#Fic: I Pre Defined | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fellominaarcher · 3 months ago

Text

PILLOWTALK

⤷ Pairing: Karina x idol, g!p fem!reader

⤷ Fic type: oneshot

⤷ Content warning: alcohol, smut, 18+ only, sex, penis + vagina with protection, oral sex (both receiving) and basically smut with a plot. This will be LOOONG.

⤷ Author's note: based on a real event I attended.

SM Entertainment had finally granted aespa a much-needed two-month break, a rare miracle in the idol world. No rehearsals, no packed schedules, no chaotic airport runs or 4AM music show pre-record. Just... freedom.

Well, freedom and a bit of boredom.

For Karina, more humbly known as Jimin, this sudden dose of free time was starting to feel like a curse. There were only so many shows to binge, and she’d already cleaned her closet twice.

That’s when Giselle—Aeri waltzed into her room like a pink-haired hurricane.

“You have to come with me to this thing,” Aeri said, practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s a function. Not like an awards show or a party. It’s... different.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, lounging on her bed in sweats. “Define different.”

“It’s called Blind One Night Stand.”

Jimin blinked.

“I know how it sounds,” Aeri added quickly, holding up both hands. “But hear me out. It’s like a blind date but for idols only. No cameras. No managers. Just... one night. One person. No strings.”

It sounded ridiculous. Risky. Chaotic.

“But genius,” Aeri added with a wink. “A third-gen senior is behind it. Trust me, it’s legit.” The rapper assured the leader.

Still, she wasn't easily sold.

Jimin folded her arms. “You want me to go have sex with a stranger?” Her right eyebrow was raised high and she gave Aeri a questioning look.

“I’m going to have sex with a stranger,” Aeri corrected, grinning. “You’re going to come as my emotional support... and also maybe have sex with a stranger.” The Japanese girl added with a smug smile.

Jimin opened her mouth to argue but Aeri had already handed her a phone and pointed to a Telegram contact.

“It’s all anonymous,” she said. “You just send them your name, group, and gender preference. That’s it.” It was an easy and a simple step for such an event.

Jimin frowned. The thought of some faceless idol trying to hit on her and touch her body? It gave her mixed feelings—curiosity and anxiety.

After a long pause and one very judgmental look at her ceiling, Jimin gave in.

Karina. Aespa. Doesn’t matter. She typed and hit send.

And just like that, the wheels were in motion.

──────────────────────

The night arrived faster than expected.

The venue: a luxury hotel in Seoul, glimmering under neon lights. One of those discreet places with soundproof walls, a private lounge, and a bar stocked with designer liquor.

Jimin sat perched on a velvet barstool, a half-finished cocktail in one hand, her phone in the other. Her long black hair was let flowing free to perfection, her body wrapped in something black that clung to her in all the right places but still, she wasn’t feeling it.

The music pulsed low and steady in the background, giving her thoughts something to dance around.

Familiar faces were scattered around, some idols she recognized immediately, others she only vaguely remembered. There were more people here than she expected. A few faces she wasn’t sure she should’ve seen in this kind of setting. But nobody was acting out.

She could’ve left. She was this close to standing up and ghosting the whole thing.

Then Aeri returned.

The Japanese girl practically floated over, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “Jimin! I’m going to my room! They said my partner’s already waiting!” she sang, flashing a hotel key card in front of her friend’s face.

Jimin blinked slowly. “Wow. That fast?” Half-amused by the whole thing.

“Mmhmm,” Aeri hummed proudly. “Catch me glowing tomorrow morning.” Her voice was almost a whisper as if it was a secret.

Jimin scoffed, a brow up. “Catch something else while you’re at it.” Giving her friend a playful dirty look.

“Relax, Yoo Jimin. I brought a whole damn pharmacy,” Aeri winked, twirling the key card between her fingers. “I’ll be hydrated, protected, and possibly sore.”

Jimin groaned. “TMI, Aeri.” As she glared at Aeri and she had her arms crossed.

“Don’t wait too long or someone hotter might steal your mystery person,” Aeri teased as she sauntered off toward the elevators.

“Don’t forget your condom, Aeri!” Jimin called after her, voice loud at first then fading mid-sentence.

She sighed, finishing the rest of her cocktail before reaching for the whiskey that had been prepped on the side. Her reflection in the glass glinted back at her—cool, composed, and slightly tipsy.

Then her phone pinged.

Anonymous: Your partner is waiting for you in the room. Go to the main counter, say your name, and get your key card.

Jimin blinked at the message. Her heart skipped once. Twice. She reacted with a single emoji: Okay.

She tapped her nails on the wood of the bar, contemplating. She could still leave. Blame a stomach ache. Say her driver was waiting.

But instead... she stood.

When else am I going to do this if not now? she reasoned. It’s our break. No one’s watching.

She adjusted her outfit, slung her small handbag over her shoulder, and made her way to the front desk. The receptionist was unbothered and clearly used to this, handed her a single keycard after a short exchange.

Room 1104.

She stared at the number for a second. Of course, she thought. That’s her birthday—April 11th. A weird little coincidence.

Her fingers curled around the keycard. No turning back now.

──────────────────────

The elevator ride was silent. Too silent.

Jimin leaned against the mirrored wall, watching the numbers climb. Floor 9. Floor 10. Floor 11.

Ding.

The doors opened and the hallway stretched before her, warmly lit and eerily quiet. Room 1104 was just around the corner.

Each step she took echoed softly, her heels clicking against the carpeted floor.

She stopped in front of the door. Her hand hovered over the handle. Then she slid the card into the slot.

Green light. Click.

The door opened.

Jimin took a deep breath as her fingers wrapped around the door handle of Room 1104. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, louder than she’d like to admit. Everything about this situation was surreal. A blind hookup event just for idols? It sounded insane when Aeri first brought it up, and even more so now that she was actually stepping into a hotel room for it.

Who the hell am I about to see?

“This better be worth it,” she muttered under her breath.

The door clicked open, revealing the soft glow of ambient light and the silhouette of a figure standing by the large window that overlooked Seoul’s glittering skyline.

And then Y/N turned around.

The sight knocked the air right out of Jimin’s lungs.

Y/N. From Celestial. All black outfit. Sleeves rolled, shirt was well pressed, dark hair tucked behind one ear, with her piercing gaze cutting right through Jimin's soul. She was gorgeous on TV. She was divine in person.

“Holy shit,” Jimin whispered before she could stop herself.

Y/N blinked in mild surprise and slowly smirked, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I won’t even guess. You’re literally Karina,” she said smoothly. “Didn’t think you’d show up to something like this.”

Jimin swallowed and tried to snap out of her daze. “Yeah… yeah, I didn’t think I would either.” She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “Peer pressure.” And the awkward laugh that came out of her mouth afterwards.

Jimin froze for a split second. She blinked, taking a few stunned breaths as her eyes subtly scanned the other woman. Her face, her lips, her scent—fuck. She was even more beautiful up close. She looked like a living, breathing fantasy.

“Giselle was the reason I came,” Jimin admitted, her tone dry. “She basically dragged me into this. I’m pretty sure she’s already... getting busy somewhere in this hotel.” Her voice faded mentioning Giselle 'having fun' at this moment.

Y/N laughed softly, looking down at the carpet for a second before lifting her head again. Her smile was warm but teasing, eyes dancing with mischief. “I hope she stretches first.” Y/N added, as a joke.

She made her way deeper into the room, carefully placing her handbag on the side table. Her skin was warm already—some combination of nerves and alcohol. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she finally met Y/N’s eyes again.

Jimin chuckled and gave a slow nod. “I warned her to bring a condom.” Her eyes were quick to glance at Y/N every time she gets the chance to.

That earned another laugh from Y/N, who casually stepped toward the minibar and pulled out two glasses. “Well, happy accidents, I guess,” she said, pouring the whiskey like it was second nature. “You ended up with me.” Y/N casually shrugged.

“And you?” Jimin asked, arching a brow as she accepted the glass. “What made you come here tonight?”

“It’s my birthday,” Y/N said, clinking her glass against Jimin’s. “My member, Jiyoon, sent me here as a ‘gift.’ Thought I needed a little… chaos in my life.” Y/N rolled her eyes though there's a small smile on her lips.

Jimin raised her glass. “Then happy birthday.”

They both sipped. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was charged, curious, thick with unspoken thoughts.

The taller woman exhaled. “I figured we should take it slow,” Y/N said casually, nodding toward the sofa. “It’d be weird to just walk in and start taking our clothes off, right? I'd actually like to talk to you first. Doesn’t matter if we end up in bed or not.” that signature smile of hers.

Jimin blinked. That was unexpected. And kind of… hot?

That surprised Jimin. In a good way. The soft assurance in Y/N’s tone, the calm confidence, it made Jimin feel strangely safe. And even more curious. She took a seat beside her, legs crossing slowly, eyes locked.

God, she smells good.

The warmth of the whiskey was already trickling through her system, mixing with the buzz from earlier drinks. It only made Y/N more captivating. The golden glow of the lamp lit the side of Y/N’s face like a scene from a movie. Her voice. Her presence. The way she casually leaned into the conversation.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Taking a deep breath, “Oh yeah,” Y/N said, shifting slightly to face her. “What do I call you tonight? Karina? Or… Jimin?” Y/N tilted her head as she asked the question.

Jimin's heart fluttered at the question. She let the corner of her lips lift slowly before replying. “Karina isn’t here tonight, just Jimin. Call me Jimin, Y/N.” she said, her voice lower now, more intimate.

The name you’ll moan tonight.

Wait! WHAT?! Who said that?!

Jimin choked slightly on her whiskey, caught off guard by her own inner monologue. She coughed into her sleeve, cheeks burning, embarrassed by the sudden betrayal of her own mind.

Y/N blinked, surprised, but immediately leaned forward. “Are you okay?” she asked, eyes laced with a hint of concern and amusement.

Jimin nodded quickly, trying to salvage her dignity. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just went down the wrong pipe.” Jimin cleared her throat and straightened up in her seat.

She was about to spiral into full embarrassment mode, but Y/N tilted her head and chuckled. “You’re kinda cute when you’re flustered.” A brief eye contact from Y/N was made.

Jimin felt her body react instantly. A pull in her chest. A spark between her legs. Everything about this moment screamed invitation.

“Tell me something,” Y/N began, twirling her drink between her fingers. “Is this the first time you’ve done anything like this?”

Jimin bit her bottom lip before answering, “Yeah. First time I’ve even considered it. But I figured if I’m gonna make a reckless decision, I might as well make it during our break. No schedules. No cameras. No staff.” Attending a blind one night stand was already a crazy idea.

“Exactly,” Y/N agreed, setting her glass on the table. “We’re just two people tonight. Not idols.” Y/N told the Aespa leader.

That struck something in Jimin’s chest. No pretense. No pressure. Just… her.

Jimin leaned forward slightly, closing some of the distance between them. “So if we’re not idols right now… who are we?” Her voice was low and filled with a hint of intimacy.

Y/N’s eyes flicked down to Jimin’s lips, then back up again. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head and whispered, “Come here and find out.” Her heart was racing a little because the woman seated next to her was just so beautiful.

That was all the invitation Jimin needed.

Her glass was set down in a flash, and the next moment, their mouths crashed together—hot, slow, and loaded with the kind of tension that had been simmering since the door opened. Jimin climbed into Y/N’s lap like she’d done it a hundred times before, her hands in Y/N’s hair, Y/N’s fingers clutching at her waist like she never wanted her to leave.

Their tongues met—wet, hungry, and perfectly in sync. The first kiss was nothing short of sinful. Jimin had kissed before, sure, but this? This was indulgence. This was drowning. Y/N tasted like warm whiskey and something darker, deeper like something Jimin never wanted to stop savoring.

Their bodies were pressed flush on the couch, tangled up, heat building under their skin like fire about to catch. Jimin’s thighs were parted over Y/N’s lap, her hips already rocking without thinking, chasing friction. The dim hotel lighting bathed them in golden softness, shadows dancing over their features and fluttering lashes.

Y/N’s strong arms locked around Jimin’s waist like a vice, pulling her in with a desperate sort of greed, as if to say don’t fucking leave me tonight. And Jimin had no intention to.

Holding her like she was something precious, and that made Jimin’s heart stutter. But that didn’t stop the way lust clawed up her spine, demanding more.

When Y/N finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and glossy with spit, a strand of it still connecting their mouths. Her eyes were dark and half-lidded, flicking down to Jimin’s mouth and back again.

But instead of diving back in, Jimin smiled and cupped Y/N’s jaw, brushing her thumb across her cheek. She kissed her again, this time slower. Sweet, even. Like she wanted to memorize the shape of her lips.

Her hands explored without hesitation, fingertips skimming down the back of Y/N’s neck, over the slope of her shoulders, and finally landing at the buttons of her black shirt. She popped them open one by one, teasing, brushing her fingers over skin with a softness that made Y/N shiver.

At the same time, Y/N’s hands found Jimin’s ass, squeezing it firmly, possessively, and sliding down to the back of her thighs. A soft gasp slipped past Jimin’s lips and her grip on Y/N’s shirt tightened.

Jimin pulled away with a laugh against Y/N’s mouth. “Take me to the bed, silly,” she whispered, playful, breathless.

Y/N smirked, pressing one more kiss to her lips before lifting her up bridal-style with a grunt that made Jimin’s stomach flip. “As you wish, my birthday gift,” Y/N teased back.

Y/N grinned and kissed her again, quick and rough, before she stood up and without hesitation she scooped Jimin into her arms. Jimin laughed, her head resting against Y/N’s shoulder, hands curled around her neck as they made their way to the bed.

Y/N laid her gently on the bed, the pristine white sheets crinkling beneath her. Jimin’s dark hair fanned around her head like a halo as Y/N stood close, helping her remove her heels. They dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and Jimin reached out, tugging Y/N closer by her waistband.

"Happy birthday." She murmured teasingly, her kissable lips were a few centimeters away from Y/N's.

There was no rush, but also no patience.

Fingers worked fast, desperate. Buttons were undone, zippers pulled. Their laughter occasionally broke through the silence was nervous and playful but was quickly drowned out by the heat building between them.

Clothes were removed in a blur of clumsy hands and stolen kisses. Buttons popped. Fabric slid. Jimin’s black cloth ended up somewhere near the lamp, her bra tossed aside. Y/N’s shirt and pants were peeled away with urgency, leaving her in nothing but her boxer, already tented, already needy.

The taller woman knelt on the bed, slotting herself between Jimin’s thighs, then kissed her again, harder this time. The kind of kiss that stole your air. That said, you’re mine tonight. She kissed her way down, lips skimming Jimin’s jaw, down her neck, across her collarbones.

She kissed her way down Jimin's flesh, sucking gently until the skin turned a pretty shade of purple. Her mouth kept moving down, down to Jimin’s chest.

She licked a slow stripe across one nipple, and Jimin’s head tilted back with a groan. When Y/N finally took the nipple into her mouth and started to suck, slowly at first, then harder, Jimin whimpered and arched into the sensation.

