#Tender Reference Number

[vsonker]

एनएचएआई ने निकाला 1.21 करोड़ का टेंडर पाइप लाइन का

Organization Chain: National Highways Authority of India (NHAI) – RO-BhopalTender Reference Number: NHAI/PIUKatni/MaiharSatna/2024Tender ID: 2024_NHAI_207821_1Tender Type: Open TenderForm of Contract: Item RateTender Category: WorksNo. of Covers: 2Payment Mode: OfflineWithdrawal Allowed: YesBid Validity: 120 daysPeriod of Work: 30 daysLocation: NHAI PIU Katni, Pincode: 483501—Payment…

[sun-kissy]

chocolate-coated hearts | r.l.

୨ৎ series masterlist

barista!remus x shy!reader

summary: you go to a new cafe to order donuts for your friend, immediately enamoured with the barista

tw: nothing? reader takes literature as a major, also kind of has social anxiety

a/n: might make this a series! i’ve got a few ideas <3

An anxious sigh escapes you as you stand idly outside the cafe, peering inside through the mosaicked windows. It was jam-packed, people pushing past each other and snake-like queues forming throughout the space. You wriggle your phone out of your coat pocket and glance at the message that your friend, Madison, had sent in a half hour ago.

hey gorgeous!! mind picking up a few donuts for me at Beanie’s before you come over? a few of the pbj ones, and some chocolate ones too. thanks xx

She was expecting, and you went by whenever you could to help her out after her asshole of a boyfriend left.

Normally, you wouldn’t bother. You hated crowded places, and Beanie’s was the definition of crowded – an old-style cafe which had blown up overnight because of its scrumptious donuts and vintage aesthetic. But who were you to deny the cravings of the woman bearing your goddaughter?

You take a deep breath and push the creaky wooden door open, cringing at how the bell rang and signalled the whole cafe to your presence. But no one so much as looked up, busy trying to buy or sell food, or find a table.

You push your way through the sea of people, joining the queue in front of the counter. It was long, you noted, and would probably take another fifteen minutes or so until it was your turn to place an order. You fish out your crumpled book from your bag and turn it to the page you had stopped on yesterday. It was the second classic of the term – Pride and Prejudice. Taking literature as a major meant you spent more time reading than anything else, but you weren’t complaining.

As you read, you scribbled down plot points to take note of and quotes which meant something worth writing about. Your eyes stayed glued to the page, trying to work out hidden meanings and flowery language. Once you were back home, you’d have to compile all your analysis onto that worksheet Professor Ragnarsson had given out, write the 10-page long review, and then –

“Hey! Shut the damn book and order, will you?”

Your heart jumps in your chest at the sudden harsh tone. You close your book and whip your head around to see a middle-aged man glaring at you before peering down at his watch. “There’s a long queue, and we don’t have all day.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks as you open your mouth to apologise – but before you can say anything, you hear an oddly soothing voice from behind you. “Hey, don’t be a jerk. She didn’t know the counter was open.”

You glance back towards the counter, and you swear your heart stopped beating for a second. Angelic was an understatement to describe the man standing in front of you, tall and lanky and absolutely fucking beautiful.

His chestnut brown hair perfectly framed his pale face, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he glanced at the rude customer behind you. There were pinkish scars tracing from above his eyebrows to right below his lips, but they looked golden under the orange light – he looked like some kind of heavenly being.

When his eyes dart back to you, his expression instantly softened, lips tilting upwards in a smile. You thought you would melt into a puddle right there and then just by gazing into his warm, honeyed eyes. “Hi, gorgeous. What can I get you?”

You blink, your mouth involuntarily falling open slightly. Gorgeous? Was he talking to you? Maybe he was referring to the man behind you.

His smile widens, and that does absolutely nothing to calm the feeling of your heart bouncing around in your stomach. “It’s okay if you can’t choose just yet, I know the number of options can be…” he chuckles, “overwhelming. Take all the time you need to decide.”

Oh my god, you thought. His laugh sounded musical, like the tender feeling of being enveloped in a warm embrace. You’d put it on a record player and play it on loop for hours if you could.

“Hurry the fuck up –”

“One more word from you and you won’t be getting your coffee today, buddy,” the godly-looking barista snapped in a slightly louder tone at the man behind you, face contorted in irritation.

You hear silent cursing behind you, a twinge of embarrassment turning you red. You quickly glance back up. “Sorry, hi, hello. I’ll um… I…” the words were on the tip of your tongue, but seemed to dissolve when he glanced at you with those agonisingly pretty eyes and kind smile.

Snap out of it, you internally curse as you open your mouth again. “I’ll get three peanut butter-jelly donuts, and four chocolate donuts.”

“Okay. Which chocolate ones?” he asks, tapping his tongs against the display dome with stacks of donuts. There really were a lot of options – chocolate sprinkles, belgian chocolate, chocolate glazed, double chocolate – your mind seemed to freeze up for a second. Which one would Madison want?

You quickly look behind you, seeing the man’s face twisted up in what looked like rage. It seemed to be taking him all his willpower not to lash out at you, and the customers behind him didn’t look much far off.

You turn back to the counter, eyes wide with panic as you feel the blood rush to your head. You had never been good at this; thinking and choosing on the spot. That’s why Subway was always a no-go for you, that’s why Madison had specifically told you what to get her – just that she hadn’t been specific enough. “I… I’m not sure. I think, um…”

“Hey, take it easy,” you look back up to see Remus giving you a reassuring smile, a slight hint of concern on his face. Your despair must have been embarrassingly evident, then. “It’s alright if you can’t choose. Do you want me to pick for you?”

You ought to have been humiliated, the way you immediately nodded and gave in to his offer. But he just gave you an easy smile and nodded, picking up one of each type and placing them in the box.

“Thank you,” you mumble sheepishly as you move to the payment counter, fishing in your bag for a wad of notes.

“Of course,” he grins, and it was so bright you thought it could probably light up the whole cafe. “That’ll be $15.90.”

As he waits for you to pay, he takes a quick look down and begins to brush crumbs off his apron. You look up at the wrong moment, eyes immediately fixing on the curves of his biceps visible through his T-shirt, and his slender fingers.

He glances back up at you, catching a glimpse of your flustered look and instantly smirking. You look away abashedly, counting the money and handing it to him.

The brush of your fingers against his calloused palm sent a jolting shock through you as you quickly pull back, not missing the way his smile widened as he cashed the money into the register.

“Thanks for visiting, sweetheart. Hope to see you again soon.”

You don’t reply, afraid you’d crumble into a blushing, gooey mess. Flashing him a brief, nervous smile, you pick up the box of donuts before turning around and heading straight for the exit. Sweetheart.

You huff as you open the door and step outside, pulling out your phone to complain to Madison all about the stupidly handsome barista at her favourite cafe. God, he really knew what he was doing.

[sanguineterrain]

Hey, I love your writing, your Jason fics are always so tender and authentic

I was wondering if you would write something where Reader is pulled aside by someone and asked whether they're in danger (since Jason is pretty big and intimidating) and later they laugh it off because they find it absurd but it gets to Jason and perhaps brings some insecurities to the surface

this is actually devastating!!! thank you for requesting 🤌

jason todd x gn!reader. tw: wrongly assumed abuse and jason being gutted at the idea, hurt/comfort, reassurance, estab relationship.

****

"Chocolate is obviously superior."

Jason sighs, flopping against the diner booth dramatically. "What a shame to be so wrong. Vanilla stays on top."

"Vanilla is boring as hell, Jay," you say, throwing your napkin at him. He catches it. Of course. "On the milkshake hierarchy, vanilla is barely a step above whatever monstrosity a peppermint bark shake is."

"Buddy, I happen to like drinking toothpaste." He points a finger at you. "And that's my God-given right."

"It's an abomination is what it is." You take a long, pointed sip of your shake. "Mm, the taste of good choices."

Jason traps both of your legs between his under the table. You gasp and try to wiggle free, but his strength is merciless.

"If it's an abomination, why is it on the menu?" he asks, grinning as you squirm.

"Well, what else are they meant to serve you freaks?"

Jason gently tugs you forward by your legs. He leans over the table. You meet him halfway.

"This freak appreciates the thought," he says and kisses you.

He tastes like vanilla shake. It's not what you'd order, but you really don't mind kissing it off of Jason's mouth. Funny how that works.

He pulls away and releases your legs, then scoots out of the booth.

"Gonna take care of business. Don't drink my incredibly irresistible shake."

"I'll certainly try," you say, looking up at him with what are undoubtedly giant heart eyes.

Jason disappears to the restrooms. You drink your shake and focus on trying to craft the straw wrapper into a snake.

You're close to shaping it when a woman comes up to your table. You've never seen her in your life.

"Uh, hi," you say. "Can I help you?"

She glances around the diner before leaning down.

"Hey. Look, if you're... in need of someplace safe, there's a great shelter downtown."

Your brows rise. "I'm sorry?"

"I was in your shoes once too," she says, eyes wide. "You don't have to rely on a guy to get you on your feet. Especially someone like him."

You shake your head slowly. "I... what? I don't understand. The man I'm with, he's my boyfriend."

She looks skeptical. You turn to face her fully, because now you're properly bewildered.

"Uh, I appreciate that you're looking out for people, and I know stuff you're referring to is everywhere in Gotham. But I promise I'm okay."

"I know physical intimidation is scary—"

"Whoa." You hold up a hand. "Just because he's a big guy doesn't mean he's throwing me around. He's the gentlest man you'll ever meet. I love him and he loves me. No one is in danger."

The woman's mouth pinches. You don't even have it in you to be upset. You've never once felt afraid of Jason. But you forget how he looks to others, how he's twice or triple most people's size and covered in scars.

"Here's the number to the shelter," she says, slipping the paper under the salt shaker. "In case you change your mind."

She hurries out the door before you can respond. You stare at the card, then shrug. You suppose, if anything, you're happy there are still good Samaritans in Gotham.

Presently, Jason returns. He purposely makes his footsteps heard because of the countless times you've lectured him about scaring the shit out of you due to his habit of going stealth mode without realizing.

"Hello, dearest," he says. "I've returned from war."

"My hero. Did you wash your hands in battle?"

Jason slides into the booth and sticks his hand in your face. "Smell 'em and rejoice, baby."

You take his hand and give it a deep sniff. It indeed smells like soap. Not that you ever doubted your boyfriend's handwashing capabilities.

"Smells like... wrong opinions about milkshakes," you say, then kiss his palm.

He rolls his eyes. "I can see my absence has taught you nothing. Unfortunate."

"I'm stubborn. I'm sure you of all people can understand that," you say, smiling.

"Mm. Y'lucky you're cute."

