snakes.” Christopher sniffed, grinning.

“Monkey’s!” Jee chirped, swinging their hands together wildly, pulling Buck’s shoulder. He grinned indulgently down at her.

Mara clasped her hands together, playing nervously with them. “Mara?” Tommy leaned forward so he was looking directly at her, his voice soft. “Is there something specific you’d like to see?”

She said something under her breath.

“Can you speak a little louder, sweetheart?”

“I want to see… the lemur’s. And the binturong.” The tiniest smile curved her lips.

“What the heck is a binturong?” Chris asked, scrunching his nose in confused contemplation.

“It’s a type of mammal, also known as a bearcat, even though it’s neither bear, nor cat.” Mara’s soft voice got ever so slightly louder with her excitement, her dark eyes alight as she spoke of them. “They’re really cute.”

Chris’s eyes lit up. “That sounds awesome. I want to see those, too. Can we Buck?”

Buck laughed. “Yeah, of course. We’re here to see all the animals today. Why don’t we start at the beginning and we’ll just make our way through each enclosure?” The kids cheered excitedly. Plan in place, they paid their dues and entered the wonderful world of mammals.

As soon as they saw the first animal, Jee slipped from Buck’s grasp so she could plaster her nose against the glass, imitating the animal behind it. Buck and Tommy grinned, taking out their phones so they could snap photos and send them off to their parents..

When they reached the binturong enclosure, the two older men took a seat on a bench nearby, knowing that the kids were going to be a while. Mara was animatedly explaining to the boys everything she knew about the little creatures as they looked on, her hands a wild blur of gestures and emotion, a look of awe in their expressions. Buck couldn’t help his grin as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder after taking a short video to send to her moms. Tommy leaned back against him, putting their clasped hands together in his lap as he played with the other man’s fingers. “They’re having a great time. I’ve never seen Mara so chatty.” He mumbled fondly. Buck nodded in agreement. He felt Tommy inhale deeply, then, like he was readying himself for something. “So… I know you like kids.” He began. Buck shifted just a little so he could look up at him, though he really only saw the underside of his stubbled jaw, and waited patiently. Tommy’s blue eyes shifted directly into his. “Have you ever considered… having any of your own?”

Buck sat up, nearly colliding with his husband's face as his heart began to pound. They’d been married for six months, and together for nearly four years, but they’d never discussed kids. Of course Buck had always imagined himself as a dad, but it had never been a deal breaker if his theoretical wife hadn’t been interested, but here he was, in the healthiest relationship he’d ever been in, and his partner was asking if he wanted babies. His eyes welled with tears and Tommy nearly fell backwards in his surprise.

Reaching out, he cupped Buck’s face, searching his expression even while his hands trembled, blue eyes wide with horrified concern. “Evan. Babe. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. If you don’t want kids, that’s totally fine-” Buck slapped Tommy’s hands away and lunged forward, capturing his lips in a starving kiss, wrapping a hand around his neck so that he could pull the man even further into himself. He grabbed onto the short hairs at the nape of his neck and tugged until Tommy whimpered, begging for air. The noise he made was borderline indecent.

But Buck would’ve kept kissing the man if Christopher hadn’t whistled and then said, “Ew, get a room you guys! No one needs to see two old guys making out.” That broke the spell and both men pulled apart, snorting with laughter, Buck’s sounding a little wet, but Buck didn’t stop touching the man.

“Evan-” Tommy tried again, reaching out to wipe away the stray tears still streaking down Buck’s face, his cheeks red.

“If that’s your way of asking me to make babies with you then the answer is yes. Always yes.” Buck kissed him once again, more chastely this time, before leaning in to press their foreheads together, sniffing as his nose dripped. “I’ll have as many kids with you as you want.”

Tommy wrapped him up in his arms and pressed a kiss into his curls, though Buck could clearly tell he was grinning as he did it. “I’m not entirely sure that’s how biology works, though I’m not opposed to trying. However, I was thinking more along the lines of adoption, or you know, surrogacy.” 

Buck shivered, feeling heat in his belly. In retaliation, he leaned into Tommy’s ear and breathed, “I’m not so opposed to trying over… and over… and over again, either.” He nipped the soft cartilage and tugged. When he let go, the tip of that ear was bright red and he grinned deviously. “But, surrogacy works too.” Finally he leaned back so he could see his husband's face. The look he wore sent jitters down his spine and for a split second he really wished they weren’t in public.

“I’m telling dad you two were being inappropriate in front of my cousins.” The voice made them jump and they turned to find Christopher standing there with both eyebrows raised looking wholly unimpressed.

“Like your dad hasn’t done worse with you around. That man could look subtle in the eye and still miss the mark.” Buck pinched his side after wiping at his face with his forearm, making him giggle and then glare, trying hard not to look guilty. Tommy, for some reason, appeared smug.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him trying to eat his girlfriend's face before.”

“Good thing Tommy is my husband, then, and not a girlfriend.” Buck stuck his tongue out as if that would help him win his argument. Christopher didn’t have time to reply as the others gathered around them, ready to move on. “Was it everything you hoped for, Mara?” Buck asked, changing the subject. She nodded, her face lit up like the north star with her joy. “Good. Where to next?”

Over the next four hours they saw hundreds of animals, taking extra time near the tiger and lion enclosure, and spending an obscene amount of time with the primates as Jee asked them to read each and every description they came across; ate exorbitantly priced frozen treats and a massive, greasy pizza.

They hung out in the gift shop for nearly an hour, each kid getting to choose one thing to take home. Jee chose a stuffed elephant. Mara, of course, found a huge stuffed binturong, and even though it was much more expensive than what the others chose, Tommy couldn’t say no. Denny found a shark tooth necklace that claimed it was from a real shark (though Buck doubted it seeing as it only put him out eighteen dollars and some change.) Christopher picked out a shirt with a tiger in the middle of a roar that wrapped from around the back to the front so just the tiger's head was showing. Buck and Tommy each picked out an LA Zoo keychain that they added to their keys.

By the time they made it back to the car, Tommy was pushing Christopher in the wheelchair with Jee curled up in his lap. Denny held onto his sister's hand as he pulled her along, her eyes drooping. He didn’t seem to be doing much better, stumbling over small rocks and nearly twisting an ankle in a small crack in the pavement. Buck stashed Mara’s stuffed animal in the trunk before ushering her into the middle with the boys bracketing her like bookends. Tommy helped Christopher in, setting his crutches in back. As he went to return the borrowed chair, Buck made sure everyone was buckled before climbing into the front seat and getting Jee settled. She leaned heavily against him, her tiny chest rising and falling as she slept. He wrapped an arm around her, pillowing her head into his side. A few moments later Tommy climbed in and they were headed back home.

On the drive back, Buck sent out a text suggesting a sleepover to which the others readily agreed, loving their free time. It was Tommy’s turn to hold his leg, the smallest grin on his face the entire time. Clearly the kids conversation has put him into a great mood and Buck couldn’t disagree.

When they arrived home, they ushered the kids into different bathrooms to clean up; having them shower before changing into pajamas that they each had stashed there. Impromptu sleepovers with Uncle’s Buck and Tommy were not so unusual that they just started keeping a set at the house. While Tommy observed the brushing of the teeth, Buck got the living room set up for a campout, blowing up three twin sized air mattresses and putting sheets over each of them and the couch. Each one got a fluffy down comforter and a pillow designated for each kid.

Once everyone had settled down, both men having showered and changed into their own sleep clothes, they popped some popcorn and flipped on the TV for a movie. By the time the movie ended, all four kids were fast asleep, snoring softly. Smiling, Buck switched the TV off and, as he walked by each of them, he leaned in to press a kiss to their heads and pull their blankets up just a little bit higher. Tommy followed behind with another gentle kiss to their temples.

As silently as they could, they marched upstairs to their bedroom where they too promptly crawled into bed and under the covers. Tommy immediately made himself the big spoon, pulling Buck into his arms as he snuffled the back of his neck, sighing contentedly. “Today was a good day.” He murmured, sounding sleepy.

