#and what i mean by that is like the way he reacted to things and that ending up playing up the joke

[thetadispatcher]

Strasky glanced at Rook then back to Peter, they were nearly the same person if not for a few minor differences. Strasky knew he couldn't do the same type of work Peter was, nor would he be comfortable with it, but he had a feeling that was just due to his personal experiences. "Sometimes it feels more like I attract troublesome things, but I can live with that." He felt nothing would ever live up to what he'd experienced on PATHOS-II, so he was fine with whatever mess he found himself in. "And there's nothing wrong with being friendly, that's the best way to meet very interesting people." Or in Peter's case it was androids mainly if the home's residents were anything to go by.

But neither Strasky nor Peter felt like speaking on the subject with each other as they both still found it odd and a little unsettling to think they were practically the same person. And Peter had made it clear to Strasky he wasn't ready to approach the subject with how quickly he'd brushed it off and found something to busy himself, something he recognized as a tactic to prevent any possible thoughts on the subject by means of a distraction that took most of his attention.

"Shouldn't be too hard to reformat them so they can operate on an android's brain. I'd just have to see the one first." Peter paused as he noticed Strasky react to what he'd said, something which he felt was a little concerning but he wasn't going to comment on it yet, not until he had more information.

"But I have worked on enough custom and limited release androids to say that building one from scratch wouldn't be an issue." He had managed to get his hands on the equipment necessary to build custom parts for androids, so thankfully he wouldn't have to rely on any outside help from any former Cyberlife employees for the parts.

Dan and Peter both turned to look at Nines when Willow mentioned the authorities, the RK900 glanced at them before his LED turned yellow and his eyes took on a far away look. The LED returned to a calm blue after a moment as he refocused on the two looking at him. "I have found no law that prohibits what is being requested. So the work would be perfectly legal." Nines responded to the unasked question, knowing that was the reason they'd turned to look at him.

"Even if it wasn't, it probably wouldn't be the worst illegal thing I've done." Peter giggled as he turned his attention back to Dan who gave him a knowing look. "Tricking a Cyberlife employee and buying an android at fourteen is probably way more illegal then sticking a digital brain into an android." He smiled at Dan as he hugged the PL600's head, the android gently patting his arm in response.

"He really means a lot... How come?" Strasky asked, he decided it was time he asked as the relationship between the two was clearly familial, but he couldn't figure out just what role Dan fit into in Peter's mind.

"Well, I may call the androids here my friends, I only call two my brothers. Dan is one of them, basically the older brother I didn't know I wanted." Peter answered happily, showing he really didn't have an issue with putting an android into such a special role as most humans would. "Sure, Dan's only four years old, but he's way more of an older brother then a younger one."

Strasky nodded, he knew there was more to the story of how and why Dan was acquired, he just wasn't sure if anyone else cared to know so he decided not to press further. But after all he had seen with the relationship between androids and humans, he was happy to see one where both felt like they were equals.

"Cyberlife has already done something kinda like what you're probably thinking anyways. GV200 looks exactly like Kamski's half brother Gavin, his entire existence was basically being made in the hopes of Gavin running into him and getting upset about it. Which never happened before the company that owned him had him junked, turns out Gavin doesn't travel by plane like Kamiski thought. But I fixed him up, with Kamski's help as the parts were custom and that was my first time dealing with that." Peter sneered at the mention of working with Kamski, Dan had a similar reaction which made it clear the man hadn't made a very good impression with them.

"Getting accused of being the one to make him was not fun... Thankfully, Gavin believed me when I told him who had actually done it so he's only gone off on me for it the one time. Guess I should've known something was up when Kamski showed up after I placed the parts order, but it's hard to tell what the face of an android with no skin looks like until you turn them on." Nines smirked a bit at Peter's mention of Gavin's behavior, showing he had some level of experience with it.

Well, it was good to know they were going to meet even more androids by just being in Peter's immediate vicinity. At least so far only one seemed fine attacking strangers on sight, even though Bishop wasn't too keen on trusting Nines' either after the poor state he showed up in.

And knowing there was another nearly identical more deranged android around they hadn't met yet didn't please Bishop either. So he stood back with his arms crossed, keeping an eye out in case somebody else felt like joining them.

"It's funny, isn't it? You meet a whole new guy, but it's still you!" Rook said while giving Strasky an encouraging pat on the shoulder, "It looks like you guys have a thing for getting in trouble. But it's clear you're good at making friends too."

"Rook is something of an expert on the topic. However, we have more pressing matters to tend to." Willow chimed in, "To answer your question, it will indeed be custom work, but fortunately time isn't a concern."

"Yeah. We just want to know if you can put a construct into an android so they won't be stuck being formless entities anymore." Rook said with a shrug, "Those guys could really use having bodies again."

"You would be paid accordingly, both for the work itself and for the risk of taking part in such a project." A possibly illegal one, though Willow simply glanced at Dan instead of mentioning it out loud, "And we'd be thankful if none of this was mentioned to the authorities, or to Cyberlife, lest they start having more ideas they would come to regret later on."

[sillyuin]

hi <3! was wondering if i can get svt reaction to yn being completely oblivious to them flirting with her? subtle things like while she’s just ranting about her day they’d move closer to her and she’d absentmindedly put her hand on their chest to push them away still running her mouth, just completely unaware of what’s happening. and even the most obvious things like compliments or physical touch, yn is blind to it and it’s so frustrating to them

so yeah, hope you see this! ❤️

Hi! I'm sorry for being so late 😭 i've been very busy with job and housework, but it's finally here.

Svt reacts: Flirting vs clueless s/o. Who will win?

Yuin's note: barely proofread. I'ts 1 am and I'm tired.

Seungcheol. Staring at your face.

I mean, he likes to just stare at you as if he's watching the prettiest person in the world, but when Seungcheol wants to be especially flirty, he stares at you fondly and smiling with the whole intention to make your heart skip a beat, he even glances at your lips, as if he were trying to say something. Most of the time that's enough to make you really, really shy but when is not... Geez, he has to breathe in and ends up pouting a little (Probably one or two pecks will make him feel better).

Jeonghan. Teasing.

Is like his default love language, making harmless jokes to see you flustered all over him is just so fun to watch. But, is he really just trying to be a teaser, or is there something else behind? "I took the chair, but you can sit on my lap" he said one day, sitting at your desktop, with the most mischievous smile possible. But you didn't fall for his charm and as you kept your annoyed face, he stood up and sighed "Okay, all yours". And you better be ready because he's not forgetting so easy, and will keep teasing you just a little (yeah, a little) more than usual.

Joshua. Back hugging.

When Joshua wants your attention only and only for him, he goes where you are to hug you from the back, resting his chin on your shoulders and crossing his arms around your waist. Oh, he loves it so much is so tender, but he gets lowkey hurt when you don't react in any way because, how come you don't realize his intentions? Is really doing the dishes way more important than his warm hugs? Now, this is personal and Joshua won’t let you go, take it as a punishment for being so clueless (reward or punishment?).

Jun. Tickles.

For him, tickles is the perfect excuse to be closer to you. It's so obvious that hurts lol. Most of the time you melt in his touch, and you both end up laughing and sharing some kisses, but sometimes you're minding your business, too busy to realize that Jun wants to get your attention. Better get ready because you'll have a pouty little cat going around the apartment, and will NOT forget your offense unless you give him extra cuddles before bed.

Hoshi. Random "facts".

At the least appropriate time, he would come to find you. "Did you know that there is a minimum number of kisses that a person should receive per day to be healthy?" he says with a very serious expression on his face. And there you are, standing in the middle of the living room while you're brushing your teeth; your soulless expression says all. Hoshi turns around and pretends nothing happened, but in his mind, he's sitting in the corner staring at the walls.

Wonwoo. Making compliments out of nowhere.

He likes to pour you with sweet words, like how much he appreciates your homemade food, or that you did it great at work. From time to time, he thinks is fun to be a little sassy and his praises are very, very intentional. “New gloss?” he says, grinning at you “It looks good” and for some frigging reason you just start talking about how you got it? Babe, Wonu doesn’t care that much that you bought it because your favorite gloss wasn’t on stock, but now he feels a little shy to speak and just lets you tell the whole story.

Woozi. Playing with your hair.

When it comes to be openly flirty, Woozi tends to be a little coy. You rarely notice it since it's very common for him to be around you, caressing your hair and playing with the strands in complete silence. So when you get distracted he places a strand behind your ear, exposing your neck. But when he's so close to place a kiss, you jump like a scared kitten. "No! It tickles!" Woozi looks down, defeated, as you move away. "Sorry, be right back" and he locks himself in his room for the next hour.

Minghao. Holding your hand.

He thinks your hands are more than just pretty. Hao likes to take one of them when you're sitting by his side, scrolling on your phone or watching TV. He's so subtle that most of the times you don't feel how he traces your hand with his fingers and when you realize, it’s because your hands are intertwined and he’s holding his laughter. “How low you’ve been like this?” but Minghao just giggles. You end up doing the same and then resume your activity, letting him laughing low in embarrassment and biting his lips as a sign of frustration.

Mingyu. Resting on your lap.

He's very straightforward when it comes to flirting with you. Mingyu likes to wait patiently for you to sit on the couch or the bed and then he goes, at first making some (pretty obvious) questions "What are you doing?" "Is that a new book?" and as you're talking, his hands rest on your thigh, gently stroking your skin with his thumb, but you're so immerse in the topic and he goes completely unnoticed... And before you even notice, there's a flustered Mingyu resting his head on your lap, tracing small circles on your thigh as if he had been punished.

Dokyeom. Taking photos.

He already has a folder with your name and an unhealthy number of photos; Seokmin just never gets tired, you're so used to it that most of the time don't realize that he's actually trying to hit on you. "Just let me take a picture, you look so beautiful today!" And after giving him an awkward smile, you're getting back to your stuff.  Seokmin is a bit disappointed but with a bunch of new photos of his precious person, so is not that bad (at least is what he says to himself trying to not lose his mind).

Seungkwan. Scolding.

I know, it may sound like a bit harsh but when he's scolding you, Seungkwan tries to make it as tender as possible, it doesn't feel like scolding and actually, he uses this as a cheap excuse to be extra lovely. "Don't sleep too late, you're getting dark circles" he says in a soft voice while caressing your checks "you're too pretty for that, don't you think?". He waits for you to take the bait and when you laugh on him, saying that he's being a little dramatic, Seungkwan doesn't hide his disappointment. "Okay, keep watching your series" he says getting up from the couch "but don't you dare to complain later!"

Vernon. Placing his arm on your shoulders.

A classic that never dies and his favorite, Vernon likes to do it all the time: when watching movies, chatting, watching videos together; is a like a very subtle invitation to get closer to him, and somehow, most of the time you’re just minding your business and leave him waiting for you to notice. And yeah, he’s very patient, but everything has a limit. "Come here, babe" then he places his hand on your shoulder and brings you closer to his chest. And don't you dare to move, because there's no way he let you go now.

Dino. Calling your name.

Usually, he calls you by pet names or your name in diminutive, reserving the use of your name for special occasions. However, it doesn't always end the way he expected. “Did I do something wrong?” you ask him just after he called you by your name, and when Chan sees your big doe eyes, his smile fades. “Is just that… I feel like you’re mad at me”. At this point his intentions doesn’t matter anymore, he just hugs you and tries not cry in his disappointment.

[skzthelomlhehe]

Okie sooo I'm like in the middle of tests and work and the progress to my upcoming oneshots have been slow so I thought, "why not make some headcanons?" (Frankly cuz I'm fucking bored of studying and working all the damned time)

Okie so for these little imagines, I was thinking

How your boyfriend!skz would react to you waiting for them in a sexy lingerie after they had a long day at work! [Ot8] {Pt. 1: Hyung Line}

MDNI // includes smut (think y'all can know by the title itself lmao), I'm not exactly sure what warnings to include, just know it's smutty (I'm very sorry I'm highly sleep deprived and running on my 7th coffee today my brain cannot function) // established relationships

Bang Chan

Ok so like- I just KNOW the man wouldn't even notice. He'd walk in to your shared apartment (idfk), his head hanging with like heavy sighs and he wouldn't even notice what you were wearing when he walks in. I feel like it wouldn't be AFTER he had his shoes off and walking slow, tired steps towards you and then he looks up and drops his jaw like the bag he had in his hand. He'd prolly stutter sumn like, "Y-Y/N...? What are you...?" And not even have the means to say anything else. He would just be standing there worshipping you, basking in your beauty and walk up to you, wrapping his arms around your bare waist nice and gentle and place soft wet kisses everywhere, once again, worshipping you. Feel like even if he's tired, he would savour you in the gentlest way possible and if he had a really bad day, maybe even cry in your arms a little and vent during aftercare (cuz we all know what a damned softie he is and we love him for that)

Lee Know

For him, I'd say he would just walk in STOMPING cuz he's PISSED (possibly at himself cuz he thinks he doesn't work hard enough or at something or the other that disrupted his usual flow) and he'd just flop on the couch calling out to you probably to cuddle. Maybe even get things heated iykyk and in this case, he'd definitely do the latter. When you walk in wearing that sexy lingerie, his eyes would be wide fixated on you. And seeing him down on the couch in his usual manspread would just get you DRIPPIN'. He would probably scoff at the sight in front of him and flick his fingers motioning you to come and pat on his thighs to get you to sit down and like his little kitten you are, you would obey without a word. He'd probably run his hands all through your body, placing wet kisses, maybe even leaving marks. I'd imagine him saying something like, "what a good kitty. How'd you know I would need just this, hm?" In this husky seductive tone (once again iykyk) and despite how tired he is, I'd think he would take his time eating you up cuz youre his favourite meal~

Changbin

Would he possibly be walking in looking like he could murder someone? Yes. Will he come home to find you like that and go fucking feral? Absolutely. Will he just absolutely wreck your brains out? DEFINITELY. Do I even have to say anything?? The man is a gentle beast. He's gonna care for you, he's gonna love you, prepare you with foreplay and the moment he gets permission and knows you're ready to take him, he'd go BEAST. And then once you're done, and you'd just be laying there huffing in his arms, he would loudly yap about his day and by the end of it, let you know how much he loves you and appreciates your efforts cuz you unintentionally just made him the happiest man alive.