Your food arrives, the waitress cheerily informing you that she hopes you enjoy your meal.

"I think she's the happiest person in Gotham," Jason says, shaking the ketchup bottle.

You take a fry from his plate. "Probably a Metropolis native."

"Y'know my fries are the exact same as yours, right?"

"Nope," you say. "Yours have special boyfriend cooties on them. Adds flavor."

"You're gross," Jason says, quite lovingly.

You make a heart with your hands. He returns it, then takes a bite of his burger.

You don't even register it when Jason grabs the salt shaker. You're zeroed in on your lunch and don't look up until he speaks.

"What's this?"

Jason's holding the shelter hotline card.

"Oh! Some lady came over and gave that to me."

"Gave it to you?"

You should clock Jason's tone and the way he's stopped eating completely. But the experience was so odd that you can't fathom Jason thinking it as anything but a mistake.

"Yeah. For some reason, she thought I was here drinking a milkshake with you against my will. Probably 'cause it's Gotham, and you're my BBB: big beefcake boyfriend. Little does she know, I'm the heavyweight boxing champion of Park Row."

You swirl your fries in Jason's ketchup. He doesn't even blink. Usually, he'd give you a raised eyebrow and pretend he's cross.

Jason's still staring at the card. You catch his legs with yours. He doesn't look up.

"Jay?" you ask, smile fading. You drop your legs. "Hey. Y'good?"

"Hm? Oh. Sorry, baby." He puts the card aside and smiles at you, quick and strained.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

"Yeah. Uh, fine."

"Jason." You lean over and grab his hand. "What's wrong?"

He swallows. You wait, the noise of the diner fading. All that matters is whatever's causing his absolutely heartbreaking expression.

"How could she think I'm hurting you?" Jason whispers, finally looking at you. "How could—I would never hurt you."

"Oh, Jay. Honey, that's why I hardly entertained her. It was so silly to think about. I was so puzzled at first that I couldn't even decipher what she meant."

"But what if... y'know, maybe she sensed something about me. Sensed violence. I get it. I'd–I'd be scared of me if I were a regular person."

"Jason, sweetie, no. No, no, no. I think that woman experienced some hard things in her life, and that caused her to see something that wasn't there. She had good intentions, but she was absolutely wrong. I know you have a past, but I've never felt unsafe with you. Never. I could never be afraid of you."

Jason gnaws on the inside of his cheek. You get up and slide in next to him, crowding him against the wall. You curl against his arm.

"You love me so well, I forget that most people see a monster when I walk down the street," he says.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Pins in your heart.

"You're not a monster, Jay. You're good. I know it. Your family knows it. You're a protector."

He takes a deep breath. "If–if you ever felt afraid of me, ever, and you wanted me to stay away, then you tell me so, and I'd leave you alone. No questions asked."

"Jason," you whisper. You wrap your arm around his neck and pull him close. The vinyl squeaks as you shift. "Jay, I love you. I don't want you to leave me alone."

"But if—"

"No. Please listen to me. I know you'd never hurt or frighten me. Sometimes, people are wrong. She was wrong about you. She was kind but wrong."

You sit like that for a bit, feeling each other breathe. Jason's hand grazes yours. You grab it, lacing your fingers together.

"I love you too," he says quietly. "Never felt anything but love for you."

You smile and steal another fry off his plate. He snorts.

"I know." You lean against his shoulder. "Never doubted it."

[mysumeow]

. . . ꒰ TEMPTING

Warnings: afab body and breasts, reader is referred to with you/your only. PIV unprotected sex, edging, prone bone position, thigh job, pwp (plot what plot). This is sort of a continuation of another smut i posted but you can read this without reading the first one.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: uhg. lilia. i love him. i love general lilia. thats it that all i have to say.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ 🌷 . . KOFI | TWST MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS

Whenever a window of opportunity to rest presents itself, you’ll sit on the nearest tree stump or log available, idly watching what happens around you.

You see soldiers' training, sparring, fixing tents, and the general dividing tasks among his subordinates with a stern voice. Lilia’s an example of what being a leader means—not limiting himself to delegating labor, but also lending a hand.

He grabbed the handle of his lithic weapon as he sparred with one soldier; with practiced ease, Lilia unarmed the soldier. The general reprimanded the other fae for losing his footing over a basic movement.

Lilia plans tactics for ambushes furtively, aiming to attack the enemy’s weakness first. Deft and sharp.

Soon, you’d understand that the general isn’t used to docility of any kind. Neither giving nor receiving. A war general shouldn’t allow a margin of error, steps should be given with precision and intent on subduing your adversary.

You recalled your first intimate night with Lilia. You remembered the sensation of him holding back, and even then, he still did a number on your body. You’ve spent enough time with the fae to know that the moment you try to point out any attempt at tenderness on his part, he would deny it.

You couldn’t help but find it endearing. And your curiosity increased the more you wondered about to what extent you could tease him and make him lose his constraints. Lilia’s libido was pretty responsive to what you did or said, so it wouldn’t be difficult to push him in that direction.

The moment the soldiers were already in their tents, you sneaked into the general’s.

“I’m heading to the lake to wash off the dirt,” you said as you entered the tent. You found your fae writing something down on the map splayed across the table.

Lilia acknowledged you with a hum.

You sighed. “I don’t wanna go alone. The woods become frightening the moment there’s no more sunlight, you know.”

Lilia dropped the pencil and looked at you. “A little dirt on your body’s not going to kill you,” he teased.

“You know I can’t sleep like that. I sweated a lot today, too. Baur made me accompany that expedition group to the mountain’s skirt in the morning,” you complained. “I promise it won’t be long.”

You sensed that he was about to give up.

“And someone could sneak up on me and see me naked.”

That was enough argument for the fae to stand up from his chair and rush to tag along with you.

This was your favorite moment of the day, when you could not just finally go to bed but also freshen up with clean water. Even if the temperature might be a bit chilly during the night, the fresh water was welcomed to clean you up from the dirt and sweat that clinged to your skin.

“The water feels nice,” You hummed as you dipped your toes into it. Lilia was more concerned about making sure no one was near, though, his ears flicked at the slightest suspicious sound.

You began undressing in front of him, as you have done many times before. Even with your back turned towards him, you could feel his stare roaming around your flesh.

You carefully entered into the serene lake until the water covered your chest.

“Lilia,” You called out to him again. His gaze returned to you. “Why don’t you join? You look like you need this, too.”

“You said you wouldn’t take long. I still have work to finish.” He crossed his arms, gripping his lithic.

“Just this once,” You almost pouted. “You’ve been busy these past few days. I miss you already. I’ll even help you wash your back.”

You held Lilia’s stare before he, for the second time today, humored you. Soon, his clothes were untidily placed next to yours.

Beaming with joy, you hugged Lilia the instant he was within reach.

“General, your hair’s getting wet,” You hurried to help him fix his hairstyle in a way that the inconvenience would be resolved. “There. All done.”

Lilia grumbled about something meaningless as he allowed you to scrub his back, washing off both dirt and dried blood and uncovering new lacerations he had gained from recent ambushes. You traced them with your fingers, leaning closer to kiss those scars.

You couldn’t see Lilia’s expression, but you did sense his body’s temperature going up.

“Mm, you’re so warm,” You relished the warmth from the fae’s body. Your tits pressed flush against his back, and your hands roamed around his front—feather-like touches teasing his chest and abdomen. You were aware that your words and actions were leading in a certain direction, so before Lilia beat you to it and followed through with it, you pulled away from him. “It’s getting chilly, though. Let’s head back already.”

In the blink of an eye, Lilia gripped your wrist and pulled you towards his chest. Your backside making contact with something hard and hot, nudging in between your thighs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Hm? I thought the general had work to finish,” You feigned innocence.

“That can wait. Right now, I need to have you.”

“But we’re in a lake! Someone could walk in on us. Let’s head back to the tent,” Ignoring the evident ache in your body, you did your best to deter him. For fun. To test how far you could make him wait. If not for your determination to uncover the fae’s strength, you would’ve conceded.

Under the promise, the general’s complaint had died for the moment.

Once in the tent, you were preparing to go to sleep, until a sudden force pinned you against the bed. A small squeak left you, and the familiar arms squeezing your waist made you understand that your little teasing reaped an interesting reaction from him.

“Lilia—” You tried to gain some balance by trying to prop your torso up with your hands, but the general immobilized you by further pinning your legs against the mattress with his.

“You little tease, you think I wouldn’t notice what you were trying to do?” He brushed away the hair covering your nape to nip at the sensitive skin there. “If you wanted me to rough your body up, you should’ve just asked for it,”

This was what you wanted, although you didn’t imagine it would be this soon. If this little teasing got you to this point, you couldn’t imagine how he would be if you had done more...

One hand slipped under your underwear while his other hand covered your mouth in time before a moan escaped you. With his index and middle fingers, he began rubbing your clit in circular motions.

“I’ve been treating you with so much leniency you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with,” His breath against your ear made you shiver, and a renewed sense of pleasure overtook your body. “I’ll have to remind you,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You managed to whisper, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible but failing with how he played with your sex. Lilia really did know you inside out.

“You were already wet when I slid my hand under your clothes. Don’t try to act coy now,” He seemed to be amused, above all.

You clutched the sheets as you lost yourself in pleasure, your head falling against the pillow and using it to muffle your voice. You barely register Lilia pulling your pajama pants down and off your legs.

The fae grew eager, having a sliver of enough composure left to discard your underwear, but your uncoordinated and trembling body made the task more complicated than needed. Instead, he pushed it to the side, his fingers not once faltering in stimulating you.

A muffled whimper of his name. Not even a second later, Lilia stopped his movements.

“Noo, what’re you doing,” You protested, not expecting him to halt. “I was about to…”

“Aw, you were about to. What a pity,” He mocked you, momentarily freeing your body from his antsy hands to remove his own garments. Once done, you felt him spread your slicked pussy lips with his thumbs, eyeing you up with a satisfied, complacent grin. “You like being treated like this. You have no salvation, do you?”

Despite not being able to deny it, your face burned from embarrassment. Even if Lilia tended to put your pleasure first and holds back from going all out, the change in that tactful demeanor into a meaner one still excited you.

While holding you open still, he grinded his cock between your folds, using both his pre-cum and your arousal to lubricate it. You were growing impatient, and thus, tried to grind back against him to incite him into already giving in.

Lilia rested his weight against your back, his chest flush against it, weighing you down. Lilia dug his fingernails into your flesh, while demanding that you stay still. His fingers went back to playing with your clit, using your sticky inner thighs to pleasure himself.  