“Yeah. It really was.” Buck hummed, shifting a little. He felt something pressed into his back. “Tommy.”

“Yes Evan?” Tommy hugged him closer.

Buck grinned as he attempted to turn over in his husband’s viper-like embrace. When he managed it, he stared deep into those bright blue eyes as he whispered, “I’m thinking that, maybe, just maybe, we can start trying for that baby tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” His earlier sleepiness seemed to slip away as his hand, which had been drawing circles on Evan’s back, dipped lower until he was cupping Evan’s ass pulling him against him.

Buck nodded, pressing his lips to Tommy’s nose, and then his lips and then down his jaw, his own hand wrapping around a firm half globe. “Yeah. I think so.” Giggling like school boys, Buck flipped Tommy onto his back and got on top of him, kissing him until they could no longer breathe.

It might not have been a traditional date, but Buck couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend his Saturday, with the man he loved and the kids of the family he chose.

[chishiyasbiscuits]

simon says! || chishiya x reader xo

[3.8k words.]

[Warning: Smut, your casual riding, very casual. No extra kinks, I don't believe? Any extra warnings, do inform, please, and thank you!]

[This is a long one to initiate my return. I'm proud of this one, and excited to share, I haven't written with Chishiya in a year, and I'm hoping my literary skills have increased. Please do enjoy. Lots of love xo]

Why did we, as humans, feel the need to consume the earth? Why do most believe our calloused fingertips were created to grip, and clutch, and control. Why are some of us prone to obeying, and others, not?

Niragi shifts his shoulder, and the rifle brushes the clothed skin of his bicep. His brows furrow, and knit with a wire of concern, but mainly, uncertainty.

Niragi orders, and he instructs. He would never follow. He's higher on the ladder of obedience, consuming all beneath him. He hitches, and tenses. "What the hell is this?" He curses. There's an unattractive scowl upon his parted lips.

Chishiya lowers his head, repressing his smirk. He was knowingly aware, all of the time, and it had frustrated me. How it must feel to never be caught off-guard?

The screens were lightening, and the words scrawled along them began to flicker. It was no longer a matter of seconds, the game was beginning, and now. Kuina neared me, her shoulder couldn't have brushed mine. She was at least a head taller than me, and I had to tilt my chin to catch the way her unlit cigarette had pressed, cautiously, along her pursed lips. She was focused, but unsure. The air had thickened with an unfamiliar silence.

Her eyes darkened. I stole a glance toward Arisu, and Usagi. Theirs had too. Arisu was thinking, hard. The cogs spurring before a game had even been established.

"Game title." The female voice was mechanical, as always. "Simon Says." Completely devoid of emotion, monochromatic sentences strung across the screen. "Rules." She began. I could hear the spur of breaths, deepening, quickening. Some slowing, others hitching. Others ceasing, as if they had mentally pulled the plug on themselves. Kuina was stagnant. Her fingertips pressed along the faux cigarette, and she rolled her thumb, and forefinger patiently. She had barely brought her lashes down into a blink. Niragi was unamused. I could only infer what he had been doing before the speakers had begun. Flashes of static had rounded the sheep of the beach. The population all eyes, and ears. Excitement, and uncertain fear.

Chishiya's lips had rose smoothly. I swallowed drily, in return. It was almost frightening how nonchalantly he slid his fisted palms into his pockets, and rested his clothed spine, and head along a nearby pillar. His chest lifted, and fell softly. There wasn't a sign of distress, or anxiety, not within his stance, or the light flecks within his searching eyes.

"To pass this game, one must obey the screen's orders. Each specified amount of minutes, the screen will have a new rule for the participants to follow. Failure to do so will result in the player being disqualified."

I had audibly released a long-held sigh. My shoulders relaxed, softly slumping. It wasn't so bad. Obey, really, and that's all. The only hint of difficulty would be for the lions, and tigers of this food chain. Niragi, I hummed, Aguni, too.

"The first rule will be displayed shortly."

The screen flickered. I wrapped my arms over my waist, my fingertips digging, deep, into the dents of my ribs, and leaving reddened, crescent-shaped marks. Chishiya was eyeing me, curiously, but I had refused to give in, and lock eyes. I swallowed, again, and strained my stare, until my irises burnt, and stung, as if there were rogue flames flittering from the screens.

"Simon Says, make the area around you empty of participants."

The silence faltered, and fragmented quickly. Shattering, as if our focus was a china plate, and the screen was a rampant bull. "What does that even mean?" Someone called to her peers. "You have five minutes to follow this rule."

She shrieked, lightly. Her eyes wide, and doe, like an animal in brightened headlights. She stilled, and the man beside her clasped her shoulder, and shook her. "What does it mean?" He was both frustrated, and urgent. Spit coating his chapped lips.

"It means you're all dead, fuckers!" Niragi snorted, raising his rifle from his shoulder, and aiming the tip toward the ceiling. He shot once, and then twice, until his prey had begun to scatter, and shuffle about each other like pigeons rushing from a nearing car. He slung the weapon forward, and took aim. Ruthlessly letting the sharp tips of his bullets become blood-stained, as they embedded themselves into the bare flesh of his victims.

I cursed beneath my quickening breath. Niragi had knocked at least twelve residents to the floor, and the remaining participants had either fled, or had begun slaughtering those surrounding them, as Niragi had implied would be the meaning attached to the rule.

Kuina was long-gone. Arisu, and Usagi, and Chishiya, too. I thought deeply, and began to raise my pace. I neared a pillar, and rounded it cautiously. Slipping through entwined bodies, pushing past the shoulders of injured players. Sweat, and blood, and possibly tears had coated the skin of my palms. I winced. Brushing them along the lower cloth of my swimsuit. I was inside, now, and the screams had been muffled by thick, concrete walls. They faded, softly, yet not so softly. It was eerily quiet, and desolate, as my aching soles brushed the carpet beneath me. I slowed to a still. Stagnant. Chasing after my own, spent breath.

"Time is up." The voice radiated, like heat, throughout the architecture. I dared soften my features, and the tensing muscles of my calves. I leant along a wall, the plaster chipped, and leaving eggshell pieces against the small of my back. "Congratulations, to those who have survived."

I had figured, really, quite early on, that the rule was simple. The corridor was empty, and I was safe. Easy. These games had always urged for violence, through leading the participants in a false direction, but those who knew, knew that these types were often overcome easily, with no need for death. The remaining participants had conformed, wrongly.

"Your next rule: Simon Says, engage in sexual intercourse with the first person you see. You have ten minutes to find a partner. Failure to do so, and failure to begin initiating sexual intercourse within this time limit will lead to your disqualification."

My brows arched, and my features had become sharp, and thinly layered with sweat. It was an odd rule for this game, and for any game, really, but I had no time to ponder. I had to obey, whether it stretched my moral grounds, or my boundaries. I had to live, and dying for the reason of not wanting to have sex would be an embarrassing way out.

I sighed, and began to walk. Slowly, at first, as if I were hesitant. I picked at my cuticles, and lightly chewed my lower lip, as I searched the upper floor. I was both curious, and afraid of who I may come across first, and had pleaded, with all the strength my limbs could give, that it wouldn't be Niragi. I wasn't sure if I did, truly, have someone in mind. Out of the residents here, who would I fuck? That's an outrageous question to think over. My vision was blurred, and my head fogged. I couldn't begin to think, even if I had wanted to.

"Interesting."

"What?" I inhaled, sharply. My lungs felt as though they were two sizes too small for the oxygen I needed to consume. I winced at the ache, and turned, cautiously, on the heel of my foot.

"Chishiya?" I swallowed a breath. I searched him, traced his features, and scanned up, and down his stance. He perked a brow. His smirk was soft, but smug. His head fell, ever so slightly, to the side as he spoke. "What a nice surprise, hm?"

He was quiet, but amused. Repressing the urge to chuckle through his nostrils. His palms were hidden, comforted by thick cotton. He blinked, slowly, peering at me through his thick, dark lashes.

My limbs were red-hot, and pulsing. My stomach knotted, over, and over, and then wringed itself out like a dirty, damp dishcloth.