“Fuck,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut.

Her own hand was already between her legs, fingers pressed firmly against her clit, rubbing slow circles as her other hand tangled in Y/N’s hair, keeping her close. “God, I can't wait anymore, Y/N.” The noises between them were wet, needy, breathless only made it worse, or better.

Her lips ghosted across her stomach, her hips, the inside of her thighs, making Jimin squirm.

And then finally, Y/N’s mouth was on her pussy.

The first lick was slow, deliberate, just to make her feel it. Y/N flattened her tongue and dragged it through her soaked folds, humming like she was tasting the best thing she’d ever had.

Jimin cried out, hand flying to the back of Y/N’s head, gripping her hair. “Holy shit, fuck!” she gasped, legs already shaking.

Y/N didn’t rush. She licked and sucked, alternating between soft teasing licks and hard flicks over her clit. Then she slipped two fingers inside, curling just right while her mouth kept working.

Jimin’s fingers threaded through the sheets, her other hand clutching her own breast, mouth open with breathless, fucked-out noises escaping every second.

“God, Y/N! Fuck, don’t stop,” Jimin cried out, voice breaking on the edge of a moan.

She gasped and cursed, her voice hoarse from the moans, and Y/N didn’t stop until Jimin begged her to.

And then… they switched.

Jimin pushed Y/N down on the bed. “You really thought you weren’t getting anything tonight?” she murmured, a small smile on her face.

“Is this my birthday gift?” Y/N teased back with a similar expression on her face and her impatience was about to break.

Y/N blinked, her smugness quickly melting into surprise as Jimin kissed down her chest, nipping at her skin with newfound hunger. Jimin’s lips left a trail of wet kisses along her abs, and then lower. Past her hip bones, down her thighs, all while holding her birthday girl’s gaze.

“You lay back,” Jimin whispered. “And let me treat you well." She continued, her voice was soft.

Y/N’s cock twitched—still hard, aching now and she needed Jimin so bad to ease the ache. Then she licked her lips. And dove in.

She started at the base, warm tongue dragging upward with zero hurry. She kissed it, sweetly at first, teasing, almost too gentle then wrapped her lips around the tip and sucked hard.

Y/N’s hips bucked instantly, a shaky sigh escaping her throat. “Fuck, Jimin—” she clenched her fists and her eyes were half-lidded.

“Mhm?” Jimin hummed, hollowing her cheeks as she sank lower, inch by inch, her tongue swirling around her shaft. She moaned deliberately around it, letting the vibrations hit in all the right places.

Her hands were firm on Y/N’s hips, keeping her in place while her mouth worked magic—deep, slow bobs of her head, saliva spilling down her chin, a filthy contrast to how fucking gorgeous she looked between Y/N’s thighs.

Y/N's head fell back against the pillow, her hand tangling in Jimin’s hair. “God, you look so fucking good like this,” she gritted out.

Jimin pulled off with a wet pop, eyes shining. “I agree. It’s your birthday... ‘course I’m gonna suck you good.” And then she dove back down, faster now, hungrier, letting the messy, obscene sounds fill the room. Her spit coated Y/N’s cock, dribbling down onto her hand as she jerked the base in time with every deep stroke of her mouth.

Once again, Jimin pulled off from Y/N's cock and she crawled back up to give her a messy open mouthed kiss, Y/N immediately wrapped an arm around Jimin's lower back and pull her in closer.

They broke the kiss to catch some breath and their eyes met as Y/N detached herself from Jimin and she reached into the nightstand for a foil packet. “I’m not stupid,” she whispered. “Wasn’t gonna raw dog Karina of aespa without wrapping it up.” She joked.

Jimin laughed and her cheeks flushed. “You're such an asshole.” the Aespa leader teased back.

“Only sometimes,” Y/N teased as she rolled on the condom, pumping herself slowly as she knelt between Jimin’s legs. “Other times, I’m very… generous.”

Y/N lined herself up, rubbing the head against Jimin’s soaked folds, groaning at how wet she was. “Fuck,” you’re ready for me, huh?” she whispered.

“Y/N, please,” Jimin whimpered, her legs wrapping around her waist.

And then Y/N pushed in.

Slowly, carefully, watching every twitch of Jimin’s brow, every gasp, every desperate clutch of her fingers in the sheets. Inch by inch, she sank in, until she was buried to the hilt, and Jimin let out a long, broken moan.

Y/N didn’t start moving right away. She kissed Jimin’s jaw, whispered, “You feel so good around me,” before finally pulling back and thrusting in slow, deep strokes that made Jimin’s toes curl.

Their rhythm built gradually, slow and sensual at first, but soon rougher, more desperate. Jimin’s back arched off the mattress, her nails scratching down Y/N’s back. Her moans filled the room, every thrust making her gasp, whimper, beg.

The bed began to rock, soft creaks beneath them as Y/N set a rhythm that's deep, slow strokes that made Jimin gasp with every thrust. Their foreheads touched, their eyes locked, breath mingling in the tight space between them.

Y/N kissed her again. It was messy, passionate, tongue sliding into her mouth while her hips rolled in smooth, deliberate motions.

“Look at you,” Y/N murmured against her lips, “taking me so well.” A shaky sigh escaped her lips.

Jimin moaned, her head falling back, exposing her throat. Y/N took the opportunity to lick and bite at her neck, then down to her chest.

She sucked a nipple into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue as she kept thrusting. The sensation made Jimin shiver, her legs tightening around Y/N’s waist.

Jimin’s hands slipped down to her own clit, rubbing circles to match Y/N’s strokes. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “You feel so good, fuck!”

Y/N sat up slightly, hands grabbing under Jimin’s knees and pushing her legs up to her chest, folding her in deeper. The new angle made Jimin scream.

“Y/N! Fuck...” Her moan was loud. It was breathy. Jimin was going to fall apart.

Y/N watched her, eyes hooded, hips snapping faster now. The way Jimin’s body jolted with every thrust, how her tits bounced, the flushed look on her face. It was pure fucking art.

But Y/N wanted more. She wanted to see her fall apart. And she think deserved it because it's her birthday.

Without warning, she pulled out and flipped Jimin onto her stomach.

“What are you...” Jimin barely got the words out before Y/N had her hips lifted, her ass up, her face pressed into the sheets.

She slid back in with one hard thrust, and Jimin screamed into the mattress. “Oh my God,” she choked.

Y/N grabbed her waist with both hands, slamming into her with hard, wet strokes, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room. Her hips smacked against Jimin’s ass over and over, the slick sounds of their bodies filling the space.

Jimin was a mess. Moaning, gasping, drooling onto the pillow. Her hands clutched the sheets like her life depended on it.

Jimin was panting, fingers digging into the sheets, each thrust pushing her deeper into the mattress. “Fuck, you feel so good,” she whimpered.

“Yeah?” Y/N leaned over, grabbing her hair and tugging her head back slightly. “You like being fucked like this?” she questioned and to be fair, Y/N was losing herself in pleasure too.

Jimin nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.” every hit from Y/N was making her moan loudly.

Y/N’s pace picked up, the sound of her hips smacking into Jimin’s ass getting louder, faster. Sweat dripped down her back, and Jimin’s thighs trembled.

That was all it took.

Jimin shattered as her orgasm crashing over her like a wave, thighs shaking, loud moans spilling from her lips, her body clenching hard around Y/N. She was so sensitive.

Y/N kept fucking her through it, riding out every spasm, every tremble, until she was spent and breathless.

Not long after that Y/N spilled white into the rubber and only then, Y/N pulled out, unwrapped the condom and tossed it away before flipping Jimin onto her back. She hovered above her, eyes soft now, lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was somehow both filthy and sweet.

Out of breath, Y/N collapsed besides Jimin and they laid there in silence for a moment, the only sound their panting breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Then Jimin turned her head lazily toward Y/N, cheeks flushed, hair messy, lips swollen. “That was…” she breathed.

“You felt so fucking good,” Y/N told Jimin and there's a small yet noticeable smirk on her lips.

Jimin smiled and reached for her, curling into her chest. “I don't regret this.” she murmured and she pressed a soft peck on Y/N's skin.

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The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the muted heartbeat between two people who’d just shared something intense, and unforgettable.

Y/N and Jimin sat side by side on the bed, half-dressed and freshly washed up, their backs resting against the headboard. The sheets were a mess around them, skin still warm, flushed from everything they'd done and yet, they talked like they'd known each other for years.

Like this wasn't their first time meeting, like this wasn't a one-night-only kind of thing.

Maybe it was the chemistry. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.

Neither of them regretted it. Not even for a second.

“Giselle’s idea wasn’t half bad,” Y/N said with a crooked smile, one hand absentmindedly tracing circles on Jimin’s bare thigh. “Remind me to thank her," Y/N spoke and her eyes were never leaving the aespa's leader face.

Jimin chuckled softly, leaning into the touch. “I'll tell her just that, Y/N.” she responded as she nodded her head.

Light touches lingered between them. Fingertips brushing against forearms, soft grazes over collarbones. They talked in low voices about schedules, comeback concepts, stage outfits they hated, and how award show rehearsals were secretly torture.

It felt so domestic, so easy.

Then, Jimin’s phone buzzed.

She glanced down and read the text, a tiny laugh escaping her lips.

Aeri's text contained: waiting for you in the car, I'm glowing I think •~•

Jimin sighed and set her phone aside, her expression softening. She turned toward Y/N, eyes shining with something tender and unreadable. “Unfortunately,” she murmured, “our night has to end here.” the tone in Jimin's voice was affectionate and her voice was low as it is deep.

Y/N raised a brow. “Already?” Her voice held just a hint of teasing, like she didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

Jimin crawled over, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek before cupping her jaw in both hands. “Aeri’s waiting for me,” she said with a pout, her thumbs brushing softly across Y/N’s skin. “You were great tonight… Happy birthday, Y/N.” her voice was low, almost reverent.

Jimin pulled away and stood, gathering her things one by one. She dressed slowly, fixing her hair in the mirror, stretching her arms overhead with a quiet wince.

Her knees were wobbly. Thanks to someone.

Y/N swung her legs off the bed and began getting dressed as well, her eyes tracking every move Jimin made like she didn’t want to forget the sight.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Y/N said while buttoning her pants, her voice relaxed but genuine.

Jimin smirked. “Mm, yeah. I’ll see you when I see you,” she echoed, looking over her shoulder with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Music Bank, Mnet, an award show… or maybe our groups should get together for some pork belly grilling. Something chill.” she suggested, her smile was mischievous but her intention was pure.

Y/N folded her arms, nodding her head. “I’m holding you to that.” she really couldn't tear her eyes off Jimin.

Jimin walked back over and patted her shoulder gently. “Bye-bye, Y/N. Until then… take care, okay?” her eyes bored into Y/N's.

And with a final smile, she spun on her heel and walked out of Room 1104, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Y/N let out a slow breath, staring at the space Jimin had just left.

And Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see that smirk again—onstage, at the backstage, maybe over pork belly and soju.

One thing was for sure.

She’d never forget the girl from Room 1104.

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main m.list | æspa m.list

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wayneskluv · 5 months ago

Text

Wonder Woman's daughter x Bat-fam - Chapter one

summary: Your mom—Wonder Woman—just dropped you off at Wayne Manor like a kid because she apparently couldn’t find a “suitable babysitter.” Never mind that you’re a fully grown adult and more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now you’re stuck in a mansion full of brooding vigilantes, chaotic adopted siblings, and a butler who’s already silently judging your life choices.

You survived battles, monsters, and Olympian family drama—but can you survive living with the Batfamily?

word count: around 1.6k before i made final touches on tumblr editor

pairing/s: platonic!alfred x reader, platonic!damian x reader (he's a child in this fic!) and then maybe romantically dick x reader or jason x reader perhaps even tim. probably not bruce x reader. if anyone has any preferences, do let me know!

warnings: basically none at the moment. haven't pre-read. no beta, we die like jason todd. damian being a bit of a demon brat. demigod!user.

a/n: all images edited by me! if there’s an artist i haven’t credited, please let me know! i usually get my images from pinterest, and the credit is.. not great. if i’ve written something twice or misspelled something please PLEASE don’t hesitate to tell me. i very much appreciate it. but please be kind! i promise the next parts will be longer, this is sort of an intro into it. even if they aren’t longer, i’ll write a few.

# ── chapter one's POLAROID design - DAMIAN’S:

WAYNE MANOR is.. a lot.

It’s not just the size—though the sheer magnitude of the place is ridiculous—it’s the atmosphere. There’s a certain weight to the air, something woven between the old wood and polished marble, between the paintings of long-dead Waynes and the ever-present shadows stretching down the halls. It’s a house of ghosts, of past lives and quiet grief, but also of something more. Something alive.

You follow Alfred through the halls, the weight of multiple sets of eyes trailing behind you.

“So,” Dick says, effortlessly slipping into step beside you, “how long are you crashing with us?”

“Not sure,” you admit. “Mom was vague. Something about a ‘diplomatic mission’ and ‘needing someone to keep an eye on me.’”

Jason makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re a grown adult. You need a babysitter?”

“Right?!” You throw up a hand. “I told her that. But apparently, my ‘tendency to attract trouble’ means I need supervision.”

Tim, still lounging on the couch with his coffee, raises an eyebrow. “You’re in good company, then.”

“I fail to see why we should be responsible for you,” Damian mutters, arms still crossed. “You’re more than capable of defending yourself. Do you require assistance dressing yourself as well?”

You smirk. “No, but thanks for the concern.” How old was this kid?

Damian bristles. Jason outright laughs.

Bruce, who had been silent up until now, finally speaks. “You’re here. You’ll train, patrol, and follow house rules. No exceptions.”

Ah. There it is. The Batman speech.

You tilt your head. “Define ‘rules.’”

Jason grins.

Bruce ignores him. “No reckless fights, no engaging Gotham’s rogues without backup, and no breaking my city.”

You cross your arms. “Define ‘breaking.’”

Tim groans into his coffee.

Dick pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

You look around at your newly acquired dysfunctional family and resist the urge to sigh.

Mom really did just dump you here like a stray dog, huh?

—

You’re led to your new room—temporary room, you remind yourself—as Alfred sweeps open the door with his usual poised efficiency.

The space is huge. Bigger than necessary. A four-poster bed, heavy oak furniture, a massive window overlooking the eternal Gotham gloom. Everything is dark wood, old money, and class. The whole place smells faintly of leather-bound books and expensive cologne. It’s… nice. In a cold, excessively rich, mildly haunted sort of way.

Alfred clears his throat. “I took the liberty of preparing the room to your specifications. If anything is unsuitable, do let me know.”

Your specifications. Right. You’d told your mom you didn’t need anything, but she must have sent a list anyway, because there’s ambrosia nectar in a crystal decanter on the desk, a thick training mat rolled up in the corner, and a wardrobe that probably contains battle-appropriate outfits tailored to your measurements.

