#bird removal kitchener

[skedaddledh]

Kitchener WIldlife Removal: What Is Bird Moulting?

Like other animals, such as dogs, birds go through the process of shedding. However, for birds, this is called moulting. To understand more about what bird moulting is, why they do it and how the team at Skedaddle in Kitchener can help with humane bird removal services, click the link here.

[bibleofficial]

my neighbour below me got ‘locked out’ of his flat (the literal door handle broke lol) & he rang my buzzer & asked if i had a screwdriver so i went down there & was like omg hello owo here’s ur driver & i met him for the first time & he is indeed a boy 😭😭 so i was helping him by providing moral support i.e. offering to help him cut the door down as i’ve a saw, & then i remembered alllllllll the fuckin chicken wire i’ve left over from trying to make gloria a lid & we managed to make little hooks & fish out parts but it turns out the turning mechanism is what broke not the bolt so we just had to. turn the lil washer in front 😭😭😭

[slttygeto]

SWEAR IT’S JUST RIGHT FOR YOU. | NANAMI. K

જ⁀➴ synopsis: when you and nanami are equally as obsessed with each other, it creates this perfect balance. you cook for him, and he treats your pussy like it’s a blessing.

જ⁀➴word count: 3,3k

જ⁀➴ c.w: pure filth with a bit of fluff, soft dom! nanami, he turns a bit rough towards the end, rough facefucking, cunnilingus + fingering, dirty talk + praise, riding, multiple orgasms + squirting.

When Nanami praises you, it’s soft, gentle and endearing. His rough palm gently collides with the soft skin of your jaw and his thumb traces your cheek. He is reminding you of how much you mean to him, how he would burn the entire world if it meant keeping you safe and protected. You are his fairy, his delicate girl whom he could never imagine even raising his voice at. When he scolds you, his voice is stern and filled with worry despite the displeased tone, his hand grabs at your shoulder not to hurt you, and you want to caress your thumb over his forehead and get him to stop furrowing his eyebrows so deeply.

“You’ll get wrinkles, Ken.” Your voice pulls him out of his displeased state for a moment, and Kento hears birds chirping outside of the window and the sunbeam caresses your skin—It hits your beautiful eyes and he takes in every detail; your eyebrows, the slight discoloration the bottom of your jaw, the mole that seems to bring out the beauty in you even more, your eyelashes that aren’t curled but naturally have a pretty shape to them and he heaves out a sigh. He is consumed by love wherever you are near.

Heaven knows how much the man craved domesticity. He found comfort in it—a routine, a promise that when he comes home, he gets to take off his brown shoes at the front door, put his keys in the small bowl that has a mirror hanging right above it. He would then look at his reflection in the mirror and look away immediately when he notices the sweat stains as he removes his jacket. He hears your footsteps as you rush out of the kitchen with a pretty apron around your waist. You made bread, and Nanami isn’t sure whether to be infatuated by the smell of it, or the smell of your hair that hits his nostrils as you wrap your arms around his waist.

He wouldn’t care that your hair is slightly damp, but he would breathe out how the tank top you were wearing was going to get you sick if you don’t watch out. And Kento cares a lot about your comfort, he respects you a lot, so when you hug his sweaty self, his hands would gently try to remove your arms from around him and protest that he was dirty.

“It’s all hard work, Ken. I like it.” To which he wouldn’t say much but give in and let you hold him. He understands that to an extent, having a natural smell like this was attractive, he’s always told you that he likes it when you come home complaining about sweating too much and all he says is that it makes you even more attractive. Your flushed cheeks, your hair sticking up in small antennas, your nose scrunching up at how disgusting it feels to have your shirt cling onto your skin—

“Can I join you in the shower?” Which always catches you off guard, but you accept of course and Nanami sets his book down, he removes his glass and folds them neatly on top of the book before following right behind you in the bathroom. You giggle nervously when you see him close the door and lock it before leaning against it, and you let out a small and timid ‘what?’ when he keeps eyeing with the same intense eyes.

“You are beautiful.” He never denies that he is looking at you—admiring you, but instead reminds you every time that nothing in the world can change his mind about his infatuation with you.

And somewhere in between that comforting thought of coming home to you, a show playing on TV in the living room, bread baking in the oven and the smell of a clean home—Nanami dreams of fucking you stupid on the couch. He wouldn’t remove your apron, he wouldn’t let you wash your hands off of the flour—he would simply drop his pants, push your shorts down and spread your legs only to find out that you weren’t wearing any panties.

He feels sick to his stomach at thought, sighs and rubs his forehead at the fact that he was imagining such dirty things to do with you. If it were a normal fantasy like coming home and fucking you on the bed, he wouldn’t feel that bad. But that was the thing about fantasies, they existed in our head without our control, and it was up to us to act out on them or not. Kento cherished you too much to scare you off with his oh-so-called sick and twisted fantasy of his.

He comes home after a long day at work, and it’s a few minutes past seven. The house isn’t quiet, there is a show playing in the background and that was the first thing that had Kento stop dead in his tracks. He chooses to brush it off and simply rids himself of his jacket and shoes, sets his keys on the bowl before the smell of bread hits his nostrils and his lips part in confusion.

Was he dreaming? Did he somehow astral project into another dimension where his fantasy was a reality? It only confuses him further when you come out of the kitchen wearing an apron—in this reality though, you’ve chosen to wear one of his shirts instead, and Nanami doesn’t know if it’s better or worse. He tries to hide it, the way he can feel his cock hardening in his pants as you approach him with his shirt, fuzzy socks and hands that had traces of flour on them.

“You’re home.” Is how you greet him, your cheek resting on his chest and melting against his body as you breathe in his scent, a constant reminder that you get to be greeted with this sight five times a week around the same time. You boyfriend’s hand travels up to the back of your head and his fingers comb through your hair as he hums a tired response.

“Did you miss me?” Obviously, is what you want to say. But instead, when you look up at him and notice his hooded eyes, you feel his other rest on the small of your back and your heart leaps in your chest. All of a sudden, you feel hot and you feel something poking at you and you’re just surprised.

It was normal for your boyfriend to have needs, you were used to the sexual frustration that comes with having such a stressful job—but normally, Kento would avoid initiating anything with you until he’s showered and made sure he was clean. For him to insinuate that he wanted you, and so loudly with those eyes—you could feel your panties getting ruined.

“Pretty girl,” he calls out for you again when he notices your silence and the hand resting on your waist holds your chin whilst the other firmly grabs your hair. “Did you miss me?” He asks again, stern and you nod. You missed him too much, you realize. Because the lack of conversation beside greeting him and telling him he’s home—all of it was intensifying the sexual tension. It was almost like your body was warning you that Kento wasn’t going to go easy on you this time and you felt jittery.

“I missed you, Kento. Did you miss me?” You say as your hands grab onto his blouse in fists. You bring him closer to you, and gasp when you feel his hand travel down to hold your neck. He isn’t trying to cut your air, but when you make eye contact with him and see that his face has darkened, you let out a small noise.

“Let me show you instead.”

On the couch, Nanami wastes no time to attach his lips to yours and kiss you breathless. He was such a good kisser, always so passionate, always making sure to tease the corner of your lips before biting nibbling here and there—and fuck, did he lose his mind every time you tried to suck on his tongue. He would just push you on your back and cage you between his strong arms.

Nanami feels like he is constantly losing his breath whenever you are near, but when you grab onto his forearms and moan, he goes feral. Suddenly, he is reminded of how much weaker you are compared to him—frail, delicate, soft and sensitive to his touch. He is lucky, he is blessed and he makes sure to spoil you and that pretty pussy.

His kisses trail all the way down from your neck to your collarbones, his takes a whiff of your perfume and hums.

“You smell so sweet,” he mumbles against your skin. Instead of removing your apron and shirt, he pushes them up to reveal the cute panties that you were wearing and his finger traces the wet patch that’s already formed.

“Kento,” you call out to your boyfriend breathless, desperate—as though you were on a deserted island and he was the water to quench your thirst. Your legs spread on instinct for the man to settle between them and you feel his hot breath right against your panties.

“But you smell even better here… Right here,” he says and he pushes your panties to the side to reveal the wet mess hiding behind the fabric. You prop yourself up a bit higher to be able to look at Nanami while he eats you out, and you blush when you notice that he’s already staring at you.

“Up.” He pats your ass and you lift up your hips to allow him to remove your panties for you, but instead of throwing them on the floor, you see him take a whiff of the fabric and sigh and your blush darkens.

“Can I keep these, my love?” He asks sweetly, voice so deep you felt like your pussy was embarrassing you with how wet it was and you mindlessly nod. “Is that so?” He knew you wouldn’t say no, but he still wanted to thank you for trusting him with his perverted intentions.

“You’re too good for me.” Is the last thing that you hear from him before he dives between your legs and fuck—he is too good. You know Nanami is good, you don’t doubt that he can make you cum as many times as he wants before reaching his own high, but something about him eating your pussy like a treat, enjoying every drop and sucking on your clit with the intention of making you lose your mind—that was too much.

You feel his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks before smothering his face in your pussy. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue licks at your folds and you think that for a moment, maybe he is enjoying this more than you do. His hands grip your thighs to keep them in place, and when he notices that your legs are starting to shake and your hips are bucking up, he takes one look at you and his dick almost bursts.

Flushed chest, swollen lips and a fucked out face. If Nanami wasn’t already in love with your beauty, then he feels himself falling deeper for you. You fall apart on his tongue a couple of seconds later, he enjoys the way you gasp, moan and cry as he keeps his lips attached to your clit and you try to push his head away.

“Too much,” you gasp. “Kento!” you cry out when you feel his two fingers nudge at your folds and by this point, you are breathing too hard. You feel his thick finger prod at that one spongy spot almost immediately and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He presses a hand to your stomach and praises are spilling from his lips like a chant, watching as your soul almost escaped your body with every thrust of his thick fingers perfectly against your spot.

“That’s right baby, you’re doing so good,” “this pussy takes me so well,” “you make me so proud, look at this pussy—fucking filthy,”

The mixture of praise and him losing his composure and cursing has you reaching your orgasm again faster than expected. But this time, you make a bit of a mess and you try to apologize for ruining the couch and his clothes but he is quick to shut you up with his lips.

“You’ve just squirted on me, and you want to apologize?” he mumbles against your cheek, fingers still buried inside you and you whine.

“I made a mess,” you try to reason with your beast of a boyfriend but he quickly retreats his fingers back and delivers a harsh smack to your pussy.

“It’s never been a problem when it’s our bed, has it?”

“Kento,” you call out softly when your boyfriend starts to kiss at your neck again. “Kento, fuck my mouth.” Nanami’s brain short circuits at this and the shock is evident on his features. He doesn’t have time to stop you or protest because you are quick to get off the couch and on your knees for him.

“You’ve been so good to me, keeping me satisfied and happy—I bet you want to fuck my mouth sometimes, don’t you?” Your hands are quickly unbuckling his belt. You don’t remove his pants completely, only enough to free his painfully hard cock from his boxers. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and you watch as he throws his head back on the couch with each slow stroke.

“You don’t know what you are asking for,” is what he says as he tries to get you to back out of this, but you are determined to let him ruin your life. Him, the only man on this planet whom you would blindly trust with your life.

“I know what I am asking for.”

“I could hurt you,”

“I will tap your thigh if you do,” and then there’s a few moments of silence where Kento just stares deeply into your eyes. When you see him lean down towards you, your breath catches in your throat and your lips part in shock when his hand goes to the back of your head and the other one grips your jaw open.

“Open up.” And when you do, he rests the fat tip of his cock on your tongue. The pre-cum is a bit salty but you don’t say anything as you let Kento handle your mouth to his liking. He tells you to open up a bit more and breathe before he starts to thrust his dick in and out of your mouth at a slow pace.

You’re taking it well at first, but when you notice your boyfriend’s thighs shaking, indicating that he is holding back on you, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Quite literally.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and you push his dick down your throat, nose nuzzling against his pubes and he curses out loud.

“Fuck--!” You repeat the same motion over and over again, and by the third time, your boyfriend finally breaks and starts fucking your mouth like a starved man. Your knees burn, and so do your lungs—the couch is moving every time Kento brings your head back on his cock and you’ve braced yourself on his thighs for support.

“Sorry—fuck, I’m sorry baby,” he says between gritted teeth. However, when his eyes catch that you’re rubbing your swollen clit to the same rhythm of your head on his cock, something in him snaps.

He pushes you off of his cock, and any complaint you head is drowned out when he stands up and his cock stands proud. You look up at him from your spot on the floor and brace yourself on his thighs again when you feel him grab your face and push his cock inside your mouth.

“Filthy fucking girl,” he breathes out. “Can’t even let me be sweet to you—shit,” based on how difficult it is to even talk properly, you guess that he is close and so you sneak a hand between his legs and starts fondling with his balls—you squeeze them, and that’s when Nanami finally breaks and cums down your throat with a broken moan.

Even while trying to catch his breath, Nanami’s hands caress your face and neck as he takes a seat and pulls you closer to him. He then helps you get back up on your feet and pulls you on his lap to kiss you. He can taste himself on your tongue even after you’ve swallowed everything.

“Was I good?” You ask when he pulls away from your lips to kiss your cheek and down your neck once again, a pattern that he’s learned always turns you into putty.

“Perfect, my love. You are perfect for me.”

You are surprised at how fast he gets hard again, but you supposed it’s also because you were literally grinding your bare pussy against his dick. Your hands hold onto his shoulders for support as you try to slip his dick past your folds, but you let out a surprised noise when he easily lifts you up and aligns the tip of his cock with your pussy.

“Noticed that you like my arms a lot,” he says and you are obliged to stare at his forearms and good lord—the way they flex as they hold you above his cock, Nanami lets out an amused chuckle when he sees a string of arousal drip directly on top of his cock. “You do like them, huh?”

“Baby,” you whimper and Kento cannot find it in him to tease you any longer. He gently drops you down on his cock and he immediately gets to work. His hand rests on the small of your back and pushes you towards him to press your chest flush against his, his hands then grip your ass cheeks and he starts to slam you up and down on his cock with so much ease.

You sound like a mess. The combination of your boyfriend’s strong arms and the tip of his thick cock abusing your spot turns you into a blabbering mess on top of him.

“So good, so good—fuck, oh fuck,” sounded like music to his ears. Your whines your moans, your fucked out look and your eyes begging him to ruin you—Nanami was addicted to every part of you.

