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whataperfectwasteoftime · 11 months ago

Text

The Gift

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)

Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…

A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3

Masterlist

Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.

He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.

First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.

The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.

The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.

“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.

Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.

“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”

Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.

The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.

It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing.

He is lucky.

Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.

They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door.

Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.

“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.

“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.

You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.

“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.

“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.

“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”

“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full.

You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.

“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.

“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”

“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”

The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.

“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”

“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”

“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”

The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.

“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.

“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”

“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”

The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”

“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again.

“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.

“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.

The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”

“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again.

“Marcus.”

“...My Lord?”

“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.

The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.

“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh.

“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”

His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring.

Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.

Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of…

Oh.

He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.

He does not know what to do with you.

Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons.

He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.

“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.

“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily.

“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile.

Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same.

“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache–and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.”

It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.

“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes.

Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.

“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles.

You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him.

“What will you do with me?” you ask.

“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”

“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth.

“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue.

Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”

“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff.

Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.

“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.

“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”

“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.

Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”

Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”

You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”

Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time.

“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds.

“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly.

“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”

He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”

In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.

You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate.

Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face.

A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.

The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation.

They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.

“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”

**********************************

Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.

You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.

Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.

“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”

The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.

“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.

“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.

*************************************

A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head.

“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.”

The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.

Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling.

“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.

“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”

“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”

You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair.

“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”

You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”

You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question.

“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”

You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.

Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist.

“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”

“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”

“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”

As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.

“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.

“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”

“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets.

“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.

“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close.

“No.”

“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.

“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”

Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.”

He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.

He did not want you.

But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head.

He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–

Gods.

The night that he almost lost you.

If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.

This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.

Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure.

He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left.

“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink.

“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”

Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.

“How much?” His voice is rough and thick.

The woman’s smile widens.

They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.

You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions.

He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is.

“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully.

“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread.

You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.

“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.

You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”

Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.

“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.

He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.

“Would you like to go see it? The play?”

The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.

“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”

“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”

“Your… your consort?”

“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”

You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still.

“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”

You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber.

“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.

Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?

With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.

“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.

His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment.

“What?” you finally ask.

Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”

The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.

“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.

You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”

Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh,” you gasp.

“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”

Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.

The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”

Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one.

The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him.

“Marcus?”

He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop.

“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.

“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze.

“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.

“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”

Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you.

When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.

“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”

You are ablaze.

Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you.

Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop.

“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”

“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”

“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.

His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”

You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.

“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”

His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”

You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself.

Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you.

“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.

“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.

When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.

“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”

You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–

“Oh,” you whimper softly.

Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling.

“Watch,” Marcus reminds you.

With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes.

“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.

“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”

You giggle. “I think so.”

He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–

Oh, Gods.

Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.

“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.

“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”

You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you.

“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?”

You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything.

“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly.

“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully.

“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.

“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”

“That is hardly my doing–”

“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”

“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”

“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Do not be cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You are denying me.”

At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”

“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”

Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours.

Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction.

The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds.

With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–

“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”

He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.

“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”

His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.

“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”

In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”

Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”

He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”

You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.

Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain.

The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again.

Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again.

His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear.

Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–”

“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”

“Marcus,” you manage to gasp.

“Again.”

“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–”

Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves.

Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes.

He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you.

You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.

[Several moons later]

“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.

“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.”

You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?”

Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like.

“Tell me the statement again.”

He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”

“Yes.”

“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”

“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”

“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.

“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly.

“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful.

You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”

Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”

With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.

This is the last time.

The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly.

“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer.

“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering.

Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.

“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”

Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.

“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”

You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side.

“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”

The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.

“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow.

“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”

“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”

Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile.

Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”

Epilogue

In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion.

He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up.

There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats.

Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.

Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.

They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones.

No one has ever dared to ask about them.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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ivymarquis · 11 months ago

Text

Say You Won’t Let Go

No good deed goes unpunished

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie apocalypse (I like how I lied to both myself and y’all that there was ever gonna be a chance of it being another type of apocalypse), both John and Love are a little crazy which is to be expected re: zombie!au, more nausea, more pregnancy related discourse, zombie world building and the ramifications/implications of being pregnant in the apocalypse, the author is currently having A Thing about pepperoncinis, strong hints to the events that lead to Love being abandoned, etc etc etc

First/Previous Chapter Here | Next Chapter

Captain John Price of the SAS, it seems, has decided to keep you.

As a child your neighbors had an Australian Cattle Dog.

He reminds you of that dog. Keyed in on your every move, herding you about as he sees fit throughout the day.

Gets irritated just like that dog used to, if he finds you somewhere he thinks you shouldn’t be.

Being alone with a man you do not know goes against everything you were taught growing up. You, however, are not exactly spoiled for choice where company is concerned and are in no position to bite the hand willing to feed you. Especially when the hand in question hasn’t done anything untoward.

John provides security and stability, even if he fusses at you incessantly.

“Need to be eating more than that.”

Objectively you know he’s correct, but there’s fuck all to be done about it.

“I can’t. I’ll throw up.”