After what felt like forever, the tip prodded inside, taking his time to stuff you with more of his dick. He pulled back until the just head was in and thrust with more strength. The feeling of Lilia’s warm body embracing yours and his thickness stretching you almost made you forget about holding back your voice.

From the very moment you conceived the idea of teasing him, to Lilia not allowing you to touch yourself or him, the buildup to your orgasm approached faster than what you expected. As if both factors weren’t enough, you were still sensitive over the climax you were robbed of prior moments ago.

You mewled, trying to reach behind you and hold his hand to ground yourself.

Instead, the fae grabbed your arms and pinned them against your back, his pace not stuttering for even a minute.

This was what you wanted—for him to be rougher…and within a couple more smacks of his hips against yours, you came hard around him, broken moans of his name escaping from your bitten lips. Lilia quieted himself by kissing your shoulder the moment he released his cum inside.

Sore and spent, your head collapsed forward against the pillow again. You heard Lilia’s amused chuckle, resting next to you while keeping an arm wrapped around you.

“I wasn’t too rough, right?” He muttered after a while in silence, his eyes inspecting your body. “Does it hurt somewhere?”

“My arms, you gripped me too hard,” You mumbled. “I didn’t notice it at the moment because…it felt nice…”

At your confession, he looked taken back by it before his expression shifted into a relieved one and he chuckled. “I should’ve known you like being treated like that. You are quite keen about my fangs, and I’ve noticed how your body melts when I bite you,”

Before you could fawn over the coy visage that took over his eyes for a split second, it faded away with the same ease it appeared as he turned his head to the other side.

“I love it when you’re trying to be gentle, even if you’re not that great at it,” You teased, your fingers brushing his hair. Lilia grunted, suddenly grumpy about you pointing that out. “But I also enjoy it when you’re rough,”

He humphed, still avoiding facing you. You smiled at him, despite it not being visible to him. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion getting to you.

[astonmartinii]

hii, can i request an insta au for lando? i don’t have something particular in mind, bit maybe best friends to lovers kinda thing? and their friends teasing them/ being annoyed? <33 love your work!!

best friends 4 ever | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x bff!reader

best friends? lovers? who knows?

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 320,879 others

yourusername: clubbing on a budget 🍒

view all comments

user1: where's lando?

user2: yet another post without lando, have they broken up?

user3: how can they be broken up if they aren't together?

user4: why do you people think lando and y/n doing things separately is illegal?

user5: why weren't you at the race?

yourusername: babes i'm just a bartender i do not have the schedule or the finances to just fuck off to saudi arabia for three days sorry xx

user5: you clearly had the weekend off?

yourusername: please refer to my previous statement on my financial standing

yourbff1: who is that stunning woman?

yourusername: u bestie

landonorris: glad you went with outfit choice number one

yourusername: thank you miranda priestly

oscarpiastri: so that's who i could hear you talking to...

yourusername: clubbing outfits are a serious business oscar

oscarpiastri: serious enough for a three hour call?

yourusername: YES.

landonorris: YES.

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 902,894 others

landonorris: mood before the race v after the race, see you next year jeddah 🇸🇦

view all comments

user6: what driving a tractor does to a motherfucker

yourusername: what's a performance where a man is having the worst time of his life but looks sexy doing it?

landonorris: beauty is pain

yourusername: then you must be suffering

user7: mr and miss we're not dating flirting up a storm in the comments as per

carlossainz55: maybe focus less on modelling and more on driving

yourusername: so no more ferrari thirst traps?

carlossainz55: damn i forgot that coming for lando means dealing with you

yourusername: meet me in the parking lot chilli

landonorris: y/n is like my little chihuahua so come for me, watch your ankles

user8: do they think we're dumb?

danielricciardo: ah the classic post mclaren snooze, if only you had your cuddle buddy

landonorris: i know you miss me mate but i'll cuddle you in melbourne

danielricciardo: ok. not what i meant. but i'll take the free cuddles

user9: so he was defo referring to y/n, right?

daniel3.jpeg

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 708,655 others

tagged: yourusername, landonorris, heidiberger

daniel3.jpeg: any wagon need a third wheel, i'm practically a professional now?

view all comments

user12: confirmation? this is confirmation, right? RIGHT?

yourusername: i gave you that banjo in good faith daniel and this is how you repay me?

daniel3.jpeg: i appreciate her !!!! thank you for my lessons, but these are cute so i will not be deleting sorry not sorry

yourusername: ur right we are serving

user13: life is just not fair

user14: official cause of death: the third slide

landonorris: how relegated to just an arm, i see how it is daniel

yourusername: you are literally the definition of pookie bear and cutieful in the first pic

landonorris: i'm going to need you to never say those words ever again

yourusername: that's not what you said last night ...

landonorris: you're right i am pookie bear

user15: actual pics + comments = y'all can no longer say i'm being delusional.

f1wagsupdates

liked by user16, user17 and 3,240 others

tagged: landonorris

f1wagsupdates: lando norris spotted on his boat in monaco with an unknown woman. the pair looked flirty and spent the whole day together alone on the boat. norris' rumoured girlfriend y/n y/ln was back in the u.k. where she works as a bar tender. what do you think?

view all comments

user18: i'm so confused rn

user19: i know we never had concrete confirmation but my heart is broken for y/n right now

user20: i don't want to jump to any conclusions, men and women can be friends, there's nothing in these photos that suggest anything more than friendship

user21: they're literally holding hands in the second pic

user20: i hold my friends hands every time i jump in the water doesn't mean i'm with them

user22: but the pic in danny's post .... i don't even know anymore

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, landonorris and 356,823 others

yourusername: food will never leave me

view all comments

user25: so like is this a dig after those pics of lando and the random girl?

user26: i know this is sad and all, but that kebab looks banging please tell us where you got it

yourusername: camden market babes

yourbff1: sexy girl, sexy food and sexy photography

yourusername: best photographer i know

user27: SHADE LANDP.JPEG YOU WERE NEVER THAT GIRL

landonorris: camden kebabs without me? offended.

yourusername: doing a lot of things without each other recently.

maxfewtrell: could've at least invited me i love that place

user28: oof. i feel like i shouldn't be watching this

lando.jpeg

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,305,066 others

tagged: yourusername

lando.jpeg: appreciation post for my bestest friend forever and the love of my life. i didn't want to give any attention to the rumours going around so i thought i'd just let you know i'm in love, i've been in love for years and will be in love with her for the rest of my life.

view all comments

user29: okay, now the confirmation is here, idk what to do with myself

user30: i survived the y/n x lando slow burn

yourusername: i love you too bob

lando.jpeg: i love you more, can't wait to see you

yourusername: i'm never letting you leave again

user31: so like you're gonna deny being all up close and personal with a random girl on the boat

landonorris: not that i owe you people anything, that girl is my cousin, she was visiting monaco and i showed her around. but it shouldn't matter, you guys don't know me personally and stop assuming things about athletes' personal lives.

yourusername: what he said.

carlossainz55: FINALLY

danielricciardo: i literally don't know how much longer i could've kept this a secret

oscarpiastri: i think we deserve a reward

charles_leclerc: i second this

maxverstappen1: i third this

maxfewtrell: i fourth this

yourusername: alright, alright we get it

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 607,845 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: i guess we owe our parents £50 xx

view all comments

user32: bro this shit has me straight up crying THIS AINT EVEN MY RELATIONSHIP

oscarpiastri: you guys are cute i'll give you that

yourusername: teammate stamp of approval get it @landonorris

oscarpiastri: i think you guys got that after i walked in on you after silverstone

landonorris: our bad lol

user33: this reads like a fanfic but they're so cute

maxverstappen1: awww lando was so cute in that first pic, what went wrong?

yourusername: u and kelly look like siblings, don't come for us

maxverstappen1: u got it

landonorris: i love you fairy princess

yourusername: i love you racer boy

note: enjoyyyyyyyyyyyy. i originally wrote this a while back but it deleted itself when my laptop had a meltdown. so this is a bit diff but i hope you like it anyway !! xx

[whirlybirbs]

Do you think when All Might officially "retires" that the media needs something else to chew on? Like? "Will the world's former No. 1 Hero finally settle down now that he's got much more time on his hands?" And maybe people start taking another look at the rumors about Derecho and the big man...

nothing public.

it was a rule established early on.

the two of you agreed it was best this way — those honeyed, tender, lovesick exchanges were best kept close to the heart and in private spaces. somedays it felt nearly impossible, but it worked. it let everyone chew on the what if and kept you both safe from scathing attempts at leveling each other as weaknesses.

nothing public.

until the kamino incident.

until you're there, tearing through the line of pros, stumbling through the debris, screaming his name — and the whole world watches you catch the stumbling, victorious form of all might in your arms. he nearly crushes you, and your hands grapple with his chest. he's broken, bloodied and exhausted, but he's alive. his fist is still raised high. he's alive, and you don't care if japan's number one news network watches from above.

you don't care.

you scramble in the dirt to reach up, to hold his face, to hear him draw a ragged breath. he hunches over you, barely clinging on to that empowered form. his grasp on it slips, and toshinori staggers into your arms again smaller now. his blue eyes hold the weight of the world, and you see the fear bleed into his expression.

all might is no more.

nothing public.

until you kiss him, then and there, in the aftermath.

the spotlight from the helicopter overhead illuminates the crescendo of emotion.

sweat and blood and relief mingle in a hazy exchange that burns with desperation — his broken hands are wrung deep into the back of your jacket. he's alive, and you're here. you're safe. he's done it. you cradle toshinori's jaw, your lips pressed tightly to his as he draws you closer.

christ, he loves you. he loves you more than he can stomach. he needs you more than anything, more than air. he needs you, derecho. his partner, his love, his north star. he thought, for a long moment, that this night might be the end of him. that he might not see this through to the end.

all might is no more.

you break from the kiss only to draw a panicked breath — only to search his face as you shake your head and ignore the drag of tears down your cheeks. "i thought—"

"it's over," he rasps, dragging his hands into your hair as he clings to you like a ship lost in a storm.

"i know," relief drowns the syllables in your mouth as you press your forehead tightly to his, clinging to the tattered remnants of his costume. they're like a death shroud. all might has been laid to rest.

that moment, caught on camera for the world to see, changes a lot.

more than anything, though, it changes from nothing public to going public.