And it only takes a few more messy and sloppy thrusts from him and you cum around him with a loud cry.

“There you go,” he says breathlessly, feeling his own orgasm creeping up on him. “Make a mess on me, baby,”

You shake like a leaf on top of him, hands gripping onto his shirt for dear life and lips pressed against his neck.

“Think you can take a bit more for me? I’m really close, darling,”

“Hurry up,” you say desperately and as promised, Kento thrusts a few more times before he is cumming inside you with a loud groan. He buries his face in your neck, taking in your scent that has now been mixed with his own and a hint of sweat. He relaxes in your hold, hand tracing the small of your back as a way to get you to come down from your orgasm and perhaps even apologize for being a bit rough with you earlier.

All of his worries are brushed off when you pull away from him to press a kiss to his forehead, his nose then down to lips.

“I love you, Ken. I love you too much,” you announce, a hint of sleepiness to your voice and a smile finds its way to his face.

“I love you too, darling. I love you too much.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[willowpains]

GIRLY we need more of latina actress reader! with Drew, I was thinking of her spending time with him and the fam at some summer house or sum and especially after season 3 filming and he has his saggy hair (OML) and one of his sisters prolly Brooke catches reader playing with his hair, and drew and reading dancing around the kitchen cooking breakfast in the morning!!!! and of course add anything else you would like!!! 

summer getaway

drew starkey x latina actress reader!

Your heart was really happy at the moment.

Drew’s family had kindly invited you to join them in their annual summer vacation at their summer house in North Carolina.

You would only be joining them for a week, because you were planning on visiting home in Mexico as well.

Jodi and Todd had been really nice asking you to join the family as they couldn’t imagine the trip without you.

And of course, Drew had not missed the opportunity of telling you how much you two would enjoy the little trip.

So you totally agreed.

And that’s how you two were currently enjoying the afternoon, watching the soon to be sunset on some chairs on the garden at the back of the house, while the rest of his family busied themselves inside.

Oh how you loved quiet moments like this.

You were sitting on Drew’s lap, he had one of his arms around your waist, while the other one rested on your leg.

You were hugging him, with both arms around his neck, while one of your hands played with his wispy hair at the nape of his neck, your nails scraping softly against his skin.

Drew sighed in content as he closed his eyes for a second.

“That feels good” he mumbled, leaning his head on your chest, giving you more space to work with.

You laughed softly at him.

“Yeah?” you asked softly, as you continued your movements, loving how he could absolutely melt under your touch at any moment. “I love your hair like this” you say, while running your fingers through his hair.

He had let his hair grown a little, going for a wispy kind of mullet.

And oh could he pull off any look.

You were kinda jealous.

“You love it huh?” he said teasingly as he moved back his head from your chest so he could look at you. “I’m gonna have to cut it off eventually doll” he said, as he removed his hand from your leg, so he was now holding your face.

You pouted at him.

“What if I convince you not to?” you asked playfully, leaning in to peck his lips, still playing with his hair.

He groaned into the kiss as you pulled back, smiling at him.

“You’re bad” he says, leaning in to kiss you again, before you both break apart at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You two look back and find Brooke, Drew’s sister, peeking her head out from inside the house.

“Dinner is ready love birds!” she says smiling at both of you, just before going back inside the house.

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, while you hide your face in the crook of Drew’s neck.

He lets out a laugh while he softly soothes your back with one of his hands.

“Oh my god I feel like a teenager that just got caught” you say into his neck.

He softly chuckles at your comment while placing a kiss on the top of your head, finding it funny and adorable how flustered you got any time his family catched any type of PDA from you together.

“Let’s get some dinner doll” he says, standing up from the chair with you in his arms.

You let out a shriek in surprise, as you wrap both your arms around his neck to support yourself.

“Drew put me down!” you say, laughing and watching him laugh at your reaction.

He shakes his head in amusement as he walks with you in his arms towards the house.

“Just enjoy the ride love” he says placing a soft kiss on your temple, as he takes you inside the house for you to have dinner with his family.

After dinner, you and Drew offered to pick up table and clean up everything. His family had worked so hard to put everything up, so it was your turn to do something.

“I’ll do the dishes” you say, walking to the sink and starting to clean them up.

Contrary to popular opinion, you loved doing dishes.

There was something so calming and relaxing about getting your hands soapy, bubbly and extra clean that just did something to you.

“I’ll clean up the table” he said, walking off before pecking your lips, leaving you smiley.

You could hear the clatter of forks and plates, and then, he was walking into the kitchen once again.

“Alexa, play lover by Taylor Swift” Drew said out loud, making you turn your head and look at him with a smile, while he gave you a playful look.

Your heart warmed as he approached you and offered you his hand.

“May I?” he said, giving you a big smile.

You could feel the butterflies going crazy in your stomach, and it made you smile even harder.

Quickly, you turned around to rinse your hands while patting them dry, only to face him as he pulled you in.

His hands moved to your waist, and you tangled yours around his neck, looking up at him with an adoring look.

“You know how to charm a girl” you say, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

He chuckled softly as he looked down at you between his arms.

“I only care about charming you” he says, twirling you softly and catching you back, pulling you close to him. “That’s all I ever want”.

His words make your heart flutter, as you rest your head on his chest, enjoying the kitchen dancing session.

With Taylor’s songs behind you, you feel content and at peace, honestly, wherever Drew was, as long as he was with you, you were at peace.

“I love you baby” he says, swaying you both to the rhythm of the song, while he places a soft kiss at the top of your head, while his thumb slowly draws gentle circles on your waist.

You could stay like that forever.

At his words, you look up at him, moving one of your hands that played with the hair on his neck, to his cheek, grazing it softly.

“I love you more mi amor” you say, unable to hide the smile appeared on your face.

He leans down and captures your lips on a kiss that communicates everything you’re both feeling without needing words.

Unbeknownst to both of you, his family was watching, more like peaking, your little romantic moment.

And they had been getting glimpses of your love throughout the trip.

They loved to see their son in love.

In love with you.

Being loved how it should be.

Having you as part of the family.

They knew you were both lucky to have found each other.

The next morning, you were back in the kitchen.

You had offered to cook breakfast for the family, telling them how you wanted to show them a typical mexican breakfast that you knew they would all love.

Drew as always, had offered to help you, being the one who always tried all your recipes.

“Is it good?” you asked, after he tasted your green sauce for chilaquiles.

You liked cooking. You weren’t the best, but you definitely weren’t the worse.

It was enough to make your mom proud, and you could work with that.

Drew paused for a moment as he closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure.

“It’s delicious baby” he said, as he enjoyed the flavors dancing on his tongue.

You squinted your eyes at him, not truly believing his words.

“Be completely honest amor” you said, leaning your hips against the counter, looking at him attentively. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you tell me something’s missing” you admitted giving him a smile.

Drew paused for a moment, before going back and trying the sauce one more time.

He hesitated, his eyes closed, concentrating.

“Maybe a little bit of salt” he said, one eye open waiting for your reaction.

You smiled at him while playfully hitting him on the chest.

“You’re so dramatic” you said laughing, before turning to the stove and adding a bit more salt to finish everything up.

He laughed before placing his hands on your waist, and resting his chin on the crown of your head.

“And you’re amazing” he said, silently enjoying the domestic side of you two being on vacation, sharing with family or not.

You hummed at his words, resting your back on his broad chest.

“Help me serve the plates?” You said, turning around and pecking his lips softly.

Drew scrunched his nose in annoyance as you broke the kiss, looking at him with a smile.

“Let’s make them wait a little longer” he said, wrapping one of his arms around your waist pulling you in, the other one around the back of your neck capturing your lips in a kiss.

You smile between his arms.

Later that night, everyone was chilling and winding down from spending the day out on the beach.

You and Drew were laying down on the couch. You were watching a marvel movie playing on the tv, while he attempted to read a few pages of a book he hadn’t picked up once since arriving at the summer house.

He was trying really hard to stay focused on his book but he seemed to fail, because from what you could see from your position on top of him laying your head on his chest, around 10 minutes had passed and he hadn’t flipped his book page.

You giggled softly as he tore his eyes away from the tv to look down at you.

“What’s so funny?” He smiles sheepishly at you, holding his book with one hand.

You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest to be able to meet his eyes.

“You’re getting distracted” you say smiling at him. “Just give up already and enjoy the movie amor”.

He hesitates for a moment, looking between the tv, his book, and you.

He sighs, shaking his head and smiling.

“I’m weak” he says closing his book and leaving it next to him on the couch.

You giggle softly before going back to resting your head on his chest and watching the movie, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Everybody’s weak when Avengers Endgame is playing” you say, getting immediately lost in the film again.

Drew chuckles softly as one of his hands finds its way to your back, drawing circles, lulling you to sleep. While the other, tangled itself in your hair, scratching your scalp tenderly.

Your eyes began to flutter at his gentle touches.

The weight of being out on the beach all day, mixed with Drew’s fingers against your skin, were making it harder for you to stay awake.

Your eyes were fighting to stay open and continue watching the movie, because no matter how many times you watched it, you loved it every time.

But next thing you knew, you had fallen asleep over Drew.

He didn’t realize when exactly you had fallen asleep.

But when he looked down at you to watch your reaction over Black Widow’s death, he smiled at you being completely asleep and relaxed.

His heart fluttered at the adorable sight before him.

He had to capture it.

So he reached for his phone and stopped breathing for a second to get a perfect picture of you mid dream.

“What are you guys-“ Logan, Drew’s brother, came into the living room and paused mid sentence as Drew sent him a death glare signaling for him to shut up.

Logan lifted his arms in sign of peace, as he slowly walked into the room, silently sitting on the individual couch, immediately getting into the movie.

You were still deeply asleep.

An earthquake could hit and you probably wouldn’t notice.

So Drew threw his phone somewhere next to him, and went back to watching the movie and cradling you between his arms.

He could stay like that forever and he would be the happiest man on earth.

*

thank you so much for your request! I absolutely adored it and had so much fun writing it<3 sorry if it takes me a minute to post, sometimes I’m a bit of a slow writer

I actually loved the concept so much I’m planning on making a moodboard for this soooo stay tuned

I’m so happy to see people enjoying the latina actress reader universe as much as I do, thank you all so much!

as always, if any of y’all wanna read, ask or see something in particular from latina actress reader let me know<3

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 6; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Johnny cleans up the lamp in the morning.

He might as well, being on second watch and all. Ghost wakes him up at the ass crack of dawn with a gentle kick to the ribs (gentle for him) before rolling over on the couch and going right to sleep. It’s routine for them to fall into sleep like rocks sinking in water, but the waking up is never quite as graceful. Johnny snorts awake and whips his head around sharply from side to side before confirming that he’s just in his girlfriend’s apartment and the asshole that woke him up is just his ornery lieutenant. 

“I better not hear any fuckin’ jabber,” is all Ghost says before closing his eyes. Johnny chews his lip to keep the grin off of his face.

He tries to keep it down after that. For the first couple of hours, he sits up against the wall and scrolls on his phone. That keeps him occupied until any lingering exhaustion is flushed from his veins.

There’s a broom and dustpan in a small closet in the kitchen where his girl also keeps the garbage bags and compost bin that he uses to sweep up the mess, and he tries to make as little noise as possible while he cleans up. The glass makes a tinkling sound as it’s swept up though, just loud enough that it inevitably wakes his girl up.

She comes creeping out of her room late into the morning, the shop not due to open for another hour or two. The late weekend opening hours mean she usually gets to sleep in. 

Weeks back, it used to be something that Johnny got to do with her as well, cuddled until she’d suddenly pull away, then waking up to her swallowing his cock, peeking under the bedsheets to find her pretty head bobbing up and down his length. Groaning and palming her head to press her lips down to the base, eyes rolling back at the sound of her gagging around his length, the base of his dick a mess of come and drool. 

In the present day though, she clears her throat. Johnny blinks and refocuses on her. 

Her eyes flit to Ghost’s still form on the couch and when they dart back to Johnny, he raises a finger to his lips. Let the man rest. It’s the least Johnny can do for him after he dragged him back to his girl’s place to make amends. She hazards another cautious glance at Ghost—his lieutenant lies still as a statue on the couch, motionless like he isn’t even breathing—before pursing her lips, displeased. 

In the light of day, his previous anger feels cleansed. He understands now. They’ve gone about this all wrong, topsy-turvy. He’s been chasing his own tail and making a mess of things for far too long now, but Ghost’s voice is clear in his head now. It settles him.  

So when his girl goes to open her mouth, maybe thinking that she can whisper softly enough so as not to wake Ghost up, he steps forward quickly and covers her mouth. 

She squawks behind his hand. Again, he shakes his head. Any sound would be too loud for the man slumbering on her couch. 

Johnny can feel her swallow behind his palm and it almost makes him salivate. His fingers twitch on her cheeks like he might press them into the soft skin and make her lips pout. 

“Not here,” he murmurs, almost mouthing the words.

He waits until she nods before removing his hand. Then he leaves to go dump the dustpan filled with glass into the trash. 

She corners him in the bathroom after that and it’s all he can do not to come in his pants. It’s not his fault he’s been trigger happy since Ghost tugged them off on the sparring mats and came on his stomach; he’s been pent up since the last time he saw her. There’s still flakes of dried come on his belly. He only half resists lifting his shirt to look. If his girl knew, she’d be mortified. 

He wonders if she’d be more upset that he let Ghost beat off on him or that he didn’t clean up his mess. 

Johnny lets the bird guide him to the toilet, letting her shove him down onto the lid.

“Ah, hen, ye really wanna do this now?” he teases, spreading his legs and wrapping his hands around her waist to reel her in, slipping up her shirt at the same time. 

He almost moans when she slaps him across the face, biting his lip when she gasps right after, surprised at her own actions. “Oh—fuck—I’m so sorry—”

He clicks his tongue, lips curling up into an impish grin. “Dinnae worry, baby. ‘M tougher than I look.”

It’s a small mercy that she’s too agitated to really look him over because if she were to direct her gaze even slightly south, she’d find Johnny’s shaft straining against his fly, hard enough to pound nails the second her hand touched his face. He swallows a groan and his fingers tighten, sinking deeper into her flesh. 

“I didn’t mean to—Jesus, it doesn’t matter.” He loves that when she gets frustrated, her bottom lip juts out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into it. “When your…boss or whatever…wakes up, can you please take him and leave?”

“Leave?” Johnny repeats, blinking up at her innocently. 