"Do you want us both to die?" He questioned, after a few seconds of silence. I swallowed, and shook my head, quietly. "Why would I? That's silly."

His lip quirked higher. "What's truly silly is that you're wasting time, when you could be having sex with me."

He was smug with the reaction. My cheeks heating. Tinted a faded red. My lips parted, only for silence to ensue. I was stilled. Thoroughly shaken by his careless words. Lazy, but sexual. Chishiya was never sexual. My heart quickened its pace, beating roughly against my ribs. They felt as though they were closing in, and shrinking. Squeezing my organs, tightly.

He clicked the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and neared me. His hands still encased within the cloth of his pockets. I remained stagnant, until his shoulder met mine. They brushed, and his head dipped low. The stray strands of his hair, that had fell from within his hood, were feathery, and light along my jaw. His breath was warm. Gentle across my cheek, and the shell of my red-tinted ear. "Would you rather me initiate?"

I'm certain he was well aware of the answer. He was toying with me, though. Urging the return from between my lips. My lower stomach tightened. He hummed, questioningly. My knees had threatened to buckle, lightly shaking, as I ran my tongue along my lips. He wanted to see how far he could push me, taunt me, tease me. "If you're really so desperate, Chishiya?" I smiled, coyly, tilting my chin upward, and twisted to the side. My eyes met his, irises dilating beneath my lashes. His smirk had only become more enticing. Stretched softly across his cheeks. His eyes were lazily flickering between mine. Searching, searching. He was amused, his utmost interest had been piqued.

"Didn't think you'd like this sort of thing, Chishiya." His name rolled alluringly from the tip of my tongue. His brow twitched. "Hm. Is that so?" He dragged. "What made you think such a thing, Y/n?" He returned, within the same manner. My name a low, tempting whisper. I watched his full lips form the sentences, absent-mindedly wetting my own. He was following me, carefully. Matching the behaviour I had allowed him to see.

He tilted forward, ever so slightly, his lips parting. It was subtle. My jaw ticked. "Let's take this somewhere private. I'd much prefer if we weren't interrupted."

For a second, I was expecting him to kiss me, and I'm sure he had read the belief, as if I were an open book. He smirked harder, if that could have been possible. "We can't waste time kissing, unfortunately." He watched me, closely. His stare hardening. The words had left his lips so sincerely, I couldn't help but startle, and choke on the breath I had been gathering. "We have five minutes, and I have to be inside of you for the initiation to count."

Was this truly happening? My brain was static. He raised a palm, and waved it, side to side, before my blank expression. "Have you turned off?" He teased. "I was hoping for the opposite."

"No, no." I shook my head, and swallowed. Straightening my spine, and composing myself. This is life or death, Y/n.

We were quick, or as quick as Chishiya could be. He was nonchalant, too careless to truly be affected by the entire premise of this sex, and violence fuelled game. I was nervous, on the other end. Cursing at myself for not having had any liquid courage before the screens had fell. I was itching at my wrist, and making the bones within my fingers click. Trailing the tip of my tongue along my inner cheek, and chewing on the skin of my lower lip.

He was beneath me now; on the bed of a resident, I could only assume had been slaughtered. His head was leant along the wooden bedframe, his upper body was propped up, by his clothed elbows being buried within the mattress. His fingers raised, and wrapped lightly around the rim of his hood. His chin dipped, and then raised, as the cloth fell along his tousled hair. "Do you want to stop, now?" He questioned, as he watched me, still, rested on his hips. My thighs either side of him, caging his clothed pelvis. "No, I want you." I returned, confidently. My breath faltered, when his brow had flickered upward. "I never asked if you had wanted me, Y/n." He was being cocky, now. Smirk edging along his lips, silently. His features were soft, no sharpened lines, or angles. He was gorgeous beneath this dim light. Eyes dark, and lidded, lips wet, and full. Beneath me.

I smiled, smugly. "Don't be cocky, Chishiya." He sent me an amused look. "Didn't think you were the type to be a pillow prince." I teased, regaining myself. I shuffled forward, pressing my heat down, between his parted legs. He hadn't reacted, though the muscles within his thighs had tensed. His head fell softly, with a light thump. "Ah, you're switching the subject, Y/n."

His palms were fished from his pockets, half-heartedly, and hung themself over the skin of my hips, like loose cloth. His grip wasn't tight. His fingertips feathery, as he rolled his thumb across the exposed flesh, dipping beneath the thin fabric of the swimsuit.

"Just ride me." He spoke, far from affected by the lewd sexuality of his request. The words should have been desperate, but he had uttered them so listlessly. He was languid, as he squeezed my upper thigh with his cupped palms, pulling the thin strip of fabric from my hips with his curled fingers.

I bucked forward, subtly. Pushing my clothed, aching clit along the slowly forming bulge. I could feel it, now. His cock, beneath his swim shorts, pulsing beneath me. It was heated, where I was settled on his crotch. His shorts had been filled well, tightening each time I had slid my hips forward, teasingly.

I raised myself, and he slid the remaining cloth down my thigh, gently brushing them as he did so. He squeezed, lightly, cupping the thick flesh. I could see his bulge, now. The outline. My breath hitched, clit swollen, and desperate. He knew, of course he knew. He was smug with what he had done to me. He smiled, in a self-satisfied way.

He watched me, carefully, eyes never threatening to leave my own, as he led his palm beneath his shorts, and held himself. His grip tightened, and then he pulled himself from beneath the cloth. He was watching curiously, now, smirk stretching. He wanted to see my features contort. Wanted to see how I had reacted to his cock, hardening further, in his hand. He was above average, only slightly, but enough for the saliva to build within my cheeks, and my tongue. I swallowed, as if his cock was already stuffing my jaws, and his cum was dripping down my throat. I shamelessly clenched around the thin air, resisting the urge to buck forward, and violate the oxygen particles surrounding us.

"You're not hiding much, Y/n." He speaks, lowly, lifting his cupped palm, excruciatingly slow along his shaft. The tip of his thumb pressed along his slit, and rolled softly, collecting the loose drips of pre-cum. "You really do want me, don't you?"

My eyes drop, unable to hold his stern, yet taunting stare. He sighs, exhales, quietly. "Don't just watch me."

He drops his arm, and his empty fingers find solitude within his pockets, once more. His cock is standing, and curved toward his abdomen. Neglected, yet prepared to be buried deep inside of you. Chishiya watched, blinking slowly. Lethargically. Of course, he isn't the type to take the majority of the action. I push a breathy whimper down the tightening confines of my throat, as he holds the base of his cock with one palm, and steadies himself. Allowing me to sink onto his cock, his swollen, leaking tip spreading me wide, and then wider, as I had sunk further down his shaft.

He was stretching me. Stagnant, his hips remained low. It ached, and stung, yet the displeasure was temporary. I was quickly reminded of how deep the man beneath me was, inside of me. His cock sucked, tight, between my walls. I clenched, and he twitched. I could only imagine his fists were balling up within his pockets. My own, were clutching the fabric of his hoodie between my fingertips. He smirked, knowingly. "This isn't about the game, is it, Y/n?" He questioned, softly, watching lazily, as I had begun lifting, and dropping myself down on him.

"What." I breathed, shakily. My clutch tightened. His cock slid, so effortlessly, plunging back inside of me, each time I had sunk down, after lingering with his tip between my folds. It was an attempt to tease him. Drag a whimper from between his cockily parted, dampened lips.

"It's not about the life, or death here." He expanded, searching me, with a glint of pride within his darkened irises. "The way you're using me to satisfy you so desperately. It's genuine."

I scoff, with the little breath I had within my expanding, and shrinking lungs. My chest heaved, with each bounce. "You think I want to fuck you?"

He was quiet, but had a knowing look across his features.

"No, no. I'm doing this so I don't die." I argue between ragged breaths. It was difficult to think straight, and to reply coherently, when he was stuffing me so well. So, so full. He pulsed inside of me, my walls tightening around his cock as he dipped, in, and out, in, and out. My lower lip slid between my teeth. My eyes rolling beneath my eyelids.

