#oh dearrrrrr

[papayanna]

20 pages of my reading done in 1 and a half hours 😍 only 254 pages left 😍 academic weapon 🔥🫦

[wheelxr]

@boriys said: ❝ are you hurt?  did they hurt you?❞ [x]

ɴᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ʜᴏᴡ ꜱʜᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ, Boris has been lying to her.

Under the guise of darkness in a warehouse long abandoned, the questions asked by men Nancy can only assume are dealers go unanswered. 

          Where is he? Where is he staying? Who is he working for? Who is he working with? Where are our...

The questions and their resulting blows go on until she's spitting blood, head shaking dutifully from side to side. Angry she may be, the betrayal bitter on her tongue, but Nancy is no traitor. She still cares about him, and so she won't be the reason he's found dead in the morning.

❝ No, ❞ said for what has to be the hundredth time, a gasping breath let out when a fist finds her rib and punches. Fuck. ❝ — I'm not — going to say anything. ❞ In truth, it's almost pathetic — they've been at this for hours, and for these men to continue to try and pry information from her is damn near laughable.

Or, it would be, if one of them didn't pull out a gun.

          Then we have no further use for you.

A silenced shot to her side is followed by them finally retreating, the warehouse eerily quiet. Breathing is difficult, the air tasting of rust, and when Nancy glances downward, she can already see the blooming crimson.

Act quickly, Nancy.

As one hand shifts to put pressure on the wound — and god, does that make her wince — the other shakily retrieves the cell phone in her pocket. Her location is sent to him thanks to the SOS app she'd installed with only two pushes of a button.

                          15 missed calls. 10 voicemails. 5 new text messages.

Boris knows they'd found her, then.

Only after sending her location does Nancy dial; he answers after only one ring, his panicked voice washing out her rattling breaths.

                                           ❝  are you hurt?  did they hurt you?  ❞

❝ Yes. ❞ Talking takes too much energy, her whimpered groan unable to be stifled in time as her fingers press harder against her side. God, her fingers are already stained red. ❝ Send — not you. Dangerous. ❞ For all she knows, they're still outside and waiting for him to show up; poised and ready to kill. 

Stay awake, Nancy.

❝ Ambulance. ❞

[mrburnsnuclearpussy]

Downton abbey is making me unwell again. Fucking season 6 bro that’s the whole problem. Season 6. And fans blaming Carson for Thomas suicide attempt. It’s WRONG. Pls tell me I’m not the only one who thinks that’s completely unfair?

[static-x3]

[Static stares at them for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing their face before they give a small forced laugh]

"yeah... Super neat-"

(you're getting thrown onto the infinity train >:3)

[Random portal opens, sending static to a random, seemingly abandoned train station, a very long/ large train rolling up to the stop, green light filtering out from the inside of the windows]

[Static takes a moment to get their bearings, looking along the length of the train, the train cars stretching out of view both ways. They take a curious step forward, tilting their head and squinting slightly to try and see through the windows to no avail]

[kairiscorner]

hello luv, thank u so much for ur content <33 do you think you could do a comfort oneshot? just reader being overwhelmed and having a worried Miguel to take over them, its been tough lately :/

tysm for everything and a lots of luv ^-^

BDIREBCIURBIIUBVIUBIV THANK YOU DEARRRRRR aww, i hope everything's going okay now though! i hope you like this too, btw <33

the best thing that's ever happened to me. – miguel o'hara x gn!reader (comfort fic)

it was like a storm was raging in your mind, turning your train of thought over and throwing yourself into the abyss of overwhelming thoughts and the what-ifs that you believe were to happen, were gonna happen no matter what you did; because the multiverse... follows a linear path, your actions are futile against the great force that pulls and pushes everything into action, right? you didn't even realize it, but a few tears stained your shirt as you shakily took a breath in and out, snapping you back to reality as you finally felt the warmth of the tears you were shedding fall down on your chest and lap like it's raining on you. you tried wiping the tears away, hoping the hot tears would quit falling as you sniffled and muttered to yourself–begging, pleading to yourself that the crying would end soon... but it got worse the longer you forced yourself to stop.

you got angry, angry at your tears, angry at how loud everything seemed when all that filled the room was silence—you were angry at yourself for feeling this way, not even knowing why you were feeling this way. you muttered to yourself to stop it, stop it, stop crying—but that made your tears flow even more as you felt your chest tighten and get heavier. you sighed all shakily and gave in to the emotions you were feeling at that moment, a whirlwind of feelings hitting you all at once, and making you disoriented and confused about everything. you didn't wanna face it, you didn't want to dig any deeper, and much less concern someone with how you felt—but of course, your feelings can never be ignored by the one person who sees beyond that exterior of yours...