“Yes. Leave,” she says, stressing the word. He hums and strokes his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach, pleased that she hasn’t yet told him to take his hands off her. Sweet little bird. “We kissed and made up. That’s what you came for, right? So the two of you can get going once he wakes up.”

“No breakfast?” 

She looks distinctly unimpressed. “There’s a coffee shop down the block.”

“Aye, I ken, baby,” Johnny croons, pulling her in closer, smiling when she squeaks and braces her hands on his shoulders, his face almost cradled between her breasts. He turns his head to kiss one, mouth lingering over the cotton of her shirt, tempted almost to bite and rip it. “It’s jus’ that…seems an awful like the second Simon and I take off, you’re jus’ gonna go right back to cold shouldering me. Sure you’re nae jus’ putting on a little show for me now?”

Her fingers grip him by the fabric of his shirt. “Johnny—” She yelps when he bites the inside of her breast, snarling when she tries to pull away. “Okay, okay, okay, I got it—”

“That’s right,” he says with a content sigh, pulling back just the slightest bit. “You’re nae going anywhere. Not until we’ve talked this out, nice and civil.”

When she stares down at him, wide-eyed, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, it’s a rush like he’s never experienced. He feels right in the flow of things now, his head on straight for once. 

“What’s there to talk about?” she mumbles, and he almost melts. “I’m not mad anymore.”

“Nae mad? Then why’re ye trying to kick us out?”

“Because I’m busy, Johnny,” she snaps. “The shop’s opening in an hour and I don’t have time to babysit the two of you.”

“Ye willnae even notice we’re here, hen, I promise. Fuck, I’ll even help ye out—make some deliveries, go shake anyone down that still owes ye—”

“I don’t shake down my customers, Johnny—”

“Whatever ye need, baby.” He drags his palms up her sides, pulling up her shirt with his hands. Her tits pop out like ripe fruit dangling in front of his mouth, puffy nipples begging to be sucked on. “Simon and I will be right here. Ye can use us however ye want.”

He stares at her nipple while saying that, unconsciously leaning forward until his lips graze her skin and his tongue pokes out. She doesn’t budge, just curses under her breath and lets him rub his tongue over her beaded nipple, shaking in his hold. Johnny bets if he pulled down those little sleep shorts of hers, he’d find a wet little cunt begging for a fat cock to fill her up. 

It’d take nothing for him to pull them down and give her what she’s asking for. The love of his life is tucked away beneath a layer of flimsy cotton and begging for him to give her some love and affection. Johnny hasn’t kissed her in God knows how long—a week? Two? He’d probably find her swollen and aching beneath her shorts; could get her to come just by dragging two fingers up the seam of her. 

He knows what Ghost would say though, so he drags his teeth over her nipple just for the pleasure of feeling her flinch and then pulls back. The bird blinks down at him with hazy eyes when he helps readjust her shirt, pulling it back down to cover her gorgeous tits, a damp spot on her shirt over the nipple he just had in his mouth. 

“We’re not going to…?” she asks, letting the question dangle in midair. She says it without thinking—clearly, because the second it dawns on her that she just asked if they were going to fuck in the bathroom with Johnny sitting on the toilet, she looks horrified with herself. It’s beyond endearing. 

“No’ with Simon in the other room, baby. Wouldnae be fair for him to have to listen in.”

He doesn’t tell her that fairness in this case doesn’t mean cruel. It means that it wouldn’t be possible. 

Still, he needs to shoo her out of the bathroom to tug one out into the toilet bowl. Johnny would be half tempted to jerk off onto her mirror just to leave his mark where she could see, but he has some manners. 

He gives himself a nice, leisurely tug with the help of his girl’s expensive hand lotion. It’s not as viscous as the lube in the gallon tub on his nightstand back at the barracks, but it’s a good substitute; makes his hand glide nicely over his shaft.  If he closes his eyes, it even smells like her, like it’s his girl giving him a morning reach around, and part of Johnny wonders whether he was too quick to kick her out of the bathroom. Ghost wouldn’t begrudge him a quick and dirty jerk.

The thought dissolves the longer his hand flies over his dick though. Hard to think about anything outside the present moment when his hand is braced against the wall and his orgasm barrelling towards him. When he comes, it’s with a deep, shuddering grunt, not even bothering to muffle the sound. He hopes his girl hears him from the other room. He hopes it makes her squirm and ache. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, another voice takes him by surprise.

“Johnny. You’re on breakfast.”

Ghost’s voice is gruff in the early morning hours, abrupt. Rarely could it be classified as gentle, but it’s like chert rattling in a leather bag after hours of disuse. Especially since it comes out of nowhere, the man asleep one moment and awake the next. Johnny’s worked with him long enough to not flinch at the sudden sound of his voice, but his girl hasn’t; she yelps when his voice comes unbidden from the couch, big body suddenly upright like he’s been awake the whole time. 

He’s no cook, but Johnny can rustle up eggs and bacon like any other self-respecting serviceman. On deployment, they used to rotate cooking duty every night, no one skilled enough to take over the post permanently. Still, Johnny eyes Ghost worriedly when he takes a seat across from the bird at her little kitchen table. It’s not a table meant for two grown men, just a small wooden thing with four chairs, only enough for one on each side. It means that Ghost’s knees knock against hers when he takes the chair across from her, forcing her to curl up into herself, tucking her legs under the chair. 

He stares her down. Menacing eyes. Not the kind of man you want sitting across from you, no matter the circumstances. It makes Johnny anxious to turn his back on them when he has to crack the eggs into the pan, checking over his shoulder religiously. The whites go crispy at the edges before he remembers to flip them over.

“You work downstairs in the flower shop,” Ghost says bluntly, breaking the silence. His first words to Bird all morning. Not a question.

“…Yes,” Bird answers gingerly. Her palms are clamped over her knees, sweating likely. “I own it.”

“Since when?” He doesn’t blink before firing off another question.

“Um…two years.”

“Where’d you work before?”

“In…in London. I was a shopgirl there though—”

“Where’s your family from then?”

It goes on that way for a time, an interrogation with no rhyme or reason. Even Johnny has to wonder at Ghost’s intentions—knows that there’s no shot that Ghost hasn’t already done a background check on her. Why interrogate the bird then? Why rattle off question after question in such quick succession? Why make her tremble and look down at the tabletop and stutter out her answers and fidget under his stare—

He notices Ghost’s hand slip beneath the table to grip his length, spreading his legs to help readjust.

Ah. Mean bastard. Of course he’d get off on making her squirm.

The bacon burns. Johnny can’t help it. He listens attentively to her clear voice—softer in the morning hours, still sleep-laden and flowery—whispering out her life’s story, dick getting hard behind the kitchen island. He bites his lip to hold back a moan when she trips over her words. Thrusts forward to rub his bulge against the underside of the island when she chews on her lip, relieving some of the pressure. It drives him mad that there’s a wet cunt going unsatisfied just a few feet away. 

Ghost shoots him a sharp look as if he can hear his thoughts. “Johnny.”

He turns around to flip the burner off.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1871 school in Lafox, IL has been removed from the market, but still listed just in case. It hasn't sold, but it will be back. It has 1bd, 1.5ba, 2,000sqft. 2 floors and they only put in one bedroom, maybe that's why it's a hard sell. Also, they did the whole thing in gray scale. It's estimated value is $399,100.

This is the way we go to school...It has a cute little entrance hall. Looks like there might be some original photos from the old school.

The main floor living space is open concept. I like those original columns and the schoolhouse lights.

The kitchen is cute. I like the greige color of the cabinets, and the drainboard sink.

Half bath on the 1st fl.

They've got a little pantry on the stairs going to the unfinished basement that they don't show.

It certainly is big up here, they could've put in at least another bedroom.

Look at the size of this bedroom, and b/c they only have the one, there are 2 beds in here.

They didn't plant this out well. The parents and child share this huge room when they could've easily put up a few walls. This is probably why they're selling it.

The bath is very cute and vintage-y.

There's a lovely patio and garden.

The original school bell is in the tower, too, complete with bird poop.

54,450sqft lot. It's a very nice piece of property.

[leighsartworks216]

Fistfight

Sylus x gn!Reader / Sylus & gn!Reader

IT'S FINALLY FINISHED AHHH I'm so glad I was finally able to get this goddamn idea out of my head

Can be read as romantic, platonic, or familial (ie. Sylus adopting another young bird for his flock lol)

Title from "Fistfight" by The Ballroom Thieves

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, blood, injury, injured animal, guns, abusive parent, slow burn, potentially confusing pov, shapeshifting, literal sleeping together

Word Count: 4,381

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third - Fourth LADs Masterlists

AO3

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Sylus stops at the mouth of the alley. He stares into the heavy darkness, listening. He thought he heard someone swearing under their breath. If it’s another one of the bastards that tried to gang up on him just minutes ago, he’s going to be pissed.

With an outstretched hand, tendrils of his Evol dive into the depths of the abyss, shoving past and under dumpsters and discarded boxes to find the source of the sound. A yowl screams out with the distinct sound of cans being knocked over. They wrap around the source and draw it out into the orange lamplight.

A cat wriggles and hisses as it tries to futilely claw out of his Evol’s grasp. He hmphs. Of course, it makes sense for a cat to be out here. The N109 Zone is probably chock full of strays and-

He frowns and draws it closer. It tries swiping at his face, but he barely flinches back. The side of its body is stained in deep crimson. Fur matted down with blood. Fresh blood, too. It’s still dripping, landing on the sidewalk in persistent drips.

“Did you get into a fight?” He knows his question won’t receive an answer, but the cat does struggle less once he’s asked it. Perhaps it’s just growing weaker with blood loss.

He sighs. He can’t leave it here in the alley; it would be dead in the next few hours if he did. And clearly it won’t let him touch it, given the way it bares its fangs at him with a sharp hiss and a swipe of its claws.

He pulls off his coat and holds it open. The tendrils deposit the cat quickly within his arms, where he wraps it securely in the leather before it can squirm away. “You’ve still got spirit,” he hums, half-amused, as he continues on his way. “Hopefully you’ll live through the night.”

-

“Uh, Boss? What’cha got there?” Kieran trails just behind him, trying to peer around his arm to see the bundle wrapped up in them.

Luke is on his other side, doing just the same. “Why is it moving like that?”

“It’s a cat.” The Twins look at each other. “Call a vet. Have them send over a doctor to look at it.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Luke says with a half-finger salute.

“And get some fish from the kitchen.”

“Right away, Boss,” Kieran mirrors his brother.

They break away from him to go about their tasks. He can hear their hushed conversation asking each other what they think happened. The cat manages to free a paw and claw at his hand. The scratch is deep enough to draw blood. It fades away into flecks of red and black a moment later. He sighs as he pulls open the door to his office. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

The door shuts, his hold loosens, and the cat is squirming out as fast as possible. It jumps wildly onto the couch, staining the dark leather with blood and whatever god awful garbage stuck to its paws from that alleyway.

Now that he’s back home, he can see its injuries much better. It seems like there’s a hole in its side, too large and too perfectly round to be from an animal’s tooth or claws. Sylus frowns deeper. Did this cat get shot? Was it a poor attempt at pest control? Humans have been known to have a poor track record with strays and ferals, and the residents of the N109 Zone aren’t known to hesitate to remove what annoys them.

There’s a knock at the door behind him. The cat sits up straighter, like it’s ready to bolt the second it opens. He quirks a challenging brow at it. Who will win this fight, he wonders.

He turns the knob without looking away. The door opens up enough for someone to slip inside. He turns to address Kieran, and the cat makes a break for it.

It collides into a wall of smoke.

“Here’s the fish, Boss. Vet’s on their way.”

He pays no attention to the yowling and hissing of the cat as he examines the container in his hand. It’s certainly a bit fancy for a stray. Hopefully it’ll be enough to calm it down.

The door closes with a hum of dismissal. The wall vanishes, leaving only a worn-out cat and a scratched up rug behind. It looks up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Hungry?” He hooks a finger around the pull tab and removes the lid on the can. Immediately, the overbearing scent of fish fills the room. He sets it down a foot or so away from the cat, steps back, and watches.

It continues to stare at him for a minute. It’s almost unsettling. Like there’s something more behind its eyes that he’s not privy to.

Soon enough, though, the hunger must be too much for the little thing. It slowly stands up. He watches it carefully as it limps over to the fish. Its back leg doesn’t appear to be damaged; maybe it just hurts to move too much with how close it is to the hole in its side. The cat lowers itself down on its stomach, shoulders hunched, prepared to run at any given moment, and gives the can a distrusting sniff.

The first bite feels like a major success. If it can fight and it can eat, maybe it really can pull through this.

-

The cat glares at him from across the room. Its tail flicks angrily from side to side. And there is no way in hell he can take it seriously.

If the cone around its neck didn’t remove any and all intimidation, its shaved fur certainly did.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat look so pissed!” Luke cackles. He’s sitting on the floor. For the last few days, he’s been trying to “be one with the cat” in order to get close enough to pet it. He’s got bandages all over his hands to show for it.

“Do you think it knows it would’ve died without that surgery?” Kieran asks. He’s sitting on the couch behind his brother, arms crossed. Of all three of them, the cat seems to like him the best. Though, the bar really is in hell.

Sylus shakes his head. “Do you think it would be so angry if it did?”

“Hmm, good point.”

“Oh!” Luke suddenly jumps up, startling the cat, and runs over to a bag by the door. “I almost forgot I got these! There’s gotta be something in here it likes.”

He hauls the bag over and drops it onto the nice mahogany desk of their leader. Sylus doesn’t say anything, merely watches as Luke pulls out various items. Two kinds of brushes, little catnip mice toys, feathers dangling from a stick, at least three kinds of treats-

Kieran laughs. “When did you get all of this stuff?” He’s suddenly by Luke’s side, picking up one of the dangle toys and bouncing it in front of Mephisto, resting on his perch nearby. The crow squawks indignantly.

Luke shrugs with a proud expression. “I have my ways. Here, let’s try these!” He grabs one of the treat bags and tears it open. He returns to his place on the floor. The cat stares up at him with interest. “Want this?”

Its tail slows down slightly, a smidge less irritated than before. Luke nearly squeals with excitement when it leans forward to smell the morsel in his hand.

A sharp ringtone startles it. It backs away, tucking itself into the corner of its makeshift bed made out of spare blankets far too expensive for a cat to be laying on like it does.

Sylus lifts his phone to his ear. “Speak.”

