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punkshort · 17 hours ago

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The Farmer's Daughter

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Forced to sell your body after your father's farm went under, you find yourself hand picked to service the Roman army on their latest battle away from Rome. What you didn't expect was to be selected to share General Acacius's room for the duration of the journey.

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), heavy talks of prostitution, mentions of SA but none occur, reader is a (new) prostitute, virginity loss (no blood mentioned just some discomfort), descriptions of battle wounds/blood, food and alcohol consumption, one bed trope, enemies to lovers-ish, unprotected piv sex, thigh riding, angst, possessiveness

WC: 10.2K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/N: I know by this point his character is mostly referred to as Acacius in the film but I'm sorry, I can't wrap my head around someone moaning that name in bed. So let's just ignore that, okay?

How did this happen? Why did fate play you such a cruel and twisted hand?

When you were younger, you expected to be married off to be a housewife to a solider. From what you heard growing up, it wasn't a terrible life. The men were gone most of the time which allowed the women to run the household and raise children in peace. Unfortunately, your mother died during childbirth and your father, a humble farmer, passed away too early in life, leaving you and his few workers to keep the farm operating for as long as possible. To make money, you spent much of your time at the market, selling the food you made on the farm and the goods you weaved and molded from the scraps.

It wasn't enough. You lost the farm after a handful of years and you were on the brink of becoming destitute. Already you were malnourished and dehydrated, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't find work.

That was how you found yourself in a long line of women, standing silently with your heads bowed and your hands clasped as you were all throughly inspected by a senior officer of the Roman army. They were choosing their group of whores to hire to accompany the men on their next battle across the sea. You were left with no other option but to sell your only remaining asset. The thought turned your stomach, but the idea of starving to death was worse.

One by one, women were hand picked to step forward and exit the room. All in all it had to have been close to forty whores hired to service an entire army.

The odds were not in your favor if you were picked.

It came as a relief when you ended up not getting chosen. You breathed a deep sigh and lifted your chin, scanning the room of remaining women and senior ranking soldiers. You would make do somehow. At least you wouldn't be spreading your legs multiple times a night for different men after they've spent the day fighting and working up their appetite.

You turned to follow the women back out onto the streets of Rome, no doubt searching for another way to sell their bodies, when you heard a deep, familiar voice call your name. You froze in disbelief, wondering who could possibly know you, and then you slowly turned.

It was General Acacius. The fearless leader of the Roman army, but you knew him from your stand in the market. Whenever he was home from battle, he always found you and purchased more than he could possibly need, feeding you and your farmhands for weeks. He never said much and neither did you, but you had grown fond of seeing his greying curls and dark, smoldering eyes approach your stall, albeit with a new wound or scar to show for his travels.

You did not even realize he knew your name.

His eyes drifted up and down your worn tunic, noticing the stains and rips and your poor fitting sandals. Your gaze flickered nervously around the room at the other men impatiently looking to wrap up their work and begin their long journey, but remained silent, deferring to the general.

"You will come with us," was all he said, his voice booming in the small room. Your blood ran cold and panic seized your throat.

"But the choices have already been made-"

"I am paying. I believe I am allowed to decide how many whores we bring along."

You clamped your mouth shut, brows furrowing in anger. How foolish you were to assume he was a man of honor, a man who wanted to help you when he bought your meager wares in the market. As it turned out, he was no better than any other, only out to seek pleasure between your legs.

At that point, you knew better than to argue. Your fate was sealed. Begrudgingly, you forced yourself to follow after the other chosen women, walking past the high ranking officials who sized you up as you went.

The army was to travel by ship. Or multiple ships, to be exact. The women were counted off and told to stand in smaller groups, one handful of whores for each ship of hungry soldiers. When your group was assigned, you heard that familiar powerful voice come out of nowhere once again, stopping everybody in their paths.

"She is to travel on mine," General Acacius announced. A few men exchanged confused glances and Acacius grew irritated. "That one," he clarified, pointing directly at you. The other men quickly nodded and shuffled you into another group, and you thought that would be the end of it, but then he spoke again as the others began to board.

"She will stay in my chambers."

If the soldiers were surprised, they hid it well, but you didn't. You whipped around and glared at him defiantly, a litany of disrespectful curses on the tip of your tongue. Thankfully, you remembered your place and who you were speaking to and caught yourself before you got killed, but as you turned to board the ship, you noticed an amused smirk play across the general's lips.

A young solider shoved you into the general's quarters, ordering you to not go through his things or they would cut off your hands, then slammed the door shut, leaving you all alone. The rest of the women had gone below deck, most likely to a shared room that was filthy and freezing cold. You, on the other hand, had a beautiful soft bed and a roaring fire to warm yourself by a small wooden dining table. There was a bookshelf tucked into the corner and your fingers itched to pull the books out and examine them, but you didn't dare. Instead, you sat on the small cushioned bench next to the only porthole in the room, tucking your knees against your chest protectively while you waited for the inevitable.

Sleep took hold of you at some point while you waited for the general to retire. The last thing you remembered was the open sea and the glorious golden sun beginning to dip just below the horizon. When you awoke, it was dark, the only light in the room coming from the fire. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and unfurled yourself from your bench to look around, then nearly yelped when you found the general quietly sitting at the table pouring himself wine.

Your heart raced violently in your chest, knowing full well what he expected of you. And despite offering yourself up earlier that day as a whore, you had decided you would not do it for this man. Because this man came to your booth in the market under the guise of kindness that turned out to be a lie, and it simply did not sit right with you.

"I will not lie with you willingly," you announced boldly with your arms crossed. The general quirked an eyebrow and took a long sip of his wine.

"When was the last time you have eaten?"

You scowled, body vibrating with energy and ready for a fight only to be met with indifference.

"I am not hungry."

"You will eat or you will die," he said, avoiding your eye and standing to collect a plate of food by the door. He dropped it onto the table and pointed angrily at it. "Eat."

"Why?"

"You need your strength, you are frail."

"You do not like your whores thin, then?" you shot back. Acacius clenched his jaw, eyes still cast down. "You wish to fatten me up so you have something to hold onto when you force my legs apart?"

"That is enough!" he roared, fiery eyes finally finding yours and pinning you with an intense stare that had you trembling. "I will not be forcing you to do anything except eat. Now sit down, do not test my patience."

It was a combination of fear and hunger that made you obey, sinking down into the chair opposite his where the plate of lukewarm food awaited you. Acacius sat down and picked up his goblet, watching you from over the rim as you slowly began to pick at the food. You both remained silent while you ate and he drank, the only sound to be heard was the crackling from the fire and the distant laughter and yells from his men in the galley below.

He was right. You hadn't eaten in days. It was no wonder you fell asleep so quickly earlier. You wanted to express your thanks, but you were too stubborn. Instead, you finished your food and put the plate in the basin of water by the door before looking around the room once again. It was easily the nicest room on the ship. You had to imagine most of the soldiers would be sleeping in hammocks stacked on top of one another down below, but the general had the biggest, softest looking bed you had ever seen in your life.

But there was only one.

He watched you from his place at the table, studying your face as you worked out the mechanics.

"I will not force myself upon you if we share the bed," he said, dragging your attention back to him. He was still in his armor, all shiny and clean from the public celebration that took place prior to the army's departure.

"Why am I here, if not to pleasure you?" you asked. You sounded calmer than before but you were still very much on edge.

"You believe I would find pleasure in forcing myself upon a woman?" he questioned before draining his cup. You thought about it for a moment and shrugged.

"Perhaps. Yes."

He stared down at his empty chalice, your heinous opinion of him rolling around in his head and making his chest ache.

"Well, I do not," he proclaimed, standing up quickly and causing his chair to almost topple backwards. He began to unhook his heavy armor, dropping it into a pile on the floor until he was down to his tunic.

"If we were to lie together, it would be because you wish it so," he said softly with his back to you. You swallowed thickly.

"What am I to do here, then?" you asked as he began to turn down his sheets. He slid his tired body into bed and sighed.

"Whatever you like. So long as you stay in this room, you will remain unharmed."

You blinked rapidly, desperately trying to put the pieces together.

"That is all?"

"Yes. That is all. My only wish is you are safe and fed."

You couldn't help it. You had to ask.

"But... why?"

But the general rolled onto his side, effectively ending your conversation and leaving you wondering what you had gotten yourself into.

That first night, you did not share his bed. You slept on the bench by your porthole, curled up small, arms wrapped around yourself protectively until the sun rose. When you awoke, the general was gone, but a plate of food was left on the table for you.

The first week on the ship went exactly the same. You stayed in his chambers, staring out at the sea or sleeping until he returned way past dark with some food for you and a tired look in his eye. And every night, you slept on the bench, still far too distrusting of him.

The second week, the general brought a game with him at dinner time. Two cups and two wooden dice. The idea was you had to guess what you would roll. If you won, you got whatever you bet on the round. It wasn't that entertaining at first since you had only the clothes on your back and nothing else, but what you did have were stories or songs or a slight of hand trick your father taught you when you were young.

You wouldn't realize until much later that it was his way of getting to know you better.

"You released all the cows from the pasture?" Acacius repeated in disbelief. You giggled and nodded.

"I was only six years old! I thought they were being held against their will!"

Acacius laughed, the sound making you grin like a fool and your cheeks warm.

"Alright," he said once he got ahold of himself. "Go on."

You picked up the die and tossed them into a cup, giving it a firm shake and smiling when he shot you a playful wink.

You clapped the cup firmly over the table and before you raised it up, you announced, "One three and one five."

"What is your wager?"

You nodded towards his bookshelf. "One of your books."

He looked up at you in shock. "You can read?"

You gave him a fake look of disgust and nodded. "Of course I can read."

"And you have been here this whole time without picking up a book?"

"Your men told me they would cut off my hands if I touched what is yours."

His face softened and he sat back in his chair.

"No one will touch you," he told you firmly. You stared at one another, the heavy moment weighing between you, the implication of his words impossible to deny. No one will touch you because you are his.

To break the tension, you smirked and said, "So I suppose that means I do not need to wager the books?"

Acacius grinned and shook his head. "Too late, little one."

You rolled your eyes and lifted the cup, pouting when you saw two six's.

"Your turn," you said, pushing the cup to the side.

Acacius collected the dice and dumped them into the cup, shaking it while looking at you curiously from across the table and admiring the way the light from the fire flickered over your beautiful face.

"You can still take a book."

You perked up but shook your head. "That is against the rules of the game, General."

"I make the rules. Take a book tomorrow," he insisted before slamming the cup down. His large hand gripped the top of the cup, keeping it pressed tightly against the table.

"Your wager?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

He swallowed, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say. The fear that you would pull away from him again fought against the insatiable attraction he had harbored for you for years. But the wine must have won the fight because he said, "One kiss."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and for a moment, he thought he made a horrible mistake. But then you squared your jaw and narrowed your eyes and said, "Go ahead."

He grinned, pulse thrumming excitedly in his throat when he said, "One one and one four."

But when he lifted the cup, his face fell. A three and a six.

"Ah, well," he said, shoulders drooping. He yawned and stood to collect the dice. "Better luck tomorrow."

Before you could stop yourself, you stood as well and leaned up to peck a chaste kiss against his scruffy cheek. He looked at you in surprise and you gave him a crooked grin.

"For the book."

He smiled and nodded, doing his best to hide his disappointment as you got yourself ready for bed. You had a small pillow and thin blanket to curl up with by the porthole, and it irked him that you wouldn't take more. He feared you would catch a sickness and your malnourished body wouldn't be able to fight off an infection, but you were so stubborn that he couldn't convince you otherwise.

However, the third and final week at sea had you shivering on your bench. Acacius could hardly sleep knowing how cold you were. He could hear your teeth chattering from across the room.

"I beg of you, please sleep in my bed," he said one night as you began to make your little nest by the porthole. You shook your head.

"I am fine, I swear it."

"You are not fine. Please, I will not touch you, you have my word."

You chewed on your lower lip and looked over his shoulder at his warm, plush bed. He could see your resolve begin to falter, so he offered to sleep on the bench in your place.

"No, do not be ridiculous. You have an army to lead tomorrow, you cannot be tense as a knot because you slept on a too small bench."

"I will if it means you are safe and warm," he said softly, his vulnerability taking you off guard.

"General-" you sighed, but he cut you off.

"Please. I promise I will remain on my side of the bed. Just stop being so stubborn for once in your life."

You scoffed and propped your hands on your hips. "For once in my life? And what would you know of it?"

He squinted at you and crossed his arms. "I know more than you think. I know you would not quit until you broke in that filly when you were twelve years old. I know you nearly pushed a boy down a well when he tried to kiss you in front of the whole school. I know you argued with your teacher over the correct spelling of amaranth and I know you poured every last bit of yourself into a dying farm just to keep the memory of your father alive."

Your jaw hung open in surprise, taken aback by the way he stored all of the little snippets of your life you had given him over the past two weeks only to end it with his own observation of you at the market.

You could feel yourself growing weak for him, the temptation to give in too much to bear. He had been slowly wearing you down since you arrived and perhaps he was right, perhaps you were far too stubborn because the last thing you wanted to do was go back on the proclamation you made that very first night.

So, you chose to be defiant.

"Fine," you snapped, swiveling on your heel and stomping towards his bed. "If you wish to share your bed with a whore so badly, then so be it."

Acacius rounded the bed and slipped in beside you, making sure to leave plenty of space.

"You and I both know you are no whore."

"Oh, you know so very much about me, I forget."

You tugged the heavy blankets up to your chin and tried not to audibly sigh at how comfortable it was in his bed.

"If you are a whore, tell me then: how many men have you laid with?"

You clenched your jaw, angry that he was able to figure you out so easily. Instead of answering, you rolled onto your side, your back to him, and muttered, "good night."

Acacius grinned and closed his eyes, proud of himself for besting you.

"Good night."

The following morning, you awoke earlier than usual. When your eyelids fluttered open, the first thing you noticed was the ache in your bones was gone. The large, soft bed had been enough to cure you in just one night.

Not something you planned on admitting to the general, of course.

The second thing you noticed when you sat up in bed was that the ship was not moving. It was completely still, and you could hear loud, quick footsteps outside your door and above your head. Men were shouting to one another and the clink of swords and armor were echoing throughout the halls. Then, through the walls somewhere above you, you heard the general's deep, booming voice yelling orders to his men. You threw off the blankets and hurried to the porthole, your eyes widening when you saw land and small boats being lowered into the water.

You had arrived at whatever distant land the emperors demanded Acacius claim for Rome, and the soldiers were getting ready to depart for their first fight.

You chewed nervously on your nail, curled up against the wall and peering out the window for hours until the very last boat sailed away. In the distance, you could see the general's broad back covered in armor, his dark curls fluttering in the sea breeze and his massive sword tucked dutifully at his waist.

He had left for war and didn't even say goodbye.

Why would you care if he said goodbye? Maybe if they all die, you could escape to shore and be free, find a new city and make a home for yourself.

Even you had to admit that fantasy was foolish. No matter where you went, your fate would always be the same. You had no money, no prospects, no skills and no family. Your destiny was already written and it was a miracle your first attempt at prostitution landed you in the cushy quarters of Rome's surprisingly respectful general.

Your nerves kept your feet moving all day. You tidied up the general's desk, sorting his papers and maps. You scrubbed at the dishware until they sparkled and you made the bed, fluffing up the pillows and tucking in the loose edges until you had nothing left to do. The room was as neat as possible, not a single item out of place, and yet you still floundered around looking for something to occupy your busy mind.

When the sun began to dip and his room grew darker, you went around lighting candles to allow for more light. You were in the middle of lighting the last candle when you heard a timid knock at the door.

Nobody had ever come to his chambers the entire three weeks besides the general himself. You swallowed anxiously, wondering who it could be and if you should answer when you heard a woman's small voice from the other side of the door.

You decided it was safe and opened the door a crack to find one of the whores you had boarded the ship with waiting on the other side with buckets of water and a basin.

"For the general," she said softly. You nodded and dragged the buckets into the room, trying not to stare at the bruises and dirt littering her dry skin. Your stomach twisted with guilt after she left and you locked the door. The other women were living like cattle and you were living the life of luxury. Not only was the general not forcing you to fuck him, but you were giving him sass at every turn.

It was a harsh reminder of your fortune, of what your life could be like. The thought of living the life of the women below deck frightened you, so you had decided that evening when the general returned, you would give yourself to him to show your appreciation, as well as out of fear he would soon get rid of you if you didn't give him what he wanted.

You remained at your post, staring out at the dark sea until you could see the bobbing of lanterns making their way across the black expanse, letting you know the men were returning for the night. You rushed to warm up his water over the fire, dumping it into the large basin. You poured some scented oils into the bath just as the door unlocked and opened, revealing a very filthy and exhausted looking general holding two plates of food.

"Good evening," you said, standing obediently. Acacius paused at the door, confused by your formality before closing it with his heel and setting down the food at the table. "I have a warm bath ready for you, General," you added, pointing towards the basin. He nodded tiredly and began to work on the hooks of his armor. You rushed forward to help him, once again taking him by surprise until he was stripped down to his red tunic.

"Would you like to eat or bathe first?" you asked. The general sighed and looked longingly at the bath.

"I will clean myself while you eat," he said. He pointed towards the table and motioned for you to turn around.

"May I assist you instead, General?" you asked with your back turned. You could hear the shuffle of fabric falling to the wooden floor and then a sharp hiss when he sunk down into the warm water.

"Assist me with what? Cleansing myself? I believe I can manage," he chuckled. You turned around to stare at the back of his head, his body now submerged in the water and hidden from view, but you could still see his shoulders and arms. They looked bruised and bloodied.

He didn't notice your eyes on him, of course. He was busy scrubbing the dirt and blood from his skin while he looked around the tidy room.

"It is very nice in here, you did not have to straighten up."

It was the least you could do and you knew it but said nothing.

Instead, you shakily lifted your worn tunic over your head and let it crumple to the floor. Nerves fluttered in your stomach as you slowly approached him, the general completely unaware as he continued to scrub his skin.

"I can think of another way to assist you," you said nervously as you stepped into his eyeline. His chin tilted up and he did a double take when he saw your naked form standing before him. His cloth dropped into the water and his jaw fell open in surprise, eyes wide and greedily raking over your body.

"Wh- what is this?" he stammered, gaze glued to your chest. Your fingers fidgeted at your sides under his scrutiny.

"I thought I would show you my appreciation for your hospitality," you explained. "I would like to repay you in some way for choosing me to share your quarters."

A small smile tugged at his lips as he eagerly reached forward, then stopped when he registered your words. He looked up at you questioningly, excitement falling from his face when he asked, "What do you mean, repay me?"

You shrugged and took a hesitant step forward, close enough now so he could reach out and touch your cunt if he chose.

"I realized today my fate could have been much harsher," you explained. "I have not been showing you my appreciation and respect, and in return, I wish to give you my body to use as you see fit."

Acacius frowned and turned his head away, searching for the cloth so he could continue cleaning himself.

"I do not want your body as payment, I believe I told you that weeks ago."

"You said we would not lie together unless I wished it so," you protested. "I now wish it."