"oh, cariño, what... happened?" miguel asked you gently as he walked over to you, crouching down to your level and looking at you with nothing but concern and worry filling his eyes. his gaze was soft and endearing, he didn't look menacing nor intimidating at that moment—he'd dread for you to see him that way, especially seeing you so vulnerable and sobbing all over yourself and sniffling back your tears. he gently approached you all slowly, not wanting to startle you and make you even more scared or sad or whatever it is you were feeling. you sniffled and tried telling miguel how you felt, but no words came out of your mouth—only choked sobs of an indescribable feeling escaped your throat as you began to cry again. "i'm tired, miguel... so tired... i don't—i don't even know why i'm crying, why am i... fuck, i'm a mess... this is embarassing..." you sobbed out as miguel shushed you and gently wrapped his arms around you, practically cradling you in his big, muscular arms as a means to soothe you.

"love... i don't know what's wrong, but... if you feel like crying, go for it. if you don't feel like talking, you don't need to. i'm always, always, gonna be here for you, okay?" he whispered to you as you choked on your sobs again and leaned against him as you kept crying. you expressed to miguel how everything felt like it was crashing down on you, how nothing you did alleviated the pains and worries you were experiencing, and you—for a moment—doubted your own abilities and asked yourself just what were you good for? miguel sighed gently and brushed your stray hairs away from your face and looked at you with the softest eyes. he pressed his lips against the lower parts of your eyes and kissed your tears away; he muttered to you how perfect you already are to him, that what you're worrying about... to him, at least, isn't true. "you're so amazing, mi vida, you never... never fail to make me so, so proud of you. if i could just give you my eyes, for you to see what i see in you, i would do in a heartbeat. it hurts me so much that... you have no idea how wonderful you are, mi amor." he whispered to you in between kissing your tears away.

it may not have been the ultimate solution to your anxiety and overthinking, and it may not have taken away all your overwhelming feelings about the uncertain future—but miguel didn't ever want you to tread through these rocky paths alone, he wanted your hand in his as he walks alongside you and takes on every challenge that comes your way with you, and be with you for both the good and the bad times, because he loves you too much to bear, he can't not be with you. no matter what happens or where you'll go, he'll be with you as much as he can, and make a peaceful forever with you; he'll make every loving moment between you last longer than a second, and make you feel like a happy, blissful eternity with him can be real, and he'll do everything in his power to comfort you and help you walk every step of the way to that eternity.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[frikatilhi]

E for mma guy fic (sorry. Hi), F because your dialogue is so good omg i love you

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES EXCELLENT QUESTION

It would obviously be a divergence from the main fic that scene is a part of, and in it Bojan would go back to the gym and they would do it right there on the mat, only they would keep up the pretense that everything they're doing is actually just a standard MMA drill.

"Yeah, and now if you just position your hand there-- uhhh god yes, right, very good, just keep your wrist parallel to-- ngggghh excellent"

"And what you want to do here is keep the momentum going by arching your back just a little - yes, maybe pick up the pace just a tad - sure yeah just be mindful of that lock you don't want to overbend your elbow---"

(Have you ever googled MMA drills?? Are they all NOT supposed to look like elaborate foreplay or sad eastern european porn set-ups????)

Anyway, thank you, let's do this again soon

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I mean, that dialogue right up there is pretty solid, huh?

Oh dearrrrrr though!! I do love to write dialogue but I don't know what comes to mind. Oh, maybe some band banter? I love writing the guys taking the piss on Bojan when he's being oblivious pöljä!Bojan.

I like the Bieber scene and the scene in the van from Chapter 2 of oothan tässä vielä huomenna, I had a blast writing them. Both of those were dialogue-only at first, and I rewrote them to fit that fic. Oh, and also the band scenes from Me ollaan ne and you make me smile with my heart.