The Twins both turn to watch. He listens silently to the man on the other end. It seems the boss of the men who ambushed him the other night is trying to cover his ass, offering up apologies and ‘I had no idea’s and ‘How can I make it up to you?’s. He hums noncommittally into the receiver as he stands up and heads for the door. He nods to the Twins, a silent message for them to follow. The crow flies and lands on his shoulder as he leaves. Luke sets the treat down on the carpet. Kieran nudges him. The door shuts behind them.

The cat stares at the door for a minute longer. It listens carefully to the footsteps of its captors. Once it can’t hear them anymore, it waits a few more minutes…

Fucking finally.

-

Sylus's steps slow to a stop just inside the room. The cone lay abandoned on the couch. All the furniture and rugs are destroyed, clawed up and torn apart. The culprit is sitting on the desk. It stares at him blankly.

The door closes with a click. He walks over to the couch, leaning over the back to pick up the abandoned cone. He turns it over. There's no scratches, no bite marks, and the cord that holds it shut has been tied with a different knot than the vet used.

He looks back over at the cat. Its tail twitches anxiously beside it.

Trouble. Just like he suspected. Though, not quite like this.

"As long as you aren't licking at your stitches," he concedes. He steps over to the desk and drops the cone on top, near the cat. "Hm. You need more pain medication, don't you?"

"Mreow."

"Oh, so you do know how to speak nicely." He rounds the desk. The cat turns to face him the whole time. At least it doesn't try to scratch him as he opens the top drawer and pulls out an orange bottle. He struggles momentarily to get just one of the small pills, resorting to dumping some into the cap just to make it easier on himself, and holds it out to the cat. It hesitantly leans out to sniff it. "Don't most animals like to have their meds hidden?"

It makes a little sound, as though trying to chastise him for his misconception. He holds the pill patiently. Waits with all the patience of someone willing to let the world disintegrate around them. He almost holds his breath when it takes the pill from his fingers and retreats to eat it safely.

Progress. Good progress, for how short the cat's been here. Eating out of his hand is a good sign, for how odd the rest of its behavior is.

-

"Ah, shit, wait!"

The cat runs down the hall. Two sets of footsteps chase after it, hissing pleas for it to come back and be a good kitty. They cartoonishly skid to a stop when it runs through another open door.

Luke turns slowly to Kieran. Both of them are horrified for what comes next.

After a quick round of rock, paper, scissors, Kieran is the one forced to crack open the door further.

Sylus is sitting up on his bed, back against the headboard. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling in a normal pattern. Fast asleep. A frown is set deep on his face.

Kieran looks around the room. It's huge, has a lot of hiding spots, and seems to be completely devoid of the cat. Did it slip by somehow? Did it actually go into a different room? He glances at Mephisto, who seems far too busy preening its faux feathers to care about his plight.

Fearing the consequences of lingering any longer, Kieran slowly backs away and closes the door as quietly as possible. He shrugs at his brother. Luke is just as confused as he is, gesturing in a silent conversation.

Deciding they were both somehow, somehow tricked, they continue their hunt further down the hall…

The cat pokes its head out from behind its cover. Honestly, it didn't mean to get trapped in here. It was just trying to lose the two goons on its tail.

The presence on the bed doesn't do a lot to put it at ease. The man confuses it with his callousness. One minute, he's manhandling it with his Evol, and the next he's giving it food and making sure its wounds are taken care of. It's not that he's mean, as far as the cat can tell. He's nice to those guys, anyway, humoring their weird little ideas and eccentricities.

Mephisto hops down beside it. The cat's back curls, fur all standing on end as it hisses at the metal bird. He seems just as unfazed by the warning as the man is.

"Leave it."

The command startles the cat, putting it on higher alert as it whips around to hiss at the man. He pays it no mind. Mephisto caws irritatedly as he flies back up to his perch.

“You aren’t supposed to be running around.” Sylus glances at the cat. "Do you want to leave?" he asks in a low murmur, words slurred slightly with sleep. He waits for a response. Waits for any sort of tell that would let him know to open the door for the cat. But nothing comes.

The cat's fur is still standing up as it cautiously makes its way over. It stops at the side of the bed, adjusting its body as it gauges the distance it needs to jump to make it onto the thick mattress. Sylus chuckles tiredly. "You can't jump that, kitten. Want some help?"

It puts its paw on the overhanging bedding, standing on its back legs. Then, it meets his eyes. "Mreoww."

He waves his hand. Red and black Evol lift the cat onto the bed before fading. It's a little unsteady on the softer surface, but it catches its balance soon enough. It takes a single step away from the edge, then lays down.

He hums, but he doesn't say anything more. If the cat wants to stay there for the rest of the day, so be it. The Twins won't come looking for it again in here, and Mephisto isn't going to snitch to them of all people.

He shuts his eyes again, ignores the cat staring at him, and falls asleep.

Slowly, the cat's fur smoothes down. It allows itself to curl up into a more comfortable position. It keeps an eye on him until it can't anymore, as sleep claims it, too.

-

Every day for the next couple weeks, this continued.

For the first few days, Sylus would head off to bed, leaving the door cracked open behind him. The cat would come in a while later. If he was awake, he'd use his Evol to lift it up. If he wasn't, well, it meowed persistently until he was.

Sylus soon set up a pet stair beside the bed. This way, it could climb up without having to wake him. With that, it also began following him in right as he went to bed. He'd been pleasantly surprised the first time, when he opened the door and it slipped in quickly through his legs, ran up the stairs and stared at him. When he woke up at sundown, he noticed that it was just a couple inches closer than before.

Every few days, it shifted closer and closer, until it was within arm's reach. Though, he never tried reaching out to pet it. It was clear by their interactions at night that it was not ready for that sort of attention, no matter how desperately Luke tried to just pat its head once. Like a silent agreement, he would offer it protection in the day while they both slept and leave it to its own devices at night.

-

“Cat seems to be feeling a lot better, huh?” Kieran follows the feline around the room as it wanders gracefully along shelf after shelf of lethal weapons.

“Shouldn’t we get it down from there?” Luke wonders. His phone is lifted, taking photos of the cat, just as he’d been doing for all the time it’s been living in the base.

Sylus looks up to watch with them, the gun in his own hand going ignored.

The cat walks slowly. Its focus is solely on the guns on display, observing each one like it’s a museum. He watches as it comes to a stop in front of one - one he himself altered and upgraded. It stares. Paws lightly at it. It’s not loaded, there’s no danger, but there is an intense interest he’s never seen a cat have before. Like it’s thinking, trying to work something out with knowledge it shouldn’t have.

A camera shutter startles it from its focus. It turns its head toward the Twins and meows annoyedly at them.

Sylus shakes his head. “Leave it be. Start gathering product for our client.”

Luke slips his phone into his pocket with a half-salute. Both of them look a moment longer at the cat, staring down at them with a twitching tail, before getting back to work. They pack enhanced rifles into a sturdy case, fitting them into foam cutouts in layers. Big metal clasps hold the case shut. Each rifle glows dimly with protocore energy. Mostly red, some blue, a couple yellow. Sylus looks over one, turning it over in his hands, checking the quality. From the corner of his eye, the cat keeps watch, tail flicking back and forth all the while.

-

“I’m so sorry again for my men’s ambush, Mr. Qin.” The man bows solemnly, hands rubbing together. He’s shorter than Sylus, but he’s bulky, with thick arms and a barrel chest. His smile is disarming. Eyes too bright and kind. When he straightens out again, he’s rubbing his wrist, as though realigning the joint. “My child ran away, you see. I sent them out looking for them, but they saw you and decided not to waste the opportunity.”

Sylus quirks an eyebrow. “Did you men have a reason to try taking my life?”

The man laughs, quite undisturbed by the question. “To prove their capabilities, no doubt. You are quite famous for your strength, after all, and those young men did not understand the consequences to come from failing. To be sure, in their minds, they must have believed themselves so capable as to not fail.”

“Must have.”

With a nod, one of his henchmen steps forward with a bulky case. He deposits it in front of the Onychinus leader, clicking it open where it rests on his desk. Stacks of protocores, gleaming in a rainbow of colors, fill the case to the brim. They aren’t run of the mill either; a case of this size with this many authentically powerful crystals would take the Hunter’s Association years to amass. Yet here they are, for the taking.

“You should know these are worth more than the weapons you requested.”

“But of course! Consider it a gift of good will, and a hope for future business between our groups.”

There’s a scratch at the door. Soft, yet recognizable to Sylus, who flicks a finger and opens the door a crack. Just as always, the cat squeezes through. But this time, it pauses when it sees Sylus’s client. When he looks at the client, he looks just as caught as the cat.

The air becomes tense and stifling. No sound to be heard as the cat moves silently and quickly across the floor. The man and his lackeys watch, wide-eyed, as the cat leaps up into Sylus’s lap. It’s the first time it’s ever found a place there. For all these weeks, it has always kept a careful distance from everyone, even the Twins and their persistent desire to pet it. Now, out of nowhere, it chooses to cross that boundary it set entirely?

It lays down, front paws tucked under itself, large eyes with slit-pupils staring at the man on the other side of the desk.

The man’s jaw tightens. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. He’s on a thin wire; Sylus can feel the rage beginning to leak off of his being. Even without looking into his soul, he can see the truth behind that easy-going mask he wears; the blackened heart rotting inside. When he finally looks back up at Sylus, he forces a strained grin and chokes out a sharp laugh without mirth.

“Mr. Qin, I believe you said you had no involvement in my child’s disappearance.”

Sylus’s brow furrows, an intimidating warning. “I stand by that.”

The man’s cheek twitches. “You do? Ha!” His hands fall to his sides, hands clenched in tight fists. “Then the little fuck has been pulling you along like a fool. Hiding away as a cat this whole fucking time, haven’t you?”

He feels the cat tense in his lap. It sits stock-still. Even its tail is stiff. Like one small move would pull the pin to set everything off. He doesn’t even notice himself sitting up straighter in return. Doesn’t realize he’s as tense until his finger begins tapping at the arm of his chair, ready for what could happen next.

“Tell you what, Mr. Qin. Hand them over and I’ll send over three more boxes just like that,” he offers through grit teeth, nodding to the case on his desk.

“I think if they’d wanted to go with you, they’d have done so already,” he rebuts. “Considering they could have run back home weeks ago, it seems to me their choice is already clear.”

His jaw shifts. Teeth grinding, smile starting to sour into an ugly grimace. “Mr. Qin-”

“The deal’s off,” Sylus interrupts sharply. The man blinks, wide-eyed in shock. “If you refuse to respect my guests in my own home-”

“THEY’RE MY CHILD!” he roars.

“In my home.” He gestures. Luke and Kieran step out from behind him, grabbing the cases of guns and settling them behind his chair, safely out of reach. He tilts his head. Shadows cast over his eyes until they’re embers in the dark. “Why would you send trigger-happy men to retrieve them?”

The man is silent. Fuming. Steam would be pouring from his ears if it could. His fists shake by his side with force, aching to hurt something - someone.

A large, protective hand rests gently over the cat’s back. Barely even touching.

“Get out.”

The man stays still. His guards stand rigid.

Sylus tsks. Red and black tendrils of mist erupt from his hand. They shoot out, grabbing hold of the man and his guards, contorting their legs and arms and bodies like dolls. Sickening cracks, gut-wrenching screams. Their bodies puppeteered out the door, down the hall.

He uncovers the cat. “Make sure they leave without a fuss,” he commands, nodding at the case on the desk. “Take that with you.”

The Twins shut and lock the case back up, whispering questions to themselves as they glance back on their way out. They don’t fully understand what happened. To them, it just sounds like this guy was a crazy pet-dad whose cat got out.

The cat slowly stands from his lap. He watches as it hops on top of his desk, turning back around to face him as it sits. Its tail still shifts anxiously. Paws shift nervously against the wood, as though it’s trying to knead it.

Sylus’s lips quirk into a slight smirk. “Jig’s up, kitten.”

It looks away from him. Fur begins to recede and shift. Limbs elongate and the body sits upright. In a matter of seconds, where once a cat sat, sits a person. You rub your arm, still looking away. He shifts to uncross his legs and you flinch. He slowly finishes the action with a sigh. All of your attitude, your defiance, locked away from the presence of your father alone. He can only imagine how such cruelty against you began. Every scenario makes him wish he’d done worse when “escorting” him out.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises.

You glance at him. “I used you.”

He nods. “I knew something was strange weeks ago,” he admits. You look at him wide-eyed and he chuckles. “Ever since your cone was removed and I gave you medicine. You removed it yourself, didn’t you?”

“... It was uncomfortable.”

He grins, but continues with an edge of softness, “You used me for your own protection. And given what I just witnessed, I’d say it was well justified.”

You let out a soft breath. Your shoulders relax slightly, adjusting to his kindness. It was nothing you didn’t already witness in your time here, with you in your cat form and the two kids he keeps around, but it’s still quite foreign. “I would have left sooner, but then you kept getting phone calls from my dad. I was scared he’d still be looking for me, so I stayed… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to.” He glances at the time. When he stands, he moves carefully, but you don’t flinch away. He holds out a hand, an offering. “I’d imagine you’re getting tired of eating cat food every day. I’ll have my chef prepare something for you. Anything you’d like.”

You look down at his open palm. Then up at his face. There’s nothing guarded or threatening, outside of his height and aura. And the promise of real food - your stomach growls at the thought alone.

You put your hand in his. His touch is soft and gentle. He helps you down from his desk and leads you out of the room, down familiar halls. “What about after?” you ask uncertainly.

He shrugs a shoulder, like he’d already thought of every outcome before you even thought of the question. “That’s up to you, kitten. You’re welcome to stay here, or you can leave. Either way, I’ll make sure you remain protected.”

It’s like a weight lifts off your shoulders. Freedom and protection rolled into one. You’re no longer confined to your home, in fear for your very life. You can go anywhere, do anything, and know, no matter how far, you’ll be safe. You hold on tighter to his hand, catching up to walk directly by his side. “Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“That’s my name.”

He smiles. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

That night, a familiar cat curls up tightly in his lap, fast asleep and purring loudly.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

[hellothereobiwankenobi]

yellow ribbon on the door | chapter two

⟢ summary: Tommy convinces Joel to cover for him, and complete the repairs at your flower shop.