Chishiya smirked to himself, tilting his chin backward, as his blinking faltered, and his lashes fluttered. He raised his hips upward, in a way, as if he were repositioning himself. No moan, no whimper, no grunt, or groan. If you had listened closely, you could hear his breath pick up pace, but that was all. The exposed part of his smooth chest raised, softly. Falling, quickly. The zipper struggled against his expanding lungs, and dipped downward, revealing his chest, even more.

He was so unbothered, even as he had me slamming down on his balls, sucking his entire cock between my plush, clenching walls. I dropped harder, and faster, drawing a slight breath from between his lips. Relieved, and satisfied. His dampened palms left his pockets, and drew softly, up, and down the heated skin of my waist. I hummed, biting back a surfacing moan.

He sighed. "I saw you walk upstairs, and into the third corridor, before the second rule had begun." He was watching me, contentedly, as if were expecting something from me. A reaction, or an answer. My brain was misted, and fogged, like the windows would surely be if we were in a car, right now.

I furrowed my brows, a sensation circling my lower stomach, like a sneeze preparing on the tip of my tongue.

"You..." I swallowed. "You knew where I was?"

He lowered his head, a lethargic nod. He was smirking, still, and searching me, expectantly.

"S...so..." I stammered, racking the mess of my brain, like my IQ had been rearranged, just as my guts were being. I was almost slurring, his cock drawing a drunk effect on my mind.

He didn't correct me, or urge me, or return. He simply laid back, thumbs tracing the dips within my hip. Gladly appreciating the heat, and pleasure I had given him. His eyes had dipped, for the first time tonight, lightly flittering over the outline of his cock in my lower stomach. Pride.

I was left to infer. He had known where I was, before the second rule had begun. He had bumped into me, or had he? Had he found me, knowingly. My eyes lit, and caught his gaze, once more. My lips parted. His lips rose.

He wanted to find me.

"You wanted to find me?" I questioned, falteringly. The ball in my stomach was knotting tighter, and was prepared to be undone. He lifted himself, once, twice. Effortless. Angling himself, so that the tip of his cock had pressed the deepest it had been, brushing my g-spot. Teasing an orgasm with each listless stroke. He was breathing harder, now, head brushing the wooden frame, and focused, entirely on drawing an orgasm from deep inside of me. I was slack-jawed, muscles tensing. My eyes were lured to the back of my head. His hair was messy, his lips parted, his eyes half-lidded. Cheeks a faded red, the smooth expanse of his revealed chest shiny with a thin sheen of sweat.

The air was thick with tension, but quiet, bar the breathing, the soft whimpers, low groans, and slapping, dampened skin.

"Chish...Chishiya." I moaned, loudly. Eyes screwing shut, as the ball in my stomach loosened, and each, and every muscle and limb I had possessed tensed, and pulsed with rushing blood. My walls squeezed the girth of his cock, as he slid back inside of me, luring a deep, breathy groan from the man beneath me. His eyes closed, and his brows furrowed sharply, his lips parting, yet his jaw was loose. He even looked calm, and unaffected during his orgasm.

I watched in awe, breathless. Unable to string any two words together, but I was certain he was able to. He swallowed, eyes drifting to the far corner, before tracing my features. "I found you, on purpose." He spoke. No stutter, or stammer, or slur. I blinked. My lips still parted; I was sure to be catching flies.

He inhaled, and exhaled, accordingly. "You were the first person I could think of that I wouldn't have minded doing this with." His head had fallen to the side, his hair dropping to frame his jaw. He smirked. "Thanks, I guess?" I answered, uncertainly. I wasn't too sure whether he had just complimented me, or not.

He chuckled breathily, through his nostrils, chest jerking. "You can get off now."

"Oh...oh, right, yeah." I blinked back my daze, and lifted myself from his half-hard cock, and dropped myself, gently, beside him. The covers were pleasingly cool, in contrast to Chishiya's warm crotch, though I wouldn't have minded being above him longer.

He glanced at me knowingly. Reading me, as if there were printed black letters across my forehead.

If we survive this game, this won't be the last time he finds me above him. I know that, and he does, too. Almost, as if he yearns for it, just as much as I do.  

[bel1ewrites]

Conflicted (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: It's definitely been a while. Just a reminder that my work is my own and copying it will result in less than pleasant experiences.

Description: It's difficult to come to terms with your girlfriend's favorite hobby.

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder, ghostface!Sam, reader gets dicked down, strap-on sex, degrading if you squint a little, praise, top!Sam, toxic relationship, possessiveness

RAMPANT thoughts swarm in your mind like moths to a flame. They’re incessant. They whisper and yell and repeat over and over, hundreds of broken records skipping, skipping, skipping. 

You stare at the ceiling. Blink up at the spinning fan. You lay on your back in your bed without your girlfriend and in a space deep, deep down, you know why she’s gone; why she’s been gone for hours. 

It’s become a routine of sorts. You wait for her, stay up until the early hours of the morning and linger like her loyal little dog. She’ll indubitably come back, clad in shadowy robes and a red speckled mask, cherry dark red knife flipping in her steady gloved hand. You’ll pretend to sleep and she’ll clean up the mess she’s made. 

The same mess she’s been making for months. 

Somewhere in the distance, a multitude of locks click slowly, surely. One click. Another click. 

Click. 

Click. 

Thud. 

The front door creaks as it opens, heavy boots hit the hardwood floor and the door shuts, followed by the sound of the locks turning back. It’s all done so slowly and so precisely that there’s no doubt in your mind as to who is behind the movements. You close your eyes and turn to face the wall. 

Sam walks to your bedroom, her footsteps getting closer and closer until they cease, as they always do, right at the foot of the bed.

In your mind, you can picture the way she looks down at you through the mask. The way her head tilts to the left slowly. She always moved so slow until she didn’t, like a lion pouncing on its prey, hidden quietly in the background. 

“There’s no need to pretend, baby,” her voice is a rasp blocked slightly by the layer between her mouth and you, “I know you’re awake.” She shuffles behind you, presumably kicking off her boots. 

All you can do is burrow deeper into the safety of your bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin. 

Silence pools around you, thick as blood. There’s a heavy weight in your chest, a dead body laying on top of you and draining away all of your resilience until all that’s left is her. All that’s left is her and the robes and the feeling of the bed dipping as she climbs on top of your still figure. 

“Turn.” 

You turn.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open.

Laying on your back, tired eyes peering wearily into the black and droopy eyes of the masked woman above, you shy away. Squirming gets you nowhere, her thighs on either side of your waist preventing you from doing much of anything, her gloved hands pressing into the bed where they rest next to your head. It’s a dehumanizing, powerless position to be in but you can’t help but focus on how good she feels. 

“You’ll never leave me, hm?” she prompts, and even though her voice lifts in question, you know it's not one. 

“No,” your own voice shakes, body stilling beneath hers. There’s no use in fighting. That’s her favorite part. 

She lets out a satisfied hum, hands moving to pull the blanket beneath your clothed breasts before pushing into your shoulders to further pin you down. This must be the last thing many of her victims see, only in their minds she’s a faceless entity. A ghost. 

You know what you’ll see if she takes off the mask. You know that what rests beneath it are the eyes of the woman you fell in love with, glazed over with a power drunk, heavy lidded gaze. 

"Why do you think that is? Because I have a few theories," she's pushing harder into you. "Either you’re too scared to leave,” she pauses, sitting up all together so that most of her weight is on your pelvis, running her hands down your chest, detaching them from you until just her blackened fingertips press into your ribs. Waves of midnight pour from her body, flowing in grim beauty and outlining her where the moonlight hits them. “Or,” she’s taking off her gloves, carelessly throwing them behind her, “you love it, deep down. You love when I kill. You act all shy and pretend not to notice when other people eye you like starved dogs, even humor them on some occasions to avoid any conflict, but you know I’d kill them all for you and you love it.”

You deny it. Of course you deny it, head shaking and hands moving to grab hers, warm and soft and all yours. “I love you,” you insist. 

“I know, my pretty girl. You love me,” she laces your fingers together tight, “and you love it when I kill for you. It’s okay to admit. I love you and I love to kill for you.”

