#duck bath brush

[ippinka]

Handmade in Sweden, this Duck Bath Brush is made using oil-treated birch and horsehair, which is soft and pliable.

[g00seg1raffe]

So there was a post a while back about Ben Solo always being told "don't do (x), that's how uncle luke lost his hand" when he was a kid - and I raise you: Elrond and Elros being told "don't do (x), that's how Maedhros lost his hand"??

Like, at Amon Ereb when the twins were newly acquired and refusing to eat their vegetables and Maglor is Mag-mothering them until Erestor, feral half-sane clinically depressed anarchist Avari hostage/patient/infiltrator and Certified Little Shit, hits em with:

"I would listen to the Lord Maglor, winyamor, he well knows the dangers that come to young elflings who don't eat enough vegetables - after all, that's how his brother lost his hand."

Elrond looks conflicted. Elros squints suspiciously. "Truly?"

Erestor, practically comatose since the massacre but ultimately saved from Fading by the biological compulsion to fuck with you, lays a hand over his heart. "I would never lie about such a thing! Just what do you take me for? This is a true tale and a grave warning - the Lord Maedhros' hand was tragically lost in the days of his youth, whilst he was still growing as you are. He refused to eat his vegetables and so, cruelly deprived of the strength it needed to grow strong, his body started to fall apart! First his fingers, then his thumb, and then his palm and wrist - all turned blue and dropped off!"

"No!" Elrond gasps. Elros looks both terrified and impressed. Maglor's face is scrunched up into something that the twins probably interpret as pained - at reminder of the horrors of limbs falling off! - but is actually just him busting a rib trying not to laugh.

"Yes!" Erestor cries with relish. "And it never grew back. All because he didn't eat his vegetables. Isn't that right, Lord Maedhros?"

Maedhros, a looming terror at the head of the table, scarred and solemn and impenetrable as his fortresses, narrows his eyes consideringly at the unfolding shenanigans and the rascal behind it. His conclusion? Fuck it. He gives a slow, solemn nod. Completely deadpan and exaggeratedly formal, because it may have been centuries since he last had his brothers smothering laughter at political dinners but the Finwëan sense of humour, once caught, is not an ailment easily cured.

Maglor conceals his wheezes behind his goblet as Erestor nods sagely to the wide-eyed twins, who suddenly seem a sight more interested in their vegetables.

[nereidprinc3ss]

drunk in love

in which fem!reader gets extra affectionate with spencer when she's drunk and he's just happy to be there

fluff! warnings/tags: drunk!reader, tooth-rottingly sweet fluff, spencer loves you so bad, short n sweet, that's it a/n: this is for the person who requested spencer taking care of drunk!reader and they're just being really cute and kissy and i lost your request i'm sorry but i hope you see this!! if you guys like this pls let me know, i have spencer helping drunk!r with a bath locked and loaded and its also so cute oh my god i love him goodnight

“Spence,” you say, voice pretty and airy as a song, pressing butterfly-light kisses with soft lips all over the side of his face. 

“What?” he asks fondly, fighting to keep his grip on you secure as you keep trying to fall down and bring him with you. This bar isn’t necessarily a dive, but he’s sure the floor is still sticky and he’s not interested in checking. 

“I really love you so much. I love you so much more than anyone else has ever loved anyone before.” It’s the fourth or fifth time you’ve told him you love him so much in ten minutes, but it doesn’t feel any less wonderful to hear. “Say it back!” you pout, settling against his chest. 

“You didn’t give me time to say it back,” he explains patiently, looking down at you and brushing hair behind your ear. “I love you so much, too, baby.”

Suddenly you’re too flustered and shy to make eye contact. 

“Call me that again.”

Spencer’s brow furrows. His smile flickers wider. 

“What? Baby?” You nod into his chest. He smooths your hair. “I call you baby all the time.”

“Because you love me?”

“Because I love you,” he agrees solemnly. 

You squeak, covering your face with your hands. Not for the first time tonight, he wonders what exactly was in those drinks Penelope kept ordering for you.

“Kiss?”

He gently grabs your wrists. 

“You have to show me that pretty face if you want a kiss.”

Your hands slide down your cheeks and you tilt your head up. Now that your face is on display, pretty and shiny in the low lighting, Spencer ducks down and kisses you sweetly, one hand on the back of your head, the other pulling your wrists down and out of the way. He makes sure to not let it go on for too long. There are still plenty of people around, but more saliently, you are quite drunk. 

“Good?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your cheek as he pulls away.

“Can we kiss forever?”

“We can try,” he muses. 

“I love you,” you say again, plainly. “I wish there was a word stronger than love. I feel like I’ve said love so much it’s lost all its meaning.”

“Keep saying it,” he encourages. “I like hearing it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper. Spencer leans down for you to cup your hand to his ear clandestinely. Sweet vanilla perfume still clings to your warm skin, lingering on your neck, mixing with the smell of fruity cocktails on your breath and making him dizzy. “I think JJ has a crush on you.”

He chuckles, straightening. Grieving the loss of your scent for just a second in the back of his mind—until you’re pressing against him anxiously, and it returns. 

“JJ is married, babe. I don’t think so.”

You pout. 

“No, but I really think she does! It makes me sad!”

Spencer doesn’t believe it for a second, but he knows hard logic and persuasion aren’t really going to do much for you right now. So he loops an arm around your waist and reigns you in. 

“You don’t need to be sad, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter who has a crush on me because I have a crush on you.”

“Just me?” you ask anxiously. 

“Just you. You’re the prettiest girl in the world. I have a huge crush on you.”

He realizes his voice has taken on that saccharine quality that Derek would give him shit for, and it’s probably visible in his eyes as he leans close to you, but he doesn’t care at all. 

You raise your chin, wordlessly asking for another kiss. He delivers. The fabric of his shirt tugs where you grab onto it, attempting to bring him closer even when he draws away from the kiss. Of course he allows it, narrowly avoiding stepping on your toes as you pull him to you like a dog on a leash. 

“Can we go home? I wanna cuddle.”

Oh, yeah. If Derek were present he’d have the most ridiculous, shit-eating grin on his face right now. Luckily he’s not here right now, and even if he were, Spencer would still brush your hair aside and say, absolutely we can go home and cuddle. 

“Of course we can. Do you want to say goodbye to everyone?”

“Mm… can we Irish goodbye?”

He chuckles. 

“I think you should say thank you to Penelope for buying you all of those ridiculous drinks that are making you so nice.”

You make a face. 

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re not always this nice,” he reminds you with a small smile, resting his hands on your waist. You frown. 

“In my head I am.”

He kisses your head. It’s impossible not to. 

“I know. Come on, let’s say bye. I want to go home too.”

“You think I’m not usually nice?”

“Of course I don’t think that. I think you’re so nice.”

“Oh my god, can we get ice cream?” You gasp, already distracted and pulling him along by the hand as you weave through the sparse crowd. 

He smiles to himself, happy to follow your lead as long as you don’t let go. 

“We can definitely get ice cream. We can do whatever you want.”

[amourrs]

sub!ellie who’s addicted to the way you taste. never mind that you’re the more dominant one, because the power is still hers— she’s functionally turned you into a pillow princess with the way she drags your lace underwear down the plush skin of your thighs every time, bite marks indented and ridged into the soft skin as she cruises her tongue across the honeyed junction between your thigh and your hip before you push her head down, rough pad of her tongue circling your clit as you throw your head back and whine at the sensation. it’s not just the knowledge she’s making you feel good that gets her off, it’s the carding of your fingers through her hair, how the pads of them twirl around at her nape and tug until her vision clouds with sweet headiness at the twinge. it’s the way she can stay down there forever— like tonight, where she’s clamping her hands down to hold your thighs in place after your third orgasm. a salty tear traverses a path down the bridge of your nose and ellie takes a second to raise her face to your own, tongue darting out to lick it off you. a mumble of “such a good girl, love you,” escapes you and it’s got her grinding into the mattress as she ducks her head back down, resting the silken dome on your quivering thigh as she slides two fingers into you. a choked sob escapes your throat as she crooks them towards her— “el, fuck, don’t think i can do any more for you, baby, m’sorry—” but she shakes her head resolutely at your protests. “know you can— you always say i can, right? s’gonna feel sooo good, promise.” the fingers of her other hand come up to twine with yours, rubbing soothingly over your knuckles the same way your palm brushes her face to comfort her when you give her the same treatment, lips pressing sweet kisses over your hipbone until they trail their way back to your clit. you cry out at the sensation of her tongue working in tandem with her slender fingers, thighs tightening in a vice-like grip around her neck as you wind your spare hand into the tangled mane of her hair, catching on knots she doesn’t seem to notice as she continues her mission as if unhindered. it’s only when you’re completely spent and your palm pushes clamming at her forehead that you can finally untense your muscles, allowing blood to flow more freely as you loosen up, head slack on the pillow as ellie winds herself around you, soft kiss pressed to your cheek. “you were so—” she begins, tone teasing and cloying as you snap a glare in her direction. “watch it. or next time something’s getting fucked, it’ll be your ass.” the copper-haired menace recoils at once, hands clasped over the flesh of her backside as she finds her way to the bathroom to run you a hot bath— although you don’t miss the tentative look she throws your way as she takes her fingers away from her body to turn on the tap, the way they linger on her skin for a second as if wondering what the sensation would feel like, how her gaze fills with a rampant curiosity— until she catches you looking and abruptly turns away, busying herself with the bath salts. interesting. you file it away for next time with a grin. “babe! don’t forget the ass— i mean essential oils,” you call, taking delight in the resultant strawberry-red blush of ellie’s cheeks as she reaches to grab them from a higher shelf. next time, indeed.

[whisperofwonder]

Oh, Baby | Part 2

part 1 is here - pregnant!reader

Haikyuu men as new(ish) fathers

Featuring: Miya Osamu, Kuroo Tetsurou, Kageyama Tobio, Sakusa Kiyoomi

You don't really have to read part 1, but these are set after those drabbles, and they each do call back to them in some way

MIYA OSAMU

At the jingle of the familiar bell, Osamu looks up, smile breaking across his face at the sight of you walking through the door. Your son is bundled up in his carrier, sleeping soundly after all the excitement of his six week doctor's appointment. Osamu steps around the counter to meet you, reaching to grab the carrier as he steals a quick kiss. "How'd the appointment go?" He asks as you settle into your usual stool at the counter, situating the baby carrier next to you.

"Good," You nod, looking down at the peaceful face of your sleeping son, still drinking him in after all these weeks. "Everything is going well. He's growing so fast." You look up at your husband and catch him still looking down at the baby. You wonder if your emotions are as obvious as his, drawn so clearly across his face.

"Good," He finally tears his eyes away to look at you, softness still lingering. "Are ya hungry?" He asks next - the question you've been waiting for.

"Starving," You say emphatically. With the busyness of the morning, you haven't had time to eat much. The delightful smells coming from the kitchen are only making you hungrier.

"What're ya in the mood for?"

You know immediately. You usually do. "Spicy tuna."

"Ya sure?" He quirks an eyebrow. You frown as he leans in closer across the counter, a smirk growing on his face. "I mean, it sounds so normal."

"Oh, stop it!" You huff. "It's been months!" You aren't sure if he'll ever let you forget the bizarre onigiri combinations your pregnancy cravings had produced.

"Yer lucky I love ya," He says fondly, ducking back into the kitchen before you can make any kind of retort. It isn't long before he returns, setting the plate of onigiri in front of you with a flourish.

"Thank you," You say, tilting your chin up in invitation. Osamu glances around, the few regulars in the restaurant familiar enough with the two of you, before taking you up on the invitation, kissing you a little more deeply than he might have otherwise.

"Yer welcome," He says softly as he pulls away, "Better eat it before it gets cold." You don't need any more prompting, eagerly reaching for one of the onigiri and taking a big bite. You close your eyes in delight, savoring it. Across from you, Osamu rests his forearms on the counter, content to watch in silence as you enjoy the food he'd prepared for you.

You're nearly finished when the bell above the door jingles again, and Osamu greets the customers who have just entered.

"We should get going," You murmur to him, and he nods. You pop the last bite in your mouth and gather your things while he takes the order, stopping back by your seat after dropping it off in the kitchen.

"I'll see you both when I get home," He says, brushing his fingertips against your son's soft cheek.

KUROO TETSUROU

"Go ahead," Tetsurou insists, "Go take a shower. A long shower. Or a bath, even. I've got this." He bounces your daughter in his arms, still fussing even though she's just been fed.

"But, Tetsu," You look down at her scrunched up face, the sounds of her unhappiness tugging at your heartstrings.

"She'll be fine," He says in a soothing voice - you aren't sure whether it's for your sake, or the baby's. "And you deserve it. When's the last time you've taken a shower that lasted longer than five minutes?" He asks pointedly.

"Dunno," You mumble, resting your hand on her tummy. She does seem to be settling down, just a little. "If you're sure," You say, beginning to relent.

"I'm sure," He says, in a tone you usually know better than to argue with. "I'll get her changed and all ready for bed by the time you're done," He promises.

You do as he says, taking an admittedly much-needed shower. You take your time washing your hair, even using the fancy hair mask and body scrub your friend had gifted you at the baby shower - a little something for you, she'd said with a small knowing smile. You hadn't even opened them until today.

You're surprised by how much better you really do feel, afterwards. You're warm, your hair is soft, and you smell good. Once you slip into your cozy pajamas, you're almost ready to fall asleep right then and there. You have to check on your husband and daughter, though.

They aren't in the nursery. The bedroom sounds suspiciously quiet. Slowly, you push the door open, not expecting the sight you're greeted with.

Your husband is lying on top of the covers, head tipped back against the pillows as he dozes. On his chest, your daughter is snuggled up, her pudgy cheek smushed against him, fist clutching a handful of his t-shirt. He has a hand resting protectively across her back, holding her close. For a few moments, you're frozen in the doorway, taking in the sight before you. You press your fingers to your lips as the emotions well up in your chest.

You must make some kind of sound, because Tetsurou soon stirs, turning his head to look at you. "Hey," He says blearily, "I was just resting my eyes."

You smile softly, finally making your way across the room to them now that the spell is broken. "Sure," You tease gently, not begrudging him the moments of sleep he'd managed to steal.

"How was your shower?" He asks as you curl yourself against him, cheek resting on his shoulder as you look down at your sleeping daughter.

"Good," You whisper. "Really nice. Thank you." He presses a kiss to the top of your head in response. You watch her in silence for a few moments, sleeping so contently snuggled against her daddy's chest. "You got her to sleep," You comment softly. It shouldn't come as a surprise - it's one of your favorite places to fall asleep as well.

"Yeah," He hums, "I think she just wanted some snuggles." He tucks the fingers of his fee hand beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing aimless shapes there. "Sounds a little bit like someone else I know," He adds with a soft chuckle.

"Well, we can't help it that you're just so snuggly," You murmur. You reach out to gently brush your fingertips against her fist. You don't want to wake her up, but you can't resist. You tilt your head up to look at him. "You help us feel safe," You add.

He shifts her on his chest, just enough that he can crane his neck far enough to kiss you. "Good," He murmurs against your lips.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You wake with a start. It comes back to you - Tobio had gotten up to check on your daughter when she started fussing, and you'd been waiting for him to come back to bed. You must have drifted off, but he still isn't back in his spot beside you. His pillow is cold now, and you aren't sure just how long he's been gone.

The house is quiet, but you can't shake your concern. Slipping out of bed, you pad to the nursery just a few steps away. In the warm glow of the night light, you see him sitting in the rocking chair by the crib, arms folded on the edge of it and chin rested on his arms.

"Tobio?" He jerks his head up, turning to look at you. "What are you doing?" You move beside him, taking in the sight he seems so enraptured by. Your daughter is sleeping, her small chest rising and falling with her soft breaths. Her nose scrunches, just for a moment, then relaxes again. It makes your heart twist in your chest.

"Sorry. Got distracted, I guess," He whispers, lowering his head to his arms again. "I was just thinking, her nose looks a lot like yours. Doesn't it?" He turns to look at you.

"I guess so," You murmur back.

"It's a nice nose," He says matter of factly.

"I guess so," You repeat with a quiet laugh. "Don't you want to come back to bed?"

"Soon," He nods, "Just a couple more minutes." You both fall silent then, and he slips an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto the arm of the chair. Slowly, you lean your head against his. You find yourself thinking that you could stay like this forever - pressed up against him, looking down at the perfect little person that is your daughter.

Sure, you'll be tired in the morning, but what else is new?

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

"That doesn't go in the dishwasher," You say from your spot on the couch, the one seat with a perfect view into the kitchen. You're feeding your son, and Kiyoomi is cleaning up.

"I know," He says evenly, turning and setting the bottle next to the sink with the others. "I'll wash them after the dishwasher is loaded."

"Oh," You say softly. It's been harder for you than you'll admit, accepting so much help from Kiyoomi. You'd been so confident that you could still do everything, even after the baby came, but it's proven to be much more difficult than you'd so naively anticipated.

"I'm sorry," You say with a sigh, watching as he rinses off the dinner plates before slotting them in the dishwasher. "You shouldn't have to be doing this. I could have done it, right after he's finished eating."