You learn the nausea card will stay his hand, not that you’re even overplaying it. The child you’re carrying likes to alternate between sitting on your bladder and your stomach between bouts of playing soccer with your ribcage. Not exactly making it easy on you to get (or keep down) the food you need to grow a liver or a pair of lungs, or whatever it is that you’re cooking in the final stretch of your pregnancy.

For the most part he leaves you be about the food if he sees you picking at something over the duration of the day.

You circle each other cautiously; circumstance and loneliness making you unwilling to avoid him, but also still having the good sense to be aware you’re dealing with a stranger for less than a full day.

He’s brash, obviously used to getting his way. You don’t know a ton about the military and can only assume that it comes with the territory. He’s used to barking orders and commanding a space. You’re not exactly in a position to buck against his hand- and it’s not like you really want to, anyway.

He gives you first pick of the food, your cravings deciding your meal for you.

Cravings in an apocalypse blow, by the way. It’s not like you can get the tandoori chicken from your favorite Indian place at 2 am just because the mood strikes.

“I would kill for a jar of pepperoncinis,” you mumble, mostly to yourself one night as you pick at your dinner. God you could fuck a jar of them up with how your mouth is watering just at the thought of them.

In fact, had the world not gone to hell in a handbasket you’d probably be doing something cruel and inhumane to a pile of them. Like dipping them into nutella. Wasn’t one of the joys of pregnancy appeasing your cravings with absolutely abominable food combinations?

You’re not exactly in fight or flight at this exact moment, but you are in survival mode. No luxury of door dashing random items.

“How much longer do you think you’ve got?” The captain asks one night over dinner.

“I’m not sure. I think any day now at this point.”

You feel like you’re all belly, something that’s compounded by his follow up question of “Only got the one in there?” which is honestly fair.

“Yes. The midwife said he just has an Olympic sized swimming pool to float around in.”

“Midwife would be handy to have given your state.”

The question is buried between the lines. Why are you here and not with her?

“She’s dead.”

That’s what started this whole mess, isn’t it? It’s not your fault she’s dead but her absence was the catalyst of your group abandoning you.

He pauses his own meal, looking at you momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

You don’t know what to say in reply.

It feels disingenuous to pretend her death impacted you more than it actually did. While you two had spent more time together as your pregnancy progressed, the conversations had stayed staunchly about the baby and changes to your body.

You weren’t friends. But she was kind and compassionate and seemed knowledgeable about what was happening to you.

It does make you nervous, though. Women have had babies unassisted for millenium, but women have also died in childbirth since the dawn of time. Certain cultures regarded a successful birth in the same vein as warriors returning home from battle.

Since he asked- in a roundabout way- about your group, you feel bold enough to ask about his.

“How’d you get separated from your group?”

“Got caught with our trousers down by a herd wandering through this area. We were overwhelmed and I ended up going through a window. Did a number on my leg, that seems to finally be healing.”

Herds is such a funny way to describe a roaming group of the undead.

Herds usually contain deer, or horses, or sheep. Something soft and doe eyed that you can pet. Something that has teeth, yes, but typically not interested in hurting you.

Packs would be the better descriptor in your opinion- but then no one had asked you, had they?

“Do you think they’re still in the area?”

“Not if they’ve got any fucking sense,” he grouses. “There’s a group of survivors up north we’ve been taking care of. Safe zone so to speak- about as safe as anything can be, at least. Came down for supplies as the area looked clear, but the truck broke down. Herd came through and mucked everything up.”

The prospect of another community- a safe zone- enraptures you.

You’re not stupid, even if a lapse of judgment and a too long dry spell breaking has landed you in your current predicament. You understand that you’re a bit of a ticking time bomb.

You live in a world where safety is no longer a guarantee. That too much noise, and too much attention drawn can be a death sentence.

So having a baby is a far riskier move these days than it was in the past. There’s so much that can go wrong. You can’t tell a baby to be quiet because a herd is passing through and if any of them hear, then you’ve signed everyone’s death warrant.

And that’s if you and your child don’t die in labor.

So you were understandably devastated but yielded to the group consensus to leave you behind.

But a safe zone?

You’ve been floating around in limbo since parting from your group. Understanding that your death is written on the walls, but unwilling to lay down and die without trying.

You feel something akin to hope fluttering in your belly- that maybe you and your child will survive. That there’s not a blade waiting to descend on you when your water breaks.

“Can you take me there? Are you trying to go back?”

John regards you for a moment, and you try to not squirm in apprehension.

“Would be a whole lot easier if I had a working vehicle,” he states. “Between my leg and your,” he pauses, spearing a bite of his food and making a vague gesture at you as he chews, “current condition, walking that far isn’t a good idea.”

Right. Because you’re a ticking time bomb who might pop in the next hour, next week, or next day and there’s absolutely no way to know until it happens. Hence why you were trolling through a neighborhood looking for somewhere safe to bed down until you have your baby.

Talk about caught with your pants down if your water breaks trying to traverse a substantial distance. But then traveling with a newborn puts another target on your back, doesn’t it? How long until you’re comfortable with how fussy your baby is and you become confident you can read his cues? That’s a hell of a dice to roll.

“If I can find a working radio I can call my team. Or something I can drive.”

“I’m good with tech,” you volunteer. “Even if the radio doesn’t work- maybe I can make it work.”