Hyunjin

Another guy who would worship you, really. When he gets home tired and groggy to see you sitting like a beautiful sculpture who was sculpted with extra care, extra love and extra details, he would fold. Probably melt in your arms telling you how crazy gorgeous you looked and how he would take his time painting you with his cum and then later after making a mess out of you, he'd take his time engraving your image both on his canvas and in his mind. No matter how tired he was from the day full of work, once you guys were done with all that, he would sit down on his painting stool with his large canvas in front of him while you laid there mindlessly filled and covered with his fluids. He'd look at you like a work of art, a once in a lifetime masterpiece created JUST for him while he keeps repeating sweet nothings as he paints you.

[capquinn]

how would quinn react to reader doing that prank about when he says “goodbye/goodnight i love you” and you don’t say “i love you” back just to mess with him

omg this guy avoids tiktok like it’s the plague so there is no doubt in my mind that he has absolutely no idea about this trend so he’d be SO confused and wouldn’t know what to do with himself except pout and stay close until he gets to the bottom as to why you hadn’t said it back 😭

Quinn’s brow furrowed the second the words left his mouth and yours didn’t follow.

“See you soon. I love you,” he had said, as casually as ever, tossing his backpack over one shoulder, leaning in for his usual goodbye kiss.

But instead of the automatic, almost musical "love you too," that always followed, there was… nothing. Just you, standing there, watching him with the faintest glimmer of mischief in your eyes. At first, he paused, waiting like you’d simply forgotten. Maybe you were distracted. Maybe you didn’t hear him. He glanced back at the door, then at you again, the crease between his brows deepening.

“You good?” he asked, his voice light but tinged with the slightest bit of uncertainty, like he wasn’t entirely sure if this was normal or if he’d just entered a parallel universe where you suddenly forgot how this whole goodbye thing worked.

“Yeah,” you said breezily, smiling just enough to make him squint.

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.

He moved toward the door, opening it halfway before pausing again. And you could see it — really see it now — the way his mind was spinning, trying to figure out what he’d done, if he’d done anything, and why you weren’t playing along.

He half-turned, his hand on the doorknob, giving you one last expectant look.

“You, uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice quieter now. “You sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Yep.”

And that’s when the full force of Quinn’s what-the-hell-is-going-on face hit you. He didn’t look mad — not even close — but the confusion was written all over him. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again like he was about to ask a question but didn’t quite know how to phrase it. His hand fell from the door as he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You didn’t… You didn’t say it back,” he pointed out, almost cautiously, like maybe it wasn’t something you’d realised. “I said 'I love you.' You usually…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line as he waited for some kind of explanation, one that you weren’t giving because you were too busy pretending you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. You tilted your head, your expression perfectly blank except for the big, wide eyes you fixed on him.

“Do I not say it enough?” he asked, softer this time, like the words came with a little sting. “Is that what this is?”

And now you felt guilty because, of course, he’d think this was some kind of message, like you were trying to make a point instead of just pulling a dumb prank for no reason other than your own entertainment.

“Quinn,” you started, the smile breaking through despite yourself.

But he cut you off, shaking his head slightly, the tiniest bit of exasperation creeping in.

“Because, like… I mean it every time. You know that, right?”

And now you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laugh bubbled out, loud and sudden, and you reached for his hand, tugging him closer. “Oh my God, Quinn. I’m kidding. It’s a prank.”

His brow shot up. “A prank?”

“Yeah,” you said, still laughing as you slid your arms around his waist.

He huffed, but there was relief in it, his hands settling on your hips as he gave you a halfhearted glare.

“Not funny,” he muttered, though his lips were already twitching. “I was about to cancel my flight.”

“Sure you were,” you teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. He didn’t move, but you could feel the smallest twitch of a smile forming despite the way he was still obviously trying to stay mock-annoyed. “See? You’re too sweet. That’s why I had to mess with you.”

Quinn let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like he was already filing this away as one of the countless pranks he’d endure over a lifetime with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff but too soft to be anything but affectionate. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You couldn’t help it — you started laughing again, the sound spilling out as you tucked your face against his chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you,” you said through your laughter, your voice muffled.

His smile finally broke free, slow and warm and just so Quinn.

“I love you too,” he said, his tone soft now, steady, like those words were always going to be there no matter how much you tried to mess with him.

[tenebrius-excellium]

This is an incredibly uncomfortable post (because I love Toothless and want to keep loving him), albeit on a topic that we might finally need to have a conversation about.

Toothless is very sure of himself because he is naturally powerful. He knows he's the special one. He knows he's the king of dragons even before the sequels or the show, and he enjoys that humans fear him. He doesn't really defend other dragons or people except for Hiccup and the ones Hiccup specifically asks, pleads or commands him to. He only kinda ever reacts to things when it's Hiccup's life on the line or when something is important to Hiccup. He assumes power in an almost lax way, but not even because he feels much responsible for his fellow dragon or anything... he only steps up to a larger dragon or political dilemma, if Hiccup gets hurt when he doesn't do it.

As a predator animal, Toothless, on his own, mostly chills. Because he can. Nothing attacks him. He doesn't know what it feels like to fear being hunted, because usually, he is the hunter. But that in turn means that Toothless doesn't have a whole lot of natural compassion. He cannot really be bothered by other people's or dragons' issues, because he is not directly being affected himself.

I believe Toothless never encountered the meaning of true kindness until Hiccup shot him down and he was suddenly at the mercy of someone truly good. I believe Hiccup's goodness humbled Toothless to a degree, causing him to become fascinated with it, because in Toothless' world, there exists only the law of the stronger dragon. And he is the strongest.

So to meet Hiccup must have opened up a whole new worldview to Toothless the Night Fury, the proud Unholy Offspring of Lightning And Death Itself. For the first time, he realizes: "Oh, physically weak creatures require kindness to get along., and that works better than intimidation." It was only sudden physical weakness that caused Toothless to become a limitedly social creature, aware of something like right and wrong. He was always the abstract other, a lone wolf, equipped with incredible strength that alienated him from his peers because he couldn't fathom needing grace or help.

But Toothless then proceeds to cling to Hiccup as if Hiccup is the only thing preventing him from forgetting kindness again. Stoick, Astrid, Hookfang and the Skrill would all have bitter feuds with Toothless until death if it wasn't for Hiccup standing between them.

The not-so-pretty truth here seems to be: Toothless is a bully without Hiccup, because he's never had to think beyond himself without Hiccup, even AFTER their friendship blossomed. Toothless keeps struggling with looking after others and with caring about someone other than himself. He is only capable of tolerating those that Hiccup instructs him to. That's mere basic consideration for others.

But one thing Toothless knows: He needs Hiccup to keep him in check like that. He wants Hiccup in his life more than he wants to be the most powerful creature, because Hiccup is GOOD. And so he asks Hiccup to ride him again WITH the prosthetic fin in Gotnf, lest his regained independence will make him unkind and asocial again.

The missing tailfin is, unfortunate as it seems to be, the only thing which keeps Toothless, who perceives himself to be the deserved lion among dragons, kind. And he knows it and has the sense to admit that he is actually in constant need of this reminder.

Because Hiccup is the only one who ever overpowered him in an even battle, fair and square, Hiccup is his conscience.

I like to think the rest of Berk, kinda continue to be wary of Toothless. They like him, they know he’s not going to hurt them. But they also know the only reason for that is Hiccup. These people have grown up not even knowing what a nightfury looks like. All they know is that you do not engage one, you don’t try to kill it, you hide and you pray. They know that when that scream is heard, something is getting destroyed, every time. Because it does not miss. They know the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. And they know Toothless is capable of all of that. Toothless is that. So while they get used to the dragons being around, the nightfury is always going to be a little different. It always was.

But they’re all nice to Toothless. Because who could dislike him, and because he’s Hiccup’s dragon. And maybe a bit, because they really do not want to end up on the bad side of the nightfury. When he’s with Hiccup - which fortunately, he is most of the time - it’s alright. But no one want’s to be alone with the nightfury. He’s different then. He’s a bit colder. A bit more distant. They can tell they’re being tolerated. Even the rest of the riders, while Toothless does like them, have a healthy amount of…let’s just call it respect, for Toothless.

And Hiccup pretends he has no clue. If someone ever mentions how Toothless’ entire presence can change when Hiccup is gone, he’s just like ‘What? This little guy? Scary? Please.’ But he’s very much aware. He also knows that sometimes Toothless does it on purpose. And maybe, he doesn’t mind that. Maybe he kind of likes it. Maybe he likes for people to remember what kind of a being they’re dealing with and what he’s capable of.

[niceonejames7]

i love yous and what not

you tell james you love him for the first time

words: 940

genre: fluff

cw: kind of reserved!reader (?), james is an annoying sweetheart

a/n: didn't realise this is another confession blurb. ive been getting too many negative posts (fanwars and all) in my tl so i needed get my head clear. i need to start blocking people don't i.

.....

You were never a vocal person. To tell someone something vulnerable made you recoil into yourself. You liked seeing it through actions. James knew that. But James had always been an expressive person. He liked showing his love, and proclaiming it, and sharing it. Basically, any form of affection. 

Your reluctance had never stopped him. 

He had said ‘I love you’ a month into dating, you hadn't minded it. You already knew he did, and you felt the same. You had only kissed him later, but next morning, it was as if he could predict your words,

“You really don't have to say it. I know you have a hard time with these things. I know how you feel, it's hard not to know. I feel all fuzzy inside when you smile at me" He had grinned down at you as you hid, your face half under the blanket but he knew you were smiling. He could see it in your eyes, and who wouldn't know, he did feel all fuzzy inside. 

So you hadn't said it. At least not as a confession. 

James is terrible company. Terrible because he rubs off on you. You were never someone to wake early in the morning, you still aren't. But your body seems to wake itself to bid him goodbye in the morning, “I'm only going to the gym" He'd say as he kisses your forehead, your body going back to sleep again.

And you had peppered in ‘love you's in your texts, when bid him goodbye, in your notes, magnetic letters spelling out ‘LY’ under his growing collection of pictures etc. etc.

Today's different. He's still annoying with what feels like a weekly routine to cuddle you with cheesy romantic sentences, that you know he means -he knows they make you squeezy- but he says them anyway. 

“This isn't a joke my love, I really would let you stab me,” His arms squeezing your waist as you squirm in his lap, "I'd just be glad you'd be the one to do it." 

You try to be annoyed, but laugh as you make more futile attempts to escape. 

“I feel as if you were made for me. You know that one line," His eyes light up in excitement, your movements still as he concentrates, “I don't believe in God, but I truly believe God made you for me. It's from a book, I think."

“Oh my god, James," You chuckle, your hands pushing on his bicep, but you really only feel them flex under your fingers. 

“What do you want for lunch?" He asks, pressing one last kiss on your lips as he lifts you off of him and goes to get his phone.

“He really needs to stop doing that to me”, you mumble to yourself. 

The next morning, you had woken up as you usually did on the time James left the house. But today he was staying in, you knew this after he proclaimed he's gonna be too tired after last night's activities. You had laughed him off, but you guess he was telling the truth.

You laugh, because he is fast asleep and his lips a little puckered, nose cold to touch. You adjusted his blanket before pressing a kiss to his nose. Then another -then another, deciding those would be the only way you'd warm up the cold.

James was half- awake, he knew you were there, but he didn't dare wake up, his sleepy mind scared that it might be a dream and you'd stop.

Your fingers traced over his eyes, his forehead, his chin, mindless activities to spend time, to rid your mind of the pestering feeling.

It had been present since yesterday, or last week, maybe a month, maybe more. You wanted to say it, but every moment felt too casual, or too formal, or maybe too inappropriate, or too serious. You didn't know what to do. 

You didn't know how he'd react, if he'd resort to his teasing proclamations, or ignore it, or say it back. It was silly to worry about this, there's nothing to fear, it's James. 

You didn't know what made you say it, maybe because he was sleeping, or well- pretending to sleep, or it was the quiet, maybe something else. There was nothing all too romantic about this moment, but you had said it anyway,

“I love you." A quiet whisper, not hesitant or unsure, just nervous. Your pinky finger runs along his nose, it's quite warm now, his whole face is, “I hope you already know that."

He half opens his eyes, just to see a glimpse of your face, it's zeroed in on a curl of his, falling to the side of his face.

 James had known you liked him before you knew. Your love isn't something non- detectable. It was out there, for everyone to see. Unintentionally or not. He had no doubts. He has a million questions if you're saying it because you feel obligated, or pressured or anything else, but he's afraid he might ruin the moment. So for now, He only pulls you impossibly close, his whole body thrumming with excitement, he'd freak out about this later on. Right now he only wants you.

His arms wrap around you, and buries his face into your neck, his warm breath on yours, “I love you, too. So,”- a kiss, “So,”-another one, "much."

He nuzzles into you, and let him, of course you do, fingers brushing out his curls, he continues, “But I think you already knew that." 

[strwberri-milk]

Hello, can I request how the would the lads men react to a corn maze date?

Zayne is good at pattern recognition so he's able to use that to help the two of you. However, that doesn't mean the two of you are able to easily escape the maze. You two work through the maze systematically together, taking your time to find the solution together.

Xavier doesn't even bother looking at the maze. He just uses some of the corn as a reference point but spends most of his time looking up to use the stars and moon for directions. You don't have to navigate really since he's doing all the heavy lifting, simply following after him as you tease him for taking things too seriously.

Xavier doesn't even bother looking at the maze. He just uses some of the corn as a reference point but spends most of his time looking up to use the stars and moon for directions. You don't have to navigate really since he's doing all the heavy lifting, simply following after him as you tease him for taking things too seriously.

Rafayel isn't too interested in getting out right away. He kind of likes how it looks to just be stuck in the crowd of corn. If you want to actually complete the maze you're going to have to do it yourself. Once he gets bored of admiring the corn he casually completes the maze, leaving you a little confused but you suppose you're not surprised this is one of his many hidden talents.

Sylus wants to do the maze with you. He lets you lead the way, not making any comments or suggestions on where to go. He won't say anything unless you begin to show irritation or start to give up on the maze. Then he's just making slight suggestions, just enough for you to solve the maze without feeling like he's doing all the work. He'll congratulate you on a job well done, you not realising what he did until far later.