You close your eyes, swallow hard as you feel her weight shift and her hands release yours. In your chest between abundant red flesh and set rows of bone, between the weight of her and the pounding of your head, past skin cells and blue veins, your heart hammers and thuds sporadically.

She’s moving off of you and taking the blanket with her, leaving you exposed as cold air paints goosebumps on your skin. You never slept with pants on, usually opting for one of Sam’s big t-shirts and a pair of her boxers; tonight is no different. 

There’s no longer another presence on the bed. Even with your eyes shut you can sense her scanning your figure. “You look so good in my clothes,” there’s a rustle of cloth, “so good when you’re all mine.”

Thick, heavy tension weighs down the air around you when you look at her. The robes that once covered her are gone, spilling to the floor like dark ink. Her face is still obscured by that of a killer, white and red and melting, sunken black.

All you’re focused on is the ripple of her muscular torso, highlighted by silver moonlight filtering in through the windows, the waistband of her boxers cutting off the view where a cut V starts to form. 

“You know,” she crawls back onto the bed, settling between your thighs and resting her head on your lower belly, the cold of the plastic seeping through your shirt, “the whole time I was killing that spineless pig, all I could think about was coming home and fucking you. All I ever think about is you.”

Sick heat washes over you. 

Though the thought is scary, there’s no denying the shudder that runs deep within you. It’s quick, barely noticeable, yet the way she slides her hands beneath your shirt and grabs your waist tells you that she felt it. 

“Take off the mask,” you plead, thighs spreading wider to give her more room. 

“But I want to fuck you in it,” her voice is distorted in mock sadness, lips no-doubt pursed beneath it. All you can see is the sorry, frantic looking expression of a ghastly slasher. 

You huff in exasperation. “I like watching your face.”

Apparently you’ve stroked her ego adequately, because she grabs the white chin and most definitely rolls her eyes before she pulls the mask off. Her hair is mused as it falls in masses over her back and shoulders, feathery dark ends brushing against your covered stomach. Wild eyes, flushed cheeks, dark lips. She’s euphoric. She’s still riding the high of her kill and it shows. 

“Happy?” fingers slide up your torso when you nod, warm palms passing the curves and dips of your ribs, brushing against the swell of your breasts and the sensitive buds that rest in the middle, pushing up the fabric of the shirt and ultimately urging you to lift your arms in order to slide it over your head. Sam’s pupils are blown, partially from the dark room and mostly from the view of your bare upper half.

Much to your dismay, she withdrawals, taking the heat of her body as she goes.

For a moment, all she does is stand at the foot of the bed, an ever present bulge pressing against the fabric of her boxers and an overall disheveled look of hunger encompassing each and every part of her. Each crazed inhale only works to further accentuate the muscular structure of her entire body. What feels like years pass before she finally removes the barrier obscuring the part of her that you want to see the most.

The sheer flawlessness of her favorite strap never failed to shock you, all perfect length and thickness, intricate veins, a slight upward curve that must have been molded for you and you only. You hold your bottom lip between your teeth.

Her shoulders flex when she reaches for your ankles, grabbing them and pulling you roughly down the bed with little effort, situating you with your thighs spread and your ass at the edge of the mattress. A shocked gasp leaps from your throat, she has her eyes on your waist where the cinch of her boxers hugs it. 

Desperation fuels her movements, one rough tug and she has you completely bare beneath her. You’re soaked, have been for a while. When she steps closer, the height of the bed allows her hips to line up perfectly with yours. Admittedly, she’d chosen the frame for this very reason. 

“I fucking love this bed,” she groans as the base of her strap presses into your warm cunt, the top pinned against her lower abs. Your clit throbs with each shift of her hips, the head brushing it lightly when she pulls back a little and grinds forward. The feeling has you wrapping your thighs around her waist, her grabbing the crease where your legs meet your hips with a clenched jaw. 

When you buck up in search of more friction, she shoves you back down with so much force that you can see her biceps flex in the moonlit room, the veins weaving down her forearms and over her hands enough to make you feel like drooling. 

“Stay still,” she orders through her teeth. 

One of her hands releases you, gripping herself tight and watching her own movements as she drags the tip through you. Up, then down, then up halfway. And then, without warning, she snaps her hips forward and drives into you with force, skin flush against skin.

There’s a long period of time where she doesn’t move, just simply stares down at you with enraptured eyes and an open mouth, grasping your upper thighs while you pulse around her. She’s groaning slightly as you lay with your brows pinched together and your back arched, the shock of her pushing into you still coursing through your system, a moan dying in your throat. It’s excruciatingly good. It’s gut-wrenchingly pleasant. 

In the beginning, there was a time when you would’ve begged for her to move. Back when you’d only known her for a few short months, back before you really knew her. At this point, the task has become redundant; she does as she pleases when she pleases however she pleases, and this moment doesn’t seem like the time to test that. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp out, sotto and frantic, gripping your scalp when she presses a strong hand into your lower belly and feels the muscles go taut as she pulls out of you, thrusting back in with quick and precise movements. “Just like that.”

Every couple of thrusts is broken up by one slow one that has you struggling to breathe, the ridges of her brushing the most sensitive parts of you, pushing against them so perfectly that you tighten impossibly and pulse around her, your whole body alight. 

“That’s it,” Sam coos through a shaky breath, “look how good you’re taking it.” 

With great effort, you manage to prop yourself up on your trembling elbows so that you can watch the way she slides effortlessly in and out of you, her toned abs tense and flexing. It’s a sight you could never get sick of. 

Your whole body throbs with a need for more, a frustrated little wine sounding from your throat. 

Sam cocks her head mockingly, an air of dominance surrounding her like an invisible fortress. “What?” she questions, voice gravely and thrusts quickening. “Am I not fucking you good enough?” 

Her hand on your stomach shifts so that she can move her thumb down and press it into your swollen clit. She doesn’t move it, only deepens the pressure she applies. 

“You fuck me so good,” you force out. Your voice is high and strained, needy moans splitting up your words and sharp gasps making you slightly incoherent. 

Your mind gets fuzzy. The fear from earlier fading into sick pleasure as she fucks you. She’s breathing heavily, sweat making her hair stick to her forehead and you can’t process anything but the way she hits the perfect spot with each and every movement. 

Keeping her thumb still on your clit, grip tightening on your thigh, she switches up her tactics and opts for fucking you so hard you almost pass out at the first rough drive into you. The pain causes you to momentarily panic before it settles and makes every muscle in your body tighten in anticipation. 

Sounds of your own wetness reach your ears and you realize that you’ve been dripping onto the sheets for a while now. Sam’s hums and the vibrations of your own muffled moans reverberate through your head as you try to keep quiet. 

Sam makes a sound of disapproval, noticing your attempt to not disturb the neighbors. “Let me hear you, baby. I love how desperate you sound when I’m taking you like this.” 

You’d never been one to turn her down, and now was no different. Desperate sounds flood the apartment, the concern for your neighbors long gone as she lands a particularly hard thrust, her thumb beginning to move in quick circles. 

Tight pressure builds rapidly in your lower stomach, almost too much to take. It's intense and spiraling and you’re not sure how to release it without blacking out. 

“Come on,” Sam encourages, knowing the tells of your impending release, “just like that. Let go for me like a good girl.”

All it takes is her words of encouragement before you’re thrown violently into the waves of your orgasm. It's so intense that it almost hurts, your brain short circuits. Your neck strains as you throw your head back, eyes shut and rolling back, thighs shaking and tightening around her waist before giving out and dropping. 

In the background, you can hear her talking to you in a sweet voice, words jumbled by your paralyzed mind. It's grounding. It's perfect. It’s her.