— a reference to this fic here ;

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Personality Traits

Raymond Cattell's Trait Theory

Warmth

LOW level of warmth: More likely to be Reserved – detached, critical, aloof, stiff

HIGH level of warmth: More likely to be Outgoing – warmhearted, easy-going, participating

Intellect

LOW: Less Intelligent – concrete-thinking

HIGH: More Intelligent – abstract-thinking, bright

Emotional Stability

LOW: Affected By Feelings – emotionally less stable, easily upset, changeable

HIGH: Emotionally Stable – mature, faces reality, calm

Aggressiveness

LOW: Humble – mild, easily led, docile, accommodating

HIGH: Assertive – aggressive, stubborn, competitive

Liveliness

LOW: Sober – taciturn, serious

HIGH: Happy-Go-Lucky – enthusiastic

Dutifulness

LOW: Expedient – disregards rules

HIGH: Conscientious – persistent, moralistic, staid

Social Assertiveness

LOW: Shy – timid, threat-sensitive

HIGH: Venturesome – uninhibited, socially bold

Sensitivity

LOW: Tough-Minded – self-reliant, realistic

HIGH: Tender-Minded – sensitive, clinging, overprotected

Paranoia

LOW: Trusting – accepting conditions

HIGH: Suspicious – hard to fool

Abstractness

LOW: Practical – “down-to-earth” concerns

HIGH: Imaginative – bohemian, absent-minded

Introversion

LOW: Forthright – unpretentious, genuine but socially clumsy

HIGH: Astute – polished, socially aware

Anxiety

LOW: Self-Assured – placid, secure, complacent, serene

HIGH: Apprehensive – self-reproaching, insecure, worrying, troubled

Open Mindedness

LOW: Conservative – respecting traditional ideas

HIGH: Experimenting – liberal, free-thinking

Independence

LOW: Group-Dependent – a “joiner” and sound follower

HIGH: Self-Sufficient – resourceful, prefers own decisions

Perfectionism

LOW: Undisciplined Self-Conflict – lax, follows own urges, careless of social rules

HIGH: Controlled – exacting will power, socially precise, compulsive

Tension

LOW: Relaxed – tranquil, unfrustrated, composed

HIGH: Tense – frustrated, driven, overwrought

Boiling Down the Traits

In order to scientifically establish a formal framework for understanding personality, Cattell used a statistical technique known as factor analysis.

He started out with a list of 4,500 adjectives that could describe people (taken from the English dictionary).

He then completed a laborious process of grouping these adjectives into 171 ‘clusters’, which were used in a series of studies where people rated others on the traits.

Over a period of several years, Cattell and his team of psychologists then used this data to boil down the set of traits to just 16.

These 16 traits were the smallest number of factors believed to meaningfully describe observable behaviour.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: On Psychology ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[cozywolvie]

hii, i was wondering if u could do a fic of logan nd wade with a sunshine reader ^_^ like an overly happy and energetic person ig. IF THAT MAKES SENSE LOL. i don’t see too many fanfics with sunshine readers… or at least when i look. not sure if u have gotten many requests yet but hopefully this isn’t a bother to u!! u can add smut or smth if u want. u seem super cool and hopefully u have a fun time writing this if u do :3 have a great day or night!!

a/n: yayy! my first request! thank you sm for requesting and you are not a bother at all. I really hope this is somewhat of what you wanted. this is straight fluff and cuteness, so I hope you enjoy!

-

You have always been a morning person. You loved watching the sky turn different shades of yellow and orange as the sun rose, and you loved having a cup of coffee while watching it. However, your boyfriends couldn’t disagree more with you.

Here you are, laid out on the back porch, wearing one of Logan’s plaid flannels, baking in the rising sunlight as it goes over the horizon. A warm cup of coffee is settled in between your fingers, and you grip it tightly, loving the warmth it gave you on this crisp morning.

While you laid out here, Wade and Logan lay inside sound asleep in your shared king size bed. They always love to tease you about your chirpiness and happiness, especially in the morning. They couldn’t get around the fact that they both were somehow able to fall in love with a person so opposite of them, especially Logan.

It was around 10 am when you started to hear the two men stir. You were in the kitchen, humming, flipping pancakes on the stove. Logan emerged first from the bedroom, wearing a pair of sweats that hung low on his waist, a flannel hung along his shoulders, underneath was bare, and you tired not to gawk at his figure. He smirks when you see’s you. “Smells good.” He compliments, walking around to your side and placing a long kiss on your temple. You smile, practically leaning into his tender embrace.

“Good morning” You beam back at him. You loved mornings like this, calm, peaceful, anything to get away from the stress of Wade and Logan's crime fighting careers. You offer him coffee, which he leaves black, and sits down at the kitchen table. You continue to hum in content, even dancing to nothing in the kitchen, enjoying the sizzling of the pancake batter on the stove. There was just pure joy and happiness radiating off of you. Logan smiles at the sight.

“Good morning bubbles!” The sound of your other boyfriend radiates the room. Logan groans in discomfort at the loud sound, plugging his ears closed. You giggle at Wade’s nickname. Awhile ago when you three had gotten together, Wade had referred to the three of you were like the powerpuff girls. You, bubbles, because you were always bubbly. Buttercup, Logan, which is pretty self explanatory. And Wade, Blossom, because he claims that he was the captain of your little team.

“Good morning Wade.” You give him peck on the lips, and hand him his coffee, with a shit ton of creamer and four sugars, he loves things sweet. He takes a sip and nods approvingly. “Ah, sweet! Just like my girl.” He gives your behind a cheeky slap and you giggle, swatting him away playfully.

You all sit at the table, munching down on pancakes. Wade drowns his in syrup and Logan cringes at the sight. “You’re gonna get diabetes if you keep doing that.” Logan scowls.

“I already got cancer, I’ll take my chances.” Wade says back, shoving pancakes in his mouth. You grin, rolling your eyes at the pair. Logan eyes your cup of coffee. “Which number cup is that?” He teases.

“My forth.” You grin, taking a sip. Logan chuckles, shaking his head in amusement, “No wonder you’re always so energetic.”

"Nah, it's just the way our girl is." Wade says, sending a wink your way. You grin and try to hide your blush. "I have no reason to be anything else. I've got a good life, a roof over my head, and two incredibly amazing sexy men who are in love with me." You giggle with a wink, watching as both the men smile, making your heart warm.

"About that, thank you." Logan states. You crinkle your brows in confusion, not knowing what he is thanking you for. He see's your confusion, stumbling over his words, becoming flustered. "Well, uh, ya'know-"

"What peanut is trying to say is, that we are grateful for you. You're the light in our lives that we both needed." Wade states, grabbing your hand from across the table. You can't even contain the blush on your cheeks now. If anything, you should be thanking them.

"I'm the grateful one." You say. The boys smile, showering you in love and kisses. The rest of the day is spent with the three of you relaxing in your free time, cuddled up by the two men you love most, all three of your laughters echoing around the small cozy apartment.

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2.9k words, part 3)

Summary: Valeria prepares to take you back at all costs and she thinks back to the days of your happy love. Alejandro's jealous interest turns into something more sinister as he continues to intimidate you. The tables turn as Valeria makes her first move.

TW: threat of (sexual) violence. (Also Google Translated Spanish)

I didn't expect to write Alejandro so darkly, sorry! I'm also working on the next part! I'm aiming to finish this fic before the 10th because that's when I'm flying to my home country for the rest of August, and I won't have the space to be as active or to write with privacy. Also thank you for all the love you've sent my way, I really appreciate all the attention and it makes me very happy. Enjoy part 3!! :D Link to A03 Part 1 and Part 2

Valeria was a well-inked woman, her tattoos were typical for someone who made their living within the hostile environment of a cartel. Her ink was in many ways traditional; a rose on her upper arm, a classic snake circling the blade of a knife, references hidden within elusive Roman numbers, an image of Death looming behind a scorpio on her bicep. Images strategically placed in obvious places, a courtesy call for all who came across her. And then there were the private ones, that only you had ever witnessed; that only you had trailed your finger upon, following the lines down her skin, making her shiver underneath your touch. The matching hearts stamped very low on her back, the quote of your favourite song etched on her skin. And right below her tummy, just underneath her underwear line, this was written:"Love is as strong as death, as deep as the grave." A secret romantic, she got that tattooed after you rubbed her lower tummy to relieve her painful period. You had been together for quite a while by that point, had already exchanged 'i love you's, had already explored each other's bodies to the core, and had been living together. She knew you loved her and you made a point of showing it every day. And yet, it still caught her by surprise sometimes, your tender touch caressing her when she wasn't expecting it; in the sparkles that came alive in your eyes when she walked into the room. But what moved her most of all was how you responded to her weakness. Not the same weakness that men look down on - the open displays of her love, the open hurt in one's eyes when their loved one said something that cut deep. No, what really mattered to her was the physical weakness, how you would respond when her strength failed her and she was bedridden. Valeria had the unpleasant habit of sleeping alone when on her period, saying that it was because she got angry easily and didn't want to bother you. But really, she didn't want you to hear her small whimpers, to see her body curl inwards as she sought relief from the pain. On one of those days, as she was napping in the spare bedroom, and just as she was winning her struggle with sleep and about to enter the land of dreams, the bed gave in to your weight as you crawled behind her and put your body against hers.

"Go away, mi amor. I'm not in the mood." She grumbled in response and tried moving away from your touch. Paying no mind to her protests, you kissed the top of her head as you slid behind her, placing your arm below her neck and bringing your bodies close. You left a trail of tiny kisses along her neck and your other hand roamed beneath her shirt, then moved lower, passing the elastic band of her underwear.

"I said go away, I can't do it today," she protested but stopped because instead of going lower, your hand simply just rested on that spot. You drew circles on her soft lower tummy with your thumb. As your hand warmed up her skin, it brought relief to her pain. "I'm your personal water bottle, baby," you cooed as you placed more small, chaste kisses on her skin. Valeria relaxed into your skin, basking in the warmth as she let out a relieved sigh. Valeria had always known she'd kill for you, but at that very moment, she vowed to die before she let anything harm you. She needed to mark her devoted love for you on her skin permanently, and so got that tattoo in the very spot that you massaged every month.

And now she stared at that tattoo as she buttoned her trousers and tightened her weapons belt, hiding it.

There was a stiffness within Valeria that made her hard to break, but that, nonetheless, would one day surely be broken. She feared that this day had now come. She always knew you'd be part of her undoing, but if that undoing was ever to happen, she anticipated it in the form of betrayal. There were certain wounds that your love would soothe, but not erase, and her fear of losing you was one of them. Although she knew there was always the risk of losing you in her operations - spouses were frequent targets of attack in her profession - she could never fathom that this would ever happen. And now that it finally did, her undoing felt imminent. But before she fell, she would undo the lives of every person involved in your abduction.