"You wish to lay with me out of obligation, not desire. That is not something I want."

Embarrassment and confusion flooded your mind as you slowly stretched your arms across your exposed body, trying to hide yourself out of shame.

"I apologize-"

"Get yourself decent and eat," he commanded without looking up. His voice sounded hard and cold and for some reason, it made you want to cry. You did as you were told, dragging your dirty tunic over your head and sat quietly at his table to pick at your food. You were confused and ashamed, sitting in the tense room with him while you tried to work out what he wanted from you. The idea of wanting a man out of desire never occurred to you. You had grown up under the impression women of your station did not get to experience the luxury of desire, and instead came to terms early on in life that you always had one asset to use at your disposal.

Not one time did you ever imagine being with a man out of affection or love.

"I apologize," you tried again after he had dried off and joined you. He had changed into a clean, white tunic and was clenching a similar one in his fist.

"You may use this," he said, ignoring your apology yet again. He thrusted the tunic towards you and you fumbled when you took it from his grasp. "The one you are wearing looks as if it might fall apart the moment you step outside and feel the sea breeze."

"Thank you," you murmured, fingertips brushing over the soft and expensive material in your lap.

"I will also call for more water tomorrow so you may wash yourself," he said before biting into a chunk of bread.

Your cheeks went hot with shame, still feeling guilt over the mercy and generosity he had shown you.

"I do not know what it is to desire someone," you said after a few quiet moments. Acacius continued to chew and kept his focus fixed on his plate. "I never imagined it would be a part of my life. May I remind you we come from different worlds."

He grunted in response but you noticed his shoulders begin to relax.

"I understand. But you must stop treating yourself as a whore. You are so much more than that, I have seen it with my own eyes. And to watch you debase yourself, to think so lowly of yourself, breaks my heart."

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt tears begin to well up, quickly threatening to spill down your cheeks. How could you have been so wrong? How could you not see the man for who he really was? He was a man who was gentle, kindhearted, protective and most importantly, cared very deeply for you. To what extent, you were unsure, but if he wanted you to desire him and he saved you from being used by countless other men, he certainly must have harbored stronger feelings than you ever thought possible.

"Alright."

His dark eyes flicked up to yours when you spoke.

"I will not debase myself," you said flatly. The corner of his mouth twitched before he looked back down at his food.

"Very well. I am pleased that has been sorted," he replied before shoving his plate off to the side and standing to collect the cups and dice. "Shall we play a few rounds before bed?"

You grinned and nodded, gathering up your plates and dumping them in the water by the door to clean later before joining him back at the table. And somehow, the awkwardness from the evening faded away after a few rolls of the dice.

It had been two weeks docked off shore on some foreign land. You hadn't left his room in over a month and you were beginning to feel insane. You told him as much early one morning when he was dressing for battle. It was still dark outside. Acacius had mentioned he wanted to arrive on shore before dawn so that he might get into position under the cover of night.

"When I return tonight, I will take you up on the deck for some fresh air," he promised as he cinched up his armor. "Do not leave this room when I am not here."

"Why not? Are your men not with you during the daytime?" you asked from his bed.

"It is not my men I worry about," he explained, sheathing his sword after lacing up his sandals.

"Then what do you worry for?"

"I worry about everything," he confessed. His hand was on the doorknob poised to leave, but he stopped to turn to you one last time. "I do not trust the soldiers from this city not to try to climb aboard the ships whilst we are gone. It is important the ships appear empty."

You nodded in understanding before burrowing back in his sheets and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of you looking comfortable and radiant in his bed.

"Behave, my dove, and we may dine on the deck tonight," he said, making you smile wide. He slipped quietly out of his room and locked the door behind him, fearful if he lingered any longer, he may not leave the ship the whole day.

You spent the afternoon reading and bathing and cleaning the general's dirty clothes in the extra water he had brought up after he left. You weren't sure how it happened, but the two of you had fallen into a life of domesticity amidst war without even sharing so much as a kiss.

What surprised you the most was you enjoyed it. You enjoyed tending to his things and cleaning what you could during the day, and then caring for him at night when he returned all bloodied and tired.

It had not once crossed your mind that he may not return until it happened.

That night, you saw the lanterns bobbing over the water, your signal to begin heating up his water for a bath. Your hair smelled like the expensive oils you poured into his water from your own bath earlier. You smiled to yourself when you thought of smelling like him, and him of you.

Heavy footsteps landed on the wooden floorboards above your head and outside your door. At first, nothing seemed amiss. Acacius usually didn't come to his room right away. He typically visited the wounded soldiers in the infirmary, making sure they were well tended to and fed before doing his rounds, assigning a night crew, and then finally gathering food for you both before retiring for the evening.

But more time passed than usual. You could tell because your stomach began to rumble and his water grew lukewarm. You paced around the room, ears straining to hear the voices from the other soldiers, trying to discern anything from their muffled conversations.

It wasn't until two hours went by that you heard a sharp rap at the door and a man's voice echoing on the other side, announcing he brought you food.

Your blood went cold and you wondered if you should open the door, but then you remembered Acacius told you he wasn't worried about his own men, the underlying message being that his soldiers would never touch what was his. So after a moment's hesitation, you swung open the door.

"Here," a young man said, shoving one plate of food towards you. His face was stained with dried blood and dirt and you frowned before taking the food and thanking him softly.

"Where is the general?" you asked timidly.

"He fell in battle," he grumbled before turning away. Your heart plummeted as you reached out and grabbed his shoulder, taking him by surprise.

"What do you mean?" you exclaimed. Fear and adrenaline mixed with something foreign coursed through your veins as you felt your lower lip tremble. The solider shook you off with disgust before stepping back.

"He was struck down. Last I saw of him he was lying still on the battlefield."

When he saw the look of despair on your face, he took pity on you.

"Others were assisting him, his body will return to Rome," he assured you before giving you a firm nod and disappearing down the long hall, leaving you to collapse into a fit of sobs behind the locked door.

The feeling you had in your chest was similar to the way you felt when your father passed, but something was different. It felt like a piece of you went dark, like you may never smile or laugh ever again. Grief consumed every fiber of your being and you found yourself crawling into his bed, face streaked with tears so thick you could hardly see your hands reach for his pillow. You pulled it tightly against your chest and you curled up around it, muffling your wails until your head began to pound and your body felt weak.

You drifted in and out of sleep, tossing and turning until the room grew cold and the fire dissolved into embers. You stood and wrapped a blanket around yourself, sniffling and shuffling over to the fire to stoke the flames wearing the general's spare tunic he had gifted you. After a few minutes, the fire roared back to life and you sat back with a heavy sigh.

Just as you were wondering what you would do come morning and how you would ever be able to move on without him, you heard footsteps approaching. You whipped around in fear and tightened your grip on the blanket. With the general no longer around to protect you, you had assumed the other men would eventually come looking for you, but you had to admit you didn't expect it so fast.

You curled yourself into a ball on your old bench, staring at the doorknob, expecting to see it jiggle and eventually forced open from the other side, but to your surprise the lock clicked quietly and the door slowly creaked open.

When you saw the general appear, limping and bloodied but still alive, you practically screamed. You jumped to your feet and rushed over, moments away from throwing yourself into his arms before you caught yourself.

"Acacius," you whispered in disbelief, the informality slipping easily past your lips for the very first time. He gave you a tired smile and locked the door behind him.

"I apologize for missing dinner," he said. You laughed as two fresh tears trickled down your cheeks. Your hands hovered nervously over his armor as if you weren't sure where you could touch him.

"Apology accepted," you replied before gingerly unhooking the armor around his shoulders. He groaned with relief when you lifted the heavy metal off him and set it against the wall by the door to polish another time. When you turned back around, you gasped at the blood that had seeped through his tunic, staining the yellow fabric a dark red.

"You are hurt," you whimpered, then hurried around his room for clean cloths, healing oils, and salves he kept in his desk. "Take that off and sit down. Allow me to tend to your wound."

He wordlessly lifted the ruined tunic over his head, wincing slightly when the wound at his side pulled, and he sat down at the table just as you instructed. You collected some of the unused water from his bath and set it over the flames to warm up before scooping up some more and setting it on the table next to him.

"They stemmed the bleeding on the boat," he explained. "It just needs to be cleaned and perhaps -"

"I will handle this. You just rest and eat," you told him, pushing your plate of uneaten food in his direction. His eyes fell onto the food and he frowned.

"It is untouched," he said, "why did you not eat?"

"How could I when I thought you were dead?" you snapped as you brought a soaked rag to his side and began to gently pat at the nasty looking gash.

Acacius took a bite of food, the flavors melting onto his tongue and making him groan. He didn't realize how hungry he was and before he knew it, he had eaten all of the food except for the grapes. You were leaning across his lap, bandaging up his wound with intense focus. He sighed contentedly, basking in the warmth from the fire and the soft touch of your hand on his skin. He could already feel his strength beginning to return.

"That should hold," you said, sitting upright to inspect your work. He glanced down and raised his eyebrows at the neat little bandage you had adhered to his wound.

"You did a very good job. Where did you learn such things?"

You shrugged and began to clean up the salves and oils. "On a farm, many accidents happen. You learn quickly how to tend to a wound."

He smiled and sipped from the wine you had poured for him while watching you move around the room, disposing of his soiled clothes and rags and then bringing the bucket of warm water over to the table with a fresh cloth.

When you pulled the other chair closer and sat, fitting your legs between his knees so you could reach him, he began to protest.

"You do not need to -"

"I want to," you said, cutting him off with a warm, wet cloth on his aching shoulders. His eyelids fluttered with a groan, leaning back into his chair and giving in. It felt so wonderful to be washed by your hand, to have you so close and safe while tenderly caring for him. It was all he had been dreaming about for years, ever since the first day he saw you at the market.

"So many scars," you whispered, swiping the cloth down his broad, strong chest. His breathing stuttered when you reached his stomach and he tensed.

"I have been in many battles," he murmured with his eyes still closed. You hummed to yourself and continued to work, diligently and carefully scrubbing away the layers of blood and grime until you cleaned everything you could see.

"Can you lean forward, General?" you asked, "I would like to cleanse your back."

He nodded and with a grunt, sat upright so he could lean forward. You stood from your chair and positioned yourself behind him, taking great care with every swipe of your cloth, afraid of unearthing a new wound under all the filth.

"Back to general now, are we?" he asked.

Your hand paused on his shoulder blade. He sensed your confusion and he chuckled.

"When I first arrived, you called me Acacius," he explained.

"Oh," you breathed before continuing your work. "That was disrespectful, I -"

"No, I quite liked it," he said before you could finish apologizing. "You may call me Marcus when we are alone, if you prefer."

Your eyes widened and although he couldn't see you, he could tell you were surprised.

"That would be highly irregular," you finally said softly, putting down the wet cloth and picking up a bottle of perfumed oil. You sprinkled a few drops into your palm and you rubbed your hands together. "That name should only be used by those closest to you."

He opened his mouth to respond but when your slick hands found his shoulders and your fingers began to dig into the knots in his muscles, he moaned and felt himself go lax.

"Oh gods, that feels incredible," he rasped. The deep timber of his voice sent a wave of arousal right to your core. You continued to work on his back and shoulders, privately marveling at his broad frame and firm muscles under his scarred, bronzed skin. He was truly something to behold. So strong, handsome, and fearless. Yet also kind and gentle. The proximity of his body and the ricocheting emotions you had experienced that evening had you reacting to him in a way you never had before. It was confusing and strange yet also exciting, and the noises you were drawing from his mouth with every roll of your thumbs was causing a dull ache to form between your thighs.

You blinked and cleared your throat, trying to shake the heavy curtain of lust that clung to you.

"What happened out there? One of your men informed me you were dead."

Marcus sighed and sat up straight, the angle causing you to drop your hands from his tight shoulders. One of his massive hands reached back to take yours so he could lead you to stand in front of him, between his knees.

"They had called a truce. They requested to discuss terms of surrender, so I called off my men and went to speak with their king," he began, his hand still engulfing your own as he gazed up at you with his soft, dark eyes. "It was a trap. They ambushed me when I got out of range. It must have been twenty of them," he continued solemnly, his thumb brushing against your wrist as he spoke. "I slayed them all, one by one, but once I took down their final solider, an archer took aim from the wall. I was able to dodge the arrow but I was not quick enough," he chuckled and looked down at his wound. "I am not the young man I once was."

"I cried for hours," you admitted quietly. His eyes darted up to yours again, holding his breath as you spoke. "I had never considered you would not return to me at the end of the day. However, when I got word you had died-"

You paused when a sob got lodged in your throat. You knit your brows together, hoping to stave off your tears while Marcus patiently waited. Eventually, you gave him a watery smile and lifted your free hand to cup his cheek.

"I felt a grief I never thought I would feel again," you said, voice shaking. His eyes searched your face, watching the way your anguish rolled through you at the memory. He swallowed tightly and, with his other hand, gently gripped your waist.

"Tell me," he whispered, "did you feel these things only because you feared for your safety if I was not here?"

You shook your head as one singular tear trickled down your cheek.

"No," you breathed, "it was because I felt like a part of me died, too. Because I could not imagine my life without you."

When you saw the joyful look in his eye, you quickly closed the remaining distance between you, leaning down the rest of the way and slanting your mouth desperately over his. He moaned and dropped your hand so he could cup the back of your neck, pulling you even closer so you were forced to straddle his lap.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he groaned amid kisses that were growing increasingly messy as the heat between you grew. "How badly I want you? How long I have waited?"

Your mind was blank. You couldn't think of a single thing to say, but Marcus didn't give you a chance to respond, anyway. His tongue slipped past your lips, greedily swirling in tandem with yours and forcing your jaw to open wider. The hand on your waist dropped to flatten against your lower back and he pressed you forward so not even a sliver of moonlight could sneak between your bodies.

Underneath your gifted tunic, you were bare. When you joined the other whores all those weeks ago, they told you there was no use for undergarments, that the men would just destroy them if you bothered to wear any, so just like all the others, you never did. It had never been a problem until that very moment, when Marcus had you writhing in his lap, hips stretched wide and cunt free to rub against his thigh. When you first made contact with his leg, the firm muscle brushing against your sensitive clit, you jumped in his lap and moaned into his mouth.

"Tell me, sweet thing," he murmured when he finally broke the kiss. You were panting heavily, eyelids drooping with need as you gazed down at him. "I know you have not sold yourself to a man, but have you ever laid with one before?"

You shook your head and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, holding him close. His lips brushed up against your throat and he began to suck on the sensitive skin there as both of his hands fell to your hips. Gently, he rocked you back and forth, sliding your slick, bare cunt over his thigh. He heard you sigh and smiled against your skin when your head dipped backwards in pleasure.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes," you whispered, voice raspy and thick. "Oh, yes, it feels... heavenly," you told him with a sigh.

"Good," he grunted, "keep going. Do not stop until you come. I will need you soft and wet before you take my cock."

"Yes, General," you replied obediently, making his cock jump behind his thin loincloth.

Marcus tugged at the back of your loose tunic, stretching the material across your breasts so your hardened nipples poked through. With a low growl, he lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one, cloth and all. His teeth added a surprisingly tantalizing amount of pressure that had you gasping for air as your hips quickened their pace over his thigh. You must have been leaving streaks of arousal all over him but something told you he didn't mind.

"You desire me, yes?" he questioned when he switched his attention to your other breast. You nodded feverishly, face tilted towards the ceiling as you chased your pleasure.

"Yes," you gasped, "yes, Ge- Marcus."

He groaned so loudly you thought he might wake up the whole ship.

"Fuck, say that again."

You smiled and circled your hips faster, grinding down onto his thick leg. You were so close, you could taste it.

"Marcus," you whined, "oh, Marcus. I cannot wait to feel you inside of me. I just know you will make me feel so good, will you not?"

Suddenly, his hand was back on your neck and his mouth was pressed tightly against the underside of your jaw, not unlike a wild animal pinning his prey against his sharp fangs. You could feel his hot puffs of air fanning across your skin and his teeth scraping your throat. His intensity might have frightened you if you weren't on the brink of an earth shattering orgasm.

"I will make you feel so good, you will never want to take another lover again," he said darkly. The hairs on your arms stood up but you continued to rut yourself as fast as you could against his thigh, your own chest heaving as you fought for air. "And if I have it my way, you never will," he added.

His words were what tipped you over the edge. You cried out his name and clutched at his shoulders for support as your orgasm rolled through you, covering him with your slick.

Your body was still trembling in his arms when he lifted you up and carried you to the bed. You blinked rapidly in response, poised to argue with him about potentially reopening his wound, but before you could get a single word out he had tossed you onto the sheets and climbed on top of you, caging you in.

"Before I ravish you, my sweet, what do you know of coupling?"

You scoffed. "I am no fool, I know how it works."

Marcus chuckled at your snark and sat back on his heels to peel your tunic over your head, exposing yourself entirely to him. A groan rumbled through his wide, bare chest as he stared down at you hungrily, all spread out and ready for him.

"I cannot lie. Ever since you first stood before me naked, your beautiful body has consumed my every waking thought."

"It shows incredible restraint, then, for you to share a bed with me each night," you teased, eyes dancing playfully as he stripped himself of his loincloth.

"You have no idea," he growled, falling back onto his forearms. The tip of his nose nudged against yours affectionately. "I have waited years for this, my sweet."

The idea of any man pining after you, let alone the mighty General of Rome, was a strange and foreign concept.

"I am just the daughter of a poor farmer," you muttered, fingers brushing his peppered curls behind his ear.

"Your station means very little to me," he replied, looking down between your bodies so he could notch the thick head of his cock at your opening. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Your pulse quickened when you felt the slight bit of pressure he applied. Knowing how it worked was one thing, experiencing it for the first time was another.

"I-I was told it may hurt," you said meekly. Marcus's eyes found yours and he tenderly cupped your jaw.

"Yes, that is true, but I promise it will not last long," he assured you. You swallowed and nodded before spreading your legs wider and hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Tell me if it is too much," he murmured. He pressed your foreheads together, lips hovering above yours, ready to soothe you from the pain.

"Go on, then," you said bravely.

Slowly, he breeched your opening and sunk one inch inside of you. You gasped and dug your heels harder into his thighs, but Marcus held steady.

"Speak," he demanded after a few seconds of listening to your heavy breathing.

"It stings," you admitted, "but it is not... unpleasant."

He nodded and pecked a chaste kiss against your lips before giving you another inch. You whined and squirmed a bit but once you settled, he took it as his cue to continue. It went just like that until he finally found himself fully seated inside of your tight heat.

"The worst is over, my sweet," he told you.

You wiggled underneath him, moving this way and that until you got used to the feeling of him inside you. Your hands wrapped around the backs of his biceps and you stretched your neck so you could bite and nip playfully at his prickly jaw.

"I enjoy being full of you," you admitted shyly, eliciting a grunt from the back of his throat.

"Good," he grumbled before drawing back his hips and slowly easing himself back inside your warmth. "Because I intend on having you full of me as much as possible. I fear I will never have enough now that you have given me a taste."

Your jaw dropped open when he began to move faster, gently and steadily working you open, carving a space for himself inside of you forever. The only thing you wanted was to have him as close as you could, so you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his neck, molding your bodies together as one.