You’ve always been someone who takes pride in your work, but working in tech in a post-collapse society has rendered your knowledge useless when traveling with a nomadic group just trying to make things work day by day.

So you’ve been feeling like a bit of a lame duck lately, even though you know logically that’s not being particularly fair to your circumstances. You’ve been forced to learn more pragmatic skills (at least, for the zombie apocalypse) but having to learn them on the fly with threats constantly looming over you doesn’t exactly provide a safe place to fail while you get over a learning curve.

Obviously close combat isn’t ideal in your situation. Guns draw too much attention with the noise. Maybe you can find a bow and practice with it.

So you jump at the opportunity to show that you might be able to pull your own weight. That you’re more than a fragile time bomb waiting for the counter to hit zero.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I find a broken one, then,” he appeases, although you can’t get enough of a read on him to know if he’s just placating you.

It’s a bit after dinner and the sun setting that John decides it’s time to herd you up to bed. “Right then, time to get you back upstairs.”

It’s only been two days now but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s got a thing about you and the stairs.

Someone like him is likely used to preparing for the worst case scenario in every situation. Lord knows what sort of horrors he’s thought up of you losing your balance going up or down, but he’d chewed on you pretty good earlier in the day when you’d tried to go up them without him to get something out of your bag.

Lesson learned- no traversing the stairs unattended.

Given that you are perpetually exhausted at this point, you can’t see the value in arguing that you don’t need your sleep schedule dictated to you. Left to your own devices you likely would have begun nodding off on the couch.

Even with your group, while there’d be assigned watch times, there wasn’t an enforced bedtime. Everyone’s adults- you were expected to handle your shit and be ready to move when it’s time to go.

So you nod along and let him guide you up.

John is magnanimous about the resources in the house, letting you be uncontested for the bathroom upstairs. You don’t understand how plumbing works but you can’t even bring yourself to complain about the cold water as you clean yourself.

There is a chair in “your” room, and the first night you placed it under the doorknob so that should John get any suspicious ideas, at least you’d be awake for your grizzy demise.

The doorknob never so much as turned, and you’ve been at his mercy long enough you decide if he was going to do anything unhinged, he’d have done it by now.

You are snuggled into your bed- which might as well be a luxurious thing with a 600 thread count for all you can care right now, even though it’s most assuredly not- and hear the sound of John’s door closing across the hall, and are out like a light before you can even process the noise and assume that he’s down for the count for tonight just like you are.

Come morning- after you’re finished in the bathroom and are greeted in the hall by John waiting for you- you realize that John was not squirreled away in his own room last night. He leads you down the stairs- insists on being between you and the bottom of the stairwell.

There’s a jar of pepperoncini peppers, a container of prenatal vitamins, and a pack of preggie pops which claims to be a pregnancy safe anti nausea candy.

The logical side of your brain should be floored that this veritable stranger has paid more attention to your needs (and yes you’re going to go ahead and count the pepperoncinis down as a need) in a day and a half than certain exes had during the entire run of your relationships with them.

A thank you would be appropriate given the situation.

Unfortunately, however, your hormone addled “I've been fending for myself after being abandoned, and I'm still emotionally fried” brain has been the one calling the shots lately, so instead what comes out is “You left me last night.”

#john price x reader #price x you #pregnant!reader #john x love #zombie au #post apocalypse #lmfao I can just imagine john being all puffed up and oh so proud of himself and then Love is just like ‘you motherfucker D:’ and he’s all #my writing

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chaotic-archaeologist · 4 months ago

Note

I saw your post in the thread about the Budj Bim creation myth, and you mentioned that you teach Ancient Civilizations and have a week on Australia and the Torres Strait Islands. I was wondering if you have any recorded lectures on this topic that are available anywhere online?

Or do you have any recommendations for freely available resources to learn more?

Hi there,

I'm so glad you're interested in this (and also so sorry it took me this long to answer)! I'm also tagging @four-ravens-in-a-trenchcoat because you sent a very similar ask.

I'm far from the expert, so I'm going to tag @micewithknives and @acearchaeologist who are both Australian archaeologists with far more knowledge than I. The lessons I've developed have been with their expertise as guidance.

I'll start out by linking to a short piece about Budj Bim and its eel traps being designated as a world heritage site and why that's important:

This page talks a little bit more about the eel traps, the creation story, and the Gunditjmara people who live there:

Unfortunately, I don't record my lectures, and sharing them would probably violate some privacy laws. I can, however, share the readings I give my students.