[38livesalone-has3cats]

Too Early-- Konig(cod) x reader SMUT

a/n: omg omg hi !!!! this is my first smut ever so pls be nice i'm doing my best !😭😭😭 pls send in requests i need ideas and whatnot(should i make a masterlist/what fandoms i'll write for ??)

summary: the morning after Konig comes home from deployment, you wake up in bed alone >:(

**reader is also in the military and has a working dog named percy ! he's mentioned like twice**

word count: 3.3k

tags/tw: smut, basically porn w very little plot, switch!konig + switch!reader, reader has fem body parts, oral(m and f receiving), face-sitting, 69, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, light choking, mating press

You wake with a frustrated huff.

The bed around you is empty and cold, no Konig(your lovely fiancée), and no Percy(your perfect four-legged partner). You sit up and rub your eyes with a loud yawn.

You can hear your dog's nails on the tile as he sprints towards the bedroom. You let out a sleepy chuckle as you watch him launch himself onto the bed and climb up onto you. “Oh- god-” You laugh, petting and roughhousing with the dog for a bit. After that, you get up and pull on some shorts before stretching and letting Percy lead you to the kitchen- where Konig is standing and making some breakfast. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps and turns down the music he had playing.

“Ah, guten morgen, mein shatz.” He offers you a small smile.

“Good morning.” You huff, wrapping your arms around his waist and shoving your face into his back. Konig doesn’t react, continuing to use the stove. “What is the matter?” He asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You always wake up so early.” You complain, no real malice behind it. He simply chuckles. “Are you hungry?” He offers as he turns off the stove. “What’d you make?” You let him go and hop up on the counter. “Just some eggs and bacon.” He shrugs. He puts everything on a big plate before setting it down and turning back to you. “You hungry?” He repeats, putting his hands on either side of you on the counter.

“Not yet,” You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I jus’ woke up, unlike someone.” You tease, bumping your nose against his. Konig lets out a huff and brings his hands up to your lower back, where his fingers flex and trace shapes into your shirt(his shirt). “Maybe next time I’ll wake you up instead of sneaking out of bed to make you breakfast like a good verlobten.” He pouts, his breaths mingling with yours as he speaks. “Nooo-” You try to shake your head but he presses his lips firmly to yours, effectively shutting you up.

You make a noise against his lips as one of his hands cups the back of your head, the other gripping at your hip. You let out a breathy laugh when he pulls back for air, “I love you.” You sigh, tangling your fingers through his long hair, pulling out the little hair tie to release his auburn locks.

“I love you,” He parrots, letting his head fall down to your shoulder, “I missed you.” He noses along your neck and you laugh again, bringing your hands to his chest to push him away. “Konig! That tickles.” You continue to laugh as he lifts his head up, a big grin on his face.

“I am just having my fun, liebling.” He says, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Mmm, you’re having too much fun- it’s too early.” You manage to get out between kisses. “No such thing.” He says before moving his head down to mouth at your jaw and neck. “I’m barely even awake.” You murmur, your hands now gripping his shoulders. One of his hands suddenly reaches between your thighs and rubs his fingers along your clothed core, making you jump away from the sudden intrusion. “You feel awake to me.” He says simply, a smug look on his face.

“Konig.” You mean to say it in a chastising way but it comes out more as a whine. “Yes?” He mumbles, shoving his face in your chest, nosing the valley of your breasts over your shirt. His fingers press harder against you and you shift your hips forward slightly, your mouth dropping open.

He starts tracing slow circles over your clothed clit and you grab the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his long hair. “I want to taste you.” His voice is low, needy.

“Please.” You let one of your hands tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. That’s all he needs; he makes a pleased sound and pulls back just to pull your shorts and underwear down your legs. You lift your hips slightly to make it easier and he drops to his knees, letting the clothing fall to the floor.

Suddenly, Percy is headbutting Konig and trying to play- sending the 6 '10 man stumbling onto his ass. You let out a laugh as Konig regains his balance, “Lauf.” You instruct the dog through your giggles and he runs out the doggie-door to the backyard.

Konig lets out a huff, ignoring the ruined tension in the room; he grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder before pulling you to the edge of the counter. “Hey- easy-” You grip onto the counter to prevent yourself from slipping off. “I am getting impatient.” He says, a pout on his face as he presses kisses on your inner knee.

“I can see that- oh, f-fuck-” You barely get the sentence out before Konig is shoving his face between your legs. Your body jolts away from him on instinct, but he keeps his firm hold on your thighs, keeping you close so he can lap at your clit. Konig grumbles as you close your thighs around his head; he simply turns to nip at the soft flesh there and you yank them apart. He quickly latches back onto his target and you let out a high-pitched whine, digging your heel into his back to push him closer. “Konig- holy shit!” You cry out, letting your head fall back and exposing your neck.

Konig takes the opportunity of you looking away to shove a finger inside your hole. You gasp, straightening up and reaching down to grip his hair with one hand. He curls his finger once, twice, then inserts two more- all while his tongue continues its work on your bundle of nerves. 

It’s all becoming too much, and you pant wildly while your heels continue to press into Konig’s back- needing more, more, more. Konig lets out a chuckle against you and you groan, “Come on, Konig, please-!” He knows what he’s doing, the asshole. Finally, he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, massaging your g-spot as he does. You let out a loud, high-pitched whine and he doubles down on your clit, sending you quickly tumbling over the edge.

Your fingers pull and yank at his hair while your thighs tremble around his head as you ride out the waves, slowly coming down as his lapping subsides. He breaks away, looking up at you with a goofy grin, the bottom half of his face shiny with your juices. “I swear, you taste even better than I remember.” He says excitedly, practically giggling.

You laugh along with him breathlessly, pushing on his shoulders as he climbs up and tries to kiss you. “S-stop! You’re all gross!” You laugh, your shaky arms unable to hold him back as he rubs his cheek against yours. You let out a loud yelp, groaning at the wet feeling on your face. “You’re so gross!” You pout, wiping your face with the t-shirt you're wearing.

“I think we have gotten much more “gross” before, have we not?” Konig raises an eyebrow, a goofy smirk on his face; his accent and what he’s implying sends another rush of arousal straight between your legs. You cringe at his words as he scoops you up, his hands under your thighs- your bare core brushing against the front of his sweatpants.

“Would you like to continue this here on the counter or in our bed?” He asks, but he’s already walking towards your shared room. “You’re not really giving me a choice.” You huff, letting out a laugh as he tosses you onto the bed. “I like it here more.” Konig shrugs simply, reaching to pull his shirt over his head as you scoot toward the edge of the bed, grabbing at his waistband.

Konig runs his large hand through your hair as you pull his sweats and boxers down in one go, exposing his long, hard length to your eager eyes. 

Konig takes a deep breath in as you pump his cock a few times, watching precum start to leak from his pretty red tip. “Scheiße.” He mutters, tugging on the roots of your hair. You grin up at him before taking him in your mouth.

You focus on the head for a few moments, swirling your tongue around and then suddenly taking him deeper. He hits the back of your throat and your nose hits the patch of hair that rests above the base of his cock. Konig makes a strangled noise, his head falling back as he groans. “H-ah, you are feeling- you feel so good, engel.” He pants, starting to match the bobbing of your head with small, careful thrusts of his hips.

He knows how big he is-he isn’t stupid- so he knows to be more careful during oral- no matter how often you whine and tell him it’s okay. 

Konig’s grip on your hair tightens and his panting turns to whines and whimpers. “Ah, gott, you must stop. Ah- I am going to come, bitte- I cannot take it-” He’s frantically begging, his cock twitching with the effort to keep himself from cumming.

You pull off his cock for a moment, looking up at him with a smug smile- Konig whines, but he’s relieved. “Thank you, danke, liebling.” He pants, taking a moment to wipe the drool from your chin with his thumb. “I wanted to taste you.” You pout, and he chuckles, tilting your chin up as he leans down.

You meet him halfway, rising off your hands as his mouth meets yours. You groan into his mouth as his tongue forces its way into your eager one, you reach up to grab onto his pecs- groping and tweaking at his nipples. He chuckles against your mouth, sending a fresh wave of arousal down between your legs.

“You are so needy today, shatz. What do I do with you?” He murmurs as you playfully nip at his bottom lip. “I think you should lay down and let me have some fun.” You suggest, letting your mouth continue to travel down his jaw and neck.

The air in the room shifts. “Should I?” Konig hums- testing the waters. His fingers tighten around your waist significantly as you dig your teeth into his neck. 

“Go on.” You murmur, pressing a smooch over the bite to soothe it. Konig makes a small noise of content, nodding as he moves away from you to lay down comfortably on his back. “You comfy?” You ask, your hands finding their way to his thighs where they squeeze and grope at the taut muscles there. “Mhm, yes schatz.” He agrees quickly, moving to sit up on his elbows so he can watch you.

You open your mouth, letting a glob of spit fall onto the head of his cock. Konig inhales sharply, and you watch his cock twitch with a playful grin on your face. “Keep your hands at your sides and don’t move or I’ll stop, okay?” You look up to meet his eyes and he nods, “Ja, yes- okay.” He moves his arms to his sides and lays flat on his back. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and squeeze it a few times to watch how his body reacts. His abs tremble slightly as he grows more desperate. 

You pull your hand away from his cock and watch as he closes his eyes and takes in a deep inhale. “Be good for me, alright?” You hum, crawling up the bed so you can swing your leg over his face so you're straddling him.

“Scheiße, can I hold you, engel?” Konig asks quickly, his breath fanning against your core. The feeling makes you clench around nothing, and you decide to be nice to him. “Alright, fine.” You agree, and his hands immediately shoot up to grip your thighs. They swiftly start to slide up and grope any part of your body he can reach as he waits for you to take a seat.

You intertwine your fingers with his, stopping his hands from moving any further; “Keep ‘em here or they’re going by your sides.” You put his hands on the tops of your thighs, where he experimentally squeezes a few times. “Yes, schatz.” He murmurs.

“You know the rules.” You hum, lowering yourself onto his face before he can mumble a response. He gets right to work, lapping at your pussy eagerly. 

Konig must not be in the mood to be punished today, because he does exactly as you ask of him- his hands don’t move from their spot, his hips stay glued to the bed, and he doesn’t tease. He steadily works you to your climax, his tongue fucking into your hole as he tilts his chin up to press it against your clit.

The friction of his stubble and the feeling of his tongue has your thighs trembling and you press your hips down harder against his face. 

You unabashedly moan as you continue to grind onto his face, his tongue making little shapes over your puffy clit. “So good- you’re so good, Konig.” You whine, leaning forward to grab at his hard member. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, making him cry out against your core.

You bob your head quickly up and down his cock, trying to make him come as quickly as possible. “Fuck- fuck, schatz.” Konig’s deep voice is muffled by your core as he starts to unravel. 

You grip onto his thighs, massaging and lightly scratching at them as you hollow your cheeks. Tears fill your eyes at the stimulation on your clit and the fullness of your throat. You pull off of him for a moment to catch your breath, stroking his cock with your hand as you pant; “I’m close, you wanna cum with me? Hmm?” You ask, keeping up your brutal pace with your hand.

He mumbles something you can’t quite make out, but you can feel him nodding against you, and he continues to eat you out with a newfound fervor. You figure that’s good enough of an answer, so you take him back into your mouth with a groan- making quick work to bring him to the edge again.

You don’t even have time to warn him before you're cumming hard against his face. You barely notice the way your juices drip down his face onto his neck and the sheets below him because his warm seed shoots down your throat. You choke for a moment before you swallow, pulling off of Konigs cock to cough and catch your breath.

Konig pays no mind to you or the fact that he just came, he licks up any juices on your thighs and cleans up your pussy until you're whining at the overstimulation. When you've had enough, you clamber off of him, letting yourself lay on your back as you come down from the high.

Konig sits up to look down at you, a dopey grin on his face. “Thank you, mein schatz.” He murmurs, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss quickly becomes more heated.

“I love you.” You manage to get out between the rough prodding of his tongue. “I love you.” He pants, his eyebrows furrowing as he nips and sucks on your jaw.

“Can I take you? Please, liebling.” He whines against your skin and you trail your fingers through his long hair. “Please.” You nod eagerly, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his hips against your own. He wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance; immediately shoving himself completely inside with a relieved sigh. You moan out, digging your nails into the muscles of his shoulders as you recover from the sudden intrusion.

“Konig.” You grumble in warning and he quickly drops his head into the crook of your neck, letting you adjust to his size. “Sorry- sorry, engel. You just feel so good. So good, mein engel.” He rambles, mouthing at your neck as he waits for the okay to continue. 

 He holds himself up on his elbows, his fingers playing at the skin of your sides that he can reach. You run your fingers up and down his shoulder blades as you make him wait a little longer. You clench around him a few times, making him whine loudly in your ear, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

“Please, liebling- let me make you feel good.” He begs, running his teeth along the side of your neck, where he bites softly every so often. 

“Okay, go ahead, Ko- fuck-!” You can’t get the words out before he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace, keeping his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

You cry out, one of your hands grabs at his hair while the other grips his bicep for dear life. “A-ah, schatz, you feel so gut. Y-you- du gehörst zu mir.” He continues to ramble as he desperately rams his cock into you. “Konig, please-” You whine, pulling his face to yours to press your lips to his.

The kiss quickly devolves and Konig pulls back so he can grab your leg at the back of your knee, pressing it to your chest so he can press deeper inside you. You throw your head back and moan; Konig is quick to wrap his free hand around your exposed throat. 

He squeezes lightly a few times, the sensation sending a rush of fresh arousal between your legs. “G-god, you’re so good for me, Konig. Always make me feel so good.” You sigh, brushing some of his stray hairs from his sweaty forehead.

Your words seem to send a burst of energy through him; he pulls your ankles up onto his shoulders and puts his hands on either side of your head to pound into you harder. The sound of skin slapping is quickly covered by the sound of your combined moans as you two barrel towards your climaxes. “I only want to be g-good for you- verdammt.” Konig whimpers against your skin as he drops his head against you- focusing solely on slamming his hips into yours.

“Please, let me cum, engel. Ich brauche es- I’ve been good.” He continues, one of his hands slipping between your bodies to messily rub your puffy clit.

You can barely think- let alone speak- so Konig continues begging and whining against your skin as you get closer and closer to your release.