"My sweet girl," he panted, mouth hunting for yours. "You feel better than I ever dreamed. So fucking tight and wet. I cannot believe my fortune, that you would give yourself to me. I wonder if I did indeed die in battle and have ascended to the heavens."

The stretch was divine, his heavy length dragging in and out of you and nudging against a spot that made your stomach clench and your head grow fuzzy.

"Do not say such things," you scolded him breathlessly. His hips stilled for a moment, waiting for you to continue. "Do not jest about your death. My heart cannot handle it."

His eyes softened and his mouth crashed against yours with a groan, overcome that you would feel so strongly for him. He began to roll his hips again but kept his mouth latched onto yours, swallowing down your whimpers and moans.

"I will never leave you," he whispered against your lips. His thrusts grew quicker but he tried his best to be careful and not drive himself too deep for fear of causing you pain. "I will always return now that I have you waiting for me. I shall be invincible in battle."

You laughed lightly, dragging your mouth down his throat and tasting his freshly perfumed skin.

"Was that all it took for you to become immortal?" you teased.

"Yes," he hissed, "a cunt as snug and perfect as yours is all a man needs to give him purpose."

His hand slithered between your back and sheets, pressing his palm firmly against your spine so you arched underneath him. His knees spread wider so he could get better leverage, and he began to roughly snap his hips. You gasped and grabbed onto his hair, giving it a sharp tug and making him groan. It was lewd yet somehow romantic, hearing the sound of your skin slapping together in the otherwise quiet room.

"Does it hurt?" he managed to ask through clenched teeth.

"No," you whimpered inbetween the soft moans he drew every time his cock slammed back into you. "Oh gods, Marcus, please-"

"What do you need, my love?"

He sounded breathless, his voice slightly strained, and your chest burst with pride. You loved the idea of being the one who made such a strong man so very weak.

"I- I am not sure," you admitted truthfully. "It feels so wonderful, but it is different than before."

As it turned out, you didn't need to figure out what you needed because Marcus knew. Somehow, he managed to know your body better than you. He knew how to make it sing and thrum just for him.

His hand snuck between your bodies and the pad of his thumb found your clit. He rubbed firm, slow circles over the sensitive bud, and his name instantly flew from your mouth, loud and wild. You likely could be heard from shore, but Marcus never shushed you. In fact, he smiled and worked his thumb faster, drawing out more delicious moans with every stroke.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured while sucking a mark into your neck. He could feel your lower belly begin to tense and heard your breath waver, so he circled his hips faster, cock greedily plunging in and out of your soaked cunt, chasing his release with reckless abandon now that he could feel you were close.

"I have obsessed over you for years. Dreamed of having you all to myself, just like this," he continued. He could sense his words had a great effect on you. Your walls fluttered and pulsed around him when he admitted his deepest secrets, so he kept talking.

"Long nights spent on the cold ground in the middle of war, I would dream of you. I would wonder what you would be doing back in Rome. I would pray you did not find a husband while I was away."

Marcus gasped when your cunt gripped around him so tightly that it took his breath away. "The thought of you belonging to another was enough to drive me insane," he groaned before capturing your lips with his.

"I am yours," you rasped when he pulled away, and when your eyes locked, he could see the adoration he felt for you reflected right back. "For as long as you will have me, I am yours."

Marcus's eyes slid closed in bliss after hearing the words he so longed to hear. "Come for me, my love. Come for me and when we return home, I shall make you my wife. I will take care of you. I promise you will never go hungry again."

Your hands grappled with the back of his head, fingers threading through his unruly locks as you pulled him down for a searing kiss. He muffled the sounds of your orgasm, cries of his name dying in your throat while your body bucked wildly beneath him.

It only took a few moments before he joined you. With his hand roughly squeezing your hip, he yanked you towards him. His body stilled, pumping you full of his seed while your tongues danced together in tandem until his shoulders sagged and you began to shake.

Marcus flicked the sheets so he could toss them over your trembling bodies. He planted kisses along the side of your head and jaw, then brushed the hair away from your face until your breathing leveled and your eyes reopened.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded and gave him a weak smile. "I am tired."

Marcus withdrew his hips, sliding his softening cock out from your clutch. You cried out in pain and he instantly jolted out of bed to soak a clean rag in some leftover warm water, then hurried back to press it between your legs.

"Better?"

"Yes," you sighed. "Thank you."

He gave you a quick kiss and slid back under the covers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest so he could nuzzle your hair and murmur sweet nothings in your ear.

"Must you leave me in the morning? Can you not spend just one day recovering from your wound?"

Marcus kissed your bare shoulder and shook his head.

"The war is almost done. Tomorrow, I will make them surrender so we may sail home and start our life together."

You grinned and burrowed deeper under the covers. "Did you mean that?"

"What is that, my love?"

"When you said you would make me your wife," you said sheepishly. "Or was that just your mind getting lost to desire?"

"No, I meant every word," he said before rolling over and snuffing out the candle next to the bed. "When we return to Rome, I will make you my bride. You will bear my children and I will watch them play in the garden with you by my side."

You hummed and closed your eyes. "That sounds lovely."

You had very little idea of the politics in Rome and how the highest ranking general of the Roman army could possibly announce he was going to wed a poor farmer's daughter, but you knew deep down if Marcus wanted it, he would somehow make it happen. You knew this because his determination always won, on and off the battlefield.

After all, you were living proof of it.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x female reader #Marcus acacius x f!reader #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fanfic

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shouyuus · 2 days ago

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very 18+, vi-shaped, modern underground fighter!au tw: in which vi uses a vibrating strap d1ldo and also fucks ur throat

popular underground fighter vi! x reader in which vi "soft launches" your relationship with this photo posted on instagram with clear red nail marks down her back and just the caption "post fight ritual 💋" and it's obvious that her knuckles are still bruised, but someone else made those marks on her back and they're definitely not from any fight she's ever been in.

and it's not like she's a stranger to people thirsting over her posts -- she kinda knows she's hot. or at least, she's been told enough times to know it empirically, but it still stuns her a little when she catches you staring, or when she sees the way your pupils literally dilate in her presence; it's not something that she grew up hearing, always being told that she's too tomboy or that she's not feminine enough, even though her own family never cared, and they've always supported her no matter how she wanted to dress or what she wanted to do.

you, though. she doesn't know how she got so lucky with you.

she might call it a chance meeting, but later on, you'd admit that you'd had your eye on her for weeks, thought she was so, so pretty, even with all her black eyeliner and her choppily cut hair (she does it herself; oh, you could tell? why? what gave it away? the weirdly uneven buzz or the fact that she totally missed a patch at the back of her head?), and you'd put yourself squarely in the line of her sight and hoped (prayed, really) that she'd notice you.

and notice you she did.

wearing that pretty little sundress of yours, leaning up against the bar of her favorite lesbian haunt, the one she goes to nine times outta ten after her fights, the adrenaline's still high, eating through her veins, the tattoo of her pulse pressing against her ribcage.

she'd pushed off the far wall and caged you in against the dark wood of the bar, turning her charm up to eleven and hoping against hope that she wasn't just imagining things when she saw your gaze run up and down the length of her body (she wasn't).

"hey pretty. thought you might wanna take a closer look."

you'd grinned then, caught someplace between bashful and triumphant.

"but... it's so dark and so... loud," you say, letting your hand linger on her shoulder even as you put up the very convincing front of uncertainty, the blatant tease of your words the only thing cueing her off that you were picking up what she was putting down.

"yeah? then... wanna go somewhere quiet where you can... take a better look in peace?"

vi's apartment, despite all the winnings from her fights, was a modest place, a small studio in the heart of the city, though the floor the ceiling windows are really what caught your eye that first time she brought you over.

that, and the giant mirror that covered the length of an entire wall opposite the windows.

"so i can check my form," vi says when you ask, running a tall glass under the tap water, holding it out to you afterwards.

and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been expecting a hookup. and honestly, so had you. but somehow, the pair of you had just ended up curled on the couch, sitting face to face, sharing stories and laughing. the next you looked up, the pink of dawn was teasing across the far skyline and vi was frowning at the dying phone in her hand, her eyebrows hitched.

"holy shit... it's 6am."

you bury your face in the cushions of the couch, your hands still wrapped around a half-empty cup of spiked apple cider (a bottle of martinelli's at the back of her fridge, along with a half-empty thing of grey goose she'd found, tugging the cap out with her teeth), feeling the tiredness drag at your eyelids.

"oops... sorry," you grin sheepishly at her, "usually, when i keep people up all night, it's not like this."

vi laughs at your tired little innuendo, but her eyes soften when she catches you watching her. and for some stupid, unfathomable reason, she feels her cheeks heating up.

"yeah peaches. i figured. but... i don't mind being kept up like this."

your brows furrow even as a grin threatens your lips as she nudges you with her hand. you shift back, making room for her as she sits down in front of you, close enough for you to feel the heat rolling off her skin.

beyond the windows, a brilliant sunrise is peering out over the city, and the sharp, shard-drawn light of it pierces vi's studio as she reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb and forefinger trailing the line of your cheek till she's coaxing your chin up towards her.

"peaches?" you ask, your breath a bit short.

"yeah," her eyes flicker towards the tiny little stud earrings you'd put in, truly miniscule peach-emojis that you'd picked to match the shade of your dress. and you laugh, the tiredness making the air around you both effervescent.

and that was the first of many nights you'd proceed to spend at vi's, though eventually, she does drag you forward to kiss you, her lips insistent against yours, with you pulling back to gasp -- "took you long enough --" against her only for her to sink her teeth into the bared skin of your neck, letting her fingers curl around the delicate pulse-point nestled there as she says --

"they say good things come to those who wait."

neither of you can truly pinpoint the moment where this... thing became something more. something that neither of you had the words or will to deny any longer.

it might've come up the first time vi pressed three fingers into your sopping cunt, her eyes fixed on the way your expression goes slack, how your hips kicked up at every curl of her expert fingers. or perhaps the first time you'd pushed her back and kissed a line down her front, lavished her body with your lips, teasing and nipping at her tits before making your slow, arduous way down to her clenching cunt, licking up the wet slit before latching your mouth around her clit and sucking hard enough for her eyes to roll out of her eye-sockets.

or maybe the first time she'd pulled out her bright pink strap, the base equipped with a vibrating function and an opposing dildo that hooked into vi's pussy as she rucked her hips into yours, fucking into you so hard that tears had creased in your lashes after she was done with you.

"fuck peaches -- you just look so good cumming on my cock, don't you?"

and that's all it takes these days, a smirk, a slap on the ass, and her voice saying peaches for you to feel your body clench over nothing, for your stomach to curl with heat, even if she's just coming over to press a kiss to your cheek or murmur against your skin, asking how your day went, though sometimes, you'd get shy and your voice would get a bit too quiet.

"c'mon, speak up, doll. and look at me when i'm talking to you, yeah?"

her fingers squeezing your jaw, just tight enough to make you gasp.

and no one questions it; bc why would they? her coach is ecstatic -- not like vi's ever been an unfocused fighter, but these days, she's in such tip-top form that he's not got much feedback for her after her long training sessions.

"whoever she is," vander says, grinning even as vi flushes and sighs (she knows it's useless to lie, vander's known her for way, way too long), "she's good for you."

he presses a hand to her shoulder, shaking her slightly, "and my advice? when you find a girl like that -- you grab on with both hands and you don't let go."

so that's what she does, and what she's still doing now. it's been months -- almost a full year since you've made it all "official", though neither of you have posted much about it online (her fans have been speculating for a while though, specially the hardcore ones, the ones who have been with her long enough to know her, to spot how she scans the crowd before and after every right, how her smile's just a bit different these days, how there seems to be one particular girl she's always winking at, always hidden in the shadows but she's always swiveling around the first thing after a fight, win or lose).

"f-fuck -- that's a good girl --" vi groans, her hips jerking against yours as she fucks you through your third orgasm of the night (she'd wone her fight that night -- as she does most nights -- and you'd come over to celebrate), your nails biting into the skin of her back, dragging down the expansive tattoo there.

she feels the burn in her own thighs, her arms flexing, the veins popping blue as she drags you down the length of the bed by your hips, fucking into you, her eyes trained on the sticky white ring at the base of her pink strap, the sight in and of itself enough to send her over the edge.

"c'mere -- open your mouth, peaches," she says, guiding you towards her even as she pulls out of you, a thick string of cum slicking off the head of her strap as she inches up the bed to position herself over your chest and shoulders.

you let your jaw fall slack, moaning thick as she presses the tip of her strap to your tongue. you blink up at her, lashes fluttering as she sinks her fingers into your hair, hissing out a long breath as you swallow around her length.

"sweet fuck that's hot..."

she pulls you over her cock in shallow thrusts, her breath growing quick as she watches the way you eagerly clean your own cum off of her with your tongue, the completely fucked out, blissed out look in your eyes as you look up at her, so utterly besotted and at her mercy.

her feels the coils twist in her gut seconds before she shoves you down over her, the combined sound of your gagging and the pinpoint vibrations of the dildo sending her right over the edge.

"shit, shit -- shit oh -- fuck... mm..."

her fingers fist in your hair as she jerks around the dildo end of the strap, tugging out of your mouth with a lazy, lopsided smile.

"such a good girl for me, hm?" she says, tugging you up for an open-mouthed kiss. you mewl against her lips, so soft, absolutely melting into her arms as she shifts the both of you into the center of the bed.

it's not till she goes to shower later, with you sound asleep in her mussed up blankets, that she sees the marks -- red and raised on her back, scratched over her tattoo. a soft smile lifts her lips as she stares at her own reflection in the mirror, her neck twisting over her shoulder to get a good look.

and before she knows it, she's grabbing her phone and turning around to snap a pic, with the full intent of keeping it just to show you in the morning but... well, she thinks as she stares down at the photo with a dopey sort of grin, her heart thudding dangerously close to her mouth.

maybe the best gift she could give you on your one-year anniversary is this -- telling the world that she's yours.

#⛈ monsoon season #♨ steamy #vi x reader #arcane x reader #arcane smut #vi smut #arcane vi smut #vi arcane smut #x reader #arcane #lesbian #1.9k i feel insane no like rly #someone shut me up; once again i am proving to myself i am incapable of chill #arcane x you #vi x you

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misswynters · 2 days ago

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Getting married to ekko

short drabble

requested by anon

There was a rare kind of joy that managed to push through the usual grime and chaos. Strings of mismatched lights. Some flickering, others glowing bright, were strung across the open square near the hideout. The firelight children had scavenged scraps of cloth and patched them together to create banners, their uneven stitching adding a charm no fancy Piltie celebration could ever replicate.

In the middle of it all, you stood on a small platform that the Lost Children had hastily constructed. Your dress wasn’t traditional, it couldn’t be. It was a creation, crafted lovingly by Zaunite hands. Pieces of old fabric, some shimmering with oil stains, others dyed in vibrant hues, came together to create something uniquely yours.

Ekko stood opposite you, his usual bravado tempered by something soft and awed. He wore his best—a patched-up jacket you’d once teased him about because he refused to throw it away. But it was clean, and you knew it meant something for him to wear it today. His hair was neatly made, the streaks of white bright against the locks. He had a grin on his face that was wide, even as he tried to play it cool.

Scar, who had appointed himself officiant, stood between you two. His wiry frame looked almost regal in the dim light, though his crooked grin betrayed his usual cheekiness. “Alright, settle down!” he called out to the gathered crowd of children and a few adults who had wandered in, lured by the unusual festivity. “We’re here for somethin’ special tonight. None of your usual fightin’ or stealin’, this is about family.”

The children, sitting cross-legged around the square, erupted in cheers. You caught Ekko’s gaze, and the two of you shared a smile, the kind that spoke of shared dreams and whispered promises.

Scar cleared his throat dramatically. “Now, I ain’t exactly licensed or whatever it is those Pilties do, but who needs paperwork when you’ve got love, right?” The crowd laughed, and he winked at you. “So, let’s get to it. You two got somethin’ to say?”

Ekko took your hands, his palms calloused and warm against yours. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he looked at you, his voice steady but soft. “I never thought I’d get to have somethin’ like this,” he began. “Not here, You—you’ve made me believe that we can make anything, even in grimy place. You’re my balance when the world feels too heavy, my fire when it’s too cold. I promise, no matter what comes, I’ll always fight for us.”

You felt your chest tighten, your heart swelling as the words you’d wanted to say fought to escape. “Aww!,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve shown me that even in a place as broken as Zaun, there’s beauty worth fighting for. You’ve given me hope, and I want to spend every day proving to you that you were right to believe in us. I’m yours, forever.”

The children cheered again, but Scar waved them down with a grin. “Hold on, hold on! We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” He nodded to a group of children at the side, who scrambled to their feet. The youngest among them, a tiny girl with oversized goggles slipping down her nose, held a small wooden box. She marched forward with all the seriousness of someone tasked with an important mission. Ekko knelt to her level, his grin widening as she opened the box to reveal the ring he’d made.

It wasn’t like any ring you’d ever seen. The band was crafted from a piece of scrap metal, polished until it gleamed faintly in the light. Set into it was a shard of green crystal, likely salvaged from some forgotten Zaunite machine. But the real magic was in the delicate etchings along the band—tiny gears and vines, symbols of growth and movement intertwined. It was unmistakably Ekko’s work, a reflection of his resourcefulness and heart.

“You made this?” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the ring as he slid it onto your hand.

“Course I did,” he replied, a hint of bashfulness creeping into his voice. “Nothing else felt good enough for you.”

Scar clapped his hands together, breaking the moment with his usual exuberance. “Alright, lovebirds, that’s it! You’re officially stuck with each other.”

Laughter and applause erupted as the children threw bits of torn paper and confetti into the air, creating a chaotic, colorful storm around you. Ekko pulled you into his arms, his laughter mingling with yours as the two of you spun in the midst of it all.

The celebration that followed was as Zaunite as the ceremony itself. Someone had rigged a broken radio to play static-filled music, and the children danced wildly, their joy infectious. A few of the older kids brought out food, whatever they could scrounge together. As the mismatched feast was laid out on a long, uneven table.

Ekko never strayed far from your side, his hand lingering on your waist or your fingers brushing against his arm. At one point, he leaned close, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You know, for a thrown-together wedding in the middle of Zaun, this might be the best day of my life.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Might be?”

“Okay, fine. Is the best day,” he admitted, his grin softening.

As the night wore on and the children began to drift off, Ekko led you to a quiet corner, away from the noise. The lights overhead flickered, casting his face in warm, uneven purple shadows. “Hey,” he said, his tone still soft. “Can’t believe we are official married now!”

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek. “Unreal that i can officially call you my husband.”

For a moment, the chaos of Zaun fell away, and it was just the two of you. Two survivors, two dreamers, building something beautiful in the midst of ruin. And as he kissed you, the city seemed a little brighter, and the air a little lighter.

note. if there’s any mistakes let me know!