The week is broken into two class periods, and for each session I ask students to read one scholarly piece and one more pop culture one. The readings for the first part are:

Nunn, Patrick. 2018. “Australian Aboriginal Memories of Coastal Drowning.” In The Edge of Memory: Ancient Stories, Oral Tradition and the Post-Glacial World, 63–107. Bloomsbury Sigma. Clarkson, Chris, Ben Marwick, Lynley Wallis, Richard Law Kelaham Fullagar, and Zenobia Jacobs. 2017. “Buried Tools and Pigments Tell a New History of Humans in Australia for 65,000 Years.” The Conversation, July 19, 2017. https://theconversation.com/buried-tools-and-pigments-tell-a-new-history-of-humans-in-australia-for-65-000-years-81021.

and then for the second class:

Taçon, Paul S. C., Rosalie S. Chapple, John Merson, Daniel Ramp, Wayne Brennan, Graham King, and Alandra Tasire. 2010. “Aboriginal Rock Art Depictions of Fauna: What Can They Tell Us about the Natural History of the Greater Blue Mountains World Heritage Area?" https://doi.org/10.7882/FS.2010.008. Smithsonian Magazine. 2019. “A 42,000-Year-Old Man Finally Goes Home,” September 2019. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/mungo-man-finally-goes-home-180972835/.

The important part of this unit is that it comes right after we learn about the four classic river valley civilizations (Mesopotamia, the Indus, China, and Egypt). These "Big 4" all fit the description of the article I have them read at the very beginning of the class about the Key Components of Civilizations.

Australia week is about challenging that definition of civilization by examining where it came from, how it was developed, and who it excludes. At the end of the week I have students come up with another definition of Civilization that does not exclude Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders, Indigenous groups in North and South America, nomadic groups, etc.

The book (The Edge of Memory) by Patrick Nunn is a good one (for this class we only read the third chapter, but the entire book is worth a read.

Decolonizing Research Indigenous Storywork as Methodology is an edited volume that features perspectives on oral history from Indigenous people all over the world, including Australia.

Cheers, -Reid

#he speaks #he answers #archaeology #australian archaeology #Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year ago

Text

Rain Confessions

Summary: A dance in the rain at Jackson's last day of the summer celebration leads to you and Joel finding out something surprising about the both of you after you sneaked off to have some alone time.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3.5k

Warnings: falling in love, a whole lot of backstory nobody asked for, implied past SA, age gap (around 15-20 years), fluff, baby fever, smut (semi public sex, unprotected sex) accidental breeding kink (?), pregnancy surprise at the end

A/N: This is my entry for @undercoverpena April showers challenge! I had so many ideas for this challenge, but this is it (for now lol)

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If you had learned anything about the community of Jackson since arriving here almost two years ago, it was that the people would always find a reason to have a town celebration.

It was foreign to you at first, celebrating the first summer harvest a week after you arrived. Seeing everyone in the middle of town, celebrating while music was played by some towns people on their instruments. Children playing with wide smiles, safe from all the horrors that laid behind the walls of this tiny town. So much food everyone wouldn’t have to cook for days.

Dancing.

Happy people.

You had a full blown panic attack the first time you had attended a town celebration, overwhelmed from how… normal everything seemed now. Almost like it had been before the outbreak happened.

You only had little memory of how it was before. You had just turned 20, moved to another state, far away from all of your family for a job you were excited for, but would never get to work in.

You had been shot on outbreak day, waking up almost a month later in a make shift hospital in what would later become the Dallas QZ. You remembered being told how lucky you were that an officer had brought you in in all that chaos. There would be many times after you had healed and been released, that you asked yourself if you really had been that lucky. The question about why you survived, being a constant thought inside your head.

Whatever had happened to you had fucked with your memory, leaving you with big gaps about your life before you woke up in the hospital.

You had stayed in Dallas until the QZ fell, leaving with a group of what you thought back then were friends. You had worked with those people, those men, for many years at the QZ. They had never given any indication about not being decent people. You trusted them.

Trust that you clearly had misplaced.

You would learn in the following years that they had only taken you with them so they had something to offer to whomever could help them survive.

It would take years for you to finally escape from them, kill all of them, leaving you with nothing but the clothes on your body stumbling through the deserted lands of what you would learn was Wyoming until a group of people found you.

You had asked them to kill you, tired of life.

But they had taken you in. Maria saw something in you that day.

You became a part of Jackson. Working in the greenhouse every day because as it turned out, you had a green thump.

Yet you were still keeping to yourself.

The years of abuse you had endured, did not make it easy to trust new people. You only had little friends. Lauren, who worked with you at the greenhouse, and Tommy who made it close to impossible not to be friends with. Maria who became like a big sister to you.

You weren’t looking to meet more people, let alone find something more than just friendship until Joel Miller stepped into your life.

You had been pared with him on your monthly patrol, something every citizen of Jackson had been tasked at least once per month, not even knowing he had joined the community, or knowing that he was Tommy’s brother.

He was quiet, reserved, cold, but only to the people who were to scared to look past the facade he put on.

It was like you could see right through him, the way he was masking the pain he carried with him all day. Maybe because you had been doing the same thing.

The first patrol you went on together left you drenched to your bones, surprised by rainfall, making you sick for a whole week after with Joel being the only one who would check on you.

Something you didn’t understand at that time, because you did not know the man.

You still weren’t sure who made the first move of spending some more time together. It seemed to just… happen. Eating together at the Tipsy Bison after he came back from his job at Patrol. Him visiting you in the greenhouse when he found himself lonely, telling you about his complicated relationship with Ellie at the moment.

You spending time at his place to teach Ellie how to bake, because she had been nagging you for weeks to do so.

He never pushed, always listened to whatever you had to say, both of you opening up to each other about what you had went through before getting to Jackson.