She really did just drop you off and send instructions like you’re a dog.

“Thanks, Alfred,” you say, running a hand over the desk. Solid mahogany. You could probably suplex a god onto it, and it would hold.

He nods approvingly. “Dinner is at seven. I trust you will have no issue finding the dining hall?”

You smirk. “I don’t know. This place is a maze. You sure I won’t end up lost and starving in the east wing?”

He doesn’t blink. “Then I shall inform Master Wayne that a search party may be required.”

Alfred departs, leaving you to take in the ridiculousness of your situation. You sit on the bed—comfortably firm, definitely high-thread-count sheets—and drop onto your back, staring at the ceiling.

Your mother owes you so much for this.

—

You spend the next couple of hours getting familiar with your prison.

It’s quiet for a while. Peaceful.

Then the knocking starts.

“Hey, Newbie.”

The door opens before you can answer. Dick. Of course it’s Dick.

He leans in, all easy grins and big brother energy. “Figured I’d check in. You settled?”

“As settled as I’ll ever be,” you say, sitting up.

Dick saunters in like he owns the place (which, okay, technically he used to). He glances around, nodding at the Amazonian touches. “Mom went all out, huh?”

“She thinks Gotham is held together with duct tape. She’s probably right.”

“Oh, definitely right.”

Before you can ask what he actually wants, another figure appears in the doorway.

Jason.

He crosses his arms, giving you a slow once-over. “So. You’re an Amazon.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Dick chokes on a laugh. Jason grins.

—

The next few hours are a crash course in Batfamily survival.

Tim appears just long enough to tell you that “if you touch my coffee, I will kill you” before vanishing into the night like a cryptid.

Damian tests your reflexes by casually throwing a knife at you in the hallway. You catch it without looking. He says nothing. Just nods and walks away.

Jason decides to test your strength. By handing you a gun. You crush it in your bare hand. “…Well, okay then.”

Dick drags you into the living room for an impromptu movie night. Apparently, it’s a tradition. Jason spends half the movie making snarky Amazon jokes. Damian complains about historical inaccuracies.

By the time dinner rolls around, you’re half-convinced you’ve walked into a madhouse.

Alfred serves a massive feast (courtesy of your inhuman dietary needs). You sit at the table, surrounded by Gotham’s weirdest vigilantes, eating like an Amazon in the middle of a completely normal family meal.

It’s bizarre. It’s horrifying.

It’s… weirdly nice.

Bruce, sitting at the head of the table, barely says anything. He’s watching you, but it’s not that usual piercing Batman stare—it’s more like a curiosity. Maybe he’s wondering what kind of trouble you’ll stir up. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to make of you. You’ve barely had a real conversation with him, just him dropping you here with all the grace of a father figuring out how to deal with his kids’ newest problem. But then again, Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly father of the year.

Dick’s usual charm is in full swing as he tries to make small talk. “So, you’re a demigod, huh? You’re gonna have to teach me some moves sometime. You know, to keep up with all the crazy stuff we have to do around here.” His smile is big, open—like he’s trying to make you feel at home, but you can tell there’s a nervous energy under it. He keeps glancing at you, like he’s trying to figure out how to approach someone who could probably snap him like a twig. You almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Jason, sitting next to you, shovels food in with no care for finesse. “So, you’re Wonder Woman’s kid. That explains the whole glowing warrior princess thing you’ve got going on. What do you actually do with all that godly power? Sit on mountaintops and brood or do you, like, break people’s faces for a living?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. He’s testing you.

“You’d be surprised,” you say coolly, setting your fork down. “I’ve had a bit of experience with face-breaking.”

Jason laughs. “Good, because Gotham needs a lot of that.”

Damian, who had been silently poking at his food, suddenly looks up from his plate. His eyes narrow with some strange mix of suspicion and mild interest. “You will be trained, I assume?” he asks, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice. “Or do you believe that your divine abilities will suffice?”

You almost choke on your drink. “Oh, I’m definitely trained, kid. What, you think just because I’m half-god I don’t need to learn how to fight like a human?”

Damian’s lips curl up into something that might be a sneer, but it’s more like the equivalent of a raised eyebrow from someone who’s always trying to one-up everyone. “I suppose that’s a good attitude, for now.”

You raise an eyebrow back, feeling the tension between you two starting to spark. “Keep thinking that.”

Tim, who’s been glaring into his phone the whole time, suddenly looks up. His expression is the usual deadpan, but you catch a flicker of curiosity. “You know,” he says, tapping on his screen, “if you really want to get the most out of this place, you’ll have to figure out which of us is your mentor. Bruce is… well, Bruce, so don’t expect much from him. But if you’re looking for a solid training regiment, maybe ask Dick or Jason. Just—don’t get too attached to the idea of normal training. This is Gotham, and we all have our… quirks.” He’s about to say more when Bruce interrupts with a sharp look.

“That’s enough, Tim,” Bruce says softly, but with authority. The room falls silent for a moment. Tim’s eyes flicker up at Bruce, then down at his phone. No more words from him.

It’s… strange. You’re used to the chaos, but this feels like a whole other level of dysfunction. They bicker like siblings, but there’s this undercurrent of something deeper—loyalty maybe? You can tell that whatever happens between these people, they’re bound by something stronger than just the weight of their shared lives.

You take a breath and cut in, trying to ease the tension. “Look, I’m just here for the short-term. All I need is a place to crash and a bit of guidance while Mom does whatever it is she’s doing.”

“Short-term?” Damian asks, raising a brow. “How short is short-term?”

You glance over at him, the corners of your mouth tugging into a smirk. “Not long enough for you to start calling me ‘sis,’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He glares at you. “We shall see.”

The dinner continues, awkwardly at first but slowly finding its rhythm. There’s a comfortable noise in the air now—the kind that only happens when people are used to each other’s company. And while you’re still very much the outsider in this strange little family, for the first time since you arrived, the weight of the world outside feels just a little bit lighter.

@hjgdhghoe @linnygirl09

#wayneskluv #jason todd x reader #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #dc comics #batfam #no beta we die like jason todd

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pedgito · 7 months ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 | Marcus Acacius x f!reader

summary | A female gladiator plucked from the arena by the most powerful general in Rome, convinced to serve under his command. You learn that his taste for blood might not be so different from your own.

author's note | the horny demons strike again. this has a little plot, thanks to the beautiful minds of @ovaryacted and @kedsandtubesocks who deal with my crazy so generously.

content warning | 18+ mdni, set pre-gladiator ii, description of war & mistreatment of women in roman society, female gladiator, dark-ish!acacius, reader has minimal backstory, but is revealed to be nameless (uses monikers given to her: medusa, fury, minerva), fighting, m*rder, blood tw, gore tw, sa warning (i have it annotated further below with content, but nothing graphic) acacius covered in someone elses blood as he fucks you, copious smut, biting as a little treat

word count — 8k

“How much?” Acacius inquires, tapping his finger against the iron bars holding you prisoner, staring back at the men. The ginger twins and a man—no, a general. Dressed in a toga of thick material, embroidered with intricate designs, gold bangles at his wrist, a telltale sign of high honor.

“Oh, she is…” The older one, Geta, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he shakes his head, “priceless—quite the fighter, too.”

“Does she have a name?”

Geta smirks to himself, “They call her Medusa. She favors beheading, it seems.” Geta waggles a finger through the bars and smirks, nose scrunching as he addresses you, “Correct?”

You ignore him, responding with a stare—much like your given moniker; if looks could kill.

“She’s bested them all,” Caracalla boasts from beside his brother, Dundus fiddling with his hair from where she was perched on his shoulder, “even our lion that we’ve had since kids.”

“It was a stupid idea, your fault,” Geta retorts, “but—again, she’s not for sale.”

“I’ll conquer India within the next few nightfalls, a handful of new gladiators fresh for the choosing, for your entertainment—how does that sound?”

Greedy as they were and entirely too incompetent, Caracalla agrees before his brother can open his mouth.

“Will you bring her back to visit?” Caracalla inquires with an underlying excitement—the poor brother was nothing but a dunce, erratic and impulsive, but all too easy to manipulate. “The others may miss her.”

“Indeed,” Another swift but convincing lie, Caracalla and Acacius shake hands on the deal before Geta can retort, fuming with rage as he stomps away.

He’d taken a liking to your fighting style despite his distaste for the arena. Strategic and skilled, brute strength and a drive that was built around pure survival but somehow all while maintaining the perfect amount of gracefulness that men did not. Constant calculation, finesse, it was like an art.

He’s gone through several guards over his rule, some from sacrifice but others out of pure ignorance. He needed a strong base, malleable but resistant. He could shape you into a leader, he thinks. He knows.

Your hard stare is like ice as the keys jingle into the lock, a defining click a resounding echo of freedom and General Acacius extends his palm.

A gesture of freedom, a new life, trepidation fills you despite your yearn for a way out of this prison. Here it was, served up on a platter covered in intricate facets of white and gold, stubble brushing his cheeks and soft brown eyes offering kindness.

This was not a man of sheer violence, not the tales they tell about him—this was a man of trouble, conflict, and an instinct to protect himself. And he’d chosen you.

Your hands slips into his, a similar roughness to match his own and scars that Acacius knew well enough of—you were a true fighter, a warrior.

The two boys—calling the men would be too easy, they often acted like spoiled children, were already off to their own chambers, and Acacius had only dropped his hard facade slightly, still under the watchful eye of Rome’s guards, he led you onto your new life.

“I cannot accept,” You argue, as respectful as you could manage, hands crossed firmly over your front, near your waist as you spoke to General Acacius in his private office at home, a place few have stepped foot into, but yet somehow, again, you were given a free pass.

“Are you refusing my order?” Acacius counters, there’s pillowyness to his tone, almost taunting.

“Sir—er, General,” It was all new to you, formalities, structure, rules, “I…am a woman.”

“I am not blind,” Acacius squints his eyes slightly, before leaning back in the creaky chair, “my men—they will not question my choices. They listen, they do their duties. They need strong leadership. Gladiator, I believe you can bestow that upon them.”

“I am a stranger to you, you know nothing of me,” You tell him, a full truth, “General, I fear you may have made the wrong decision, I am not what you think I—”

Silently, Acacius fingers curl around the handle to a drawer hidden behind his desk, pulling out a sharp knife with a handle carved of bone, twisting it in his grip before he’s rearing his arm back, throwing it in your direction.

It zips by with force, the tip of the knife snagging and burying itself deep into the wall behind you, your head whipping to the side to follow it, the sharp blade barely missing the skin of your ear.

Quick reflexes. You turn back to a smirking Acacius.

“I am positive, had I thrown that between your eyes you would have caught it without overthinking the consequences—most of my men would do the same,” Acacius lectures, standing with his brutish frame and walking toward the wall, the soft flow of a breeze kissing at your fists.

“Though, I have another proposition,” Acacius says lightly, twisting the knife in his hand, the pointing spinning against his fingertip as he circles around you, “—attack me.”

“Sir,” You argue, “that surely defeats the purpose of—”

His fist balls up tight and aims for your side. Acacius sees it, the anticipation as you block his hand. He chuckles underneath his breath, “Please, continue,” He teases, twisting out of your grip to pull another punch that you block with ease—he was going easy, you think.

Natural reaction takes hold and his test quickly turns into a full-out brawl, twisting and slipping underneath his grip until you have him pinned against a nearby wall, teeth bared with his forearm pressed against his throat, struggling to grip his free arm.

The real test is here, as Acacius bares the knife near your neck, an immediate reaction to protect yourself rather than go for the kill shot, knowing that anyone of normal skill would be too full of bloodlust to think of anything other than killing you. Protection and defense came first, taking the small nick of a cut to your own forearm before you’re knocking the knife out of his hand and wrestling him to the ground with a swift kick to his leg, rendering him helpless.

“Indeed, you are exactly what I think you are,” Acacius says with finality, “I want you to lead my personal guard. Whatever it is I must do to obtain that, my lady I will do—riches, bribery—”

You push away from him with a heavy exhale, standing and adjusting your clothes, brushing your hair away from your face, “No need, I will do it.”

Acacius rolls to his back, hand extending once more.

This time, it is you offering the help as he uses the leverage to rise to his feet before speaking to you with a triumphant tone.

“Commander,” He grins, “let us plan.”

–

He often asks of your lineage, your home. But, there is nothing to offer. A long conquered piece of land now under the rule of Rome and a home that was never a home. An orphan you had always been, nameless, taking greedily whatever name was bestowed upon you.

In the arena it was Medusa, the tale of a vicious woman with god-like power. Caracalla had told you of the story, the boys having taken a liking to you in different ways. Geta was fiendish, hungry, often seeking you out for his own pleasure to which you wouldn’t deny. Couldn’t. He could be rough, but he wasn’t.

He seemed lonely, the poor boy.

Carcalla was only searching for a friend despite his unruly, chaotic nature. When he wasn’t ruling with tyranny over Rome, terrorizing the townspeople, he was telling you stories.

Other times it was only she. Or her. Or just girl. The girl.

You were only what people assumed of you, expected you to be.

“Medusa, ay?” A greasy looking man confirms, one of the six men who were to be under your command, “The gladiator?”

“You will respect her,” General Acacius had warned them, “or an apology will be your dying breath.”

It had struck most of them with fear. Most of them.

And for many nights, countless, it seems—the transition of leadership was smooth. You had an unyielding grip on them, awaiting direction, following your orders. It was the kind of rush most would only dream of, and as a woman, it was an unforeseen privilege.

“They address you as Medusa, too,” Acacius notes during a roundtable session as the other men wander off for dinner, “do you wish for them to address you differently?”

“I have no name, General,” You admit, “I am whatever I must be. If they think of me as so, that is what I am. Though, I would love to turn a few of them into stone, given I was granted her powers.”

“I believe you could manage that feat without them,” Acacius jokes, “—but, nameless? Even at birth?”

“I know nothing of my birth parents. They told me I was found wrapped in cloth under the bridge that led into the town your army eventually turned to rubble,” A bittersweet feeling, speaking unusually out of term, facing him with the facts, “though, it does not matter. I enjoy the fear they have of me, keeps wandering hands at bay.”

Such an enigma, Acacius eyes you curiously. It was the most you’ve opened up to him since retrieving you from your cell, and even then, still forcing him to face the consequences of war.

The guilt followed him at every waking moment.

“Do you need anything further of me, General?” You ask politely, “You have spoiled my appetite as of late and your men are greedy with the stew.”

“You are dismissed,” He speaks distantly, turning over the thick, coarse paper with a drawn out map of the territory they were to invade soon, a lingering well wish leaving his lips, “sleep well, commander.”

Unfortunately, you’ve turned to sleeping with a knife under your bedroll—with a lingering ache of betrayal, you weren’t allowing yourself to lower your guard.

The attacks do not start at night. Rather during the day, when the General is off and away, scouting ahead further when half of his army while the other half sticks at camp, keeping claim.

That is when the insults come, the disbelief, the mockery.