Kiyoomi stops, putting the mug he'd just picked up back in the sink. He crosses the kitchen, sinking down next to you on the couch. You put down the bottle, adjusting your son in your arms.

"Hey," He says quietly, dipping his chin to meet your gaze. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" You ask, tugging a wrinkle out of your son's onesie and using the action as an excuse to look down at him instead of into your husband's eyes.

"Think that you have to handle everything. We're a team, remember?" You make a sound that he could interpret as agreement if he wanted to. He sighs. "You're incredible, and I love you," He says, tilting your chin up with his fingertips so you have no choice but to look at him again. "A month ago, I watched you do the hardest thing you've ever done, and I couldn't do anything to make it easier for you. The least I can do now is wash a few dishes."

You want to smile. You want to cry. Hormones are stupid. "Kiyoomi," You say softly as his thumb swipes away a tear you hadn't realized slipped down your face.

"I'm going to keep doing my part, so you might as well accept it." He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple. "Okay?"

"Okay," You say, smile growing on your face. "Kiyoomi?" You add after a beat, when it's clear he isn't getting up quite yet, "The dishwasher isn't going to load itself, you know."

He opens his mouth, then closes it with a shake of his head, trying to disguise the smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes ma'am."

[inkedtae]

between roar and whisper ⇾ bgc. [M]

⎡ Your passion for him toggles between a roar and whisper. He’s not satisfied until your eyes roll. ⎤

⌁ pairing; slytherin!chan x gryffindor!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; hogwarts au, pwp, e2l, some angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.4k

⌁ summary; the princess of gryffindor has no business lurking around the dungeons, other than to destroy the demon of slytherin that is… or so she thought…

⌁ warnings; mentions and brief depictions of an abusive relationship, mentions of alcohol, dom!chan, brat!reader (reader is thicc), infidelity, sir kink, size kink, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, bondage, humiliation, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, clit worship, fingering, choking, light rimming, squirting, gagging, spanking, tit slapping, cum play, spit play, anal play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

» a huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for making this amazing banner for me, and my amazing beta-readers, who i owe a million hugs to for making this fic readable, jen ( @anobodyslove​ ), stardust ( @skzdust​ ), and nephele ( @jisungchan​ )

⟶ please note that, despite still attending Hogwarts, all characters are of consenting age

Lumos.

The tip of your sycamore wand glows against the dungeon walls. It smells of murky roses and still saltwater. Your face scrunches in disgust as the bitter notions settle upon your tongue. You resist the urge to gag, walking down the long corridor. You duck under hanging cobwebs and try to ignore the scurry of rats along the edge of the stone floors.

Did he guide you down hidden tunnels as some sick joke?

“Meet me by the prefect’s lavatories around midnight,” he’d said, tonguing his cheek and raking his gaze over your frame.“We’ll discuss a truce then.”

You’re not interested in a truce. You just need to obtain proof of his misconduct and abuse of power. After tonight, the Headmistress will think twice about dismissing your accusations of cheating and bribery. Maybe, she’ll stop turning away your owls as well. You’re not certain you can stomach the humiliation of receiving another returned letter in the middle of the crowded common room.

It all ends tonight.

The lying, the cheating, the complete disregard for anyone but himself— you’re tired of it. You just want to experience one day without students nagging you in the common room or great hall or even during class about his destructive behaviour. Despite telling the students countless times to approach the prefects and head-pupils, the responsibility always gets tossed back to you. The prefects claim they can’t risk their positions by making serious accusations against a fellow member of their staff.

“You’re the only one with a credible enough reputation to be taken seriously,” Nayeon, the head-girl, once told you.

You might just scream at the next person who says that to you.

The end of the corridor presents a ladder. As you are about to take hold of the wood, a black, fury insect makes itself known. You slightly squeal at the sight, jump back.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you mutter before flicking your wand to magically shake the spider, and any other crawling critters, off. Begrudgingly, you begin your ascent up the ladder.

Alohomora.

The latch unlocks. You grunt, pushing open the door. It falls onto the floor with a loud thump. You freeze, shoulders to your ears, hoping no one has heard. When only silence replies, you climb through with a soft grunt. Kicking the door shut, you brush off your clothes and resist the urge to shudder at the thought of one of those bugs finding themselves on you.

“You can just take those off,” a deep voice says, tone dripping in arrogance.“You won’t need them in here.”

Moonlight seeps through stain-glass windows, cascading upon an all too handsome face. However, the room is primarily illuminated by a warm glow of candles levitating above. Under the orangish flicker of the lights, he sits in a grand foam-topped bath. His wet hair is slicked back, eyes dancing with mischief as he tilts his head to observe you. You swallow thickly at the sight of his bare chest and those strong arms, leaning back against the rim of the porcelain green tub.

Vermilion vanilla and smoked sandalwood saturate the room, emerging from bubbles that float out of the foam and burst around you. The sweet taste is on the tip of your tongue. Intoxicating your senses, the scent ripples into your subconscious, unravelling a memory from Potions class weeks ago.

Professor Hylithe purposely paired Gryffindors with Slytherins, forcing you to sit by him despite your many protests.

He flashed that same smirk, cocked that same brow and teased, “I won’t bite,” only to lean in and whisper, “unless you ask nicely.”

The moment he inched closer that musky vanilla scent invaded your senses. Your eyes watered; breath almost hitched as you held it. Still, you didn’t want to exhale it too soon, wishing to inject it into your bloodstream.

The same urge tugs at your senses now, electrifying your nerves with a desire to lean into his masculine scent of comfort and stability.

“Don’t be shy,” he goads, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You roll your eyes. “Get your ass out here, Bahng.”

“I'd rather bang in here.”

You can tell by the smirk playing on his lips he’s proud of himself. You fight off a chuckle, sucking in your cheeks.

“You picked now to bathe?” you ask as you climb up the steps of the bath.

He shrugs, averting his gaze to twirl his fingers between the bubbles. “It’s hard to find the time when I’m constantly being summoned to the Headmistress’s office.”

So, she has been getting your owls. You try to mask your relief, crossing your arms over your chest. His attention lingers on the gesture. You knew there was an ulterior motive to his sudden talks of peace. If you continue to expose his impropriety, he might be revoked of his prefect privileges.

“Maybe if you stopped being an ass and started following the rules, instead of bending them for your cockroach friends and girls you’d like to bed, you would be able to fit whatever you want in your schedule.”

He smirks. “Am I sensing a hint of jealousy?”

You mock his smile. “I have a boyfriend.”

Rolling his shoulders back, he breathes a humourless chuckle. “Right, what was his name again? Jake?”

“Jim.”

“Whatever,” he hisses. “Hell of a quidditch player.”

You tentatively nod.

“Heard he has a tendency to be a beater off the field as well.”

Shifting your weight, you shake your head. “Are you unfamiliar with the concept of a rumour, Bahng?”

“That’s not exactly denial, is it?”

Lips dry, you take a moment to lick them and swallow thickly.

No one understands Jim— no one tries to, anyway. He’s thoughtful when it counts and nearly always caring. He’s just protective of those he cherishes. He allows you permission to hang out with your friends because he wants to ensure that you’ll be safe no matter where you are. And you like it when your boyfriend has input on your clothes. You’re so used to wearing a uniform, sometimes you forget how a proper woman is supposed to dress— that’s what Jim tells you. He is always here to remind you because he cares. He made that very clear himself.

Yes, maybe sometimes he becomes so passionate he cannot think straight, but it’s not intentional. He’s filled with so many emotions, it’s hard to contain them all at once. Besides, he always makes it up to you, showering you with cuddles, kisses, and your favourite chocolate frogs. He’s completely capable of being a gentleman.

“He just has a temper,” you reply, voice quavering. You clear your throat before adding, “I’ve heard that you do as well. Aren’t you dubbed the Demon of Slytherin?”

A smile tugs on his full lips at the mention of the title. “Not with the people I care about,” he clarifies.

“Well, look at that,” you tease. “I didn’t think you cared about anyone other than yourself.”

He thumbs the corner of his mouth, tongue poking against his bottom lip. “Come in and I’ll enlighten you a bit more.”

You raise an unimpressed brow. “We’re here for peace-talks,” you remind.

“And I’m not talking until you get in here.”

He can’t be serious.

You scoff, glaring. That usual smirk is nowhere to be seen. He maintains your gaze, expressionless. The only movement is the constant clenching and unclenching of his jaw as he waits.

“I can look away if you’d like,” he taunts, the lightest impression of a smile on his lips.

He really isn’t serious, you realise. He’s only toying with you, mocking your known tendencies to be a straight-edged, highly academic student. He thinks you’re some prudent angel who condemns all excitement and never dares to laugh out loud in public.

Gritting your teeth, you grab onto the hem of your sweater and pull it over your head. The way his brows shoot up only fuels your defiance. With every button you undo, his jaw loosens a bit more. You watch his throat bob at the sight of your satin pink bra and hear his breath hitch when you pull it off.

His dazed gaze follows your hands around the zipper of your short, pleated skirt. A part of you wishes you had matched your panties with your bra solely for the sake of consistency, but the baby-blue cotton will have to do.

He roams his eyes over your curves as you flick off your shoes and socks before meeting yours once more. You gather your hair, inhaling and exhaling slowly under his careful watch, and tie it back into a sloppy but tight bun. Big, brown, and once boastful, his eyes now swim with notions of marvelled intrigue.

As you take a step into the bath, you notice he neatly folded his clothes on the edge of the tub, flicking your attention between him and his precious clothes. Then, you hold his gaze, plaster your sweetest smile, and push them into the water.

He raises his brows, about to object when you say, “That’s for being a pompous ass.”

He tries to hide his smile with a bite of his lip.

Your knees wobble as you continue to wade through water and foam. Perhaps it’s the warmth of the bath, or the cover of bubbles, but the reality of the situation has finally dawned on you. Shedding your garments one by one, you have stripped your inhibitions in front of the most cunning douchebag you’ve ever been blessed to meet. What if he tells his friends? What if he embellishes the events and turns you into a conquest?

What if Jim finds out?

“What happens here stays between us,” he suddenly announces, as if reading your mind. “Not even the ghosts will know.”

“How can I be sure?”

“I’m not uncivilised, princess,” he smirks. “I have my honour.”

You pause, waiting for the glint in his eyes that often follows the delivery of his vicious jokes. Instead, sincerity swirls in those brown eyes. You wonder if perhaps you’re a fool because you believe him.

You take a seat to his left, maintaining a more-than-respectable distance. Collecting extra clusters of bubbles, you arrange them before your full chest. You’ve made your point, you tell yourself. And he’s seen far more than Jim ever has— both must never know.

“I can’t hear you from there.”

“You can hear me just fine.”

“What?”

You lean your head back with an exasperated sigh. “Merlin give me strength,” you mutter before inching a bit closer.

He tsks, beckoning you towards him with a curl of his fingers.

You comply, drawing nearer and nearer. When he continues to summon you closer, even at an arm’s length away, you lightly splash him.

“This is close enough,” you spit.

From the way he smiles, you realise he was trying to see how close he could get you. Jaw tight, you shake your head.

“Can you be serious for two minutes?” you ask, voice sharp. “We shouldn’t even be up this late. We have a Transfigurations quiz tomorrow.”

Confusion furrows his brows. “No, we don’t.”

You try not to smile at the way he speaks, accent thickest when he’s perplexed.

“Every second Thursday at nine, we get a pop quiz on the last two chapters,” you explain. “If you paid attention to anyone but yourself, you’d know that.”

“I don’t think anyone but you knows that,” he replies through a chuckle.

He can see the pride flash in your eyes, spreading onto your lips through a little smile— you know he can. He mirrors the expression, and you expected it to be another instance of mockery. However, upon the absence of that mischievous glint in his eye, you’re inclined to believe that he might actually mean it.

Is he proud of you for being so observant, so keen?

You hold your breath as he reaches over to move a strand of hair from your face. He tucks it behind your ear, then gently traces your jaw. You gulp a nervous lump down your throat.

Holding your chin between the edge of his finger and thumb, he quietly asks, “You want to be serious?”

You slowly nod.

“Tell me why the Princess of Gryffindor is dating a leach.”

“Why do you care?”

“Satisfy my curiosity.”

Why is the thought of satisfying him not completely revolting?

He’s a liar, a charming hustler. He has, somehow, slithered his way into everyone’s good graces, always getting what he wants, when he wants it. He gives absolutely no thought to the regulations either, sneaking his way around every rule and blaming it all on your fellow Gryffindors. It’s infuriating. You’re much more witty, much quicker than him. You’re a better quidditch player too, and, if he hadn’t manipulated Madame Hooch into making him the star-player of the season, you would have easily secured that title.

So, why, after all the trouble he has caused you, does the mere mention of his satisfaction exhilarate you?

You move to release yourself from his touch, but he holds you tighter, forcing you to maintain eye contact. Clenching your jaw, you inhale sharply through your nostrils. Your eyes narrow.

He flickers his attention to your scowl, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You exhale carefully, cautious not to press your mouth against his touch. “Some say being with Jim makes me the princess,” you confess.

He tongues his cheek.

“You don’t agree?”

“When I look at you, all I see is royalty,” he softly says, voice steady and deep. “And I can assure you that has nothing to do with him.”

“I’ve known him forever,” you try again.

He arches a brow. “You’ve known him for a little over a year,” he corrects. “You’ve known me forever.”

He’s right; you really have known him forever. The memory of him on the train on your very first day of school, sitting in the compartment across from yours, resurfaces.

He was just some snot-nosed thirteen year old, supervising his loud friends as they arm wrestled. He caught you staring and winked.

You gagged in disgust.

He’s a flirt, you remind yourself. And you mustn’t forget that there’s a catch to this line of questioning.

You tear yourself out of his grasp, hardening your gaze. “You’re not going to worm your way out of this conversation, Bahng. Tell me what it’s going to take.”

He settles back against the tub, rolling his shoulders. “What’s the point? You’ll never do it.”

You pause, attention flitting down to where the foam gathers by his waist.

Is he… big, you can’t help wondering.

The dark chuckle tumbling from his full lips reminds you of your annoyance. Gulping, you muster your most disgusted sneer and glare at him.

He’s shameless.

“You sicken me,” you spit.

That little chuckle manifests into a full, deep laugh. His pretty eyes twinkle with mischief as he tongues his cheek.“You’re so dirty,” he teasingly chastises.

You don’t mean to shiver, but he shoots you a suggestive look and suddenly you feel hot.

“All you have to do is ask me nicely.”

Brows knitted, you scoff. “I’ve asked you hundreds of times.”

“You’ve demanded,” he corrects. “Besides, I didn’t like your tone.”

You could smack him right now. You could push a wave of water in his face, disorienting him for a moment so he doesn’t see your hand wind back, and hit him upside the head. Clenching your fist, jaw tight, you fight against the urge.

A jeering smirk tugs on the corner of his lips. He’s reaping all too much amusement from your misery.

Inhaling deeply, you swallow your pride and begin, “I was wond—”

“Sir.”

“What?”

“Start with ‘Sir’.”

You scoff.

“You want me to stop, right?” he asks, voice dripping with condescension.

You’ve never been more thankful for the amount of foam floating amongst you. Your thighs press together tightly at his tone, almost quivering under the water’s surface. You don’t think you’d be able to walk away so haughty and moral if he could see just how much his charm could potentially sway you.

“Sir,” you pointedly add, “I was wondering if you would please find it in your poor little excuse of a heart to stop terrorising my housemates?”

He hisses, squinting and tilting his head. “I’m detecting sarcasm.”

“I’m detecting bullshit.”

A look of mocked condemnation colours his face. “Now, now, princess. Didn’t I tell you to ask nicely?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Everyone calls you that.”

“Not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I belong to you.”

What an interesting reality that would be— calling someone like him your boyfriend. Walking with him to class, letting him hold your books, or play with your hair, or adore the outfits you pick out and practise flying together. The images conjure themselves so clearly in your brain, you could’ve sworn they were memories. Even holding his hand would make your legs weak.

All wicked notions of mockery fade within a blink. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes narrow, but they are not full of taunting amusement nor unruly mischief. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they’re full of pity.

“You’re not property to possess,” he affirms, tone disparaging as if the thought is unnatural. “You’re an idol of worship.”

“How blasphemous,” you joke, playing along.

He does not laugh. Sucking in his cheeks, brows furrowed and head shaking, he redirects his gaze to the bubbles in front of him. You watch his jaw flex, throat bob. Even the candles, floating above, dim and cast shadows over his handsome face.

“I’ll see what I can do about keeping Gryffindors out of trouble,” he suddenly concedes, shifting his arms off the edge of the tub for the first time. They disappear under water as he continues, “You’re going to have to warn them against bothering Slytherins though.”

“That’s it?”

“That��s it.”

What is that voice?

Usually light, laced with arrogance and mischief, his voice floats like a sweet melody, only to land sharper than a blade. Now it is plagued with melancholia. Slow, raspy, he almost sounds defeated, like he’s given up.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing.”

Your face folds into confusion. Tilting your head, you let out a breathy chuckle. “I have known you forever, Bahng. And I know that you are a man of very pretty words, the prettiest sometimes.”