Did I mention I love writing dialogue only? This one about matchmaker Joker out is just so precious to me, especially the part where they brainstorm get-the-idiots-together ideas:

“We could get them drunk tonight?” “We’ve tried that before. Bojan drinks too much and becomes totally unfuckable.” “We sabotage his alarm tomorrow morning so he’ll have to stay?” “That would be good, except we kinda need him for Stožice rehearsal.” “One day couldn’t hurt?” “You really think he’d make it back after only a day?” “Yeah, good point.” “What if one of us just tells Jere?” “Bojči would never forgive us.” “He would if it works out?” “We still don’t know for sure, though.” “Don’t we? I mean. Look at them.” “Still, it could backfire. I think he needs to do it on his own.” “Truth or dare? Never have I ever, again?” “One hotel room, one bed?” “Sex pollen?” “What?” “Sorry, I thought we were just shouting out fanfiction tropes.”

Oh! And the very first dialogue only fic I did where I was manifesting the summer rubber song?

“And me?” “What about you?” “Do you mention me?” “...” “Jere!” “No, of course, no!” “No? You sure? Nothing about you ramming some Bobby from Slovakia from the top, bottom, and sideways? Nothing like that?” “Um. Now that you ask.” “Oh fuck me.” “Now you just say lines from the song again. Who told you?”

And why am I proud of them? I'm proud of anything that makes someone else besides me laugh, and all of those have done so.

Ok, I totally went overboard with this one, didn't I???

Fanfic ask game

[themistressdomme]

Mommmyyyyy!!! Guess what? It’s my birthday today! Woo!

For the past couple of days, I’ve been really excited to tell you. I’m just a very shy person… I also am very self-conscious of my birthday. I’m working on self-love, but for some reason on my birthday I feel like I have to be even more behaved. I just go nonverbal… I feel like if I celebrate, it would look selfish. I’m just so used to working for others, I forgot to work for myself- oops! Even telling you this, feels like I’m being mean 😭.

What do you propose we do to celebrate? I’m just your silly little housewife… maybe a day where we’re all soft, reassuring… maybe some gentle, slow, and soft sex, where you praise me and tell me that I just don’t need to worry… ahhh, I’m helpless right now, mommy 🥺

Haaappy birrrrthday to yooooou~ Haaappy biiirthday to yooou~ Happy biiiiirthdaaaaay dearrrrrr Muuuuuugiiiii~ Haaaaaappy biiiiiiirthdayyy toooooo youuuuuuuuu!!!🎶~~~ Hip hip!! Hooray!!! Hip hip!! Hooray!!!

Oh my goodness! Happiest of birthdays, my Lav!!!! You're working on self-love, and I am so proud of you for that, love!! So proud! Always remember that you have absolutely no reason to be conscious that you might come across as selfish! After all, if there's one day that we all deserve to be tad bit selfish on, it's our birthday! 🤗 Keep going, keep trying your best to work on yourself! You deserve it most than other people, because you can care better for them when you are cared for by yourself!! 🥰

Oh, my darling little housewife. I'd make sure to spoil you rotten, hm? I'd send you out of the house for a couple of hours so that Mommy can decorate the entire place up for her special little doll. So many balloons (maybe even a balloon arch???), tassels on every single doorframe, and so many little presents hidden all over the house as a little scavenger hunt, perhaps? All for my special birthday girl 🥰

When you're done with that, we'll have a little candle-lit dinner, and Mommy would have tried her best to cook! If it's inedible, we shall order in 😅 I think you might not want to go to a fancy place out, since you say you're a little self-conscious of coming across as selfish, so let Mommy do everything for you at home, okay? I'd tell you how perfect you are as Mommy's little housewife; how proud I am of all that you have accomplished in your life, and how I am the luckiest person alive to have you be my home 🤗

After dinner, we'll get into a hot bath that I've drawn for us 🥰 There will be bubbles and petals floating in the water, and candles everywhere for my sweet thing. I'll get in first and extend a hand, helping you get in. We'll get settled, me behind you, and I'll run my hands softly all over your body, whispering in your ear how beautiful and perfect and gorgeous and pretty Mommy's little housewife is 😘 So many little kisses on your head. I'd remind you that today is all about you, and how Mommy wants to make it all about you, so no feeling guilty! 🥰

Maybe Mommy will get a little naughty in the bath, hm? After all, my hands will be roaming...

