#ripple replies

[dymitre]

Wade vs Ozzy!

Let's see who's the better liquid-man-colored-blue-with-hairstyle-tuft guy!

uhhh yes

[lowrezbonuslevel]

hey it’s me!! again. heehee

how about sectonia for the resting face prompt?

To me, she seems like the kind of person who would always be smiling and humming to herself, even when nobody's around! Thanks for the request sh0ck!! (I jump at the chance to post spider Sectonia propaganda)

And with that, the challenge is complete! I made quite a few sketches along the way; might post some of them later.

Big thanks again to everyone who submitted character suggestions!

[erisenyo]

I'm the 'facets anon' and while I absolutely LOVED your answer, I think I formulated the question wrong.

With 'How many facets can a character lose to still be considered the same character and not just someone with the same name?' I wished to ask how many aspects of a character can be changed from the get go.

F.E. if Zuko was an only earthbending child who grew up on a farm with only a mother can he really be considered Zuko?

I will admit that my question wasn't motivated by the ATLA Fandom, but you're one of my favorite authors, so I wished to gather your opinion

Ohhh interesting question anon! Basically, how much of an AU can your AU be before it's becoming original fiction?

I hate to say that the answer is 'it depends'...but I think it depends on what you consider to be the "core" aspects of the character, and how thoughtful the author is about understanding the impact of any changes. The line between "unrecognizable AU" and "character study" hinges a LOT on the author's awareness of what's changing.

Sticking with the Zuko example -

is it his history/backstory? (Zuko in any world needs to have an absent mother, an abusive father, be cast out of home/his family and try to return to it?)

Is it his characterization? (Zuko in any world needs to have huge big emotions, a heart of goodness, the need to please, a determination to do well, stubborness?)

Is it his narrative growth? (Zuko in any world needs to grapple with his identity and place in the world, needs to learn to trust his own judgment and ethics?)

(There are probably other categories as well)

I think you can change a lot of those, and still be writing 'Zuko', as long as you're very clear to your reader what you're changing. But you probably do need to hold *some* of the above constant, and I can see what that constant piece is flexing depending on what's changed.

For example - a world where Ozai died when Zuko was a baby, Azulon decided to broker peace decades ago, and now Zuko isn't heir, grew up with affirmation and positivity in his life that allowed his goodness to blossom (aka, change his entire backstory, put him in an environment where different aspects of his character come to the fore)...You are probably still going to be dealing with the same narrative arcs (who am I, what's my place in the world, learning to trust himself), and the other character traits that come to the fore will still be (or should be) his character traits (not brand new ones).

Even if you go "what if Zuko is everything Ozai wants him to be"...you're probably going to end up in a similar place arc-wise and and personality-wise, because of who *Ozai* is, and Azula, and Ursa

And if you're going okay, Zuko is totally different and so is everyone around him and so is the world and so is the family history/dynamics and so is the plot...then you're probably in original fiction territory, because you haven't held any aspect of canon constant, and it's probably no longer in conversation with canon if you're changing every aspect of canon.

So for it to stay 'Zuko', I'd say it comes down to 1) are you clear on what is still tied to canon, 2) are you clear on what you're changing, and 3) are you clear on how those changes are going to impact other elements of the character/other characters/plot/etc.

And the better you are at explaining those changes and their impact, the more you're going to be able to change and still have things feel tied to canon, because you're bringing your reader along with you.

Even if you don't change much, if you just dump me into a 'this Zuko had loving support as a child' AU, I'm going to be confused because I am in an alternate universe without understanding *what* is alternate.

But if you are changing the setting, the family relationships, the plot, and then seeing how Zuko's character changes as a result...now it's a character study! We love character studies!

So your "Zuko as an only earthbending child who grew up on a farm with only a mother" example *could* still be Zuko, depending on how critical you think firebending vs earthbending is to his character, palace royalty vs common origins, an abusive family dynamic, being an older brother.

I can see ways to make it work (he's still full of huge emotions, struggles with his place in the world, wants to matter and make an impact but doesn't know how, feels like he can't live up to the expectations on him but is going to try anyway even if it kills him, feels like his bending will never be good enough, wants to fight in the war)--I just need to bring the reader along with me.