Most of his men settled with the idea, having accepted your position even if it displeased them.

But, there was one. Like a bull—hardheaded and stocky, fists and arms like clubs, testosterone radiating from his body in crashing waves. He wants you to fear him, submit to him.

You feel it. You see it. And you’ve been through it before, other large and brutish gladiators thinking with their muscles rather than their brains. It wouldn’t take long for them to meet their demise, but this one was…different.

He approaches you with a smile than anyone could see right through, a finger brushing your cheek as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in to brush his lips against the shell of it.

“They are hungry,” He drips of vicious intention, “—I say, you give us a show. Entertain us, Medusa.”

Your eyes snap to him, staring him down.

“Pitiful Acacius isn’t here to save you,” He warns, “though, I have reason to believe he is as weak as most men—spread your legs and he’ll be begging for a taste, too.”

“I will gut you where you stand,” You warn, reaching for the thick machete at your waist, “you’re like a pig. Brainless and greedy for whatever you can get. Touch me, I dare you.”

The rest of the men are relatively quiet, but they do not stop him. Smirks and half-smiles hidden behind their cups, lounging on a log near their tents, enjoying the entertainment.

It was nightfall, the fire crackling between you and them, a towering presence at your backside.

And as he dares to, his hand slides up your waist.

Without hesitation you flip the weapon in your grip, grabbing at his wrist and slicing at his arm—a featherlight touch, it was merrily a glorified papercut, but his eyes widened in shock.

“Let us see how well you touch without fingers,” You threaten, flipping the machete until it is pointing in his face, death grip on the handle if he dared to take it, taunting him with the sharp end of your blade, “hands?”

That deep, rumbling sound of hooves approaches through the darkness, everyone slowly falling back into their paces as you welcome back your General with a forced smile.

Acacius hands off the reins to another rider, taking scope of the situation that seemed to be defusing in front of him, but still—he notices. His eyes trade glances between you both before he nods at you to follow him.

Speaking under his breath, “The others have coined you as fury,” He laughs softly at the pseudonym, “little fury, they tell me. Like the Furies. I cannot say I disagree with them. Has he been pestering you long?”

Your brow furrows at the reference, lost on your ill-informed mind.

“Long enough,” You answer honestly, “though, he was bestowed a parting gift this time.”

You raise your blade, his blood still painting the weapon.

He raises the curtain to his tent, allowing you to enter before him.

“Do you know nothing of the Furies?”

“I was not privy to bedtime tales, General.”

He nods, thoughtful as his lips pull together in a thin line, slowly removing his armor as he sits, directing for you to take a seat opposite of him, a few feet away on a decaying stump.

“Goddesses,” He states simply, “of vengeance, striking the wicked down. You have…fire, deep within you. Do not let them put it out, it is your weapon.”

You nod obediently, feeling the humidity stick to your skin, clothes glued to your body as you sit in the uncomfortable heat. There was no world in which you felt safe enough to strip down, quell your body of this unbearable summer weather. You would rather suffer, thick garb covering your body.

Acacius tilts his head, but does not comment.

“I require your protection tomorrow, we must scout an additional day and I fear danger is imminent—relay this to them,” He instructs, “and my lady, if you fear they will visit you at night, that they might strike when you’re vulnerable, you are welcome here.”

He already anticipates your response—he knows, but the gesture was an offer. A kindness.

“If they try, you will be searching for new men by sunrise, General.”

Acacius smirks in amusement, nodding to your words.

“It would not be difficult to replace them,” He notes, “though, little fury, you are irreplaceable.”

General Acacius wasn’t an easy man to protect, but you managed. Over the few weeks that you had taken point within his guard it has leant you plenty of opportunities to prove your worth, slaughtering opposing soldiers like cattle for the glory of Rome, his booming voice pronouncing vie victis as the dead are laid rest under fire and smoke.

But, conflict comes when you are faced with a decision as the camp was raided under complete, utter darkness. It was your shift to guard the General, perched outside of his tent with constant, roaming eyes. Eventually, you drift. It was peaceful, nature taking hold and pulling you under, awoken to the sound of blood curdling screams, the ground painted with the innards of both Acacius’ men and the others.

You were forced with a choice—defend the camp, something Acacius would have told you to do in a moment of desperation, a self-sacrificing man himself. Ironic, given your position, that you even think otherwise. Of course, your feet pull you toward him, whipping the flowing fabric of his tent door back.

There was a knife at his neck, a man towering over him. He’d snuck past—taken advantage of your exhaustion and your mistake was putting the General’s life at risk, his face stoic as he pushed back against the blade with his palm.

Without thinking, you rush toward the man, pulling back at his collar to plunge the knife pointed at Acacius into his own throat, a silent death through the notch of his neck, the blood flowing out like a river, tossing the lifeless man to the side before you’re reaching for your General.

“Do not worry,” He assures you as he rises, still groggy from sleep, “go—protect our camp.”

“But, General,” You plead, not realizing that your hand was grasping on his own, or that he had initiated the touch as a gentle push, a confirmation that he was truly alright, “it is my fault.”

His eyes peer behind you and to the man lying lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around his body.

“Though, it seems you have done your duty,” Acacius comments, head turned down as he stares at the body before his eyes peer up at you under his dark lashes, pensive, “now—kill them.”

You had lost a hundred or so men, nothing to the army of five thousand, but any loss was felt within General Acacius’ army—men of honor, with families or not, deserved a proper farewell.

Covered in the blood of many, some of your friends and some of strangers, hair matted and reeking of death, you approach General Acacius who was sending off a group of men to begin digging the mass grave to dispose of the bodies.

Your body ached, bruised and nicked from battle—you had killed at least five hundred men alone. Pure rage and fury, not a memory of it as you approached him now, a blank stare void of emotion that concerns Acacius, his hand reaching for your wrist as you begin to pass him, heading for your own tent to collapse in exhaustion.

“You did well,” He notes, catching your gaze as he turns his head to infiltrate your line of sight, “wash off before you turn in, you…reek. There’s a river beyond the bend—clean, warm.”

You nod despite only paying half-attention to his words, walking mindlessly toward the river before you are faced with the unfortunate crowd of men, undressed to their natural state, avoiding the watchful eyes and preying gazes, stripping your armor off down near the empty end of the river, pulling at your tangled hair, pulling off each remaining piece of clothing despite your body’s protest, screaming for relief.

It wasn’t unfamiliar, the looks—you bathed alongside all the men under the arena without a thought, knowing most of them were vying for freedom and wouldn’t dare risk it by allowing their cocks to work overtime, forgetting rational thought.

But, to them, you were a trophy. Someone—something, to be conquered.

The thin, flimsy undergarments come off last, stepping into the water and sinking down slowly. The blood washes away as you scrub, back turned as you dip your head into the water before committing entirely, plugging your nose as you dip underneath the water, finding peace in the silence.

“I had my doubts, Medusa,” A voice bellows from behind as you rise, your eyes peeling open with a quickly growing annoyance, “of you being a true woman, but—”

“Careful,” One of the men warned, a stable boy, “she will run to the general.”

It was the same man from many nights ago, big and brutish, always looking for a fight, even with the other men. He hadn’t learned his lesson, clearly.

“Acacius is busy,” He retorts, “so—what say you give us the show you owe us?”

You stand frozen in place, staring daggers at the man who seems only more amused as the anger in you builds, permeates.

(sa themes below: noncon touching, reader is naked in front of several men)

“Get out of the water,” He demands, “unless you prefer I come get you.”

You survey your choices, knowing that staying in the water wasn’t a safe option. They can and will wait you out. Your eyes track toward your clothes, further away than you had left them. Your eyes track the scar on his forearm and you smirk, teething peeking out behind your lips, “How beautiful,” You tell him, his eyes slowly following your own, “quite the scar, is it not? Fancy another?”

You spot the knife sheathed in his leather belt, taking your chances despite the vulnerability that remains with your naked frame on full display as you retreat from the water, he nods with confidence as you approach, a faint whistle in the distance that you’ve heard before. The oaf seems to ignore it, though. His large hand comes to your breast in an instant, body dripping wet and a sickness churning in your gut as the sticks of torch and fire approach amongst the murmuring crowd of men, less than subtle about the rowdiness that was ensuing.

He pulls you into his body with a greedy hunger as his opposite hands gropes at your backside, following the curve of your ass as your hand snakes toward the blade, but the voice that rips through the crowd is enough to wake the dead, silence falling over the area in an instant.

“Remove your hand,” Acacius voice travels, the same booming voice he uses to declare victory over a new territory, “or I will remove it myself.”

“General,” The man addressed in a drunkish manner, inviting, “she was offering—Medusa, tell him.”

Your silence is expected, his hand wandering toward your other breast, biting hard enough at the inside of your cheek that it draws blood—Acacius sees your hand wrapping around the blade and speaks again, approaches closer as the mud sticks to his boots, “I will tell you once more. Remove it.”

The man eyes you with disdain, dropping his hands away as you relinquish your hold of his weapon, allowing the breath caught in your chest to escape, but it doesn’t stop the touch that follows, taunting with its intention as his palm curls around the back of your head, tilting your head to the side as he squeezes, “I forget—you are the General’s property after all.”

(end of sa themes)

“Take him,” He orders the other lingering guards, men who’ve never shown you anything other than respect—they value their lives and limbs, as any sane person would, “and start the fire.”

Acacius looks around at the lingering eyes, “I suggest all of you return to camp. Now.”

That was all it took, most of them scrambling for their own clothes and armor as they retreated like scurrying mice or dogs with their tail between their legs, leaving you under Acacius' careful gaze. He reaches down to fetch you dirtied clothes, looking them over with disgust.

He removes the black cape around his shoulders without a word, opening it as an offering. Desperate to cover yourself, you slip your arms in the sleeves with his help, his eyes wandering no further than your face as you turn to him, tucking the cape around yourself. He reaches for the hood, pulling it down.

“Come,” He demands, “I would like you to witness.”

–

The screams are audible as you approach camp, a few feet behind Acacius as he rounds the fire and separates the crowd to create a path, approaching the man bound at his feet, one arm roped at his side and secured away, leaving him to fight the men that held him down.

“General, gen—general, I am sorry,” He pleads, “she—you do not understand, she taunts. She is poison, not a leader,” He continues, despite Acacius lack of response, making a motion with his hand to remove the man’s weapon and hand it to him, pulling it from it’s leather cover and examining the blade, he makes a soft sound to himself, “Acacius—you have known me for years. Do not let this woman trick you.”

“Gag him,” He ignores his pleading, leaning down to grip the hand of the man bound below, “your humility is amusing, but your greed is what is costing you. She has shown you mercy, but I will not.”

The cut isn’t a clean slice, either. It takes several swings before the limb detaches, blood spurting out of the appendage as the man screams in pain, dragged helplessly toward the fire before they’re cauterizing the wound—your body unreactive as you watch but silently stewing with frustration.

He had spared the man, sure. But, making a show of it? A mockery?

“Commander, with me,” General Acacius demands, waiting for you to snap back into reality, your eyes meeting his face, blood covering his armor and hands, somehow avoidant of most of the mess.

When you are alone, you don’t hold back.

“I would have handled him,” You tell him, “killed him myself.”

“This is not the arena, we do not go around slaughtering our men without reason,” Acacius retorts, “he will be demoted and replaced and be a reminder to the others that you—”

“I do not need you defending my honor, General.”

“Men will not change, this—society, it does not cater to your safety. To them, women are nothing but vanity and pleasure—”

“And property,” You remark, “lest you forget how you obtained me, General.”

Acacius approaches you near the table at the center of his tent, only a foot away as he removes his armor plate, pulling it over his head, “Had I not, you would have paid for your own freedom eventually. I needed a leader—strong, smart, powerful.”

“By punishing that man, you are sending the message that I need my battles fought for me,” You argue, “and as if these men did not already think I was the General’s plaything, what will they think now?”

Acacius sighs through his nose, pulling at the fabric of his tunic that bares his chest, “I believe they will behave,” He tells you, “because you will not be as kind when you take their heads. He was an example and a pain in my ass for years, he deserved more than that.”

“And what will they think of me now? I am naked under this cloak, your cloak. I must walk the path back to my tent surrounded by men deprived of the things your bestial minds crave.”

Acacius chuckles to himself, “I have been thinking,” He begins, “that you deserve a new name. Something indicative of all that you are. Some of the men award each other with monikers of war. Medusa seems to have become more of a taunt, in light of recent events.”

He unties the leather bands at his wrist, eyeing you with a mischievous gaze as he keeps you waiting, “Have you heard the tale of Minerva, my lady?”

It isn’t a surprise, but you shake your head.

“A goddess of many things—strategy, warfare, victory, and justice…but mostly importantly, wisdom. I have seen the way you command the battlefield, it is not lost on me.”

“You have…many stories, General.”

“My mother told me one every night as she tucked me, it seems they have stuck with me.”

Tell me more, the words linger in the back of your throat.

“I am barely standing, General. I must retire for the night.”

“Indeed,” He agrees, shamelessly stripping down to his undergarments to walk toward the clean bowl of water and wash away the drying blood, “and Minerva,” the name is completely foreign, but you respond with a hum, “your position is yours alone. You have earned it. Do not let them tell you otherwise.”

Like Medusa, the name sticks.

And thankfully, you were a few weeks away from a much-earned break from war, returning to Rome as a free woman for the first time, having finally fallen into a comfortable rhythm with the rest of his personal guards—a mutual respect that had been missing, men waiting for your command.

Long nights of planning spent in Acacius tent, surrounded by the other guards until they filter out one by one, growing curiosity and questions lead to many hours of conversation that you, for many months, had been deprived of in the arena.

“You did promise my return,” You remind him, “they will be expecting you to keep that.”

“They are young, fickle men,” Acacius berates with amusement, “I am sure they have moved on.”

“Do you fear them? The emperors?”

“They are spoiled brats,” Acacius responds, an answer in itself.

“They would visit me often,” You admit, “Caracalla seemed to be—it seems the syphilis in his loins was truly affecting his brains, often he would not even make sense. Or he would come to me, complaining of his brother.”

“You had built quite the rapor,” Acacius notes with a smile, sipping at the broth from his stew as he invites you to sit on his fancy, expensive bed cot. Much nicer than your own, cushioned and wrapped in velvet, “What of Geta?”

“He liked my breasts,” You begin bluntly, “and my—”

“He forced himself upon you?”

“I was property of Rome, Acacius,” You didn’t often say his name in such a relaxed way, blaming it on the full belly and exhaustion, “therefore I was his. I have suffered much worse than a lonely man searching for comfort.”

Acacius seems thoughtful, pensive as he stirs at his quickly diminishing stew. He does catch your lingering gaze on his face after a while, mesmerized by the scar underneath his eye, he encourages you.

“Ask, if you are so curious, my lady,” He places his bowl to the side, empty.

“Your scar,” You nod, pressing your finger in a mirroring way under your eye, “is there a story?”