⟢ pairing: joel miller x afab!reader (femme but not descriptive as to actual features)

⟢ tags: no outbreak au, flower shop au, idiots in love, small age gap, joel is 35 and reader is 29 about to be 30, reader is a war widow, operation desert storm mentioned, reader is a single mother to ellie, eventual smut, no beta reader we die like men

⟢ wc: 3.2K

⟢ authors notes: Well, let me start by saying thank you for everyone who read chapter one! And an extra thank you to everyone who left such kind comments. I am so appreciative to everyone who has interacted with this story so far.

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The following Monday morning, Joel carries tools back and forth from the garage into the bed of his work truck. He loves this part of his morning routine. It was still early enough that most of his neighbors were in their homes getting ready for work and late enough that all the school-aged children on his street had already been picked up by big yellow buses. It was quiet enough for Joel to get some peace, sip his coffee, organize his tools how he liked, and hear the morning birds sing overhead.

Joel had a busy day ahead of him. He needed to pick up the drywall order for tomorrow's job, place a new order for the correct sized plumbing hardware for a client's kitchen remodel (he knew he shouldn't have trusted Tommy with taking the measurements), and he hoped to stop by elderly Mrs. Williams' home to make sure the handrails he installed in her shower last week were to her liking. He also had an important meeting with a real estate development firm about framing the main entryway of a new apartment complex being built in the city. Landing this job could open more doors for his and Tommy’s business, and it offers a sizable payout.

He grabs his colt coffee mug from the edge of the tailgate before finishing it off. As Joel closes the tailgate, the cell phone clipped to his belt rings. He removes it from his belt and hits the green answer button without checking the caller ID "Miller Brothers Contracting."

"Joel, it's me." Tommy's voice comes through the speaker pressed to his ear "I screwed up, man."

What is it now? Joel thinks. This is far from the first time he has heard his younger brother speak those words over the phone. But this type of call usually comes in the middle of the night and is preceded by a robotic voice stating, "This is a collect call from the Travis County Jail—Central Booking. Do you accept the charges?"

There is no way Tommy has already gotten himself arrested. It's not even eight in the morning.

Joel prepares for the worst. "What now?" 

Tommy explains that he double-booked himself today. He promised to come by your store this morning, but after checking his schedule, he realized he couldn’t make it across town in time for his next client—not in Austin traffic, at least.

"I need you to go and help her out," Tommy adds desperately. "I'll owe you one."

"Already do," Joel reminds him. 

Maybe it was his fault. Joel always felt that, as the older brother, it was his responsibility to bail Tommy out of his messes. Joel couldn't count how many times during Tommy's high school years he had picked him up in the wee hours of the morning because he was too drunk to drive home and too afraid to call their parents. Or the time Tommy ran his mouth off to a couple of good ol' boys at a local dive bar, and Joel had to join in when the fists started flying. Or when Tommy threw a party while their parents were in Mexico visiting family, and one of his friends punched a hole right through the bathroom door because it "wouldn't open." Joel had spent the little money he had on the supplies needed for a patch job good enough that their father wouldn't notice.

"Joel, please. I'm beggin' here." Tommy pleads.

Joel drags his large hand down his face and sighs, "Fine."

"You're a lifesaver. I'll buy us a round tonight as thanks." Tommy rushes out the address of your shop, and the line goes dead as he quickly disconnects the call.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

Joel sits in the driver's seat of his truck, eyes closed, both hands white-knuckling on the steering wheel, parked outside of your store: Iris-istible. Tommy hadn't mentioned you were a florist.

Joel takes a deep inhale and tries to give himself a quick pep talk. Just go in, tighten a bolt or two, and get out, he tells himself.

Joel gathers the strength to climb out of the cab and grab his navy blue toolbag from the truck bed. As he enters through the shop's front door, a small bell chimes and announces his presence. Three long, natural wood tables take up most of the floor space of the small storefront. The walls are exposed brick in alternating shades of deep burgundy and mahogany brown outlined in grey grout. Wooden shelves displaying premade arrangements, and various house plants in mismatched containers line the store's perimeter. A complex crystal chandelier hangs overhead, illuminating the cozy store front.

Joel looks to his left, and there you are, standing behind a waist-high butcher block counter stacked high with books on the language of flowers and beginner's guides to starting a garden. A goldenrod watering can and an old-fashioned register frame either side of the counter. 

Your back is turned toward the door while you fiddle with the soil of a potted orchid. You're wearing a pair of denim overalls over a short-sleeve white t-shirt. The straps of a sunshine yellow apron wrap over your shoulders and tie neatly in a bow around your waist at the center of your back. 

Your whole body whips around to face the entryway when you hear the bell's chime ringing out through the small shop. You are positively beaming, smiling ear-to-ear.

"Tommy, I thought you'd nev—" Your words die in your throat, and your smile melts away as you make eye contact with the older Miller brother.

"Sorry to disappoint," Joel grumbles, averting his eyes from you. There is an uncomfortable heat running up the back of his neck. Joel wouldn't describe himself as a proud man, but your ever-present fondness for his brother is on full display this morning, making him regret his decision to come.

You stand unblinking, still holding the potted orchid between your perfectly manicured fingers. French tips. Or at least that's what he thinks Sarah calls them.

"No," you come back to your senses and forcefully shake your head. A smile, while much smaller than the previous one, pulls back on your lips. "Not at all. Just surprised."

Joel could be just imagining it, but what looks like a rosy blush blossoms on the apples of your cheeks. From embarrassment or something else, he isn't sure.

Joel's feet remain planted just inside the entrance. He doesn't dare take another step into the store. Maybe it's not too late to leave.

"Let me show you where the walk-in is." You place the orchid on the counter and wipe away any remaining potting soil from your fingers onto your apron.

You step out from behind the counter and wave a hand for Joel to follow. You hold open the black, swinging door labeled "Employees Only" that leads to the store's backroom.

The back room was larger than Joel would have expected—maybe about half the size of the main storefront. Bags of potting soil and mulch are stacked against the wall next to a shelf of extra terracotta pots and crystal vases. A tall, light-colored workbench is pushed against the opposite wall. It is littered with discarded bruised petals and the clipped ends of flower stems.

On the back wall, there is a large silver door with a sizable latching handle. You place both hands on the handle and give it a couple of good tugs until it clicks open. You look over your shoulder with an embarrassed smile as you pull the door open. "Sorry, it sticks sometimes."

You and Joel finally step into the cooler. You had already turned off the A/C unit in anticipation of having it repaired. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelving, all filled with different varieties of flora. Some flowers Joel could recognize: roses, daisies, daffodils. But most of them he had never seen before. A few even looked like something you'd find while hiking on a tropical vacation.

His eyes moved from the myriad of colored foliage to the ceiling. At the center is a small, two-fan A/C unit. He's not tall enough to reach it by only standing. He sets down his bag on the floor, directly below the unit. "I'll need to graby a ladder."

"Mhm," you nod, "whatever you need. I'll leave it to the expert."

You both exit the walk-in and head back to the front of the store. You return to your original position behind the counter as Joel exits to retrieve what he needs from the truck. 

He re-enters the building carrying the six-foot ladder under his left arm. You're working on an arrangement of pink roses and yellow Asiatic lilies in a stubby vase. You place the flowers absentmindedly in the vase as you watch him walk by. Joel's biceps flex under the ladder's weight, causing them to pull the fabric of his short-sleeved, forest green cotton tee shirt taut around them.

You could always tell Joel was strong. He filled out his clothing in a way that only a man who'd worked physical labor his whole life could: broad shoulders, large biceps, and a strong chest kept hidden under a few layers of thin fabric.

Once Joel has disappeared into the back half of the shop, you let out a ragged breath and refocus on the bouquet in front of you.

You tried to keep busy with orders and reorganizing display shelves, but your mind kept wandering back to the man inside your walk-in cooler. Thankfully, a customer came in to distract you—a well-dressed, clean-shaven young man looking for a gift for his mother's birthday. 

"She loves tulips," he explained. You showed him the premade arrangements on the display tables, but they weren't what he was looking for. 

"Let me check the back and see what I can whip up." you give him a reassuring smile before disappearing behind the storage room door.

You're greeted by the sight of Joel standing halfway up the ladder. His hands are above his head, working on the A/C unit, causing the hem of his shirt to ride up and expose the smallest peak of his lower stomach. A trail of deep brown hair extends from below the waistband of his dark-wash denim jeans and travels up until it disappears under the soft fabric of his shirt. Your eyes begrudgingly tear themselves away from the exposed skin and move up his body. His stomach looks soft in comparison to the solid muscles of his chest and upper arms. Your eyes linger on the sharp angles of his jawline. Finally, your studying gaze reaches strong hands. His thick fingers delicately work over the intricate details of the unit.

He had so much control over the fine movements of his thick digits. He presses a petite silver knob between his thumb and index finger, giving it a gentle twist.

Your mind runs through the endless possibilities of what else he could squeeze between those two fingers.

The feeling of your weighted stare breaks Joel's concentration. He looks down to see you standing below him. He pulls his eyebrows together as you frantically try to collect yourself. You can't see it, but you are sure by the heat burning in your cheeks that your face is completely flushed.

"S-sorry," you manage to stammer out, "just need to grab something." You walk around him to the back of the cooler and grab a few different colors of tulips before rushing out.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

The repair work took longer than Joel expected. One of the pipes responsible for circulating refrigerant into the condenser had corroded. He was able to complete a patch job, but the pipe would need to be entirely replaced for any long-term success. The twin fan blades whirl to life as Joel turns the A/C unit back on, giving his work a final once-over. He wants to ensure everything will hold up until he can get the part needed to finish the job.

When you re-enter the walk-in, Joel is collecting his tools back into his bag.

"How's it going in here?" you ask. You feel cool air brush across your bare forearms and look up at the ceiling unit. 

"You fixed it?" it comes out as a half statement, half question. The same beaming regard from earlier on your face, but it is intended for Joel this time.

Joel felt a mysterious craving deep within him finally being satisfied. He didn't know it previously, but he must have wanted that look, the one you save for his brother, to be meant for him. 

The warmth radiating from your smile was almost too intoxicating. Joel had to distract himself by closing the ladder, or he would have been completely engulfed by it.

"For now." Joel says, making a conscious effort to keep his eyes from returning to you, "I gotta order a part to fix it right."

Joel tucks the ladder under his arm again and moves to return it to the truck. You look down at his tool bag and reach for the handles with one hand. You can barely pick it up off the ground. It is much heavier than you expected. With a soft groan, you lift the bag and keep it secure in front of you with both hands.

Joel looks back at the sound and sees you struggling to hold the bag at waist level. "You ain't gotta—"

"But I want to." is all you say before overtaking him. You trek your way outside the shop with Joel close behind.

You set the tool bag on the curb next to Joel's truck, feeling accomplished about carrying it alone. Joel lifts the ladder over his head and slides it on the chrome rack suspended above the truck bed. He secures it in place with a couple of ratchet straps, then turns to grab the tool bag from the curb. 

With one easy motion, Joel lifts the bag up and over the tailgate, returning it to its original place.

"So, what do I owe you?" you ask with a gentle smile.

Joel looks at you and shakes his head. "Was just doin' a favor for Tommy."

"Come on, I have to pay you somehow." Your smile grows. "There is this really great coffee shop about a block from here. My treat."

Your intention genuinely was to thank him for his help this morning, but a selfish part of you was also trying to find a reason for him to stay just a little bit longer.

"I'll let Tommy know when the part comes in," Joel states flatly. He is already behind schedule. He needs to leave now to make his meeting with the real estate developers.

Joel gives you a nod goodbye before walking around the truck and climbing into the driver's seat. He pulls away from the curb and rejoins Austin city traffic, watching your little yellow apron become smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

Thankfully, the rest of Joel's jobs for the day go smoothly. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the melody playing from his Hank Williams cassette tape. Joel would be lying if he said the drive home from the city, back to the suburbs, wasn't his favorite part of the work day. He could reflect on his day, watch the sunset paint the central Texas horizon orange and pink, and he could listen to his "old man" music without Sarah making any comments at his expense.

He pulls into the small parking lot of The Whiskey Room, his and Tommy's usual watering hole. The drinks are cheap, the music is to his liking, and it is close enough to his house that he and Tommy can walk home after having one too many.

Joel spots Tommy's dark grey pickup, a weathered "OPERATION DESERT STORM COMBAT VETERAN" bumper sticker prominently displayed on the tailgate next to the driver's side taillight.

Tommy is saving a spot next to him at the bar. He puts out his cigarette as Joel pulls out the chair and takes a seat.

"Heard you landed that framin' job in those new apartments for us," Tommy says, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezing. "Ol' man still knows how to sweet talk a couple suits."

"Whiskey, neat. For my friend here." Tommy calls over to the bartender, "On me."

The bartender, a young woman in her mid-twenties, places a short glass containing two fingers of amber liquid on the bar top before Joel. Tommy gives her a wink as she walks away, flipping her long brown hair over one shoulder. 

Tommy finally removes his hand from his brother's shoulder and returns to his own drink.

"Your girlfriend's A/C needs a new coolant pipe." Joel grabs ahold of the whiskey glass and takes a sip.

"Nah, man." Tommy lets out a soft laugh before bringing his drink to his lips. "It ain't like that. She's just my ol' sergeant's wife."

It takes Joel a moment to put the pieces together. Tommy's old sergeant. The one from his time in Kuwait. The one who moved to Austin after the end of Operation Desert Storm with his wife. The one whose funeral Tommy attended eighteen months ago. 

Shit.

Joel stays silent as the overwhelming impact of his own stupidity washes over him. He can't think of a single thing to say.

Tommy rests his glass on the bar top "Wait, you really thought—"

Laughter erupts from Tommy, drawing the attention of those seated around them. Joel can feel the eyes of the bar's other patrons staring at his back. 

"I've just been helpin' her out since Sarge passed. She's goin' through a lot." Tommy is gripping the bar with one hand and places the other over his chest, trying to catch his breath.

"Pendejo."  Tommy takes his glass in his hand, grinning wide, and shakes his head in disbelief.

Joel's frigid embarrassment begins to grow into heated frustration. He downs his remaining whiskey in one gulp.

"She's always all over you. Gettin' you things, laughin' at your jokes," Joel snaps back at his brother.

"She's a sweet girl." Tommy nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders. "She's the kinda person that likes doin' nice things for other people. It's a mom thing, I reckon."

"Not to me." Joel retorts.

"You don't give her much of a reason to." Tommy takes another drink of his whiskey.