[deiscension]

﹄ ◇ ; @riwrite / BALDUR'S GATE 3 STARTERS

❝ evil is evil, even if it once was innocent. ❞ / from hx..... wahhh

      ⌜◈⌟    ▌ ──  "𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠-𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲. Can't you ever say anything light-hearted?"

     𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. It would be so easy. How many times has she done this already? Breezing past Ming Yi's stoic observations with a nod or a bit of light teasing, taking his hand to lead him one way or another, laughing while the line of his mouth remains taut. That's just how they are. Night and day. Steadfast earth and playful breeze. It's not that she doesn't want to engage further with his thoughts. It's that so few trust her to understand anything heavier than a backhanded compliment, she doesn't know how to contend with this sudden weight.

      𝙀𝙫𝙞𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡. Good is good. Innocent is innocent. Immoral is immoral. Gods are gods. Ghosts are ghosts. The sun is warm, and its light is pretty on your hair. Return the compliment, won't you please?

      𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐒𝐡𝐢 𝐐𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. Sunlight kisses her face, haloing the dark behind her eyelids. "You're right," she concedes, and she could swear the sunlight is pooling in her mouth, warming her tongue into complacency so it won't shy away from giving shape to her thoughts. Because, truth be told, she has had similar conversations with herself. She's not sure when they began to take form; the Banyue Pass affair, perhaps. "But I think there's more to it than that."

      𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐮𝐩𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝. "Evil is evil, even if it was once good." She turns her right palm upward. "Good is good, even if it was once evil. We'd all be better off if everyone could understand something so simple. Except it's not that simple, is it? Most everything is more like this." Her hands come together with a soft pompff. "Saying it's this way or that way doesn't do anything. If evil is evil even though it was once innocent, then it's our duty to grieve that loss of innocence just as passionately as we punish wickedness. Someone has to know the full truth. Then the same thing won't have to happen again. That's why we gods are here, after all. And..."

      𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭. Strangely enough, she doesn't feel very afraid of what he might say in return. Even if he's mean about it, she can bear it because he's her best friend. Who else could she trust with her most secret, fragile thoughts?

       "...𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧. The innocent becoming evil, I mean."

      𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐢 𝐐𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫. Between blinks, she catches a glimpse of Ming Yi's face again. He's still frowning. How very Ming Yi of him. Laughter tumbles from her lips.

       "𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧. It's hard to imagine you crying, but rest assured I would still cry for you if you ever became such a person." Folding her arms, Shi Qingxuan levels Ming Yi with a self-assured stare. "That won't happen, though, so let's not think about it. Do you know what is entirely possible?" She points directly between his eyebrows. "You giving yourself ugly old man wrinkles by scowling like that."

[lovesick-level-up]

Sea Fairy Cookie’s Rippling Moonlight Costume Reply Icons

🇧🇷 anon requested: Can I request some Sea Fairy Cookie’s Rippling Moonlight reply icons? The aesthetic can be whatever you think is best for her

feel free to use with credit, but don’t claim as your own! like/reblog if you save or enjoy!

[mitamicah]

hi! i would've sent this to your other blog but wanted to be on anon😅 but i wanted to ask how you keep finding these social/hobby events! like a songwriter open mic or that diary reading night. we definitely don't live in the same country but i wonder how you look for them in your case?

Hi anon - thank you for your question 🤗💚

Btw this reply got quite long so I've kept it under the line :'D

Maybe I should start by stating that I live in a somewhat big city - it is not the capital yet big enough so there's a lot of different events happening IF you know where to look - what I am trying to say is pretty much that I don't live in a rural area which might influence how convenient or not it is to find the events :'D

To answer your question let me give you three examples of how I've learned about specific events around my city:

I remember back in 2020-21 where I had been craving an open mic event but didn't think any existed until randomly an event popped up on my Facebook about this open mic once every month on a sunday. By putting myself out there and trying to go to one of said events I now have become a volunteer at said open mic event and so I'm attending pretty much every month to help set up and clean up the stage. The diary event and some poetry slam events I've attended have come about by me overhearing some people at the open mic considering to go and being too curious to stay behind - also the music group thing I was attending two weeks ago had left postcards at our open mic I then took with me home. Us volunteers also have a facebook group chat where we often speak about going to karaokes together.