[changsbin]

2am changbin thoughts are always so comforting. changbin’s aura is so gentle and sweet and kind; his arms are crossed over the swell of his chest, and his fluffy bangs cascade over his forehead in a delicate way that manages to hide him away from reality. but, changbin lets you in. he’ll always let you in.

changbin notices how exhausted you look the moment you step past the threshold of the door. he takes in the sight of the dark circles under your eyes, and his heart clenches beneath all of the muscle that protects it. he is vulnerable and soft and oh so in love with you. changbin lets himself admire your innate beauty; to him—your presence is chilled water on a hot summer day, your voice is a fireside melody heard on the brink on sleep. and, he lets himself admire until he processes the small sniffles coming from your general direction.

tears roll against your ruddy cheeks; they twinkle like stars in the warm kitchen light, and changbin thinks you look beautiful (even when you’re sad). as you cry, he wraps his pinky finger around yours and waits for you to come to him. changbin is patient, and this makes the feeling of your head nestling into the crook of his shoulder all the more precious to him.

an unfamiliar wetness tickles his skin. you apologize over and over and over again—for ruining his sweater, for being too emotional, for dumping all of this on him at the end of the day. but, changbin stays silent; he cards his fingers through your hair, and he pulls you in further—sinking into the couch and taking pleasure in the comforting pressure of your body. the faint aroma of watermelon mingles with his sweet pea scented laundry detergent, and your heart seems to calm itself down.

“tough day, hm?” changbin hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. he feels you nod against his lips, and he knows not to pry any further. if you wanted to tell him, you would. in times when everything is too complicated, changbin is simple. the thoughts running rampant through your mind begin to turn to mush as he holds you. he is your sanctuary.

wriggling out of changbin’s hold, you take note of his slight pout before placing your head on his tummy. the perpetual rise and fall of his stomach, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his warmth against your dry cheeks—they create a lullaby that draws the fatigue from your brain and sends it straight to your bones.

“love you so much, bin … ” you murmur into the fabric of his sleep shirt, “thankful for you. always.”

changbin chuckles, thumbing at the slight residue left behind by your tears. he wishes he could take away everything that has ever hurt you, make it stop forever. but, to live without pain is to not live at all. changbin knows this; he knows that tears are liquid courage that tell stories of bravery and trust and compassion.

“my little lion,” changbin laughs, minding the volume of his voice. he is quiet and peaceful and tender. gazing at your figure atop his, changbin feels his body beginning to glow with a sensation that can only be described as fullness. “too fierce for the world, hm?” he smiles down at you, “you are my everything.”

he hears you giggle, “you’ll be here when i wake up … right, bin?”

“always.”

[discordiansamba]

funniest part of the VLD macross AU is thinking about the tabloid press. even in space you can't escape it. The exact nature of Keith's relationship to the two (original) members of Yellow Lion has been a hot topic since they rose to prominence. Like officially, everyone knows he's their bodyguard and Hunk and Romelle have made remarks in interviews that he's their childhood friend before, but of course, speculation runs rampant.

which is funny because they are. in fact. both in love with him. but Keith does not realize this. Romelle casually dropping a tabloid near Keith and having him pick it up. it's speculating on their possible romantic relationship. Romelle asks him how that makes him feel and Keith does not. pick up the hint.

It's so blatantly obvious that everyone on the Atlas picks up on it within like. the first week they're on board. It's like watching a soap opera unfold in real time. Everyone gets to watch first hand as Keith Kogane, ace pilot and incredible fighter completely misses every signal they throw at him.

Hunk: I mean. We could just confess. But if he doesn't like us back that way, it would just make things awkward.

Romelle: Yep! That would be a fate worse than death.

(meanwhile, with Keith)

Keith: I think I like both Hunk and Romelle, but I don't think the feeling's mutual and I don't want to wreck our friendship so I keep it to myself.

Shiro, who is listening to this: keith. keith please.

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

In 1994, Sebastian Carter (b. 1941) of the Rampant Lions Press in England printed a suite of original color wood engravings that the Soviet-era Russian graphic artist Anatoly Ivanovich Kalashnikov (1930-2007) had produced in response to the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky. They were printed for the London publisher Primrose Academy as The Dostoyevsky Suite, with an introduction by the noted jurist, educator. bibliophile, and bookplate collector William Elliott Butler (b 1939) in an edition of 135 copies signed by Butler and Kalashnikov.

Kalishnakov is most well-known for his engravings for postage stamps and bookplates. In his early years, Kalashnikov was deeply steeped in Soviet social realism, but broke with that style in the late 1960s to produce this suite of abstract wood engravings. Butler writes:

Kalashnikov's engravings . . . were deemed to be too subjective and abstract for publication. The engravings appear here for the first time in their proper colours. The technologies available in Moscow never permitted the artist to achieve the full artistic impression which he intended. A small unnumbered edition circulated underground amongst friends. . . . the engravings quietly brought Kalashnikov a formidable reputation in the artistic and literary circles. . . . The engravings were not conceived as illustrations for Dostoyevsky's books. Rather they stand as autonomous graphic expressions inspired by those works. . . .

Our copy is another donation from the estate of our late friend Dennis Bayuzick.

View other books from the collection of Dennis Bayuzick.

View more posts with wood engravings!

[hitchell-mope]

Hypothetical titles for season 28 of 88.

Recantation. Season premiere. Part one. Four months after he Justine resigns as press secretary, Lysander and Findlay try in vain to get Drummond to hire her back.

Penance. Season premiere. Part two. To show that she will not be coming back to the White House any time soon. Justine recommends her old communications professor to replace her. First appearance of Aisha Tyler as Professor Lily Olsen.

I’m okay. Drummond meets with the new head of the CIA to discuss how to improve the agency. First appearance of Raven Symone as Director Carla Coburn.

Blighty. Findlay convinces Drummond to help the uk when a French commercial airliner crashes into the English Channel. Guest starring Miranda Hart as Director of MI6 Lady Galatea Downey and Warwick Davis as Deputy Director Ogden Davison.

Hey diddle, diddle. The team hung down Mother Goose, a serial killer who uses childhood nursery rhymes in her grisly murders.

Something after death. Godfrey accidentally lets slip to a family of agnostics that they will automatically go to heaven when they die.

The snip. Trouble hits the family when Barnaby is made the victim of a phoney paternity suit. Despite the fact that he treated himself to a vasectomy on his 18th birthday. Guest starring Nicholas Galatzine as Mr West the scorned husband.

For the good of the family. Findlay and Skipper must come to terms either the truth when they learn that Jones and Delaney are distantly related.

Tied. After a long talk with Ethan. Zoey decides to get her tubes tied.

Dnr. Thanks to the recently passed 28th Amendment. Findlay is naked proxy for a brain dead coma patient whose mother is not honouring his do not resuscitate order. Guest starring Audra McDonald as Doctor Corinna Corsica.

I expect you to dine. In the interest of building bridges. Drummond invites Justine to a state dinner where he presents a new job opportunity to her.

Short leash. Midseason finale. Part one. In the run up to Christmas. Adam begs Findlay to perform a vow renewal between him and Eve. Guest starring Matt Lanter and Adrianne Palicki as Adam and Eve Christensen.

Officiant. Midseason premiere. New Year’s Day brings new beginnings and a fresh pot of trouble for Findlay when it appears that Cain and Abel have abducted Eve. Guest starring Lucas Till and Caleb Landry Jones as Cain and Abel Christensen.

Policing the president. Having taken up the late Alec Moynihan’s position as Internal Affairs agent for the 88 and in light of the Lady Justine Scandal at the White House . Sir Edmond Corman (returning guest star Ty Tennant) asks the Fifth Avenue Council if he can put an Integrity Officer on Drummond’s president staff. First appearance of Freddy Carter as Simon Strickland.

This way Louise. Part one. Barnaby and Jonah try to help a British expatriate who’s hearing voices urging her to do something terrible. Guest starring Emilia Jones as Lady Louisa Balzac.

Inside breaking out. Part two. Barnaby and Jonah get their parents on side when Louisa’s mother gets involved. Guest starring Anna Chancellor as Theresa Balzac, Eighth Duchess of Brixton.

They expect you to be there. Findlay faces off against a woman whose motto for child rearing is “they’re on their own once they’re out of the womb”

Lion, elephant, bear, owl and buffalo. A photoshoot featuring clothes made out of the fur and feathers of their families should turns into a standoff for Findlay, Delaney, Sidney, Jacob and Deucalion when PETA holds the studio hostage.