Joel thinks back on the handful of past exchanges the two of you have had. The first time he met you at the Super Bowl party, he spoke maybe two or three words to you. You spent most of the night sitting next to his brother on Joel's brown leather couch, listening captivatingly to Tommy explain the basics of American Football. At the family dinner, he was almost wholly silent towards you. Other than sneaking a few quick glances your way over the kitchen table every time you let an unapologetically sweet laugh escape your full lips. Even today, when you offered to buy him coffee to thank him for the work he had done at your store, he immediately shut you down.

"You really are one dumb bastard, you know that?" For the first time in a long time, Joel found himself agreeing with his younger brother.

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⟢ authors notes: I promised idiots in love, and I gave you idiots in love. Pre/non-outbreak Joel is my absolute favorite things to write currently. He is just such a goober.

I'm pretty insecure about the quality of my writing. I'm powering it though. I used to write fanfiction nearly everyday in my younger years, but as time went on I lost my love for it. But reading the phenomenal works of the authors in this community has reignited my passion.

I'm on spring break this week, so I am trying to write as much as possible until classes start again next Monday. My writing process is a little messy. I write in nonsequential order. As a scenes pops into my head, I scribble it out into a Google Doc the piece them together like a big jigsaw puzzle.

[authorscurse]

TW: Yandare!Reader (it's a bit intense), Yandere!Caleb, Caleb loves reader being possessive and jealous, a bit suggestive, Caleb remembering that reader killed someone out of jealousy,

Author's note: Got multiple comments saying they really loved the 1st part of this, and I couldn't stop myself from making a 2nd part of it. I honestly love me a possessive and jealous lover it's kind of a turn on tbh, but yeah let's get on with this.

[Pt. 1]

"You're overreacting, baby; she was just being nice!" Caleb reasoned, but you didn't care as you removed your jewelry and placed it in its rightful place in your jewelry box. "Overreacting? Just being nice? Are you hearing yourself right now? She was completely all over you, and you didn't even stop her!" Your voice rose slightly, and your movements became more aggressive as you remembered the way one of Caleb's colleagues flirted with him during the party.

"Stop! You're hurting yourself," Caleb huffed as he walked over to you and helped you remove your jewelry before you broke it. You stood still as he removed the clasp on your necklace and set it down on your vanity. You turned around, and Caleb's face was inches from yours.

"I'm sorry, baby, but believe me, she was just being nice," Caleb whispered as his hands crept up your shoulders to your face and gently stroked your skin, but it did nothing to die down the fire inside you. All you could see was absolute red, and Caleb's words did nothing to help extinguish it.

"If I did the same with one of your cadets, it's okay, right? Because I'm just being nice, right?" You asked, taking steps forward as Caleb walked backward to your bed. His expression immediately changed as those words left your lips. Bingo.

His expression visibly darkened as he imagined the scene. Your hand was on one of his cadet's arms, feeling the muscle as you looked up at him with the look you only gave him. Your lips muttered enchantments that only he should be hearing as he stared at you both in pure agony. Yeah, it really isn't just being "nice."

"Imagine if I walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek to show him how much I missed him," you whispered, igniting the fire inside Caleb even more. Before Caleb knew it, he hit the foot of your bed and sat down, looking up at your standing form.

"No longer a 'nice' gesture, is it, Caleb?" You said, taunting him as you straddled his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck. Caleb's hands immediately flew to your waist and pulled you closer with a bruising grip.

"You wouldn't dare," Caleb whispered as you looked at him with a smug expression on your face. "I would, because you deserve it, baby. After all, you let someone else touch you in front of me," you whispered, your eyes never leaving his.

"You're mine, Caleb, hmm? The same way I am yours; 'tis only fair, isn't it?" You asked, combing your fingers through Caleb's hair. He nodded, eyes never leaving yours. A warm feeling spread through Caleb's whole body as he heard your words. He knew you were as crazy as him; you killing that girl weeks ago was proof, but he loved this even more. He wanted you to claim him completely; mark your name on his skin to officiate your ownership of him.

"You understand me, baby?" Your voice softened, and he nodded obediently like a dog to its owner. A satisfied look spread on your face as you kissed him softly. "Say it, Caleb. Tell me you're mine," you ordered. "I'm yours, only yours," Caleb whispered. "Good boy," you said, satisfied as you connected your lips again.

You spent the entire night entwined in each other's arms. Promises of forever filled the air, the moon and stars bore witness to your love for each other. The whole party left your mind, and it was only filled with Caleb and the feeling of his skin underneath your fingertips.

As the sun rose and the birds began to chirp, Caleb quietly rolled off the bed and went to the kitchen to make you breakfast after last night's activities. Minutes later, he heard the sound of feet walking toward him, and a smile crept onto his face, already knowing who it was.

"Good morning, Pipsqueak," he greeted you as you entered the kitchen. "Morning," you softly greeted him with a kiss and sat down at the kitchen island. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he lavished kisses on your already sore and bruise-filled neck.

"You got me so sore, Cal," you whined, feeling the ache in your legs as he massaged them. "Payback after you made my back look like I got into a fight with a cat," he joked. "Good thing no one's gonna see it then, huh?" you said, kissing him. "Anaya should," Caleb joked, pushing you away, and rolling your eyes.

"Don't say that girl's name to me, Caleb," you glared at him, to which he responded with a chuckle. "So cute," he laughed, pinching your cheek as you huffed. Suddenly, the doorbell to your apartment rang.

"Visitors this early? Did you order something?" Caleb asked. You shook your head and followed him as he walked to your door. He opened the door, revealing the very person you least wanted to see right now: Anaya. You watched her face fall slightly once she caught a glimpse of you beside Caleb.

"Anaya, what are you doing here? It's so early," Caleb said. "Oh! I—uh wanted to drop off these. You guys left the party early last night, and I felt bad, so I wanted to give you guys these desserts," she said, handing Caleb cupcakes in a plastic container. "I wasn't interrupting, was I?" she asked, noticing your attire. That was the only time you both realized what you were wearing. You were in Caleb's dress shirt from last night's party, and he was wearing a half-unbuttoned shirt with just his boxers.

"No, we were just—" Caleb tried to start but was immediately cut off by you. "Yeah, we were in the middle of something, actually, so if you don't mind?" you said, caressing Caleb's chest. Anaya turned bright pink and nodded. "Oh—okay! So sorry for interrupting then, bye!" Anaya bid farewell and immediately walked away as you shut your door.

"Jealousy and possessiveness look so good on you," Caleb said, capturing your lips in a kiss as he trapped you between the door and him. "Just shut up and kiss me, Caleb," you ordered. "Right away, captain," he replied as he locked his lips with yours and carried you toward your room, breakfast and cupcakes left forgotten and the least of your worries.

[pentrologram]

advent calendar - day nineteen

You're pretty sure Simon and Johnny hate you. Pretty sure.

royalty!simon/concubine!johnny/commoner!reader

a/n; this would've been out earlier but i was busy thinking abt how markiplier and trixie are only a month and some change apart age wise. you're telling me trixie lived in a trailer the same time mark lived in a grass field?!??! (part one here)

You've been mastering the art of ignoring a lot of people.

Three months ago, royal guards had come to your home and forcibly removed you and all your belongings from your parent's home. You've been living in the castle ever since, trying to stay under the radar with surprising success.

The most you've done is say a meek hello to the maids that attended to the room you've been living in.

You took walks around the gardens, lingered in the kitchens during mealtimes, and scurried into hallways when anyone other than the servants came remotely close by you.

You've been very careful specifically about avoiding Simon and Johnny. You were terrified to think about them- surely, they resented you for inadvertently coming between their carefully constructed romance, their own bubble. You were running out of time, and rapidly, too- the wedding was next month and you've been feeling its looming presence for ages now. The maids have become more sparse as they're sent around the castle to clean up for a month of festivities despite the king's passing, and you've been interrupted in your daily routine regularly now. Perfumed paths, hair cuts, eyebrow plucking and people trying to figure out what makes you look the most youthful. It leaves you drained and you spend more time in your room as a consequence.

The exhaustion of the constant pampering is making you sloppy, though.

While walking after a long, bubbling hot bath in your rooms, you stumble upon Simon and Johnny. Again. Same spot, same position. The mortifying thing is that you didn't even notice them until you were halfway into the nook, expecting them to be empty the way they had all the months prior. You blink in surprise as Johnny looks confused and then quickly grins at you.

"Bonnie!" He says happily, and your heart aches. He should hate you- you're going to be taking Simon away from him, in a sense. You don't doubt that after the coronation, everything will go back to the way it was and you'll continue with your lonely existence.

"Hi," you say shyly, not daring to make eye contact with either of them, sorely missing the way Simon's expression softens.

"Come sit with us, hen," Johnny tries, making Simon move his bulky frame to the right more, making space for you on the marble bench.

"It's OK. I'll be off now." You say, your body already drifting away, expecting to be left alone-

-but Johnny catches your wrist with the gentleness one reserves for scared baby birds without their moms. His grin is softer around the edges now, but you don't chance to glance up at his eyes.

"Please? Y'r getting married to Si in a month, after all, don't you wanna get to know us a little better? C'mon, hen." He says, stroking circles on the inside of your wrist with his thumb.

"Um," you teeter along the edge of baulking and running the opposite edge before nodding clumsily. "Okay." You say, finding yourself sorely unused to socialising with anyone after nearly four months of isolation.

"There's a good pet," Simon rumbles, and you look up, spooked at his voice. It occurs to you that you've never heard him speak before. Your cheeks feel heated and you duck your head, before Johnny laughs, bright like sunshine.

"Aye. A real good pet."

[caeliuluru]

and all i am, is a mess

Summary: Xavier reflects on your relationship for a bit and picks you up from your apartment for your date. He's surprised to find that (1), you just woke up, and (2), you're wearing his sweater.

Title from a misheard lyric from Sweater Weather by The Neighborhood

Tags: Xavier/MC, Xavier/Reader, Fluff (as usual), Established Relationship Xavier/MC, female MC, MC is shorter than Xavier in this one, Filipino MC (if you squint)

A/N: i wanted to experiment with writing xavier's a POV more. idk how i ended up with ~2k words of fluff no plot tho lmao. enjoy~

After a few missed alarms, Xavier finally wakes up. The birds chirp, meaning that at least, it’s still morning. He’s in his own apartment, since he’d went home ahead after you told him you’d be staying out later than usual because of your girls’ night with Tara and Simone. As he sits up to turn off the alarm, he runs a hand through his messy bedhead, missing your heart eyes and the “Xavier, you’re so cute!” you let out whenever you see it.

It’s interesting how you’ve changed him. He thought that he could hide away his solemn devotion to you, that he could present a side of him that was serious, strong, and sincere in a way he was used to. But now, he’s waited so long for you that waking up alone without seeing your adorable, peaceful face (although you’d beg to differ on your looks, he can hear your voice begging him to delete the photos of you with drool), is time too long away from him. It’s childish, he knows. But he misses you.

But…he can bear the feeling for a few minutes more, because you did promise him that the two of you would go out today. Just a little bit more and he’d be able to spend some alone time with you outside of the Hunter’s Association. He’s always reminded you to adjust the part for life in work-life balance, and he’s glad to be a part of the solution.

So, Xavier goes about his routine. He attempts breakfast, looking for something easy to make lest the fire alarm ring, and settles for pork and beans. After a quick shower, he then pulls on his white jacket, black turtleneck, and jeans and brushes his hair, trying to style it in a way that looked both neat and messy. If you liked the wavy bedhead, surely there was a way to have a more presentable version of that? But despite his attempts, he still ends up with his usual hair. Before you, he wouldn’t have exerted this much effort in getting ready, but knowing that he’s seeing you makes him want to look good in front of you. After spritzing on his cologne and grabbing his keys and wallet, he heads to the 5th floor to meet his partner, probably awake and dressed.

Xavier’s about to ring the doorbell, but a glance at your digital lock reminds him— he could just let himself in. He’d reasoned out not using his fingerprint with “special circumstances,” but the look on your face when you told him you had imagined him using it regularly… right. His hand raps on the door thrice, remembering his promise to knock three times to let you know it was him. He chuckles at the memory, and the way you’d reassured him that he’s the only other person whose fingerprint is registered on your door lock.

To his surprise, though, there’s no smell of food, no indication that you were already awake. He calls out your name.

No response.

After removing his sneakers and putting on his house slippers, the hunter scans your kitchen and living room. The kitchen island and coffee table are clean, and the couch is exactly the way you had left it the morning before you both left for work yesterday. While you did enjoy sleeping in, especially when either of you would stay the night at each other’s respective apartments and had nothing to do the next day, you were usually punctual. It was usually you who’d knock on his door first, only to be greeted by a drowsy Xavier who had just woken up.

Perhaps this was a shift.

Xavier, careful to quiet his steps, pads towards your bedroom. In this unique chain of events, he’d gently rouse you from your slumber, kiss your head, and make you a quick coffee before you get dressed and head out on your date with him. You deserved to relax, and the two of you wouldn’t let a little bit of lateness impede your plans for the day, especially when simply spending time in each other’s presence was enough.

He’s about to put his hand on the knob before the door suddenly bursts open and reveals a frantic you with messy hair and pillow marks on your face.

“What— Xavier!”

You look up, head shifting quickly from his casual getup to the ocean blue of his eyes.

“What time is it? I’m so sorry! I overslept because I got home late and—”

He hears you, but then the signals of his brain tune out your panicked rambling as the first thing he sees after your cute expression is your body enveloped in his white sweater, falling past your hips and reaching mid-thigh. The sheer largeness of it on your frame makes you look smaller than you already are, and his eyes flit over to the way the sleeves cover your hands. Stars, you look nothing short of comfy in his sweater, and he’s inches away from carrying you back to your bed so he could cuddle you for the rest of the morning… or the whole day, even.

Now he’s short-circuiting too.

“Xavier!”

You call his attention.

His brain static goes silent. Oh, was he caught in the act?

You look at him with a pout, expecting a response to your embarrassment over being late and unprepared, because you really did like being On Time, and he knows that, so why isn’t he saying anything? Was he mad? The pout shifts to a resigned frown, and he realizes that he has to rectify the misunderstanding so that you don’t end up thinking things that simply aren’t true, even if he finds you adorable, big sweater and embarrassment and all.

“Come on, just wait on the couch, I need to wash up and change my clothes.”