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @annybah @niredsw @stqrlxght @kriss-w @marilovz @blkmystery @multiverse-fandoms-2001 @turquoizxe @mishellii @kor-0suu @feelya @theamazingmilli @multim00n @m00nd0v3 @sodavrr @maialublmere @radtragedyarcade @spiderhook @night-fall-moon

banner. @anitalenia

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lodane · 18 hours ago

Text

Tubi Testimony (pirate POV, tubi-n-chill x reader)

Context? i came to the site for gothic soap opera Dark Shadows on ABC in the late 1960s. if you're gonna do the same... look for "Dark Shadows: the Beginning" because that's the real 1966 start of the series (before Barnabas shows).

Ads... Like, ANY?

first things first... i assume tubi has ads but i use ublock-origin (win10, firefox/opera) and haven't seen any... at all... ever.

. n . o . t . h . i . n . g .

Account?

in my browser, you don't have to have an account. I REPEAT: NO SIGN-UP OR SIGN-IN REQUIRED. can't speak for the phone app, haven't used it 🤷‍♀️

Watch Party

i'm not sure if they're one of the services that black out the screen when you stream to friends on discord/etc. (tbh i don't think they do this? but...) if so they're one i've worked around by disabling hardware acceleration in the browser's settings. 🤷‍♀️ like candy from a babbyform.

Subtitles [CC]

the captions aren't perfect but they're a straight up SRT file 👀 you can rip with anything (including, just, like... the ublock logger showing you the direct URL). i don't know where they came from, and they don't seem *entirely* automagically generated... so, i can't tell if they're pulled from some (phoned-in) DVD, they're paying someone to caption, scraping some (really half-assed) fan subs...or some combo?

this is important to me since i'm going to be fixin' up my OWN fan subs for this show and it's great when someone saves you some legwork. i use downsub dot com (which is SHOCKINGLY not a k*nk site) to scrape the captions when i'm being lazy.

The Video Itself

the videos themselves are quite easily obtained, too... but... i'll tell ya... i never bothered ripping the show, and i stopped downloading it from elsewhere atm, because i legit enjoy just watching it on tubi... the vibes are good, the ux/ui are good, and they basically have the same files as i can find elsewhere (admittedly scuffed, for the example of Dark Shadows) on any archive or torrent for a show...

i can side-by-side a rip to a file and see there's basically no difference... so i don't think they attempt any reformatting/editing/etc. of the media they, uh, obtain... from... somewhere?

🤔

actually... i have a test for this... brb...

(pulls up Buffy's 'Once More with Feeling' on Tubi)

so, since it's shockingly different on various platforms and editions, it's a great little litmus test.

VISUAL DIFFERENCES? placing the file and tubi side-by-side, playing the exact same spot... yeah, i guess... there's a little bitsy change in color/contrast/fuzz (very likely just throwing a few less pixels on the screen) that's probably just some lossy compression they do to make it easier to house/stream all these files…

BUT WHICH VERSION IS IT? for Buffy's s06e07, OMWF, they have the 00:50:45 runtime version, which afaik is "the good* version" with all the original visuals intact. i'm sure someone is a bigger Buffy scholar than me, but i think this the "DVD version" (not an old DVR/TV rip, like i subsisted on for years, not the terrible blu-ray wherein they cut several minutes).

the captions are LITERALLY identical from the "Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season 1 to 7 Mp4 1080p" torrent (which, again, are likely originally from the DVDs).

tangent: the entire scene before and after "I Have a Theory" is an amazing case study in why those Blu-Rays were strangely good 5% of the time but absolutely still ruined the show. why? well, tbh there are a couple edits this episode could use… changes that were made for the better in the blu-ray version, like... i guess i can understand taking out the donut/cruller Magnolia PUA joke, since it's very dated? along with Anya dropping the m-slur… we could lose that, for sure [which, i just checked, is in the tubi version, so it's def not blu-ray]. too bad the blu-ray also kills the pterodactyl joke??? they cut out the shared visual framing device of the shoppe's door/bell when buffy/dawn enter for one but leave the other? it feels like the level of brainpower that went into that Hitchhiker's Guide movie when they ruined the joke about "beware the jaguar" and all that in the first 10 minutes?

conclusion...

go watch Dark Shadows: The Beginning or Buffy the Vampire Slayer on tubi tv ig? do a fan sub for the first 365 episodes of an ancient soap opera in a desperate effort to get ppl to watch it?

fuck man idk...

💋

Tubi is the best streaming service because it captures the feeling of a video store, but not a corporate video store like Blockbuster, or even a good indie store, but a rundown video rental place under a overpass weeks away from closing down. You'll find, like, 2001: A Space Odyssey next to a unwatchable copy of a 70s exploitation film and a micro-low-budget indie and a movie called STRIPPER VAMPIRE MASSACRE III but you can find no evidence of STRIPPER VAMPIRE MASSACRE one or two existing.

This is a real, commercial streaming service and they've uploaded films with the DVD menu visible for the first few seconds bc it's a recording of a DVD copy. What a titan in the landscape of streaming

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elflutter · 2 days ago

Text

— road trip

bf!joel miller x f!reader

synopsis

car sex with joel on the way home from a weekend trip ;)

wordcount: 4.8k | masterlist

tags/warnings: explicit (18+ mdni), no use of y/n, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, creampie, light dom/sub, fingering, oral sex (f. recieving), fluff, age gap (joel is 37 reader is 27), established relationship, pet names, teasing joel for being "old"

a/n: this morning i went back to proofread and properly edit this, so it all should read a litle smoother now!

You cursed under your breath when you got out of the shower in the hotel room this morning. Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, squeezing excess water from your hair, you searched through your suitcase. Digging through every article of clothing you’d packed for your cousin’s wedding once, then again. You couldn’t find it. Huffing out a defeated sigh, you plopped down on the mattress. You were out of clean underwear.

“Dammit.”

The sound of the shower quited, and a moment later Joel stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped low around his waist. Your eyes raked over his body, little droplets of water clinging to his tanned skin, taunting you. Laying in bed this morning, mind still pleasantly hazy in dawn’s rosy light, you’d fallen apart on his mouth. He had made you come again in the shower, this time on his fingers. But heat still pooled in your belly at the sight of him, relaxed and unguarded. He hadn’t given you his cock yet today, and you ached for it.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Falling back against the fluffy sheets with a soft thump, you let your towel fall away. Bearing your body as you threw an arm over your eyes and groaned.

“’M out of panties.”

The words were muffled behind your arm. Despite your current nakedness, despite the intimacy you shared with Joel, your cheeks heated at thought of being indecent beneath your clothes all day. Being exposed like that as you turned the key cards back in at the checkout desk, not to mention the risk of running into someone else staying in the block of rooms reserved for the wedding. Surely they wouldn’t be able to tell, right? People went commando all the time. It didn’t have to be sexual.

But then, you thought about the trip back to Austin. Pussy bare and dripping in the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, the hand he’d rest possessively on your thigh. And your cheeks heated for an entirely different reason.

Joel hummed, and the bed dipped with his weight. He propped himself on one arm so his face hovered just above yours. He wore a devilish smirk, morning light illuminating a glint in those deep brown eyes that meant nothing but trouble.

“Don’t sound like such a bad thing to me, pretty girl.”

His voice was low and rough, and you ignored the feeling blooming in your stomach. Trying very hard to fight the smile spreading across your face, you batted at his chest playfully.

“You old perv!” A giggle escaped your lips, unable to hold it back, like champagne bubbling over a newly opened bottle.

Joel ignored your dig at his age, graceful as always when you teased him. Barley ten years older than you, and you’d never let him forget it.

Instead, he ran a hand up your curves, fingers splayed wider than yours ever could. He cupped your breast with a barely there touch, sending strokes of electricity from your chest to your cunt. His gaze drank you in, greedy bordering on gluttonous. Like he was drunk on you from sight alone. Like this hotel room was a museum and you were its finest work.

“Can ya blame me when you look like this?” Joel pressed kisses from your earlobe to your collarbone between his words. “My gorgeous fuckin’ girl.”

If your cheeks were warm before, now they were on fire. You thought he’d surely be able to feel it, your face heating the space between you like a furnace.

You had been dating Joel going on three years now, but he could still get blood rushing to your cheeks—and lower— with the briefest touch of those big hands and even bigger mouth. Sure of himself and what he wanted in a way that was so damn attractive.

His hard cock pressed against your side, hot and leaking. He’d barely let you touch him this morning, had devoted himself to worshiping your body. Didn’t want any distractions, he’d said. Now, you couldn’t help but buck your hips, pussy empty and clenching. Aching for him to fill it. A pathetic whine filled the air, high and breathy as it fell from your open mouth. Joel’s lips curved into a smile where they were buried in the crook of your neck.

“That pretty pussy’s droolin’ for me, baby, ain’t she?”

The damn mouth on that man. You nodded frantically, words casting a spell on you until all you could think was Joel, Joel, Joel.

The bed dipped when he shifted, his elbows resting on either side of your face. “Tell you what, sweetheart. You keep her nice’n wet for me on the trip back, and I promise I’ll fill her up just right when we get home. Think you can do that for me, baby girl?”

Another nod, eyes wide and pleading. “Y-yeah Joel, shit,” you laughed. The warm sound broke the tension that had pulled tight between you, the submissive role you so gladly fell into when he talked to you like that. A smile in your voice as you continued, “you really are a dirty old fuck, y’know that?”

“Thirty-seven’s old now, huh?” He challenged you, a teasing glint when he looked at you.

“Fuckin’ geriatric.”

You had done so damn well, packing your things and getting into the truck barely even thinking about the distinct lack of panties beneath your dress. The first few minutes of the drive went smoothly, but when Joel pulled into a gas station before leaving Dallas and sent you in to grab some snacks, your mind finally wandered just like you knew it would.

Knees pressed together, you slipped out of the passenger seat, determined not to give anybody a show. Anybody besides Joel, that is. Flashing him a little smile, you tried to ignore how the rub of your thighs together provided the perfect amount of friction on your bare cunt. Tried to ignore how the AC blasting in the little convenience store felt as it cooled the air under your dress. Tried to ignore the thrill of using the restroom when you knew all you had to do was pull up your dress and you’d be completely exposed.

Your mind raced, thoughts swirling as you tried to pick out some road trip snacks. You knew your taste, you knew Joel’s, but the task was made much more difficult by the throbbing between your legs and the fear that everyone who walked by you could tell how you ached. After pacing the snack aisle for what felt like an eternity, you finally grabbed Bugles and Takis to share, legs feeling like liquid as they carried you over to the cashier and out to the car.

Back on the road, the tangy scent of Takis filled the air when your gaze fell on Joel. He pretended not to care for them, but he always ate his half of the bag a little too eagerly. Joel’s eyes were on the road while he took each finger between his lips, hollowing his cheeks to suck off the red dust staining them. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, and a quiet moan escaped your lips involuntarily.

The light smirk playing on Joel’s lips told you he’d heard, though his eyes never left the highway.

“Gettin’ impatient, huh baby?” His southern drawl only added fuel to the flames in your belly.

“Don’t tease me, Joel, I feel like I’m on fire!”

“Think you’re bein’ overdramatic?” Joel arched a brow, glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes.

You pouted, just a little. “No.”

“Have some Bugles. You’re gettin’ hangry.”

Maybe you were, but the h certainly didn’t stand for hungry.

Admittedly, the Bugles did help the next few minutes pass a little faster. But eventually, you ran out of snacks; and were left, again, with only the dripping mess between your legs to keep you company. Joel had fallen quiet, no music on the radio, a taunting smirk painted across his face. Smug bastard.

Head resting on the window, the trees on the side of the highway filled your vision. A mottled mass of green, eyes blurry and unfocused—valiantly trying to think of anything except the ache between your legs. An hour had passed already since leaving Dallas, and you had another two to go. Two more hours before you’d be home and Joel could run his big hands underneath your little sun-dress and explore your curves, cup your bare pussy.

Head falling back against the headrest, you looked over at Joel, eyes wide and pleading.

“Can I touch myself?”

When your voice came out all high and breathy, you knew he could hear how desperate you were. It felt like your body melt into the passenger seat if you didn’t get some kind of relief right now.

“Greedy fuckin’ girl, aren’t you? How many times did I make you come this morning?”

Eyes on the ceiling, you gathered your voice to answer him. “Twice.”

“Twice, and it ain’t even noon yet, baby girl. Pussy achin’ again already?”

You whined in response.

“’N you had the nerve to go and say I’m the damn perv here,” Joel’s grumble was dark, sending even more wetness to your already soaked panties. The tone in his voice sent the sweetest chill down your spine— hunger and anticipation an intoxicating cocktail burning through your veins. “Filthy fuckin’ brat.”

His name fell from your lips in a high pitched plea.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, the low hiss of it filling the air between you. Finally, he sighed. You and Joel might like it when he talks dirty like you don’t have him wrapped around your little finger, but you both know the truth. He’d do anything you asked him.

“Fine.” Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Go ‘head and touch yourself, baby.”

You went limp with relief in the passenger seat, your hand ghosting across your nipples, down your stomach. Your eyes flitted to the road outside Joel’s pickup for a moment; judging the risk of someone seeing against the desire pooled deep in your core. The road wasn’t too busy, the windows slightly tinted so that you should be safe enough from prying eyes—as long as nobody looked too closely. You could be discrete.

Finally, tossing caution to the wind, you hiked up the hem of your dress to expose your soaked cunt, the leather seat cool against the bottom of your thighs. The world went up in flames for a moment, as you dragged a single finger through your folds, breath catching as you felt just how much arousal had already pooled between your legs. Your finger met no resistance as your slick eased its passage, until it teased at your entrance as you babbled Joel’s name incoherently.

All you could think as one finger, then another pressed inside you was how empty you still felt. How you needed more. Needed Joel’s cock to carve out a spot inside you until you could feel him in your lungs.

Curling your fingers against that spongy spot inside, you raised your thumb to trace little circles around your swollen clit. Moans and the squelch of your pussy filled the cab, eyes closed and head thrown back. The warmth low in your belly spread and spread from your fingers to your toes, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge.

Joel’s gravel-rough order pulled you from your reverie. “You’re gonna look at me while you come.”

When you opened your eyes to obey, they caught on his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. His eyes so wide they could pop right out of his skull as they glanced away from the road to meet yours for just a moment. The bulge starting to strain behind the zipper of his jeans. His jaw clenched, warm light dancing through the window over his form.

Your orgasm finally hit you, the steady pulse of your cunt swelling to a crescendo as the tension in your belly snapped. Waves of pleasure crested against you, again and again. As you came, his name tasted sweet on your tongue, gaze tracing over his profile as he switched the blinker on to change lanes. Fingers slowed their pump in and out until only your thumb was left moving—tracing lazy circles over your clit until the pleasure verged on pain. Finally, hand stilled, with a tremble, a stuttering breath left your lungs.

Lolling your head to the side, your brows drew together when you processed the sound of the blinker, the movement as Joel switched into the middle lane. Your eyes fell on the bright blue sign reading Rest Area - 1 Mile.

Joel followed your line of sight from his peripheral vision, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Figured we’d stop so you can use the restroom, baby.” He reached his hand to rest on your upper thigh, just inches away from where your own was still nestled inside your cunt. “Don’t want’ya gettin’ an infection down there, now do we?”

His words stirred a pleasant sensation in your middle– but this time, it wasn’t arousal. Your own soft smile stretched across your cheeks that he’d even think of that. How he was taking care of you like this even on top of driving the both of you the two-hundred miles it took to get back home.

After another moment, you pulled your fingers out from between your legs; mesmerized at the creamy spend that coated them. Touching your middle finger to your thumb, then pulling them apart as a thread of your come stretched into the space between.

You knew you were distracting Joel from the road, when you saw him watching from the corner of his eye. But he didn’t seem to mind the split focus while he watched you play with your own come between your fingers.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Taste it for me, baby.”

Joel swallowed thickly as you sucked the digits between your lips. Your cheeks hollowed, lapping at your finger. You moaned at the depravity of it, the heady taste of yourself against your tongue. Finally, you let the fingers out with a slick pop, licked clean, throat working as you drank down your mess.

If his bulge was straining before, it was practically bursting through the denim now, fully hard beneath the fabric. Pride swelled within you, that you could still have that effect on him without a single touch. His eyes remained on the road, the deep brown drowned out by darkened pupils.

“Taste good?”

You pulled your dress back down as you answered him.

“Not as good as you, Joel.”

Your stomach sunk a little when you heard the tick tick tick of blinker as the metal roof of the rest area and old fashioned windmill came into view—disappointed that your fun was over. You always wondered who decided to make this rest area look more like a farm than a public building– Texas was fucking weird.

Your disappointment was short-lived. There was plenty of parking right out front, but Joel pulled around to the mostly-empty lot behind the building meant for semis and RVs. You threw him a quizzical look, and he adjusted his hard-on in his pants in lieu of an answer. Oh. Oh.

He found a spot in the back corner, the area empty save for you two. His head fell back against the seat before his eyes raked over you. Joel’s expression would have been unreadable if his pupils weren’t so blown out. You could feel his gaze burning your skin, stilled while he stared at your lips—still damp from sucking your fingers clean.

Tongue darting out restlessly, you waited for him to speak. The fire built in your belly all over again; his eyes on you a lit match thrown into kindling.

“Ain’t too busy.” Joel’s head nodded his head to parking lot.

“No, it isn’t,” you answered– wide eyes trained on his face. Your voice sounded wobbly in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was due to your present desire or the after-effects of your prior climax. Maybe both.

“Thought I’d have some fun with my girl.”

You nodded, words stuck in your throat.

“Before you go in there and clean up that pretty pussy.”

You nodded again, a little whimper escaping your lips.

The click of Joel’s seatbelt filled the air, before he reached over to unbuckle yours. Crowding you against the passenger-side door, you could feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke. The words dark with authority.

“Get in the backseat.”

The Texas sun bore down on you in the moment it took to fumble your way down to the asphalt and climb back up the side steps and into the back seat of the pickup. Your hands fiddled with each other as Joel did the same, the slam of the car door behind him as he got into the back on the driver’s side.

A swallow caught in your throat at the look in Joel’s eyes, mouth hungry and pupils blown out with lust. The smell of sex drowned out any lingering aroma of the snacks from earlier, your heady arousal seeping down your thighs and onto the flimsy fabric of your dress. Your core throbbed, Joel’s gaze weighing heavy on your skin.

His name tumbled from your lips; a plea more than anything. And that broke the spell lingering between your bodies. The tension in the air had pulled so tight that the only thing it could do next was snap.

Joel was on you in an instant– broad shoulders filling your space, large palms cupping your breasts through the smocked bodice of your dress. Your fingers tangled in his chestnut curls, shining in the warm sunlight. Tugging on it, urging his mouth to capture yours. His scruff scratched against the softness of your cheek as you moaned into the kiss; mouths slotting against each other like puzzle pieces.

His tongue moved against yours, teeth nipping sweetly at your bottom lip. Your movements against each other were hungry, hands exploring each other and leaving a trail of desire in their wake.

Little puffs of air ghosted against your lips as Joel breathed through the kiss, his jean-clad thigh slotting between your legs. The friction had you keening into his mouth, the sound pathetic and more than a little desperate. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into your boyfriend’s leg.