The motion picture. Sidney and Gideon must decide whether or not to allow a planned movie of Sidney’s hunt for Giles Gauthier to go ahead. Guest starring Chris Pratt as Emerson Davenport.

An indecent position. Aida Cambridge (Jennifer Coolidge) faces a scandal when she’s caught in flagrante delicto with Barnaby Sullivan.

401 corgis. An incident with magic occurs that results in hundreds of degenerating Butterball clones running rampant all over Fifth Avenue.

Give me the talk. Theo corners his cousins and all but demands that they tell him everything they know about love, sex and dating. First full appearance of Chosen Jacobs as Theo Wilmington.

Becalmed. Season finale. Part one. While on their much needed vacation Coleman and Solaris have to call in the rest of the team when they get word of a fishing trawler lost and in the path of an incoming hurricane off the New England coast. Guest starring Christian Borle as trawler Captain Abraham Finster.

Wall of water. Season finale. Part two. The race is on to save the trawler. Meanwhile Drummond makes preparations for his final year in the presidency. Guest starring Jeremy Shada as future president Robbie Guilroy.

[carolap53]

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

-- 1 Peter 5:8

Do you ever wonder, "Why do I have this incredible pressure… this pull on my humanity to do wrong?” Or maybe you ask, “Why is evil so rampant in the earth?" Let me tell you why.

I believe that Jesus Christ is coming soon… that prophecy has been fulfilled and is being fulfilled before our very eyes. The final chapters of human history are being written. And for this reason, the enemy is putting on a frantic full-court press as the clock runs down in history.

So rather than being subtle or subversive, the devil is boldly and blatantly unleashing havoc on the earth. You and I see it every day in the horrific activities and behaviors of people. The devil is a liar, a thief, and a murderer.

And so today, even people who were once skeptical of Satan’s existence are waking up to the fact that supernatural forces and powers are at work around us. The devil is real and the Scripture affirms this.

Simon Peter said that the devil is "like a roaring lion roaming the earth seeking whom he may devour." But you can learn to recognize your enemy and his wicked purposes.

Be sober-minded and stay alert. Don’t become a spiritual casualty! You have a skillful foe, but you also have a mighty Savior in Christ Jesus.

LEARN TO RECOGNIZE YOUR ENEMY AND HIS WICKED PURPOSES.

Jack Graham

[hcadlesshuntcr]

@stcnegaze

"Eirnin, Tha mi duilich."

It was very sudden, very quick, and in a moment of weakness, hanae pushed the huntsman out the large doors that led to kodas throne room halfway through the fight. For a moment, koda himself was stunned, if not confused.

That was for a minute or so, but it hit him when the room started to shake and crumble. When Hanae's hands pressed against cold tiles on the ground and in mere minutes, the effects of decay spread around the room in particular and all collapsed.

Right onto her and the lion.

"Cad-?"

It is over as quick as it started. In a flash, she pushed you out the doors. In another, she was gone.

You don't find yourself on this end. You are not the one who gets pushed out of the way of danger, you have put it upon yourself time and time again to embrace it in full. When it happens, you are left without word, without sense. Standing among the wreckage, an unfamiliar tightness begins to form in your chest. Hanae's human. Mortal. You scramble to claw her free from the rubble.

"Cén fáth a ndéanfá sin? Bheadh ​​​​sé a mharú aon duine cén fáth? Cén fáth a ndéanfá é seo Cén fáth cén fáth...?" The stillness in your chest picks up. The collection in your voice falls apart in the scattered remains. Rivers run rampant down the side of your face. "Sweetness..."

[anjaofthewild]

The throne room was slowly engulfed by hushed whisperings. This was a Kingdom in favour of magic, and a power to stop death had been a long-told tale that often accompanied stories best suited for bedtime or ale-soaked taverns. There hadn't been a public figure capable of such magic... but still, rumours persisted.

Enough that many people believed this power belonged to a family that remained in hiding. What better excuse in the fractured Kinglands where each border handled magic differently?

No one believed in this power more than Anja herself. For she had stopped death... but at great cost. It stood to reason that someone, somewhere, could control the magic better than her. That was how she remained so calm in the face of the King's bold doubts.

Doubts that she could see beginning to fade. No one wanted to believe they were headed for their own ruin, especially not a man who carved his Kingdom out of his own strengths. But he would never admit to weaknesses. Never admit that he too was capable of love. That the little wild things still pressed against the door were loved. The sons in his court were loved. Even old friends, his most loyal brothers in arms, they too were loved.

Stripped of all of them? His wild things, his sons, his brothers?

The King could ponder in the night how he would handle such losses. The answers were already laid out in her prophecy.

"... and there we have it." Anja replied. His own reasoning had answered his question.

Her dirtied feet left small hints of her presence as she approached the table. In closer quarters, he would smell the earthy tones of soil and moss, complimented by the satchels of herbs she carried on her person.

"Here. This is my home." She reached and laid her bare palm over an expanse of trees in the northeast. The forest spanned across three Kingdoms. Jacob's, Emmanuel's and Menrva's. Her forest was surrounded by wolves, witch hunters and lions. There were tensions in the North — not that she knew much about them. "If you needed to march a quick path to teach a rampant King or Queen you're not to be trifled with..." she lifted her hand to bring it down with a sudden loud smack. The noise was enough to make Genesis flinch nearby.

Anja turned her head to the King. "I'm in the way."

anjaofthewild​:

@only-we | X

Small feet stilled. Genesis and Isaac might catch a glimpse of silver as Ariadne peeked out with a frown, she would have argued it was technically ‘staying’ because she didn’t enter the throne room, but Jason put an end to it — and startled her with a jump — by slamming the door shut. That was the end of that.

The King postured at his full height. Like that, Anja caught a glimpse of the one they called 'dragon’. He was not amused despite his smile. It was more like a wolf baring its teeth. A warning, and perhaps the only one she would be granted.

“My name is of no importance. If you must know it, it is Anja, though what value is the name of a peasant to a King.” Her head lifted a little. Enough for the cloak of her hood to creep back. An intentional little movement so the beast could remember her face if it so pleased him.

“The future is not set in stone. It flows, and as quick as the tides change, so too can a man’s path. But as you are now? You will march the path I have foretold. You don’t have the touch that can stop death. Perhaps another man will, the wrong man.”

The witch tipped her head then. Her hands gently clasped in front of herself. “I simply don’t want my forest to burn. It seems the time for honesty… I don’t care for your future, or your kin. I care about the destruction you will rain upon my home. I lost all to the flames once. I’d be a fool to stand idle and allow it to happen again, your Majesty.”

Jacob’s blue eyes were a stark contrast to his otherwise reddish tones. Red hair and red scars, like fire. Like what he laid upon several landscapes to claim them as his - or draw clear borders to a ruler, who dared to be way too bold.

Anja was her name. And whomever Anja was… she knew little about his past, as it seemed. She only saw the king that he was now. If this woman had known he had come from the dirt and excrement-covered alleys, just like she seemed to have, she surely would have changed her tune.

But that all were guesses.

What counted was that she seemed to believe in her prophecy. That he was headed to destruction and despair. Many had wished that on him already. But there was an undertone in this woman’s voice that the others had lacked.

One that made Jacob listen.

A touch that could stop death? That sounded like an ability too good to be true. Jacob had only heard rumours about such, way up in the north. But he had never witnessed it himself. So long, it stayed a fable.

And all Anja wanted was 'her forest’ to remain safe from flame.

“What makes you think I would simply destroy your forest? Despite your beliefs, I am not a barbarian, who destroys without rhyme or reason… so your home would have to lie in a strategical position.”

There was slight amusement in his tone, but also an honesty he hadn’t had before. Jacob descended the steps down from the throne, instead heading to a giant wooden table off to the right. It was covered in maps and notes. The kingslands around the castle depicted, up till the far seas and mountains.

“Show me, which forest you claim as yours.”

[delirious-donna]

Kinktober Masterlist

The time has come for the masterlist to be revealed, along with the posting order! What started out as daring to brave 16 days, so half the month, has evolved into a full-blown month of content! Am I crazy? Yes, the answer is yes...