You’re about to step aside him and move to your bathroom when he suddenly picks you up in a princess carry, hearing your surprised “Huh?!” and depositing you onto the couch. He flops on top of you, head right on your chest where he can hear your heartbeat, and embraces you once again, nuzzling into your warmth.

“Xavi…” your voice takes on a softer tone as you watch him get comfortable. “What are you doing? I thought we were going to go out today.”

He hugs you tighter and burrows his head into your chest and the soft cotton. He smells his usual cologne on the sweater, and smiles at the thought of you falling asleep to his scent. “We will. You’re just too cute. I couldn’t resist.”

Warmth also floods into your cheeks at his response. You look down at your boyfriend, very much happy and comfy, then at your hands, hidden under the white sleeves. “Wait…” you realize. Right, it’s Xavier’s.

Your voice fills the air. “When I got home last night, I just took a shower and changed quickly. Your sweater and my pajamas were the first thing I saw in my closet drawer, so I just took those.”

He feels your hands brush his bangs away, probably to check if he was still awake. He nods. “I’m listening.” He looks up to gaze contentedly at you. “I’m glad you got home safe.”

“You’re also glad I didn’t return your sweater.” You point out.

Xavier hums affirmatively, pleased.

Looking for something to do with your hands, you poke his cheek, then switch to pinching and pulling at it lightly.

“This is what I get for my generosity?” he pouts, and you return your hand to the spot on his back before he can grab it. Xavier hears you chuckle, and well, you’re smiling now, too, so that’s a win in his book. He lets himself sink into the plush of your chest, of you and the couch, and there isn’t anywhere else he wants to be.

“It’s called cute aggression, Xav. Gigil,* if you will.” He adjusts himself upward so that he can slot his head into the space between your neck and shoulder.

“Mhm, is that so?”

Xavier continues cuddling you, listening to your breathing and heartbeat. You feel his arms wrap slightly tighter around your torso, and you resign yourself to running your fingers through his moonlight hair, playing with the strands, while your other free hand settles on his back. The noontime sun begins to stream in through your window, and his hair catches in the light. The two of you stay this way for a few more moments before your shoulder starts to feel numb, because as lovely as holding Xavier is, his height means that he is heavier than you are.

Your voice, again, fills his ears, soft and coaxing. “Xavi, this is really nice. But I want to go to the bookstore. and the park, and the noodle restaurant. Also, heavy.” Xavier acquiesces, always weak for your voice (a simp is what you had once called him), and shifts your positions, the two of you moving around on the couch so that you’re leaning on his chest this time, facing him and snug between his legs.

“Was there anything else you wanted to do today?” He tucks the stray strands of hair behind your ear, locking his ocean blue eyes with yours. “Well… I also wanted to play video games when we got home. Hmm... It Takes Two?”

He lets out a quiet laugh. You’re pretty, he thinks, in his clothes and bathed in sunlight and just doing whatever You does. “We can, but we have all the time in the world right here. You should relax.” He brings another stray lock of hair away from your face, and you sigh contentedly.“

Apart from the fact that I’ve kidnapped your sweater, what else is going on with you?”

“Me?”

He takes a moment to think. Was he acting strangely? Was it weird to be so lovestruck by your girlfriend? Notwithstanding the fact that you were wearing his clothes, he’d always find you cute. And do anything for you in a heartbeat. What did you notice? He would respond with something witty, try to recover some semblance of calm and collected Xavier, but the earnestness in his heart makes him honest, and he looks in your eyes again.

“I just missed you.”

“Silly, it was just a night.” “Still. Unless you didn’t miss the person you left behind.” He feels your hand smooth the parts of his hair you played with earlier, and you tilt your head up to kiss him. Upon feeling your lips on his, he returns the kiss. Xavier then moves his hand to your lower back, supporting you as you lean towards him again. Your hand rests on his shoulder while the other cups his face, bringing him closer to you. One kiss becomes two, and three, and you feel his tongue run across your lip before you move away, the two of you already gasping for air.

“Xavier,” He looks at you again, his guiding starlight and the reason he wakes up in the mornings. You feel his hand moving from your arm to your hand, thumb stroking the back of your palm, and you grin. You hope he knows how adored, how loved he makes you feel. “Dummy. Of course I missed you too.” Xavier gives a relaxed chuckle, and pulls you in again for a hug before kissing the top of your head.

Maybe this was devotion too. Sometimes, he doesn’t recognize himself, but if it’s someone that you’re still willing to love and miss— he’s perfectly fine with change.

And this was, a good start to the very good day Xavier and his girlfriend would have.

A/N: *Gigil: Filipino term for cute aggression. that's how i first understood cute aggression anyway so i decided to use my native language haha

divider by @cafekitsune~

[lavandulawrites]

Our Little Haven

Yandere Fyodor x reader

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Fyodor is my absolute favourite character. He is so interesting and there are endless possibilities with him.

Masterlist

Synopsis: Life with Fyodor is peaceful and absolutely perfect, but something is missing…

Warnings: NSFW, brainwashing, subtle manipulation, reader has small flashbacks, female reader

Word count: 1474

The sun shinned through the white lace curtains. The wind that swept through the opening in the window making the curtains dance. The sun beam on the wooden floor warm to the touch as you stood with bare feet glancing out the window. The grass in the garden tall and green. The wild flowers making the landscape fairytale like.

A lone sparrow landed on the branch by the window. It’s little beak picked on the apple hanging above it. It made eye contact with you and chirped. You could feel your hand reaching towards it.

Longing.

You snapped out of your trance at the sound of the door to kitchen opening. The old door creaked. In stepped the master of the house. A black haired man with boundless purple eyes that quickly found yours. His lips pulled back into a smile. His black eye lashes fluttered, as his eyes crinkled.

“I see you have gotten a new friend” his melodic voice so very pleasant. He nodded towards the little sparrow as it was happily eating away on the apple.

You smiled slightly as you gazed at the little bird. “Yeah… I suppose I have.”

He hummed as he stepped closer. Cold hands wrapped around your waist as his head rested on your shoulder. His nose nuzzled against your neck. His soft raven hair tickled you. “You haven’t eaten anything. Where you waiting for me my dear?” he raised his head and kissed your cheek.

You nodded.

He spun you around and cupped your face and kissed your lips tenderly. “I appreciate you waiting for me love. It makes me happy” his face soft as he kissed you.

The library in the manor was quite and filled to the brim with books. Some were new and some were as ancient as time. The air filled with a homely smell which were soothing. The tall windows overlooking the garden, making the room lit. You could see the little pound and the ducks swimming among the waterlilies.

You let your hand run over the many books as you decided on what to read. Your hand stopped at a leather bound tome. On its spine it read World History. You removed the book from the shelf, its weight downing your hands. You blew off the dust and took a seat on the velvety rococo couch. You opened it carefully and flipped through the pages.

Multiple of the pages were elegantly annotated. Some of the notes were in Russian and some in Latin. The annotations were many and they were sometimes random. As you flipped through the tome your mind wandered to Fyodor.

You knew of his age and the nature of his ability. When he first had told you, you did not believe him. You found it peculiar that he had trusted you with his secret. After you confronted him, he had only laughed and said “One does not hide anything from one’s loved ones, don’t you agree?”.

His answer had stunned you at first, but you had to agree with him.

You often wondered about what he had seen and what he had experienced. He had told you some details about his past, but not enough. You always craved more. You sighed and placed the tome onto the mahogany table. You leans you head back against the back rest. The ceiling was high and your eyes wandered towards the ceiling rose surrounding the chandelier. Fyodor’s tastes were really exquisite.

“I see you have taken an interest in history, my dear” a deep voice woke you up. You blinked confused and your eyes wandered to the tall man who was examining the tome.

You sat up. “I didn’t mean to go thr-”

“It’s okay” he patted your head. “Lovers should not have any secrets. Do you not agree?” he smiled gently.

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.. That’s true”

Fyodor glanced out the window, taking in the beautiful view. “Are you not glad you moved her with me? Away from all the noise… and distractions” he hummed. You could see him glancing at you in out of the corner of his eyes.

“It’s really peaceful here” you smiled.

He turned his head to face you. He hummed in agreement, his voice like butter. “This is our safe haven. Our own little heaven” he leaned down and gently stroked your cheek.

You closed your eyes and leaned into his hand. The coldness of his skin welcoming in the summer heat. His other hand intertwined in your soft hair. Your eyes fluttered open and were met with a playful smile.

The black haired man leaned in and gently kissed your lips. His lips softer than velvet and you wanted more. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips together in a fierce kiss. He chuckled against your lips before he licked them. His tongue pushed against them, asking for permission. You gladly accepted. His tongue exploring your mouth and you moaned out in pleasure.

He crawled on top of you and deepened the kiss. His lips hungry and it felt like he devoured you. The gentle Fyodor was completely gone and replaced by a man lost to desperation. You gently pulled his hair and he groaned against your lips.

He parted from your lips and kissed his way to your neck. He sucked and licked on the skin causing you to see stars. His hand lifted up your dress and pulled your lace panties down. You had no idea where he had thrown your panties, but you couldn’t care less.

His long fingers quickly found your cunt and prodded your lips apart. His fingers moved with such skill you thought that this was what he was born to do. Your slick quickly soaking his fingers and he grinned at the sight. “God you are so beautiful like this my love” he sighed softly.

He pulled his fingers out of your cunt and liked them clean. You was disappointed by the emptiness only to become completely in awe by the sight of him licking his fingers clean.

He grinned at your reaction and leaned over you again and pulled your dress over your head. Your white lace bra catching his attention. He smirked as he toyed with the bow in the middle of the bra. “I’m glad you like my gifts.”

Fyodor snaked his arms underneath your back and clasped your bra open. The bra fell on the floor as he quickly dived down to capture your lips. As he kissed you his hands quickly pulled down his fly. He separated from your lips and took both his pants and boxers off. His cock hard and made your mouth water. He quickly slipped his shirt over his head.

He lined himself against your entrance and showed himself in without warning. You moaned loudly at the heavenly sensation. His movements fast and his dick hitting just right.

He looked down at you with suck lovingly eyes you felt a tug at your heart. His hair had fallen down from his shoulder and softly framed his face. The sun rays catching his hair making it shin like the feathers of the ravens that resided in your garden. Your gaze fell down to his lips and to the red stains of your lipstick. The colour was deep and beautiful. Images of that very colour filled your mind accompanied with screams of terrors.

Your eyes widened and you blinked furiously to get rid of the images.

Fyodor slowed down his movements. His dark eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright darling?” his voice filled with worry. His movements had completely stopped.

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Please continue” you smiled up at him.

He nodded and continued trusting into you. You pulled him down into an embrace. The ceiling was filled with various colours from the sunset. Reds, yellows and pinks filled your vision.

The familiar feeling in the bottom of your stomach made you moan. You kissed him deeply as you climaxed. He followed soon after and pulled out and painted your stomach white.

As you both laid together on the couch your mind wandered. You couldn’t stop the many images of what seemed like your past flicker across your eyes. The sound of people laughing soon turned into screams and your vision turned to red. You turned to face the sleeping man besides you. His long lashes shadowed over his high cheekbones. You couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had something to do with your sudden images.

You laid there awake lost in thoughts for what felt like forever. Maybe it was the best not to think about it. It would only cause you distress and as your lover said , it was not good for you. Listen to Fyodor and all will turn well you said to yourself as you drifted asleep.

[lou-struck]

Welcome Home

Giyu Tomioka x reader

~Before you, Giyu’s goal was to make it to the dawn after a night of slaying demons. But now, the Water Hashira has a new one. To make it home for breakfast. 

Prompt- 🍳+ Morning

Warnings: A bit of hurt/comfort, mention of slight injuries, Giyu having the mindset that he does not deserve happiness (which he does). 

a/n: Writer's block has been hitting hard lately. Thank you guys for your patience. 

The crow came early this morning, its shrill song waking you from your pathetic excuse for slumber. The emptiness of your cold bed makes sleep a near-impossible feat when he’s gone. 

Worry gnaws at your chest as you untangle yourself from the twisted sheets as talons perch on the window ledge. Kanzaburo’s dark eyes stare at you. Holding your breath, you anxiously wait for the bird to deliver his master's message.

Despite the silence, the old bird does not speak, he simply blinks up at you as if he were the one awaiting instructions. 

Unable to take the suspenseful silence any longer, you clear your throat and fight to keep your voice steady “Kanzaburo, do you have a message for me?”

He cocks his head to the side in confusion. “Forgotten.” he croaks. “I have forgotten the message I am meant to deliver. I shall return to The Water Hashira.” He turns to fly away, as you hold out a hand to stop him. 

“Wait, return to him?” you breathe as the implications of the crow’s words hit you. “Does that mean Giyu is okay?”

Kanzaburo sends you an expressive look that anyone with a thimble's worth of common sense would read as ‘duh’ before he turns and steps off the ledge. Racing to the window, you watch as his dark form flies over the forest and descends into a nearby cluster of trees. 

You watch the spot intently, your eyes straining against the dawn, but you do not see the forgetful crow rise up again. Hope pulls at your heartstrings as the realization that he doesn't need to fly far to deliver his message because the Water Hashira, your Water Hashira is so close. 

Despite the sun having risen just moments ago, you find yourself wide awake, your body trembling with emotion as you scurry about the home you share, tidying up the mess you have created in your loneliness. 

~

Emerging from the shade of the forest, Giyu can’t tell what feels heavier, his jelly legs or his eyelids. Although home is just over the sun-soaked ridge, each step is slow as the Demon Slayer recovers from his most recent mission that had him tracking a small cluster of demons down to the depths of an underground ravine. 

A place where the sun did not shine for him

The smell down there was nauseating and he is sure that the damp odor clings to his haori and socks. His original plan was to bathe before seeing you, he had tried to send Kanzaburo ahead simply to see if you were awake or not, but judging from the thin stream of smoke that has begun to stream from the chimney, the forgetful bird clearly forgot to do so.

With bated breath, he pushes open the thin wooden door. Hinges welcome him home with a slight squeak and he makes a note to fix that for you when he has the chance. 

Removing his shoes, he places them next to your much cleaner ones and follows his nose to the kitchen. 

Your back it to the door as you lean over the countertop chopping up some fresh-looking fruit as a kettle of tea seeps over the mantle. 

Although the smell is faint, he catches the faint aroma of his favorite blend. His weary heart feels tender when he realizes that he had never told you explicitly how much he loves it, but you still managed to figure it out. 