You realize he’s waiting for you to answer him so you try to hold back your orgasm to reply to him; “I- shit, Konig-! Yes, yes, yes- cum for me, please. I’m so close.” You babble incoherently, grabbing his wrist to keep him rubbing at your needy clit. “F-fuck-!” Konig cries out loudly, your words sending him tumbling into his climax. The warmth of his cum, his steady thrusts, and his harsh fingers on your bundle of nerves send you right over the edge after him.

Konig works the both of you through your orgasms before collapsing next to you with a small smile on his face. 

“I love you, mein liebling.” He murmurs, pressing kisses to your cheek as he patiently waits for you to come down from your high. “I love you, Konig. Thank you, baby. You did so well.” You murmur, brushing some of his hair behind his ear. He seems to grow brighter at that, his smile widening as he leans forward to nip at your bottom lip. “You wanna go get me a rag so I can clean up?” You hum, pressing your lips against his a few times before he can answer. 

“You think I am done with you, schatz?” The wild look in his eyes and that stupid grin have a familiar burn growing deep in your belly.

--

ITS FINALLY DONE !!!

holy shit this has taken me literal months to write i'm so sorry😭😭 as i mentioned before this is my first smut so it was so awkward for me LMAO hopefully it'll get easier in the future

thank you for reading !!!! <3

[xoxochb]

okay okay hold on hear me out- guitarist percy :0 like.... sitting on his lap while he tunes/fixes his guitar (his hands AHHHHHHH-) and it turns into y'all doing things idk go wild also if ur taking emoji anons can I be 🪐 or 🐾 anon? ty lovely! :D

you can be whichever emoji, I don’t have either of them yet :)

cw: fingering, overstimulation-ish, thigh riding, swearing, percy is mean and teases reader, n this might be the longest smut fic I’ve ever written tbh…

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you’re pretty sure he’s aware of what he’s doing to you. it’s utterly tantalizing watching percy tune his guitar so deliberately with his calloused fingers, at the mere thought you feel a rush of pooling heat in your core. your arms tighten around his shoulders at this— yet he does nothing to stop his movements with the stupid guitar. It makes you jealous that an inanimate object is receiving more attention than you are, and that he’s handling it with care. you grow father frustrated.

though you don’t say anything in hopes he’ll realize himself. but you’re pretty sure he’s far to oblivious to notice that you’re internally fighting your hormone demons. you shift your position on his lap so one of his thighs rests between your legs, the sudden patting of your own thighs having you realize the wetness of your poor panties. percy adjusts his arm around your waist with your new position, still keeping you close to him while his eyes never leave the instrument.

slowly, you begin to grind your hips, barely, but just enough for you to feel even a tad bit of friction. with your sudden movements, percy at last looks up to you.

“you alright, sweet girl?”

you nod. “‘m fine. continue.”

he knows that’s a lie. for first, your cheeks flush a pink hue and he can feel the progressive ragged rate of your breathing growing faster with every thrust of your hips along his thigh. you watch as his fingers still toy around with the guitar, having your hips move at a faster pace the more you look. you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your lips at this point. it’s growing unbearable for you to handle.

“perce… can- will you-”

what you’re trying to say is beyond your capacity of understanding at the moment. the words quickly diminish off your tongue as soon as they come out. percy understands what you’re trying to get at, however, laughing and tossing (placing— whatever) his guitar to the side, placing both of his hands now on your waist as you continue grinding along him.

teasingly, he begins pecking along your neck, only adding onto the heat between your thighs. bitch. and you’re sure he’s aware of what he’s doing to you because at this point your intentions are entirely obvious and blatant. you manage to ask him once again to do something. he obliges to your advances and tugs down the zipper of your denim shorts, yet this isn’t enough, you plead for him to hurry his pace.

when he eventually manages to slip your shorts off, his hand instantly finds itself running along your clothed clit— and not to his surprise your lacy panties are drenched.

“gods, you’re soaked.”

“no fucking shit. I wonder why.”

percy laughs again at your clear frustration with him, kissing your jaw now. at a second slow rate he slides those off now too, shoving them into his pocket. you shudder at this. his finger trails from your waist, your hip, and down to your inner thigh, tormenting you with a light brush over your clit.

“percy… please.”

“have patience, sweet girl.”

you dig your nails into his skin in retaliation. he doesn’t react and goes on with his movements. absentmindedly, you whisper quiet begs into his ear until he gives into you and plugs a singular finger into you. you moan from pure pleasure, dipping your head onto his shoulder. your brain grows fuzzy like television static— you practically hear it too.

“perce- fuck- I…”

you’re not entirely sure what you were trying to say. but regardless of this, percy plugs a second finger into you, curling them in a way that makes your tummy twist into knots. you clench around his fingers and in return feel his smile against the skin of your neck. you grind into them as they reach a deeper portion of your insides, trying to reach your climax as you feel it creeping upon you. and percy doesn’t stop for a second, it makes your whole body burn with the sensation of utter pleasure.

your legs nearly give out from the trouble of holding yourself up with them. you’re sure they’ll hurt tomorrow. and not only are your legs a problem, you can’t fucking breathe, concentrate, function properly, do anything in fact, if you’re being completely honest. not until, mocking the trolly problem, like they conductor— in this case percy— had chose to hit you instead of five other people, your orgasm hits you.

you fist a handful of his shirt sleeves into your palms as you ride out the feeling— trying to prolong it as long as you possibly can before his fingers leave you (wanting more, ultimately). panting, you lift your head up to see percy who licks his fingers clean, you let out a quiet moan at the mere idea of that. his hands return, now, back around your waist to steady you as you come down from your high.

“doin’ alright, sweet girl?”

actually, no, you’re entirely wrecked. but it’s better to know that he chose to finger you instead of the damn guitar.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

You are my absolute favorite Elvis writer. I have a request...😏🙏🏻. Could you doooo smut with either 1964 E ike Frankie and Johnny ...or bde.. I'm torn between the two. Can you doooo like the reader gets really mad at Elvis for some reason and she tries to dominate him but he puts her in her place?

Hot 'n' Cold

A/N: Thank you so much anon, that's so sweet! I went for 1964 E as I feel he doesn't get quite so much love on here. This turned out a little... mean? Perhaps the closest to a yandere Elvis I have ever written (but still not that close!)

Pairing: 1964!Elvis x reader

Word count: 1.6K

TWs: Slapping (reader slaps E), infidelity, rough sex, possessive kink, breeding kink, reader cries, mood swings, p in v sex.

“Don’t be silly, baby. I have to kiss her. It’s in the script.”

Elvis has just returned from filming Viva Las Vegas and he’s already a little frustrated with your lack of enthusiastic welcome home. He knew you’d be annoyed with all the stories in the papers, but he wasn’t expecting to be ambushed with questions the minute he walked through the door. He’s trying to play it cool though, hands thrust in his pockets, a neutral expression on his face. 

You draw yourself up to your full height (all five foot two of it) and shake your head determinedly. 

“It’s not just kissing, El, and you know it.”

“Baby. Come on,” he wheedles, closing the distance between you and putting his hand on your cheek. This sort of thing usually does the trick when you’ve heard something about some other woman.

You push him away, angrily. “No. You can’t charm your way out of this one, Mr Presley.” 

He sighs loudly, letting his hand fall back down next to his hip. “Whaddya want from me, then?”

He’s basically pouting at you now, and you don’t think that’s fair. He doesn’t get to pout, when he’s the one who’s been fooling around. You’ve seen the papers, you know the story, but this time it seems more serious than usual. What do you want from him? Marriage, commitment, babies… the whole fairytale. But right now? Right now you want to get even. 

“I want you to learn your lesson.”

Elvis cocks an eyebrow. “What lesson, honey?” You’ve never spoken to him like this before and he’s not sure he likes it. 

You huff now. “That you can’t mess around with other girls, El.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve told you, I’m not messing…”

You stare at him, angrily, trying to think of the sorts of things he usually says to you and how you can turn them back on him. But you’re too worked up, so you can’t think of anything other than slapping him across the face. 

“Ow!” 

He stares back at you in complete disbelief, his hand moving to rub his stinging cheek. You’ve definitely never done that before and he’s sure he doesn’t like it. 

“You deserved that!”

You kind of enjoyed slapping him, the rush of adrenalin through your body and the look on his face afterwards… In fact you enjoyed it so much you’re about to do it again, but he anticipates it, grabbing your wrist roughly. 

“Uh-uh, no you don’t.”

You try to wriggle out of his grasp but it just gets firmer and he catches your other hand now too, since it’s flying around dangerously close to his face in a way he doesn’t care for at all.

“Elvis!” You just about shriek, as he spins you around and walks you backwards until you collide with the wall. 

“Shush.”

He’s never known you to be like this, but then he’s never had a relationship go quite so public. He certainly didn’t want it all over the papers, it was embarrassing for God’s sake and he’d told Ann as much. But you can’t slap him. Whatever he might’ve done. 

He stands, pressing you against the wall with his body, holding your hands out to either side of your head for just a moment. Your head swims, wondering what he’s going to do next, your body reacting embarrassingly quickly to him being so close and so dominant. You’re supposed to be pissed with him but your panties are already soaked. His lips collide with yours in a bruising kiss and you can’t help yourself, moaning into his mouth. His hand is under your dress and pulling down your panties and then you hear him undoing his belt. He grabs your leg and forces it up as high as it will go (which is pretty high, you used to be a gymnast), stopping kissing you to watch your reaction as he thrusts inside you in one quick movement. Your eyes roll back in your head and you groan. 

“Whose pussy is this?” He growls, lips and teeth finding the skin below your ear.

“Y-yours, El…” you moan. 

He’s let your wrists go since you’re impaled on his dick now, trapped between him and the wall, and your fingers find the hair on the back of his head and knit themselves into it. 

“Good.”

He starts to move, short little thrusts, trying to drive himself somehow even deeper inside you. You whimper, fingertips pressing into his scalp, feeling almost uncomfortably full. 

“I decide when I want it,” he continues, his voice low and dangerous. “You make sure it’s always ready for me. Y’hear?”

His eyes are staring into yours now and it’s all you can do to nod and tell him yes. He starts to thrust a little more now, drawing out slowly and then slamming back into you full force. Your body rocks and you cry out. 

“No tellin’ me who I can see and who I can’t.”

You look down at him through tear-filled eyes as he keeps up the torturous rhythm. 

“I’m Elvis Fucking Presley and I’ll fuck whoever I want.”

You’re still whimpering, so he stops moving, grabbing your cheeks with one hand and squeezing them, forcing you to look at him. A tear runs down your face. 

“Did you fucking hear me?”

“Y-yes. Yes. I’m sorry. I sh-shouldn’t expect you to j-just want one girl.”

He lets go of your face, suddenly seeing the tears there and gently wiping them away with his thumb. 

“Good girl,” he says, softly, picking up a much gentler pace now. “Takin’ me so well.”

You try to steady your breathing but you feel all over the place, he’s being so gentle now it makes you want to cry more, somehow. 

“I love this pussy, baby,” he murmurs, sensually. “It’s so good to me.”

You still can’t speak so you just sniff in response. He starts to kiss your neck, rolling his hips into you in a way he knows is guaranteed to make you cum. Your sniffs turn to soft moans. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Mmmm. Yes.” You bite your lip, trying to control the tears. His mood swings can be so difficult to deal with.

You can feel the edges of your orgasm as he keeps rolling into you, his heavy breath hot on your ear, little moans falling from his lips as he feels your walls start to flutter in anticipation. 

“C’mon baby. You can do it.”

The words of encouragement push you over the edge and you squeeze him, your orgasm ripping through your body and making you moan. He moans too, feeling you and hearing you, and he knows it won’t take much for him now either. He starts to pick up the pace, quick thrusts that slam your body into the wall repeatedly. 

“You want me to make ya a mama?” He pants. 

Your eyes go wide like saucers and you nod quickly. “Yes, y-yes please.”

“I’m gonna fill ya up… make ya mine…”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. He’s never spoken to you like this, he always pulls out and cums somewhere else, so worried about accidentally getting you pregnant, so sure about it not being the right time for a baby yet.

“Please… please El…” you can’t believe you’re begging him right now, when you’ve already cum, but you want a baby so much. 

“Can’t wait ta see ya growing that baby inside ya…” he continues, thrusting even faster. “Knowing yer gonna be mine forever…”

“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.” It’s like his words alone are pushing you to another orgasm. 

“That what you want?”

“More than anything, El.”

There’s a wicked glint in his eye as he pushes your leg somehow even higher and hits somewhere deep inside you. You cry out in ecstasy and another orgasm hits you, almost as strong as the first, and you find yourself hanging on to him desperately as your legs turn to jelly and he pounds you through it. 

“Fuck!” 

He cries out, shooting his release into you, your walls squeezing it out of him for what seems like minutes. When he’s finally done he staggers backwards and pulls you with him. 

“Lie down on your back and put your feet up in the air.”

You stumble over to the bed and do as you’re told, your brain foggy and confused and unable to fathom why you’re doing what you’re doing. Eventually you ask.

“What’s this for, El?”

He’s lying next to you, holding your hand kind of sweetly. 

“It’s the best thing to do to make it take.”

You look at him, baffled. 

“To make a baby, honey.”

Your eyes go wide again. “You meant it?”

“Of course I meant it, honey. Imagine a little Presley runnin’ around the place. Can’t think of anything better.”

“So… you… are we gonna get married?” 

He nods. “When the time is right. You’ll see. For now you just concentrate on eating right and growing that little baby inside you. And if this one doesn’t take, there’s plenty more chances to practice…”

You smile and let him kiss you, enjoying the feeling of his lips against yours, but you can’t help wondering when exactly the time will be right. As you curl up in bed with him later that night, and he rubs your belly and tells you he can’t wait for it to be full, you wonder if this will mean he’ll stop wanting to be with other girls. Surely if you’re married and you give him the baby you both want so much, he’ll be happy? And surely you will too?

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas

[rey-jake-therapist]

One of the many things I love about Galadriel is how she acts defensively whenever she's caught in fault, instead of instantly recognizing that she did something wrong and apologizing, like a "good girl" usually would.