He had held you after you talked about the years you had been in captivity, vowing to never let anyone ever lay a hand on you.

It was after the first baking lesson, Ellie long gone to bed, that you found yourself in Joel’s arms for the first time, his body on top of yours, his cock filling you slowly, while he whispered words of praise against your ear.

Yet it would take another couple of months for the two of you to admit that you had feelings for one another, oblivious to what everyone around you saw with their eyes closed.

There hadn’t been some grand gesture like in the movies.

It had been a normal night where you felt a little restless and decided to walk towards the stables to wait for Joel to come back from patrol. The way his face lit up when he saw you as he rode through the gates, taking you by surprise even though your face was a mirror image of his. He had wrapped his arms around you and whispered how much he missed you before he kissed you softly, the world around you disappearing when he admitted to you that he’s been in love with you for a while now.

You had moved into his house the week after.

And now you were in your shared bedroom, getting into clean clothes while Joel sat on the bed, looking at you with warm eyes.

„We could just stay in? Have some time for ourselves while everyone is busy celebrating the last day of summer?“ He asked and you smiled softly, putting your pants on, while his eyes continued to undress you.

„And do what?“ You asked.

„I can think of a thing or two. I’d start with getting you out of this jeans again,“ he winked and you smiled shyly at the way he looked at you.

You hope he would forever look at you like that.

„You know your brother would come looking for us. We promised we would be there. And Ellie asked you to come too,“ you reminded him and he sighed.

Things between him and Ellie were still hard, but she was slowly coming around. There would be a small art installation from the school at the town square and Ellie had drawn a couple of paintings she was excited to show off.

Joel got up from the bed and walked over to you, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

„You gonna let me dance with you?“ He asked and you sighed, pulling your arms up and crossing your hands behind his neck, looking up at him. He was smiling softly at you and you were pretty sure you would never be able to love another person like you loved Joel Miller.

„Always,“ you smiled before you got on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

You were watching Joel and Ellie from afar, both of them standing in front of a painting she did from a landscape across town square that was currently filled with people. Ellie had told you that it was the mountain view she had woken up to for an entire week while she was sick on the road, Joel taking care of her until she felt better to continue their travels on their way to find Tommy here in Jackson.

Joel was visibly struggling to keep the tears at bay as you saw Ellie explain it to him before they hesitantly hugged each other.

You were sitting under one of the tents that had been put up earlier today, the sky not looking like it would be dry outside much longer. Yet it was warm enough to only wear a T-shirt.

„You think they gonna be okay?“ Tommy asked, sitting down next to you, little Elijah in his arms. Maria had given birth not too long ago to a mini version of Tommy much to her delight. She waved at you from next to the grill, and you waved back before you reached your hand out to Elijah who took your finger with a squeal.

„I think so. She’s beginning to understand why he did what he did. And he’s understanding why she’s so upset. They miss each other,“ you said and Tommy nodded.

„I would have done the same if it was my kid,“ Tommy said and you nodded.

„Yeah. Me too,“ you smiled at Elijah who now was trying to suck on your finger, making you chuckle.

„Are your parents not feeding you enough, little man?“ You said with a grin.

Without answering he proceeded to pull your finger in his mouth, making you giggle.

„Maria just fed him twenty minutes ago. He’s just ravenous,“ Tommy rolled his eyes.

He turned his head when he heard Maria call for him.

„Can you take him for a moment? My wife calls,“ he asked. With a smile you nodded, opening your arms for the little boy to be placed against your chest, kissing his forehead while he still sucked on your finger.

„Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?“ You hummed with a small smile as he snuggled against you. When you looked up you found Joel’s eyes locked on you from across the little square and you felt your cheeks warming at the look he was giving you.

In the past couple of weeks you had the recurring dream about having a baby on your own, a mini version of Joel. You dreamed of watching him with a tiny baby on his chest. You dreamed of your own little family.

Elijah used this moment to nibble on your knuckles, making your eyes widen before you looked down at the little guy again.

„You really are hungry huh?“ You laughed.

„He’s teething,“ Maria said, smiling down at you with a plate of food in her hands, Tommy following behind her.

„You gonna eat some spare rips next summer, huh?“ You teased, tickling the babies side, making him giggle.

„He sure will be,“ Tommy said proudly, before he took Elijah back.

Music started to play from the band that had formed earlier this year from the town and you could see Tommy smirk.

„I think you had an admirer,“ he winked before you turned around and found Joel walking towards you. When he was close he held one hand out which you took.

„You promised me a dance,“ he said and you couldn’t help but smile.

„I did, didn’t I?“ You said before you let him guide you towards the middle of the square were people had already gathered to dance.

The band was playing a song you did not recognise. It was a slow song for a change, Joel and you having danced to two songs before laughing loudly at the way you just could not manage to not stumble over your own feet.

But now you were in his arms, your cheek against his chest as he slowly swayed you to the beat, his lips against the top of your head while he murmured the words to the song.

You took a deep breath of his familiar earthy scent that always felt like coming home.

It was then that you felt the first drops of rain. Feeling his arms tighten around you he cursed quietly as it began to rain, the sky opening up, drenching you within seconds, your clothes clinging to your body.