He casts you a sidelong glance, quirking a brow as a smile hovers over his lips.

You ignore his giant ego and continue, “One word answers are not in your arsenal, unless they’re lethal.”

“Your point?”

“Something is bothering you.”

“Why do you even care?” He sighs, finally meeting your gaze.

You resist a smirk. “Satisfy my curiosity?”

Conceit has no place on his face. A soft smile settles, caressing his features with genuine astonishment. Perhaps it wasn’t what you said, tossing his words back at him. But rather how you said it. Uncertain, perhaps even slightly cheeky, you posed it as a question. Your right shoulder came up to your cheek, and voice slightly pitched.

He lets out a chuckle. Parting his lips, you think he might finally express himself. He shakes his head, looking down instead.

“All this because you promised not to trouble me anymore?”

He shuts his eyes, bites his lip. You hear him inhale sharply, watch him release his lip to glide his tongue over his teeth. His jaw tenses then he meets your gaze. Cold, annoyed, he regards you with scrutiny.

“When have you ever been in trouble because of me?” he asks, voice so level, it makes you tremble. “When your friends were called to the Headmistress’s office two weeks ago, were you asked to join them?”

How the hell does he know about that? The Headmistress reassured Jim and the rest of your friends that the professor who witnessed the drunken broom-rides around the courtyard would not share it with the other pupils. She gave them a month’s worth of detention and praised you for not partaking in their shenanigans.

“Who do you think was on duty that night?” he questions. “Who do you think sent you that signal from the astronomy tower? Who do you think convinced the Headmistress that you were safely tucked in bed, unaware of the fact that your little leach stole your broom?”

The blood drains from your face.

“Do you even know what that toad said when the Headmistress questioned your involvement?”

You shake your head.

“He told her that it was your idea. That you were the one who smuggled the alcohol from some secret passage you found near Honeydukes. He told her that you were the one that woke him up and begged him to come out with you. He cried.” His voice simmers with fury, quiet and steady, as he draws nearer. You press your back against the tub. “He babbled like a baby and dragged your character through the mud.”

You crank your head back to maintain eye contact. You’re careful not to take a full breath, hoping your breasts don’t brush against his chest. However, you swear the tips of your hardened nipples still graze his skin. The possible contact fogs your brain. You blink to force yourself to remain focused, trying to register his words, the implication of betrayal they reveal.

“But he told me—”

“He’s a fucking liar,” he seethes. His gaze bounces around your face, as if suddenly aware of your proximity. Attention lingering on your lips, he confesses, “I’ve shattered reputations to keep you out of trouble. So I have to ask, ____, when have you ever gotten in trouble because of me?”

You part your lips to mention the onslaught of complaints you receive daily due to his insolence, but it all seems meaningless now. Why would someone known as the Demon of Slytherin shatter reputations for you? He doesn’t seem very sentimental, yet he lied for your sake.

Going for a late night fly in the courtyard really was your idea. You had too much coffee one night, trying to stay up long enough to finish your report on the history of alchemy due the next morning. Having finished your scroll earlier than you thought, still buzzing with energy, you suggested a broom race to your friends.

Jim heard you talking about it the next morning, and scolded you for being so thoughtless. He woke you up that night, ordering you and your roommates to get out of bed and join his friends for a race. Your roommates eventually brushed him off, but his grasp on your arm left no room for refusal.

You were made aware of the alcohol, or rather its influence, when you witnessed Monroe fly face-first into the side of the castle.

“I’m going to bed,” you said. You dismounted to hurry inside when Jim caught hold of your robes.

“We’re not done,” he sneered, pulling you towards him. You held your breath, knowing it wouldn’t end well if you reacted to the stench of whisky seeping from his mouth. “Did you leave your little friends out here when you flew with them?”

A bright green flare suddenly shot up from the astronomy tower. Jim loosened his grip to marvel at the sight with his friends.

You took the opportunity to slip away, rushing back to your dorm.

Blinking out of your memories, you watch as he pulls himself away, returning to his previous place in the tub. He sits back against the porcelain, wet arms resting on the edge.

You bite your lip at the sight of his glistening muscles. You’re not sure when he got so big, coming back to school a couple of years ago with broad shoulders and a buff chest.

Leaning his head back, he shuts his eyes and mutters, “Towels are by the steps.”

It’s time to go.

So why can’t you move?

Your legs tremble, wrinkled fingers twisting in your lap. Stand up, you tell yourself. Stand up, dry off, get dressed and leave the way you came.

Why would he lie for you, you can’t stop wondering. Why would he warn you before sending professors to detain your disorderly friends? Wouldn’t he gain more by diminishing your credibility?

This must be one of his games. He’s agreed to a house truce, but perhaps he merely wants to channel his deviant tendencies onto you.

You study his features at the thought. Though his eyes are closed, head still titled back against the edge, his jaw is tight. He grinds his teeth like he’s trying to swallow profanities. You shift your attention to his hands, large and vein-laced. His knuckles are white from how tightly he clenches them.

Could he perhaps be— No! The Demon of Slytherin would find that laughable. Of course, he’s not interested in you. It’s all a game. It must be.

“Why aren’t you leaving?”

You lick your lips. “Why did you lie for me?”

The candles flicker.

“You know why.”

“I really don’t.”

He tongues his cheek. You bite back a shameful moan.

“It’s the same reason why you refuse to say my name.”

You gulp. “Bahng,” you reply only for him to chuckle.

He peeks a sidelong glance at you before laughing some more and shutting his eyes. “You’re cute when you’re in denial.”

“Are you capable of giving me a straight answer?”

“Yes.”

You roll your eyes. He’s really going to make you say it. How did he even know you’ve been avoiding it? Has he been eavesdropping on your conversations with your friends? It’s not as though it means anything serious anyway. You just can’t get used to his name on your tongue. You’ve uttered it once in the Great Hall to one of your friends and hatefully realised that you in fact like how it sounds.

However, that cannot mean that you like him. It just means that you might be inclined to tolerate him as a classmate, or perhaps even an occasional friend. He’s not entirely horrible. He’s never late. He’s never raised his voice at his friends, and you are all too aware of how loud they can be. He has an easy smile. He’s clever. He’s athletic. He would be a dedicated, determined, devoted boyfri—.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

He sits up, rolling his neck. “You’re pretty slow for one of the top students of your year,” he taunts.

You should be insulted, absolutely disgusted that Bahng, the cunning Demon of Slytherin, has a crush on you. You should swear at him, splash him in the face with the foamy water and storm out just as you should have when he asked you to call him ‘sir.’

However, you find that your heart beats faster, breath already ragged. You find that you inch closer, flitting your gaze between his eyes and lips. You find that you do not want to hurl your dinner nor any other insults you usually have locked and loaded when you see him in the halls.

Panic surges through you at the realisation that maybe… maybe you might like him too.

“I have a boyfriend!” you suddenly announce, though you’re not quite sure who you’re trying to remind.

His voice is tempered, gaze knowing as he replies, “I’m not forcing you to stay, princess.”

I have a boyfriend.

“And if I do?” you ask as he scans your features. “Would you tell him?”

I have a boy.

“No one will know,” he repeats.

I have a friend?

“Promise?”

I have… I have…

“I vow to you my honour and dignity.”

You reach for him, finding that he is already moving towards you. Lips latch. A whirlwind of wonder circles from the pit of your stomach, flooding your chest with desire. Febrile, fierce, the force seers his name into your flesh, pumps his breath through your lungs.

Ch-ris, Ch-ris, Ch-ris, your heart beats.

Your tongue fails to keep up with his, swirling and twirling to eventually give into his guidance. You just need him closer, grappling onto his large shoulders. Arching your back, you shove your chest against his.

His hands find their place on your waist. He hugs you against him, his hammering heart beating as one with your own. It’s so natural, so quick, the way your bodies find a rhythm, congruently propelling excitement.

And then it slips, distinct amongst the shared panting, “Chris.”

You feel his hands slide down to your thighs and tighten their grip. Letting out a little squeal, you clutch onto his shoulders as he swiftly lifts you atop the thick edge of the tub.

Chris stands between your legs. A little voice is screaming at you to push him away, but you find yourself leaning back, further spreading yourself for him.

It seems to be all the confirmation he needs to advance. His hands trail up along your thick thighs. He gropes at the flesh, watching your brows furrow and lips quiver. His thumb presses against your clit.

Your legs tremble, water rippling where your feet still dangle beneath the surface.

Chris smirks. He circles the bundle of nerves, eyeing your features as they succumb to the gentle pleasure. Licking your lips, you resist the urge to buckle your hips into his hand, body tensing.

“Yeah,” he coos, rubbing your thigh. “You like that, princess?”

Before you can reply, he dives his head between your legs. His lips latch around your clit, sucking harshly. Your breath hitches, stifling your moans in the base of your throat.

His tongue presses between your folds. The warm, wet sensation itself triggers a whiny moan, but the growl that rumbles from the deep crevices of his chest has you gripping onto his head.

Chris is famished. He laps at your clenching hole, slurping on your desire with vigorous determination. He wraps his arms around the undersides of your full thighs and feasts. He shakes his head with a deep groan. You knew you liked that big nose of his for a reason, moaning loudly as he nuzzles against your clit.

Hips roll into lips. You tremble. His grip tightens as his tongue pushes through. Fingers tangled in his hair, you gasp a moan and pathetically move your body against his face.

Chris pins you in place. He has a pace set, a steady in-and-out rhythm, that does not require any assistance.

It’s brutal.

Fast and rough, he tongues your gushing pussy, further smothering his nose against your bundle of nerves. The ongoing groans he emits do not ease the intensity of his passion, vibrating against your sex.

“Fu-ck,” you choke out, squirming over his tongue.

You think he might drown in you but then he replaces his tongue with rougher fingers. Your arousal glistens over his chin and cheeks under the wavering candlelight. Ardent eyes hold your desperate ones. You have trouble focusing on the emotion flooding his gaze as his fingers curl within you.

You’ve felt your high growing for a while, but have not been so distressed by its presence before this moment. You grip onto the edge, eyes fluttering shut as your hips rush up to meet his fingers.

Chris darkly chuckles. “No, no, no, no, open your eyes, princess,” he coaxes, pace becoming more aggressive. “Look at how well you fuck my fingers.”

Your lip quivers as you focus your attention downward. Your body has a mind of its own, rolling desperately up to his hand. It’s pitiful, really— the avidity, the urgency, the willingness you display at the mere curl of his fingers, pressing the most perfect spot over and over. You haven’t even been able to find it while trying to pleasure yourself. And the couple of times you’ve allowed Jim to attempt to fuck you, you were more eager to finish than to begin.

A weak moan escapes you as you meet Chris’s cocky gaze. You never want this end, shameless in your realisation. You never want him to leave, never want to stop gawking at his handsome features as his fingers unravel your worries.

“C-can,” you start, pussy clenching tightly around his digits. “Can I pl-ease c-cum, sir?”

His eyes darken. Jaw tight, he wraps a hand around your throat.

You meant to gasp, but an embarrassingly erotic moan tears through his hold instead. It spurs him on, his pace becoming unmanageable. The bath around him thrashes from the force of his strong arm.

His fist tightens around your neck. Your needy moans shatter.

“Cum on my fingers, pretty girl,” he whispers.

You must confess that you might have cum whether or not he gave you permission, the urge undeniable. Undone in mere seconds, you throw your head back. Your body quakes, hole clenching sporadically as you gush and gush. Your hips eventually still. Your legs tremble as your orgasm shudders through you. For a second, you feel the room spin. Blood rushes up to your head, disorienting your senses.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs.

If you’ve been so good, why hasn’t he stopped? His fingers, while slowing down, still maintain a steady force. His hand still grips around your throat, choking all your high pitched whines as your orgasm washes over you.

“C-Chris?” you shakily ask once you sit up again.

A sparkle of sinister satisfaction winks in his gaze.

You swallow thickly, hips shifting to escape the ongoing pleasure. “Chris,” You firmly repeat before releasing the edge of the tub and gripping onto his wrist. “Chris, please.”

Your efforts are useless, his force much stronger than yours.

“Don’t you wanna cum?”

“I d-id,” you whine. “I c-came, sir, please.”

A pleased growl rumbles from his chest at the title.

Pride sprouts in your stomach, or perhaps it’s another orgasm? It gathers around your clit. You furrow your brows at the sensation, pussy now clenching around his fingers tighter than before. Your release usually knots and twists under your stomach, threatening to gush between the sporadic tensing.

You think you might need to urinate this time, however. The thought rushes blood to your cheeks.

“Chris,” you try to warn.

Tongue licking the corner of his mouth, Chris raises a knowing brow. He smiles devilishly.

Does he know? Does he care?

You don’t have time to find out, letting go of his wrist to grab back onto the edge. Your hips freeze, body rigid as another wave of pleasure overwhelms you. Moans trickle out through sobs, the blissful gratification becoming all too much.

Hand shifting from your throat to your waist, Chris holds you steady and pulls out his fingers to a spray of your orgasm. He does not recoil at the splash, but further coaxes it as his fingers rush flat over your clit.

Your body does not feel like your own, overridden with galvanising pleasure. Senses lost, you don’t realise the damage you’re on the verge of causing. Writhing, a pitched, loud scream splits through the swashing of the bath and splatter of your release from the depths of your lungs. Perhaps your vision is foggy, but you swear you catch the stain-glass windows tremor.

Chris ceases his harsh ministrations. He’s stifling his laughter as he pulls you back into the bath. His hand clamps over your mouth— your whines even louder at the sudden halt of satisfaction.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he soothes as you crank your neck back to look up at him.

Though, mind still hazy, you cannot help wondering if he likes the image of you beneath him or if this is simply the best position to silence you.

Why not both, you can almost hear him reply.

Chris must see some sort of dialogue in your eyes because he narrows his own. “Do you want to get caught? Is that why you screamed?” He removes his hand from your mouth, only to trace it with his thumb. “You want your precious house to see this— see me between your legs?”

You cannot help your smirk, quirking your brow. “You do look good there.”

“Yeah?” he asks, breath fanning over your lips.

When you nod, he smiles, the curve of his lips so devastatingly beautiful you wonder how on Earth you ever denied him for so long.

“As good as you’d look gagged?”

You furrow your brows, about to question him when you feel it. Wet silk slithers along your arm, looping around your bicep and up your shoulder. Green and silver, you watch as his tie travels around your neck, slightly tightening— teasing.

When you meet Chris’s gaze once more, you find they glow with rapturous lust. How long has he thought about this, about you? Does he spend his nights with the image of you at his mercy, mouth bound? Does he crave it when you sass him?

You part your lips to accommodate the tie, holding his gaze. As it loops into a tight knot behind your head, Chris tenderly takes your hands and guides them to your back. The same cool, wet sensation of silk begins to bind your wrists. It must be your Gryffindor tie. The irony is not lost on you. You felt bound by your house to see him and now he has bound you by your house to fuck you. It’s clever, admirable— already more stimulating than attempting to cum at the clueless hands of your boyfriend.

“Do you trust me?” he asks again. It’s like he cannot believe it himself.

“Foolishly,” you tease between the gag.

He smirks, caressing your chin.

“Completely,” you add. Whatever playfulness once twinkled in your eyes, fades into seriousness. “Undoubtedly.”

That’s enough, your pride warns.

“Desperately.”

You’re a fool. A pitiful, needy fool. So vacant of true connection, you’d chase anyone willing to offer you a mere moment of grace and attention. Who is the Demon of Slytherin besides some snake that cons his way through the school, for you to trust him so reverently?

The man who shatters reputations for you, a little voice revels.

Chris secures his fist around your throat again. He applies little to no pressure while pressing a soft kiss to your chin. You can smell your arousal on his face. Though you want to, you cannot deny the shameless quiver of your lower lip.

“Do you trust him like this?”

You should feel cold, recoiling in remorse and disgrace. You should blink yourself out of the trace Chris has lulled you into and demand he unbinds you. You should thrash and scream until someone ultimately hears and rescues you, declaring him a savage beast. You should remember your boyfriend’s name, even recall what he looks like.

Peering up at Chris, all you see is him, all you can bother to chant is his name. Like a broken record, it loops, sliding between thoughts. The only person etched in your soul is Chris.

“Who?” you ask in response to his question.

Chris bites back a smirk.

In a motion so swift you’ve missed it, Chris bends you over the edge of the tub. His hands station at your hips to pull your backside above the water’s surface. He laughs, the sound so sweet and pure you cannot help joining, because you already arch your back, perking your ass up high for him. His hands circle the surface fondly.

For a second, you believe that Chris is your boyfriend and you two do this sort of thing all the time.

And then his tongue returns. Pulling your cheeks apart, Chris dives between, tonguing your tiniest hole. Round and round, teasing a possible penetration, his tongue dances as you clench. Words fail you as only breathless moans sound, fraught and hiccupped. He abandons his ministrations for a split second to slurp on your resurfacing arousal.

“You taste like heaven wrapped in sin,” he mumbles against your folds.

A wavering moan replies through the gag.