Example one : in season 1, Halbrand was pissed because Galadriel promised Miriel that he would lead Numenor's army as the king of the Southlands, and rightfully so : he repeated several times that he wasn't the hero she sought, told her he had found the pouch on a dead man when she claimed he was that lost king, begged her to leave him be, and yet here she was, talking on his behalf ! I know some of you believe that Sauron was doing an act here and was actually delighted because it was what he wanted, but that's besides the point.

At this point, Galadriel believed Halbrand was only a human. She believed that, and yet acted behind his back and threw him under the bus because she wanted that war, while she knew he wanted no part in it.

But what did she do when he called her out ?

Lol here she was, pretending that "handing her over for a guild crest" was as serious as promising his participation in a war. I mean, at worst Galadriel would have spent a couple of days in jail for her intrusion in the king's room, while Halbrand could have been killed in the Southlands. She got him in a corner and put him in a very unpleasant position regarding Miriel. And more important even : she didn't respect his wish to be left out of it, whlile he was clearly traumatized by what he had lived there and aspired to peace.

But Galadriel was too proud at this moment to admit that she was wrong, so instead of apologizing, she attacked.

I know she apologized later at the forge, but was it even sincere, or was it just a way to coaxe him, because she needed him to take the king's mantle for Numenor to send ships to the Southlands ? I have my idea ;)

The second time was after she admitted that Halbrand was Sauron, when Elrond, outraged by the fact that she hadn't disclosed this information to him and Celebrimbor before the rings were forged, called her out for being blinded by her pride, thus denying that she had been "deceived" by Sauron.

What was Galadriel's reaction ? Yes, here again, instead of making a low profile, she struck back.

She basically said, "it's your fault we didn't get the Mithril, if we had had the Mithril we wouldn't have had to forge the rings, and Sauron wouldn't have touched the forge !"

I love it because it's perfectly in character of her to react that way. Because Galadriel IS proud, she will rather adopt a defensive behavior when she's caught being wrong, than admit she screwed up.

By the way, unrelated but did you notice she tears up when she says that ? My poor baby.... Sauron I'm under your bed.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

The only way i could see Canon Katara interested on Zuko is if he somehow did his Heel Turn long before the start of the show and has become a freedom fighter akin to Jet, but without the murder.

Obviously, this is impossible, there is no way that a young Zuko could become a better person without his exile, his enviroment is just not place that encourage

Sorry for the last question i send, i made a mistake and send it sooner than i wanted.

But anyway, what i tried to say that, even if that ridiculous scenario that i propossed where to happen, Zuko would be a very different characther from his Canon self. Plus even if he has become Katara's type, there is no way to know if Katara would be Zuko's type on that scenario lol

***

Once again, guys: pre-scar and exile Zuko was already dealing with a ton of bagagge, and post-redemption Zuko was already a "freedom fighter but without the murder." Katara saw him at this worst during all of book one, at his somewhat less of dick moments (Ba Sing Se), and at his best after his redemption - and she wasn't attracted to him at any of these points.

"I don't support war, genocide and/or murder" is the bare minimum for Katara to not want somebody dead. Compassion is an obligation, not something that immediately makes a guy be a potential boyfriend in her eyes.

We have the answer of what would take for her to be into Zuko, and that answer is not "He can't be a villain anymore" but rather "He can't be Zuko." He can't be a dork that says the wrong thing in a funny way, she'd get mad. He can't want to live in the Fire Nation, there's nothing there for her. He can't be as stubborn as she is, otherwise they're gonna fight (just look at how many times she fights with Toph). He can't take himself too seriously, she'll just mock him for it (ask Sokka).

She wants the guy that literally sweeps her off her feet to charm her, or the guy that notices she's feeling left out at a party, dances with her, and smoothly tells her to ignore everyone's eyes on them because "it's just you and me." She would NOT react well to a guy that screams "SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!" in the middle of their date (just see how well it worked for Aang when he went "I mean, if it was between kissing you and dying")

And we do know what Zuko's type is: Mai. Gloomy yet sweet, bitchy yet unbothered, out-spoken yet doesn't feel she owes anybody any explanations ever, can handle herself but likes being pampered, apathetic yet caring, has nothing prove yet can be quite arrogant, stubborn yet understanding, aloof to the world in general yet obviously crazy about him in particular.

Zuko might catch brief feelings for someone like Jin (nice, sweet and cheery), but long-term he needs someone as messy as himself so he can relate, but with the kind of mess that balances him out instead of encouraging his worst traits - the yin to his yang. He was not kidding when he said "You're so beautiful when you hate the world"

Katara loves life in general too much for her and Zuko to relate to each other in that regard. She doesn't even know what the word "apathy" means. She doesn't have an "unbothered" bone in her body. Girl went through a ton of trauma and still wasn't anywhere near gloomy, quite the contrary. And she has a bad temper, just like Zuko, which they both know is a bad combo, hence them surrounding themselves with more chill people (Aang, Iroh, Hakoda, Mai, etc).

They're not each other's type AT ALL, hence there being no spark when they become friends. Hence them being not just embarassed, but weirded our and uncomfortable when people mistake them for a couple.

There's a reason zutara fics re-write their personalities completely: there's no other way to force them together because they're fundamentally incompatible. The real Zuko would NEVER be attracted to the real Katara, and vice versa.

[cynassa]

Hi!! would you mind elaborating on the lobotomy and Jason is trans metaphor? 👀 I'm very interested

Hallo! I'm so sorry this is so late and still incoherent but i prommy it is less incoherent than a week ago when I first started writing it in between three microecon assignments SO:

Content warning: talk of abuse, conversion therapy, homelessness, not pleasant about Bruce Wayne

Most of the time I have to say about my headcanons that I don't know where they come from, but with Jason-is-trans, i know EXACTLY where it's from:

"No one's son" – welllllll, there’s a thought. (I know that’s not how Winick intended it, but forget that.)

Now, I'm not sorted on whether he's a man or woman or non-binary or whatever, but I do think this is an important part of who he is. We all focus a lot on what Jason wanted from his father, but it IS important that at some point in this entire mess, he also decided that he's okay with not having parents, and that we basically see him completely reinventing himself.

The rest of it is honestly just vibes. Three specific things stand out to me:

Jason outgrowing the Robin costume/choosing his own identity: this very strongly reads to me as the trans child choosing their own identity while their parent(s) memorialise the child they thought they had. Jason has (both literally) outgrown the costumes his foster father put him in, including the one that Bruce has memorialised forever. He’s about a foot too tall and too big for them, but also he does not want to be Robin anymore. His antipathy to a new Robin would also take on interesting new dimensions if he felt forced to be a certain type of boy in order to be in that costume, and he didn’t want, in fact, to be that type of boy, or a boy at all. Or even if he was okay, at that time, but found after some years that no, actually, this isn’t what he wants to be, and he’s angry then, because people shouldn’t be forced to be a certain type of boy? Anyway, it would be delicious angst-fest but that’s not what I’m writing right now.

All of the bits where Bruce is still mourning Jason when Jason is literally right there: This is so so so on-the-nose for a certain type of parent when their kids tell them they’re trans. Jason is alive, but he’s not Jason, and he’s alive but he’s not the Jason that Bruce imagined he would be, or he’s alive but does he have to be this way, or maybe he isn’t alive really, because how could this be Jason. And all the while Jason is standing there being like ‘I’m alive, my death isn’t the most important thing about me, that isn’t why we see things differently’ while Bruce just keeps insisting that if Jason isn’t exactly the type of man Bruce wants him to be, then Jason doesn’t have the right to exist in Gotham (in comic book terms, this might mean he doesn’t exist at all, as many characters don’t ‘make it’ in solo runs outside of the core stories.) Does that make Jason trans? Not in text! But the metaphor stands.

Forcible medicalisation - In multiple situations, Jason has reacted to his trauma in reasonable (note I do not say pleasant) terms seeing as he’s in a comic book where aliens, demigods, and supervillains are an everyday thing and people keep coming back from the dead. And in response to his trauma he’s been forcibly medicalised for it. Of course there’s the battle for the cowl thing where he was shoved into Arkham. But the most recent being *DRUMROLL* Bruce injecting him (yes I know it wasn’t Bruce-Bruce, but like, he agreed to killing Jason just a few issues later, so I’m not applauding him as father of the year just yet) with something that literally forcibly changes him back to what Bruce thinks he should be. I’m likening it to like conversion therapy.

So I think Jason being trans would be an amazing metaphor for how he’s not the person he used to be, and also he’s not the person that people say he used to be, and how even now that he’s right there, people keep making up a version of him in their minds and never really engaging with who he is. I mean, clearly some of it is just the medium. Jason gets to be competent (sometimes) but never win, because he wouldn’t fit his ‘role’ in the comic books otherwise. But if we’re taking a Watsonian view then it is impossible that Jason is not winning sometimes, because if he were that useless then the Bats wouldn’t engage with him. They do engage with him because he’s dangerous at least some of the time.

Anyway that’s my essay on how I think Jason deserves to be the cool queer cousin who only comes to family events when he thinks there’s going to be a disaster he can laugh at while sipping his cocktails. He can wear his little outfits and keep people guessing on his pronouns (he hands out knives as gifts to anyone who guesses okay).

Thank you so so much @bestangelofall for letting me talk about my favorite Jay headcanon!!

[skzthelomlhehe]

Part two is heeerrrreeee~~~ hope y'all enjoy all this brainrot I'm having hahahahaha I lost my mind midway through writing this so idek what I wrote lololol hope it feeds y'alls delulu minds thooo~

MDNI // smutty. Very smutty. // Established relationships // x F!reader

How your boyfriend!skz will react to you waiting for them in a sexy lingerie when they come home after a long day at work. [Ot8] {Pt. 2: maknae line}

Han Jisung

When i tell you he'll MELT. Like I'm saying FOLDED, WHIMPERING, FUCKING TREMBLING like- believe me or not- THE MAN IS GONNA LOSE HIS MIND. Like just imagine. He had a tough day at work, comes home expecting to like cuddle and whine in your arms and he just walks in on you wearing a lingerie makes you look so so so fucking pretty. He'll stand there on the door way, jaw dropped, whimpering squealing whatever. He's gonna walk up to you and embrace you in the warmest fucking hug, nuzzle into your neck and let you rub his painful bulge over his clothes before letting all that scrumptious milk out along with all his worries after. When you both are done he'd just lay there cuddling you going "oh baby... I love you so much... Fuck why are you so damn beautiful?? You're making me lose my fucking mind here..." And just whine cuz he just can't resist you.

Felix

Ok so hear me out. When people look at Felix they're usually like 'oh he's just a submissive ball of sunshine' BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HOW MISCHIEVOUS THE MAN IS??? Don't let his cute and innocent, pretty little face fool you, chat. Cuz he's a very sly little kitten and he KNOWS it. I said what I said and I rest my case. When he sees you in that lingerie he's gonna walk up to you without a word, hold your face gently with those little hands, kiss you deeply and go "oh darling... You always know how to get my mind off of things... Didn't know you'd have this under your sleeve too~" in the deepest motherfckn voice ever. {I shit you not- while I was writing this I suddenly started hearing moans from the other room and realised my uncle was watching corn 💀 anyways back to Felix} like- the man is gonna RAVAGE you. He's gonna eat you out like you're the last meal he'll have. He'll let you know how stupidly attractive you looked in those garments with the minimum fabric. He's gonna let you know how fucking scrumptious you are and how much he loves the way you are.

Seungmin

For seungmin, you'd think he had no feelings or thoughts. He'd walk in, not even surprised by your antiques. He'd probably just walk over to you slowly and then grab you by the waist and whisper into your ear like, "you know I had a bad today... And the things you're doing right now is very very dangerous..." He's the typa guy who would quiet down COMPLETELY when he's upset so when he gets your permission he'd just pick you up, throw you on the bed and feel you like a puppy he is all night long. I feel like he's the type who would whimper and groan in your arms and make the bed CREAKIN iykwim 😉 and instead of doing the work, he would just lay there while you ride him cuz he loves it when you're taking the lead, caressing him, loving him and just... Making him feel like the most loved man ever.

Jeongin

Ok so- hear me out- let's put aside the 'saving myself for after marriage' thing for a second (while I do respect it, let's just put it aside for a tiny bit) I feel like when he gets home and the first thing he sees is you like that, on their bed, laying there welcoming him, he'd look at you with those foxy slender eyes of his with this sly smirk (if you know what I mean, you know. If you don't, that's sad and I'm so sorry you don't cuz HONEY you're missing out.) once he's done eye fucking you from the door frame he'd just walk up to you like the fox he is (ok but why do I like- imagine him making some tiny fox squeals too???) he'd just go over to you, get on top of you while placing soft wet kisses then whisper in your ear like "is this the surprise you were talking about when I said I was having a bad day earlier, hm? You're such a cutie, yknow that?" And then nibble at the lobe of your ear. People think that he doesn't enjoy physical contact given the way he is (which might be true lol) but I feel like with his lover he'd be just a snuggly fox and a very soft loaf of bread. (And then daddy toastie comes out Lolol)

Once again, these are all my assumptions so please don't take anything seriously it's all just brainrot I've been having. They're their own individuals and I completely respect them and dearly love and cherish them.

That aside, I hope you guys enjoyed!

[myownwholewildworld]

iv. two inches - acta, non verba

chapter 3 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: will the stars finally align so you can have who you want? a/n: hiii! sorry it's taken me a month to update 🥲 after watching gladiator ii, i knew i had to come back to these two asap. as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings (spoilers): 18+, mdni. smut incoming. sexual tension galore. marcus jerks off to the thought of you. kissing. breast worship. mentions of past sexual trauma/marital abuse. the tip goes in. misogynistic views. infidelity. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. w/c: ~8.4k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

Niamh’s appearance had startled you, bringing you back to reality. For a second you had let yourself rejoice in the moment, in having Marcus—quite literally—on the palm of your hand. You had not intended on it going so far; on grabbing his manhood with resolution and pumping him with delight. His hardening dick had been so hard to ignore, you just gave in to temptation.

His initial reticence to not be touched was what had spurred you on. Marcus had attempted to reject your advances, although unsuccessfully. Him turning you down only encouraged you more, wanting to prove to him how badly he desired you, even if he tried to conceal his lust.

The sooner he realised he wanted you, the faster your plan would move along.