“Nothing to be told with boast,” He chuckles, “a wound of battle, is all. Like many of the scars on my body,” He tells you, raising his naked forearm to display the various scars, noting the few that paint his clavicle, “and you, Minerva?”

It seems to have become a particular quirk of his, a lilt to his voice as he calls you by your given name—the others have become accustomed to it, too. But, with Acacius, it felt special. Treasured.

You raise your eyebrows at his question, quietly unlacing your top to pull it down your shoulder, sliding a hand over your breast to respect the dynamic between you both—him being your general and you, his subordinate. His eyes squint as he examines the jagged and staggered scar on the side of your breasts—not quite faded, healed but relatively fresh.

“He is a biter,” You warn him with amusement, “Geta.”

Only one scar, given by one of the emperors, somehow untouched from real battle. It was miraculous. You readjust your top, feeling the heat from your neck rise to your face at what you had just willingly offered over to Acacius. Unfortunately, he had a way of lowering your guard.

With that talk, it seemed like a true breakthrough in your partnership with Acacius.

He always allowed you to speak for yourself, never overstepping the boundary you had argued with him over, leading the charge with an iron fist and handling the younger, fresh faced soldiers who just seemed…lost.

It was hard to ignore the lingering glances over time, often during meetings as you spoke, not a look of attention but rather…ravishing. Hungry, but in a subdued manner. You weren’t sure where the lines had blurred, but they had.

Possibly somewhere within the long nights of conversation or the lingering touches that shouldn’t have been as charged as they were, handing over a piece of armor or blade and his calloused fingertips would circle your wrist, pause, before his brain would catch up to his actions.

“Go on,” He encourages after a final night of victory and triumph, many of the men howling and singing tunes around the fire, drinking from their cups and enjoying the pleasures of alcohol and comradery, “you are missing the fun,” He was unnaturally quiet, subdued to his quarters, leaning against the outside of his tent as he watched with amusement but subtle dismay.

A younger man approaches with his hand extended, a gleeful expression on his face, “Minerva, please—come, you must enjoy the party, too.”

The general gives you an expectant look as you let the young man lead you away, curling his fingers around your own and pulling you with vigor, cheering loudly to blend in with the energy of the men despite how you worry about the man several feet away, your eyes tracking his disappearing figure as he slips into his tent, eventually pulled away by another man, one of the guardsmen who adored you, asking for a dance.

You agree hesitantly as the crowd roars louder, eyes searching for the exact reason as you see a few men leading a line of women into camp, little clothing to allow them modesty, a less than subtle shushing come from the men as they lead them deeper into camp, and the fear in you tells you to run to the General.

“It is not what you think,” The young man tells you, “they are dancers—no harm will—”

You bypass him, straight toward the men leading the path, stopping them cold.

“They are not here against their will, my lady.” He assures you, though, that could be argued.

“Minerva, Acacius has made it clear that harming women, you—is far worse a crime than anything else. Truly, it is not what you believe it to be.”

“I am telling the General, informing him of their presence,” You admit, “so I suggest you and the rest of the cattle be on your best behavior?”

They both give crisp, curt nods.

As you make the direct line for Acacius’ tent, you are ignorant to his silent plea for privacy at the tied rope, intertwined with gold fabric, pushing apart the fabric doors without much of a thought, reality hitting you as you catch a glimpse of his naked frame, patting down his body with a clean cloth as he washed himself, other hand curved around his cock as he stretched his neck up and back, the water splashing as he dipped the towel into the basin, only aware of your present when you make a small, unrecognizable sound as a result of your own stupidity.

“I—General,” Your eyes widen as they take on a mind of their own, straight down the valley of his chest as he turns to you, quickly spinning on your heels, “I should have—I apologize, uh, the men…they are—”

“I was informed,” He assures, “and they have been warned, I assure you.”

“Yes, hm—um,” It was the only time Acacius had seen you flustered

“I assumed the rope was a clear message,” Acacius teases, “but—it is not your fault. I should have informed you of their…antics.”

He pulls the tight, fabric shorts over his hips, clearing his throat, peering over your shoulder you breathe a sigh of relief, “General, I would like to apologize for—” You swallow, watching as he turned barefoot on his heels, the fabric of the immodest undergarments curving around the stretch of his cock, half-hard under the fabric and the outline of thick head pushing against the linen.

You don’t realize how long you’re staring until he’s approaching with a tap of his finger on the underside of your chin, “There is no need for that,” He assures you, your nose scrunching up in confusion at the sudden touch, feeling the subtle shift as he reaches behind you for the clothes folded on the table at your backside, “surely you must return to the party,” He encourages, “celebrate a well-earned victory.”

“Why?” You counter, “When you will not.”

“Minerva,” He warns.

“You are distracted,” You note, watching as Acacius now avoids your gaze, “it is worrying me.”

He cannot admit the reason why. That it may be you.

“Acacius,” You call his name, hoping that will break through to him.

“Leave me,” He asks, rather than demanding, “I need to rest.”

It was a lie, but you do not fight him on it.

–

Silence blankets the camp in the early morning hours—the witching hours, as you’ve come to know them. Sleeping securely in your tent, bedroll tucked under your head as you drift. Unaware of the creeping men planning your untimely demise, assuring that the entire camp was asleep before they strike, arms and legs rendered useless as the third shoves a piece of cloth into your mouth and ties it around the back of your head, screams muffled behind the fabric, stripped of your weapons. Helpless, they think.

During the struggle, one of them grows frustrated, banging the hard rock against your skull and plunging you back into darkness.

When you come to, you are unclear of where you are, but it was outside, arms above your head against the thick limb, feet bound tight as well, a sting and a string of wetness running down the side of your face as your blurry vision becomes clear.

“Little Minerva,” the voice begins mockingly, all too familiar to your ears, “he has named you—you must feel special, ay?”

He kneels in front of you, the one hand he has left curling around the forearm of what was left of his other appendage, “And you expect to return back to Rome as a free woman,” He laughs, snorts wetly through his nose, “I assure you that will not happen. Rather, you will be a dead one.”

The other two lingering figures join in on the laughter.

“How did you say it?” He taunts, “I will gut you where you stand?”

“It took three of you to capture me,” You retort, “your confidence is lacking sorely.”

He clears the back of his throat, rearing up a ball of saliva in his mouth before he’s spitting at you.

“I will slaughter all of you with my hands,” You promise, “untie me, unless you are fearful.”

Driven by ego, it doesn’t take much for him to agree.

But, as he had underestimated you the first time, and the second, he would regret the third.

The two men come at you first, enough tussling and your teeth ripping into the ear of one of them, searching blindly for a thick, heavy and sharp edge branch that would handle the weight of piercing through skin and muscle, finding the right weapon at the perfect moment—the attacker rearing back as the other approached, driving the make-shift stake through his chest as the other tackled you to the ground, a poor miscalculation on his part as you get your legs around his neck, arms pinned at an painful, awkward ankle until his neck snaps from the force, the ox-like man awaiting in the shadows like a coward, blood spilling from your mouth as you scream.

The heavy hooves approach like roaring thunder and the instant your attacker catches on, his attempts to flee are ruined by the barricade of men at all angles, General Acacius at the head of the charge, a rageful expression on his face. Feral unlike you have ever seen.

He jumps off of his horse, ordering the men to capture the surviving man once again, looking around at the lifeless bodies beside you, assuring his men he would handle you and the mess, demanding they return to camp at once.

You look around aimlessly, blood staining your face as Acacius struggles to capture your attention, eventually resorting to a strong, demanding hold on your face, cradling your head with his hands.

“Are you wounded?” He asks, then notices the trail of blood from your scalp, pushing away the hair to reveal with gash from the rock they had attacked you with, grimacing as he runs his finger over the wound in worry.

Suddenly, you are stricken with a need, “Give me your sword,” You tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own, “I need your sword.” His movements are too slow, still concerned with you that you reach for the weapon yourself.

Pulling away, you approach one of the dead men with the sword, swinging it up over your head and down with force, beheading him in one go, before switching to the other man, less finesse as you swing—again and again, until there is nothing but a pool of blood, bone, and brain—Acacius steps in eventually, tossing the sword away as he holds you arms in his fierce grip, letting the screams rip from your chest as he sways with you, eventually falling to your knees in exhaustion. He uses his bare hands to wipe the blood away from your neck, your face, feeling the soft shake of your body as you sob in silence, overcome with an emotion you so rarely let surface.

–

The public execution follows the next morning, everyone rousing from their tents to the loud, blaring horn from the ship just off shore—Acacius had assisted you back to camp on his horse, slumped against his back as you rode until the trampling finally stopped, sliding off the horse and into Acacius’ arms as he led you inside his tent.

He didn’t sleep the entire night, watching over you instead—he rarely blinked, staring off into nothingness as he tried to keep the vicious rage at bay, by morning, he was itching.

“You may stay,” He tells you, “your head—I cleaned it while you slept.”

You shove his hand away as he attempts to help you sit, slowly dressing yourself, eventually putting together the fact that Acacius had undressed and bathed you at some point throughout the night, not a speck of blood or spit remaining.

“Are you ordering me to stay?”

Acacius shakes his head, his hand still hovering close by.

“Then I will attend.”

He doesn’t argue against it and there is, despite your weariness to admit, a relief of your chest as Acacius rears back his blade, silencing the final scream the man lets out, pleading for his life. The blood sprays over his face, a strong grimace at the sheer strength it takes to behead the man, but the general manages it with one strike of his blade.

His speech follows, a deep and unsettling warning to all of his men. A final one.

Men, wide-eyed with fear, agree without resistance before he sends them off to ready the ship for departure and a meal before they begin their long trek back to Rome—he is less than gentle as he grabs your wrist without warning and pulls you alongside him, back to his tent.

–

He ties the rope with a stiff tug, before turning to you, stumbling on your feet as pull off his cape, having offered it to you for a second time, assuring that dressing in your usually armor wasn’t needed today, not as you began your travels, a flowing dress tied at your shoulder and waist that you were used to wearing during the showings back in Rome, parading you around like a prize.

“Acacius, perhaps you should sit,” You suggest, watching his hands curl into fists at his sides before he’s spinning on his heels and toward you, cradling your face like he had the night prior, but even this close, it felt like he was trying to keep you at a distance, “—I am sorry, if I did something—”

“I crave you,” Acacius admits, “you must know.”

Your lips part, gearing up the courage to speak, but falling short.

“Nights I have spent,” He breathes, shaking his head, the curls tickling your forehead as they meet, “thinking—wondering—”

“Acacius, why now?” You question him, “As we are homebound, back to your wife. Surely, she would have my head.”

Acacius shakes his head with a soft, but fond laugh.

“Our marriage is complex,” He explains, “Something I do not care to explain in great detail at this moment, you see—,” His hand curves around the side of your neck, tilting your head up, lips grazing against his own as he speaks, “I had no such intention for things to get like this, but you have proven to make things…difficult, for me,” He breathes out through his mouth, his eyes opening slowly to meet yours, “and I need you, should you have me.”

You could easily deny him, knowing he would back off in an instant. But, like this, clearly driven by adrenaline and instinct, riding the high of such a charged execution, he was craving something deeper than an outlet to release the built up tension.

He craved connection—through little moments of conversation and touches, someone at level-ground, an equal. You were his equal. He’d given you so much since, and you would be lying to yourself if you denied the thoughts that had riddled your mind too.

“I do not much prefer a soft touch,” You finally reply, “or gentle care.”

He silences you with a kiss, bruising and tense as he licks into your mouth, hungrily searching for more areas to taste and devour, licking along the column of your neck as the blood of another smeared into your skin, his fingers working quietly to undo your dress, in turn wrestling with his armor and clothes, nearly ripping the fabric of his shirt from his body as you claw at him.

Wet kisses and clashing tongues fill the silent room, a screeching sound as your back hits the roundtable before he’s lifting from the back of your thighs and scooting you onto the surface, naked and bare as he spreads your thighs apart to move between them, clearly restraining himself as he licks, teeth grazing carefully.

“I enjoy them,” You admit, “Do not hold back, Acacius. They are what I will keep with me, if this be the only time.”

Like a dog cut loose of his chain, his teeth sink into the breasts mirror the mark of the other, hissing as his teeth break through the skin just enough for the subtle trickling of blood to rise to the surface before he’s soothing the wound with his tongue, staring up at you through a half-lidded gaze, prowling for more. He dips lower, falling to his knees as he pulls you toward the end of the table, ass hanging near the edge as his teeth sink into your thigh, near the swell of your cunt as you moan, fingers digging into sweaty, matted curls.

“Acacius,” You plead breathily, “I want your mouth.”

Where—it did not matter. But, Acacius fulfills that need as he licks a broad strip through your cunt, nose buried in the coarse curls, still smelling of the fresh soap he had bathed you in, taking delicate care as he washed your body, letting you slump into him, soaking him in the process.

“Yes, that—” You respond airily, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue dips inside of you, swirling your slick around on his tongue and sucking harshly at your clit, staring up at you daringly from his position beneath you, unwavering, “oh, gods above…”

Acacius chuckles below you,the sound vibrating against your cunt as your moans increase rapidly, thick fingers dipping inside your pulsating core, “This high—it feels like—”

He rises to press a kiss against your stomach, climbing, tongue licking over your belly button and between your breasts, “—like…” He encourages, “come on, my lady, do not sell out on me now,”

“Like a battle high,” You admit with a faint laugh, “though, different, but….”

He understands, driven by unbridled need, uncapped adrenaline.

“Well, vae victis,” He taunts, “now—come here,” He squeezes at your hips and pulls you to him, his cock stiff, throbbing between your legs before he is twisting and spinning you around, feet planting against the ground as he bends you over, fisting himself tight as he rubs his thick cock head between your folds, watching as your wetness coats him, sinking into your fluttering hole with little resistance, a sweet cacophony of noises releasing from your throat as you grip onto nothing, hand curling into a fist as you moan, open-mouthed and shameless.

“Harder,” You beg, forcing the word out between thrusts, blunt fingernails clawing at your hips, attempting to pull you in closer despite your proximity, as if he could consume and even that wouldn’t be enough, “Acacius, please.”

It was like instinct, his hand sliding up the back of your thigh to lift your leg up, pinning it up—up, until you feel the ache in your sore muscles as he holds you in place with a fist between the bend of your knee, heaving breaths at your neck as he fucks you into the hard surface of the table.

It was a pain you would feel in your bones, that would carry with you into the morning, marks that would last for longer, a remnant of this moment, the mess of blood smearing on your own skin as he melts against you, forehead resting against your shoulder as his gaze follows the movement of his hips, slow but powered thrusts that drilled into you, clawing at his skin to leave your own bruises. The hand that brushes against your core is your ultimate demise, feeling breathless as your orgasm pulls you under, muffled sobs into your fist as you bite down, fearful that it might draw attention. Though, Acacius seems preoccupied, still.