You hear the water thrash rhythmically as Chris drags his tongue up from your sensitive pussy to your asshole. Again and again, he moves slow, steady like he wants to savour every last drop you have to offer.

“P-please,” you whimper.

Chris pulls away to gather saliva and spit it back onto you. Face smothered between your cheeks, he hisses,“Please what?”

A broken moan trails in response, body trembling from the aggressive vibrations of his words.

Between kisses on your clenching hole, he questions,“What do you want?”

You can’t take much more of this, toe curling as he continues to plant wet kisses, teasing you. “F-Fuck me,” you plead, holding back desperate sobs. “Please, please, pl-please, fuck me, sir!”

A pleased hum resonates against your hole. Your legs tremble.

Chris detaches himself from your rear. Waves lap around you as he stands to his full height. He pushes up your cheeks, pushing you further over the edge of the tub. His tip pokes at your dripping hole.

Excitement buzzes through your veins, knees wobbling. You fist your hands and hold your breath.

“Do you want my cock, princess?” Chris breathlessly asks, voice husky.

You hurriedly nod.

A hard smack lands on your left cheek. Jolting, a loud shriek escapes you. You try to turn back your head to glare at him, but Chris pulls your hips up again, forcing you back into your bent position.

“Use your words.”

“Yes!” you beech, swallowing profanities. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He rubs the stinging surface, lowly groaning his approval in two simple words: Good girl.

Your knees give out. Chris holds your hips firmly, like he anticipated the reaction. “That’s why you always try to behave, right?” He asks, and you swear you can hear that knowing smirk plastered on his lips. “You like being praised.”

Before you can question how he can possibly know that, his tip breaches.

Your mouth hangs open, but your voice crumbles in the base of your throat, breath stunted in your lungs.

Chris squeezes himself between your walls, imprinting his fingers onto the fat of your hips. “Fuck,” he purrs.

You’re relieved to hear he is just as broken as you are, finding your voice again. You weren’t sure you’d be able to face him tomorrow knowing you melted for him while he remained perfectly composed. Releasing soft, quiet moans, you spare a look back at him.

His head tilts back, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly, but then he straightens it to look back down. His face scrunches in pleasure watching his cock slowly shove into you. He wants to catch every second of it, lifting the fat of your ass to see himself bottom out inside you. He quietly hisses, grabbing handfuls of your cheeks.

Your eyes meet and you expect his to convey the same surprise yours do, having been caught witnessing something…. intimate. Instead, arrogance twinkles and he shoots you a wink.

“You’re insufferable,” you sneer.

He smirks, thrusting in reply.

Your self-righteous glare falters into teary pleasure.

His expression remains unchanged, however, as if he knew one manoeuvre of his hips would be enough to silence you. Reaching for the knot behind your head, Chris forces your head forward. You moan at the rough flick of his wrist, voice peaking as he yanks on the tied gag like he’s reining a horse.

The smack of skin on skin, the splash of the bath around you, even the full-chested growls Chris roars, cannot overtake the whiny, broken moans you release. Every thrust coaxes a louder sound, tearing through your throat as you try desperately to keep it down. He’s just so fast, so big, you cannot contain yourself, pushing yourself back into him.

His free hand slips into your bounded fists. The delicacy of his touch in the midsts of such rough rutting, cradles your heart. He holds your hands firmly and for a second, you forget where you are. It’s just you and Chris and the floating bubbles now infused with vanilla, sandalwood and your blended arousal. On the threshold of something real, you tighten the clasp of your fingers around his hand.

Is Chris looking for reassurance or is the gesture enough to tip him over the edge?

His thrusts snap into a force so strong, you’re certain he would have toppled you over the lip of the tub had he not been holding you so firmly. Vigorous, deliberate, his hips pound into you, rubbing against your clenching walls.

Your legs shake and shoulders ache from the strain of having them fixed in a certain position for much too long. Still, you need more, more—

“More!” you cry, and you hope he can understand you through the gag.

Water splashes out of the tub in great waves as Chris increases his speed. Though the cacophonous melody of your desires fills the room, you swear you hear him whisper, “Whatever you want, princess.”

Eyes rolling, drool dribbling down your chin, you almost fall limp on the edge. Your toes curl, body shakes from the onslaught of pleasure as he thrust, thrust, thrusts into you. You cannot keep still if your sanity depended on it, cannot keep quiet either. You half expect another prefect to barge in or a ghost to emerge and investigate the sounds of your shared pleasure.

You cannot endure it anymore, cannot endure him. Clenching tightly, you meet his movements with eager force. Your moans jump an octave in pitch. His name pours from your quivering lips like a desperate prayer.

His cock twitches.

And all at once, ecstasy arrests your bones. Muscles tense, walls sporadically clench, your orgasm ripples through your aching body. Blood rushes to your head. The high fogs your mind, muffles your hearing and you lay limp over the thick edge of the tub as Chris unloads his desire deep in you.

Nearly half the bath water is all over the floor and you catch his reflection within the spill. His hungry brown eyes are locked on your worn body, on the way your full frame jiggles with the intense impact of his thrusts. Another rope of cum shoots within you at the sight of your voluptuous backside. Chris gropes each cheek, biting his lip.

You wiggle back into him and a little smile tugs on the corners of his plump lips. He hums soft growls, tilting his head to gage the best possible angle to view your rear. He traces gentle circles over the surface of your cheeks before trailing his touch up along your spine and you don’t realise you’re trembling until his fingers brush back down.

While your voice is high-pitched, whimpering between heavy breaths, Chris’s voice drops an octave as he shushes you. The low rumbles resonate within your bones, tenderly soothing you.

The knots around your wrists and head, loosen. Your house ties fall as he pulls out of you. A whine escapes, but Chris is ready. He continues to softly shush you, pulling you up and onto his chest. He wraps his arms around your waist, engulfing you in his warmth.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. He turns to sit again, seating you between his legs. “I got you.”

You tell yourself that you just need to catch your breath. Once you stop panting, and your mind stops whirling, you will untangle yourself from him, threaten to destroy him if he utters this to anyone, and leave. You just need the world to stop spinning.

Only, Chris’s arms are so strong and secure. And with the heat he radiates, the tenor of his deep voice, the brush of his panting breath against the crook of your neck, you cannot bring yourself to fight it. Your body is spent, muscles aching and bones brittle from the rush of pleasure that you still feel fuelling your needy nerves.

More than that though, you can feel your mixed arousal between your legs. And you don’t hate it. You try— you want to hate it. But, it feels so right. It feels like this is how you should be spending every night, this is where his arousal belongs: on your body.

Chris presses a soft kiss against your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter open and you meet his gaze.

“Are you hurt?”

It has just occurred to you that no one else has ever held you this close after any sort of intimate moment. You’ve given your boyfriend, whose name still evades you, everything you have. You’ve gotten on your knees for him, swallowed his loads, pretended to gag on him, and reassured him that he was not quick at all and it was perfectly normal to release within the first few thrusts. You sacrificed your own pleasure multiple times and still, no one has coddled you the way Chris does now, let alone asked you if you’ve been hurt.

Tears sting your eyes. You blink them away, avert your gaze to the remaining clusters of foam and bubbles.

“What hurts?”

His voice is so soft, so delicate, you find it hard to fight off your tears.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice.

Chris shifts to try to meet your gaze. He rubs his hands along your biceps, brows knitted in concern. “Tell me where it hurts,” he practically begs.

“Nothing hurts,” you whisper.

He stiffens, hands pausing mid-stroke.

You chance a glance over your shoulder.

Despair gleams in his eyes. He sets his jaw and swallows thickly before asking, “Do you regret this?”

“No,” you reply before you can even really process the question. Your next words simply tumble out of you. “I couldn’t regret this if I tried.”

Hope twinkles in his gaze, dimming the gloom that once clouded it. He caresses your chin and smirks.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you tease.

He tongues his cheek. “Tell me why you’re upset then. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Chewing on your lip, you wonder if you should be honest. You know he likes you now, but you cannot help wondering if he is simply attracted sexually to you or if this really means something to him. And if it is just sexual attraction, will you be able to weather his rejection?

You inhale deeply. He has seen every part of you, heard every drop of desperation in your voice. It might be merely sexual, but there is still a certain level of intimacy within that as well. And if he is taking the time to soothe you and check in with you after such vigorous devotion, then it must mean something, right?

“No one…” you trail, unsure how to word it.

Chris brushes your loose strands out of your face. His patience stirs something foreign in the pit of your stomach. It’s warm and whole and welcoming— Happiness.

“I never get aftercare,” you breathlessly confess. “I was beginning to think I don’t deserve it.”

You swear you see anger flash in his eyes before sadness settles. “You don’t deserve to be treated like anything less than royalty,” he says, deep voice caressing your heart. “I will destroy anyone who thinks differently.”

You kiss him, soft and slow. He quietly hums in against your lips.

Pulling back slightly, you whisper, “Then, I’ll always be your princess.”

The Great Hall bustles with chatty students gossiping, fighting over food, or rough-housing. The bright morning sun shines through the grand windows as the smell of breakfast lures you in behind your roommates.

You rub your eyes and suppress a yawn.

“Come on,” Fiona says, tugging on your robes.

You shuffle after her, adjusting your tie. It still smells of vanilla and sandalwood, drawing memories of last night to the forefront of your mind. It’s not like you can ever forget what happened. If the smell of your tie did not invoke any memories, the ache of your muscles or lingering wetness in the apex of your thighs would do the trick.

An arm wraps around your waist. You stiffen when you turn to find Jim smirking down at you.

“Morn—” you begin, attempting to brush off his touch.

His grip tightens. You suppress a hiss, knowing any indication of pain will only set him off.

“You didn’t wait for me.” His lips are curled in a boyish smile, but his eyes simmer with annoyance.

You try to push his hand away again, but he only seems to squeeze your side harder. “I woke up late,” you explain before adding, “Please let go.”

“You woke up late,” he repeats with a dry chuckle. “You seem to have enough time to shower. I can smell your vanilla soap.”

In the corner of your eye, you find Minho, one of Chris’s Slytherin friends, halt mid-step as the mention of vanilla scents. He turns to look between you, Jim, and Chris, who sits a few paces away and is burning a hole through Jim’s skull. A knowing look flashes in his eyes and he smirks at you.

Jim catches him staring, furrowing his brows. “Fuck off, snake,” he quietly hisses.

Minho glares at him.

You take the distraction as an opportunity to slip away. Jim is already one step ahead of you, tugging you back into his chest with a pointed tug of your robe. You stumble back with a quiet yelp.

Minho, brows knotted, sets his jaw. “I think she wants you to let her go.”

“I think I told you to fuck off.”

“I think we’re over.”

Jim snaps his attention back to you. “What?”

You put all your strength into ripping yourself out of his grasp. “We’re,” you start, tugging your robe out of his fists, “done.”

“What do you mean?”

“We. are. not. dat-ing. an-y. more.”

The Great Hall falls silent— or perhaps it’s been quiet for some time. You are not sure and frankly, you couldn’t care less. All you want is to be as far away from Jim and his sweaty, red face as you possibly can.

“You— Don’t fucking speak to me like that,” he seethes, advancing towards you.

Chris stands between you and Jim. You don’t remember hearing his footsteps but here he is, towering over Jim. Minho and Changbin, a fellow Gryffindor, stand on either side of him.

You are suddenly all too aware of the quiet murmurs echoing around the Hall. In the corner of your eye, you catch your roommates nervously staring, confusion and concern crumpling their faces.

“Sit down,” Chris orders.

Jim sneers, but that anger of his soon falters as Minho and Changbin take a step forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” Headmistress McGonagall asks, emerging from the back door by the staff table. She hurries down the middle aisle, clutching onto her dress, a look of pure condemnation on her face.

Chris turns to the Headmistress with a charming smile. Minho and Changbin quietly slip back into their seats as Chris explains, “I was just reminding Mr Prewett that profanities are not tolerated at Hogwarts, Headmistress. You know how forgetful he could be.”

McGonagall narrows her gaze at Chris. She then looks at Jim and finally at you. Her attention bounces between you and Chris a couple more times before asking, “Is that so?”

You nod along with Chris.

Jim clenches his jaw.

“Well, I never thought I would see the day that Ms ____ would agree with Mr Bahng,” she announces, staring at the two of you a moment longer. She hums then finally turns to Jim. “Mr Prewett, please report to my office after breakfast.”

And with that, she waves the students back to their meal and returns to the staff table.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

“You’re going to regret this,” Jim mutters. “No one is going to treat you the way I do.”

You shoot him a humourless smirk. “Good.”

Chris stifles a laugh.

The sight of his playful eyes and plump lips have you suppressing your own smile. You shake off the flutter of your gut and find your place beside Fiona at the table.

“What the hell is going on with you and Bahng?” she asks as you fill your plate.

“You ever notice how Jim would always give me a plate with less food than anyone at this table and then rush me out of the Hall before I can go for seconds?”

Fiona stiffens.

“I didn’t either,” you confess, scooping another heaping spoonful of scrambled eggs. “I think Chris did though.”

Her green eyes drift back to where Chris sits. A little chuckle escapes her as she turns back to her food and shakes her head. “I think McGonagall was onto something,” she laughs.

“What do you mean?”

“I just never thought I would see the day that the Princess of Gryffindor would rule over the Demon of Slytherin.”

You can’t help but smirk, a rush of warmth blooming in your chest.“I suppose there is a balance between a roar and whisper after all.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[pseudowho]

Thinking about...

...long-term 'too comfortable' relationships with the JJK guys, when all the weird/gross/silly things creep in.

Pinning Gojo Satoru against a wall, having spotted an enormous pimple on his chin that you just have to get: "there's nothing wrong with m-- how dare you-- ow ow ow get off me--" "don't be such a melt, Satoru, keep still, that absolutely cannot stay on your face--"

Sitting on the toilet and chatting with Nanami Kento while he showers, and he wordlessly hands you a fresh toilet roll from the cabinet while he brushes his teeth; "thank you Kento" "mmmmmhm" and you continue chatting while you pee, leaving the bathroom door open. You forget to get off the toilet, so he brings you your tea there, while you continue to tell him about your day.

Laughing at Geto Suguru as he steps out of the bathroom after a bit of manscaping; "no no no-- go and get your razor, you're all patchy" "ah shit, really?" "yeah, you look like you've got a really bad gardener" "at least I try to trim the hedges..."

Plucking Fushiguro Toji's back hairs out one at a time; "OW-- dammit woman, stop doin' it like you hate me--" "--look, if you keep getting hairier, I'll just wax you instead, you're such a bear--" "--alright alright, I'll get your little witchy chin hair after--" "hey!"

Calling out to Okkotsu Yuuta while you're stuck on the toilet, blood over your hands and panties; "hey, Yuuta! Can you grab me some new underwear, and a pad?" "Sure!" Yuuta shuffles back to you, unfazed, as you hand him your bloodied panties to put in the laundry basket, "that bad, huh? You got enough stuff to last you?" "actually, I might need you to run to the shops..."

Creeping up behind Zenin Maki while she washes her bras in the sink, dropping a few of your own ones in, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek; "hey, hey, I'm not your washer woman" "yeah you are, such a beautiful washer woman" "psh...you're doing them next time"

Takuma Ino smiling as you curl on the sofa beside him in slummy old pyjamas full of holes (an ancient t-shirt of his, joggers you've had for at least ten years...), and you let out a fart; "sorry, sorry..." "don't be, I know you can do better than that" and Takuma lets one rip himself, sighing with relief.

Dropping your toothbrush down the toilet at Higuruma Hiromi's house; "ah, shit!" "oh, damn...just use mine" "eurgh, I'm not doing that!" "darling, be reasonable, I eat your pussy, we share much more--" "that's different--" "well by all means then, my love, enjoy your toilet toothbrush..."

Catching Todo Aoi taking a swig of milk out of the carton; "get a glass, jesus!" "whatever babe, it's just me and you here" "that is disgusting, unsanitary" "oh? I'll show you disgusting and unsanitary...c'mere"

When Kugisaki Nobara steps out of the bedroom, wearing your panties; "hey, they're my favourite!" "well they're my favourite too..." "yeah, on me! Get them off-- get back here--" and you dart after her, Nobara laughing as you try to pull your underwear off her, "help, help, I'm being assaulted!"

Catching Itadori Yuuji giving himself a scratch and sniff; "you absolute goblin-- go wash your hands!" Yuuji darts after you, laughing, his hand outstretched as you screech, ducking and running past him; "what, this hand? Come back baby! Where you goin'?"