Joel finally broke the kiss, propping a palm against the passenger-side window to get a better view of where you rutted against him.

“Y’look like a damn bitch in heat.” The words were tinged with wonder, not degradation. Joel could never help but marvel at how desperate he could get you. The way you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

Through lowered lashes, you looked up at him, reaching for the bulge straining against his jeans. A ragged moan tore from his throat at your touch, and your smirk said it all. And you’re no better, cowboy.

Calloused hands ghosted up your thighs, pushing up your dress until it was bunched just above your belly-button. His fingers, pressing at the soft plush of your thighs, tracing the outline of your hips, flames licking to where you wanted his touch so desperately. His hands trailed back up to cup at the base of your skull, lips hungry where they pressed against yours once again. You drank each other in for a moment, your hips desperately seeking friction to quell the heat at your center. When he pulled back from your lips, Joel kissed down your body, following the path that his fingers had just taken. Brushing his lips behind behind your ear, against your collarbone, your breast, your stomach, your hips. Stoking the fire within you higher and higher until finally– finally engulfing himself in your flames.

Joel’s scruffy beard scratched against your inner thighs as he pressed a featherlight kiss against your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard. Hands tangled in his curls, you fell apart while he made out with your puffy cunt. You were still dripping with the release you found on the highway, nub still swollen and sensitive from your desperate fingers. He devoured you, each lap of his tongue sparking tingling waves of pleasure that had you jolting beneath him. One hand found the softness of your tummy as he pressed you against the seat to hold you still.

The needy sound of your whimpers and Joel’s grunts against you filled the air as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge. When he repositioned to push two fingers into your aching heat, lips never parting from where they worked, you tumbled over that cliff. Free fall, as you writhed against his mouth and fingers, working you through your climax.

Joel’s parted from you, grin was wolfish, his grip digging into your waist as he sat back and pulled you up with him. His dark eyes found yours before he spoke.

“Open up, sweet thing.”

The pet name was soft, but his voice was rough with dominance. Your mouth fell open for him, tongue hanging out lewdly. He pressed his fingers against it, before you tasted your release for a second time that day.

“Good fuckin’ girl. It taste even better on my fingers?”

You nodded around his fingers with a muffled mhm. Skirt pooled on his lap, you dragged your bare cunt along the outline of his hardness. You were beyond fucked out, two orgasms deep—four if you count the ones from the hotel room—but you still ached for that primal satisfaction only his cock could give you. Your touch brushed across his abdomen, hiking up his t-shirt to expose the soft skin underneath. Joel evidently got the idea, his next words coming out rough and low.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?”

Again, you nodded, your sound of affirmation still muffled. Joel’s dark chuckle at your predicament sent electricity zinging down your spine with a moan. You barely had the presence of mind to be grateful that he wouldn't make you wait until you got home, like he had said. When he finally pulled his fingers out of your mouth, you whined at the emptiness. Your lips found the stubble at his jaw, kissing and nipping at the skin there as his belt came undone with a clang.

Hands fumbling around Joel’s, both of you worked to pull his jeans and his boxers down just enough to free his length. Your eyes were locked on his crotch as his cock sprang up against his belly button, the tip red and leaking. You never grew tired of the sight, his hardness long and wide, the head bulbous where precome dripped out onto the tan skin of his stomach.

Hips lifting, you bunched the fabric of your dress around your waist while Joel helped position himself at your entrance. You finally sunk down on him, savoring that sweet sting as he filled your warmth. You let Joel sweep you away in the sensations his body could give you– the gentle roll of your hips against his, the ghost of his breath across your lips as your foreheads rested against one another. The way your skin heated up under his gaze. The warm tone of his voice, sending pinpricks from your toes to the tips of your ears. It was so easy to forget that you were in the middle of a parking lot on the side of the highway when Joel could fill your senses so completely. Easy to forget that anybody could pull into this lot behind the rest stop, park beside you, and watch exactly how Joel Miller ruined you in the backseat of his pickup.

“Takin’ me so well, baby girl. Lettin’ me fill your tight little hole.”

His words were the sweetest encouragement, stoking your desire as it burned around where he was buried within you. You felt so good, so full, but you needed more. Muscles tightening, your pace increased, fingers tangled in his hair. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, and the familiar scent of pine and citrus enveloped you—still lingering on his skin from the shower he took at the hotel. Tiny whimpers fell from your lips as you began to truly bounce atop him, gasping each time he brushed that perfect spot within you.

“That’s fuckin’ right, bounce on this cock.”

You rode him until your thighs burned, skin slick with arousal and sweat, mewling pathetic little uh uh uh’s as you thrust up and down on Joel’s lap again and again and again. You were painfully close, but your muscles were too sore to keep up the motion. Joel tutted in mock-sympathy when you went limp in his arms.

“All tired out already?” He shook his head. “Woulda thought you’d have more stamina than a ‘dirty old fuck’ like me.”

You whined against his neck, almost regretting your earlier teasing. You knew it was all in good fun—but you also knew it gave Joel perfect ammunition for this little dynamic. Fingers dug into your cheeks, pulling you back up to meet his eyes. The deep brown glinted with barely restrained hunger. Yeah, there’s no way he’d let you off easy. Not that you would want him to.

“I’m sorry, Joel, y’know I was kidding.”

You tried so, so hard to be convincing, whining out the words. Joel didn’t buy it for a second.

“Call me fuckin’ geriatric, and you don’t even have the decency to keep goin’ until I’m finished. You’re gonna act like a brat, then I’ll fuck you like one.”

His harsh grip left your face and found the plush curve of your hips, fingers digging in as he urged you to lift your them. When you did, Joel set a brutal pace as he rutted up into you. Your head lolled to the side and you let him fuck out every thought you’d ever had. By the end, the only thing left was Joel. The hint of cinnamon as you kissed. The rough skin of his calloused hands roaming across your body. The deep plunge of his cock. You could have sworn he was rearranging your guts.

As you got closer and closer, Joel finally thumbed little circles on your clit; swollen and needy. His touch was light, and it sent fireworks dancing behind your eyelids.

“That’s right—fuck. Make a mess on my cock, baby girl.”

Joel’s voice was strained like he was just as close to the edge as you were. It didn’t take long after that before your walls fluttered around him, his pace never slowing as he fucked you through your climax. His thrusts got more and more erratic until his hips stilled, cock pumping his spend deep inside.

You both spent a few moments catching your breath, relaxing into each other’s embrace. His lips were soft as they pressed into the crown of your head before he pulled out of you with a slight groan. His voice was soft, too, when he spoke.

“Not so bad for an old man, huh?”

A smile played at the sides of your lips. You shifted your head on Joel’s shoulder to look up at him, his eyes warm and twinkling when they met yours.

“You know I just like to tease you.” A beat passed before you added, because you just couldn’t help yourself, “Grandpa.”

Joel’s fingers digging into your sides were swift and fierce, tickling you until you were a writhing mess in his lap, bright laughter filling the air. You ended up laying on your back across the leather seats, Joel’s head resting on your belly.

Your eyes were closed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re such a little shit.”

“It’s why you love me,” you sing-songed, fingers carding through his hair.

“Yeah, baby girl.” Joel pressed a kiss against your abdomen. “I guess it is.”

You rested in silence for a few more minutes, putting off cleaning up as long as you could. After all, Joel had been right, it was important to piss out any risk of a UTI. And the seats needed to be wiped down before you could pick up Sarah from Tommy’s on the way home. But with Joel in your arms, all of that felt far away as you lingered in the afterglow together for just a little while longer.

fuck neil druckmann, support palestine

a/n: thank you for reading!! inspo has been slower lately and life has been busy and i have been busy reading a lot of joel fic, but i am still planning to finish vampire!logan at some point. this was supposed to be a quick fun write, but i ended up shelving vampire!logan for two weeks to get this one done whoooops

btw i know the detail about the rest stop having a windmill is odd but... i did research to find the exact rest stop they would be passing at that point in the drive between dallas and austin and it actually has a fucking windmill lmao

tagging some friends who showed interest in the wip and/or have let me ramble in dms about the wip... thank u for that!!🏷️ @sceletaflores @eupheme @avocado-writing @joelsgoldrush

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfiction #my work

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gothhabiba · 2 days ago

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@ anon

I think it might be actually dangerous to publish your ask, but I'm sure from my response people will be able to tell what it's about anyway.

You're full of actual, absolute shit if you're pretending not to know by now that verification processes to ensure the legitimacy of Ghazzawin's fundraisers have been undertaken, and that details about what these processes entail have been shared by several people. Several people, some of them currently in Gaza, put themselves through countless hours of work video-calling people, judging their knowledge of dialectical Arabic, seeing their faces and their children's faces and their living conditions, seeing IDs and bank information, asking invasive, personal questions that they didn't want to be asking & that the people responding probably didn't want to be answering, and physically visiting people in Gaza and video-recording their interactions, just so that people like you could be sure that these fundraisers were legitimate. If you're ignoring all of the blood & tears that went into that process just so you can hand-wring about scams, no one needs to be concerned with convincing you of the legitimacy of anything, because you were never going to donate to these people anyway. You are just looking for any plausible-sounding excuse not to do what you already didn't want to do.

If, by some miracle, you actually didn't know about the verified fundraiser spreadsheet (which is frankly still blameable bc, where on earth have you been?), then there it is. The post of mine that you're referring to never even mentioned responding to asks; using this spreadsheet is an absolutely valid, reasonable way of donating directly to families.

Now let me treat some of your statements as though they were questions (which, they were not).

How do people in Gaza have internet access?

Internet infrastructure in Gaza is very robust (e.g. in what cables are made of, how deep they're buried, amounts of redundancy in the system, &c.) because they have been getting bombed by Israel all the fucking time for decades, so they expect this infrastructure to be put through a lot. There have still--if you've been following the situation at all--been several outages caused by damage that Ghazzawin have needed to repair. Though I do have to say that I find it odd that you doubt Ghazzawin have internet access, but also say that you buy eSims...?

A lot of people right now are indeed connected via eSim, which to my understanding only need to connect to wifi once, right when they're activated. People put themselves at risk to connect to eSims because they need to get a good wifi signal, which usually means walking for several miles trying to find high ground. One of my contacts once urgently called me (this is the only time he hadn't just texted) because he had been told his friend had found a signal and so they needed an eSim right then, before they went back to their tent.

I've been trying for some time to connect another of my contacts in Gaza to an eSim, but we're not having success. At Crips for eSims for Gaza they / we (I'm on the server getting advice and helping out but I'm not using their funding; I'm using what people on tumblr have given me to purchase eSims with) keep a constantly updated sheet of which eSim providers use which networks and which networks work in which areas--because the situation is constantly changing. Because my contact doesn't have an eSim on a personal phone, she has to go to a central location to be allotted three hours of internet access from someone who has managed to get connected. Lots of people, on their fundraising posts and pages, specify exactly how they've gotten internet access, how difficult it's been for them to get it, and how stressful it is to be relying on this tenuous connection, spending hours away from their families (at high risk of being shot at by IOF soldiers the whole time), just to message people for hours straight and then go home again.

2. How do people in Gaza have tumblr accounts?

This is a stupid question. Anyone with an email address who is capable of picking a username and password can make a tumblr account. I have personally helped several of my contacts in Gaza with the process.

3. How do people in Gaza know to come into people's tumblr accounts?

This is also a stupid question. I don't really see how you could ask this question if you saw Palestinians as, like, real humans beings. You understand that people talk to each other, yes? Like with words? As soon as a few people had success fundraising to evacuate Gaza on tumblr (nearly a year ago... this news has had a lot of time to spread), obviously they told other people about it.

One of the ways that Israel conducts its genocidal war is through the destructiveness of frustration and boredom. It's a strange situation because everything is extremely dire, urgent, terrifying, and dirty, but there's also seldom anything to do. People are singing, telling stories, going to the beach, inventing games and contests, to entertain children, but also to entertain themselves. And this is the situation--with a bunch of desperate, bored people packed into a tiny piece of land--this is the situation that you think it's impossible for people to talk to each other in? Come on.

If you want to donate to Anera and World Food Kitchen and buy eSims, that's fantastic. Please do that. But if you are as ignorant of the particulars of what this situation is like as your ask makes you appear, then I hope you refrain from speaking on what the situation is like.

I've been nattering on for a long time so here's my call to action:

Decide what you're capable of giving right now, or the next time you get paid

Scroll down on the vetted fundraiser spreadsheet and find someone very low on funds, or with injured children who urgently need treatment or evacuation, and give that money.

AND / OR give it to the PCRF or the IRW

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thehmn · 2 days ago

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I just came up with a ridiculous conspiracy theory that I beg you not to take seriously but it’s too stupid not to share.

In Denmark we have something called MitID which means MyID. It’s an app that all Danish citizens are required to have because it’s used to confirm your identity when you log on to various social services like healthcare or your tax overview, but it’s also used to confirm your identity when you buy stuff online so nobody can hack your phone and empty out your bank account (and if someone steals your phone they still have to know your code to the app). It’s a safety net but put in the most dramatic way possible; you can’t be a self reliant citizen in Denmark without MitID because most important things online have to go through the app.

Now, if you just open the app you get this screen with a shield telling you it’s ready for service.

If you try to log in somewhere like your doctor or the bank or try to buy something you’ll get this screen with a spinning circle inside the shield telling you it’s connecting to the site.

Before getting this screen telling you it was successful.

Now, here are the BDSM symbols for Doms. From left to right: non-gender specific Dom, female and male.

Does the first one remind you of anything, hmmmm?

The state is saying they own our asses! 😱🤯

Or maybe the design was just made to symbolise protection for citizens and was designed by people who don’t care about obscure BDSM symbols. BUT MAYBE IT WASNT!!!! But it probably was. BUT-!!!

#humontalks #joke conspiracy theory #denmark

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kinkyfignewtons · 2 days ago

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As someone who has to go through this regularly I don't share your prognosis that people "accept" that they don't control who they're attracted to. Too often I've been made to feel like people dating me was an "exception" or that attraction to me is a fluke. I regularly feel gatekept when it comes to queer attraction.

i think most people accept the idea of "you don't control who you're attracted to" in terms of being gay but imo it can go further. like if you're not attracted to men, but you happen to find a transmasc person attractive, i dont think thats inherently transphobic if you acknoweldge that your attraction is incongruent with their identity. you dont need to run yourself in circles creating qualifiers for your sexuality when we live in a world of infinite gender identites. it's not like you have an inbuilt radar that tells you whether that hot stranger at the bar is a woman or not. man who kissed a twink that turned out to be a butch lesbian that thought he was a butch lesbian. etc.

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reidmarieprentiss · 2 days ago

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Oops: Wrong Person

Summary: Spencer and you share a steamy night together, but when you go to spill the details to Emily, you accidentally send the text to the person of interest... will Spencer see it before you can fix things?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: NSFW (18+) additional warnings under the cut, alcohol consumption, talks of hangover, mention of a gun, sending text to wrong person, happy ending

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: shout out to @imagining-in-the-margins for pulling me out of my writers slump with their wrong recipient challenge !!! not proofread :/

prompts used: Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing

Character enlists Penelope’s help in hacking into someone’s device to delete an unintended message

main masterlist

Additional warnings: allusions to sex, oral (fem receiving)

The evening began innocently enough—just another night out with the team, exchanging stories and letting Penelope’s latest matchmaking attempts provide ample fodder for laughter. You and Spencer had been particularly unlucky in love lately, both of you enduring one disastrous date after another. Penelope had insisted she had "the perfect person" for each of you, but after a string of ill-suited setups, neither of you were optimistic. It was that shared frustration that had the two of you lingering over drinks a little longer than usual, swapping stories of cringe-worthy encounters and commiserating over your shared loneliness.

The conversation flowed more easily as the alcohol loosened your tongues, and you found yourselves laughing more, teasing less, and unearthing unexpected commonalities. Spencer wasn’t just the brilliant, socially awkward genius you’d always known—there was warmth, wit, and a surprising sense of humor that made you start to see him in a different light. For his part, Spencer found himself captivated by the way your eyes lit up as you recounted your tales, his usual nervousness fading as he grew more comfortable in your presence.

When the team decided to call it a night, Spencer insisted on walking you home. "You shouldn’t be out alone this late," he said, his tone firm but his gaze soft. The cool night air sobered you both slightly, but the buzz of the evening lingered as you strolled side by side. When you reached your front door, you turned to thank him, but Spencer hesitated. There was a moment—a pause filled with unspoken words—before he asked, almost shyly, "Can I kiss you?"

The question caught you off guard, but the answer came easily. “Yes,” you whispered, and the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, tentative at first but quickly deepening with urgency. The kiss ignited something you hadn’t expected, and before long, the two of you were tangled in your sheets, surrendering to the pull of the moment.

But now, as the morning light crept through the blinds, unwelcome and far too bright for how your head pounded and your stomach churned. The first thing you registered was warmth—Spencer’s arm draped over your waist, his face tucked into the pillow mere inches from yours. His soft breaths were the only sound in the room, aside from the dull hum of the city outside.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as the reality of the night before came crashing down like an avalanche. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing, hoping, that somehow, this was a vivid dream. But the ache in your muscles and the tangling of limbs beneath the sheets told you otherwise.

How had it come to this? You’d both sworn off dating for a while after Penelope’s well-meaning but disastrous matchmaking attempts, bonding over how exhausting it was to keep picking yourselves up after failure. You’d laughed, drank more than you should have, and for the first time, Spencer wasn’t just your quirky, brilliant colleague—he was just a man. A man with soft brown eyes, a boyish smile, and the kind of awkward charm that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, someone understood.

And then he’d walked you home. You had both hesitated on your doorstep, the air thick with unspoken words and the lingering spark of a night full of confessions. Spencer had looked at you, his cheeks flushed and his voice almost trembling as he asked if he could kiss you.

God, you’d wanted to say no. You should have said no. But the way he looked at you, with a vulnerability so raw and genuine, made it impossible. And when his lips met yours, all the doubts and hesitations had melted away. At least until now.

A quiet groan escaped your lips as you gingerly shifted away from his arm, careful not to wake him. You needed space—space to think, space to breathe. Tugging on a shirt discarded on the floor, you padded to the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter as you stared blankly at the coffee maker.

This wasn’t just a mistake; it was a colossal, earth-shattering disaster. Spencer wasn’t just some random guy at a bar; he was your coworker, your teammate. You weren’t supposed to cross those lines, especially not in a way that could make things awkward for the entire team.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, willing away the threatening sting of tears. "What the hell were we thinking?" you muttered to yourself, though you already knew the answer. You were thinking about loneliness, about longing, about the fleeting comfort of being wanted. You were thinking about Spencer's warm smile and the way he looked at you like you were the most fascinating person in the world.

The sound of movement behind you snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You turned to find Spencer standing in the doorway, his hair disheveled and his shirt haphazardly buttoned. He looked at you with a mixture of shyness and concern, clearly unsure of what to say.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile. "Morning."

An awkward silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Spencer shifted on his feet, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on you. "Are you okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing in that familiar, thoughtful way.

"Yeah," you lied quickly, your voice pitching just a little too high to be convincing.