His hand seeks your neck, digging in as he pulled you up, “To your knees,” He demands softly, your body moving out a memory, dropping to the floor—though, the sight is much more tantalizing, Acacius fisting his cock tight, feral as he teeth were bared, like a man fresh from the slaughter, he comes with a deep and guttural groan, your tongue sliding against the underside of his bulbous head, thick spurts coating your tongue, his body shaking as you pull away, swallowing all that he had offered with a steady, locked gaze. He assists you upright, steadying you.

“For a man who has such a distaste for unnecessary violence, you wear it well,” It wasn’t a compliment, rather an observation, his eyes tracking your naked frame, fingertips tracing the curves of your body in admiration.

“You are quite inspiring, Minerva,” He admits, gathering your thick dress and helping you redress in silence, tying the material around your body, “not everyone deserves mercy.”

Your smile is rare, but it is beautiful. And he wasn’t a man for such dramatics.

But, it could bring him to his knees, he thinks.

#general acacius #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #general acacius x reader #general acacius x you #gladiator ii #gladiator ii fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #my writing

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starconstruction · 9 days ago

Text

Early Workout

Chaewon x Male Reader (Smut)

smut tags: sweat, scent kink, public sex, ass eating, rough, creampie

word count: 1212

old fic disclaimer

The sound of music ran through the gym, various machines laid unused. Rowing machines, treadmills, leg presses. It was eerily empty for 6am, the warmth of the sunlight funneling through the windows. Contrasting with the artificial white hanging from the ceiling.

You remained focused on your set, working up a sweat. Muscles burning with an agony while facing the wall. After awhile you got up and there was a second person finally arrived, no longer alone.

Her beauty captivated you, Auburn brown hair formed a tight bob, acting as a regal crown. Her skin was pale and smooth, no blemishes as she looked flawless. Her black sports bra left very little to the imagination, her build petite but athletic.

She was overly invested in her workout, paying no mind to your ogling eyes on her ass. Thick and curvy as her dark leggings covered it up rudely. You were half tempted to approach, see if you could strike up a conversation.

"Hey!" The gym-goer shouted, your eyes widened as she stared at you. "If you are gonna stare, you can atleast come over and talk to me!" She reprimanded, leaving her weights on the floor.

"Oops, sorry..." You said quietly, appearing at her side.

"No, it's no worries. Infact, I was drooling over you aswell. I'm Chaewon" Her voice shifted, whispering the sensual compliment. A shiver forming down your spine, "You wanna fuck me right?" Her hands palmed at your crotch, the forwardness made you reel back.

"God, yes..." You whined, hardening under Chaewon's luscious rubbing. "Good, but... I think I'm gonna finish my workout, get nice and sweaty for you." She got back to her workout, leaving you painfully erect.

Somehow by a stroke of luck the mens locker room was completely empty for you and Chaewon, pale pink lips locked in with yours as you tongue fought against hers. Her breath slightly minty, your knee pressed between her legs. Harsh gasps ripping from her mouth, you two broke away with hunger. "Look how sweaty my stomach is, wanna clean it off for me?" She rasped, arching forward.

"I want nothing fucking more, god." You teased, sinking down to your knees. Wetting your lips, diving face first into Chaewon's glistening chest.

Your tongue massaged her muscles, licking between the defined abs. The taste of salty sweat greeted you, intoxicating. Divine, the offensive scent made you throb in your clothes. The harshness made your brain short-circuit, hands grabbing her clothed ass, pulling her in.

You were gagging for more of Chaewon's shining sweat, desperate. It was depraved certainly, she had brought a kink you didn't know you had. "You want more?" She asked, knowing the answer. Lifting her arm up. "Come get some then, lap it up for me."

Your lips instantly connected with her exposed armpit, drowning in its musk. Taking the skin in her mouth as you sucked it for all it's worth, Chaewon giggled at your eagerness. "Drink it up, that's a good boy."

Chaewon was opportunistic, taking advantage of the angle you were in. Pushing down your tight shorts to the ground, spitting a thick glob of spit into her smooth hand. "Nice thick cock, can't wait to wrap my hand on it." She didn't wait long, fingers leaving marking touches. Jerking your cock with impatience, forcing her saliva to coat every inch of your meat.

"You done? Good... I need you on my nipples." The bluntness made it even hotter, the way she gasped the word need. Chaewon's lap was the perfect seat, taking advantage of it to shove the sports bra up, mouth immediately taking her hard brown nipple straight in, sucking on it. Tongue swirling around her bud as she jerked you off. "Your cock is throbbing so much, leaking pre-cum messily all over my hand.." She purred, filling in the blanks you couldn't observe. Eyes closed as you sucked and sucked.

"We probably don't have much time, I'll let you choose big boy. I'll suck that cock or you can bury your face in my Thick. Sweaty. Ass." She emphasised every word, an impossible choice, frozen in the thin amounts of time that was left.

Chaewon drove a hard bargain, but this was a once in a life time deal. Pushing her into your discarded shorts, letting her sniff your intensive workout as opposed to the floor. "good choice" Chaewon muffled against your clothes, your hands grabbed her leggings. Pulling them down just enough to reveal her plump ass, a testament to the time she spent in here.

Her white panties laid damp, then quickly discarded. Holes open for the taking, but her backdoor was what you craved. Tongue diving right into her asshole, dirty with a shining sheen of sweat. Cleaning up the filth as you rimmed the fellow gymgoer, she moaned into the fabric, her head pressed against the ground.

You rubbed your face against her pillowy cheeks, sweat sticking to the side of your face. Head hazed with an uncomfortable arousal, you were smothered in her sweat. Beyond coated in it, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

You came back to reality, aware at how little time you truly had. Reluctantly pulling yourself from her thick ass, pressing your cock against the stranger. "Going to pound you into this floor!" You started to go inside Chaewon's sopping cunt, her body beyond tight. The tightest girl you've ever had the luxury of banging.

"Mpmh!!" Chaewon moaned, mouth drooling into your clothes. "Such a nice ass!" her cheeks rippled, swatting gestures colliding as the flesh started to jiggle.

The spanks made Chaewon moan louder, cock thrusting in and out of her tightness, raggedly pounding her. "Oh fuck! So tight!" She tightened around you even harder at the praise, wrapped around your meat.

"Mmph!! Ughh! Ahh!" She kept moaning, dangerously loud for a public site. Anyone could watch you rag this random girl, that thought only made you move faster.

Your skin pickled in heat, savouring every second you had in her. Breath hitching as you felt the orgasm creep up your core. "Chaewon! Fuck, ugh.." You didn't have the time to warn her, didn't want to either. Pumping semen into the awaiting cunt, buried firmly inside her. Stopping your movement as she came in reaction.

You pulled out, watching it drip out of her hole. Covering her folds in a orgasmic sheen, Chaewon quickly pulled her underwear up, catching your load before it leaked on the ground. "Oh that was a good fuck, but we should probably move before people see." She put her sports bra back on.

The room reeked of sex, a lingering scent of what you two did. "Fuck, Chaewon that was incredible." You sighed, pulling your shorts on, slightly damp with Chaewon's drool.

"Yeah, I live a few minutes away... Say, come shower with me." She offered, stepping closer. "I'll suck that thick cock so good." Her voice was husky, needy, insatiable. "Lead the way Chaewon." You spoke quickly.

She pulled you away, a lone gymgoer looked at you two in disgust, but it didn't matter. Not when a total baddie let you hit.

#kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x male reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop fic #female idol smut #le sserafim smut #kim chaewon smut #chaewon smut

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starcrossedreaders · 2 years ago

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A/N: Tumblr is LACKING in Toge headcanons and over all fics, so I'm here to help the cause. These headcanons do have NSFW under the cut and will be marked with '✥' so MDNI!!! Dividers are from benkeibear on Tumblr

✦ StreamerToge! is the type to make a whole ass living off of streaming with a schedule and everything. He has his whole gaming room that gives off a minimalist white vibe with posters and figurines everywhere.

✦ StreamerToge! Who keeps his streaming schedule up on a whiteboard somewhere in the house so you see it and know.

✦ StreamerToge! Who begs for snacks when he games.

Toge <3: Please, just some cheese 🤲🏽 You: Seriously cheese? Toge <3: Mommy?🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️ You: fine. "Yay, chat I'm getting cheese."

✦ StreamerToge! He finds ways to slip you into the conversation with chat, like he could be mid Val game and he's rambling.

"Yea no, I don't know how I pulled them when my only real defining trait is the grind on Val." "Like no seriously, they are just with me for the carry."

✦ StreamerToge! Who (if you played games too) would beg for you to join him with his games, even if you don't stream yourself he still enjoys the quality time together.

✦ StreamerToge! If you aren't the type to play games he would for sure put like a small couch, day bed, or chair somewhere just so you can spend time with him while he games. He calls it the Y/N corner because he would keep your favorite blankets, a plushie, and maybe a snack drawer somewhere near your spot.

Scrolling on your phone, you walked towards Toge's gaming room. He's been streaming for a few hours and you thought it was finally time to join him. Opening the room door, his laughs flooded out of the room before you stepped in and closed the door behind you again. Toge didn't notice you step in and sit down in your little corner till his chat started blowing up. divinedawgs: RIP to chat Jennifer4lifers: is that who I think it is⁉⁉⁉⁉ strongerinurmom: still amazes me that bro could pull 3panda: didn't you literally get rejected on your last stream? strongerinurmom: stfu sakibara: naw I'm with stronger how did bro pull at 10 while be a 4 Toge turned around to see you sitting down while scrolling on your phone, his smile could light up the whole room as he took his headset off to around in his chair. "Hey, my love." He pushed his chair towards you leaving his current match behind. Looking up from your phone you smile as Toge leans down to scatter kisses across your face. "I love you," he mumbled over your lips before he kissed you. "I love you too." divinedawgs: please turn your camera off when you do that shit strongerinurmom: bro is fr rubbing it in Jennifer4lifers: jealous fr fr

✦ StreamerToge! Even when you act annoyed to bring him snacks you still interrupt his streams to bring him dinner

✥ StreamerToge! If you get annoyed with his constant streaming and lack of attention you would definitely give him that under-the-desk support to hopefully get him to get off and give you attention.

You supported your boyfriend and his successful career with streaming. What you didn't support was how much of his time he's put into it recently. His excuse? "I need to give the fans good content before the holidays, it helps keep money coming in. I swear once I'm done I'm all yours." That stupid excuse is what led you to your current situation. Tears ran down your face as the tip of Toge's dick kissed the back of your throat. Looking up past your lashes was a sight that would bring you to your knees if you weren't already there. Toge squeezes his eyes shut as he throws his head back trying not to groan. His bottom lip was caged between his teeth and he opened his eyes to try to focus on the game in front of him. Gagging you pulled your head up, leaving a trail of pre-cum and saliva mixture from your lips to his raging red tip. He let out a big sigh, taking the time to try to compose himself, but what type of girlfriend would you be if you didn't him finish? A cruel one that's for sure. Despite the palm of his hand trying to push your head back you continued to hollow out your cheeks and bob your head up and down chasing for his release.

✥ StreamerToge! If you streamed with him, or just in general he definitely seems the type to try to convince you to stream with one of those Bluetooth vibrators.

You've never regretted agreeing to one of Toge's idea till now. The shorts you had on were soaked, along with your chair. Your thighs twitched once more as another orgasm ran through your body. Black and white dots danced around your vision and the game in front of you faded in and out of your vision. Before you could slump your body you could hear your friends through your headset. "Seriously Y/N are you sure you're okay?" opening your eyes they roamed around till they landed on your second monitor where you had the chat pulled up. Jennifer4lifers: OH NO ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE OKAY Y/N?!?!? sakibara: Girl is going through it rn strongerinurmom: calling for medical help as we SPEAK 3panda: get help divinedawgs: bruh riceballwh0re: poor baby :(((

✥ StreamerToge! He definitely tells his stream that he has to take a fat shit when he is actually running to your guy's shared room to fit in a quickie before his next match.

✥ StreamerToge! Hot and sloppy make-out sessions before each one of his streams, he claims that it gives him the luck he needs to win his games.

A/N: damn it's been a long ass time since I have written in a creative matter, so hopefully you guys enjoyed this. Requests are open but they might take a while to get to so please keep that in mind. I hope you enjoyed the new JJK content I hope to be writing more soon!

#toge inumaki x reader #toge x reader #inumaki toge #jjk x reader #jjk toge #inumaki x reader #inumaki smau #inumaki smut #jjk inumaki #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen

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pangaeaseas · 5 months ago

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Magic Is Masculinity: Or, Lucius Malfoy and How the Wand Makes the Man

One thing I'm always interested in thinking about in HP fic is how to realistically create a society with different mores from our own. If you take the premise that pureblood especially and overall wizarding culture more broadly is different from 1990s Muggle British society seriously, you must consider where social norms differ from 90s muggle norms. I personally am interested in the idea that pureblood families tend to live in multi-generational households with extended families rather than in a nuclear family, for instance, though I don't think this was JKR's intention (but who cares it's interesting). You could claim that LGBTQ+ people are more or less accepted than 90s Britain, depending on what you want to do with your story--and you could also consider that the wizarding world might have completely different definitions of sexuality (like, for example, the Roman use of penetrator vs non-penetrator as the main sexual binary). And we know that what is defined as masculinity and femininity varies massively across time and place.

So I want to think about how gender roles might differ in the wizarding world. There was a post I saw recently that discussed the idea of Sirius feeling affirmed in exploring femininity by being seen as feminine by Muggles while wearing robes, which I thought was a really interesting idea (and one that could apply to any character exploring gender). Of course the essential premise there is that something Muggles read as feminine--robes--are actually an essential aspect of Wizarding masculinity (see that guy who likes a nice healthy breeze round his privates in GoF).

So what else defines Wizarding masculinity? We can go absolutely wild! But I think there's a lot of canonical basis for the idea that one essential part of being a wizard and a man is having access to and control over one's own wand. This raises interesting questions about how characters who can't control their wands might be seen as emasculated (like Ron in CoS and Neville pre-HBP), and is also significant with regards to Voldemort's search for a wand that will allow him to fight Harry, and the period when Harry's wand is broken. So I'd love if people did additional analysis on this topic. But I'm going to specifically discuss the case of Lucius Malfoy, because I think he's a very clear example of how you need to have a wand to be a man.

"The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms. “No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see . . . Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.” Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “My Lord?” “Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.” “I . . .” Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely. “What is it?” “Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy. “And the core?” “Dragon — dragon heartstring.” “Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously. “Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?” Some of the throng sniggered. “I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late. . . . What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?” “Nothing — nothing, my Lord!” “Such lies, Lucius . . .” (Chapter 1, DH)

Having a wand is compared to having an arm: it's an essential part of a wizard's body. All the Death Eaters are shocked by the request. (Interestingly, we know of only two confirmed female Death Eaters, Bellatrix and Alecto Carrow. Bellatrix says that she would gladly give up any SONS specifically to the Dark Lord's service in HBP. This might imply that the Death Eaters are intended to be a majority male organization (though I personally like to explore the idea of there being more female Death Eaters) and so these are men specifically being affronted).