Telling Fushiguro Megumi every single time you need to poop; "pause the movie! Gotta go poop," and he absolutely returns the favour, sitting on the toilet while you're taking a bath , "I'd wait...but I can't" "alright alright, just don't stink the place out" "I don't make promises I can't keep"

[softpascalito]

I Healing Hands I Marcus Acacius I

Summary: Acacius returns home with an injury—and you try to care for him. But his ideas of healing (and baths) are a little ... different. Especially when you finally have some time to yourselves.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 2.3k Tags: Explicit, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Handjobs, Nipple Play, Dirty Talk, Bathing/Washing, Blood & Injury, Secret Relationship, Mention of Period-Typical Violence, Mention of Period-Typical Slavery, Not historically accurate

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: i can't believe i wrote smut about romans. anyway, i can't wait to see the trailer, enjoy the porn <3

domus - a type of house dulcissima - sweetest anaticula - little duck (affectionate) subligaculum - a type of underwear (i had three years of latin so i absolutely know what i'm doing)

The domus he lives in sits on the edge of Palatine hill, a small house that feels more welcoming to you than any palace could. The atrium is decorated with a variety of plants, the green colors peaking through the columns that line the sides of the open space. You’ve come to know the details of this place well, from the feel of the stones below your feet to the artistically created, coffered ceilings.

As you let your gaze wander over the sunlit atrium, you find yourself looking at the small statue that sits in the middle of a small fountain, both almost hidden by the plants around them. The water below reflects the merciless sun above and sends small reflections of light dancing across the open space. The form of Apollo stands still, frozen in a heroic movement with one arm raised and his head held high.

The god of music, of truth, and most importantly, of healing. You always think your presence in this house must please him, because since being here, you have felt more healing than you have known before.

You hear Acacius before you see him, his breath coming in a little shorter than you’d like. His footsteps sound through the atrium and you catch glimpses of him as he passes behind the columns on the other side. Even from a distance, the way he’s holding himself tells you he’s hurt, not to mention the dirt on him and his armor. The golden details usually shine in the sun—now they look almost ancient, covered in grime.

You sent a silent prayer to Apollo, your eyes briefly flying back to the statue. When you turn back towards Acacius, he has rounded the corner, making his way over to you, though much slower than he usually would. A small sigh leaves his lips as his eyes land on you and you can see his body deflate visibly.

“Acacius.”

You’re by his side in an instant, attempting to let him prop himself up on you, to use your body to support his. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug. You wrap your own arms around him, a hand finding his hair and attempting to brush through it—only to find it matted with blood. He must feel you tense next to him, a sharp breath escaping you as your fingers feel over his scalp, trying to locate the wound.

“Not mine,” he mumbles under his breath. He pauses for a short moment. “I promised I would come back.”

“You always do and yet I dread the day you will break that promise,” you say, a sad smile playing around your lips. You pull back enough to look at him, taking in the small cuts on his face and the deep lines between his brows that you want to smooth out until he looks as peaceful as he does in his sleep.

He does not protest when you try to take some of his weight on you, silently wishing you could take his worries too, and lead him away from the atrium and towards the small bath that is off to the side. You maneuver him through the small archway that is framed by beige columns on either side and into the middle of the room, the scent of the bath salts filling your nostrils as soon as you take a deep breath.

Acacius lifts his right arm—and immediately screws his face up in pain. You send a stern glance his way. “Let me do that.”

You nudge his arm to the side just enough to reach the leather strings that hold his armor together, slowly working your way through them until you can easily slide the dark leather off him, shaking your head weakly when you see how caked with blood and dirt it is. When you’ve placed the armor on one of the stone benches that line the wall, you move on to his braces and his shoes—and finally, the undercloth, taking it off just as carefully and leaving him in just his underwear.

And then, you suddenly see the reason he’s holding himself the way he is.

A nasty cut marks his right side, just below the ribs. You swallow hard, reaching out and tracing the dried blood around it with a motion that comes naturally. You feel Acacius shift under your fingers, bringing his own hands towards yours and wrapping them around it. They fit perfectly, his grip strong despite his injury.

Your gaze is drawn back to his face by the movement and he smiles weakly. “It looks much worse than it is, dulcissima.”

He’s not wrong. He’s definitely had worse injuries, including the time he barely made it to the atrium, instead collapsing into your arms just behind the entrance to the domus. But, quite frankly, it doesn’t mean you don’t worry.

“It stopped bleeding halfway here,” Acacius adds, correctly interpreting your silence.

“Why didn’t you clean yourself at the baths? They would’ve tended to your wound.” You search his face as you speak.

“I wanted to be with you.”

You sigh disapprovingly at his response, though you can’t deny you like to have him close too, especially when he’s injured. Which, with him, feels like it’s every other day.

He leans down to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, mumbling. “It really does not hurt all that much anymore.” His arm sneaks back around you, though his hand is now wandering much lower than it did before.

You bite your lip, trying to give him another stern look but you can feel the way you begin to falter as he smoothes circles into the fabric of your tunic. “Acacius, your servants—”

“They are busy,” he assures you, dragging his lips over your cheek and towards your earlobe. “Besides, if any of them attempted to talk, I’d have their heads.”

You listen into the silence that follows, almost determined to catch a pair of feet approaching or a voice in the distance. But the only sounds that reach your ears are those of the small fountain in the atrium and Acacius’s breath against your skin.

“We won’t be disturbed,” he hums and you sigh in defeat, reaching down to undo his subligaculum, the soft fabric falling away to reveal the trail of dark hair that leads down towards his cock. You’re only mildly surprised to find him already half-hard.

“Let me clean you first at least,” you mutter, leading him further into the room and towards the small bath embedded in the tiled floor. You sit him down at the edge of it, letting him dangle his legs into the warm water. You reach for a cloth, wet it slightly and get to work. You start with his arms, watching as the dirt and blood starts to come off, revealing the tanned skin underneath.

You hear Acacius sigh above you and you feel his eyes on you, the soft gaze he looks at you with so different from the one he carries on the battlefield. His hands begin wandering again, dipping below the thin fabric of your tunic and you are just reaching down to wet the cloth again when he manhandles you into him, placing you comfortably on his lap.

You tense for a split moment before he catches your lips in a kiss—and then you hear yourself sigh as the protest inside you makes space for a fire that’s rapidly building in your lower abdomen. You can smell him, his sweat mixed with a hint of blood, you can feel the dirt rubbing off on you but you don’t care. You just want him.

His voice is a growl. “Merda, get out of that thing already.”

You obey, crawling off him and slipping the tunic off your body, carelessly letting it fall to the dirty floor. You see Acacius’s eyes raking over your body, taking in every curve like he’s seeing you for the first time rather than the hundreth.

“You are as beautiful as the gods, my dulcissima,” he mumbles, pulling you back onto his lap, one hand securely placed on your back to keep you from falling into the water behind you.

He’s careful not to lean on his bad side as he sneaks his free hand between your bodies, dragging it down ever so slowly until he reaches your mound, his index finger drawing a few circles around your bundle of nerves before moving on, a smile spreading over his lips when he finds wetness waiting for him between your legs.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as he inserts a finger without warning, the size of them always taking you slightly by surprise. His moves are shallow, never quite pulling his finger out completely but always keeping you on that delicious edge. When he adds a second one and starts curling them, he has you whimpering almost immediately.

“Marcus, please—”

“I thought I was Acacius to you. Just to make sure you do not—how did you put it—slip up,” he mumbles, a smirk on his face. The groan you intend to sound annoyed comes out much more desperate than you would like.

“You know we have to be careful—” you try to start, but with his fingers inside you, your brain simply does not work the way it usually does.

“One of these days, I’ll make you my wife,” he mumbles into your ear, his voice so low you can barely hear it. Without taking his eyes off yours, his thumb finds the spot that, combined with his words, almost drives you over the edge. “And you’ll live with me and we can make as many babies as you want.”

It catches you off-guard, but not in an unpleasant way. It’s just a fantasy, one that may very well be unattainable, but you like to let your mind drift there regardless. Judging by the twitch his cock gives against your skin, you’re clearly not the only one who does.

At that thought, you manage to hold off a bit longer and reach for him in return, enjoying the way his breath catches in his throat when your hand wraps around his attention-starved cock. His gaze flies down, to your bodies already so intertwined, touching each other impatiently. And you know he craves it as much as you do—to be even closer, to feel the weight of him nestled inside of you.

“You are so dirty,” he whispers, withdrawing his hand and making you whine at the loss. He wipes at some of the dirt on your thigh, mixing it with your own juices.

“And you seem to rather enjoy that,” you mumble back, squeezing him slightly. An affirmative chuckles leaves his throat before he lifts you up and lowers you into the small bath in front of him, the warm water immediately soothing your body.

He follows a moment later, stepping into the blue mass. A few petals swirl around on the surface, stirred by your movements in the water as he pulls you close again, his body seemingly all around you as he wraps you in his arms. Then he lowers his head, trailing kisses over your collarbone and down your skin until he reaches your chest, grazing his teeth over your hardened nipple.

“Marcus—” you whine, impatiently pressing your body into his, attempting to get any friction, a task made even harder by the water around you. “I want you inside, please.”

“Always so polite, Anaticula,” he mumbles into your skin but he does satisfy himself with one more nip at your skin before pulling back. “Is that what you want?”

You nod impatiently and feel him lining himself up below you, gently directing you towards the far edge of the bath, where he immediately braces himself against the wall for support with you in his arms—and just a moment later, you can feel him sink into you.

Your bodies mold together, his cock making you feel so deliciously full and complete. You can hear him grunt as he begins to thrust into you gently, his hands on your hips as he guides you onto him again and again, making you moan into his neck as you cling on, half a mind not to touch his injury.

Acacius groans your name, his movements speeding up slightly. “Come on, I want to see your pretty face, dulcissima.” You pull back enough to see him and press your forehead against his. Your thumb comes up to wipe a spot of dirt off his face and brush over his beard, the hairs of it more gray than dark, like they were when you first met, and for a few moments, you both just stare at each other as the water around you ripples with your movements.

“Let go for me.” It's just a whisper—and one you don’t think you could ignore if you tried. You feel the wave wash over you, your vision going weak as you fall apart—knowing that Acacius will hold you close until you’re put together again. You barely notice that he follows suit, spilling himself inside of you with whispered promises of all the things you’ll have one day.

You stay intertwined in the water like that for a while. Eventually, you begin to gather some in your hand and let it run down Acacius’s scalp, beginning to wash the dried blood out of the gray-streaked hair.

“You are going to let me put a proper bandage on your cut once we get out,” you state, earning a loyal nod from him. His eyes are searching yours again, carrying the soft look you know is reserved for you.

“I did come back,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion and you suddenly feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“I know.”

You kiss him softly and he kisses you back just as softly as you curl into him, inhaling his scent and pulling him close and ever closer, determined to let noone take you from him.

thank you for reading! feel free to follow my socials or leave a comment if you want more of slutty roman men <3

[lorelune]

(minors & ageless blogs dni. a piece for @ainescribe for helping me with my theme 💓 cw: predator/prey, hints of dubcon)

"i'll give you a head start."

jing yuan tells you this with a pleasant, easy smile and his hands behind his back. and no context. you cock your head at him from across the little table you share, and take a sip of your cold tea.

"come again, dear?" you knock your ankle against his under the table.

"i'm giving you a five minute head start." jing yuan leans closer and rests his chin his palm. his eyes take on a cat-like glint. "i've already started counting. i'd get going if i were you, sweetling."

you only want more of it.

your chest feels tight all of a sudden.

"jing yuan—"

"i won't be going easy on you." his smile verges on smug as he leans forward. "and i would advise to take full advantage of this time. i think you'll need it."

he leans away from you and tilts his head. it would be cute if you couldn't see the rapidly darkening mischief in his gaze. you jolt up from your little table, clattering your chair on the cobbled walkway. he eyes you up and down like a big cat sizing up its next meal as you step backwards, nearly stumbling.

something in your gut twists, like a hot iron.

you turn on a heel and walk as fast as you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. weaving around the late-night crowds and ducking around street vendors and their burning latterns, your heart pounds. faster and faster.

this had been your idea originally. you just hadn't expected jing yuan to entertain it (though on some level, he entertains all of your ideas.) this desire of yours seemed too risky, too innately... unlike him. at least to you.

this game had been a fantasy. one you'd confessed your interest in a few weeks prior, while luxuriating in a pleasantly steaming bath together. you shared a glass of wine, passed between sips after a slow, tender evening. you'd playfully started a conversation about things to try in the bedroom, and somehow, the Divine Foresight and honey wine managed to wring a few previously unspoken desires out of you.

this is the result, you suppose, as you stumble around a corner, toward jing yuan's estate.

you should've known that jing yuan would spring this fantasy on your unexpectedly. that was part of the allure. the hunt, the chase— you're just prey now, with no time to prepare or plan. the innate helplessness has already stirred something in you, even though jing yuan hasn't done anymore than send you hungry looks and promises.

you're sure five minutes have passed. you're positive that the man is trailing you, even if you can't hear or see him. you don't have the military prowess that he does, you're just a civilian. your footfalls are loud as you break into a run near his estate and its towering walls.

your hands shake as you hold your jade abacus to its lock. the slow 'clunk' of gears opening the gates feels like it goes on forever. your heart is pounding in your ears, like a drum that won't stop. you're out of breath, but force yourself to sprint the moment the door swings open.

you hide in one of his gardens.

jing yuan has many green spaces on his estate. it's situated on a large enough space to allow for a small stream running through the largest garden into the front yard. ponds gurgle nearby, filled with fat, sleepy fish. you wake them as you dash around the greenery and shrubs, uncaring of the dirt that is staining your shoes. the bottom of your outer most garment must be getting torn as it snags on the brush below.

the gate of the estate opens and closes once more, somewhere not far behind you. your heart lurches, your stomach feels cold and hollow and you run.

jing yuan knows his estate better than you, clearly. you don't know where is safe, but in his largest garden, there are large gingko trees and stones that seem okay to hide behind. maybe. you are too anxious, too out of your fucking mind, to use sound logic at this point. you scramble behind a smooth quartz boulder and lay a hand on your chest. panting. tears sting your the corners eyes as you desperately try to catch your breath.

you listen the best you can to see if you can hear him follow you. it's hard to pick up every little sound, breeze shakes the tree branchers into a late-evening song. cicadas chirp to disguise any potential footfalls. it would probably be best to hide somewhere on the edge of the garden. you're in the center of it, not far from the stream. you don't dare peak out from your hiding spot, but you should move— you feel so exposed—

a floorboard creaks nearby. you freeze.

the wind almost stills with the sound. you can't breathe as you strain to hear more. it came from the west, where you know there's an entrance to this garden. you think. probably. your heart pounds so loudly, you can barely hear anything over the roar.

you do another sound, though. the sound of a boot fall, onto stone. there's a path laid with them not far from where you are.

something white-hot, old and feral burst in your chest.

you need to fucking run.

with a burst of energy that makes you feel light-headed, you push off the ground and throw yourself over the rock you were hiding behind, away from the sounds that are surely jing yuan stalking you.

your feet hit the ground and you run. run, run, run—

you swear you can feel more footfalls than just your own, but you can't look behind you. all of your focus is on weaving through the gardens trees and shrubbery, to gain and sort of ground.

you stumble, eventually. it's inevitable that you lose. the game is set up that way.

you trip over your own feet as you near the little stream that cuts the garden and gurgles. your momentum ruins you; you can't right yourself fast enough.

a hand catches the back of your collar and pulls. your breath catches, caught in your throat by the pressure. an arm, his arm, bundle you up at the waist and slams your body into his. your back to his front. the force of it knocks the air out of you.

you still scramble, you can't help it. squirming and kicking, you fight against the unyielding grip he has on you. he's hot against your back, scalding even. the metal bits of his armor and belts dig into your as your struggle fruitlessly.

"what's this?" jing yuan says into your ear, soft and curling. "i thought you would do a little better than this."

you whine. your stomach feels cold.

jing yuan laughs then, rich and low like he always does. but there's a darker edge to it now. you can feel it spread down the back of your neck, your spine, drenching you down to your toes. he squeezes you, and you feel yourself get wet.

(you're fucked.)

"you'll have to try harder next time." jing yuan says. "maybe i did go a little easy on you."

"s-sure you did—"

jing yuan nips your ear. "what was that? i didn't realize prey animals were capable of speech."

you crane your neck, ready to snap at him, but you don't get the chance too.

in a single motion, jing yuan has you thrown over his shoulder. blood rushes too quickly to all of the places it shouldn't be. you feel dizzy with it and whine and sputter with it.

jing yuan doesn't yield, only laughs again, and gives your bottom a few firm (very firm) pats. you gulp.

(lucidly remembering the other details you revealed to jing yuan in the bath that night. all of the filthiest bits of your fantasies. jing yuan hardly had to ply you for them.)

and jing yuan is a strategist. you should have known he would use this new information advantageously against you in such a way.

as you enter his manor, heart still pounding, palms clammy, and feeling like a rabbit in the jaws of a lion, you feel foolish and turned on all once. jing yuan so easily catches you off guard when he chooses. he so easily undoes you, puts you in a place of his choosing and let's you fester there just enough that he can remedy it— either with sweetness or, as he now so adeptly showing you, with something an edge darker.

you gulp, light-headed.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

His Princess - pt2

Pt 2 of His Princess

fancast!bloody ben x targ!fem!reader

Summary: Rhaenyra asks y/n to take her host to Harrenhal to speak to Daemon. Y/n rises to the challenge of Daemon and the River Lords watch on in shock and silence.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, political plotting, prob wine somewhere in a cup, bathing, thigh riding, face riding, p in v

Authors Note: soft moments w silverwing and ben, i believe this man would beg you teach him some high valyrian just so he could talk to silverwing and write it down and keep it in his pocket, idc if it’s unrealistic to pet a dragons belly it’s real to me!!, daemon needs to LEAVE harrenhal and step tf up like enough already

Word Count: 4.7k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Over the past week I’ve been in contact with Jace about the status of our growing host in the Riverlands. Rhaenyra has finally returned home and expresses her gratitude for the swords that I’ve raised for her. She takes over the correspondence from Jace as we begin to discuss who is on our side and best ways to bring the other Lords to our cause.