The normal reaction would be to seek shelter from the rain, just like the people around you who quickly ran towards the tents that had been put up.

But you looked up at Joel who was already looking at you, his hair clinging to his face, drops of water falling from his nose down on you.

The band was still playing, the song changing to a distinct version of Purple Rain, making the people who were now in the tents laugh, but you just smiled, letting Joel twirl you on the improvised dance floor before you came to rest against his chest again, both of you laughing.

You danced for a couple more minutes, before he kissed you deeply, holding you close against him.

„Get a room!“ You heard Tommy yell and you smiled against Joel’s lips, before you took his hand and led him away from the town square.

He had you crowded against the wall outside of the greenhouse as soon as you rounded the building, his lips on yours, his hands rounding your face.

The greenhouse was closer, your house being on the other side of town.

It was still raining, the both of you under the small and apparently leaking roof that was above the outside work station, just out of view from the building. You could still hear the people down the street celebrating when he picked you up to sit you down on the work table, your legs parting so he could step between them.

„We should get out of these clothes,“ you mumbled against his lips, your fingers working on opening his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He sucked your bottom lip between his.

„We should,“ he agreed, before he pulled your shirt over your head, growling softly before his head lowered between your tits, pushing your bra down, sucking your nipple into his mouth.

„Shit….“ You moaned, your hands pushing into his hair, your eyes dropping close.

There was a tiny part of you, that knew it would be a better idea to get back home and out of these clothes, but you wanted Joel so badly, right now.

„Love these perfect tits,“ he hummed, playfully biting into the soft skin above your left breast.

„Joel please… Just….“ You pulled his head up so he was looking at you, your eyes wide and needy.

„You want me to fuck you? Right here? Again?“ He asked and you nodded, memories of all the times he had you right here while the people were working inside, filling your mind, a shudder running down your spine.

„Sure is gonna be fun to get you out of these drenched jeans,“ he joked and you chuckled before you jumped from the table.

It was a little struggle, the wet denim clinging to your legs like a second skin, but after a little bit of Joel’s help, you had them down to your ankles and Joel kissed you softly.

„Turn around,“ he hummed and you did, your hands on the edge of the table while you heard Joel’s belt unbuckle, followed from an annoyed huff that let you turn your head over your shoulder to find him too struggling to get his jeans off, making you smile to yourself until you saw him free his cock, his pants just so pushed down to get it out.

He looked at you with a bashful smile, before he took a step closer, his big hands moving over your ass.

„Gotta make this quick so I can get you home and out of those clothes,“ he said, before he wrapped one hand around his cock and lined himself up.

„This okay?“ He asked. He always did, every single time, needing to hear you consent after you told him about how you had been treated in the past.

„Yes,“ you nodded and he winked at you before slowly sinking into you, inch after inch of his cock filling you, stretching you, until he was nestled deep inside of you, his hips flush against your ass.

You turned your head back forward, letting it fall down, your eyes closing.

„Baby…“ he sighed, letting his head fall against your back. He kissed your spine before he began to move, finding a slow rhythm that had you positively losing your mind.

The rain was still falling hard, dripping down Joel’s back as he fucked into you.

„Need it harder,“ you whined, finding your back pushed against his chest the next moment, one of his hands across your chest, holding one of your tits as his thrusts got deeper. Faster. Harder.

You brought your hands up, both holding Joel’s arm that was across your chest as he fucked into you.

His lips found your neck, licking up the rain that was still dripping down your body and you whimpered.

He took a couple of steps back, pulling you with him until you were back outside in the rain, the warm drops hitting your flushed skin. You leaned your head back against Joel’s shoulder, your eyes opening to find the sun coming out just when Joel’s other hand slipped down between your legs, his hands covering your pussy, his fingers parted to feel how his cock entered you before he moved it in slow circles, stimulating your clit.

It was too much.

The rain, his cock fucking you, his hands all over you, his mouth sucking softly at your neck, in the middle of the garden you were working in every single day.

You came with a soft cry of his name, clenching around his cock, struggling to keep yourself on your feet as he continued to fuck into you.

„Good girl,“ he hummed against your ear, his hand on your breast tightening, groping, and you gasped.

„Wish you could cum inside me,“ you hummed and he cursed.

„Wish I could….“ You stopped yourself, not wanting him to know your deepest secret. Not before you had an actual talk about it.

„Wish you could what?“ He asked, his thrusts getting slower. He turned your head so you were looking at him and you were sucking your bottom lip in.

„Wish I could have your baby,“ you whispered, whimpering when you felt him twitch inside of you immediately, his eyes darkening.

„You want that?“ He asked and you nodded.

„Fuck,“ he groaned, beginning to fuck you again, somehow ever harder than before, both of his hands now on your tits as he pumped into you.

„You wanna have my baby?“ He asked.

„Want me to fuck you so full of me, until it takes?“ He grunted and you moaned.

„God yes. Yes please Joel. Fuck a baby into me,“ you whimpered and he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppier and you could feel him pulse inside of you before he pulled out, coming against your thigh, his head falling against your shoulder.

You were both panting, trying to fill your lungs with air while the rain around you seemed to finally slow down.