Valeria walked down the halls of her estate which was now busy as a bee's colony. Personnel ran up and down the halls, transferring arms and themselves to vehicles and aircraft, putting everyone down to the guard dogs into use. Everything was readied to perfection before they descended upon the headquarters of the Mexcian Army with blood and fire. This was unlike Sin Nombre's usual pattern of behaviour. El Sin Nombre worked in the shadows and did the most to prevent bloodshed. El Sin Nombre brushed shoulders with the Mexican Army frequently, but nonetheless maintained a respectful distance. They kept to their turf, and she kept to hers. She was the blade that shone in the shadows, an elusive blade that had to be looked for, but now she would carry her knife in the open. And she would burn the world to the ground, the whole lot of them be damned. Let it be known that Valeria Garza loves a woman to death. And she will ride the forces of death to the battlefield even if just to reunite with her love. She thought of you right now, kept somewhere cold and grimy, afraid and lost in the world of armies and men, in the world of violence and destruction. A world she tried hard to keep separate from your own.

And yet still, she did not regret ever bringing you to her life; not for a second. Binding your lives may have caused your ruin and hers, but she was still glad to have known happiness with you before the bitterness descended.

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

"Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever been with a man?" Alejandro looked right into your eyes with his dark ones, and you just stared at him, shocked and embarrassed. Your anxiety turned into stone-cold fear. What kind of question was that? This was not where the conversation was going, nor did you ever expect to be asked this - especially by someone like him. You painfully craved Valeria's presence in that moment, so much that it hurt. Ever since she entered your life, no one dared to intimidate or harass you. She became your protector and your guardian. It had been years since you had to defend yourself, verbally or physically, and the realisation almost brought tears to your eyes. You became painfully aware of your predicament as the Colonel stared you down impatiently.

You willed yourself to say something, anything, but your words would not come out no matter how hard you tried. "I asked you a question," he said. "I don't know what to say," your voice trailed off to near silence by the end. You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with your ring. "It's a yes or no answer," he said. "I don't want to talk anymore," you said, louder than you spoke before. "That's not how interrogations work. I ask, you answer." Alejandro stepped forward and leaned down to your level. "So answer the question - ahora." "¿Qué quieres de mí?" You asked. ("What do you want from me?")

He moved uncomfortably close and whispered: "I want her to suffer. I want her to know what betrayal feels like. Quiero arruinarte." ("I want to ruin you.") His eyes trailed below your tearful eyes and to your lips, then lower to your neck. His breath caught at the sight of bruises forming on your soft skin in the shape of his fingers. He wondered what the rest of you would like decorated like that, what it would feel like to grab all the soft parts of you and make them hurt. He gloated at the idea that Valeria would see you like that; destroyed and afraid, marked all over by him. For her to feel what it is like to have what she loves tattered into pieces. To feel the betrayal that he felt when she left him. He, the leader of Los Vaqueros, one of the most promising soldiers of his generation, abandoned for a random girl that nobody had even heard of; a nobody. A girl who did nothing more than help out in her Abuela's kitchen. As Alejandro's eyes leered across your body, he wondered what it was that attracted Valeria to you. Was it your pretty eyes? Large and round puppy eyes that he bet could beg so prettily. Was it your soft and glistening skin? Or was it your inoculated innocence? The innocence of someone who didn't know what it was like to kill, who had never taken a life. The innocence of someone who didn't make their living alongside Death. The innocence of someone you came home to after a long day, who nursed the wounds the world inflicted upon you and sent you out there stronger than before. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that parts of you filled out where his didn't. The parts of your body that were soft where his were hard, that you were delicate where he was strong, that your skin was smooth when his was scarred. That where he yielded, you broke. That you could crumble in love and he wouldn't. That he and Valeria belonged with the destroyers of the world, and you were of the destroyed. That there was an inevitable attraction between these opposites, and resistance when two of the same met, an instinctive aversion to that which was made of the same stuff as you.

"You as much as lay a hand on me, cabrón, and it'll be the last thing you ever fucking do," you spat your words at him, anger burning in your chest. Upon hearing this, a dark grin stretched across his face. He reached out with his gloved hand and grabbed a strand of your hair.

"You're so stupid, you don't even know it," he mused while rubbing his thumb against your hair. You jerked back to release him from you, but he only held on to your hair, preferring to see you rip it from your scalp than let go.

"You don't know what can happen to women in custody, do you?" He said. You stared back in defiance. "You're just trying to scare me. You wouldn't dare." "I guess Valeria never told you how we do things here." He said, looking down at you. "She told me how much she fucking hated it, and how small you all made her feel," you said, emboldened in your anger. "And whatever you do to me won't change the fact that she loved me and not you, and that she will always choose me." You said, staring up at him. His eyes darkened and he released your hair, only to raise his hand high above you, preparing to bring it down with a force that would knock you off your chair.

He was about to do so but was interrupted when the door opened.

An unknown man entered the room, dressed in the typical kit of the Mexican Army. "Colonel," he said and saluted. "You're wanted in the yard." Alejandro looked behind him lazily. "What's this about? Estoy ocupado." (I'm busy) The man blinked back at him. "El fantasmo, sir." Alejandro grunted and returned his hand to his side, not bothering to hide what he was about to do. He started walking towards the door. "You just think about what I just said," he uttered and shut the door behind him. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you took a moment to comprehend what just happened. His threat hung over you like a rope, tightly coiled like the lump in your throat. How long till he returned? You couldn't stand the idea of being left alone with him again. "Senora."

For a moment, you forgot the other man was still with you. You looked up at him, worry written all over your face, weary of his presence. He stepped closer to you and placed a hand in his pocket. To your surprise, he pulled out a strawberry-flavoured breakfast bar; one of your favourite snacks. "Don't you worry. La jefa viene en camino," he said as he passed it to you. ("The boss is on her way") Stunned, you held the bar in your hands and looked at him with tears in your eyes. Many thoughts rushed through your mind - she knew you were here! You thought of what Commander Graves had said about Valeria having friends with many places, and here was one operating right underneath their noses. You wanted to ask the man so many things, but could only speak one word: "When?" He looked at you with a soft, sympathetic smile on his lips. His fingers reached to the earpiece and he pressed it. "Now," he said and an alarm siren started started screaming.

The sound was unlike anything you'd ever heard before. The siren blared over the speakers of the Mexican Army's headquarters in one long, continuous yell. Immediately, you could hear the thundering footsteps of countless men running up and down the grounds, yells of surprise and panicked instructions that were incomprehensible to you from within the box. The man looked at you calmly. "Stay right here, senora. Don't come out for any reason." And with that, he ran out the door, sealing the door shut behind him. You could hear a chain rattling against the entrance as he locked you in. The breakfast bar sat on your lap and you began peeling the wrapping. You took a big bite out of it, tasting the sweetness of the sugar and the sourness of the strawberry pieces. You swallowed your snack as the first bullet was fired.

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

Alejandro was annoyed at the interruption and hurried to the yard where Ghost was expecting him. He wondered what the urgency was. Perhaps Valeria sent a message. That was what he wanted, but he hoped it would take a bit longer. There was a surprising amount of fun to be had with you. Even if he didn't lay a hand on you, his words alone were enough to terrify you, and he loved every second of it. Your eyes widening in fear when you understood what he meant, your embarrassment at what was implied; it excited him more than he wanted to admit. Had that been Valeria on that chair, he would've been chewed out in a second, if not worse. It was uncommon to come across someone so timid as you in his line of work, someone so easy to pick on. And yet, you showed some spite, too. There were many layers to be uncovered here, and he wanted to take his time unravelling all that you had to offer.

He arrived at the yard. The place was littered with army vehicles transporting cargo and people to and from the facility, and further out, the aircraft was in the process of being retired for the day. To his annoyance, Ghost was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he found Rudolpho helping out with the transport of arms.

"Have you seen Ghost, Rudy?" Alejandro asked. Rudolpho paused and turned to his superior, and longtime friend. "Ghost and Soap are in a meeting with General Sherperd, the Captain, and Graves, sir. I'm not sure when they'll be done." Alejandro raised his eyebrows in surprise. "A meeting with Graves? And why weren't we invited?" Rudolpho shook his head, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know." He partly turned around to continue with his task, but then faced Alejandro again. "Colonel," he said and moved closer to Alejandro so that others couldn't hear. "I'm not doubting your judgement here. But will this help catch El Sin Nombre? We've not heard anything of Valeria since that night." He said.

Alejandro stared back in response. "Of course this will help catch her. I told you this is a necessary evil to weed her out. I know how she works, trust me." He affirmed.

Rudolpho seemed unsure. "I knew her too, Alejandro. And I don't think this was the right move, at all. And I think Commander Graves is having his doubts too." He didn't need to spell it out for Alejandro, he knew the implication behind this. That Graves was doubting Alejandro's judgment. That this meeting they were having could very well be about this operation, calling it a failure. Wanting to change the strategy. Rudy pressed on. "And I really don't think she ought to be left alone in that container. She should be transported to jail, sir."

Alejandro turned to him and spoke slowly, realization hitting him like a wave. "But she's not alone." The alarm in Alejandro's eyes spread to Rudolpho and they both turned to face the building that hosted the container when the emergency alarm was triggered.

Promised tags: @justmare @silas-222 @m0rganit3 @blarba-girl (thank you for all the support!) @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @ashy-kit

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[charnelhouse]

how do you reckon joel would react after accidentally making the Reader pregnant?

I feel like he would lose his fucking mind.

A/N: Joel x F!Reader. Angst. Pregnancy. References to abortion.

The kitchen table between you served as an effective barrier. A chipped, wooden island. Joel sat stiffly, his gaze very far away.

You’d told him. You hadn’t had a choice. His fingers were spread on the table surface, his palm flat. You weren’t sure, but you thought you saw his pinky quiver.

You knew how he viewed children being brought into this world. Foolish. A death sentence. He was old, too and you could already see him running the numbers in his head.

“Joel,” you whispered, reaching out for him before he abruptly moved his hand to scrape it over his face. He blinked, brow furrowed. “Joel-please-“

“I can’t,” he replied bluntly. “We can’t.”

You winced-surprised at the coolness in his voice. Joel was an asshole, but at least he was affectionate with you, a brush tender in bed when they were alone. Well-they were alone now and he had shut down completely.

You felt a surge of frustration. Rage, even.

“We weren’t careful,” you replied flatly. “This is your fault, too.”

How many times had he fucked you without pulling out fast enough? How many times had he kept you in his bed, pinned beneath him for hours with his dick inside you. It was inevitable.

“I know,” Joel admitted, his tone somewhat softer. Sweeter. “I know, baby.”

He was talking to you like this because he was preparing you. Ready to convince you. Joel excelled at that. You listened, trusting his judgment because it was him. A man squeezed so hard he came out a black diamond. He was precious to you, utterly valuable.