And by the Gods did he realise, his steely cock living proof of his appetite for you.

What you had not expected though was your own body’s reaction to Marcus’ undeniable desire. Your pussy had been gushing all along, each stroke on his girth unravelling something within you — especially when you hinted at the idea of slotting his cock between your lips to suckle on him. That simple thought sent a warm wave down your spine, your folds wetting almost instantly. In fact, you could still feel the dampness your thighs were harbouring for him.

And it was all part of your scheme, anyway. Eventually you planned on it happening — sooner rather than later, preferably. If you experienced a few orgasms thanks to him in the process… well, even better. The trash sex Iain had subjugated you to for a decade was the only thing you had known in the bedchamber — not once did you climax, yet many a times—if not always—you wailed in pain. Considering how your flesh had reacted to Marcus, perhaps the General would be useful in more than one way to you.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glanced at him over your shoulder — a quick peek through your lashes, your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

You were riding together on his horse, his arms tight around your shoulders pinning you in place. His bulge was pressing against the soft curve of your ass — no wonder your pussy was still laced with slick.

Knowing Marcus was in hell right now, you wiggled your hips back, the plumpness of your buttocks nuzzling his swollen groin. The General swallowed a groan, his arms tighter around your shoulders, and you smirked to yourself, feeling his erection hard pressed against you. Marcus had found no relief since Naimh interrupted you both and was still at full mast. And understanding that caused your insides to melt.

Truth be told, you would have liked to finish what you started. Not for his sake, but for your own. Making him come in your mouth would have partially put out the hellfire that burnt inside you, wreaking havoc in your seam.

The animosity between Marcus and Maximus shimmered in the atmosphere.

The Commander had only brought his own horse and yours had deserted you, which meant that, if you were to come back, you had to choose between the two Romans. Maximus had gracefully offered you to ride with him, and the mischievous sideways look he shot in Marcus’ direction didn’t escape you.

But before you could accept or decline, Marcus had mumbled something under his breath before ordering you to ride with him. Maximus was delighted with the whole exchange, and you understood that the Commander was actually teasing the General.

A little possessiveness wouldn’t hurt. It meant you were stirring Marcus in the right direction — yours.

You ventured another sneaky look at Acacius, your curiosity concealed by the cover provided by the trees.

His lips pursed in frustration, but his eyes distilled exhaustion. Marcus had lost enough blood to put a man to sleep for a week, but here he was, standing and conscious, away from Dhuosnos’ realm.

You had made sure of that, not only by mending his wounds, but also by killing one of the attackers. That ambush had left a crawling suspicion in the back of your mind, bothering and nagging. There was something weird about it all but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Maximus spoke, filling the silence and voicing your inkling.

“And you’re sure you didn’t recognise them, General?”

Marcus slowly shook his head again, his chest rubbing your back with the motion.

“No. They spoke that barb— uhm, the local language,” he muttered, briefly looking at you sideways, almost apologetic.

You knew how the original sentence was going to finish: that barbaric language. A reminder of who he was after all—your enemy. You shouldn’t lose sight of that, of the true purpose of your actions.

It felt wrong, how your lust awakened for none other than your enemy. Yes, you intended on bedding him, but your previous thought of getting Marcus to make you come now angered you. Your arousal felt like a betrayal to the memory of your family. You shouldn’t wet at the idea of fucking him — if anything, you should feel disgusted of your own reaction.

Straightening your back, you just rolled your eyes with disdain, letting him know of your annoyance.

“I’ll ask around, see what I can find out,” Maximus thought out loud, then glanced at you through the darkness. “Did you recognise any of them? Their accent?”

Slowly shaking your head, you grasped the saddle’s horn.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not sure they were from around here,” you explained, wondering if you were saying too much.

They hadn’t recognised you, which showed they were not your clansmen. But they were pretending to be.

You went quiet, your frown deepening.

“What’s bothering you, my lady?” Marcus’ breath caressed your ear, your skin bristling instantly.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly.

Too quickly.

“I’m sorry you had to defend yourself,” he whispered, his husky voice low so only you could hear him. “I should have paid more attention. I won’t let it happen again.”

Suddenly you realised he thought this was your first time killing someone. Little did he know, you probably had reaped as many souls as he had. You were no stranger to the battlefield — your father had taught all his children how to wield a sword, how to take a life. You learnt how to detach your soul from your body whenever someone’s life was cut short in order to preserve part of your humanity. It was the only way you could live with yourself, because it didn’t matter if they deserved it or not, it still gnawed at your conscience at night.

Marcus, on the contrary, seemed to be oblivious to how much pain his killing had caused. Had caused you.

Another reminder.

But then you realised what he had said. He wouldn’t let it happen again — a fissure in his impassiveness. Was he starting to care about you?

So you played on his protectiveness, on his words. Pouting lips, doe eyes and all, you nodded.

“I… I just wanted to protect you, Dominus. I was afraid he would hurt you,” you mumbled back, faking your fear for him.

The decade with Iain was paying off after all. To survive by your late husband’s side, you had to master the ability of make-believe, to pretend you were feeling ways you truly weren’t — afraid, amused, sad, happy, distraught, content. You had acquired the skills to feign a whole range of emotions, and this would be useful with the General.

He bought it.

“Don’t worry about me, Callie,” his voice was but a whisper, but that wasn’t what distracted you.

His broad—massive actually—right hand had landed on your right knee, squeezing it lightly, as if to soothe you; your suffering for having killed a man. His touch was light and brief, but long enough to leave goosebumps in his wake.

You were not sure which one of you were more taken aback — him because of his sudden show of worry, or you because of how that had made you feel.

“But I appreciate what you did back there,” he quickly added, clearing his throat, both of his hands gripping the leather reins.

“I would do it all over again, Dux Meus. For you.”

Perhaps you were buying it too.

Nay, can’t be.

The whole ride back to Inbhir Nis castle was literal torture. A tempting nymph on his lap, warm and inviting, was the last thing Marcus needed to worry about.

But instead of the last, you had become the first on a never-ending list of concerns. Curbing his desire for you had been a herculean task, one he did not accomplish. Because as soon as the door to his chambers closed behind him, he stripped himself of all his clothing.

The moment the jail of his armour was gone, freed from its heaviness and tight grip, Marcus sighed, just finding a miniscule relief.

The erection that you provoked him was as hard as a couple of hours ago, shaft throbbing against his happy trail. It had been at least two hours since you had worked him to this state of unsatisfied lewdness and now it was just damn uncomfortable to be at full mast.

A warm bath was awaiting him, and Marcus only took a second to dive in. The hot, milky water was welcoming, soothing his strained muscles. There were herbs floating around — rosemary, lavender and thyme, at least the ones his sense of smell recognised.

A scent that had hit him before, when he encountered you getting out of the garderobe a few weeks ago. Why did that aroma remind him of you? Why would you just not leave his mind? This thought of you lingering was dangerous, distracting. But so fucking alluring too — there was something about you, the mischievous aura you exuded, that reeled Marcus in.

It was intoxicating, really. No, you were intoxicating. And he just wanted to drown in it, in you.

Marcus grunted in frustration, one hand sinking under the water to find his heavy balls and massage them gently. His head tilted back, resting on the edge of the wooden bathtub, and his eyes squeezed shut when his imagination took him back to the moment you wielded his cock.

Now that the haze of his fainting had lifted, he should have shown himself some self-restraint to stop whatever this was. But he couldn’t, the memory of your tight grip too unravelling, too compelling.

So, in the privacy and safety of his bedchamber, he gave in to temptation. A last squeeze on his full testicles and then he was pumping his thudding dick to the thought of you doing exactly the same. His hand was your hand, and that was everything Marcus needed.

His thumb pressed on the slit, just as you had done. Then the bobbing of his hand picked up a faster rhythm, his free hand drifting down to hold his balls again, and Marcus jerked himself off while he envisaged you sealing your lips around his plump head, just as you had teased.

That was his undoing — you suckling on him, milking him dry with your mouth. Marcus could envision it perfectly: on your fours between his hairy, thick thighs, hand twisting on the base of his shaft while you sucked in his mushroom head, dick pulsing hard for you. And you glancing up at him with those green orbs — full, hypnotising eye contact, almost too intimate.

A few more strokes on his cock, imagination running wild, and he finally came. His breathing hitched and accelerated, becoming irregular, as his fist clutched harder around his girth. Spurts of white, tacky robes left his slit, his glans just peeking out of the water, and landed on his chest.

It took Marcus a couple of minutes to come down from his high. This was a new low for him, having to masturbate himself to the thought of someone because he was too horny to let it go. Too proud to ask you to finish what you had started. Too loyal to his cheating wife.

The last thought annoyed him, not wanting to think about Livia at this precise moment. He resented her, probably more than what he should. But her betrayal stung like fire licking on his skin, their holy matrimony reduced to a farce. For all he knew, he did not have any children of his own blood now. Marcus loved them equally though, but it still gnawed at him that he had been raising the children of another man unknowingly.

The life he had carefully built seemed to have crush down to its foundations. Marcus truly did not know what to expect upon his return. He had left abruptly, called by the Emperor and Agricola, with no time to discuss his family life with his wife. He didn’t think he could just go back to normal, not after what had emerged.

Being out here in the wild Caledonia, Marcus felt his life on hold, postponing the inevitable. But he couldn’t think about that now, not when he had so many tasks ahead of him.

Absentmindedly, Marcus cupped some water and washed the cum off his chest, watching it swirl around in the tub.

A knock, then the creak of the door as it opened.

His heart jumped and he quickly sat back up in the bathtub, water splashing as he did. He had forgotten to put on the latch.

He hoped to hell it was Atticus, at least.

“Dux Meus?”

Wrong, fucking wrong.

Had he thought of you so hard that he had willed your presence?

Your profile peeked through the crack in the doorframe.

“Can I come in, General?”

Your ask was a mere formality, because before he could say anything, you had already entered the room and closed the door behind you.

Marcus’ back straightened, his relaxed muscles tautening again in your presence. Could he have no moment of respite, when he would not be haunted by bewildering scents and suggestive lips?

For a brief second, Marcus watched you look around, taking in the details of the room. A big, four poster bed with translucent veils hanging from every side; the matching oak furniture; the vivid, colourful tapestries on the bare stone walls telling stories he never heard of; a wonky standing shelf with a small library, books he had flicked through at candlelight before bed; the rudimentary chimney where a fire burnt and crackled.

Because even in spring, the thick walls of the castle kept a cool atmosphere inside. The pyre warmed up the room, but Marcus thought the temperature shot up the moment you stepped closer to where he was.

“What are you doing here?” his question sounded almost accusatory, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub, knuckles whitening.

His wary demeanour didn’t put you off, light feet closing the distance with a smirk.

As you approached, Marcus couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of you. Your green skirt flowed around you, hugging your voluptuous hourglass figure in all the right places. Your red hair framed your delicate features, freckles dotted around your nose and cheeks on your moonlight skin. Cherry lips as plump as figs, reddened and curled up. Some flickering green eyes as fiery as the orange sparks in the flue stared at him with unknown intent. A marble neck that led the path to the esplanade of your collarbone, and then, right underneath…

His mouth watered, and his cock inevitably pulsed again. Your full breasts almost spilt over the low squared neckline of your dress, like sunny hills welcoming him home. Pebbled nipples greeting him. A deep cleavage so inviting, he could imagine pumping himself in between them, his glans just peeking through and kissing the center of your clavicle.

Another twitch in his groin made him steel himself and drawing a deep breath in to calm himself.

You crouched down, squatting right beside the bathtub, and placed one soft hand over his.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright, Dux Meus. That your wounds were not bleeding, and the stitches were holding up,” the concern tinting your voice felt real to him.

Marcus cleared his throat, tense.

“They’re all fine. My healer certainly knew what she was going,” he conceded, then remembered. “Except for the blunt tip of the needle. That I did not appreciate.”

You laughed and patted his hand a few times in jest.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure an acclaimed General like yourself can withstand a little bit of pain, Dominus,” you joked, long eyelashes batting at him. “But for that I am sorry, I had to work with what Naimh had at hand.”

“Thank you. For saving my life twice,” he whispered, almost solemnly. “I am indebted to you, Callie.”

You waved a hand to dismiss his gratitude, gifting him a crooked smile that quickly reached your eyes.

“You killed two men. I think we are even, Dux Meus,” you muttered back, a low, wicked husk that knocked him off his senses momentarily.

With the smile still painted on your round lips, your eyes slowly drifted down his chest. The milky water was murky enough so you wouldn’t see through it, wouldn’t see how hard he was getting again.

And then you bit and licked your lips, the grin almost fading as a darker, sensual expression transformed your face — a mesmerising gesture that forced Marcus to follow your sight. Then he saw what had caught your attention: his cum floating around, gathering around the herbs that scented the now lukewarm water.

A moment of silence stretched between you, his heart racing up as your gaze lingered on the water, as if you were hoping for his erection to peep its head out above it.

Your fingers reached down into the water; palm cupped to trap some of his wasted seed. It filtered through your fingers until it all fell back into the bath water. Swirling your fingers around, you grabbed a tiny bunch of rosemary, dragging it across the water until the small leaves caressed the exposed skin of his chest.

The summit of your tongue licking your bottom lip as your eyes locked intimately.

So fucking suggestive, Marcus’ breath hitched, close to losing his mind.

“Marcus,” you cooed, your wet fingers dropping the rosemary and lifting up.

Your hand slid to his, wrapping around his wrist, a warm touch that spiked his heart rate.

A thunder crawled under his skin the moment you guided his hand over to your bosom. You squeezed his hand, smoothing it over your lush left breast. He couldn’t help but cradle it, feeling the taut nipple grazing the thin fabric, rubbing his palm.

“Please,” you almost sobbed, moving his hand in circles over your boob.

To hell with everything. He shouldn’t let himself be distracted by the pleasures of the flesh during such an important campaign, but Marcus wanted you so badly — his new erection living proof of the desire that burnt for you.

Just one time, to satiate the caprice, and then he could go back to his duties.

Your mouth was agape, beckoning like a siren. And as he was about to relinquish to the temptation you offered, leaning forward, another knock on the door swept the moment away.

“Dominus, Commander Maximus necessitates your presence immediately,” Atticus forewarned him before his steps faded in the distance of the hallway.