I'll wash your hair for you, if you want, and when we rinse off, I'll wrap you up in the fluffiest bath robe that I'd have gotten for you as part of your presents 😋

Then I'll lead you onto the bed. We can have soft cuddles in bed that eventually turn into the softest, gentlest, slow sex 🥰😘 Full of kissing and "good girl"s, and "you're doing so good for me"s. Anything for my birthday girl 😉

Happy birthday again, sweet angel! I hope you have an absolutely fantabulous day!!! 😘😘😘

[fallenclan]

Im having a mouse hard attack

THANK YOU DRAGON ANON YOU ARE SO SPECIALL AND DEARRRRRR OH MY GOSH ♡

-🐁

you're having a what

[okcoolthanks]

Oh dearrrrrr therapy todayyyyyyyyy

[edienotsedgwick]

Oh dear oh dearrrrrr I promise I listened to heaps of other music

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Hiiii bestie hope you're doing well 🫶🏼

I'm a little late reading the last instalment of wereroomies bc I'm been super sick lately (slightly better now) but I just caught up last night AND DEARRRRRR LORD 🫣🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 I passed out as soon as I finished reading lmao, but my thoughts:

- THE WAY I GASPED at reading poor bby Felix's origin story :((((( that alpha was infuriating, so glad he escaped

- The way he met Hyunjin and the way he improved his life and gently encouraged him 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 sobssssss!!! I'M SO SOFT FOR THESE TWO. THEY ARE SOULMATES YOUR HONOR

- oh but the way I sobbed even harder when Chris welcomed him into his pack 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 AND WHEN HYUNE JOINED OMGGGGG

- Now, reader's pack sounds cool AF like???? I'd have never imagined something like that but absolutely loved how diverse and cool it sounded.

- Absolutely ADORED the relationship between these three. The way Hyunjin and Felix are so open and trusting with each other and the knowledge that they have each other's backs 🥹

- the smut had me SCREAMING OH TO BE SANDWICHED BETWEEN THESE TWO GOD 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

- I think it's really interesting that now reader's kind of 'trapped' between two packs, idk if you want to develop that more but it'd be fun to see how it works out

This is already long af but I have to tell you about the dream I had after I passed out lmao 😅 I dreamed I was putting make up on Hyunjin and I was super close to his face so we started making out 🫣 and then Felix appeared from behind and he pulled away from me to start making out with him YEDJDJJS thank you sm for putting that image in my head 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

You're such a great writer honestly, so excited to read everything you write 🥰

- 🍒

ooohh darling i'm sorry you're sick ): hope you get all better soon !

hyunlix in this story are so incredibly cute honestly... i love them. loved writing them and their bond it was so great, and with the addition of the reader it's all just so jafsksfhskdjfh there's jsut so much love in that triplet, i just love it.

the reader's pack in this story is something i'm hoping to expand on in the future ! i have a handful of ideas.... we'll see 👀

also YOUR DREAM I'M SCREAMING SDKJHSDKJFSHDF love it love it jdskfhskjdfhsfd

thank you bby i'm glad you enjoy what i do just as much as i enjoy sharing it with y'all💜

[pascalispretty]

Thank you so much! The tags are so real; oh nooooo the hot general is gonna run me down and ravish me, oh dearrrrrr 😳

each man's mad desire

General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Marcus Acacius is a conqueror. You invite him to conquer you.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: marcus fucks a nymph, predator/prey, knifeplay, blood, thigh riding, rough sex, sorta consensual-non-consent? Reader very explicitly wants him and invites him to hunt her down. Marcus has an unfashionably huge dick.

A/N: I swore I wasn't going to write for another character from an unreleased film, yet here we are. I loved studying Classics, so there are easter eggs within for those familiar with mythology. "Nymph" is more Greek than Roman, but it's also the better-known version of the word. Barcinus is a completely made-up cognomen for him (from the Latin name for Barcelona). Ichor is a Greek concept, but too delicious not to borrow here. Big dicks really were considered unattractive - it was a sign of barbarism to have a big penis. Title from Book IX of The Aeneid. (ao3)

The battle is won, the men are settled, and General Marcus Acacius is restless. He wears the efforts of the day in the blood and grime and sand coating his skin, the ache in his muscles. The city is retaken. The barbarians have been slaughtered or captured. He knows he should rest.

And yet, he wanders.

The camp is close by the beach. As he walks, the sound of the army behind him fades away, drowned out by the sound of the sea. The inviting aroma of the campfires and roasting meat is replaced by the smell of salt. There are sentries out here, somewhere in the night. He pays them no mind; he wishes to be alone. Grass turns to sand underfoot and still Acacius walks on. At the edge of the sea, he pauses briefly.