He stood and walked around the table before crouching down. He took your hands, thumb massaging the skin at your wrist. “We have to figure this out, darlin’.”

You felt the burn at the base of your throat. The very sharp threat of tears. You wanted him to fuck you right then. You wanted him to love you.

He pulled your hand to his mouth and kissed it. His facial hair scratched and tickled. His eyes fell to your stomach momentarily before he averted them. His lips strained to a thin grimace. He had gone miles away again.

“Joel,” you murmured and he looked up, holding your gaze.

You felt heat in your belly, a flicker of something.

Maybe.

Maybe it was possible.

[itoshiexx]

perfect

synopsis: rin remembers how perfect you are for him.

pairing: itoshi rin x afab!reader | words: 2.6k | warnings: established relationship, afab reader (referred to as "girl"), pet names (baby, pretty, love), fluff, smut, oral + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, praising!!!, emotional sex

notes: i really wasn't gonna post this today but i'm EAGER. this is my first attempt at writing smut in english so pls be kind lol idk if this is good or like the worst shit ever. this is kind of a part 2 for this so i recommend you read it :))

masterlist

people could say itoshi rin was many things: cold, distant, a soccer star, a fan of horror, the number one. and he agreed with all of these. but he was also passionate, extremely determined and, most of all, hopelessly in love with you. and even though he was cold and distant, that was not the case when it came to your relationship. 

with you, rin showed all of that passion and determination by loving you in his own gentle way, always so full of devotion, pouring every ounce of the overflowing feelings he harbored in his chest for you only. because he did feel — and intensely, at last. that’s why he always wanted to make you feel happy, and safe, and loved. he wanted you to be confident and to value yourself just as much as he valued you.

that’s why sex with rin felt like some divine moment. 

as you stand there, dumbfounded with the proximity and his words, he takes the opportunity to close the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that makes you melt in his arms almost instantly. he has this weird effect on you; one that makes you surrender all that you are to him until you become one.

“will you let me?” he murmured once you separated, sounding a little breathless. you, on the other hand, were a dizzying mess, unable to form coherent sentences with the way the air got knocked out of your lungs. 

“w-what…?” you stutter, and rin’s little smirk makes your legs shake. 

“will you let me show you how much i love you? how much i cherish you?” 

you’re pretty sure your heart stops for a few seconds before it races inside your chest like an orchestra. a tiny nod is the only answer you can muster, but rin’s not satisfied. 

“use your words, pretty.” he backs away, and, dreading any further distance, you’re quick to say “yes!” in a slightly pitched voice. rin smiles in that delicate way he only does around you, and his thumbs trace small circles on your waist as he hums, “good girl”.

you feel goosebumps as one of his hands goes up, tracing the curve of your body until it rests on your cheek, and then his mouth is on yours again, more demanding, trying to absorb all that you are willing to give. his tongue invades your mouth, and you moan when his wet muscle laces with yours in a lewd dance. your hands fly to the nape of his neck, where you tug at the black strands of hair, and the way he groans sends a shiver down your spine and spreads heat to the middle of your legs. 

but you still have a little bit of rationality left, so you gently push him apart to say, “we’re gonna miss dinner if we keep going,” even if your uneven breathing says how much you want to keep going. however, rin is also very stubborn, and, (un)fortunately, knows your body very well. 

“we can just reschedule,” he states, simply. “i think right now this is more important.”

you still try to reason, “baby, we can have sex any time…” 

“it’s not about the sex.” he frowns. “i want you to remember how precious you are.” a gentle kiss on your jaw. “i want to worship you.” another, and then one more at your neck. it’s unconscious, the way you slightly turn your head to give him more access. “i want you to feel so much more than pretty. i want you to feel beautiful.” 

if the tender nibs and the open mouthed kisses he leaves on the column of your throat aren’t enough to overwhelm you, his words sure can. there is no ounce of strength in your body to fight him anymore, so your answer comes in the form of a needy kiss, tugging at the collar of his shirt so he can be closer, because there was never such a thing as close enough. rin relishes in the way you eagerly try to devour him, more than happy to give you all of him. 

he was only ever yours to begin with.

and he makes sure you know by matching your kisses with just as much fervor, tugging at your waist until he can grind his growing need on your core, wanting you to feel just how much he desires you. it’s not a surprise he is rock hard in his pants, but this is all about you, so he can wait. he will wait until you are beneath him, writhing in pleasure to the point he’s all you can think about. 

rin is caring when slowly he pushes you to the bed, being careful not to put all his weight on you. his knee finds home in the middle of your legs, and he feels lightheaded with the way you grind against it, already desperate for some kind of friction. 

his lips go back to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. you can feel the plushness of his pink flesh softly hover over your skin, and it lights up as if something is dancing beneath it, this sort of giddy feeling that staggers you. it’s always there whenever rin touches you, though you can’t say you don’t love it. 

then, he’s sucking the mound of one of your breasts, while his hand is occupied fondling the other. it leaves a faint purple bruise on your skin, but you can’t find it in you to care — instead, you whine in approval, wishing for more of the feeling of his teeth grazing you, eager to bear his possessive marks. the stream of hickeys he leaves around your tits also makes you a little greedy, and you want to scream to make him take off your bra and give attention to your perky nipples. 

and rin is excellent at reading things. on the field, it was an admirable trait by both teammates and rivals, used as a powerful tool for his goals and more often than not leading his team to victory. in your relationship, it made you feel all warm and fuzzy, the way he was so observant to your needs and the little quirks that made you so you. in bed, it felt a lot like salvation, for he was always aware of what you wanted and needed, sometimes even before you did. 

the first flick of his tongue on your bud nearly makes you wail, and you can almost feel the smirk forming on his stupidly handsome face. “needy, aren’t you?” he coos, though it holds no bite. you are ready to retort, but any words die in your mouth when he licks again, circling your areola and gently scraping his teeth at your nipple.

he gives both your tits the attention they deserve, and by the time rin is done, your arousal is already pooling on your panties, leaving you squirming on the bed while touching every part of him you could reach. suddenly, you become conscious that he’s still dressed, so you take it as a challenge to unbutton his shirt until you can finally see his toned torso. 

“baby…” he sighs when you scrape your nails through his chest, all the way down to his perfect abs. before you can reach his pants, however, he separates from you, taking off the shirt that was bothering him. 

his hand laces with yours. “not yet.”

but you are impatient. you need him so, so bad it actually hurts. the ache in your pussy can only be solved when his cock splits you open, and for a moment, you seriously consider telepathy, but his voice in your head burns like a fresh memory. use your words, pretty. i like to hear you. 

and who are you to deny your boyfriend? 

“rinnie,” you whisper, “please.”

“hm? please what?” he arches his eyebrow, hands squeezing your hips.

you bite your lower lips, embarrassed, but answer nonetheless, “please fuck me.”

rin flashes you a bright grin that can rival the sun, and he kisses you once more as a reward, all while his hands slowly descend to your thighs, taking your panties off along the way. he feels impossibly harder when he sees the strings of your arousal on the fabric, moreso when you open your legs for him to see your quivering hole that’s just dying to be filled by him. 

“fuck, look at you…” he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds. your moans are the sweetest sound he ever heard. “so wet. so pretty. all for me, hm?” 

“yes, baby, yes… please, hah— please!” you whine, slightly desperate. he curls one finger inside of you, and you could almost cry. it feels good, so good, but it’s not enough. “m-more… need more!” 

rin is feeling generous, so he attends to your pleas by shoving three fingers at once. you wail at the pleasure of having more of him, his long digits hitting your sweet spots in ways you never could.

“taking my fingers so well, love,” he whispers in your ear. “you’re so pretty. my pretty girl.”

you shudder with the praise, clenching around his fingers and feeling closer than ever when he uses his thumb to start rubbing your clit. it doesn’t take much time to be hit with your orgasm, one that leaves your whole body trembling and gives rin one of his favorite sights. 

beautiful.

he doesn’t even let you say anything, kissing you again, prodding his tongue inside your mouth and muffling any surprised gasps by the sudden invasion. rin’s wet muscle laces with yours in a slow, sensual dance that makes both of you moan in union, the sound traveling all the way down and keeping your arousal alive. 

he keeps going until the lack of air forces you to part. you’re panting, but your eyes search for his teal ones, always a pretty shade of aquamarine that makes you crumble. when you see the hazy look on his orbs, you’re sure he will take out his cock and fuck you already, but instead he starts giving little kisses down your tummy, all the way to your inner thighs. 

“don’t tease,” you whimper. “just get inside me alread— ah!” you scream when his tongue makes contact with your sensitive clit. rin licks a long stripe along your folds that makes you quiver and shut up. 

“wanna taste you first, pretty.” his eyes find yours, “please?”

and, again, who are you to deny your boyfriend? 

especially when he says it like that. 

so you agree, and rin eagerly goes down on you, slurping through your wet pussy like that’s all he needs to survive. he prods his tongue inside you, in and out, motioning the movement his dick should be making, and you take a moment to realize he is rutting his hips on the mattress every time he does. 

then, he laps at your clit once again, twirling his tongue in circular motions that make your eyes roll back and your toes curl. you can barely contain your moans, tugging at his hair and crying out loud when his satisfied groan sends vibrations to your nerves.

his flow becomes quicker, sloppier, and the wet sounds are so lewd that you can feel your second orgasm building up in that familiar tingling feeling that sends you to the edge.

“baby, baby… ‘m cumming, ‘m gonna cum…!” you cry, gripping the bed sheets like your life depends on it. 

that’s all the incentive he needs to keep on going, sweeping his tongue on your bud until he can taste the familiar flavor of you cum and sense your thighs almost crushing his head. 

he’d die a happy man. 

your body goes limp, and you’re gasping for air like you’d just ran a marathon. rin hovers over you to appreciate the scene, and with the way his cock twitches inside his boxers, rin thinks he appreciates this — making you come undone — a little too much. he’s sure his tip is red and leaking pre. 

he gives you some time to recover by slowly unbuckling his belt, taking off his pants and throwing them somewhere on the floor. his boxers go next, and just like he thought, the spongy head of his dick is swollen and in desperate need of relief. 

he said he would wait until you were beneath him, writhing in pleasure to the point he’s all you could think about, before giving him some attention. so he doesn’t stop you from putting your hands around his girth, hissing when you pump him a few times. 

your eyes are blurry, but they look up at him with so much love and desire he could very much cum right there. god, how much he fucking loves you. it’s honestly ridiculous. 

rin lets you pull him closer and cage him with your legs behind his hips. 

“ready, baby?” he asks, as if you aren’t aching for his cock. 