2. There's this queer cafe event every month I got invited to in person by a friend. Through attending that event I've also learned a lot about specific pride events that the organisation is hosting (mostly pride related but also been to a free "queer" comic book course...). By tagging along to the one queer club in my city after the café event ended I've gotten introduced to even more cool events (trans support groups, karaoke evenings, rock themed bar days, book store visits etc.).

3. At one point a friend of mine tagged me in a post about the national asexual community needing some help for Copenhagen pride. I then contacted the organisation and ended up not only joining them at pride but entering the organisation - through being a member I've learned about meet ups for asexual people in my city and one of the most active people there is very nice to share links about upcoming events around the city of queer talks and the like. He recommended for instance a talk I went to about the overlap about being transgender and autism ^V^

So in short:

I have been finding these events mostly through

Social media (in my case Facebook) and word of mouth (either through people linking events, people in chats talking about going/advertising an event or friends directly asking me) ^V^ - And then of most important of all being curious and trying to go to events I am unsure about but sounds fun ^V^

[glamgatorr]

"Why is the whole gang o' animatronics SUS now? Please not this too..."

[chipmunkfanno1love]

Such a beautiful and romantic moment. 🥰

Elemental (2023), dir. Peter Sohn

[tojisun]

Okay, now I need something about bf!logan and his girl making a porno (bonus points if wade finds out after the show they put on for him and that man is willing to RISK IT ALL to see that sex tape😩🤣)

cw: porn link; f!reader; smut; consensual filming during sex; slight sexting at the end // divider by @/plutism!

this is definitely the porno they were making <3

logan has you on your knees, your ass dimpling with every one of his greedy caresses, his heavy hand kneading your flesh. you’re whining to be creampied—to be bred—and logan indulges you with a quiet chuckle because you’re so adorable like this, all needy and demanding, babbling nothing but nonsense because he’s fucked you to the point of incoherence.

you jut out your chin at his croon. he tells you to do it yourself if you really want his cum; says that you’ve got to show him how much you need it.

“an’ here i thought i was bein’ a gentleman,” logan says, sighing in that what-can-you-do? tone like he hadn’t been fucking you so hard, you were sure that the condom was on the brink of ripping.

you grumble, rolling your eyes even mid-tears, before reaching back to where he’s got his cock rutting along the cleft of your ass. you give it a stroke, giggling breathily to yourself at its sheer girth and weight, before sliding your hand down to the pinched tip and tugging.

logan moans, and it rumbles deep, sending tingles to rise from the tips of your toes to the base of your neck. he sounds just a little too excited, and you wonder how you must look as you reach for the rubber, tugging it off the expanse of his cock. do you look desperate, the camera capturing the way you’re shivering like you’re on cum-withdrawals? or do you look like the brat that you are, whining how sex is not enough until logan’s pumping you full of his sperm?

god, the thought that this moment is being immortalized makes you clench at nothing, your hole puckering as it waits to be filled.

the condom comes off with a pop, the rubber snapping off and into itself. it sounds so lewd and dirty, like the two of you are really starring in a corny porno, and it fills your cheeks with warmth as your need wanes in the face of your shyness.

you fling the condom to the side, before burrowing your face on the pillows, as though that alone can hide the palpable hunger rippling from you. logan laughs at your reaction like he’s not softly humping his cock between your thighs, rutting it along the wet mess he’s made out of your cunt.

“y’ready, bub?” logan asks, still giddy with his laugh. you grumble a reply, before jutting your head in a stilted nod.

he taps his weeping cock along your folds, testing, and you shuffle in your impatience. you feel the itch exploding, the need to be stuffed bloating, but logan continues to tease and god, pleasepleaseplease—

“i’ve got you, darl,” he grunts, then he’s pushing in, steady and filling, and, and—

the moan that’s ripped from your throat sounds foreign, like you’re a damn wounded animal. you don’t even get to adjust to his width—pussy lips going taut at his thickness—before logan’s drawing his cock out until all that’s left is the head. there’s a bated breath that you two share, leaving you suspended in anticipation, then he’s bullying it back in.

you flop on the bed, all useless now like you’ve got your strings cut loose. logan doesn’t seem to mind, not with the consistent ringing slaps of his pelvis meeting your ass echoing in your quaint room. god, your brain’s being scrambled right now, you’re sure, because you can’t even think of anything but logan—

loganloganlogan.

you’re already cross-eyed by the time he sprays his first load inside you.