Across the Great Sea, to the east, stands Rome. It’s veiled by darkness and distance, but he turns to look for it anyway. He misses it the way a loyal son misses a beloved father. Word of a great victory will travel before him, the whispers moving faster than any army can.

When he returns home, he hopes he will be warmly welcomed. Those seeking to ride his skirts into Imperial favour will doubtless fall over themselves to praise him, at least. They will preen and flatter, and he will nod humbly and thank them.

“The Gods were with me.” It is always his answer, when asked of his victories. It is a clean answer. Men praise him for his piety; they do not imagine the lives he has sacrificed, the atrocities he has committed, the horrors of sacking a city. The Gods were with him; he does not have to speak of loosing his men like feral dogs upon innocents, of slaughtering barbarian sons so they cannot grow up to seek their vengeance on Rome.

Acacius turns and walks down the beach, leaving the camp behind him. The silvery light of the stars and moon light his path along the coast. He simply enjoys being away from all others, the crash of the waves and his own footsteps the only noise he can hear. The ground to his right begins to rise, soft grass yielding to rock. He has no sense of how long he has walked for when the beach before him suddenly ends. The shoreline curves sharply inward, creating a rocky inlet.

He has no desire to turn back now. Perhaps the path reemerges on the other side. He follows the curve of the stone inward. Ahead, he can see the path sloping down towards the waterline, leading towards the dark mouth of a cave. The tide is coming in; the water at the entrance to the grotto must be at least knee-deep.

Acacius is turning to leave when he notices her.

The inlet in the rock forms a pool at the entrance to the cave. Even in the silvery moonlight, the water looks beautiful and clear. It should not surprise him that a maiden might come to bathe there, away from prying eyes.

For it is a maiden that stops him in his tracks, fixes his boots to the stone. Her back is turned to him; she is perched atop a rock, her bare feet dangling in the saltwater of the pool. Now that he is aware of her, he thinks he hears her singing over the sounds of the waves, a melody he does not recognise.

An honourable man would depart. Acacius can only see her back, but she must be noble. Her dress is so white it is almost blinding, even in the starlight. Her feet are bare, but he spies a pair of finely-wrought sandals on the rocks beside her. Certainly a noble lady then.

His mind is made up to leave.

And at that very moment, she turns.

***

You had not expected to be discovered. Perhaps you might have toyed with him if you had. You could have disguised yourself as a maiden in need of assistance, a princess cast ashore by a shipwreck. There are endless amusements to be found among the mortals.

Yet he has stumbled upon your grotto quite by accident, and from your first glimpse, he intrigues you.

Marcus Acacius Barcinus.

Something whispers his name to you; you know it as soon as you see him, just as you know he has dark hair threaded with grey. You allow a smile to play on your lips.

To his credit, this man does not move. Confronted with something so nakedly celestial, other men have lost their minds. What is it for a man to look upon the face of the divine? They do not always survive it. This one seems strong. He may yet survive you.

“Hail, noble General,” you start, turning in your seat on the rock so you may face him more directly. He is a handsome one. His lovely dark eyes drink you in from head to toe.

“You know me?” He manages after a moment. Not mad then, not yet anyway. You laugh, and he seems startled by the sound.

“I do.” Sliding off the rock you step into the water, your stola clinging to your skin. “General Marcus Acacius Barcinus, son of Gaius Acacius. Your piety is known.” He is always attentive with his sacrifices. You can smell the burning flesh and spilled wine dedicated to the heavens from here, in honour of his latest victory.

You take a few steps towards him. He’s still atop the rocky crest, almost looking down on you. You near the base of the slope, your skirts drying the moment they leave the water, and halt again. The mouth of the grotto is to your back; you can hear the lap of the waves echoing against the rocky walls.

“And which noble goddess do I have the honour of addressing?” He asks. You have many names, too many to sift through. A mortal wrote you into a poem once; you give him the name the poet gave you.

“I had not thought ever to look upon a nymph before.” There is something in the way he says it; a tone of disbelief colouring his voice. It’s as though he expects to wake up in his tent at any moment. In the dark violet light of twilight, the blood on his skin looks brown and rusty. You can almost taste the iron on the air.

“Are you content merely to look?” You ask him, a sly smile on your lips. You already know he is not. This man is a conqueror, and he is looking at you with all the intensity and desire of a man set upon conquest. He does not speak for a long moment. Perhaps he is afraid of offending you, of saying the wrong thing and finding himself transformed into a pig or sea foam.