“god, please— i need you. i need you inside of me,” you all but wail. 

rin thrusts into you at once, and you nearly lose your mind. 

he’s long and thick, reaching all of your swollen spots without much effort. you can feel his veins dragging along your walls, creating even more friction, unconsciously rolling your hips to get more of this feeling. rin moans in your ear, and he does it again when you squeeze him tighter. 

“always so tight f’me,” he sighs, dreamily. “god, you are perfect. you are perfection itself, baby.”

“rin, rin…!” is all you can muster to say. 

he presses you harder on the mattress, rutting into your cunt and relishing at the feeling of your velvet walls sucking him in and gripping his shaft like a vice. you’re scraping your nails along his back and shoulders, looking for grounding, but he keeps pounding the head of his cock in that one specific spot that makes you see not only stars, but whole galaxies. 

“rin, rinnie, p-please… r-righ— right there!” 

at this point you are babbling nonsense, rin being the only thing on your mind as you chase your third orgasm of the night. “fuck, pretty…” he curses, feeling the neglected coil on his lower abdomen threatening to snap. he can’t really help it, though. you feel too good. too perfect. 

and all his. 

the constant bullying of his cock on your sweetest spot, the overwhelming feelings inside you and the sweet praises given by your boyfriend on you ear make you come apart, and you scream with the devastating pleasure that seeps through your whole body, like you’re floating on cloud nine. rin hisses when your walls clench him tighter, and seeing you reach your high gets him to spill his load inside of you, finally getting his much deserved release with white hot spurts on your warm core. he fucks both of you throughout your orgasms, and when you start to feel a bit overstimulated, you wiggle him out of you, snapping him from his daze. he collapses.

the familiar weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, along with the soft tune of his breathing on the crook of your neck. you scratch his scalp lightly, your other hand patting his back oh so lovingly. he’s so happy — to have you, to feel you, to love you. 

“i hope you never doubt how beautiful and amazing you are, love,” he whispers, not daring to break the silence. 

you say nothing, embracing him tighter. your silent thank you. 

“but if you ever forget,” he continues, taking you by surprise, “i’m always here to remind you.”

© 2023 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

tagging @doobea and @auratux bc they voted for this

[the-offside-rule]

Mason Mount (Manchester United) - Theatre of Dreams

Requested: yes

Prompt: 10) Baby's first game

Warnings: none

Baby Prompts

The sun hung low in the sky as Mason, his wife Y/n, and their son Joshua approached the iconic Old Trafford stadium for Joshua's first ever football match. Excitement buzzed in the air, and little Joshua, donned in a mini version of his dad's jersey, couldn't contain his giggles. "Daddy, are we going to see you play?" Joshua asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. Mason chuckled, holding onto his son's tiny hands, carefully leading him into the stadium. "Yes we are, bossman." He replied, lifting him up as he spotted the few reporters and photographers, not wanting to reveal his son, nevermind startle him. Whilst everyone knew the couple had a child, they didn't know what he looked like or anything about him. "Can you score? You haven't scored in ages." Mason looked over to Y/n who attempted to hide a grin. "Yeah, I'll try."

Mason showed Y/n and Joshua up to the box where most of the WAGs stayed, telling them about where everything is and how to leave after the final whistle blew. "So I'll wait for you in the car park?" Y/n asked. Mason nodded. "Yeah, just-" He was cut from his wrds as he felt a small tug at his trousers. The couple looked down to see Joshua pointing out the window. "Daddy, it's so big!" Joshua exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. Mason grinned, sharing a look with Y/n and once again lifting Joshua up. "Yep, it's one of the biggest stadiums, buddy. You're going to have a great time." Mason placed a gentle kiss onto his son's cheek. "Now, you sit with Mummy and I'll see you after the game, yeah?" He suggested, handing him over to Y/n.

"Bye, Daddy!" Joshua smiled, pulling at his mother's jacket. "Oh, before I leave-" He paused and reached for a black Manchester United bag, pulling out a small box and handing it to Joshua. "I got you a quick pressie." Joshua examined the box carefully before pulling the lid off and being confronted with a bright red jersey. He lifted it and looked at the back, his father's number staring back. "What do you think?" Mason asked gently. "It's not blue." Joshua replied. Mason couldn't help but feel his heart drop a little bit, the thought of his son not supporting him lingering in the back of his mind. "But red is my favourite."

Mason beamed with joy and ruffled his hair. "Good man." He grinned. "I'll see you after the game." He stood up and leaned over to Y/n. "Love you." He whispered. "Love you too."

As the players took to the pitch, Y/n and Joshua cheered with unbridled enthusiasm, their voices merging with the chorus of supporters around them. "I see daddy!" Joshua exclaimed, clapping his hands. "No, baby. Daddy is number 7, not 19." She explained calmly. "Oh. Okay." He searched the pitch again before turning back to his Mum. "What number is 7 again?"

As Mason walked back to the car, he smiled gently upon seeing Y/n leaning against the car. "Missed you." He said with a tender smile, grateful for her unwavering support. She giggled as he practically fell into her arms. "Ot has been 2 hours." He shrugged. "I dom't care. Couldn't wait to get off the pitch for once." He said, pulling away and looking behind her. "Was he okay?" He asked, referring to Joshua who was asleep. "He was fine. He's just a bit sleepy now." Mason nodded. "We should get home and get him to bed."

As the couple reached home, they stopped in silence for a moment. "This is mad, you know." Mason arched a brow. "I mean, I remember my first match as your girlfriend and now we have our son coming with us. That's all I mean." Mason smiled sleepily. "It is mad when you put it that way." Mason undid his seatbelt and hopped out of the car. "Would you mind bringing in my kitbag and I'll bring Joshua to bed?" Y/n agreed before grabbing his bag and heading inside.

With tender care, Mason unbuckled Joshua's seatbelt, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tranquility of sleep. He marveled at the innocence that radiated from his son's peaceful countenance, a sight that never failed to fill his heart with a sense of warmth and pride. Gently cradling Joshua in his arms, Mason stepped out of the car, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. As Mason made his way towards the house, his footsteps were soft and deliberate, each one a testament to the love that guided his every move. He savored the weight of Joshua in his arms, the bond between them forged in the quiet moments of tenderness and affection.

Mason kicked off his shoes upon reaching the front door. He loved home. The warmth of the house enveloped them like a comforting embrace and each step on the soft carpet adding to the comfort. Mason tiptoed up the stairs, his movements fluid and effortless as he navigated the familiar terrain of their home.

Mason opened the nursery door, hushing Joshua as he stirred in his sleep. Mason gently laid his sleeping son down in his crib, tucking the blankets around him with infinite care. He lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on Joshua's innocent face. "You doing alright?" He turned to see Y/n leaning by the door. "Just fine. I'll be right back to you in a minute and we can go watch a film or something." He replied. "Or try for baby number 2." He almost jumped at the suggestion. "Do you mean it?" Y/n chuckled softly at her husband's reaction. "Maybe. Don't leave me waiting too long." She said before heading away downstairs.

"Goodnight, Joshua." Mason said as he brushed a gentle kiss against Joshua's forehead. With a final glance, Mason tiptoed out of the room, the door closing softly behind him, and for his son to sleep after spending his evening in the Theatre of Dreams.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Home Pt.2 || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 2K CW: child abuse (toward reader - REFERENCED), physical injuries, violence (REFERENCED), military enlistment references (NOT PROPAGANDA), crying. Tags: you/your pronouns, fluff, ANGST, teen romance, teenage rebellion, British slang (attempted), poverty, Simon Riley’s family (mentioned), Reader's family. a/n: This one made me cry y'all. Also, wrote this instead of eating dinner. On AO3 this fic is ✨doing numbers✨ (per my standards).

[← Previous] || [Next →] || [MY MASTERLIST]

“I’m here, I’m here.” Simon said as he pressed a tall beer tin against the bruise on your cheek and temple area. It was basically piss in a can, but it was cold, and God knows you needed that against your warm, throbbing bruise.

Your eyes were so beyond cloudy with tears, you couldn’t even see a foot in front of you. Hell, you couldn’t see him and his pretty face. The only reason you knew he was there was his constant reassuring words and his warm breath on your face, scented of nicotine.

He was glad you couldn’t see him, because if you did, you’d see the wince in his face and the way he struggled to straighten his left hand to cup your cheek with a gentle touch while his right hand held the drink tin to your wound.

A couple of his left fingers were definitely broken. Should he be going to A&E right now and getting his hand checked out? Probably. Was he going to? Absolutely not. Not unless it was to drive you there. The bruise on your face was swelling nastily, your skin not used to taking a beating. Not like his was.

“You’re alright… Don’t cry, darlin’, you’re alright…” Simon kept trying to calm you down while he did his best to caress your face with a gentle, hurt hand. “You’re alright, pet…” He kept cooing at you. But you just kept wailing. 

As usual, Simon had come to get you at 9 P.M. You only lived a couple of streets over and he never let you walk the distance. Not after dark; it wasn’t safe. It already wasn’t safe during the day, but at night it was so much worse. But this time… Oh, how he blamed himself. Maybe if you had walked to him, you would’ve escaped this mess.

He had shown up to see you waiting up the street, rather than at your door. Weird. 

He slowed his dad’s Clio to a careful idle which he held with his foot on the clutch and the other on the brake pedal. He stretched over the center console to pop open the door from the inside, as he usually did, but you beat him to it, opening it from the outside. Weirder.

You weren’t cheerful as you slunk into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut, sulking quietly in your seat. Weirder x2.

Suspicious of your behaviour, he clicked on the overhead lighting of the car… And the sight he got of your face filled him with a rage he didn’t know he could ever feel. The throbbing bruise on your temple: swollen, red and still hot to the bloody touch… And the way you looked at him, brows furrowed, watery eyes, nose dripping, lips set into a frown so tight that your chin scrunched up with wrinkles… 

It all had him seeing red.

“What happened?” He demanded, his voice hostile, but not toward you, but regarding whoever did that to you. You couldn’t answer. You broke into wails, fat tears streaming down your face.

And he didn’t need words to know. Your crying did all the talking.

It didn’t matter that you were fifteen. Every innocent kid who gets beaten beyond a simple spanking or belt whooping to the arse has the same reaction, regardless of age: They cry and scream. The pain is unlike any they’ve ever experienced before. It’s the mix of taking a punch to a tender temple/cheek that has never known violence, and of seeing your father’s face on the other side of the fist… That’s what does it.

Simon pulled up the handbrake with more aggression than he meant to, the car stuttered with his motion. He turned it off and threw open the driver’s side door, tossing his legs out and exiting the car.

“Riley!” He heard you call after him, your voice choked up, as he marched up the street to the brick-front house you live in. He could hear your hurried footsteps after him and you were able to grab his arm to stop him for a second.