.

wade gets a five second clip from logan’s number. the thumbnail is just a blur of colours and wade’s interest is piqued because logan rarely reaches out to him—a video is just unthinkable.

he was expecting many things—that the video is the one of deadpool being broadcasted on national television with the words “hero or criminal?” after he’s accidentally set the robber’s van on fire, or that the video is an accidental recording of logan’s butt because that wolverine suit was tight and wade can’t even think where logan must keep his phone with him.

but this—

wade wasn’t expecting this.

it was a video of you—wade’s not even embarrassed to admit that he’s memorized the way you look from all angles; what? one doesn’t get a show of wolverine fucking his girl without gaining a new hyperfixation—reaching for logan’s monster cock. wade breathes in sharply as he watches you reach for the condom before tugging it off with a filthy, filthy pop. the video cuts into a next scene of logan relentlessly fucking you hard; the audio is a mess of squeaks and slaps, but also the wet squelches of logan’s cock fucking in-and-out of your gaping cunt.

two things:

1. that’s fucking hot.

2. that video has clearly been tampered with; it was edited to show the barest of the highlights.

this was a conscious decision, with deliberate efforts. this was personal.

an invitation.

wade rubs one… okay, fine.

wade rubs three out before he’s running back to that apartment he’s daydreamed about. mid-parkour, another notifcation comes in. wade falls, because of course he does, but while he waits for his ankle to mend itself back into its socket, his eyes devour the new message.

> darl wants to know if you’re in.

wade sends a dick pic as a reply.

wade busting a fat nut behind tim hortons because he’s patriotic like that

(ext)

[dymitre]

The way you draw wade reminds me of Osmosis Jones and i love that

No more... ok this was another attempt to imitate the style of the movies xd

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Sweet Like Chocolate (Venom Drabble)

Eddie/Venom x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Venom's enjoys it when you're his host.

CW: fluff, making fun of Eddie

Venom Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

WE ARE NOT A BABY.

You tut and continue about making Venom’s tater tots. It hadn’t really been a genuine thought. It’s just that when you and Eddie trade Venom between you like parents trading a toddler for alone time, it kind of felt that way at times. Not that you were complaining, of course. Any time with Venom piggybacking in your head was time well spent in your own personal opinion. 

It was just a shame that you weren’t a better match. Then he could come around with you more often. But no, that was Eddie’s responsibility, it would seem. 

“I know, V- you know how human brains work. Thoughts just pop in unannounced.” 

I WILL ALLOW IT.

 

You chuckle and pour yourself a glass of wine. A tendril of Venom’s form spreads from your back to put the wine bottle away for you, and you thank him kindly. Checking the timer on the tots, you frown. They were going to be at least another fifteen minutes. 

“What do you want to do tonight, V?” You ask, plopping down on the lounge chair and taking a sip. 

WE WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU. 

You smile softly, and Venom chuckles in your brain in response. That took some getting used to, actually, hearing someone laugh in your mind. But like all things, you acclimated. 

“We’re doing that, buddy,” you reply. 

YOU ARE FAR NICER THAN EDDIE. EDDIE IS MEAN. 

You take another swig of your wine and flick the TV on quietly, flipping through to get to Venom’s favourite channel. 

“How do you mean? Eddie’s a sweetie deep down,” you respond, finally finding the channel and putting the subtitles on for yourself. Eddie was always a sweetie. It was just that he was a bit gruff. Venom grunts. 

EDDIE’S AN ASSHOLE. 

You hear the bathroom door creak open and turn around, seeing Venom’s tendril rooting around in there for something. You don’t question it further than that, knowing that whatever he’s looking for will be found. 

You’re proven correct when the tendril returns with your hairbrush. You dutifully fluff your hair out from the neck of your cardigan for Venom, who hums appreciatively and begins to brush at your hair. 

It’s something he likes to do for you. You’re not sure whether it’s because he enjoys the sensation himself, or whether it’s something he does for you. It could be both, all things considered. Your eyes flutter shut, and you lose yourself in the motions for a few minutes. 

“He can be an ass,” you finally acquiesce. “But he means well.” 

Venom’s head materialises from over your shoulder and faces you. His tendril pauses its ministrations in your hair for a moment, and he appears thoughtful. 

“I suppose,” Venom replies. “We prefer you. Prettier host.” 