You walk a little closer to him, emerging from the water. Closer now, the smell of him drowning out the salt of the sea. He reeks of man, of blood and sweat and such pure vitality you nearly stagger. He’s so breathtakingly alive. If all mortal men are thus, you understand why your sisters seek them out and take them to bed, even bear their children.

“I admire a man who knows how to take what he desires. A conqueror in all things,” you continue, feeling the warmth of his gaze as he watches the sway of your hips. Once you are an arm’s length away from him, you reach out. You cannot help it. He’s such a marvellous specimen of manhood, the kind that ought to be honoured with a kingdom or a divine son or his form traced in the stars.

He does not stop you when you rest your palm against the leather of his cuirass. It’s warm to the touch, whether from the heat of his body or a day of the sun beating down upon it. The black leather has a gilded woman’s face across the front; Minerva perhaps. It gives you pause. If he values Minerva and her strategies above Mars and his frenzy, he may not enjoy your games.

Nevertheless, you will not let the tastes of mortal men unnerve you. He watches you as you undo the knot at one shoulder, and wordlessly reaches to help you. Together, the two of you free him from his heavy armour. As he sets it down gently against the rock, you nearly choke on him. You can hear the thrum of his heart, smell the salt of his sweat, the iron in his blood.

You have never starved. Yet this conqueror of men is like being blessed with a feast and realising for the first time that you have been dying of hunger all your life. Freed from his heavy leathers, you step so closely to him that your glimmering white dress brushes against his filthy red tunic. You reach out to cup his jaw, enjoying the way his skin feels to your touch.

He swallows thickly, his lovely eyes searching your face.

“I want you.” He says it simply, though you know it must have taken courage. Men have died for such insults before. You let a smile curl around your lips.  

“Mars himself had my maidenhead. I do not submit easily to the advances of men.” Standing on tiptoe, you lean in until your lips nearly touch the shell of his ear. “If you want me, you will have to take me.”

It’s all the prompting you give him before you turn and run.

You run down the beach, back the way he came. You have more powerful kin who could outrun him with ease, if they chose. Minerva could be a continent away in moments, if she chose. You do not have their same powers; you might be fleeter of foot than a mortal woman, but you cannot transform yourself into a swan and fly back to the heavens.

Behind you, you hear Acacius’ feet pounding against the sand. The noise blurs with the roar of his heartbeat, thumping harder as he chases you. You run faster, pulling your skirts up with one hand so they cannot tangle around your legs. It has been far too long since you felt this exhilarated. Off in the distance, you can see the lights of his camp, the torches and bonfires burning brightly in the twilight.

You lose yourself to the chase, paying the distance no mind as you race down the beach. Sand flies up beneath your bare feet, gritty under your toes as you run. Something in you wants to turn around, to see if the handsome general is still close behind you. You can hear him well enough to know he is behind you, but not well enough to gauge the distance.

You don’t look. You only run.

Even though you had invited the hunt, desperately hoping to be caught, the hand that catches your waist surprises you. He seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the sand, pinning you beneath his muscular bulk. The feeling of being trapped sends a perverse thrill racing through you, something warm stirring in your belly.

Though he has caught you, you do not give in so easily.

You thrash underneath him, trying to throw him off you. Acacius is unyielding. His large hands grip your arms; his knees squeeze at your sides. You get one arm free and bring it up. You’re not sure what you intend to do; you don’t want to break him. Scratch him, perhaps? You never get the chance to find out.

Before you see him move, he seizes your arm and pins your wrist beneath his foot. One hand flies to your throat; the other draws a dagger from its sheath and holds the point against the swell of your breast.

For a long moment, you cannot breathe. The large hand at your throat squeezes just enough to threaten a loss of air. The foot on your wrist makes the delicate bones there grind together on just the right side of pleasure-pain. And oh, the blade at your heart. The tip pierces your skin and you don’t know whether to scream or cry or vomit from the shock.

You have never been so still in your life.

When has anything mortal ever pierced your skin? When has anything mortal managed to cut through the skin of your kith and kin? You have vague memories; bandaging Mars’ side after the great spearman Diomedes struck him outside Ilium. You watch in horror and awe as a bead of ichor seeps from the pinprick wound. Mars has made you bleed before, but you never thought a mortal might draw your glittering, golden blood.