He looked back at you with an unbridled level of very poorly-contained fury in his brown eyes. He softened a bit when he saw your crying face again, but then, his eyes were once more drawn to the now bruise that you sported on the left-side of your face. You now had a matching bruise to his… Something he never wanted you to ever know. And that only renewed his rage.

Simon grabbed you by the shoulders and made you sit on the side of the road. He hurried at shrugging off his parka and tossing it over your shoulders, his hands guiding your own arms into the warmth of the thick sleeves, and fixing the faux fur-lined hood to sit a bit more flush to your neck.

He wanted you warm. He wanted you warm and safe and healed. And right now you were only two our of three. And he couldn’t provide the third one. But he’d provide something better.

“Stay here.” He demanded, his voice freezing you onto the pavement where he sat you. You brought your knees to your chest, still sobbing in pain.

You looked back at him and watched as he made himself as big as he could, his shoulders squared as hard as they could be, and his chest puffed up, all while he was pounding a fist on your front door with one hand while the other pressed the doorbell repeatedly.

Even at 16, Simon was already much taller than most grown men in the area, and certainly taller than his drunk and druggie of a father. It’s no wonder the old bastard now thinks twice before raising his hand at Simon, not that that stops him from trying to throw his weight around with his wife and even Tommy. That’s why Simon still finds himself covered in bruises that never quite heal before he’s getting new ones.

When the door opens, your mother is on the other side, trying her best to cover her own face as well. Poor lady is just as battered as you, the testament of a night where her husband finally lost it. She has to look up at Simon, just like you do, his height imposing abover hers. Her face looking paled and afraid.

It’s not like she doesn’t know you have a “boyfriend”. She’s covered for you many times when you snuck out to be with him, has seen him drop you off late at night plenty of times, especially when she was worried about what you were up to… Long before she noticed that you were just being teens and never in any real danger. 

In fact, she knows Simon quite well. Even from before you became whatever it is you are now, he used to stand at your door, at 8 A.M. every weekend, waiting for you, so you could go out and ‘play’ around the neighborhood. She had waved you two off plenty of times with a reminder to be home for dinner.

But she’s never seen Simon quite this way before. Hell, neither have you. But the look in his eyes told her she should just stand aside and let it happen. And so, she did… simply using her head to wordlessly point out that her good-for-nothing husband was upstairs in the bedroom. The teen boy gave her a curt nod as he marched upstairs.

Your father was shorter than him and fat. He was also drunk. The moment he entered the bedroom, the old bum had struggled to even roll up from the bed where he was watching footie on an old box TV. He shouted at the unknown teen in his home… trying to be intimidating. But he couldn’t do shit against Simon’s rage, didn’t even stand a chance.

The violence he impinged on your sleazy father that night had come surprisingly easily to him. It was like an itch he finally got to scratch, releasing years of pent-up aggression onto a man that was an almost direct copy of his own father (minus the drug abuse). 

That was the first night the ‘Ghost’ ever came out. 

By the time Simon came back out the door, his knuckles were bruised to shit, and covered in blood, his left hand in so much pain that he knew he’d broken a couple fingers. He had taken one of your father’s cold, cheap beers from your fridge to use as an ice pack for you, your mum having told him she didn’t have any frozen ice in the freezer.

He sat by your side in the pavement, his hands holding your face and icing your bruise the best he could as he whispered reassuring words at you while you cried all you needed to. Then, his words turned from reassurance to promises. None of them empty.

“We’ll get out of here, lovie.” He promises you. “I’ll get us out of here.” He kept repeating while he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead with chapped lips while you sobbed against his chest.

“How…?” You asked him, your lip trembling as you resist falling into another sobbing session on his chest, your head craning up to look him in the eyes. “We’re both skint…” You choked out.

“I’ll find a way.” Simon said as he rubbed his busted hands through your hair, the best he could, trying not to wince and grunt at the pain in his broken fingers. “I’ll… I’ll join the military if I have to.”

“Simon…” You said in a hush, your eyes already welling up with tears. It felt bizarre to say his actual name, almost as bizarre as hearing him talk about enlisting.

“I’m serious, darlin’.” The blond lad tells you as he looks down at your eyes, his brow furrowed a bit as he once again takes in the size of your bruise. “The recruiters came to my secondary a month ago… I nabbed one of their sign-up sheets… Just in case.” He explains as he rubs your hair.

“It’s just… three months.” He assures you. “Basic Training is super quick and I’ll start getting paid from the start.” He says. He doesn’t seem excited, despite the fact he’s trying to convince you of how good it’ll be.

You’re not excited about the idea. What if he gets sent out to foreign land? What if he dies? What if…

“I’ll start to save up. I’ll send you money every month… And as soon as you graduate secondary next June, I’ll rent out a flat down in wherever I end up, really… and I’ll get you out of here… And you’ll come stay with me!” He assures you with the most confident in himself that you’ve ever heard him have.

“Simon…” You whine a bit as your eyes well up with more tears. The idea of living with him, just the two of you, away from all this, it sounds so nice… The peace you’d get.

“I’ll call all the time, I’ll write, I’ll come visit when I can, and I’ll pay for you to go visit too when you’re on school holiday.” He keeps promising.

“It’s going to be just you and me, lovie.” He assures you as he presses loving kisses to your mouth. “I’ll get you out. I’ll get you to safety.” He continues, his own eyes softening with tears. “Okay?” He asks you.

Your eyes are still watery and your bruise hurts, but you see the look in his eyes, and the promise of peace and quiet and a life of love and affection by his side makes the fire in your heart burn just a little bit brighter.

You wanted to tell him you love him. He wanted to say it too. But neither of you do. It’s not the time. Or maybe it’s the fear. 

So instead, you find yourself returning a sheepish “Okay.”

[← Previous] || [Next →] || [MY MASTERLIST]

[yorshie]

BLURB DAY BLURB DAY numero uno congrats on a new milestone yeeeeeehaw!!! and for the blurb [rubs hands together] how about some 14 and 21 with my forever boy, donnie. disgustingly soft. like. im gonna wanna nest on it soft. the Most tender. tytyty hugs you a lot

*accepts hug and spins you around* you are in fact numero uno! thank you for requesting on Blurb Day! I hope you are having a wonderful Friday!

*me writing this blurb* alright, just a cup of sweetness *upends the whole 25lbs container* yeah. that seems about right.

Somewhere in the Lair, you could hear Mikey singing while he baked, the smell of cinnamon and apples heavy in the air. The heaters in the Lair were on full blast, the hum of the industrial furnaces bringing a heated warmth into every room, the groan of the pipes buried underneath the extra noise, but nothing could drown out the heavy beat of Donatello's heart underneath your ear, as loud as a drum through the solid keratin you were curled up against.

His hand slid across your back in a lazy pattern, and you hummed into the hollow of his throat, knowing he had finally woken up from the nap you'd enticed him to take earlier in the morning.

"Time?" He rasped, jaw moving against your hair, and you felt his legs stretch where they were entwined with yours, quads quivering as he held the position for a long moment. He inhaled, chest swelling, and you shifted to get comfortable once more at the movement.

"Mike's still baking." You supplied in a whisper, arms tightening around him, not wanting him to think he could slip away just yet.

"Not dinner time, then." Donnie's arm tightened around you, holding you close as he jostled over just a smidge to read the numbers on his battered alarm clock. "Hm... maybe half an hour before we have to get ready."

You shivered as cold air snuck into the blankets around where his arm was raising the fabric, and he noticed, tunneling his arm back into the warmth and hiking the comforter closer around the pair of you.

He brushed his lips against your hair, beak pressing against your forehead, and you grinned, knowing what he was after. You let him press chaste flutters against the thin skin of your eyelids before giving into his silent request and tipped your head back for a proper kiss, his mouth lingering over yours.

"No one to catch us here." You pressed the words against his lower lip, referring to the time his brothers had caught the pair of you kissing in the kitchen.

"No one would have caught us then," Donnie whispered back, a smirk threatening the curl of his mouth. One hand slid up under the covers, framed your jaw so he could tip your head to the side in a better angle. "If someone hadn't loudly said 'just let me sneak one more, Dee, no one has-" his words cut off with a hmmpf when your arms wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him down to meet your lips, knowing he was about to go off course and not in the mood to remember who exactly said what when he was warm and solid against you, thigh curling up to nudge you higher to lessen the reach.

The tip of his tongue painted over your upper lip, slipped inside your mouth and barely touched the edge of your teeth before pulling back to repeat the motion. He only stopped when you were shivering once more, satisfaction in the crinkle of his eyes as he squinted down at you in the low light.

"I'll never get tired of this." He whispered, threading the hand pinned to the bed in between the strands of your hair. "I'll always love you, you know that, right?"

You smiled, pressed a kiss against his beak, hands petting over the ridge of his carapace at the feeling of his thumb rubbing against your scalp. "I know, Dee. I'll always love you, too."

He dipped to kiss you again, and neither of you heard Mikey's calls for dinner until Leo sent a text to both your phones.

[doug-meat]

more people need to talk about matt dahan and his genius underscoring in nightmare time. like to name off a few of my favourite moments (these might not all be 100% correct bc i have a bad memory but i appreciate matt dahan nonetheless)

in almost every episode there’s musical references to the opening/credit song - ex. we hear the hatchetfield ape man motif before we even hear the song the hatchetfield ape man. same with one thousand eyes and the web i spin for you i believe

similarly there are lots of character motifs - show stopping number often plays when hidgens is onscreen, and when he discusses working boys that motif plays

keywords are often met with motifs too - i can remember a couple ultimatums that were accompanied by the join us and die instrumental

in watcher world there are lots of not your seed references, and during really tender alice and bill moments matt tends to play the “why does it hurt to love you” bit

adore me plays a lot for linda during honey queen

one of my personal favourites - when we first meet roman in honey queen the nibbly ditty plays as underscoring. like come on that’s genius.

in abstinence camp when boy jerry is hiding mary and noah’s bodies matt plays a slowed down version of virginity rocks

in yellow jacket when hannah’s driving her go kart around the new apartment matt plays janes a car

if i remember correctly hannah gets what if tomorrow comes motif a lot in yellow jacket

same with lex she gets the black friday motif a lot

also in yellow jacket when otho’s about to take hannah over matt plays let it out

yellow jacket just generally gets a lot of tgwdlm underscoring references whenever otho’s on screen

there’s almost definitely more so if you can think of any SAY IT but. matt dahan is a musical genius with what he does with jeff blim’s motifs for underscoring and to think that at least during the first nmt episode he like totally improvised the backing music… ugh he’s so amazing