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, scrutinizing you in that way only Spencer could—like he was dissecting every layer of your soul. “You’re lying,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact, devoid of judgment. “Do you regret last night?”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The vulnerability in his gaze—those soft, questioning hazel eyes—made your heart ache. You could feel the truth rising in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t bear to hurt him, not after everything.

“I only regret drinking so much,” you said instead, forcing a weak smile and hoping it was enough. “I’m horribly hungover.”

For a moment, Spencer stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your immense relief, his lips quirked into a small, understanding smile, and he even chuckled softly. “Yeah, we might have overdone it a bit,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you making coffee?”

You nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. As the coffee brewed, the familiar aroma filling your small kitchen, the tension eased. You poured two mugs and handed one to Spencer, who took it with a quiet “thanks” and a smile. The two of you sat at your tiny dining table, sipping the hot brew and talking about the most recent case. It was like slipping back into the roles you knew, the professional partnership that felt safe and predictable.

When Spencer finally stood to leave, he hesitated by the door. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said softly, lingering for just a moment before stepping out into the morning sun.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the silence in your apartment felt deafening. You slumped into your chair, staring at the coffee cup he’d left behind. You’d managed to keep the lie intact, but it didn’t make the knot in your stomach feel any less tight. If anything, it made it worse.

Later that evening, unable to keep your thoughts to yourself, you grabbed your phone and fired off a text to Emily. She was your go-to for all the juicy details and unsolicited advice, and you desperately needed her take on the situation.

Em, you’ll never believe it… I slept with Spencer! And before you even ask, no, it was not good. He was so sweet and, honestly, really attractive, but it was like he was just there to smash and dash, I swear! There was no build-up, no foreplay, it was so boring. I swear the only reason I was even wet enough was how good he looked. Em, what do I do?

You stared at the message for a moment before pressing send, your heart pounding as you anticipated her reply. You knew Emily wouldn’t hold back, but that was exactly what you needed—someone to be brutally honest with you.

Setting your phone aside, you waited for the familiar buzz of her reply. But as the minutes ticked by, your attention started to drift. The weight of the day and the lingering tension from your morning with Spencer caught up with you, and before you knew it, you had dozed off on the couch.

When you woke early the next morning, the faint glow of your phone screen illuminated the room, the only light breaking through the predawn darkness. You groaned, rubbing one eye as you sat up, feeling the stiffness in your back from spending the night on the couch. Reaching for your phone, you squinted at the screen, ready to check if Emily had replied to your late-night text.

But when you opened your conversation with her, the message you so vividly remembered typing was nowhere to be found. Confused, you stared at the blank thread for a moment.

"That's weird," you muttered to yourself. "Maybe I just dreamed I sent it."

Shrugging it off, you stretched, wincing as the ache from your uncomfortable sleeping position made itself known. After a quick shower and a cup of coffee, you pushed the odd moment out of your mind, determined to start the day fresh.

Later that morning, as you walked into the bullpen at work, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The usual hum of activity filled the air—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, voices murmuring about cases. Spencer was already at his desk, his face buried in a file, and he didn’t look up as you passed by. If he was feeling awkward about that night, he didn’t show it.

You dropped your bag onto your desk and booted up your computer, feeling a flicker of relief that everything seemed normal. The morning carried on uneventfully—until Emily strolled over, her face unreadable, and perched casually on the edge of your desk.

"Hey," she said, her tone casual as ever. "Do anything interesting this weekend?"

The question made your stomach flip. For a brief, horrifying moment, you wondered if you had sent that text after all.

Your heart pounded as you leaned in closer to Emily, lowering your voice to a whisper so that Spencer, sitting just a few feet away, wouldn’t overhear. “Did you see my text? I could have sworn I sent one last night,” you asked, keeping your tone as casual as possible despite the rising panic in your chest.

Emily frowned slightly, pulling out her phone and scrolling through your thread. “No? What was it about?” she asked, holding her screen up as proof of her empty inbox.

The confusion on your face deepened as you promised to catch her up on your weekend later. “Never mind, it’s nothing,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. But as she walked away, a gnawing sense of dread began to form in the pit of your stomach. Something felt off—terribly off.

Grabbing your phone, you scrolled through your messages, hoping, praying you’d simply forgotten to hit send or, at worst, sent it to someone like your parents or even Hotch. But when you finally found the message, your blood ran cold. There it was, the detailed, unfiltered account of your night with Spencer, sent—and the recipient was none other than Spencer Reid himself.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, and you couldn’t breathe. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, rereading the incriminating text over and over. You couldn’t even bring yourself to glance in Spencer’s direction, terrified he’d somehow know you’d realized your mistake.

Not knowing what else to do, you bolted from your desk and ran straight to Penelope’s office. You slammed the door shut behind you, startling her so badly that she let out a loud shriek.

“Y/N! What the heck, you scared me, girl!” she exclaimed, spinning around in her chair with wide eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s going on?”

You barely managed to catch your breath as you blurted out the words. “Can you hack into Spencer’s phone?”

“What? Why?” she asked, her confusion giving way to intrigue.

“I sent him something he was never meant to see,” you said, your voice trembling.

Penelope’s expression lit up with gleeful curiosity, her hands clasping together in delight. “Oh my god! Drama!” she squealed. “Was it something saucy?” Her grin turned wicked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“No, Pen, nothing like that…” you lied, though your face betrayed the truth. “Just—can you do it?”

“Only if you tell me why,” she sing-songed, leaning forward as if this were the best thing to happen to her all week.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It’s about Spencer, okay? I sent him a message I was venting to Emily about… and it’s—oh my god, Penelope, it’s bad.”

“How bad?” she pressed, practically vibrating in her seat.

You hesitated, your mind racing. “Like… it’s about bedroom activities, bad.”

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “You and Boy Wonder?” she gasped, her voice rising in pitch. “No way! Tell me everything right now, and then I’ll consider saving your butt.”

So, you spilled it all, every mortifying detail of your ill-advised text and the lackluster night with Spencer. Penelope listened with wide eyes, her hand dramatically clutching her chest as though she were living through the mortification alongside you.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she interrupted at one point, holding up a finger. “Are you saying there was no foreplay? None at all? Oh, honey, that’s—oh no.” Her sympathy was so theatrical it almost made you laugh, but the weight of your predicament kept your stomach in knots.

You sighed, shaking your head. “I know, I know. It was just… disappointing. He was sweet, don’t get me wrong, but it felt so rushed, and then I panicked afterward, and now this. I just hope he hasn’t seen the text. I mean, he doesn’t check his phone often, right? Unless it’s a call or something urgent?”

Penelope tilted her head thoughtfully, tapping a glittery nail against her lips. “You’ve got a point there. Spencer isn’t exactly glued to his phone like the rest of us mere mortals. But if he has seen it…” She winced, letting the implication hang in the air.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Penelope, please. I’ll never live this down. Can you help me? Just… I don’t know, tell him it was a new protocol or something if you have to.”

Penelope’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Oh, sweetie, you know I love a good cover story. I’ll just tell him we’re testing a new security system or a phone update procedure, and I need to check his device. It’ll buy us some time, at least.”

Relief flooded you, though it was tinged with lingering dread. “You’re a lifesaver, Pen. I owe you big time.”

“Oh, you’ll owe me,” she quipped, already pulling up the tools she needed on her computer. “Now go sit tight while Mama Bear fixes your mess.”

You gave her a weak smile and stepped out of her office, nerves still on edge as you tried to focus on anything but the potential fallout. All you could do now was hope Penelope worked her magic before Spencer’s curiosity—or worse, his notifications—got the better of him.

—

It had been a few weeks since that mortifying ordeal, and life at the BAU had returned to its usual rhythm. You and Spencer were working together like nothing had happened, the two of you exchanging case theories and research notes with the same easy professionalism as always. If he had seen the text, he certainly wasn’t acting like it.

You clung to that thought, reassuring yourself every time you caught him flipping through files or muttering stats under his breath. Spencer wasn’t one to hold back if something was bothering him—if he had read the text, you were sure he would’ve said something by now. Right?

Penelope had assured you she’d taken care of it, spinning some elaborate story about a security test or protocol update to gain access to his phone. “Smooth as butter,” she’d told you with a wink. You had to trust her; if anyone could cover their tracks, it was Penelope Garcia.

Still, there were moments when a flicker of doubt would creep in, especially when you caught Spencer looking at you for a beat too long or when his smile seemed softer than usual. You wondered if he was just being his sweet, considerate self, or if there was some small part of him that knew.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. He was standing next to your desk, holding out a file. “I thought you might want to take a look at this. It’s related to the unsub’s timeline.”

“Oh, thanks,” you said quickly, accepting the file and forcing a smile. Your hands brushed briefly, and though the touch was fleeting, it sent a small jolt through you. You cleared your throat, trying to push the memory of that night further down into the recesses of your mind.

As he walked back to his desk, you let out a slow breath of relief. He was acting normal—maybe even too normal—but you decided to take it as a win. If he hadn’t mentioned anything by now, it probably meant Penelope had pulled off her mission flawlessly.

You could finally move forward, pretending nothing had ever happened. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

The team had gathered at the bar once again, and the night was well underway. Laughter filled the air as Penelope and Emily, true to their roles as the team’s biggest shit-stirrers, steered the conversation toward bad hookup stories. One by one, everyone chimed in with their own tales—some embarrassing, others outright hilarious. Even Hotch and Rossi surprised everyone by sharing anecdotes, their typically reserved facades melting away under the influence of camaraderie and alcohol.

You, however, stayed silent, staring intently at your soda and purposefully avoiding Spencer’s gaze. The thought of contributing to the topic sent waves of panic through you. Spencer, sipping his lemonade, seemed just as disinterested in alcohol as you were—although, unlike you, he appeared perfectly calm.

Emily, catching your silence and sensing an opportunity, smirked over the rim of her whiskey glass. “Y/N…” she began, dragging out your name in a voice that instantly made your stomach drop. “What about you? Any bad hookups recently?”

Your eyes widened, and the sip of soda you’d just taken went down the wrong way. You coughed violently, waving a hand to reassure everyone you were fine, even as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. “H-hmm? No,” you managed to croak out, your voice high and strained. “Not, um, not too recently.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as if she could see right through you. “Not too recently?” she repeated, clearly fishing for more. “That’s a very specific answer, don’t you think?”

Penelope leaned in, her knowing grin rattling you further. “Oh, come on, Y/N! Spill it! We’ve all shared—you’re not getting out of this that easily.”

You opened your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say that wouldn’t give away the truth. But before you could stammer out a reply, Spencer spoke up, his tone light but pointed.

“Maybe we should let Y/N off the hook,” he said, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking back to his glass. “Not everyone wants to relive their awkward, or boring, moments.”

Your breath hitched, and time seemed to slow. Spencer’s words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been.

"Not everyone wants to relive their awkward, or boring, moments."

The word boring hit you like a brick to the chest, your mind immediately flashing back to the mortifying text you’d mistakenly sent to him weeks ago. Boring. The exact word you’d used to describe your night with him.

Your heart raced as you tried to process what this could mean. Had he seen the text? Was he throwing subtle jabs at you now, letting you know in his own understated way that he was aware of what you’d said? Or—your stomach churned—was this just a terrible coincidence?

You froze, your fingers gripping the edge of your glass as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. Your face felt hot, and your mind scrambled for something to say, but your voice wouldn’t cooperate. All you could do was glance at him, hoping to read something in his expression, but Spencer didn’t look back at you. Instead, he sipped his lemonade nonchalantly, his face giving nothing away except perhaps the faintest flicker of amusement.

Penelope, blissfully aware of the tension now coursing through you, laughed and waved him off. “Oh, come on, Spencer. You’ve gotta admit, the awkward ones make for the best stories!”

Spencer smiled faintly but didn’t reply, his eyes fixed on the table. You, on the other hand, felt like you were going to combust. Every second stretched painfully as you tried to decipher his intent. Did he know? Had he been holding this over you all this time? If he did know, why hadn’t he said anything? And why bring it up now?

You decided you couldn’t sit there any longer. “Excuse me,” you muttered hastily, standing up and heading toward the bathroom. You needed a moment—just a moment—to breathe and figure out what the hell was happening.

Once inside, you leaned against the sink, gripping the counter as you stared at your reflection. He knows. He definitely knows, you thought, replaying his words over and over in your mind.

But what did that mean for the two of you now? And, more terrifyingly, what was he going to do about it?

When you returned to the table, you were relieved to find that the group had shifted away from the awkward topic of hookups. Instead, they were now swapping stories about their most embarrassing encounters with local law enforcement during cases. The laughter was infectious, and you felt some of the tension ease from your shoulders as you slid back into your seat.

Emily was in the middle of reenacting a particularly mortifying moment where she’d accidentally walked into the wrong briefing room during a case, only to realize it was a police academy class in session. Penelope nearly fell off her chair laughing, and even Hotch cracked a rare smile. You joined in the laughter, grateful for the distraction and the chance to blend back into the group unnoticed.

But even as you laughed, you couldn’t shake the awareness of Spencer’s gaze. It wasn’t obvious, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you felt it—the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way he watched you out of the corner of his vision.

You tried to brush it off as paranoia, convincing yourself you were imagining things, but the weight of his attention was impossible to ignore. Every time you glanced his way, he quickly looked down, pretending to be focused on his drink or the conversation. Yet his subtle smirk betrayed him, like he knew something you didn’t.

Your stomach twisted again, but this time it wasn’t just embarrassment—it was something else, something harder to pin down. Was he amused? Angry? Curious? Or worse… disappointed?

“Y/N,” Emily called, pulling you back to the moment. “What about you? Didn’t you have that one time with the sheriff who thought you were the intern?”

You forced a laugh, grateful for the change of subject. “Oh, God, yes. He spent half the briefing explaining things to me like I’d never heard of basic police work. Then he asked if I could grab him coffee!” The group erupted into laughter again, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on the good friends around you.

But even in the warmth of the group’s laughter, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Spencer’s gaze. It burned softly, quietly, but with undeniable intensity, leaving you wondering what he was thinking—and what he might be planning to say when the moment came.

After dropping Emily off and driving yourself home, you settled into the comfort of your routine, grateful to put the tension of the evening behind you. You had already changed into pajamas and washed your face when a sharp knock at the door startled you. The hour was late, and your neighborhood wasn’t exactly bustling at night, so caution kicked in immediately. Grabbing your gun—safety on, of course—you crept toward the door and checked the peephole.

The sight of Spencer standing there, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, made you release a heavy sigh. You lowered the gun, unbolting the door and opening it to find him still waiting, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Spencer?” you asked, blinking at him in surprise. “Why are you here?”

His gaze immediately dropped to the gun still loosely in your grip, and his eyebrows shot up. “Whoa,” he said with a nervous laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace. I just wanted to talk.”

You shook your head, setting the weapon on the nearby table with a faint smirk. “You picked a great time for it,” you muttered, motioning for him to come inside. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Spencer stepped past you, his movements careful and deliberate as he crossed the threshold. He paused just inside, glancing around as though he needed to steady himself. Finally, he turned to face you, his hands still tucked in his pockets, his face unreadable.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, and then tonight…” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your stomach dropped, and you felt your pulse quicken. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the doorframe.

His lips twitched—something between a smile and a grimace. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. “The way you froze when I said ‘boring.’ The way you’ve been avoiding looking at me for weeks. And the way you bolted when Emily tried to press you about hookups tonight.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“I saw the text,” he admitted softly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. “The one you meant to send to Emily.”

Your heart sank, and your cheeks flushed with humiliation. “Spencer, I—” you began, but he cut you off again, his voice surprisingly calm.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he continued. “I figured it was your way of processing things, and I didn’t want to make it worse. But after tonight, I realized… maybe we need to talk about it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for you to see that. I was just… venting. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I know you didn’t. And honestly, I’m not upset—not about what you said, anyway. But it made me think… maybe I didn’t handle things as well as I could have.”

That caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wasn’t exactly at my best that night. I was nervous, and I didn’t know how to… connect with you the way I wanted to. And after seeing that text, I realized I might have made you feel… unimportant. Like it didn’t mean anything to me. But it did.”

His confession left you stunned, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—it was almost too much.

“Spencer,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t realize it mattered to you that much.”

“It does,” Spencer said simply, his voice steady but his eyes searching yours. “And I want to try to redeem myself, if you’ll let me.”

“Redeem yourself?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the words catching in your throat as the air between you grew heavy with anticipation.

Spencer stepped closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you, his movements careful and deliberate. “Yeah,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. His hands found your waist, his touch light but firm as he gently pulled you closer. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, the gesture small but filled with meaning. You felt like you were in a daze, your thoughts scattered as Spencer leaned down, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. Time seemed to slow as his face drew nearer, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was different this time—slower, deeper, infused with an unspoken promise. Spencer’s hands slid up your sides, one settling on your lower back, the other moving to cradle the side of your face. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, then curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened.

It wasn’t rushed, and it wasn’t awkward. It was intentional, every movement speaking of care and consideration. Spencer kissed you like he wanted to show you exactly how much you mattered, how much the moment mattered.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves. His hand remained on your face, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek.

“Can we take this to the bedroom?” Spencer asked softly, his voice a delicate mixture of nerves and hope. His hand on your waist tightened ever so slightly, grounding both you and him as his hazel eyes searched yours for an answer.

Your heart fluttered at his request, the vulnerability in his expression making the moment feel intimate in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. You nodded, your lips parting slightly as you whispered, “Yeah, we can.”

He exhaled a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, his relief almost palpable. He smiled, that shy but genuine smile that made your chest ache in the best way. Taking your hand in his, he let you lead him toward the bedroom, his fingers entwining with yours in a way that felt so natural, so right.

Once inside, Spencer paused, glancing around as if he were taking in every detail of the space. You felt a rush of warmth in your cheeks, suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings, but Spencer’s attention quickly returned to you. He reached for you again, his touch gentle as he pulled you close.

“I want to get this right,” he murmured, his voice soft and earnest. His hands slid up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “I don’t want you to ever feel like… like you don’t matter to me.”

The sincerity in his words struck something deep within you, and you leaned into his touch, your hands resting on his chest as you tilted your face up to him. “You don’t have to prove anything, Spencer,” you said quietly.

His lips curved into a small smile, “I want to” he said before he kissed you again, this time with a slow, deliberate tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

Spencer’s hands trembled slightly as he took his time this time, unhurriedly removing your clothes with a reverence that bordered on worship. Every inch of newly exposed skin was met with a gentle kiss, his lips pressing softly against your collarbone, your shoulders, the curve of your hip. His attention to every detail made your heart race and your skin hum with anticipation.

His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second and show you how much this moment meant to him. He whispered quiet words between kisses—gentle reassurances and praises that made you feel both seen and cherished.

By the time you were completely bare, the tension in your body had melted away, replaced by a growing warmth that seemed to spread from your chest to every corner of your being. Spencer’s hands lingered on your waist, his touch warm and grounding, before he guided you gently to lie down on the bed. His gaze never left yours, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, almost like a prayer, before straightening to remove his own clothes. Piece by piece, he stripped down, his movements still unhurried as though rushing would break the fragile intimacy between you. When he was down to just his briefs, he paused, his expression laced with vulnerability as he looked at you.