You look up at him, your conqueror. He is panting hard, but his face shows no exhaustion; only determination. His eyes are nearly black with desire, and his lovely black and grey curls are damp with sweat. Gods, you want him. You want him to hunt you down as he would a deer, to throw you down and take you like some common mortal whore.

Watching you closely, Acacius eases his grip on your throat. A man used to gauging the weakness of his enemies has seen right through you in turn. He knows you do not need air to breathe. He knows he has done something astounding in the knife at your breast. He holds it steady as he reaches beneath the skirts of his tunic, pulling at the strings of his underthings. He pulls it free with a grunt and discards it beside you in the sand.

Free from its confinement, his manhood pushes against the skirt of his tunic. Something low in your belly twists in anticipation, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your blood feels as though it’s boiling beneath your skin as Acacius grips the fine cloth of your stola in one filthy hand.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes upon,” he tells you, in all sincerity. You tremble underneath him as he pushes your skirts up around your waist, another bead of ichor welling up around the tip of the blade.

You gasp as the metal shifts, and his eyes flick to your face. Almost lovingly, his hand wraps around your throat again.

“Do you yield?” When no reply is immediately forthcoming, he presses his advantage. The hand at your throat and foot at your wrist push harder; more glittering blood beads at your breast. The surface tension finally breaks, sending the blood dripping down towards your neck.

“I yield.” In an instant, he relaxes his hold. The foot on your wrist disappears, as does the blade. The hand on your throat remains, tipping your head up so he can kiss you. He kisses like his master, Mars; hard and demanding. You return the kiss with bruising intensity, nipping at his lower lip. It seems only fair that you make him bleed a little, in turn.

His beard prickles against your skin, and you answer it by sliding your hand into his curls and pulling roughly. Acacius groans against your mouth, crushing himself closer to you and forcing your legs apart with his knee. His muscular thigh presses against your bare cunt, the pressure sending liquid fire dancing through your body. You rut up against his thigh eagerly, your slick smearing against his skin.

Acacius notices your movements, breaking off the kiss to stare at you. The raw lust in his eyes makes you keep going, rocking your hips desperately against him. His thigh flexes between your legs, and you groan loudly. Without taking his eyes off you, his hand drifts to cup your breast, tantalisingly close to the tiny wound on your unblemished skin.

“Are you going to stab me again, slayer of men?” You ask him, tauntingly. You wouldn’t mind if he did.

“No, dear mistress. I’ll watch you debase yourself on my thigh.” Oh, you want to keep him. Your sisters have kept mortals before; you remember well the fuss around sweet Hylas, cunning Ulysses. Your conqueror finds your nipple through the fine material of your dress, the flesh stiffening beneath his fingers as he toys with you.

Your hips roll easier, faster as you sink deeper into your pleasure. Every glide becomes slicker as you soak his skin. It’s been some time since you’ve so blatantly sought your own pleasure, and you welcome it back eagerly. That familiar tension is coiling tightly in your belly and sends you spiralling higher with every movement.

Acacius watches you with fascination. His own pleasure is forgotten for the moment, though you suppose he is enjoying this. Something divine rubbing against him like a cat in heat; no man alive would believe him if he told them. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps and you clutch at Acacius’ wrist to ground yourself. He’s so solid and warm to your touch; his vitality is unlike any aphrodisiac you have ever known.

It’s not long before you come with a cry, your nails digging into Acacius’ skin as you shudder against him. The fire in your belly burns through you, the heat of it radiating out to your fingertips. It leaves you boneless beneath your conqueror. He seizes the advantage, pulling your legs wider apart to slot his other leg between them.

You struggle. Why not? It amuses you to make him manhandle you into place. He pulls your legs wider with one hand. With the thumb of the hand at your breast, he presses just below the cut. The burst of pain makes you hiss. Cowed, you let him pull your legs apart, his eyes feasting on your cunt. You must look a mess, swollen and soaked.

Acacius lets go of your leg and pulls up the hem of his tunic. He’s big, unfashionably so for his countrymen. Beads of fluid leak from the reddened tip, and he swipes them away with his thumb. He settles himself between your thighs, and you gasp when he notches the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. Without warning or reprieve, he forces his cock inside you.

You throw your head back against the sand, stars exploding against your closed eyelids as you dance along the knife edge of pleasure and pain. A deep groan rumbles out of Acacius’ throat as he presses deeper, working against your tight muscles to seat himself within you. He’s unrelenting, his length thick and twitching as it fills you.