You flush pink and brush a hand over Venom’s cheek. Or what would be his cheek, you supposed? 

“You’re a sweet thing, V.” 

Venom nods, ripples of his skin flowing over his form. 

“Like chocolate, yes?” 

You laugh and make to get up when the timer for the tater tots goes off. 

“Like chocolate.”

[suguann]

✎. he’s nice. well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you.

tags. fem!reader, mild dubcon, possessive and obsessive behavior, simon is an excon, non-linear narrative for future chapters [18+ only]

part one | part two

He’s always been a little obsessed with pretty things, even as a child.

It only makes sense that the habit would follow him into adulthood.

He sees you once while he’s walking by the bus stop. A timid thing wrapped up in an oversized sweater and parka coat, not looking up from the little book in your lap until the bus stops before you and takes you away.

The next time he sees you, he makes sure to come a few minutes earlier, lighting a cigarette and keeping his distance while he watches you read the same book from the day before. Simon knows it’s you, the girl from the letters, even if it’s a big city. It has to be—his pretty, lonely, silly girl.

He thinks about walking up to you just to make sure, but he doesn’t really need to. The address on the envelope brought him here, and you’re the only one he’s seen wearing a university sweater in this neighborhood.

But when he hesitates too long, a boy starts talking to you, and he watches you smile at somebody else.

Simon runs his thumb over his bottom lip and takes a deep breath to fill his chest with the soothing feeling of menthol and the burning taste of nicotine, trying to relax his white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel. 

You’ll learn, he thinks, when the bus drives off, and the boy doesn’t follow you on. He’s a patient man—it’s possibly one of his finer qualities.

He lets his car idle as he climbs out before crushing his cigarette bud underneath his shoe, straightening his black tie, and crossing the street. The boy sees him and freezes, but Simon can only laugh, wiping blood off his cheek several seconds later.

You’ll learn.

He’s nice.

Well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you. But nice, you've learned, can mean any number of things: a nice laugh, a nice house, a nice job, et cetera.

But how he holds himself—tall, broad, and dangerous—hardly screams nice.

It’s funny because you don’t remember seeing him around the office before—the company, including IT, occupies only four floors in the building. 

Someone tells you he’s a friend of a friend. This initially sounds odd until Rose, the office gossip, says he’s someone rich who helps fund the company's social events. Hence, the crisp suit and the wide berth of space you’d give someone who wields their smile like a weapon. 

You quickly look away twice when you find that smile aimed at you, heat traveling up to your hairline at an alarming rate.

It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not your type. 

“Enjoying the party?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep voice so close to your ear. Careful not to spill your drink, you turn your head to find him smiling down at you with a sharp curl of his mouth.

Then he’s in front of you, eyes dark and crinkling in the corners.

“Uh, yeah. It’s not bad, though,” you squeak nervously when you realize you haven’t answered him. “It’s different from what I’m used to.”

He raises an amused brow. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He’s intimidating up close, and you take a small sip of your drink to ease your nerves. “Well, no kegs or trashy music playing, and boys with egos bigger than the room.”

The man lets out a low chuckle as he considers your honest reply, and you swear you see something ripple across his features, but when you blink, it’s gone. “I suppose that differs from top-shelf liquor and live bands, huh? Which is better?”

You shrug. “Well, it depends on who you ask.” 

“I’m asking you.”

“Honest answer?” 

He nods. 

“Neither. I don’t really care for parties.”

“Then it’s quite unfortunate that you found yourself at one tonight.” He seems privately amused, in on a joke you have no part of. Then he says, “You want to get out of here?”

“I probably shouldn’t follow a stranger home,” you tell him bashfully.

“That’s very responsible of you. Then how about I get you a drink? There’s a hotel across the street, and the bar’s not shit.”

You bite your lip, and his big, warm hand is on the small of your back before you say anything. It must’ve been written all over your face like he knew you would say yes.

He’s ever the gentleman, unlike most boys your age. Though, perhaps that’s the difference. He isn’t a boy—nothing about him can hardly be described as such. This fact becomes a bit overwhelming and more evident once he has you on your back, thighs nearly up to your ears, and held in place by a firm, intricately tattooed forearm.

His smile—almost too sharp to be nice—makes your chest do this silly thing when he says, “Let’s play a game.” 

You whisper into the night air. “What kind of game?”