Perhaps you despised Atticus more than you hated Marcus, and that was a feat to beat.

The universe was intent on your plan not taking form at all, otherwise you could not explain all these fucking interruptions. Another person might have taken the hint, but not you. Stubborn as a mule, you would not stop at anything — Marcus would fall in your tangled web, whatever the cost.

You only needed to remember to keep a cool head. Among the hatred, pleasure shimmered, and it certainly bothered you. How your body had a mind of its own and responded to his obvious desire, damp fold hidden away between your thighs.

It’s just an act, you reminded yourself.

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, your drenched pussy agreed to disagree.

Huffing and puffing, you went down the spiral staircase and sauntered towards the kitchens. You were in dire need of some light-hearted jest, and the old cook would help take your mind off things with his banter.

Cormag wasn’t there, just Isla and Brighid shuffling around the hearth, keeping it alive. The smoky smell filled the room, almost suffocating, and you coughed.

“That chimney is close to getting clogged,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Should put the fire out and get one of the helping lads to go in there and clean it out.”

Isla turned around, her head bowing down as a quick curtsy. They all really needed to stop doing that, even when no Romans were around.

“We can’t do that yet, mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, she replied, her hands busy kneading the flour on the counter. “Apparently there is a feast to be had tomorrow, one of the Romans’ birthdays. We’ve been asked to start the preparations for it, so will have to pull an all-nighter…”

Brighid voiced her discontent, crouched down by the fire, feeding it some logs.

“I don’t understand why we are wasting so much food on them. My family’s starving, we barely have any bread left, and these cu…” she quickly looked at you, embarrassed, but you nodded, encouraging, “these cunts eat like gluttons. Last night you were not here, my lady, but some of them even started throwing the food around at one another. Disgraceful.”

“Aye,” Isla agreed. “I had to pick up some unspoilt veggies off the floor. My nan has not had anything to eat for the last two days, she was worried that my siblings and I wouldn’t have enough to eat.”

Their struggles broke your heart. Not only because they were your clan, but because of the injustice of it all. No person should go to bed hungry, and these undesirable guests were forcing people to go without a meal.

You knew both of the maids, their families. Brighid’s son was three and had started to talk; her husband had returned with you from Raedykes and now was an amputee, trying to find a job to provide for his family. Isla’s parents had perished during the battle of Mons Graupius too, serving your father till their final days.

It was frustrating, but it was even more infuriating. Your hands were tied, and you could not wait to break free of your tethers. You looked forward to the moment this all would be over, that you could face a defeated Marcus Acacius and impart upon him the same misfortune he and his people left in their wake.

You stayed with them a little longer, helping out where they needed you to. A couple of hours later, tired and in need of your niece and nephew’s hug, you were flying by the hallways of the keep, heading back to your aunt Bonnie’s crannog, when male voices stopped you in your tracks.

The door to the great hall was ajar, Maximus’ raspy tone filtering through.

“Cassius’ henchman and some of his men went back to the spot where you were attacked. There were patches of blood on the grass, but the bodies were gone,” the Commander husked. “I find it weird, honestly.”

“So do I,” Marcus agreed. “I didn’t want to say it before, but one of them spoke in Latin to me. His accent was… definitely Roman.”

“That makes no sense,” Maximus replied, their voices clearer now. “What did he say to you?”

“Just ‘Die, bastard’. That was all, but I could tell he was fluent.”

“Leave it to me, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Heavy steps approached, and you knew they were close.

Picking up your skirt, you ran down the corridor, mixing with the shadows until darkness wrapped around you.

“What were you fucking thinking, Callie? You could’ve gotten killed!”

Torcall was not impressed with your outing, to say the least.

You rolled your eyes at him, arms folded. You shouldn’t have explained why you had been missing for so many hours, but you were not one to lie to your allies. Especially if they were family.

“I didn’t have a choice, Torcall. He saw me leaving and decided to accompany me. What should I have done? Tell him his gallantry was no longer needed because I decided not to go? That would have been so suspicious,” you reasoned, your own anger flaring. “And I was in no real danger, anyway. They were Caledonians.”

You downplayed that on purpose. They were Caledonians, aye, but they were really intent on killing you. You were still ruminating on that detail.

“And you killed one of them. For him. To protect the fucking General of Rome,” Torcall barked, teeth clenching. “Why didn’t you let them finish him? All of our problems would be over.”

His accusation, although deserved, enraged you. Even more so because you had thought exactly the same thing, and still decided to defend him.

“You’re so short-sighted, seriously. If I did, his entire army would have come hunt me down, ye eejit (idiot)!” You stood up, the legs of the chair screeching against the cobblestone. “Half of the castle saw us leaving together, I would’ve been the first one they suspected. And you know they tend to kill first and ask questions later.”

Torcall scoffed, fury distorting his features. But then a change of demeanour: he got up too and closed the distance between you two. For a moment he doubted, and then his arms wrapped around you, hugging you close to his chest.

The sudden proximity made you feel weird. Uncomfortable.

“I was just worried for you, Callie,” Torcall mumbled, his breath fanning over your ear. He leaned back, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “You’re like family to me. To my children.”

The intensity his eyes distilled caught you off guard. They were soft and pleading now, all his anger forgotten. And then they drifted down, landing on your mouth.

The whole atmosphere shifted, your heart beating wildly. Surely this all felt wrong to the both of you.

“You are family, Torcall,” you remarked. “You’re my sister’s husband, that’s actual family, not ‘like’ family.”

Your words carried meaning, and more than meaning — a subtle warning. A reminder too, of who he was and who you were to him. He shouldn’t forget himself. Torcall was your brother-in-law, and although pain had brought you closer these past weeks, it meant nothing more than that.

At least to you.

Torcall cleared his throat, his arms falling slack to his sides.

“Aye, I guess we are,” he sighed, pinched the bridge of his perfectly straight nose, and sat back down on the chair. “So, were they our brethren? You said they were Caledonians.”

You were relieved at the change of subject, the tension between you fading.

Nodding, you sat too.

“Aye, although their accent was not really from around here. But Acacius seemed to think they were Romans,” you added, your fingers drumming on the wooden table between you. “Think he’s wrong though, you can’t fake an accent like ours so easily. Do you reckon it’s got something to do with the attempt on the General’s life a few days ago?”

Torcall seemed to take a moment, contemplating his answer before he spoke. His eyes flickered for a second, his pupils a well full of doubts, something you thought odd.

“I don’t think so. They were just lads, highly doubt they could pull something like that off,” he commented, almost cautiously.

You frowned, eyes slightly squinting.

“They could be part of a larger group. You said so yourself, people don’t listen to reason when they feel threatened. Perhaps some of them have decided to take justice into their own hands. I never got a chance to speak to my cousins yesterday—”

“I did,” Torcall cut you off.

The wrinkles between your brows deepened.

“You did? You went to Bun Craobh?”

“Aye, had some errands to run,” he didn’t add any further explanation to that. “Ran into them and told them about your plan when I realised you hadn’t spoken to them yet.”

“That wasn’t for you to do, Torcall,” you replied, mildly infuriated at him for taking the liberty to do so. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“Nothing in too much detail, mainly because they’d try to talk you out of it the same way I did,” there was a note of reproach in his voice, one you decidedly ignored. “Just that you were planning on spying on the General to get details of their next steps.”

How you got to Marcus was none of his fucking business. Now you questioned whether you should have shared that information with Torcall or not, if he was going to fucking judge you at every step of the way. What you did and how you got what you wanted was entirely up to you. You hadn’t broken free from Iain to fall under the controlling hands of another man.

“Tiugainn (come on), Callie. I just told them enough so the word would spread that Murdoch’s only living daughter is planning on fighting back. Give the people a reason to hope,” he pleaded, sensing your anger.

“Aye, but next time, ask me. I don’t appreciate you bypassing me in these matters, not when I’ve got enough enemies at my doorstep.”

Marcus did not like all this unwanted attention. He was adamant this had been one of Maximus’ jokes, just to get on his nerves.

The General did not like celebrating his birthday. In fact, hated it. His wife would throw lavish parties back at home, wasting gold on unnecessary decorations and gifts — Livia would use any excuse to show off how full their vault was. Having made himself from nothing, Marcus understood how hard he had to work for each and every denarius to his name.

His most trusted Commander knew this and ignored it completely. He had mobilised the people of the castle to prepare a feast, food filling tables and wine spilling out of goblets in celebration. A fire had been lit in the big chimney presiding the great hall, white flower arrangements hung from the stone walls. There was even music being played in the background, the soft sounds of the lyre accompanied by a female voice who sang in Latin and praised all his conquests.

And what angered him most: there was a good handful of meretrices (prostitutes) lingering around. Most of them were local freedwomen, but others were slaves that Agricola’s men had brought with them. Marcus had not allowed his own army to bring any woman into this new land, needing them focused on the task ahead. Agricola was, on the other hand, very lenient in that respect — encouraging almost.

“How are you this beautiful afternoon, Dominus?” A sensual hum whispered in his ear tightened his muscles uncomfortably.

Looking over his shoulder, Marcus saw the blonde woman who had been eyeing him for a while. She was wearing a white toga, obviously one of the Roman slaves brought from overseas.

Unrequited, she sat on his lap, her round butt cheeks kneading his soft bulge, while one of her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Would you like a taste?” she asked with a bright smile, bringing a cup to his lips.

Marcus shook his head no, one hand stopping the chalice from getting closer.

“No, thank you. And I rather be left alone,” he told the prostitute, rejecting her advances flatly.

She just laughed, putting the goblet back down on the table. Then she leaned forward, her lips brushing the artery on his neck.

“Oh, we don’t really need to play this game, Master,” she whispered in his ear.

Unbothered by the suggestive talk and her pressing onto his lap, Marcus swept the great hall, a burning sensation in his chest commending him to.

Your eyes locked through the observing crowd. The green orbs that stared him down were filled with playfulness. Suddenly, that sensual wickedness transformed into brief anger, then disappointment.

It took Marcus a second to understand why you seemed upset. He had forgotten about the prostitute sitting on his lap, talking his ear off.

You stiffed, chin lifted up with disdain, and turned around with a wooden jug on your hands.

Fuck. Wait, no. It’s not what it seems, he wanted to say.

Marcus tried to get up, almost throwing the woman to the ground in his haste to get to you.

“I won’t require your services,” he politely declined when she looked at him in surprise.

“Oh…” her disappointment was visible, but it wasn’t the one he cared to soothe.

“Don’t worry, love, come here. The General seems in a hurry to leave. Some important matters, I wager,” Maximus extended his arm towards the blonde woman, inviting her onto his lap.

The sneering look Marcus threw Maximus’ way did not go unnoticed, his Commander laughing it off.

Ignoring him, he quickly walked off the dais, following your trail among the crowd. Your fiery red hair was like a beacon, one he followed to the main doors. A second later he was in the hallway and looked around, just in time to see you disappearing into the garderobe storing the wine.

Why he was following you, he was not sure. Why he needed to put your mind at ease, he was not sure either. All he knew was that the crushed expression you had given him stirred something within him.

In a few strides, he was right behind you, his hand holding open the wooden door to the garderobe.

“Callie,” he called you, your name rolling easily off his tongue, like a trained whisper.

Annoyed didn’t cut it, disappointed didn’t either. You were pissed. There you were, breaking your back to get Marcus to yield to you, for a prostitute to easily find comfort on his lap.

The man behind the façade was unknown to you, but you hadn’t taken him for someone who enjoyed his free time in the whorehouse. Judging by how his hand cupped the small of her back and how the blonde was basically licking his neck, you were mistaken.

You were not jealous though. Just pissed, that was it.

Mumbling to yourself, you had walked out of the great hall to refill the empty jug with his favourite wine, not wanting to see such a spectacle unfolding in front of you. The burning sensation in the pit of your stomach would eventually fade, you were sure.

Although the door behind you was open, the inside of the garderobe was pitch-black. Patting blindly in the dark, you found the open barrel.

As you were about to turn the iron tap on, the sound of your name made you jump on the spot. Your pulse accelerated and the jug fell from your hands, clattering on the stone floor. You didn’t need to look to know who it was — considering how your skin bristled and warmth pooled low in your tummy, you already knew.

“Fuck, Marcus!” you exclaimed when you turned around to look at him.

Your heart rate spiked again, for a very different reason this time.

He had followed you; he had left the prostitute behind to come look for you. That had to mean something. Perhaps you had a tighter grip on him than what you originally thought.

And that pleased you immensely, to your dismay. The butterflies in your belly should be fucking dead, not fluttering their wings in excitement. Your heart kept on pounding against your ribcage, even harder when Marcus entered the tiny room and swung the door behind him, leaving it ajar.

A sliver of light flooded in through the crack, just enough so you could make out his features and the hard lines of his body.

Suddenly, the garderobe felt extremely small with him inside too.

“It’s not what it seems. I wasn’t—”

“You owe me no explanation, Acacius. What you do or you don’t do, it’s not my business,” you cut him off with the right amount of bitter venom distilling from your tongue.

The General pursed his lips in frustration. A dose of his own medicine wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not like I’m waiting around for you to make up your mind,” you added, lying through your teeth.

But you were such a good liar, Marcus was none the wiser. He believed every word. His nostrils flared and his hands tightened into fists on his sides.

“What do you mean?” his raspy voice came out in a threat.

You cocked a brow, proud chin up.

“You know what I mean. Or do you need me to draw it down for you, so you understand?”

The provocation was, most probably, the last straw for him. Marcus almost snarled at you as he closed the distance. He grabbed both of your wrists with his thick fingers, yanked at them and pushed you into his chest.

The sudden display of anger took you by surprise. A pleasant surprise, especially when you noticed his swollen bulge pressing on your belly. Saliva pooled in your cheeks and slick in your pussy.

“I know that’s not true. You wouldn’t be so desperate—”

“I am desperate?” you laughed, the shaking of your tummy stroking the lump in his white toga. “You can fool yourself, Marcus, but don’t try to fool me.”

Marcus stiffened, pulling your wrists down and around his waist as his head bowed down to you, his lips ghosting over yours.

He was about to kiss you.

“You’ll be missed on the dais. I’m sure that blonde is looking for you. Is she the reason you are so hard right now?” you grumbled, your best attempt to get on the last of his nerves.