Suddenly nervous about what you said you were trying to form an excuse about it, when Joel spoke up.

„You really meant that?“ He asked, his voice soft.

Gulping you turned around in his arms, avoiding his eyes until he tilted your head up to him, so you had to look at him.

„I don’t… I guess I do? I… At first I thought it was just the fantasy about it, but the longer I thought about it….“ You mumbled.

„How long have you been thinking about it, sweetheart?“ He asked softly.

„Since I moved in?“ You said and he huffed before he shook his head with a soft smile on his lips.

„How about we get home and out of these wet clothes and talk about it?“ He asked.

Slowly you nodded and he kissed you, before he helped you get dressed, which was almost more complicated than getting out of the wet clothes before.

The rain had almost completely stopped as you made your way towards your shared house, Joel holding your hand, stealing glances at you as you looked towards the ground.

He would be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about it.

And yeah, maybe it was reckless, he wasn’t the youngest anymore. This world was not the best place to bring new life into.

And maybe it wouldn’t even work, having a baby.

But as he looked at you, with your shy smile on your lips, he knew he would give you everything you wanted to make you happy.

Both of you not knowing that that one time almost two months ago when you were out for patrol together and he had fucked you against a tree, the second he had pulled out to late was enough to already have you pregnant.

But you would found that out a month later.

#my fic #UndercoverAprilShowersChallenge #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #joel miller fanfiction #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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the-thing-withfeathers · 9 months ago

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the key to a good orgasm (m.b.)

warning: smut, fingering, orgasm deprivation & control, cursing

“c’mon, sweet girl. you can do it.”

just a composition of notes. that’s all it was.

B-flat. A. G. F. E-flat. D. C. then back to B-flat.

you took a deep breath in then let your fingers glide over the keys. it wasn’t smooth at all, you were only learning, but you were hitting the keys.

you bit down on your lip, trying to remember where everything was.

B-flat. A. G. F. E-flat—

“wrong, baby.” you winced as madison removed her fingers from your soaking cunt, your arousal covering the leather of the piano bench.

“fuck.” you whispered. how could you get it wrong again?

she grabbed your fingers and guided you to the right keys. this had been going on for hours now. this was your fifth note progression, and you were approaching your fifth orgasm.

“this one. is E-flat.” she said, staring you down. “got it?”

you swallowed the saliva that had been pooling in your mouth down, your throat was dry like the desert, nodding as you did.

“good. now go again.” she commanded. you put your hands back on the piano and she ran her fingers up and down your thigh.

you took a deep breath in and pressed down on the first key.

B-flat. she put her two fingers back into you as she leaned closer. she shared the piano bench with you. her hand rested on the back of your neck, she moved your hair out of the way to press wet kisses on your neck.

A. you let out a soft moan as she curled her fingers inside you, your eyes fluttered shut.

“open up, baby. you have to see the keys.” and you obeyed. all you wanted was to cum, and you had to perfect this.

G. her pace quickened, she pumped her fingers in and out of you relentlessly. your breathing started to get heavy, you were getting really close now after being deprived this whole time.

F. you had to hold it back or you would be punished. but when madison sucked at the pulse point on your neck, you didn’t know if she was just trying to test your resolve at this point. you were letting out soft noises as her palm made contact with the skin of your pussy.

E-flat. her thumb, her fucking thumb. when it started making contact with your clit, you were sure you were going to burst right then and there. the pad of her thumb rubbed dreadfully slow circles around your swollen bundle of nerves.

D. you clenched your thighs as a way to try and delay your orgasm. you knew she wouldn’t like if you came without permission. smack! she delivered a rough slap to your thigh, causing you to flinch and yelp softly, your hand flying down onto the next key.

C. thank god it was the right one. you reopened your thighs for her, composing yourself. she started to move her hand again, this time she stimulated your clit faster. her fingers fucked into you without hesitation. she was bringing you closer to the edge.

your lips hung open, and you were one note away. her forehead was pressed against your temple. your mind was way too fuzzy. but you had to remember which one it was. you turned to look at her, your soft breaths heating her cheek up.

her eyes weren’t on you though, they were on your hands. you were between two keys. and then you remembered that your girlfriend could never hide her expressions.

your finger hovered over a black key. she raised her eyebrows and squinted. bingo.

you moved your finger to the next black key over, pressing down on it. she smirked at you and pulled her fingers away.

“good girl. good fuckin’ girl.”

she grabbed your ankles and spun you in the chair so you were facing her. she pulled you down towards the edge, and you slid easily, your previous orgasms wetting the seat.

she pushed you down so you were on your back and your legs were hiked up on her shoulders. she knelt down between your legs, her mouth wrapping around your clit immediately.

you gasped as your back arched off the bench.

“fuck! mads!” you cried out, your hands tangling in her hair.

“you did so well, baby. i’m just giving you what you want.” she said, her fingers making their way back into you. she fucked you so hard that you were seeing stars.

her tongue flicking against your clit sent shocks through your body. you jolted with every flick.

“mads, m’close! please lemme cum!” you pleaded with her, her eyes met yours from where she was.