The event is for 18+ readers only, minors and ageless blogs please do not interact! Given the event and time of year, there will some darker content than I normally dabble in, proceed with care (warnings will be available on each post)

There is an event-specific taglist form, it can be found here.

The fandoms included are Naruto, Black Clover, Jujutsu Kaisen, Tokyo Revengers, Bleach, MHA & Fairy Tail.

Please consider reblogging, the biggest of cuddles to those who do! ^^

oct. 1: Tempting the Babysitter

Dry Humping - Itachi Uchiha x female reader The kids are asleep and the house is quiet. Now would be the perfect time for your boyfriend to swing by, right?

oct. 2: Handprints

Spanking/Brat Taming - Gojo Satoru x female reader You've tested his patience all day long, are you surprised he finally snapped? Gojo won't be happy until his handprint is emblazoned on your butt.

oct. 3: An Improper Bet

Breeding - Nozel Silva x female reader Nozel's rivalry with Fuegoleon takes an improper turn when the Crimson Lions' captain declares he will have a child first. Nozel is determined to prove him wrong, will you help?

oct. 4: Let Me Draw You A Map

Body Worship - Kakucho x female reader A moment of self-doubt has Kakucho determined to show you exactly what he loves about you.

oct. 5: Keep Me Warm

Cockwarming - Kakashi Hatake x female reader An intimate camping trip turns unseasonably colder than expected, it'll be up to Kakashi to keep you warm right through 'til morning.

oct. 6: Shall I Tell You A Tale?

Dirty Talk - Licht x female reader Awoken by a nightmare in the dead of night, your beloved Licht won't let you suffer. Settle in for a delightfully lewd story that might require some audience participation...

oct. 7: A Dreamer's Delight

Somnophilia - Sasuke Uchiha x female reader He shouldn't be doing this, should he? Sasuke can't help but be tempted to bring you to orgasm before your eyelids flutter open. Will he succeed?

oct. 8: Purr For Me

Praise - Nanami Kento x female reader Nanami finds it so adorable when you look at him with those big, shiny doe eyes. Has he noticed that you do it more when he sings your praises? Oh yes, and he plans to make you purr for him.

oct. 9: The Will Of A Lioness

Edging/Orgasm Denial - Mereoleona Vermillion x female reader You might be the favoured plaything of the eldest Vermillion, but that doesn't mean she is going to go easy on you. So you want to make things more exclusive, huh? Can you hang on to your orgasm long enough to ensure she agrees?

oct. 10: The Longest Wait (Celebrating the return of Bleach!!)

Facesitting - Ichigo Kurosaki x female reader Ten years have passed since you started dating Ichigo, and every year he tries to convince you to perch yourself upon his handsome face. A decade is long enough to make a man wait, so tonight is his lucky night!

oct. 11: Ride Of Your Life

Bike Sex - Draken x female reader What begins as a romantic road trip, takes a kinky twist when you find yourself pressing closer to Draken's back. Will he make it to the picnic area before his desire runs rampant?

oct. 12: All The Better To Eat You!

Size - Kiba Inuzuka x female reader Giant-sized palms, towering height, the longest incisors you've ever seen on a human and that's all before heading below the waist. Is Kiba more wolfman than human?

oct. 13: The Most Delicious Tears

Overstimulation/Dacryphilia - Sting Eucliffe x female reader He just wants to spoil you rotten, that it's enough to make you cry? All the better. Sting is going to lick away those tasty tears, but he's not gonna stop...

oct. 14: The Darkest Reflection

Mirror Sex - Megumi Fushiguro x female reader Desperate for your loving boyfriend to be just a bit rougher in bed, be careful what you wish for... Megumi will be as rough as you'd like and he'll make you watch every intimate act in startling clarity.

oct. 15: A Public Performance (Julius' Birthday!)

Exhibitionism - Julius Novachrono x female reader A certain Wizard King thinks he can evade his own birthday celebrations, but little does he know that you are already onto his plans and will track him down at all costs. You'll give him his birthday kiss and more, even if it's out in public!

oct. 16: The First Bite Is The Deepest (Kiri’s Birthday!)

Biting - Eijirou Kirishima x female reader You can't help but admire your boyfriend's deadly sharp teeth. He has lost count of the times he has told you off for dragging your tongue across them... but now, finally, Kiri agrees to bite you properly.

oct. 17: Adorned By Lace And Shadows

Lingerie - Shikamaru Nara x female reader It's been some time since your man indulged you in anything more than a quickie. What better way to tempt the lazy genius than with some new - and highly revealing - lingerie. Will he bite?

oct. 18: An Extra Session

Corruption - Geto Suguru x female reader Your psychiatrist is always so kind and accommodating, does he treat all his patients this well? The answer is no. You're special and Dr Geto is going to use all your weaknesses to his advantage...

oct. 19: Scandalous Behaviour

Breeding - Fuegoleon Vermillion x female reader You've heard rumours that Nozel Silva is trying desperately for a baby, and apparently, it's because of a silly bet. Your darling Fue would never stoop to such scandalous behaviour... or would he?

oct. 20: A Bound Offering

Bondage - Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x female reader Selected as a fitting tribute to the monstrous man that protects your village and surrounding lands, you expect to meet your end. What might happen if he takes a liking to your innocence? He especially likes you bound and at his mercy... does he have any?

oct. 21: Love Hurts

Degradation - Mikey (Bonten) x female reader Your boyfriend was the most loving man, most of the time, but sometimes he was the meanest person walking this Earth and he was going to make you cry from the venom he'd spout.

oct. 22: Turning The Tables

Handcuffs - Gojo Satoru x female reader A kinky present bought as a joke shift into a weapon when you turn the tables and tie the most powerful sorcerer in the world to your headboard. Gojo Satoru at your mercy? Better make the most of it!

oct. 23: Dance My Pretty

Puppet Strings/Dub Con - Kankuro x female reader You've always found Kankuro's chakra threads abilities fascinating, but will it be as interesting when he decides to utilise them on you? What might he make you do against your will?

oct. 24: A Misuse Of Magic

Double Penetration - William Vangeance x female reader Magic should be used to protect the Clover Kingdom and its people. It certainly shouldn't be used to try something new in the bedroom, but can you deny the way your heart races as branches twist around your thigh?

oct. 25: Show Me That Tongue

Face Fucking - Toji Fushiguro x female reader Toji has a debt to collect and you just happen to be along for the ride as his new partner. He has no need for a partner, not unless you plan on putting that smartass mouth to better use?

oct. 26: What Did You Call Me?

Daddy - Gaara x female reader A moment of passion turns into something dark and twisted when you let slip a new pet name. Rather than be repulsed, it strikes a match against a primal part of Gaara's soul.

oct. 27: Dance On My Lap, Doll (Hanma’s Birthday!)

Thigh Riding - Hanma x female reader A birthday trip to a lap dancing bar takes an unexpected turn when Hanma's sights fall squarely on the most innocent-looking girl in the joint, and she sure ain't a lap dancer...

oct. 28: Popping “That” Cherry

Anal - Kakashi Hatake x female reader You want to try something new, but what? When Kakashi suggests anal, you can't help but blush, prompting your horny fella to realise that you've never popped that cherry. Why is he smiling at you like that?

oct. 29: Breaking The Contract

Age Gap - Nanami Kento x female reader Your sugar daddy Nanami is the most attentive man you've ever spent time with. The fact that he is extremely well endowed and as handsome as a chiselled sculpture is merely an extra bonus. Perhaps it's time to rip up your contract?

oct. 30: Taking The Lead

Pegging - Itachi Uchiha x female reader An accidental finger slip clues you into the fact that your darling husband likes his butt being fingered. Poor Itachi is embarrassed yet he has nothing to be ashamed of and you're going to prove that...

oct. 31: Stalked By Night

CNC - Ran & Rindou Haitani x female reader You've always been warned against walking the streets at night alone, but you never expected that you would be abducted by two of the most wanted criminals in the country. What do they plan to do with you?