“She can go to hell. I want you,” he groaned, his mouth brushing yours.  Your pussy gushing some more. “You are the reason why I can’t get it down.”

Marcus didn’t wait for your sneering reply — his mouth crushed yours, teeth colliding. The tip of his tongue pulled your teeth apart and he laid waste to your mouth. The stroke of his tongue on yours tasted sweet, warm. It swirled around in your cavity, looking for a crack in your determination to remain impassible.

But you were only human. You had wanted this since the moment you came up with your plan to destroy the General — you would never admit it out loud though.

So, you gave in, your tongue responding to his with little whimpers as your hands laced together on the small of his back to push him into you, feeling his erection through the fabric. One you knew how big and curved and thick it was. One you wanted to know the feel of in the most intimate way possible.

Marcus moaned in your mouth, and you breathed him in, bewildered by his taste and the herby smell his skin gave off. Your throat let go of a similar quiet wail, as you stumbled back, your back meeting the cold wall behind.

The General kissed you fiercely, the same way he waged war upon his enemies — relentless. His hips grinded against yours, rubbing his bulge on you to get off while his lips abandoned your mouth to lick the marble column of your neck. He trailed the path of your vein, leaving wet kisses on his way down.

Then he brushed the point where your left breast swelled, and the tip of his tongue skidded through your skin until it found the valley of your boobs. He licked between them, both of his hands cupping them up.

“I need to see them,” he whispered, your skin bristling instantly as his thumbs travelled up and rubbed the visible nipples. “Been dreaming about them since I met you. Can I?”

You did not expect him asking for permission, not when you assumed that, as the conqueror he was, he only took with no consideration.

Nodding with half-lidded eyes, surrendered to your own desire, you let him pull the neck of your dress down until both of your breasts were spilling over the hem.

“Good Gods, you are beautiful”, he muttered, marvelled at the sight of your boobs. His thumb brushed your taut left nipple, and you shivered. “They are perfect, columba (dove). So round and so full and so—” Crouched down over you, Marcus briefly licked it. “So fucking tasty.”

With no warning, his warm lips sealed around the tight button, and you couldn’t help yourself but moan, your hands burying in the nape of his neck and lightly pulling from his silvery curls. Marcus sucked it in, his tongue twirling around the nub. Then the caress of his wet muscle was replaced by his teeth lightly biting on your nipple and tugging.

Perhaps the sweet scent of the wine filling up the garderobe messed with your senses, with how you perceived the intensity of it all, of him.

You sobbed loudly, your cunt drenching and beating in response. Pressing your knees together, you wondered if this was how it was meant to be — how sex should feel every time. Warm, desperate, slick, needy. Because if this was it, if this was how it was supposed to be, you could never have enough.

A rush of wet warmth dripped onto your woollen loincloth, your lower belly inundated with a coiling feeling unknown to you — like a tense bow ready to fly an arrow.

Marcus’ right thumb found your unattended nipple, stroking it slowly as his devilish mouth devoured your other boob like a man starved. His tongue flicked and rippled against the tiny lump between his lips while his hips rutted into you, your dress and his toga impeding the contact you most craved.

“By Mars I swear you’re so fucking perfect,” he managed to say between licks before moving on to your other tit.

The General repeated the same process again and your legs trembled with elation. Tilting your face up, you massaged his scalp, soft moans slipping from your plump lips. His smothering tongue was so persuasive, lapping at you with precision, your mind went numb with pleasure. The coil in your belly tightened harshly, so much so you had to bite down your bottom lip to stop yourself from screaming his name.

Your damp pussy pulsated, another wave of slick wetting the pearly skin between your inner thighs.

“Marcus, oh, God,” you whispered, short of breath — your heart pounding in your ear drums, deafening.

“Let go for me. Come for me, sweetheart,” Marcus whispered before attacking your nipples again, one with his mouth and the other with his thumb.

His clothed cock rubbing low, right between your thighs. The roughness of your underwear abrasing your begging, writhing clit.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The overwhelming sensation between your legs was too much — your leaking cunt wanting to find release. And it did: the coil inside you finally snapped, warmth and dew soaking you. All your limbs went slack as you felt the last wave of your climax washing over you.

Then absolute peace, your brain numb with your first experience of an orgasm. Now you understood what other women whispered about when the men were away.

Speechless, you laid back against the wall as Marcus towered over you, a satisfied grin curling his lips.

“You’ve done so well for me,” his praise fell like sugary water from his lips, the palms of his hands cradling your face as he pressed his erection against you.

His tongue flicked between your lips, coaxing them apart, and you obliged. A soft, almost puritanical, kiss pressed on your mouth before his lingered to your cheek, then your ear.

“Callie, please, I need to fuck you,” the inflection on the word need made you whimper.

Unable to still find the words, feeling all mushy and heavenly, you nodded.

The sigh of relief that bubbled up Marcus’ chest would have made you laugh in other circumstances. But there was nothing laughable about this, about two people chasing the highest of highs.

“Praise be to the Gods,” he prayed at your acceptance, his broad hands landing on your hips to turn you around.

The cold stone wall greeted your nipples, the General pinning you against the wall with your back leaned on his hard chest. Tilting your hips back, your ass sweetly nuzzled his swollen groin, then his hands rode up the skirt of your dress, exposing your loincloths.

You gasped when Marcus pushed your underwear down to your knees slowly, his fingertips dragging along your velvety skin.

“I just know you’re gonna take me so well, mel (honey),” he purred in your ear, cupping your naked buttocks. “So, so well.”

The side of his hand slid across the fold between your ass cheeks until it found the dampness you harboured for him.

Marcus groaned in your ear, and you reciprocated, his touch so welcomed your clit twitched in response.

“Marcus, please,” you implored, eyes shut and mouth agape.

“I know, mel, I know.”

His clothes rustled behind you and knew he was naked from the waist down. Tempted, you looked over your shoulder just to confirm your suspicion, and your knees almost gave way. Pearls of precum topped the plump head of his throbbing cock, his hand holding it from the base.

As beautiful and tempting as last night, his dick twitched in need. Marcus stroked himself in a feeble attempt to calm himself. Leaned towards you, his lips nipping the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your sensitive skin, and you whined in desperation.

Guiding his thudding cock between your thighs, you felt it drag across your seeping furrow, wetting himself with your slick. The warm touch of his shaft along your puffy lips made you moan uncontrollably, back arched and your butt pressing onto his lower tummy.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m going to feed it to you slowly,” he husked, voice raspy with want.

You wept some more, his cock sliding through your seam easily and freely. His mushroom head hitched on your clit, and then slipped back down to your entrance, catching too. Marcus pushed in ever so slightly, just half an inch, and your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder.

Another half an inch and then you felt it: the trained reaction of your inner walls clutching, not wanting to let him in. Years of abuse had taught your body to put up a fight, to squeeze your hole shut so your late husband wouldn’t hurt you.

You fought with yourself, asking your pussy to let Marcus in, as he intruded another inch.

He felt your hesitation, your inner struggle.

“Relax, columba, you’re too tight,” he groaned behind you, one hand sliding across your hip to your belly and diving between your thighs. Two of his thick fingers caressed your clit, the flick of them over your bundle of nerves softening your body. “That’s it, sweetheart, relax. I got you.”

Your inner walls loosened up ever so slightly as Marcus rocked his hips back and forth behind you, fucking you with just his tip. Easing his way in, helping you calm down as only his throbbing, leaking head pumped in and out of you. He was only feeding you a couple of inches, your pussy hugging him extremely tight as he did.

“Too damn tight,” he whispered, and you knew he was grasping for control, the pulsing of his cock rhythmic with the gentle petting of his fingers on your clit.

“Marcus, I can’t—”

Perhaps the trauma your husband had inflicted upon you reached further down than you thought. What a fucking moment to realise that.

“Shhh, it’s fine, it’s okay, mel. I’m more than happy with just the tip for now,” he reassured you, soothing your nerves. “Anything you give me willingly, I’ll take.”

True to his word, Marcus kept on fucking you with just the first two inches of his thrumming dick while his fingers worked your clit with expertise. Not too long after, your felt that burning, coiling sensation converging in your swollen pussy again, your cunt smothering Marcus’ tip even more.

“Oh, fuck, melculum (my little honey)… Come for me again, yes, come all over me,” he moaned in your ear.

At his command, you let go. A rush of liquid fire lapped at your pussy, then leaked over Marcus’ erection as you shrieked. Gathering your ridden-up skirt around your waist, Marcus wrapped one of his strong arms around you to keep you standing on your feet, rutting into to shallowly so he wouldn’t feed you more than two inches.

His cock pulsed hard in your entrance, a gruffy groan rumbling in his chest, almost tearing his throat apart. Marcus pulled back quickly, leaving you empty, and the tip of his cock rested on your left buttock as he jerked off.

A minute later, his warm white seed sticked to the skin of your round globe, dripping to the floor when it got to the cliff of your ass cheek.

Marcus kissed the back of your neck, both of you breathless and sweaty.

The first time you both found relief, together.

“You’ve done so well, mel,” he lauded you again, pulling your loincloth up.

You felt exhilarated, high and fucked out. Numb and spent. Satisfied.

You hoped he was too. He hadn’t been able to bury himself deep down in you, but you hoped you had been enough.

All the bravado you had showed him so far faded, a carefully built façade, and you felt slightly insecure with what had just happened.

“Marcus, I—”

Suddenly, the door to the garderobe swung open.

Marcus reacted quickly, pressing you against the wall some more and his hand placed against the wall, his arm blocking your face from the sight of the unwanted guest. His entire body along with the darkness shielded you from being recognised.

“Oh, Ò DHÌOL (oh my god)! Tha mi duilich (I’m sorry), General, tha mi cho duilich! (I’m so sorry),” you identified Brighid’s panicky voice and even though you couldn’t see her, you knew she blushed.

Then the door slammed shut.

Both of you started laughing.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[missmoonfrost]

Potions with the Slytherins - a wolfstar microfic

@wolfstarmicrofic - November 26: Potions Dungeon - Words: 844 - Warnings: Violence

Sirius is already tense. School is a lot of work, however much he likes to pretend he doesn’t care. His feelings are… confusing. The letters from home have kept coming lately, each one nastier than the last.

His friends are brilliant, but having Potions with the Slytherins doesn’t help.

Sirius is determined not to let them agitate him. He keeps his head down and focuses on stirring his potion. Despite his best efforts, Severus, the leach, seems to sense that is extra irritable today. And despite trying to stay calm, he loses focus and messes up the amount of peppermint leaves which leaves his potion a dull yellow instead of bright green.

Severus laughs exaggeratedly and has his fellow Slytherins join in. “I knew you weren’t cleaver enough to be sorted into the superior house, Black. But I didn’t know you were dumber than a squib. Don’t even know how to count, apparently.”

James reaches an arm out in front of Sirius and mumbles “Easy mate.”

But he turns the wrong way. It’s not Sirius who lashes out. It’s Remus. Quiet cautious Remus. Who leaps up, kicks Snape’s cauldron over so the green gooey potion splashes all over the floor, and sticks his wand out.

”Take that back!”

For a moment, Severus seems as stunned as Sirius feels. But he quickly snaps out of it, looks furiously at the spilt potion and shoots a hex Sirius doesn’t recognize Remus’ way. Remus doesn’t react fast enough to shield himself but throws his arm up to protect his face and tumbles backwards with a yelp.

Before Sirius can think he disarms Severus and, in the process, has him flying right into the ingredient cabinet behind him where jars and pots rain down around him.

“Boys! Boys!” Slughorn clears the mess with a few whips of his wand and looks sternly at Sirius and Remus.

“Detention, both of you. And ten points each from Gryffindor.”

“But, Professor –“ they both complain.

“I don’t want to hear any of it. You are dismissed from this class. Zero points on today’s potions.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it?” Professor Slughorn sniffs Sirius’ potion ” This is useless anyway”, and then he turns to Remus, “and you sabotaged Mr Snape’s, he can take over yours and continue if he wants to.”

“Come”, Remus mumbles and pulls discreetly at Sirius' robe. Sirius follows him out, careful to keep his gaze in the other direction than the Slytherins he knows will be watching gleefully.

They reach the first flight of stairs before Sirius realises there is something wrong with Remus. He still clutches his arm tight against his body.

“Let me see” Sirius demands.

He gasps when Remus does what he asks. A deep gush runs along the forearm. Blood starts dripping as soon as Remus loosens his grip.

Sirius doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if that hex had hit him straight on.

“Let’s get you to the Hospital Wing,” he ushers.

Remus silently obliges. It doesn’t take long for Madam Pomfrey to fix him up. She is a splendid medi-witch, with her muttering about stupid violent boys, and all. But Sirius is still distraught when she leaves them, Remus sitting on the bed, Sirius crouching beside him with his arm on top of the bedding.

Remus looks at him and smiles a tentative smile. Sirius feels the sting of tears behind his eyes. Remus tries to reach out and touch him, but he elegantly ducks away.

”I am so sorry. I know it hurts.” Remus says.

”Hurts?” What does he mean? If anyone is hurting it is Remus.

”It must suck to hear things like that.”

”Hear things…? Moony? You are hurt! Because of me. That’s what upsets me.”

Sirius runs his hands down his face and swallows before he continues.

”I watch you get hurt every full moon, and it’s already more than I can take. I can’t watch you get yourself hurt over me. It’s not supposed to be like that. I am supposed to protect you.”

Remus smiles. ”I want to protect you too.”

”No! You don’t get it! I think I.. I think I love you, Moony. For real.”

Remus puts a hand on each of his shoulders and ducks his head low, trying to meet Sirius' downturned eyes. ”I think I love you too.”

Sirius sighs. “You don’t get it…”

”I think I do.” Remus leans forward and forces Sirius to meet his eyes. His hand lingers for a moment at Sirius’ jaw, thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone. Then he slowly brushes his lips against his, soft and tentative.

Sirius winds his arms around Remus, pulling him closer, and the tentative kiss deepens. The heat of it, the overwhelming rightness of it, consumes him until he feels Remus’ laughter vibrate against his mouth as they topple backwards onto the bed. Sirius braces himself above him, grinning like a fool.

Madam Pomfrey sharply clears her throat. “You may leave now.” Sirius can hear the smile in her voice from across the room.