She confides to me concerning her worry about Daemon. She has asked that I meet Ser Alfred Broome in Harrenhal and see if Daemon can be brought to reason. She hopes that he will start to relax and hopefully return to Dragonstone upon seeing their host. We have been on the move ever since her request while slowly adding swords along the way.

“We should reach Harrenhal on the morrow.” Ben ducks into the tent as I lounge on the makeshift bed.

“Thank the Gods. I need a fucking bath.” I slide over so he can join me.

“You still look absolutely divine to me.” as he pulls me into him.

“Oh I’m sure,” I roll my eyes. “The dirt and grime are very comely.” I sigh looking at my nails.

“At Harrenhal I’ll make sure you get the largest and hottest bath available. Even if it means displacing its current Lord.” he promises.

“I’ll hold you to that.” I hum. “I have no idea what state Daemon is in.” I sigh, wiping my face.

“He should be happy you’ve raised a host.” Ben murmurs as he finger brushes through my hair.

“We can only hope.” I moan as his fingers scratch along my scalp as I turn so he can continue his movements.

“Let’s hope they have feed to spare for Silverwing. She’s been eyeing our host for some time now.” he chuckles as he begins to loosely braid my hair.

“Mm, speaking of, I should take her out to hunt.” I sigh stretching out as he completes the plait.

“Will you let me come with you this time?” his eyes light up as he pleads.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself.” I chuckle as I begin to rise and stretch out.

I slowly put my riding armor back on as Ben quickly pulls his own armor on stumbling after me out of the tent. The host around us is now up to 5,000 swords and it’s easy to get lost in the chaos that surrounds us daily. We see the outline of Silverwing in the trees as we approach.

“Wait,” Ben pulls me to a stop. “It’s Hello my beast Silverwing?” a laugh bubbles out of my mouth as his face turns red.

“Y/n, my Princess, please.” he begs trying to hide his embarrassment.

“If you say that she will never allow you to ride with me.” I try to settle my giggles. “Hello, my beautiful Silverwing.” I look to him and nod for him to repeat.

“Hello, my beautiful Silverwing?” his Riverland accent makes the sentence sound funny but he’s got the words down at least.

“Well let’s go see if I get to keep enjoying you or if her meal has delivered itself to her.” I pull him by his arm with a smile on my face. I nod at him to go greet my sleeping dragon as I stand nearby.

“Hello,” his voice slightly stumbles as she begins to stir. “Hello, my beautiful Silverwing.” I hear the confidence in his voice as Silverwing begins to rise.

She looks over to me and then looks down at Ben and huffs. His hair is blown askew by her deep breath as she lowers her head to his height. He puts his hands up as I continue to give her a stern look. She gives a soft chirp before she pushes him with her snout.

“I didn’t learn any other words. Y/n says my accent is funny.” he speaks softly to Silverwing as he settles his hands on the side of her jaw.

She softly blinks at him and then looks to me as if I was so mean for stating the obvious to him. Ben slowly relaxes as he continues to offer her pats. She watches him intently as he begins to walk the length of her. She thuds back to the ground and rolls onto her side for him to pat her belly.

“Oh you big baby.” I chuckle lovingly as I approach them both. We continue to offer her pats and words of adoration until she grumbles and begins to turn back over. “He wants to come with us to hunt.” her eyes lock with mine and narrow. She closes her eyes and dips her wing down for us to climb up.

“Let’s see how this goes.” I breathe out as I gesture for him to start climbing.

“What do I grab on to?” he turns to me suddenly nervous.

“Whatever you can. I’ll be right behind you.” I nod reassuringly as he grabs on to her leg. Silverwing chuffs as we slowly climb on and settle into the saddle. I clip us in and his arms wrap around my waist tightly.

“It’s not too late to get down.” I turn my head and offer to him softly.

“No, it’ll be fun.” he nods as he tries to strengthen his resolve but his words come out a little breathy.

“Fly, Silverwing.” she rises to her full height and I feel Ben’s hands lock tightly together around me.

She launches us into the sky and I feel Ben press his head into my back. I chuckle wildly as she circles our host and gives them an eerie song. We coast along the breeze until we reach the river and she slowly begins to dip down. Ben slowly releases his hands and begins to look down at the land below us.

“What a fucking rush.” he chuckles with me as Silverwing dips into the river to collect fish.

She continues to collect more fish and spits them out on the nearby shore. Once she has a large pile she lands and scorches the fish in a burning pyre. She quickly chomps down on her meal as we stay firmly seated basking in her power.

“Should we get-“

Silverwing shoots us back into the clouds as Ben gasps, handing flying around my waist once more. I raise my hands from the reins and allow my fingertips to caress the clouds as we fly back to camp. With enough encouragement, Ben releases his hands from my waist and allows his fingers to dance in the clouds with us.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

We begin marching out just before dawn. The men grumble but are looking forward to making it to Harrenhal finally. Silverwing is becoming restless the closer we get to the Crownlands as she can feel the tension pulsing through us.

We mainly ride the breeze only going in front of the host when we’re about an hour out from the castle. As I approach, Caraxes high pitched song pierces my ears. Silverwing gives out a greeting as we circle back to our host. Caraxes seems to have stayed at the castle much to my relief that Daemon isn’t feeling particularly reckless today.

I land outside the gates and await the host to break through the trees. Once Ben is at my side we begin to approach the gates as they grind open. Daemon swaggers out and looks to me with his hand on his sword pommel.

“Y/n.” he looks at me and the men behind me as if he’s unimpressed.

“Daemon.” I sigh and roll my eyes.

“I’ve claimed Harrenhal.” I squint my eyes at his words.

“And I’ve raised a host.” I shake my head at him confused.

“For who?” he tilts his head to me.

“What is wrong with you? What do you mean? For Rhaenyra.” I approach him studying him.

“It seems as if his knees are bent to you the way he hovers behind you.” he raises his chin to Ben who has indeed followed close behind me on approach.

“Get over yourself. Are we welcome or no. You wanted an army and I’ve brought you one.” my voice starts to rise as I tire of his antics and want the bath I was promised.

“Did she send you?” Daemons eyes squint.

“You’re going fucking mad, Daemon. We are staying. I’m taking the largest bathtub.” I roll my eyes, shaking my head with a chuckle. “His knees are bent to me and he’s mine. He’s not to be touched by anyone.” Daemon smirks at my words as he gestures with his arm for us to enter.

“Welcome,” Lord Simon says as the gates groan the rest of the way open. “Welcome to Harrenhal.

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I almost sob looking at the massive bath made before me. I make quick work of my clothes and armor as servants whisk them away to clean them before leaving me alone. The second the seaming water engulfs me all of my muscles sigh in relief. Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and I groan.

“What?” I grit out through my teeth.

“It’s me.” Ben peeks his head around the door.

“Then get in here and shut the door. I’m in the fucking bath, Ben.” I hiss at him and feel instantly bad as I know I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on him. “I’m sorry,” I sigh out. “What’s wrong?” I sink lower into the pool.

“You didn’t invite me and I felt left out.” his voice teasing. I grab his hand and begin to pull him in with me. He bats my hand away chucking as he takes his clothes off before slipping in the water next to me.

“Better?” I ask resting my head on his shoulder.

“Much.” he hums content. “What happened with Daemon earlier?” he asks softly before grabbing the soap next to us so we can begin our deep clean.

“He’s going insane. I have no idea what’s wrong with him.” I shake my head not knowing how I’m supposed to deal with this. Hopefully Ser Alfred will arrive soon and offer his support.

“What did he say?” he asks as helps me wash my hair once he’s finished his.

“He knows you’re loyal to me. I don’t think he trusts Rhaenyra. His words seemed off and paranoid. I’ll send a raven to Rhaenyra in the morning.” I know my tone is slightly clipped, I’m just done discussing pressing matters. I want to enjoy my bath while a handsome man dotes on me.

“Maybe it’s this old, haunted castle. They say it’ll turn the most sane man mad.” Ben thinks to himself as he rinses out my hair. I’m thankful we’re finally clean but I can’t handle this conversation any longer.

“Ben, I need you to be quiet and make me feel good or leave. I do not wish to discuss strategy or ghosts.” he chuckles as I turn and he takes in my scrunched brow.

“I’m sorry, my Princess. Is the war boring you?” he chuckles pulling me to straddle his thigh.

I sigh as he pulls me forward causing the most delicious friction. He continues sliding me across his thigh and my eyes shut. My hips begin to move on their own accord seeking the pleasure I’ve been needing all week. Whimpers fall from my mouth as Ben looks at me with a smirk.

“So you don’t want to discuss-“

“I will cut your fucking tongue out.” I reply breathlessly as his hands grind me down on to his thigh roughly.

“Then how will I be able to lick your-“

I crash my lips to his in hopes he’ll remain silent. He chuckles against my lips as his fingers dig into my sides. He begins to move my hips quicker as the water begins to splash around us. I begin to moan into his mouth as pleasure begins to explode through my body. His lips capture mine once more as he slowly continues to grind me against him to prolong my pleasure.

“Beautiful,” Ben whispers and my eyes snap open. “Fuck, please let me have said it right.” panic laces his words.

“You did,” my lips attach to his as my heart stumbles.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

I sit around the council table with the River Lords who look from me to Daemon. Ser Alfred has arrived this morning and hasn’t been able to form a coherent conversation with Daemon. My eyes stay planted on him as his head lulls as he grips his cup. When his eyes seem to uncloud he stares at Lord Simon’s child, Alys, I’m told.

“Pull yourself together.” I grit out to Daemon who is currently making a fool of himself.

“When did this meeting start?” his words borderline slurred as he looks to Alys who comes to his side.

I shake my head in confusion as she whispers into his ear. I look to Ben to make sure I’m not the only one seeing this and all of the Lords faces mirror mine. They turn me expectantly and I’m at a loss for what to do.

“That’s enough, Alys. Thank you.” I rise out of my chair dismissing her.

“Isn’t it strange we’re almost kin?” she whispers as she brushes past me. I turn quickly but she’s already out of the hall and I take my place again in my seat.

“Are you drunk?” I hiss to Daemon who has an amusing look on his face.

“Welcome River Lords,” Daemon rises, ignoring my question. “I’m thankful you’ve all deigned to join me in Harrenhal. I know how alluring it is to follow a Targaryen Princess.” he looks to me with a smirk.

“While you’ve been doing Gods know what, I’ve been rallying for Rhaenyra. Did she send you here to simply cut wood?” my anger very evident in my voice.

“I’ve secured the largest castle.” he looks down to me.

“Yes, the crumbling, empty castle. What a win Daemon. While you’ve been indulging yourself on wine and bastards we’ve all been doing our part to help Rhaenyra claim the throne.” I shake my head at a loss. I know we shouldn’t be speaking like this in front of the Lords but I can’t help it.

“I will not be belittled by you.” Daemon spits his words at me.

“You’ve done it yourself. Everyone at this table can see you’re going mad.” I look to him as he goes to look out the window.

Ser Alfred looks at me in warning not to push him too far. The other Lords are doing well to hide their terror as I verbally challenge Daemon in this hall. I’m hoping with the right kind of push and verbal berating he will get his head out of his ass and start to fight for Rhaenyra once more.

“Is that true?” he turns to the table of men with narrowed eyes. “Who thinks I’m going mad?” he approaches and leans his hands on the table assessing everyone.

“Go home, Daemon.” I rise from my chair to switch his focus to me and not our Lords. Ben’s hands slip to mine to try and have me sit back down but I can’t stand down from this fight, my mother needs me. “Rhaenyra needs you at her side.” I look to him with pleading eyes.

“Mm, is that what she told you?” he stalks over to me.

“If you bothered to read any of the ravens from either of us, you know it would be true. Must you always be reminded that you are The Daemon Targaryen? The Rogue Prince? You are a force to be reckoned with. Leave this crumbling castle to me and the Lords and return to Dragonstone. Clear your mind. Stand at her side so we may show a united front.” I can see my words process through his mind as he looks at me curiously.

“You want this castle for yourself.” he concludes much to my anger and frustration.

“Leave us.” I turn to the Lords who look at me slack jawed. They begin to shuffle out of the hall as Ben lingers behind. “Ben,” I warn with narrowed eyes.

“You think you can handle my daughter?” Daemon chuckles lowly as he looks to Ben. He hasn’t called me his daughter in years which is how I know something sinister is going on inside these walls. I walk to Ben and push him outside the door before I seal them.

“It’s saved you before.” Ben’s words are hushed as he places the bone knife into my palm. “Please don’t make me regret leaving this hall.” he looks down to me with pleading eyes as I shut the door separating us.

“Sit.” I nod my head to the table and slip the knife into an empty sheath at my thigh before I claim a seat across from him.

“Do you plan to kill me in this hall?” he chuckles as he takes a seat.

“I plan to make you see reason.” I study his movements which seem completely different from how this meeting started.

“Then by all means,” he raises his eyebrows gesturing with his hand for me to continue.

“You and Rhaenyra had a fight so now you sequester yourself into this ruin of a castle? To what end? Tell me your long term goal, Daemon. If I wouldn’t have arrived with a host you would still be splitting wood open, along with that bastard girls legs.” I look to him as he seems to find this amusing.

“To sit atop the Iron Throne. That is my only goal.” he hums.

“To place Rhaenyra on the throne?” I correct.

“She’s welcome to join me.” he nods his head as his thoughts seem to drift.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I don’t know if this was his plan all along or if these halls are truly haunted. We sit in silence and study each other waiting to see who will make the next move. I come up with a plan to get him outside of the castle in hopes he can clear his head and finally see his actions for what they are.

“When was the last time you’ve ridden Caraxes?” I change the subject hoping to bring him back to the present.

“It was only…” he trails off.

“Come, let’s go for ride.” I rise and look to him in question.

Surprisingly he follows me out of the hall. Ben is waiting on the other side of the door and he walks by my side. I instruct him to send a raven to Rhaenyra and say that I’m sending Daemon home and hopefully he should arrive tonight, I will escort him if needed. I also have him tell the servants to pack a small bag for Daemon for his travels home.

“Please return to me.” Ben kisses the side of my head and nods at my instructions.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

After a long flight our two dragons land in the abandoned countryside. I press my luck and dismount and turn to see that Daemon is doing the same. We meet between our two dragons as they sing a bone chilling song.

“I will go home.” he nods to me with a scrunched brow.

“You will?” I raise my eyebrow in surprise.

“Do not let that heinous woman inside your head. Don’t accept her tea.” he shakes his head as a shutter travels through him.

“Understood. Please send me a raven when you get to Dragonstone.” I reply curtly still not caring for him much at the moment.

“You’ve already sent her word of my return?” he asks over his shoulder as he begins to mount Caraxes.

“I have,” I nod my head up to him. “If you cause her trouble, I will come for you and show you why this growing host has bent its knees.” the threat is laced through my voice like a promise.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else, daughter.” he says before him and his blood worm launch into the skies.

I mount Silverwing and sigh in relief that somehow everything worked out. I hug Sliverwings neck and offer her words of love and praise before she brings us up to the clouds.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

Ben rushes to me once I dismount Silverwing and assesses me head to toe. Once he’s satisfied I’m in one piece he turns to Silverwing and walks around her and makes sure she’s taken no damage as well. He offers her soft pats before he returns to me.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers before running back through the gates.

I lay down at Silverwings feet and curl into her. She wraps her head around me protectively as she sprawls on the ground. We hear motion from beyond the gates and we both raise our heads curiously. Ben walks through the gates trailing a couple cattle behind him.

“Thank you for keeping my Princess safe, my beautiful Silverwing.” he hums as he approaches her. I rise and come to his side as she begins to chirp him a song.

He leaves the cattle with her and he guides me back through the gates and into the castle. The Lords look at me expectantly as I call a short meeting in the council chambers. I tell them of Daemons hopeful return to Dragonstone and give Ser Alfred leave to follow after him and return to my mother. The Lords look to me in awe that I was able to rein Daemon in and send him back to Dragonstone. I end the meeting with promises of a more in depth discussion on the morrow.

“Let’s go to bed,” Ben hums softly as he offers me his hand.

We quickly make it back to our chambers and he seals the doors behind us. He cups my face and pulls me into a passionate kiss. He pulls apart resting his forehead on mine as we pant as I look up to him with low lids.

“I’m perfectly fine, you didn’t have to worry so much.” I breathlessly chuckle.

“I was worried for the King Consort, the look in your eyes in the council chamber was downright murderous.” he chuckles lowly before placing a quick kiss on my lips before he starts to remove my armor.

“Good he was being daft. Someone had to stand to him.” I roll my shoulders once he removes the plates there.