There’s no other word for it; you wail up at the star-strewn sky, pleasure flooding through you. Your body feels too small to contain the fire being stoked inside you, deep in your core. You pull at Acacius, nails clawing, dragging him down to kiss you. His lips meet yours in a messy crash, all tongues and teeth as he finally seats himself fully within you.

He barely allows you a moment to adjust. He retreats almost fully, his cock nearly leaving you completely, before sliding back in with one fluid stroke of his hips. You’re shaken by how willingly your body accepts him, colouring any pain with so much pleasure you barely notice the discomfort. His hand finds your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you feel lightheaded.

Acacius’ incursions become sharper, harder, as he finds his rhythm. Your hands slide under the hem of his tunic to clutch at his back, your nails leaving behind tiny red crescents in his skin. Every breath you take is shared by him, your mouths so close together you can taste the wine lingering on his tongue. The two of you move together, your moans melting into one another as you fuck like animals in the sand.

It doesn’t take him long to send you over the edge again. Bliss wipes all words from your mind; you can only lie there and let your release crash over you. The ichor in your veins feels like it’s singing. Acacius looks down on you in awe, and it only drives you higher. You want to keep him. The Heroic Age is too far past; the world is lacking for heroes. Perhaps you and Acacius can make a few; handsome, strong boys, half-god children who reflect their father’s divine favour.

“Would you give me sons, Acacius?” You ask, breathless at his onslaught. Your foreheads are pressed together still; you cannot see the look on his face. He groans sharply, his hands clutch tighter at you. Is that a yes? What greater blessing to a pious man than a son born to a goddess.

He certainly shows no signs of stopping. He fucks you with the same vigour he fights with. You feel like you’re floating, high above your own body, lost completely to pleasure. Jupiter himself could command you to stop, and you’d be unable to obey. You grow restless beneath him. His hand has slackened around your throat, so you lean down to lick a line across his neck. The taste of salt and iron explodes across your tongue, so delicious that you have to force yourself not to sink your teeth in.

Acacius grunts above you, forcing you back down against the sand. His hips are stuttering; a sign that he’s close to his own release. You want to cry, want to prolong this as much as possible, but you know he has limits. Your sisters have pushed mortal men too far before; you will not make the same mistake, not with so delicious a playmate.

Instead you spur him on. Your nails dig harder into his back, making him groan sharply. His short, desperate thrusts make your eyes roll back into your skull as he touches something deep and private within you, unknown to anyone else.

“I- I must-” He starts, words failing him as he chases his release. You pepper his face with kisses, nip at his kiss-swollen lips.

“You must,” you agree. “I want you to fill me up.” You’re both breathless, barely any air between your bodies to breathe. One of your hands slides into his curls, pulling at them. You guide his head down until your lips are at his ear again.

“I could give you a son,” you whisper. “But only if you finish inside me. Claim me; mark me as yours. Conquer me.”

He tips over the edge with a loud groan, his hips stuttering as he comes. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as he does, filling you with his seed. Perhaps something might catch; he seems virile enough. You cradle his head against the crook of your neck as he catches his breath, his body heavy as he relaxes on top of you.

“Noble Acacius,” you murmur fondly, stroking his curls. “Marcus. What do you make of your new conquest?” He is quiet for a long moment. The crash of the waves fills the silence, the tide drawing closer. Soon, the two of you will have to move.

“I shall never know another victory like it.”

Taglist:

Tagging some people who might be interested: @iamasaddie (per their request for Acacius filth) @avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse

[asktheheirofslytherin]

bless my satanic body with holy water while I recite the Bible in 20 languages, daddy

There is a lot going on in this request.

You wish for me to exorcise you - already a questionable ask seeing as I am a practitioner of dark magic - but the inclusion of the term "daddy" makes this...sexual.

[backdraft-bimbo]

Unpopular(?) opinion: Dark!Castiel and Michael!Dean hit with the exact same amount of secondhand embarrassment

[royaliity]

Maverick is temporarily in love with Freyja.

Maverick’s heart felt strained. Like someone was tugging it away from someone and sending it to another. It’s a very strange feeling and although he tried to keep where it was, it seemed to be far from his decision. There was a loneliness, a strangeness that was now filled with attention for another. A fellow avenger and sister to someone that had so suddenly become a friend to him. As though he were hypnotized, Maverick sighed.

“Freyja…” He sighed, happily daydreaming.

[the-osborn-way]

Oh DEARRRRRR----

. oops 😅