Before his wand is taken, it is specifically mentioned that Lucius appears ill--pale and waxen and yellow. Control of the body and good health is often seen as a crucial sign of masculinity. Lucius has lost this--he cannot control his own body--and is about to lose an important signal of his masculinity, his wand.

Voldemort is also treating Lucius as a child who's transgressed: there is 'no reason for him to have a wand anymore'--Voldemort doesn't respect Lucius's right to have a wand, like he's a child who isn't in control of his own decisions. A main throughline of Lucius's treatment since OOTP is Voldemort's interest in punishing him. This involves reducing him to a child to be ordered around, who can't be trusted with a wand. He treats Lucius as someone deeply beholden to him: Lucius having a wand and having liberty are dependent on Voldemort, instead of characteristics of an adult man with social authority. Voldemort is the patriarch of the Death Eater family.

Voldemort seems to enjoy humiliating him in front of the other Death Eaters: he could have asked him nicely as an equal in private, but he makes a spectacle of it, asking for volunteers he knows won't be appearing, only to single out Lucius and then mock any pretensions he might have to exchanging wands, then intimidating and terrifying him by questioning his loyalty (and the loyalty of his family, which thus insults Lucius's ability as a patriarch). The wand length comparison also serves no real purpose but to emasculate Lucius.

Immediately after taking the wand, Vodlemort also brings up Tonks's marriage to Remus to insult Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix--another insult to Lucius's abilities as a patriarch as he cannot stop his family members from shaming the family through marriage choices. Again, it is delberate that Voldemort does this so soon after taking Lucius's wand. Now that Lucius is wandless, his masculine authority can be questioned.

Lucius clearly wants later to reclaim this lost authority --and implicitly his sense of his own masculinity.

When the Trio is captured, Lucius is extremely excited. He appears to be motivated by a desire to lessen his punishment (which involved Voldemort taking his wand, and said wand being destroyed by Harry):

"Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited. “Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv —” “Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” said Greyback menacingly." (DH)

Greyback says 'Mr. Malfoy' in a menacing way: it seems to be belittling him, reminding him that he doesn't actually have that much power in this scene compared to Greyback, who actually captured them by his own efforts compared to Lucius passively waiting for something to improve his situation. Greyback may be saying 'Mr. Malfoy' to say: all you have is your social position, compared to me--you might have the title of 'mr' but you don't have a wand and you don't have the power to act, so I am more masculine and can threaten you.

It's also really interesting how Narcissa is directing Lucius and Draco in this scene: she greets Greyback and brings him in, she refers to Draco as her son only, she is the first one to instruct Draco to examine them. Malfoy Manor might be Lucius's home, it has his name, but Narcissa appears to act as patriarch in this scene: it's her home, her son, she is greeting visitors and taking command, and she is the one to say 'we need to be sure and shouldn't immediately summon Voldemort' and the one to identify Hermione. This might be the typical Malfoy family dynamic, it might be because Narcissa is the one who still has a wand.

Then Bellatrix comes in, and she orders both Lucius and Narcissa around. She also asks Narcissa what happened, treating her as the leader of the family. Now Bellatrix has always hated Lucius, they certainly didn't seem to get along well during the DoM battle. But here she's just contemptuous of him, and provides key evidence for my wand-equals-masculinity theory.

"“I was about to call him!” said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. “I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority —” “Your authority!” she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!” “This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy —” " (DH)

Lucius lost his authority when he lost his wand. He is no longer the patriarch, the master of the house, specifically because he does not have a wand: Bellatrix then goes on to order Draco around, which Narcissa protests because it's 'her house': a striking contrast to Voldemort calling it Lucius's house in the first chapter, before he took the wand, and to Lucius trying to call it his house. While Lucius has a wand it's his house, but when his is taken it become's Narcissa's (though of course she is talking to her sister about herself, so you don't necessarily have to read that much into it). Interestingly, Bellatrix doesn't give orders to Lucius: maybe because she just doesn't like or trust him but maybe because he doesn't have a wand and is thus useless.

The whole concept of authority in HP--and Lucius, owner of Malfoy Manor, husband and father, has specifically patriarchal authority as Head of his family--is linked to having a wand. Lucius seems to have expected to be able to exercise some control over Bellatrix as a fellow Death Eater and as his sister-in-law who appears to be living with him, but she rejects this possibility by saying he can't control her as a male patriarch might because he doesn't have a wand. Thus he is failing to meet the requirements of being a patriarch in wizarding society. Bellatrix can do whatever she wants in his house, and he has no way of stopping her. She seems to have replaced him as patriarch of the Malfoy family.

The linkage of masculinity with authority with having a wand is made extremely clear through Bellatrix's line. By taking Lucius's wand, Voldemort removed the last semblance of authority and masculinity he had, to humiliate and emasculate him for losing the diary and the prophecy (and I think the broader narrative is doing this to Lucius at least a little as well, he becomes more pathetic and pitiable, because in JKR's view of gender pity is for women).

Later, Lucius's role as a Death Eater has clearly been reduced: Voldemort dismisses his suggestions around the Battle of Hogwarts as only being concerned for his son, and assigns him the menial task of fetching Snape. He has been reduced from advisor to fetch-and-carrier. Lucius's last appearance on page is NOT fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts, appearing only concerned with his son (and JKR often associates concern with a child only over any other concerns with maternity and femininity, but that's another post).

In working on this meta I also had a lot of thoughts about warrior masculinity through martial magic in the Wizarding World, and the idea of a Death Eater specific masculine warrior ideal, but that's another post LMAO. I hope this has been helpful in imagining how magic might affect gender roles!

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seeker-of-truth · 7 months ago

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I, Pre Defined

Chapter 6: Cut and Run

Word Count: 3531 (approx. 8 standard novel pages) Estimated Read Time: 15 min. Content Warning(s): Discussion of Drug abuse, Addiction, Withdrawal, and Recovery. Loss of Consciousness.

oooohhhh new chapter - excerpt below the cut

To V, consciousness had, at some point, become strange. It was gentle and violent, coming slowly or all at once, both elusive and omnipresent. The lack of it had become a comfort in the time since stumbling out of Mikoshi. Providing a safe place away from pain, away from thoughts, away from her. Only the bliss of an ever expanding nothing. So, when a harsh light blares through her eyelids, pulling her back to the world, she meets it disgruntled. Back in her body she’s acutely aware of a throbbing ache stretching up her spine and into her brain, dulled in the way only drugs do, but still leaching through. Eager to fall back into the void she tries to let it overtake her again but a voice laced with stress keeps her from slipping back into its arms. “She should be waking up soon. Call her, let ‘er know.” Let her know what? V traces back through her memories, she remembers waking up, feeling sick. And then… nothing. She feels like something had happened in between then and now, something with Judy. But when searching for the memory she receives nothing. It doesn’t feel like she forgot, there’s no fuzzy recollection just an empty slot where a memory should have been, it leaves her breath caught in her throat. Theres a shuffle to her left followed by footsteps growing nearer. A man mumbles next to her, “Now why’d your heart rate spike.” She knows that voice. Why doesn’t she recognize it immediately? Searching her brain, she realizes it’s Vik who’s been talking and her eyes snap open. Looking around she realizes she’s in Vik’s clinic. Again. I’m so tired of this shit.

#cyberpunk fanfiction #cp2077 fanfic #cyberpunk fanfic #cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 #Fic: I Pre Defined #OC: Verena Soto #i wrote that #seeker writes #Spotify

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thistlecatfics · 4 months ago

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Snape Fic Recs for the Sneptical & Snurious

I mostly run in marauders-centric circles where Snape is largely ignored or treated like an incel, and eventually it gets boring. Boring! The worst sin in fandom! He's an interesting guy and there are SO many amazing fics featuring him.

(That said, I do think that Snape, James, and Sirius would all be thrilled that their beef has continued onto the internet in 2025 and that thought delights me even as the discourse grows tedious.)

These are just a few I've enjoyed in the past couple months as someone who doesn't generally read a lot of Snape-centric fics and who has zero tolerance for Lily bashing. (Sorry this basically became a @saintsenara rec list because I've been binging)

i hope this comes back to haunt you by humanveil (29k, M)

Severus Snape, from first curse to first kill. Or: The making of a Death Eater.

The first Snape-centric fic I read in years, and it's such a good starting point for my fellow Snurious Sneptics. Snape's voice shines through -- resentful, angry, hungry, curious, brilliant -- and his relationships with so many other characters (Lily, Narcissa, his parents) are just brilliantly portrayed.

Scylla and Charybdis by Asenora (64k WIP, E, Severus/Voldemort)

Severus Snape is looking for somewhere - anywhere - to belong. He makes the wrong choice.

The political worldbuilding! The politics! The humanity! The snarky, darkly hilarious Snape voice! This is a fic where the first war really feels like a war with complex politics -- while also completely avoiding that boring trope of 'what if the DEs were right actually??' Everyone is a human, politics is about material reality, and Voldemort is awful. Snape's desire to belong is so physically palpable as you read that it's almost painful.

The War of the Roses by Asenora (51k WIP, E, Sirius/Severus)

Sirius Black does not die. But this does not mean that it is easy for him to live. Or: a butterfly flaps its wings and Sirius does not go to the Department of Mysteries. What follows from that twist of fate is a story about the long, destructive shadow of a schoolboy rivalry; a story about surviving, and how surviving is sometimes more difficult than dying; a story about the fragility of beauty, the gentleness of hope, and the value of choice. It is also a love story.

The fic that made me start binging all of Asenora's work. It's Sirius POV so perhaps a good place to start for my fellow Sirius-obsessives, and the way his experience in Azkaban both haunts him and has deep, real physical ramifications is so painful and compelling to read. Plus because he lives he gets to have a more complex relationship with Harry! Snape has very nice hands and Sirius's fantasies about him are definitely not sexual at all nope nope nope.

Two Boys Kissing by Writcraft (7k, M, Sirius/Severus)

Sirius goes to a gay bar and meets the last person he expects. Under cloudy skies, two boys kiss and that one moment comes to define generations of want, need and hope.

Bittersweet and darling.

A Yultide Tradition by kelly_chambliss (300 words, G, Severus & Minerva)

On Christmas night, Severus Snape relies on tradition.

A mournful bite of a triple drabble.

Plus: bonuses all the way from 2006 Livejournal!

Five Fragments of an Obsidian Heart (Severus/Regulus) & the entire 7Spells series

Reading these fics as a teenager genuinely saved me I think. Very dark and includes a lot of Blackcest and sexual violence and written pre-DH as a heads up. I remember being so invested in this particular version of Snape, and then DH came out and promptly lost all interest in him when his backstory wasn't as interesting as the ones I read on LJ. There's a real old school feel which I can't quite put my finger on, but I definitely recommend them if you like dark and if you like fandom history.

#severus snape #thistlecat fic rec #snack #snirius #snoldemort #snegulus

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viasdiary · 6 months ago

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can you write more frat luigi you actually eat every single time

similar to the jerk with benefits fic!!

☆ hazing (luigi mangione x reader)

☆ word count: 845

☆ warnings: rough sex, intoxication, overstim

☆ asshole frat luigi takes your virginity not so gently

☆ based on this p!link and these pics

you’re so fucking drunk. you lay in the middle of luigi’s bed as he roughly kisses your neck and pulls at the straps of your top, trying to work them down your shoulders. he feels so good on top of you, his skin slightly sweaty, smelling faintly of cologne.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot” he says breathlessly against your skin. you run your fingers through his soft dark curls as he plants kisses down your chest, pulling your top down completely. he runs his hands over your bare skin, his touch sending shivers through your body.

he pauses to look you in the eyes, his silver chain dangling above you.

"this is gonna be the best you’ve ever fuckin’ had, trust me." he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

“it’s gonna be the first i’ve ever had,” you reply, barely a whisper.

“you’re a virgin?” he scoffs, the arrogant smile on his face growing. he continues kissing along your jawline as he runs his hands across your bare thighs.

"don’t expect me to be all gentle, alright? you’re gonna have to fuckin’ keep up."

he sits back to take off his white tank top, revealing his broad chest and defined abs, a few freckles scattered across his torso.

he gets back on top of you, pulling your skirt down your legs and letting it fall onto the bed. he kisses his way down your stomach, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and sliding them off.

he kneels between your legs, kissing his way up your inner thigh. he pauses when he reaches your hip, sucking on the tender skin. he pulls back and grins, admiring the faint mark already forming.

"i want everyone to know what i fuckin' did to you" he says, licking his lips.

"i want every guy to see it and wish they had a chance with you"

you moan softly as he runs his hands over your breasts, lightly rubbing your nipples. you gasp as he presses his tongue against your clit, moving in slow circles.

"fuck." you breathe, grabbing his hair.

"you like that?" he asks, grinning up at you.

"fuck yes,"

he slides his hand up your thigh and rubs his fingers against your wet pussy, causing you to squirm under his touch. he slips one inside, thrusting slowly.

"so fucking tight."

he adds another, picking up the pace. you can feel your climax building, your moans growing louder.

he pulls his fingers out and you whine at the loss of contact. he gets back on top of you, his hands traveling your body.

"you think i'm letting you fuckin' finish without me?" he chuckles softly, running his hands over your breasts.

he leans in to kiss you, his tongue pushing into your mouth. he tastes so good, faintly like beer. he kisses his way down your neck, nipping and sucking on the soft skin. he kneels in front of you on the bed, unbuckling his belt and pulling his jeans and boxers down. his hard cock springs free, his tip glistening with pre cum.

"you ready for this baby?" he asks, pumping his hand along his shaft.

"i'm gonna make you mine"

he leans over you, lining his cock up with your entrance. he slowly pushes inside, the stretch slightly painful. he groans as he buries himself inside of you. he holds your thighs open, pressing them into the bed as he drills deeper.

"so fuckin' tight...fuck..." he breathes.

you moan as he pounds into you, each thrust hitting your cervix. he watches your tits bounce as he slams into you, the sight driving him fucking insane.

"oh god," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs firmly, pushing them against your sides.

"it's too much" you whimper, as he practically folds you in half, pounding into you harder.

"shut the fuck up" he pants. "you can fuckin' take it." he picks up his pace, his moans growing louder.

"i'm so fuckin' close," you cry, arching your back.

"fuck yeah, i can tell." he replies, his breathing labored.

he leans forward, looking down at you as he continues pounding into you.

"say my fuckin' name."

"luigi," you moan, the intense feeling of him stretching you out almost sending you over the edge.

"louder baby." he urges. “let everyone hear me fuckin’ ruining you.”

"luigi, please" you beg, feeling your orgasm building.

"cum for me baby" he groans, fucking you so deep it feels he's breaking you. you can feel yourself getting close, your cries growing louder.

"that's right. fuckin' cum all over my cock" he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. he grips your thighs tighter as he pumps into you a few more times before letting out a deep groan, filling you completely.

you both stay like that for a minute, breathing heavily. he lets go of your legs, causing them to fall to either side of him. he falls on top of you, burying his face in your neck. you wrap your arms around him, your fingers gently brushing his soft curls.