“It’s simple. You tell me yes or no.”

Your brows furrow, unsure of the rules of the game. “But—”

The slap against your cunt isn’t harsh, but it’s the suddenness of it, how no one has ever thought to touch you like that, is what makes you squeak and tremble underneath him—the rings on his fingers sharpening the sting—trying to scurry up the bed, but hindered by his iron grip.

“Yes or no?”

“Y-yes.”

“There’s a girl,” and then his fingertips drop down to where you're slippery-wet and sensitive, moving in hard, tight circles until you're clenching down on a curse between your teeth. "Messy little cunt."

It's too much, you think when he plugs two fingers (feeling like three of your own) into your pussy. The muscles in his shoulders roll as he shoves his fingers in and out, batting your hands away when you try to get him to slow down. Too much, too—

“It’s not. I want you to cum like this,” he says, teasing, nudging your clit with his thumb and swirling it in tight spit-slick circles; you have no choice but to chase that bright light feeling until you cum, sticky and sweaty. 

Just like he promised you would, your orgasm is a shivery thing, molten heat, incandescent, settling in your veins until it pours out of you like liquid wax against the scratchy hotel sheets, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, his fingers curl up and press into where you’re soft and tender.

He smiles. “This is fun, isn’t it, love?”

“I can’t,” you whimper, not exactly answering him. “No more, please.”

His eyes, already pupil-fat, go dark at hearing you beg, nostrils flaring. Please, the key for the small amount of mercy he grants you as he replaces his fingers with his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit and lightly sucking it into his mouth. His lips are just there, and then they’re gone.

“Say it again.”

Your response is a wet little hiccup at the back of your throat. “W-what?”

“Beg me.”

“Please.”

“Again,” he says one more time.

“Please, please, please…”

It’s all you can think to say, strung between that dreamy space and reality, that you don’t even notice him flipping you onto your tummy with ease, not until the light in the room is blotted out as he leans over you. He wraps a hand into the scruff of your neck and presses your face into the bed, the other tucked under your hips to keep them at the right angle—held down with nowhere to go.

He leaves biting open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders and the back of your neck—Simon—he manages to tell you his name from one little bruise to the next. Somewhere between the buzz in your ears, you hear him telling you that he wants you to moan it for him, nice and loud.

The haze clears a little, however, at the metal clink of a belt and the sound of a zipper coming undone before you feel his cock prodding you open—raw, without a condom.

“There you go. Lay there, and just—just give me what I fucking want,” Simon rasps as if you could actually move with his hands pinning you in place. 

There are many things you should feel: scared of his words, trapped by the rings digging into tender flesh, by his thighs forcefully pushing yours apart. The red flags look more like flashing lights at this point.

Instead, you feel wanted—your walls tighten around his cock, fluttering, pulling him deeper inside, letting him turn you inside out. A small smile buried into the pillow.

[emmybeearts]

this is what its all about baby!!! makes my heart freaking sing!

[ienjoywritingfilth]

the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn." 

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him. 

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly. 

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together." 

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago. 

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his. 

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.  

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying. 

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins. 

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body. 

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come. 

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.  

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."  

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you. 

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure." 

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours. 

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore." 

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large. 

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine. 

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress.  You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air. 

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast. 

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game. 

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.  

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once." 

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves. 

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress. 

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you. 

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting. 

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders. 

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man. 

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue. 

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him. 

 You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again. 

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill. 

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.  

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back. 

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good. 

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt. 

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat. 

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish. 

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him. 

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees. 

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself." 

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his.  You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks. 

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great. 

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind. 

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all. 

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth. 

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done." 

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.  

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back. 

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb. 

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would. 

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders. 

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name. 

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him. 

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim. 

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs. 

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle. 

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.  

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars. 

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest. 

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll. 

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.  

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you. 

"Say it." 

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust. 

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face. 

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire." 

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt. 

"Say it." 

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking. 

"I am . . . I am. . ." 

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is. 

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!" 

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum. 

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it. 

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair. 

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls. 

"Are you satisfied?" 

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth. 

"I am, wife." 

[glamgatorr]

While he stands literally 6'9, yeah go ahead... make jokes- he's used to it.

[fisheito]

@shieran

anothe r enabler. very good.