“Sometimes you fucking terrify me.” he whispers though his voice is full of devotion as he removes my last pieces.

“Mm, I’m honored.” I hum as I begin to remove my layers of clothing.

“Allow me, my Princess.” he whispers as he lifts my shirt above my head.

He slowly peels the rest of my clothes off. He removes his clothes with haste while pulling me over to the bed. He falls onto his back pulling me with on top of him. He kisses me softly and pulls back with a smirk.

“I think you should sit on my face.” he says lowly.

“What do you mean?” I shake my head chuckling.

“Put this,” his fingers reach down and slide through my wetness. “on my mouth.” his eyes are dark as they look to me.

I shiver as his fingers continue to ghost over my core. He begins to slowly pull me up his body until I finally rise and kneel on the bed to look down at him. He pats the side of my thigh trying to coax me to straddle his face. I let out a shaky breath and kneel above his face and look down at his eyes under me.

“Thank you, my Princess.” he says placing a soft kiss on each of my thighs.

His hands grab my waist and pull me flush against his mouth. His tongue begins to attack my clit and my head falls back. His name falls off my lips as he continues to swirl against my clit. I grind against his face and immediately stop. He grunts at my stillness and begins to move my hips himself as moans seep out of my mouth.

“Ben,” his name is the only thing I’m capable of saying.

This spurs him on and his tongue moves even more ferociously. My hips begin jerking on their own accord and he moans against me. The vibrations send me over the edge as I come against his face as he keeps lapping at me.

“Ben,” I whimper as he still holds me against his face.

His torturous tongue continues to circle my sensitive bud sending shock waves through my body. I’m a babbling mess above him as he starts to grind my hips against him again. A sob tears through me as I come against him once more. He lifts me off and I collapse face down on the bed next to him as he chuckles.

“You did so good for me.” he hums as I feel the bed dip behind me. “Aren’t you thankful you didn’t cut my tongue out.” his hands raise my hips until I’m resting on my knees. I turn my head and scowl at him until he starts swirling his tip around my wetness.

“Ben, please,” I whine breathlessly as he leans back.

“Hm?” his tone taunting. I try to push my hips back to find him once more but his hands on my hips keep me firmly in place.

“If you don’t fuck me surely I can find someone else who-“

He slams into me and a moan tears through me. He sets a brutal pace that has my face sliding against the sheets. All I can do is arch my back more as his hips repeatedly snap into mine. His trusts become slow and deep as his hands fall to the sides of my waist as he hovers above me.

“Who do you think can replace me?” he grunts in my ear while grinding his hips into mine.

“No one,” my words barely coherent as my hips chase the pleasure he’s offering.

“That’s what I thought.” he says arrogantly as he pulls me upright with him.

One of his hands stays at my waist to help steady me as he begins to hammer up into me. The other travels around my front teasing and pinching my nipples until it finds its way to my throat. His long fingers wrap around me while his hand from my waist sneaks down to my sensitive bud.

“I- Ben,” I whine as I come, clenching around him.

“Fuck Princess,” his hips slightly falter but he regains his composure quickly.

He pushes me forward back onto the bed while staying inside of me. His pace is crazed as his fingers dig deeply into my hips. I’m pushing back into him chasing all of the pleasure he wants to give me. My hands are fisted into the sheets while all I can do is whimper and breathe his name.

“One more time for me.” he growls while bringing his torturous hand between my thighs once more.

When his fingers reach my clit I see stars. I feel like pleasure is being torn from me in waves as I bury my head in the pillow. His hips shutter and warmth spreads throughout me before he slowly pulls out. He collapses on the bed next to me as we’re both panting and trying to catch our breath.

“I know I’m safe in Harrenhal because the only thing that could make me go mad is you.” he says breathily smoothing my hair.

“Back to your ghost stories already?” I huff as I turn to him and see him smiling down at me.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist

ps: i literally will write more of this if ppl want 🫣

Part 3

[beckyninja]

Jealousy

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: Sexual content, MDNI

Description: After his encounter with the Artifact on Kadaku, an already rattled Titus witnesses his serf interact with another Ultramarine... and has a rather intense reaction.

More spicy time between Titus and his serf girl, folks! My version of Titus not a fan of sharing. However, if you're looking for a Titus who is up to sharing, check out @vyzz-undercover 's excellently written fic here.

This is a continuation of my Titus x FemReader story. The previous parts, and my other works, can be found on my Masterlist.

Back straight. Hands clasped. Eyes down. You have every right to be here.

Still, as the elevator screeched to a stop, you felt your heartbeat quicken. The hangar opened wide before you. Serfs and servitors scurried in all directions, machinery growled, engines roared. The acrid smell of fuel and hot metal assaulted your senses. 

And so many Astartes.

In your time aboard this ship, you’d stayed mostly in the officers’ quarters, with occasional forays to the refectory, laundry, and baths. Even then, you kept to the serf access tunnels, like Demetrian suggested.

Strange, I live on a ship with hundreds of the Emperor’s Angels, and yet I’ve only ever seen a few up close.

You fought not to shrink back as a fully armored squad marched past only yards away. Why this sudden timidity? You’d never felt this way in the Death Watch fortress. 

It’s because they’re Ultramarines.

The realization struck you. Demetrian never interacted with other Ultramarines in the Watch. And he’d all but ordered you to stay away from them. That’s why you felt so anxious, like you were disobeying him somehow. He had implied on multiple occasions he preferred you to remain near his quarters. 

But you couldn’t, not now. Vesta had stopped by that morning. 

“I thought you should know,” the medica panted, “your lord, Lieutenant Titus? I overheard the Apothecaries saying he collapsed on his last mission!”

You dropped the scrub brush you’d been using onto the floor with a clatter.

Vesta gripped your hands. “He’s alive, and appears unharmed. The Apothecaries spoke of diagnostics-”

“Where is he now?” You barely heard your own voice over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“Last I heard he’d gone to see the Lord Captain.”

You gnawed your lower lip. No chance you’d be allowed into the Command Center.

“But if he’s going to be deployed on Avarax with the rest of the Company, he’ll be heading back to the hangar before too much longer. You might be able to catch him there if you’re quick!”

You’d nearly run straight out the door, only for Vesta to ask if you had any idea where you were going. A few directions and a mad sprint later, and here you stood.

Would you ever not be intimidated by the sheer massiveness of… everything?

“Move, Throne damn you!”

Glancing over your shoulder, you gasped and barely ducked out of the way of a rolling ammunition cart. The serf pushing it glared at you from beneath his red hood, bloodshot eyes squinting.

He sneered at your blue robe. “Go back where you belong, girl. This is no place for a pampered pet.”

Heat rushed to your face. You stammered an apology and hurriedly pressed yourself against the nearest wall, trying to stay out of the way. You cringed at how you must look to the other serfs, with your clean clothing and unscarred skin. You’d been called “coddled” before. 

A sick feeling of guilt settled into the pit of your stomach. But the thought of Demetrian in pain steeled your nerves. 

You scanned the vast chamber. Even amidst the horde of blue armored giants, you knew you’d be able to recognize him. The way he stood. The way he walked. His aura of quiet command.

The sudden longing physically ached. “Where are you Titus?”

“Why do you seek the Lieutenant, woman?”

You spun toward the booming voice. Two Primaris Ultramarines loomed over you and you dropped into a hurried bow, hands crossed over your chest in the sign of the aquila. 

Before you could reply, the darker skinned of the two cocked his head. “Look at her robes, Gadriel. I didn’t realize our dour Lieutenant had a personal serf.” 

The other Ultramarine scowled. “Personal serfs remain in the officers’ quarters, Chairon.” 

“Please, my lords, do you know where Lord Titus might be? I heard that he…,” you found speaking around the tightness in your throat difficult, “that he was injured.”

“Devoted little thing.” Chairon smiled. 

“As she should be.” Gadriel looked unimpressed. “The Lieutenant’s health is apparently not anyone’s concern but his own, woman.”

The bitterness in his voice surprised you. “Please, my lords, if you could only-”

“How long have you served the Lieutenant?”

You almost took a step back at the sudden intensity in Gadriel’s expression. “I…um…just over a standard year, my lord.”

“You were with him during his service in the Death Watch?”

“Gadriel…,” Chairon sighed.

“Yes, my lord. For the last part of it.”

The blond Ultramarine leaned over you. “He truly served as a Black Shield?”

“He did, my lord.”

“Why?”

The conversation was starting to feel like an interrogation. “I-I don’t understand your question, my lord.”

“Throne, woman.” The look of disgust Gadriel sent you made your face heat in shame for the second time that day. “Why did he deny his chapter? What dishonor did he commit?”

“I don’t know, my lord.” His accusatory tone raised your hackles. “I can’t believe Lord Titus capable of dishonorable actions.”

Chairon chuckled even as Gadriel’s scowl deepened. 

He stepped closer, sending a jolt of fear down your spine. “Impertinent-”

His companion placed a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Gadriel. You would punish a serf for loyalty to her lord?”

Gadriel glanced at him, scoffed, and stomped away..

What was I thinking?! Taking that tone with one of the Emperor’s Angels? 

And yet, you realized you’d do it again. Demetrian was everything to you. To hear someone accuse him of-

“Your devotion is commendable, miss.” The other Ultramarine, Chairon, continued smiling at you.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I would know your name.”

Something about his manner set you at ease. So different from his surly companion. You told him your name.

“The Lieutenant was undergoing diagnostics in the armory, last I knew. But he should be here shortly.”

You took a chance with this surprisingly friendly Ultramarine. “Can you…can you please tell me what happened, my lord?”

“I am sorry. Mission information is classified.”

He seemed genuinely regretful, but that didn’t ease your worry. “Of course, I understand, my lord.”

The Ultramarine seemed to study you. “I would know how the Lieutenant earned such devotion, if I may.”

Suddenly shy, you glanced down. “I should not keep you from your duties, my lord.”

“But you would be sparing me the boredom of interminable waiting before deployment.”

You smiled in spite of yourself. “Very well, my lord.”

***

Free at last from Magus Gallio’s poking and prodding, Titus stormed into the hangar. His hands and jaw clenched tight. His mind raced.

The Artifact….

He remembered the pain when he first looked upon it. Searing agony concentrating in the fresh scars and incisions of the Primaris surgery, but not originating there. Building and building until darkness took him.

It all felt so horribly familiar. Old memories surfaced. Names and places. Graia.

It cannot be happening again. 

Cold sweat broke out on his skin as he sensed the lie in his own thoughts. As he remembered the carnage of two centuries past. If his darkest suspicions proved true, no one was safe as long as that thing existed.

You weren’t safe.

The urge to find you hit him like a punch from a dreadnought. His logical mind said he had scant time before his team’s deployment to Avarax, but everything else in him screamed for you. Just to see you. To hold you.

A soft, familiar laugh met his ears. He turned toward the sound, eyes searching the walkway.

You? Here? 

In the darkest reaches of his mind, something primal snarled. You were not for others to see. They had no right to look upon you.

If he had rediscovered desire, who knew how many of his brothers had done the same? Perhaps they watched you even now. Perhaps their eyes traced your curves and longed to run their hands over them. Perhaps they wondered about the softness of your lips, the wet heat of your-

Stepping around a pile of supply crates, he saw the source of your laughter.

Brother Chairon stood next to you, near to you. He smiled and you smiled back. With an easy, casual motion, he tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting your face toward his.

Titus saw red. “Chairon!”

In a few lunging strides he stood beside you. Not giving you time to speak, he grasped your shoulder and yanked you away from his battle brother. Part of him felt guilt at your startled cry. But a louder, snarling part of him drowned it out.

The other Ultramarine’s brows furrowed. “Lieutenant. I trust the diagnostics-”

“Are none of your concern.” He spat. 

“Demetrian?” 

He heard confusion in your barely audible murmur. He ignored it.

Chairon blinked. “Have I done something to offend, brother?”

Titus growled. “Did you not learn in your neophyte days, brother, not to touch that which is not yours?”

“Deme- my lord,” you stammered, “Lord Chairon was merely-”

“Be silent.”

“There is no need to censure your serf, Lieutenant.” Chairon frowned. “I asked for her conversation.” 

“For what purpose?”

“To while away the time before our deployment. That is all.”

Titus’ sensed the truth in his words, still, the snarling beast within refused to calm. “Your time would be better spent elsewhere.”

Chairon took the hint. “Yes, sir.” He nodded toward you. “Farewell, little one.”

Titus’ hands clenched into fists as he watched his fellow Ultramarine walk away. He heard you approach, steps tentative.

“Demetrian, what-?”

“I said, be silent.” 

He didn’t understand his own reactions. Every sense seemed locked into high alert. Beneath his armor, his body burned.

He needed…he needed….

“Come.”

***

You almost fell to your knees when Demetrian all but threw you into the empty room. A storage closet, from the boxes of odds and ends scattered about. You had to press against the far wall when he followed you inside.

Your shoulder ached from his grasp. But your complaints died away when you turned back toward him. He towered above you, looking even larger in this tiny room. A muscle in his jaw ticked. Veins pulsed in the side of his neck.

And the look in his eyes….

Predator. Run.

No. This was Demetrian. Your Demetrian. You knew he would never hurt-

He fell upon you like a starved beast.

Massive gauntlets lifted you against the back wall. He pinned you there, ceramite armor cold even through your clothing. Then his mouth found yours.

You thought you knew Demetrian’s kisses. Gentle yet passionate. This was neither. You felt devoured, the way the force of his lips pressed your head back against the metal wall. The way his tongue dominated yours. He held you utterly immobilized, unable even to respond.

His kisses drew the very air from your lungs. Just as your vision began to dim, he withdrew, leaving you gasping. His mouth moved to your throat.

A part of you thrilled at the sting of his teeth against your jugular. “Demetrian, please!”

He growled like the great predatory felines of your homeworld. “Yes…say my name….”

The skin of your throat ached under his relentless assault. You pressed your hands flat against his breastplate. This wasn’t the gentle man you knew. You should be terrified.

But when he opened your robe with his teeth and tore away your breast band, your body reacted. “Oh, Throne!”

Titus buried his face in your chest. Between nips and suckles, you heard him muttering.

“Mine. Only mine.”

You began to understand. “Yes! Yours, Demetrian! Ah…!”

“Nothing will take you from me.”

“No! N-nothing! Mmm!”

One hand shifted between your legs and cupped your clothed center. Your hips jerked against him convulsively, sending sparks of pleasure searing through your lower body. Demetrian snarled again at the sound of your desperate whine.

He began to move his hand. Rubbing at you, the motions of his gauntleted fingers unpracticed and clumsy. But it didn’t matter. You were beyond ready.

You ground against him, simultaneously pressing your chest further into his face. “Don’t stop! Oh, Golden Throne! Don’t stop!”

“Never.”

The single word in his deep growl broke you. Pleasure raced through you, your back arched, and you would have screamed aloud if Titus’ mouth hadn’t covered yours again. 

As you came down from your high, trembling and whimpering, his arms surrounded you in a more familiar embrace. He nearly crushed you against his breastplate, head resting on your shoulder. You felt his hot breath against your skin.

“Damn this armor.” He mumbled.

You almost laughed as your fear melted into tenderness. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you pressed a soft kiss against his jaw. “Demetrian, love, do you really believe I’d choose any other man over you?”

***

Your words finally soothed the beast within. He still ached for you. Throne! Did he ache for you! But the mad red haze faded away.

And he realized what he’d done.

“Warp damn it!” 

Pulling away, he took in your swollen lips, torn clothing, and mauled chest with growing horror. 

Your soft hand stroked his cheek. “Demetrian, don’t.”

“I…I….”

He had no words to rationalize what he’d done. He didn’t understand it himself. Still, he tried.

“When I saw you in the hangar, surrounded by battle brothers…vulnerable…and then, Chairon….”

“You’ve been jealous before. I remember the Black Templar in the Watch-”

“You were not mine, then. Not in this way. This felt…Throne.” He couldn’t look at your sweet, understanding face any longer and leaned his head back against your shoulder. “Forgive me.”

He felt your tiny fingers card through his hair. “I do. I forgive you, Demetrian.”

“I lost control.” Shame burrowed into the pit of his stomach. “I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t though. Even…like that…you didn’t hurt me.”

Pulling back, he gave you an incredulous look. “Your breasts look as if you were attacked by a ripper swarm, woman!”

You laughed. Laughed.

He stared at you in wonder. Surely you were a gift from the Emperor for his century of unjust torment. 

“Have you no fear, love?”

“I’ll admit you startled me, but no.” Your hands cupped his face. “I’m not afraid of you, Demetrian.” Your smile faded slightly. “I do think you owe Lord Chairon an apology, though. I truly believe he meant nothing but kindness.”

Titus thought of Chairon’s attitude around baselines. The concern he showed for the Guardsmen. He sighed.

“Perhaps.” He gently leaned his forehead against yours. “You were fortunate he was the one who took notice of you. Why did you come to the hangar?”

“Vesta told me you’d collapsed on your last mission. I was worried.”

Warmth surged through him and he pulled you tighter against his chest. “Little Healer, you need not worry for me.”

“What happened, Demetrian?”