Spencer took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he climbed onto the bed in front of you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before trailing a path along your jaw and down your neck.

This wasn’t rushed or frantic. This wasn’t about proving anything or making up for past mistakes (well, maybe a little bit). This was about connection, about being fully present with each other. Spencer’s touch was gentle but firm, his kisses lingering, his hands exploring every curve and plane of your body as though memorizing you.

“You matter,” Spencer murmured against your skin, the words sending shivers down your spine as they vibrated through you. “This matters.”

“Spencer,” you groaned, your tone half-playful, half-flustered as you turned your head and buried your face in the pillow, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks.

“I mean it,” he said with a soft laugh, his lips brushing tender kisses along the curve of your hips as he began to trail his way downward. His voice was warm and genuine, the sincerity in his words making your heart ache in the best way.

You gasped softly, lifting your head from the pillow to look at him just as his hands gently spread your thighs apart. His gaze was steady but filled with unmistakable affection, the teasing grin on his face doing nothing to disguise the care in his actions.

“No foreplay?” he said, raising an eyebrow as he settled between your legs. His hands caressed your thighs, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. “What awful man made you go through that?”

The memory of your drunken text and his earlier words flashed through your mind, and your cheeks flushed even deeper. “Oh my god, Spencer,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands as he laughed softly.

“I’m serious,” he continued, his tone light but laced with playful mockery. “That’s a crime against humanity, honestly. But don’t worry,” he added, his voice dropping lower as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I’ll make it up to you.”

The words alone sent a shiver through you, but it was the way Spencer looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment—that left you utterly breathless. And as his lips moved closer, you realized with a mix of anticipation and awe that he fully intended to prove it.

The first kiss to your most intimate skin made you yelp in shock, your body jolting at the sudden, unexpected sensation. The sound escaped you before you could even process it, and your hands flew to grip the sheets beneath you as your breath hitched.

“Someone’s sensitive,” Spencer mumbled, his voice low and teasing, the words more directed to your skin than to you. His warm breath against you made your already racing heart stutter. Before you could form a coherent response, he leaned in again, his lips pressing another kiss to your clit, this time followed by a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.

The sensation was electric, a mix of heat and softness that sent waves of pleasure through your body. You couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped from your lips, your head falling back against the pillow as Spencer’s hands gripped your thighs gently, holding you in place as he worked.

He moved with an almost studious precision, as though he were memorizing what made you gasp, shiver, or moan. Every touch of his lips, every flick of his tongue, was calculated yet somehow felt achingly natural, like he was simply following the rhythm of your body.

"Mm," he hummed against you, his tone almost smug as he pulled back briefly, his lips glistening. "I knew you'd taste amazing." His voice was warm, filled with an admiration that made your cheeks burn. Then, without giving you time to respond, he dove back in, his tongue and lips working together in a way that left you unable to form a single coherent thought.

You were melting, your body arching into him as your fingers tangled in the sheets. Each sensation was more intense than the last, and you found yourself utterly at his mercy, the rest of the world fading away until only Spencer remained.

And just when you thought the pleasure couldn’t possibly get any better, Spencer added one of his beautiful, long, bony fingers into the mix. The gentle yet deliberate motion of his finger sliding into you sent a shockwave of sensation through your entire body, and you couldn’t hold back the way your back arched off the bed.

“Spencer!” you yelled out, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea, your voice raw with need. The sound seemed to spur him on, and you felt his lips curve into a faint smile against your skin.

“Good?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, his expression equal parts satisfaction and adoration.

You could barely respond, your words coming out in broken gasps. “Yes—oh my god, yes!”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against you, before he returned his focus to you. His finger moved in perfect rhythm with his tongue, slow and deliberate at first, then gradually picking up a pace that had you completely unraveling beneath him. Every movement was calculated, every flick of his wrist or press of his tongue designed to draw out every sound you made, and you could feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

“Spencer…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your body trembled beneath his relentless attention. You weren’t sure if you were begging him to stop or pleading for him to never stop—maybe both, maybe neither. All you knew was that he was consuming every part of you, and you didn’t want it to end.

When he added a second finger, curling them in just the right way, it pushed you over the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, crashing over you in waves so powerful that your cries filled the room as your body arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as if you needed to anchor yourself to reality.

Spencer didn’t stop, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you until you were left trembling, breathless, and completely undone beneath him. Only then did he pull back, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as he gave you a moment to catch your breath.

“You’re amazing,” Spencer murmured, his voice filled with a quiet awe as he rested his chin lightly on your hip. His hazel eyes were warm and sincere, and a soft smile tugged at his lips. “Can’t believe I missed out on this last time.”

The compliment, so earnest and sweet, made your cheeks flush. You slung an arm over your eyes, laughing softly, trying to shake off the sudden wave of shyness that washed over you. “Oh my god,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by your arm.

Spencer chuckled, his amusement clear as he pushed himself up and lay down beside you. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you felt his warmth even before he leaned in close, propping his head up with one hand as he looked down at you with a playful expression. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his tone light, curiosity mingling with amusement.

You moved your arm just enough to peek at him, a lopsided grin still on your face. “I just—wow,” you said, still catching your breath. “I was not expecting that.”

Spencer’s brows lifted in mock surprise, and he placed a hand over his chest in a dramatic gesture. “You doubted me?” he teased, his grin widening.

You laughed again, finally dropping your arm and turning to face him fully. “No, not exactly,” you admitted, biting your lip. “But that was… definitely not what I expected. In the best possible way.”

His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something gentler. “Good,” he said simply, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Am I going to get a better review this time?”

You burst out laughing, playfully swatting at his chest. “Mhm,” you teased, unable to keep the grin off your face. “I’ll make sure to tell Em how good her coworker is with his mouth.”

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment before chuckling. “Oh god, please don’t do that,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands before he peeked out at you with a sheepish grin. “Just tell her your boyfriend is better than you previously thought.”

His words hung in the air, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you repeated, your brows raising as you looked at him, searching his face for any sign that he was joking.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed instantly, but he didn’t backpedal. Instead, he held your gaze, his lips twitching into a small, nervous smile. “I mean… if you want me to be,” he said softly, his voice losing some of its usual confidence. “I just thought… maybe this isn’t just a one-time, or two-timw thing. At least, I hope it’s not.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the vulnerability in his voice, and a warmth spread through your chest as you processed his words. You couldn’t help but smile, reaching out to rest a hand on his cheek. “You’re serious?”

Spencer nodded, his hazel eyes filled with sincerity. “Yeah, I am,” he said quietly. “But only if you’re okay with that.”

A smile spread across your face, your fingers brushing against his skin as you leaned in closer. “I think a girl could get used to that,” you whispered.

The relief that washed over Spencer’s face was almost palpable, and he couldn’t hide the wide grin that followed. “Good,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with a newfound certainty that made your heart flutter.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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n0vazsq · 12 hours ago

Text

Tired of being alone | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x nurse!gf!reader

summary . . . Watching your boyfriend reveal your relationship on international TV, you realise that you missed him more than you realised

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 712

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . i have a free lesson rn so why not be productive and write? it's a bit shitty and kinda rushed but my next lesson is eng and i can NOT be late for it </3 saur sorry pookie!!

taglist . . . @barcapix (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . You slumped into the couch, limbs heavy from another exhausting shift. The hum of the TV filled the room, flickering softly in the dim light.

Your scrubs were still on, your shoes kicked off by the door. The thought of getting up to change or even eat felt too overwhelming after all those back to back shifts at the hospital. All you wanted was to melt into the couch and let the familiar background noise wash over you.

Oscar’s voice drifted into the room, steady and comforting. His interviews were always a joy to watch, making you smile and laugh, just like a kid watching their favourite cartoon. You hadn’t even registered what the interview was about; something about the upcoming Las Vegas GP, until the interviewer leaned in with a knowing grin.

"So, Oscar, we heard you stayed busy during the break between Brazil and Vegas. Anything special?"

You perked up, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Oscar’s laugh came through the speakers, soft and a little awkward. It was a laugh you knew well, the one he gave when he wasn’t sure how much to share. Your heart started beating a little faster.

"Well," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit that always made you melt. "I spent most of it taking care of someone close to me. She works really long shifts and don’t always get enough rest, so I made sure she was… comfortable."

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Did he just-? Your heart skipped a beat, eyes widening.

The interviewer’s eyes widened at his sentence, just like how you did, as if he was mimicking your actions. "Interesting," he teased, leaning in slightly. "Care to share more details? Who’s this mysterious lady?"

Oscar’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes, soft and sincere. "Let’s just say she's in healthcare. A nurse, actually. She's been pretty amazing, and I wanted to make sure she had a break too."

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was. A soft launch, wrapped in his quiet, subtle way. Oscar wasn’t the type of person who did grand gestures or flashy declarations, but this? This felt perfect. It was a little secret, meant just for you, even with the world watching.

The interviewer pressed on, curiosity piqued. "A nurse, huh? Sounds like you’ve got someone special in your world."

Oscar’s eyes flickered with that shy warmth you adored. "Yeah," he admitted, voice softer. "I do."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, pressing a hand to your mouth. The exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling in your chest. He always had a way of making you feel seen, even when you were miles apart.

Your phone buzzed beside you. Picking it up, you saw that it was a text from Oscar.

Hope you’re watching. Rest up, yeah? ❤

You bit your lip, a grin spreading across your face. He always knew exactly what you needed.

Busted, Mr. Soft Launch. I owe you a dinner.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.

Only if you let me cook.

You leaned back into the couch, the smile refusing to leave your face. The weight of the day didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Knowing that he’d spent his break looking after you, making sure you were okay, it made all the long shifts and sleepless nights worth it.

On the screen, the interview moved on to other questions, but you weren’t really listening anymore. You were too lost in the quiet joy of knowing you were loved; subtly, quietly, and now, a little bit known by the world too.

You texted back, fingers hovering over the keys for a moment.

I’m tired of being alone all day. Come home faster.

His reply came quickly, almost as if he’d been waiting for it.

See you soon. It’s worth it for you. Every time.

Your heart swelled, and you sank deeper into the couch's soft cushions, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. Even with the miles between you, he had a way of making you feel like you were home.

In that adorable way that made you feel loved and cherished, just like when you were a kid.

God, you loved him more than anything.

214 notes · View notes

thankskenpenders · 19 hours ago

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Today we got some news regarding a big change for the Ian Flynn's Q&A podcast, the BumbleKast. As outlined in a blog post by Ian, starting in 2025, all Sonic-related questions submitted to the show will first need to be screened by Sega. (I have to assume this is also why Ian announced they'll no longer be doing live Q&As starting next year.)

Frankly, I can't say this is particularly surprising.

While the BumbleKast is ostensibly a podcast about Ian's work as a freelance writer for all sorts of things, and also just a place for him to shoot the shit about stuff he likes, he's still predominantly seen as The Sonic Guy. Sure, he also does a bunch of other freelance work for other series, and original comics like Drogune, and he's also the narrative mastermind for the whole Rivals of Aether franchise these days, but it's his insights into what goes on behind the scenes with Sonic that people really care about. Your average Sonic fan can't just go up to Iizuka or whoever and ask him a question about the current state of the lore, but Ian's inbox is always open.

Because of this, I've thought a lot about the BumbleKast's place in the fandom and The Discourse in recent years. Ian wants to be as open and honest as he can about his work, and I think that's admirable. To me, hearing about creators' struggles and the shit they go through just to get a story out the door tends to make me sympathize with them more. Sometimes a story just doesn't turn out as well as you'd hoped, but you're on a tight deadline and all you can do is move on to the next project. I've even softened a bit on Penders over the years as he's shared more about the absurd situations and odd creative demands made behind the scenes at Archie. Unfortunately, not everyone has that mindset.

Ian's basically always had obsessive haters who were eager to take everything he says out of context to try and stir up shit, but that used to be contained by the niche nature of the Archie comics. Most of the fandom didn't give a shit about what Ian was doing with Sonic and Sally's love life or whatever. Most of the fandom wasn't even reading those comics. But Ian's gone from being a writer for a non-canon spinoff comic, to being the initial lead writer for the first ever canon Sonic comic series, to being the new main writer for the games themselves as part of the official Sonic Lore Team. Way more Sonic fans care about his work now, and when he's so open about his work that makes him an easy scapegoat.

It feels like damn near every week on Twitter Ian's personal trolls have posted yet another BumbleKast clip out of context to rile up the fandom and make it look like he has no idea what he's talking about or like he has some kind of agenda. And, unfortunately, people often fall for this. Of course, it also goes the other way, with people more sympathetic towards Ian taking things he says about Sega and framing them as proof that Sega has no idea what they're doing with the brand. Which, well, let's be real, isn't always the most unreasonable thing to think, given Sonic's rocky history. But I'm surprised it took this long for Sega to start paying more attention to what gets said on the BumbleKast when fans use it so regularly as a source of drama.

I've also often felt that they just need to be WAY more selective about what messages they respond to on the show. Questions Ian can't actually answer due to NDAs, questions that are borderline incomprehensible, "questions" that are really just fan ideas. And the haters, oh, the haters. Ian does not need to put up with angry rants about how he should make SonAmy canon or what the fuck ever. Even if Ian's willing to put up with it, as a listener it can make the show just super unpleasant at times when someone aggressive pops up with an inflammatory question. There have been entire BumbleKast Mini episodes I had to skip because they were just obsessive critics of Ian's paying to grill him on a dozen different things and treat him like an idiot.

But at the same time, I get why the show got to be this way. It's become a part-time job for Ian with multiple new episode a week. Given how piss poor the pay tends to be for freelance writers, I can't really blame him for wanting to keep this secondary stream of income open, and to not have to refund people left and right for rejecting their questions. The man's got bills to pay. (And so does Kyle, for whom managing the BumbleKast seems to have become a full-time job.)

I dunno. The man's got the patience of a fucking saint. I would've quit the franchise if I was in his shoes, with people wishing he would die for shit like minor disagreements over Sonic's characterization or him misremembering an obscure old lore thing. While I do hope that Sega doesn't keep too tight of a leash on him moving forward, and I hope that he's still able to speak his mind about his work, part of me also hopes that having to be much more selective about Sonic questions results in less bullshit like this.

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smuttysabina · 3 days ago

Text

Mamamoo's Fuck-Fitness Program

(Male Reader x Hwasa & Solar, 5k Words) Tags: Workout sex; Sex while working out; Someone grows a GirlCock (Blame Dreamcatcher); Vagina, Oral, Anal, and Exterior Sex; Double penetration; Multiple cocks in one hole; Sweaty messy sex; Only Hwasa and Solar are there though, sorry; Sloppy Seconds; Lots of calories were burned during this smut; Can recommend this exercise for weight-loss; Thigh-fucking

Sex, is a messy activity. The grunting and exhalations, the sordid stench of sweat and hormones, the noisy slap of flesh, the taste of another person upon your tongue, the sticky fluids that invariably end up leaking everywhere... Sex was an exercise drenched in shared shamelessness, the thrill of ignoring your innate disgusts to focus solely upon the pursuit of pleasure; and of course, breeding. Which only made threesomes all the nastier. Now there was a third body squishing itself against the others, adding its own sensual heat to the mix, spicing the intercourse with its uneven dynamic that only ever encouraged more perversion. It was simply too easy to toss away your inhibitions and give in to the unnatural deviancy of the situation, spurring yourself as you seek your climax. Which, all in all, meant that you burned a lot more calories in a threesome, which was why the Mamamoo Workout Program always made sure its clients were paired with two of their ladies at once!

Fans would obviously plumb the depths of their reserves when with one of their idols, but with two of them... why, the weight would practically melt away!

It cost quite a bit to secure a session at the Mamamoo Fitness Center, but it was well known that the health benefits were worth every penny. There were only four open slots per day, and competition was fierce to obtain one, it was said that the ladies were fully booked for the year within minutes of opening; it was something of a miracle you had managed to secure yourself one. The modest office itself was tastefully decorated, pure white walls covered in informational posters and awards, and the plush chairs in the waiting room were of the highest quality. The assistants behind the front desk were equally as beautiful as the room itself, and went about their business with the quiet diligence of any medical office. A smiling secretary had given you a clipboard of forms and waivers to fill out, full of disclaimers carefully worded to avoid any explicit mention of what went on. The form had blandly informed you that your upcoming session would consist of a "personalized workout session", guided by two randomized members of Mamamoo, who would lead your "workout" until you had reached your "fitness goals". What it really meant of course, was that you would be vigorously fucked until you were on the edge of exhaustion.

The Mamamoo Workout experience had been carefully tuned to maximize the amount of calories burned during the intercourse. The controversial decision to randomize the members chosen had been done on purpose, since it had been noted that clients often burned as many calories with their least favorite member as they would have with their bias. One particularly celebrated patient had spent five hours rutting atop Wheein, and had managed to lose 20 pounds in the process. The eight hour long slots had also been chosen as the most optimal amount of time, past that and most patients were on the verge of death via excessive fluids loss. And of course, the decision to include two of the members instead of just one was to send their clients into a sexual frenzy; though it was also because the members enjoyed having sex with one another too much. On average, most patients lost around ten pounds over the several hours of intensive intercourse, their excess fat burning away as they pushed themselves to the limit to continue fucking half of Mamamoo. It was an extremely efficient method of losing weight, with the added benefit of being the best sex of your entire life.

The demure secretary returns to collect you, and your documents, checking to make sure everything had been filled out properly before guiding you to the front desk to record your temperature and weight. Nodding with satisfaction, she leads you out of the waiting room and through the doorway in the back, into a plain corridor adorned only with four brown doors. Colorful placards on the doors indicate whether the rooms were in use or not, and as you pass by the single occupied suite, you hear muffled squeals and moans emanating from it; evidently the sound-proofing here was high-quality. The assistant takes you to the room two doors down from the one currently in use, politely knocking on the door before opening it and motioning you inside. Your heart pounds and your palms grow sweaty as the reality of your situation hits you, you had been anticipating this for so long it had become almost mundane, but now that you were on the threshold... The secretary gives you an encouraging slap on the ass, and smiling kindly, assures you that you would be up for the grueling workout ahead of you; everyone gets cold feet before this! Mustering your courage, you return the favor, much to her amusement, before entering the "fitness room"; the door shuts, and locks, behind you.

Twin goddesses await you within, hands on their hips as they appraise their newest customer, their bodies sheathed in clinging tights that accentuated their plush lower lips, and sports bras that pushed out their chests. Solar seemed as bright as her namesake, cheerfully eyeing your crotch with open intent, while Hwasa glares thoughtfully at your face, her own sultry expression hinting of her love for vigorous copulation. Solar steps forward to greet you, her lithe body swaying as takes your hand and leads you further into the exercise room; which was severely lacking in conventional exercise equipment. The floor was completely covered in firm mats, with beanbags and exercise balls strewn about, there were several curiously-shaped benches, and the pull-up stand had a few too many straps than usual. Full-length mirrors covered the two sidewalls, while the furthest had various cabinets and a door that presumably led to the bathroom; and there was a tallyboard that marked the gender of every customer, it seems that women were here as often as men. Hwasa saunters up and takes your other hand, smirking slightly as she senses your nervousness, and you stammer as you introduce yourself to the two idols. The pair smile at your awkwardness, before explaining today's schedule to you once more; a mild stretching session, followed by a series of intensive workouts interspersed with breaks for hydration and restroom use, with a shower at the end to clean you all off.