The other components of the meal resting on the counter add to that soft, mushy feeling that makes this experienced demon slayer feel as wobbly as a newborn fawn. Not trusting himself to move without breaking the spell, he just stands frozen in place. 

He isn't sure how long he was watching you in your own little world until you spin around and meet his eyes. 

“Giyu,” you breathe. A soft utterance of his name is enough to have his knees threatening to buckle.

“I’m sorry,” the apology flies from his mouth before you have a chance to stop it. “Kazoburo was only meant to check in on you, I never meant to wake you up.”

“I’m glad he did,” you shake your head as a tender smile plays on your lips. The corner of your mouth is slightly purple from a berry you had sampled earlier. But the sight of your sleep-tousled hair and silly grin makes him smile. “You’re home.”

“I am,” he murmurs tiredly, kissing the crown of your head. He doesn’t miss the ones over you give him, no doubt checking for any sign of injury. 

He’s fine of course, but there are a few angry bruises marring his skin that weren’t there last week he’d rather not think about. Hesitantly, he reaches out and pulls you into his weary frame. Soft, warm, arms latch around his neck as your fingers play with strands of his hair carefully pulling the tight tie keeping the dark locks pulled back. The soothing motion makes his eyelids droop. 

At this moment, being fussed over by your soothing touch, Giyu has never felt closer to heaven. Until your fingers make contact with a dried leaf that had been hiding in his ebony stands for god knows how long. 

The slight crunch breaks the spell, filling him with shame once again.

He’s disgusting

You shouldn't have to deal with this. 

With him.

“I didn't know that was back there,” he admits taking a step away from the best thing in his life. “I should go and wash off,”

You drop the leaf and grab his wrist to keep him from leaving. The strength in your grip at that moment rivals that of any Hashira. “You should, But first you should have something to eat.”

He gives in under the weight of your loving gaze. “Okay,” a question heavy in his dry throat. “But after, would you rest with me, just for a while?”

“There is nothing else I’d rather do.” your eyes are warm with genuine love so much so that he believes you. 

The light of the dawn hits the small window in the kitchen just right, bathing the two of you in a golden glow. Your face in this light, while breathtaking, looks just as exhausted as he feels. It’s clear that you haven't had a good night's rest in a while. 

“I think we both need to catch up on some sleep,” he murmurs as you lead him to the table and set your lovingly made breakfast down in front of him.  

“Thank you for the meal,” he says softly, admiring the level of care you put into each component of the breakfast you lovingly prepared for the two of you to share. Before you, his ‘breakfasts’ after missions like the one he just had were laughable, pathetic even. You have made such an impact in his life, and he will spend every day trying to do the same for you.

“Hey, where did you go?” you ask, your voice cutting through his thoughts as you brush away a few strands of his dark hair that have fallen in his face.

“Just tired,” he sighs with warm cheeks. “It’s been a long night.”

“I know. But thank you for coming home safe,” you say softly, nudging the warm teacup closer to him. Gratefully he takes the warm porcelain in his hands and takes a long sip.

“It’s good.” 

“I hope so,” you tease, looking very proud of yourself. “I boiled the water myself.” 

Despite his fatigue, your little quip has him spitting out his tea. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, wiping the herb-scented mist with his sleeve. “I just got home and I am already making a mess of things. 

You look like sunshine itself, the look of joy on your face is so brilliant that it burns away that shadow of uncertainty that lurks within him. You take his hand and press a soft kiss to his scraped knuckles. “And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom, @sarah22447 @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

[welcome-to-green-hills]

With Sonic 3 out, may I request post-Sonic 3 headcanons with the Wachowski family? Shadow and Maria headcanons are a plus too. 🥰

Hey Darlin’!❤️✨

I think that I can whip up a few headcanons for you, yeah!

Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles were 100% there to make sure that Tom woke up from the hospital. They’re the type of kids to sleep on the hospital bed as well and wait for him to wake up. When Tom did, he was greeted with tears, laughs, and a shit ton of hugs.

Maria and Shadow have a Friday night ritual that they’ve pinky swore to each other that they’d never break. At exactly 7pm, Maria and Shadow scatter across the bunker in search of snacks and loose bedding to build a “nest” within their fort. After they’ve retrieved their goods, they building their nest and wrap themselves up tightly to watch very old, very cheesy horror film until midnight. It’s part of their ritual to watch “The Birds” and laugh at the visual effects.

Tom and Maddie are both the type of parents to ask each other to send photos of their kids to make sure that they’re okay. However, each photo update that they send one another is a highly comical photo that they’ve edited.

Maria was totally a theater kid. She absolutely put on two-actor plays and dragged Shadow along with her. The scientists agreed that their version of Grease was the best.

The Wachowski family have created a “Family Map” of all of the places that they’d like to travel to. Each destination is marked with a family member’s icon (Tom is a donut, Maddie is a pretzel, Sonic is a sneaker, Tails is a wrench, and Knuckles is a fist) on the place that they’d like to vacation to. This is usually done with a leisure roadtrip by RV so the family can look at roadside attractions to the destination.

Shadow and Maria are avid readers. They can power through a novel in an entire afternoon. Shadow has an interest in human history and has read through many books of human civilization, Maria adores mythology and has read every book that she could get her hands on about all of the myths found in different parts of the world.

The Wachowski family has officially banned UNO from their household. They can’t handle another—literal—fire burning the table.

Shadow and Maria are banned from the bunker’s kitchen. They’re never allowed to attempt to make dinner by themselves due to setting the room on fire. This is what happens when neither of them pay attention to the frozen pizza that they’re making in the oven and forget to remove the wrapping.

Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, and Wade regularly play extreme hide-and-seek. The boys have 24 hours to hide within the town of Green Hills without getting caught. Hiders are free to roam anywhere within the set parameters laid out in the map, but not leave the designated area. The last to be found wins prizes from the lost and found bin at the Green Hills Sheriff’s Department. An alternative (usually proposed by Knuckles) is to get free dessert for an entire week at any point in time.

Shadow and Maria are competitive Connect Four players. Extremely competitive.

Maddie has an odd collection of things that her boys find her throughout their morning runs. Sometimes Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles bring her rocks and acorns that “looked cool.” Other times it’s random things that they’ve found on the side of the road, like a shoe or a toy car. Her favorite thing that the boys have given her was a rock in the shape of a heart.

When Pong was released in 1972, Shadow and Maria were practically glued to the TV screen and played for hours before Gerald had to hide the gaming device. Maria was missing school work and Shadow was absent from testing too much.

And finally, both families are no stranger to hugs. Why? Because I say so.

[slytherin-pen]

Rained Out

pairing: Eris x Reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut, mdi, 18+

tags: one bed trope

a/n: for the 500 follower bingo! this request was sent in via comment by @lomahdu . i actually panicked for a second when i was going through my inbox and couldn’t find it like did i make this up?? but thankfully i took screenshots of the comments i received lmao

You should have known the storm was coming. The birds had gone silent and the woodsy critters vanished as if they sensed what you didn’t. But you had been focused on the task at hand—stalking game alongside the Heir of Autumn, your bow strung, footsteps silent and careful.

Eris Vanserra walks ahead of you, red hair dampening from the rain, shoulders broad and tense beneath the layered furs of his hunting cloak. You’d been assigned to assist him today and perhaps the little “he requested you specifically” murmured by your colleague before you left had something to do with how distracted you were.

You have feelings for Eris, but who wouldn’t? He is the prince of your court. Handsome and charming as he is lethal. But you are just a huntswoman working out of a small cabin on the edge of the capital village, trailing behind hunters all day and skinning animals by night. You are nothing like the pretty courtier females he sees every day. Your clothes are dirty with blood stains you gave up on removing and you don’t even want to imagine what you smell like.

The sky cracks open with a strike of lightning. Rain pours in heavy sheets, turning the earth beneath your boots to slick mud.

“We need cover,” Eris calls over the rain.

You don’t argue.

He knows this forest like the back of his hand, and without hesitation, turns left through the thickest part of the glade. You follow in his wake, heart hammering harder with each icy drop that soaks into your clothes.

Between an opening in the trees you can barely see it, nothing more than a darkened shape in the distance, but it’s a cabin Eris is leading you to. He ushers you through the door without a word.

Inside, it’s cold and dark. The living room, bedroom, and kitchen are all squished into one large room, and Eris snaps his finger to light a fire in the hearth before peeling off his soaked cloak and hanging it on the hook by the door.

You do the same, peeling damp gloves off numb fingers. You’re dripping wet, hair sticking to your face, and water trickling down your spine.

Eris glances over his shoulder. “There are towels in the closet,” he says pointing to the door behind the couch.

You grab one, toweling your arms and neck before sitting in front of the hearth. You sigh at the warmth, relishing in the way your hands grow hot, but you’re still shivering.

Eris crouches beside you, face half-lit by firelight, eyes scanning you. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“You’re practically turning blue.”

You scowl. “I wasn’t prepared to get soaking wet today, or else I would have worn thicker clothes.”

He huffs a laugh. “You should start carrying a bag with you. Stuff a coat in it for the next time this happens.”

He stands again, shedding his jacket and revealing a white, low v-neck tunic. You try not to stare at the pale, freckled skin peeking out, the way you can see the indent of his muscular pectorals.

“There’s only one bed,” he says eventually.

You look over. There is, in fact, only one. The couch is threadbare and barely big enough for a hound, let alone either of you.

“I’ll take the floor,” you offer.

“No, you won’t.” His tone is sharp. “We’ll share.”

Your throat dries, but you nod and take your boots off, then hover near the bed, wringing your hands.

He goes to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulls out a red tunic and black pants. “Here,” he calls, tossing the tunic at you. “You can change in the bathroom. You’re not getting my bed wet with those clothes.

You nod mutely and walk to the bathroom, locking the door behind you before you begin to remove your clothes. Eris’s tunic comes down to your knees, nearly the length of your usual night gown, modest enough that you don’t feel too exposed. When you emerge, Eris has already changed into the pants and…is wearing nothing else.

You gulp, your eyes roaming over his freckled and scarred abs before snapping your eyes back up. “I—uh—I just left my clothes hanging on the tub, if that’s okay.”

Eris dips his chin. “It’s fine.”

You both crawl into the bed, Eris using his magic to dim the fire without putting it out. The bed is too small for the both of you to keep a reasonable amount of space between an employee and an employer. You try to keep your distance, curling near the edge, but the chill seeps into your bones. You may have changed clothes, but your hair is still dripping. You can’t help the trembling. The only sound in the cabin is your chattering teeth.

“Come here,” Eris murmurs.

You freeze.

“I can warm you,” he says. “And I can’t sleep with that incessant noise.”

You hesitate only a moment before turning.

He’s already watching you.

Carefully, you scoot closer. His arm opens, inviting, and you press against his chest. One of his arms curls around you. You bury your face against him, breathing in cinnamon and wood smoke. The warmth is blissful. But then you feel it. The brush of his fingers against your spine. The way his chest rises, tense. The steady drum of his heartbeat just below your ear.

And something else.

A coil of need tightening low in your belly. You should move. You should ignore it. But you don’t. Instead, your hand slides up his chest, slow and curious. His skin is hot to the touch. His breath catches, and you feel it the moment he notices. The scent of your arousal hits the air, subtle and sweet—but not subtle enough.

Eris growls. It’s low, guttural. His arm tightens around you, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “You smell delicious. Is that for me?”

You swallow hard but don't deny it.

His nose brushes your jaw. “You’ve been tempting me all damn day.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you protest.

“You exist,” he snaps quietly. “You breathe and I want to burn the world for a taste of you.”

His fingers tilt your chin up. His eyes blaze like twin embers. “I can’t pretend anymore,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Can you?”

“No,” you whisper.

His mouth is on yours before the word has fully left your lips. You don’t even try to stop it. His kiss is all heat and hunger, devouring and desperate. His hand tangles in your hair as he presses you down into the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You arch into him, every inch of your body aching for contact.

You don’t even notice him take his pants off or pull your panties to the side. You only care that his skin is searing against yours, that his hands know exactly how to touch you. When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow. Deep. Like he’s trying to memorize how you feel around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel divine.”

You can barely breathe. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he swears, voice cracked. “I could live inside you.”

His rhythm starts steady, building heat between your hips, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist. You claw at his back, chasing the fire building inside. He thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re gasping, incoherent. He murmurs praises against your throat—beautiful, perfect, mine. Each word sinks deeper than his cock, and it undoes you.

Pleasure shatters through your spine like lightning.

You cry out his name, and he follows with a strangled sound, spilling into you as he holds you through it, shaking with the force of restraint broken.

The storm outside howls.

Inside, there is only your breathing, tangled limbs, the scent of sex and sweat, and something more dangerous blooming in your chest.

Love.

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips softer now. Reverent. “You’ve always been mine,” he whispers.

You turn your face into his neck, warm and full and content.

“I know,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the flame-marked skin of his back. “I was just waiting for you to realize it.”

Bingo 500 taglist: @nocasdatsgay

[myownwholewildworld]

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

chapter 4 | series masterlist | ao3 | chapter 6 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: temptation is sweeter than honey. a/n: well, well, well, what can i say other than this whole chapter had me howling? over half of it is smut, so if that's not your thing, i'm sorry? 🤓 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, starvation, marital abuse, infidelity. some fluff because cormag is a grumpy sweetheart. marcus is the praise/consent king. very soft!marcus (yes, this is a warning). he talks you through it. a lot of fingering. nipple play. unprotected piv. reverse lap dance and reverse cowgirl positions. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd, very minimal editing (soz). w/c: ~8.8k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprisingly, he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His joke worked — it lightened your mood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shite!” you staggered backwards.

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

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

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

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

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

“Callie?”

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

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

Dux Meus. His lower tummy burnt at the words.

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

“What’s happened?”

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

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

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

I can help you clean yourself, he meant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus extended one of his hands towards you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded with vehemency.

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what was worst, you actually meant it.

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

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

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

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

“Come here,” he mumbled with need.

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

Marcus’ hand cupped your ass, and then tutted.

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

It was your time to frown.

“I am ready,” you assured him.

“It was only one finger, sweetheart―”

“One thick finger,” you remarked, snappy.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head.

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

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

You swallowed, your gaze looking for his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sobbed, shaking your head.

“Yes, please,” you begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do whatever feels right, honey.”

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

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

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

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

“You can come inside, I can take―”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was?” Marcus asked, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, blissed out and speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn him for making it difficult to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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