Perhaps he’d tell you one day. The whole story.

His helmet vox crackled to life. “Squad assembled and Thunderhawk ready to depart, Lieutenant.”

With a sigh, he responded. “I am on my way.”

He set you on your feet, steadying you when you swayed. “Are you all right?”

You leaned against one of the crates. “I will be, in a minute or so.” Your eyes drifted down his armored form. “Are you all right?”

“I am.” You cocked an eyebrow and he finally caught your meaning. “Oh. Ah…I will endure.”

“If only certain parts of your armor could be easily removed.”

The want in your voice. “You astound me, woman.”

“You’re very attractive when you’re jealous, Demetrian.”

He blinked down at you, at a loss for words. “Truly?”

“Mmmhmm, “ your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Throne,” he stooped and pressed his lips to yours one last time. “Be ready for me upon my return, Little Healer.”

You clung to him for a moment, repeating the words you said at every parting. “Be safe, Demetrian. I love you.”

I love you more than you will ever know. Nothing in this universe will rip you from my arms.

***

The silent figure watched Titus emerge from the storage compartment. On the surface, nothing seemed to be amiss. The former Captain walked with a sense of purpose and confidence he hadn’t seen in centuries.

What corruption lurks beneath that facade, brother?

His eyes followed the Ultramarine until he turned a corner and vanished from sight. That wouldn’t do. He began to pursue, when movement drew his eyes back to the door of the closet.

A serf. A female serf in the cerulean robes of a personal attendant. She held said robes tight over her chest, and looked back and forth furtively before scurrying off, a slight hitch in her step.

An unfamiliar scent met his nose, mingling with the strong overlay of Astartes sweat.

Behind the scarlet lenses of his skull helmet, Chaplain Leandros narrowed his eyes.

This bears further investigation.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@thememestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads

As always, please comment if you want to be added to the Taglist!

[biancml]

Overrides List | Part One

In this list I will share some default replacement (overrides) for those who want a realistic gameplay with more details. You can find the Part 02 Here.

Kids

bassinet

infant rug or blanket

watermelon swing

baby bottle 1, 2, 3 or 4

infant bath & rubber duck

Selfcare

razor

spa nails & nail polish

towels & brush teeth

toothbrush 1, 2, 3, 4 or eletric

Random

bridge

suitcase

fireplace

umbrellas

bills & cards

fish, rabbit & cow

ceiling 1 or 2

boxing gloves & tennis

korean magazines

cars & school buss

cleaning spray & mop

paintings, brushes, pencil & photo

Kitchen

bread plate

lots storange

sponge 1, 2, or 3

cutlery 1, 2, 3 or 4

cutting board 1 , 2 or 3

pans, dishware & red cups

Foods

food stalls

bubble tea

foods 1 or 2

coffee to go

ice cream shop

delivery bag & grocery bag

coffee bag 1 or 2 & milk bottle

pizza & pizza hut box or pizza delivery

Eletronics

remote control

phone wallpaper 1, 2 or 3

phone icons

computer games & tv movies

game consoler, ps3 controller or ps5 controller

airpods, airpodspro, podsmax or airpodsmax

Phones

iphoneX, iphone7, iphone11, iphone12, iphone12cases, flip, nokia, galaxyS20, galaxynote8 or others

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[mystellenia]

romantic tension with abby

summary: in the warm glow of abby's bedroom, after a day of shared hobbies, you contemplate your deepening feelings for her and hope that perhaps she feels the same

content: friends (to lovers???), sfw, literally nothing else

notes: wrote a part two :p i need to write more fluff bc there is such a shortage AND especially with abby. this is like so domestic like in the way that there's no extra interactions. like this is literally how me and a friend would act after a day of painting!! just sleepy and tired zzzzz

(wc 0.7k)

the setting sun cast an orange glow on abby's bedroom where the two of you lay on her floor, bathing in the heat radiating from her large window. you'd just finished painting birdhouses for the married pair of sparrows that frequented the birdseed abby had set out. they would dance around each other and sing their chirpy harmonies and then take turns pecking at the various seeds from the feeder, so abby thought it necessary to handmake them houses in her shop. 

this was one of your many duet activities of abby's "grandma hobbies," as you called them. you two had fed the ducks down at the lake, gone through an entire coloring book, built lego sets, and done nearly a dozen puzzles—one of which was glued and framed in abby's kitchen. 

you guys spent every free moment of time together, and counted down the time until you could when one was busy. you were the closest of friends, but lately you found yourself wanting more—or at least thinking about how it would be if you were more. coming home to each other instead of making the fifteen-minute drive any time you wanted to see her. being able to actually tell her when she looked so pretty it made you hold your breath instead of chewing on your lip. 

she shifted next to you, bending her legs at the knees and pulling you out of your thoughts. "i should probably wash the brushes before the paint dries on them, right?" 

you almost tell her she shouldn't so that you could lay with her a little while longer, but you give in. "yeah, you should." 

she sits up to stand, grunting as she lifts her body weight and moving to the crafting cloth where your birdhouses currently sat drying. you sat up and leaned against the foot of her bed, watching as she so delicately readjusts the cloth so that it doesn't smudge your paint job. 

scrubbing your hands down your face, you push up off the bed and move to grab a sweatshirt of hers to change into, taking your paint-covered tank off and slipping the sweatshirt over your head. it sat baggy on your body with her being bigger than you are just about everywhere, and you threw the hood over your head and dropped onto the right side of her bed. 

she returns with her hands patting on her sweats to dry them off. seeing you in the bed, she comes to sit next to you, with you on your back and her laying on her side to face you. 

"you wanna just stay the night?" she says, her voice lifting at the end as if it were a question and not a declaration. "it's too late to go home alone." 

"yeah, i think i will," you respond. you remember the origami book she bought at the farmer's market last saturday. "only if we make paper cranes until our fingers bleed from paper cuts tomorrow," you grin, turning to look at her and see she's already looking back at you. 

"okay. i have lots of band-aids," she jokes. 

you chuckle, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, sheepishly smiling at the other while holding eye contact. 

"can we also get those berry pastries from the cafe? and make those butterflies we saw on pinterest?" you ask, your cheeks still kissing your eyes. 

"yeah, i'll wake up early to get them for breakfast," she nods. "and i only got that book so we can make things together—we can make whatever you want." 

in place of a response, you slip your fingers between hers and tightly squeeze her hand, ignoring your frustration with the uncertainty of her feelings for you. 

the tip of her nose pinks a bit before she opens her mouth. "good night. we need brain power for making cranes." 

you turn onto your side as well to face her, your noses nearly touching. "good night, abby," you grin, high on the feel of her skin on yours and the way she's looking at you.  

you fall asleep with a smile on your face because your close friend, abby, may just like you, too. 

@picklesarenice69 @abbyandersonsrightbuttcheek

yayyy i’m back :3

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

[honeydippedwaffles]

Smallest Drop

Summary: Tav overhears Astarion complaining about their situation and decides to do what she can to make it a little better for him and she ends up surprising him in the process.

Tav isn't referred to by name. There might be a part 2 if this is well-received.

Content Warnings: She/Her Tav

Word Count: 1.8k words

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

It started when she overheard a passing comment from behind her, grumbled in response to something Lae’zel said.

From the earliest parts of the day, they’d been making their way through difficult terrain; surrounded by thousands of bugs and mud up to their ankles. She’d tried not to complain about it though Astarion never shared her focus on quiet suffering and he had a fair point.

Though they’d managed to set up a fairly comfortable camp outside the grove – not wanting to impose nor deal with the druids for too long – they hadn’t really found any chance to properly bathe since their abduction.

The late afternoon glinted into her eyes as an idea presented itself.

She slipped away from the group almost excitedly to find the abandoned house where she’d spied it not long ago. After making sure it contained no nasty surprises, she’d left. It didn’t really have a roof and the majority of it had been burned down by some form of magical fire but most importantly, it had a tub.

One night together shouldn’t have made her so weak for the elf but despite all his sweetened words and falsities, he captivated her attention. She knew he meant little by it but sometimes those words made her days brighter regardless.

And she wanted to return the favour given how the muddy path came from her badly thought-out route.

The river running close by provided her with clean and cool water, not the easiest to move in large amounts but still able to fill the tub. It didn’t leak (a minor miracle) and she managed to use a little more of her already-exhausted magic to get a few charms warming the water up.

She smiled at her work proudly and left the charms to do her work while she made her way back to the grove to get some soaps.

Her shoulders shook a little as she eyed her small surprise. Proud and excited, she now faced the greatest of tasks.

Encouraging Astarion to actually step away from camp.

“No, thank you,” he said, dismissed her with the casual wave of a hand. “I’ve had quite enough traipsing through the forest for one day. If you want to continue finding every possible swamp insect to attack you, you’re welcome to be my guest.”

She sighed. “But I have something to show you. It’s a surprise.”

He smiled, strained. “My, aren’t you a desperate little thing. Maybe I’ll join you a little later in the night but for now, I’m afraid I don’t have the energy or the interest.”

“No, it’s not…” she groaned. “It’s just a bath, alright? I overheard you complaining about being dirty earlier so I found one for you.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. Come along. Those runes aren’t going to last forever and I know you’re going to fuss about the water temperature.”

Astarion chuckled and she immediately knew he didn’t believe her. “I appreciate the creativity, darling. Really, I do, but you’ll find direct offers are far more effective on me.” He leaned closer and she became suddenly aware of how many eyes watched them from around the camp. “But if you’re really going to such lengths, I’m not going to deny you forever.”

Flushed, she stepped away and ducked her head. “Fine. I’ll use it myself but you better not complain once more about it.”

She ignored the slightly concerned expressions of her friends as she stormed back into the tree line by herself. Why she even thought he’d appreciate it… she shouldn’t have even bothered offering it to him. She really needed to be more selfish if she wanted to not get turned down by the vampire spawn again.

It stung more than she expected it to, even if she wasn’t offering anything more than an actual bath.

She brushed her fingers over the surface of the still-warm water when she got there and sighed. It still felt like a waste, even if she used it. Amazing how homesick she’d grown for her house when stuck out in the wild with nothing more of comfort than a single bedroll.

Maybe she should have stolen one of those beds from the goblin den they cleared.

The floor creaked and her hand flew to her weapon, spun around only to find a very arrogant elf who appeared annoyingly surprised.

“My, so it wasn’t even a ploy alone,” he said. “You genuinely managed to find a bath. I respect your dedication if nothing else. There are certainly easier ways of seeing me undressed.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the water. “I was trying to do something nice for you but as you’re not interested, feel free to return back to camp.”

He stepped close enough to brush his fingers against her cheek. “Whoever said I wasn’t interested?”

“You did. In very direct words.”

“Well, things change. I’ve decided you’re quite right. It’s been far too long since I got to wash and you’ve been so sweet, setting it all up for me. I couldn’t be rude and turn you down right now, could I?”

Cursing the elf beneath her breath for his indecisiveness, she moved to walk past him. “Enjoy.”

Once again, she surprised him and Astarion took a second to respond, calling to her as she reached the edge of the charred flooring.

“You’re not joining me?”

She looked back at him. “Am I meant to be?”

“Why, yes. I can hardly be expected to do things like washing my hair all by myself. What if I get lonely or attacked?”

She frowned at him but he kept smiling at her in the same insistent way he did when he wanted something. The corner of his lips pulled up as though he knew a joke and didn’t want to share it. She couldn’t help herself but relent under his burning gaze; he’d done the same thing when she’d agreed to let him drink blood from her throat. Perhaps she should be concerned with where her willpower went when it came to this man.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll help with your hair if you really need.”

“How fun.”

He insisted on being as distracting as possible when he got undressed. His constant glances at her met nothing in return but she couldn’t help glancing at the scars as he lowered himself into the tub.

Their ridges made her uncomfortable. Not knowing what it said frightened her for Astarion’s safety rather than her own.

Nothing good ever came from runes carved into flesh.

“There’s no need to act so shy, beautiful. You’ve seen me in far more compromising situations than this.”

She wouldn’t call their night together compromising but she ignored the comment regardless. His soft sigh of relaxation as he settled into the water worked wonders for clearing up her irritation.

How he managed to be so magnetic astounded her. She found a spot to sit behind him and slowly, gingerly, began to help him with his hair. Despite being ridiculously soft considering how long they adventured in the wilderness, it needed some careful care and attention.

She took care to stay gentle when she found where tangles turned into knots and worked them free without pulling. He gave a small hum when she had to give a soft tug and she took it as an okay to use a little more force.

“We don’t have much to work with but I did manage to get some things from the grove,” she said. “It won’t be up to your standards but I don’t think anything really is.”

Cagey about his past, all she knew surrounded the small snippets he gave her when upset or ranting. She doubted he’d ever had much time to fuss over which hair products he used, too busy watching over his shoulder for a constant threat. He still did so now when he thought nobody could see. His meditation never held him deeply as sleep took her.

“Regardless of whether or not it’s professional, I won’t complain about your skills with this.”

“Skills at detangling your hair?”

“At winning my favour.”

She frowned a little and focused on the white locks where they curled between her fingers. “I’m not only doing this because I want to impress you.”

“I’m sure you have other motivations,” he hummed, teasing. “But you know you’re more than welcome to join me whenever you’re ready. You chose a good-sized tub for both of us.”

She ignored him again, instead focusing on working out a tight knot. Once done, she encouraged him to lean back a little so she could massage the soap gently into his hair, rubbing soft circles against his scalp until his eyes fluttered closed and the smallest hint of relaxation showed in his expression.

Good. He carried far too much tension and she stopped herself from continuing the slight massage down to where she could see the stress in his neck and shoulders. How uncomfortable it must be but she didn’t want to encourage whatever strange idea he had about this situation.

Still, even if she hadn’t planned anything, she couldn’t deny her attraction.

She wanted to press her lips to the pale skin of his neck and trace the path of the water droplets as they pooled against his collar bone. She wanted to trail her hands over his sides and pull him close.

She coughed to stop her thoughts before they ran too far.

If the parasite in her skull didn’t kill her soon, she may just die from the way this elf made her heart pulse unnaturally fast.

“Everything alright?”

He sounded… well, still as flirtatious as ever but more concerned than she thought he would. She snapped her attention back to him and almost lost herself in those stunning eyes.

If she wanted to, she could so easily fall prey to his sweetened words and he really wouldn’t mind. He would encourage it even.

She finished washing the last of the soap from his hair and stood up somewhat uneasily. Pride still shone in her chest as he sat up properly, appearing far cuter than she anticipated with his hair falling flat against his skin.

She saw the invite on his lips before he even said it. Watched him flick whatever switch he had to draw her in and she hurried to leave.

“I’ll see you back in camp, alright?”

His confused expression followed her as she stepped away from the building but he didn’t call her back. She found her way back to camp with a slight heave to her chest and a desperate need for a distraction.

Though she really should have thought it through before she asked Lae-zel to spar with her. The bruise kept her up for the entire night – long enough to realise he didn’t come past for a taste of her blood in the evening.

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @onedirectionlovers2014

warnings: mensuration, swearing

A tapping at my window made me stir. Eric was crouched down on my fire escape, staring in at me. The crow on his shoulder took off as I motioned him in. He slowly opened the window and ducked in. I smiled softly at him and reached out.

"What's wrong?" he asked, tilting his head at me. His eyes scanned over me as he knelt down next to the bed. "You don't look good."

"Period." I muttered. Eric cupped my cheek and nodded. His thumb rubbed over my cheekbone. "Hit like a fucking freight train this morning."

"I can leave if you want me to." He said, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. "Come back when you're feeling better." I shook my head and reached out to grab his shirt. Eric looked down with a raised eyebrow.

"That won't be for a week." I groaned. "Please don't." He nodded and I loosened my grip on his shirt. "What did you do for Shelly?" I asked finally. Eric moved to sit next to me on the bed.

"What do you mean?" he asked, brushing hair off my face and rubbing my back.

"What did you do for her? When she had her period? Did you hold her? Draw her a bath? Buy her candy? What did you do?" Eric looked away and focused on the rain pouring down out of the window. "Eric?"

"She kicked me out basically." He finally answered. "She didn't like me being around her. Said it was too much to handle at once. I played a lot of gigs during that week." Eric turned back to me. "I still bought her candy. Art supplies. Anything she would have wanted. I left it outside the door and headed back out after." I smiled softly.

"That sounds sweet." I said, reaching over and putting my hand on his leg. He nodded, eyes downcast. "What did she say after?"

"She didn't say anything. Just kissed my cheek and practically dragged me to the bedroom." Eric laughed. "That was her way of showing me her appreciation for what I had done." He shrugged, looking back up and meeting my eyes. "I never complained." I smiled at him.

"I would think you wouldn't." I laughed. Eric shrugged, smiling at me. "Well, I'd much rather have you here to cuddle with me." I squeezed his leg. "Unless you have somewhere else to be tonight." I added, noticing the crow sitting on the fire escape. Eric shook his head.

"Tonight I'm all yours." He said, climbing over me and taking his place behind me. I hummed happily as his warm hand pressed against my abdomen. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake." I nodded sleepily, scooting back against him before nodding off.