Contrary to your assumptions, your time with Hwasa and Solar began with the utmost banality, the pair guiding you through some basic standing stretches before moving onto some sitting ones. If the police had burst into the room under suspicion of illegal sexual acts, they would have found a normal guy in sweats and a baggy tshirt, grunting as he strained to touch his toes, while two attractive fitness instructors watched with amusement. Now if said police returned half an hour later, well... The first sign that this was anything other than a regular weight-loss session was when Hwasa moved in front of you while your legs were spread, and smoothly slid her ass back between them. A position that left you quite conscious about the size of her posterior, now that it was nuzzling against your crotch, the pair's chests might have been similar, but Hwasa's rear was far thicker. A moment later Solar presses herself against your back, squishing her breasts against you as she slowly leans forward, stretching you out while ensuring you would be unable to escape. If Hwasa is at all troubled by the now obvious poking her cheeks, she does not show it, and placidly starts to grind against your loins; your penis obviously required stretching out as well. What started as slow teasing gradually turns into something more, as your excitement builds you find yourself moving as well, until what started as a suspicious stretch has degenerated into desperate dry-humping.

You groan as you rub yourself against Hwasa's thick ass, boldly grasping her waist so as to force her back against you all the harder, before long you are leaking through your sweatpants and onto her tights. She slowly hikes her ass up, and you eagerly follow, until it looks as if you were plowing her doggy-style, only with more clothes than usual on. Speaking of which, now that you have the room, you eagerly pull down your pants, and are surprised to discover your shirt getting yanked up as well, before Solar meshes herself against your back once more. Her hands roam your bare chest, toying with your nipples while she kisses and sucks your neck, whispering encouragement into your ear before nibbling up on it. You shudder as you hotdog Hwasa's plump butt, the fabric of her tights smooth enough to allow for easy movement, the sticky evidence of your virility smearing itself against it. With her amused face staring back at you in the mirror, the idol suddenly pulls forward, using her hand to press your cock downward before pushing back against you; and you find your cock sandwiched between her meaty thighs. Now it truly looked as if you were having sex, as you furiously fuck Hwasa's thighs, your crotch slapping loudly against her constrained ass as she squishes her legs together in imitation of her tight pussy.

With Solar pressing her supple body against you from behind, and with your cock buried between Hwasa's thighs, you feel your climax building unstoppably. The pair of idols were not blind to this, and they eagerly brought about its fruition. Solar smiles wickedly at you in the mirror, "Finishing so soon, dear?" she purrs, "we haven't even completed our stretches yet," before returning to giving your neck purple hickeys. Hwasa simply looks back at you and commands, "Cum, now," and you moaningly obey, picking up the pace as she clenches around your manhood. You had not even lasted long enough to put your first load inside one of the members of Mamamoo, and it is with some embarrassment that you empty yourself against Hwasa's stomach. You groan as you paint her tummy with your seed, your cock fooled into thinking that it was draining itself inside of her fertile pussy, when instead your sperm was wasted upon her tanned skin. Shaking from the force of your orgasm, you lean on Hwasa for support as your strength pours from your dick, as the idols loudly praise your climax.

Solar pulls you upright onto your feet, murmuring encouragingly as she massages your crotch and thighs, while Hwasa idly cleans your semen off of her stomach with her fingers, licking each in turn while staring bemusedly at you. The girls share a glance before Hwasa gets up and stalks over to a cabinet, while Solar occupies you with kisses and touches, now that the warmup was finished, it was time to pick up the pace. And of course, the pair knew the best way to encourage their clients to do just that. Mamamoo, like most Third-Generation idols, may have looked on with contempt at the alchemical aphrodisiac brews churned out by Twice, but that did not mean they were opposed to all such potions. Hwasa removes an ornate, maroon-colored flask from a drawer, tossing it to Solar before sauntering back and shamelessly stripping in front of you. Your eyes boggle as you drink in the sight of Hwasa's naked body, her fertile curves framing a massively puffy pussy that is already slick with arousal; and her swaying breasts were practically begging to be groped. Meanwhile, Solar takes advantage of your distraction and chugs a portion of the bottle, licking her lips as the cherry-flavored drink pours into her stomach and its effects take hold.

Solar lets out a moan of pure pleasure as a bulge appears in her tights, spreading upwards until it nearly pushes fully from beneath the fabric. She shudders as she gingerly reveals the results of the potion, a girl-cock of average size, twitching and tender from its recent birth, with a pair of heavy balls throbbing in their hairless sack. Mamamoo know very well that to inspire a client, it is best to set the pace yourself, and let men's natural jealousies do the rest; plus, the women tend to be rather invigorated by having their favorite idol's cock in one or more of their holes. So Hwasa wastes no time in getting on her knees in front of Solar, and enthusiastically starting to suck her off. You are admittedly shocked by this sudden development, you had not expected for one of Mamamoo to sprout a cock, but you are not entirely opposed to this... To your own surprise, you find yourself oddly aroused by the scene taking place in front of you, and soon are shoving your own stiffening cock into Hwasa's face. The idol expertly gives oral to both of you, one hand on either cock, sucking one then the other, rubbing the tips together as her tongue lathers both with warm spit. You and Solar both moan from Hwasa's efforts, kissing and groping one another as your dicks are devoured, precum dribbling steadily all over her pert lips. After what seems like an age of endless pleasure, Hwasa smoothly rises before bending over, her face still bobbing in front of your crotches, but now offering an alternative.

You are too busy enjoying the stimulation of getting a blowjob from an idol like Hwasa, and so Solar is the first to take her pussy, slipping inside of her groupmate with practiced ease. While Solar has her sloppy way with Hwasa's lower lips, you use her upper lips with equal messiness, using her head's positioning to force your cock down her throat. Hwasa gags as you fuck her face like a pussy, slobber coating your balls with every thrust as you struggle to not unload your seed directly into her stomach. You and Solar hold hands and make-out while you spit-roast Hwasa, who squirms as both of you shove yourselves as deep as possible into her, united in your eagerness to use Hwasa's body. But before you can impregnate Hwasa's guts, Solar does just that inside of her friend's cunt, moaning loudly and spasming wildly as she empties herself into Hwasa, her eyes rolling back as pleasure washes through her body. Panting, her tongue still connected to yours be streamers of spit, Solar pulls out of Hwasa, slapping her thick ass in thanks before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at you; now its your turn... Hwasa solidly plants herself against one of the wall mirrors in preparation for the pounding she was about to receive, looking back smugly at you as she spreads one cheek open in welcome. You shudder as you press your cockhead into the sticky mess leaking from Hwasa's plump pussy, your passage into her dripping hole made even easier by Solar's seed.

The cacophony of flesh slapping together reverberates through the exercise room as you violently take Hwasa against the wall. A surprising vigor fills you, turning every thrust into a hammer-blow as you break yourself against her massive ass-cheeks, your cock churning her pussy as Solar's seed pours out of it. Her sloppy cunt constricts tightly around your shaft with every thrust, gripping you tightly even while taking a ferocious pounding; idol pussy truly was superior. Hwasa growls hungrily as you plow her, licking the mirror lustfully to spur you on, her cunt gushing as she climaxes from the intensity of your coupling. With your hands around her hips, you hold her steady as you go into a frenzy, thrusting wildly as your own orgasm approaches, gasping her name with every breath while your balls throb with effort. Sweat is pouring down your skin when you finally let out a groan and force yourself deep inside of Hwasa, your semen erupting into her in a flood of jizz. Who looks back at you with satisfaction, licking her luscious lips while you plaster her pussy with your seed; relishing in every drop coating her insides. When you are finished, you stagger backwards, exhausted by your sex, and a laughing Solar passes you a water bottle as she guides you to the bathroom for a little break.

You were perplexed by your energetic coupling with Hwasa, you had not intended to be so rough with her, even though she had evidently enjoyed it, and you ponder this while you piss in one of the two toilets with Solar. Hwasa soon joins you two, squatting on the free seat and voiding her bladder as well; the pair of idol's did not need to ruminate on your sudden vigor, they knew exactly where it came from. Like most idols, Mamamoo knew full well that when fucking a cum-filled hole, men naturally grew more forceful and energetic, their bodies automatically adapting its rhythm to better scoop the semen out with its thrusts; which of course, burned more calories. So, the girls made sure to have as many holes filled with their own girlcocks and cum as soon as possible, not that it was very hard considering how good those holes were; and jealousy was a truly powerful motivator. Thus, when you three exit the bathroom, Hwasa almost immediately is laying down on padded bench, and opening her legs for Solar, who happily starts fucking your sloppy seconds out of Hwasa. You meanwhile rest on an exercise ball, idly rubbing your still slick yet flaccid cock, while the two idols make passionate love without you; a situation that makes you surprisingly aroused as you watch them fucking. Eventually, the squeals and moans are enough to get you hard once more, and you hasten to join the pair of idols once more, already knowing which hole you wanted to fill.

Solar starts with surprise when your hands grasp her waist, stopping mid-thrust to glance back at your touch, bemusement written on her features, "Oh, would you like a turn?" she asks with a knowing smile, before her eyebrows raise as you apply pressure to guide her down onto Hwasa, "Oh, wait, are you lubed up enough...?" Solar's question is answered as you press your glistening cock against her exposed asshole, and force yourself inside of her. Solar groans as she is impaled from behind, pushing herself deeply into Hwasa as you gradually fill her ass; until you are both balls-deep in your respective holes. Solar squirms as she is pleasured from both sides, her girl-cock getting massaged by Hwasa's sultry cunt, while your dick pokes at her innards; and you had not even started thrusting yet. Solar's guts probably had subtle differences compared to Hwasa's experienced pussy, but by now you were on your third load, and all your cock cared about was that it was inside of a warm hole; so it does what any dick inside of a warm hole would do, and starts moving. After an awkward start, all three of you eventually fall into a steady rhythm, allowing both you and Solar to get deep strokes in, while Hwasa simply lays there and takes it, naughtily urging you both on while you do all the work. Solar's perky butt meshes perfectly against your crotch with every thrust, and you have to contain yourself to not simply pin her against her groupmate and pound her soggy guts out of shape. Solar though, sounds like she is in heaven, gasping and moaning, becoming overstimulated and giving into her own pleasure, frantically humping away between Hwasa's thick thighs until she reaches her climax. When she pushes deep inside of her fellow idol, you follow suit, pressing yourself against her sweaty back as your weight presses Solar's girl-cock even further into Hwasa's pussy. Shuddering, Solar collapses onto her and unloads the contents of her balls into Hwasa, who groans as the warmth spreads through her belly, squished beneath both of your weight.

A glistening streamer of semen connects the tip of Solar's cock with the mess leaking out of Hwasa's cunt as she delicately maneuvers out from between you two; leaving you yet another sticky mess to unclog. But Hwasa has other ideas; obviously tired of being passive, instead she cranks the back of the bench upwards and seats you on it, sperm and sweat streaking down her thighs as she gazes down at you. She squats down in front of your upraised dick and takes it in her mouth, slobbering on your smelly meat until it is thoroughly doused in spittle, her eyebrows furrowed intensely as your tip stabs at her throat. Hwasa wears a seductive smirk when she finishes lubricating your manhood, rising back up to straddle you, placing one hand on your chest to hold you down, she uses the other to guide your cock inside of her as she sits on it. Your eyes widen in surprise when instead of slipping easily into her slimy cunt, Hwasa angles you a little further back, and forces your dick inside of her unused asshole. She lets out a satisfied grunt as she hilts you, your member twitching inside of her belly, her lips quirking upwards when she notices your expression, "What, did you think I disliked having my ass filled as well?", she brings a finger to your lips to hush you, "No, just shut up and let me enjoy myself." So you do, and she does, though it was not as if you were not savoring the feeling of Hwasa's tight anus sliding up and down your shaft as much as she was.

Hwasa's powerful thighs piston her up and down your length, a sneer of pleasure twisting her lips as your cock grinds against her insides, making you shudder with every squat. If anything, she looked smug at being able to exert some control once more, leaning down to forcefully kiss you on whim, her cunt leaking her juices steadily onto your belly. Moaning, you grope her swaying breasts as Hwasa rides you, holding onto them for support as her asshole clamps tightly around your cock. Only when you approach the edge of your orgasm does she pause, waiting until your dick finishes pulsing before resuming her sensual movements, her hips writhing atop your lap as she works you deep inside of her. After Hwasa has successfully edged you for a third time, Solar reappears behind her, no doubt painfully erect once more, running her hands down her friend's back to attract her attention. But Hwasa is teasingly aloof, "Sorry dear, this hole is already taken," she purrs, grinding meaningfully upon you for emphasis, curling her mouth into a haughty yet knowing smile. Solar simply beams though, and scoots herself onto the small open portion of the seat slipping her legs up yours until her cock and balls are squished against your own. Rolling her eyes, Hwasa stands up enough until only your head is inside of her, and you twist to try and see what is going on as you feel something hard pressing against the base of your tip. The pressure builds, and only when another rigid object surges in alongside your cock do you realize that Solar has forced her dick into the idol's ass as well. Hwasa lets out a true groan as she sits on both of your cocks, clenching tightly around both of your shafts as precum leaks out from the gaps between your cocks. With frightening flexibility, she lifts one leg up over you and turns, so that her side is now facing you, and you can see Solar smiling reassuringly from across Hwasa's swollen breasts; Hwasa's ass felt so snug with someone else in it...

With a hand on either shoulder, Hwasa bounces lustfully on both of your cocks, leaving both you and Solar moaning plaintively. Effectively pinned by each other's weigh, Hwasa has free reign to fuck you as she liked, turning what should have been in intense anal pounding into a languidly intimate ride. With your shafts squishing and slipping against one another, Hwasa's guts massage your dicks until they are the edge of bursting, then she pauses, allowing your precum to slop out over your congealed cockheads, before resuming her exquisite torture. All you and Solar can do is grab at her curvaceous body as it pumps up and and down your members, and your mind starts to melt under the unending pleasure. Hwasa's asshole makes disgusting squelching noises as precum slops out of it and onto your balls, soon your lower bodies are splattered with the evidence of your weakness. Even an experienced slut like Solar looks to be in heaven, her tongue lolling as she glares lustfully back at you, grinding herself against you in her desperation to climax. You start asking for it, pleading with Hwasa for release, which of course only makes her leak all the more, until eventually she lets out a grunt a paints the matting with a wash of gooey squirt, shuddering with ecstasy as her asshole clamps tightly around your members. Her face flushed with arousal, her hands slip onto your throats as she snarls, "Beg for it! Beg. For. It!" and with your brains sloshing with hormones, you and Solar easily comply. You beg for release as Hwasa slams herself against you, her thick ass cheeks slapping loudly as fluids spray, the two of you now humping wildly upwards while Hwasa hammers you flat again and again. Solar is the first to finish, moaning sweetly, her eyes roll back as she fills Hwasa's guts, her pulsating cock slobbering cum all over your dick as much as her coils. The stimulation is enough to make you explode soon after, drowning Hwasa's innards in semen as she squirts messily once more as her ass gets turned into a jizz-filled slurry.

Hwasa unmounts you both with a groan, Solar nearly toppling backwards off the seat as all three of you are weak and trembling from your intensive exertions. Hwasa gingerly kneels next to you, and without hesitation starts cleaning off the filthy mess coating your sensitive cocks with her mouth. Now you are truly writhing in the seat, your skin painfully stuck to the black leather by sweat, clutching her hair as her warm saliva is slathered all over your manhood. Hwasa skillfully rubs your tips together, her tongue slipping between and around them, before taking you both in her mouth, trying to fit both of your cocks into her throat and sometimes succeeding. By the end of it, both you and Solar are gasping, but your cocks are both bulging once more. Hwasa stands back up before sashaying to an uncluttered area of mat and bending over, spreading her cheeks for your enjoyment. She smirks coyly as her asshole belches a ream of semen down her leg, her gaping pussy still awash with sperms, "Who is getting which hole?", she asks, her smile growing wider, "Or are you going to share again...?" Hwasa seductively licks her lips as Solar untangles herself from you and staggers over, with you a step behind, wiggling her butt enticingly as you approach. Solar glances at you and gives you a kiss, before grinning, "Well? We have five hours left, so take your pick, or do you want me...?"

The next four hours pass in a blur of pounding flesh and spewing fluids, an unending tide of hedonism that sees you plumbing the depths of your depravity. You violate Hwasa's asshole, you plow her pussy, you fill her throat, while Solar gleefully does the same. You balls slap together in an endless cacophony, and more often than not your shafts slip and squelch against each other as you both ravage the same hole at once. Not that Solar's orifices are spared either, pumping away at her butt while Hwasa pleasures you both, or forces you to pleasure her; and Solar's face is almost as covered with both her cum and your own as Hwasa's is. All of you guzzle down vast amounts of water, only stopping when your bodies can take it no more and you have to make a break to the bathroom, often returning to find the other two fucking as intensely as before. Sweat pours down your skin like a waterfall, and the mats are covered with puddles of sexual fluids (and the occasional pond of piss from when someone was unable to reach the toilet in time), it feels like your brain has devolved until your only thoughts are for slaking your desires upon the two idols of Mamamoo. Eventually though, your exhaustion catches up to you, and when you pull out of Hwasa's sloppy cunt for what seems like the hundredth time that day you find yourself collapsing from utter fatigue.

Hwasa and Solar carefully tend to you over the next twenty minutes, pouring fluids down your throat to rehydrate you and massaging your cramped and aching muscles. When they are satisfied you can walk, they haul you to your feet, chattering amiably and complimenting you on your love-making skills; of course they barely showed even a hint of tiredness. They haul you into the bathroom, where they crudely hose the worst of the filth off of you with a shower head before frog-marching you to the exit. A smiling assistant greets you at the door, and your half of Mamamoo wave you goodbye as she leads you out, covered head to toe in cum, squirt, and other unmentionable fluids. As the girl leads you down the corridor, you idly notice that the idols had stuffed you back into your clothes, though you knew you must absolutely reek. The other occupied door cracks open as you approach, and a lady staggers out of it, her belly distended and her holes leaking so much cum it is slicking through her yoga pants in a reeking stream. She barely even glances at you as you are dragged by her, though through the closing door you notice a rather well-endowed Moonbyul and Wheein blowing kisses to their retreating client. Humming cheerfully, the assistant takes your weight at the scale, before depositing you in front of the kindly secretary from before. Who beams knowingly, before slyly enquiring if you would like to make an appointment for next year? Nodding tiredly, you flick through your calendar to look up the date, while the lady behind you noisily vomits what sounds like gallons of semen into a trashcan.

Of course you would like to make another appointment, though you are sure to ask if there have been any last minute cancellations... Another few more sessions like this, and you would be hitting your weight-loss target in no time!

#smut #kpop smut #mamamoo smut #Hwasa smut #Solar smut

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