"not too bad for a virgin." he chuckles against your skin.

#luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione fanfic #real person fiction #free luigi

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biasbuck · 5 months ago

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BiAsBuck’s February ficrec frenzy

Hi everyone, just under two weeks to go until we're so so back, and it's time for February's rec post of all the fic that I've read and loved over the last month! Basically I've been rolling around in delight at all the interpretations of the behind the scenes hug fic, so you may sense a theme. As always you can find previous rec lists here.

22 February 2025

It’s a good thing we’re so normal and well-adjusted and could never fall in love with each other! by @luckshiptoshore my dear friend wrote her first Buddie fic, and it's a delight. Posing the question, what would happen if Buck and Eddie had an ongoing fwb arrangement, and hadn't thought any deeper about it than that because they're both straight right, so it's just blowing off steam? Coupled with Buck's canonical bi awakening...that makes him reassess what exactly has been going on all this time. Witty and so much fun, bless these idiots, they have but one braincell between them but boy does it spark when rubbed together.

there is no road by @ghostlandtoo such a gripping take on Eddie moving to El Paso and Buck in LA missing him, this is a dual POV in which Buck is striving to be fine, and Eddie is struggling to adjust, and they're both missing each other. When Eddie is injured on the job, Buck drops everything to come to his side, and together they heal and slowly start to unpeel the layers on their feelings. Really fantastic examination of how to be there for each other when you know what you feel but not how to unblock obstacles in the way. I especially loved the Eddie POV and myriad family dynamics in this one.

so make the best of this test (and don’t ask why) by @littlefreakbuckley oh this one took me by surprise in the best way! Buck 1.0 wakes up in the marriage bed of future Buck and Eddie. Adjusting to learning he's into guys too now, and reckoning with the realisation that he's built a family since his early season 1 pre-Abby relationship days, what unfolds is both flirtation to the max and a beautifully introspective journey of acceptance. And one VERY intrigued Eddie. Hot and sweet, their idiosyncrasies and banter were so on point, with such a lovely subtle characterisation shift between 1.0 and Buck that still made them both feel distinctly them even with the gap in wisdom and growth: just gorgeous. Also hot, did I say hot? Hot!

crying after sex by @eddiebabygirldiaz I'm always here for an ren's fics, and oh hello, this one is a stunner! After a hook up following the Risky Business scene, Buck and Eddie have kissed...but they've yet to define anything, and before they can have that conversation, one or the other bolts. When Eddie moves to Texas, Buck spirals and has a lot of sex and spirals some more. They miss each other terribly, and through their discussions, they find their way to each other, but not without a few speed bumps. I really love the self reflection they both go through here, and the structure which means we get to see so much of how they cope, love, and grow together.

his indecision's bugging me by @peachino a beautifully written contribution to the 'Eddie moves out and without telling him, Buck moves in' speculation. The language and descriptions in this one are so gorgeous, with Buck's head being a delightfully messy, tangled place to inhabit. There's paint metaphors, Buckley sibling conversations, and an Eddie who is gently accepting and amused. I love you squatter Buck!

crash test anthem by @clytemnestraaa part two in gear shift harmony, Buck is not having a great time in LA, and the firefam are concerned for him. Really diving deep into his abandonment issues and his less than healthy ways of dealing with them, this is putting him in the torment nexus.

tailspinning by @doitgently taking Buck spiralling to the extreme...this is that one time Buck snooped on Eddie's fridge calendar to the extreme! With a mix of location tracking and memorised schedules, the codependency is off the charts and yet remains somehow incredibly sweet and charming - such a fine line and executed so well. Buck knows what he's doing is insane but god help him, he just needs to know.

slaughterhouse by @kithmet 'Buck has resolved to be the greatest friend ever. He’s handling this move so well. And not at all being abnormal about Eddie’s house. Or Eddie’s belongings. Or, well. Eddie.' In which Buck accidentally starts magpieing Eddie's belongings in a reaction to him moving away and feels very guilty about it but just can't stop himself....and Eddie's reaction might not be what you expect. This one tickled me so much, lovely little klepto.

oh brother, I see (you burn like me) by canadadry SISTERS!!!! Oh oh how I loved this...chapters split between Adriana and Maddie, this is a third person POV to Buddie, from the eyes of their siblings. What Adriana witnesses coming in fresh contrast to poor Maddie's slowly boiled frog experience of the two. Lovely characterisation and just so much fun, I really loved that they bonded over the insanity.

We're Overdue for a Revival by @bespectacledbunnys in which Chris agrees to come back to LA but he has one condition....Eddie must marry Buck. The only problem? Buck and Eddie are totally platonic? Right? I love the comedy of errors sensibility to this fic, along with the marriage of convenience trope wielded by teenage melodrama. Chris is brilliantly given agency here, allowed to be a messy and contradictory and hurt teenager just trying to be okay. Love Buck's easy acceptance and the firefam's incredulity. So much fun, and a delightful ride.

Okay let's leave it there for now, with Eddie perpetually in El Paso and Buck perpetually Not Okay About It. So excited to be back with more canon informed fics soon, happy reading everyone! 12 days until 8b!

#biasbuck recs #buddie #911 abc #buddie fic #buddie ficrec #buddie fanfic #911 fic #911 ficrec #buddie fic rec #911 fic rec

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thesummerstorms · 8 months ago

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So I read Batman #416 last night...

They haven’t talked in a year and a half according to this issue. Bruce literally did not attempt to talk to Dick once after “firing” him in this version of the continuity? Phones go two way, Bruce, especially if you’re supposed to be the parent/adult in this situation.

And Dick looks so sad. Like for all people like to talk about JT being “replaced”, I don’t know that I would have it in me to get over it if my father figure knew I was alive and well after he basically cut me off, didn’t bother to speak to me for 18 months or attempt any kind of communication, and I had to go find him when all of a sudden he gave the job I was fired from, that had defined our relationship, to a teenager, who was even more at risk than I had been.

“It was Alfred who forced money on me so I’d have something to live on. You couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye.”

“ I was involved with a case. I didn’t…”

This is so much sadder than the original New Teen Titans/pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths version??? Like this is so fucking sad.

Then instead of leaving school on his own, Dick fails out because he’s too distracted and is asked not to come back? Like eventually he has the Titans, but taking away this being his choice and making it something he experienced because Bruce felt guilty he was shot makes it so much worse.

And then this set of panels…

“ It didn’t matter to you that I didn’t have any life other than the one we shared .”

Ymmv on whether Dick leading on his own terms or because he was fired as a change for the better or the worse, but holy God, does it change the dynamics of this relationship.

The way Dick reaches out for him… and Bruce shuts him out and tells him to leave. Just like he will after Jason actually dies, except this time, he only punched the glass and not Dick. Dick is trying to be the first one to reconcile, but Bruce won’t let him. Calling him Nightwing instead of by his name as a form of distancing him and everything.

And yet, for all the five trillion posts and fics I’ve seen about how Dick supposedly treated Jason badly due to jealousy and felt bad after he died, his next move? Is to go help Jason, give him his approval, and then offered to talk to him when Bruce wouldn’t and things were difficult.

TBH, I'm pretty sure that Dick Grayson is a way better fucking person than me. Because I like to think I wouldn't have taken it out on Jason directly, but I also would not have gone to find him, reassure him/give him my approval, and offer him a support network in the immediate aftermath of that conversation either. I would not have had it in me after ... *points to all of Bruce's bullshit*

#Rev Reads DC Comics Live #Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Jason Todd

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chxrryhansen · 1 year ago

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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s SStan Series Rec List

here are my sebastian stan series fic recs! they are mostly bucky barnes series but mainly Au’s! i will be creating separate lists for cevans one shots and sstan one shots😚

Clockwork - @sgt-seabass

When life seems to be finally back on track, a visit by a mob boss to your dainty town changes everything. (Dark!Alpha Nick Fowler)

The Soldat And The Sparrow - @navybrat817

Your fire burns for the Winter Soldier. And one day, you'll be free. Both of you.

For The Love Of The Game - @pellucid-constellations

Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it.

The Heart Is A Deep Ocean - @dreamlessinparis

Titanic was known as the ship of dreams. For you, it was the dream of getting home, or so you thought. From the moment you locked eyes with James Buchanan Barnes, all those dreams changed and your life was never the same.

Everything’s Better In WestView - @espinosaurusrexex

Bucky and Y/N sneak into Westview to have the perfect life. Away from late Steve and Tony, Vision and Natasha, they let themselves be consumed by suburban magic. To their surprise, however, some of these people aren’t so dead in the town. And there are some other weird things happening that make them question their sanity. But that’s okay, right? ‘Cause everything’s better in Westview.

The Bride Of Soldat - @vampy-doll

In the summer of 1986, a young woman goes missing whenever HYDRA kidnaps her to be their next experiment for the reward of their Soldat. Now, post blip, Bucky starts to remember defining details of his love, his match made in hell, and is determined to find her. But after years of isolation and torture after his escape, she isn’t who he remembers. Now they’re trying to piece together who she was pre-HYDRA to teach her how to live, without his undying love and obsession of her getting in the way. But when one head is cut off, two more shall grow in its place, leaving them to discover those behind her abduction.

Awake My Soul - @foreverindreamlandd

It's been five years since zombies first started walking the Earth, destroying anything and everything in their wake. Now, in this apocalyptic world, fighting for survival comes as naturally as breathing. The one thing you've learned ever since they arrived, though, is that the living can be so much more dangerous than the undead. When you stumble across two young, scared boys lost in the woods and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. Little did you know that helping them would lead you to Bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp Shield. Bucky has zero interest in having you enter his life. He's been hurt before and lost too many people to risk experiencing that kind of pain again, and he knows that there are secrets you aren't telling the group. Yet, when push comes to shove, and you're put at risk, he'll stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Guiding Light - @wkemeup

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra. While you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, Bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesn’t know how to breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can.

The Witness - @wkemeup

Owner of a bar full of criminals, maybe you shouldn’t be surprised when you’re the sole witness to a hydra hit. In comes Detective Barnes, the quick-witted, flirtatious cop who somehow became a regular at your misfit bar. When he takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

Under Oath - @ugh-supersoldiers

The people called for justice, the state answered. The trial of State v. Barnes is set to begin, and the odds are most certainly not in favor of the not so beloved ex Winter Soldier. That’s where you come in, the quick, smart, and all too brave lawyer set on defending and saving one Bucky Barnes from legal prosecution. The only problem? He’s not so sure he’s worth saving at all.

Just One Kiss - @sarahwroteathing

Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?

He’s Hazardous To My Health - @writing-for-marvel

Bucky Barnes is a beefy paramedic with a traumatic past, who has left a trail of broken hearts behind him. You are a resident doctor new to town, who barely has time to date between long shifts. When your paths cross in your ER during a disaster, is it the start of something magical, or are you destined to be just another of Bucky’s former flames?

Just Try - @waiting4inspiration

Perfectly happy with your life at the Avengers’ compound, an alpha walks into your life, flipping it completely over and revealing secrets you hoped you had buried a long time ago.

Дорогая - @waiting4inspiration

Bucky's Winter Soldier programming has been triggered. Turns out the Winter Soldier has a thing for you.

Red Ties - @sebstan2020

Mary, a sweet Christian girl living in the city of Brooklyn as a nurse had a simple life. She loved her work, her friends and attending church every Sunday and helping Reverend Owens. Her life was nothing out of the ordinary. However, it all changed one day when she bumps into the intriguing and intimidating James Barnes, Brooklyn’s notorious mafia boss and is introduced to a world of guns, lust and dominance.

Delicate Edges - @wkemeup

Your family’s beloved flower shop was not the only thing you inherited when your parents passed. Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, you bear the cost of your father’s desperate bargain. It’s only in moments when the charming Bucky Barnes walks into your shop that you can forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. The border is crumbling. You're trapped in the middle. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Pride And Privacy - @adrinktostopyourthirst

Bucky works on himself as he gets used to a roommate. Turns out, she has a much better room than him and he crossed the line.

Feelings Are Fatal - @sunmoonandeddie

After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

Appointments - @noctumbra

bucky barnes, finally being able to live freely in 21st century, accidentally gets a fuck buddy and starts to rediscover himself. the only weird thing about this situation is that you have to make an appointment to get railed by him.

Lazarus - @sagechanoafterdark

Things are complicated between you and James Barnes. For you, life doesn’t mean much when you never stay dead for very long. But it might just be an ex-soviet assassin that convinces you to start living again.

Its A Deal - @justreadingfics

You’re out of a relationship of 10 years and you’re just in desperate need to get laid, no strings attached, no romance, no complications. You dear friend Natasha feels like she’s going to regret this later, but she might have the perfect guy to fulfill your needs.

The Two Of Us - @bucky-bucket-barnes

You and Bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in Westview, New Jersey. While attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into Wanda's world of pretend. Now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married Mr. and Mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. It is up to you and Bucky to piece together what's happening while dealing with one another inside the hex.

Snow - @delaber

Tired of your constant bickering, Sam sends you and Bucky on a mission alone. When the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in.

All Good Things - @sagechanoafterdark

After only three days of dealing with the annoying specter haunting you, you break the rules and accidently give a ghost a body. So what do you do when you find out the man you’re now sharing your your apartment with isn’t really a ghost and that haunted touch is a little warmer than you realized?

Welcome Home… Soldat? - @winterarmyy

Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Heavy Metal Lover - @mypoisonedvine

every client is different, with different needs; but this client is, in every way, exceptional. (Sub!Bucky Barnes + Dominatrix!Reader)

Parent-Teacher Conference - @coffeecatsandcandles

James Barnes, a widowed single dad, had forgotten what love felt like and let it crush him, taking his daughter, Rebecca, with him. He was cold, rude, and arrogant, being one of the few teachers at Westview High School the students seemed to absolutely despise. But when you show up, a hopeful math teacher who’d previously taught Rebecca’s kindergarten class, and are adored by your students and colleagues- James’s attitude starts to change.

Duck & Cover - @whirlybirbs

you’re the howling commandos’ new medic (Sniper!Bucky Barnes)

Winter’s Mate - @maggyme13

The Winter Soldier threatens to get out of control with his instincts taking over more and more. After years of supressed ruts his body built up a resistance and Hydra need to find another solution. Deciding it would be the easiest to just give in. Hydra kidnapped the reader to turn her into a Omega in Heat using injections whenever needed.

Key’s In Your Ignition - @georgiapeach30513

Caught up in a sexual relationship with your father’s Vice President, and trying to not get caught. Blind to everything else that’s going on in the club, and even your old crush, Bucky Barnes. Not even noticing your brother and best friend flirting, until your father suddenly passes, and things in the club drastically change. (Ari Levinson + Bucky Barnes + Harvard Hottie- Hayden)

#chxrrys fic recs #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic recs #fic recs #sebastian stan x reader #nick fowler #nick fowler x reader

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