“cum for me, pretty girl.” she said, reattaching her lips to your clit faster than she could say those words.

you let out a few cut off moans, your hips bucking into her face. it only took one more flick of her tongue for you to come undone all over her face.

you grinded your hips against her face to ride out your orgasm. when she pulled away, her entire chin was covered in your slick. you chuckled softly at the sight.

she steadied herself on the seat, hovering over you and planting a deep kiss on your lips.

“okay, sweet girl. one more then we can be done.”

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

author’s journal

heyyyyy pookie nation!! i think i’ve kept a few of you waiting too long for another madison piece so have this short little piece i crafted up (inspired by a conversation i had with emma, thanks baby).

i definitely wanted to put something out just before camp counsellor madison comes out to feed y’all a bit <3

i hope you enjoyed itttt

kisses xx

#madison beer #madison beer smut #madison beer x reader #madison beer x f!reader #madison beer x female reader #madison beer one shot #madison beer drabble

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mizzcap · 7 months ago

Text

you're not him

@b-l-a-n-k-d-r-e-a-m inspired this batch of HCs! Send your love to them! (I hope the tag worked!)

TW- Meltdown, Panic attack, Bullying, Mention of SA and Murder, mention of Jimmy (character), fighting

Actor! Jimmy x Reader

ACTOR AU: Jimmy is feeling distant and closed off- curly has even taken notice and brought it to your attention. Maybe this role was too much for a first role?

Continuation of Jimmy's last part

And yes, Curly's partner is a ACTOR AU! version of Y/N from the part 1 scenarios! They're referred to as (P/N)(partners name)

-Jimmy was excited to start the project. Him, Anya, and daisuke hit it off right away

-it made Curly so happy to see Jimmy coming out of his shell and becoming more and more comfortable around his co-actors.

-it made you happy to know that you finally could get your thesis done.

-you started noticing a few older guys in your film class hanging around to talk to Jimmy, though you chalked it up to Jimmy making more friends

-you knew the guys as dudes who kept hitting on Anya, though she couldn't care seeing as they didn't take it too far and well. Anya doesn't like men.

-one day, Jimmy just didn't show up to film a shot

-you had seen him in class that day, and around campus, so you knew it wasn't sick

-now that you thought back on it, Jimmy had become slowly reserved all over again- hesitant about any form of touch.

-so you went looking for him

"Sexually aroused by horses? Oh- so your a freak freak."

You paused up on hearing the familiar voice of your classmate, and the familiar line that Anya improvised one day during filming (truthfully it was funny enough to not only make the cut but encourage a retake because curly wouldn't stop laughing. His partner had to bring him water because he wouldn't stop wheezing)

You found the corner in time to see Jimmy practically curling into himself. Now, Jimmy wasn't small. He was in weightlifting with Curly since the 10th grade- (you learned that while texting Jimmy late one night talking to him before the first shoot)

With that being said

Jimmy hated confrontation. He wasn't a big fan of physical altercations- and only ever went as far as wrestling in the grass with Curly. (Which resulted in (P/N) scolding them for staining their dry clean only varsity jacket)

"What's going on?" You quickly butted in. Pushing past the two over grown men to stand next to Jimmy. Your side pressed briefly to Jimmy's though he was quick to lean away. He was tense, and looked a bit pale. What's wrong with him

"Just talking to Jizzy here-"

"Jimmy." you spat his name, correcting the rude ass boy almost immediately with a glare.

"-right.. we're just having a chat is all. 'bout horses and shit" the other guy laughed at his friend's comment. But the way it made Jimmy's fist ball up as a distraction from the uncomfortable situation, the rage boiled deep in your skin

"if that's all.." you pushed through grit teeth. "We'll be taking our leave now" you sneered and tried pushing past

The two boys whistled as you and Jimmy went past them "Go one now Jimmy boy- Master's callin'!" One whooped after he said that, the noise ringing annoyingly in your ears

You turned so quick the world felt dazed for a moment as you got up in the guy's face. His hot stank breath making you more pissed than before "you got a fuckin' issue, bud? Cuz we'll fix it." You snapped

"I don't, but maybe put horse fucker on a leash. Or not- maybe he'll diddle you next-" the man laughed in your face

The insult made your blood bubble and burst. In your peripherals, you could see Jimmy tense up at his words almost uncomfortably.

"fuck off man!" You snapped, shoving him back without properly thinking first.

You watched his red shoes stumbled back a few steps before sliding forward. Barely having time to process it as a stinging feeling ripped through the side of your face.

You whipped your head up at the man to strike back, only to be met with the back of Jimmy's head and his arm. Stumbling back a few steps as you watched wide eyed

The normally reserved and peaceful man- the one you would watch wrestle in the grass with Curly after shoots. The one who ever showed a hint of anger (though it was more confusion) when he and Anya could understand why Daisuke was winning (you're positive he was eating the game pieces), The man who you would eat being reassured by curly after every shorty that he was not his character..

You watched the same man's fist sink into the center of your classmate's face- a loud crunch sounding as his nose was crushed between his face and Jimmy's fists.

+-+-+-+

"it's not that bad" you sighed, sitting on your coffee table and holding a small mirror as Jimmy looked at his reflection.

a bit of blood seeped into and crusted on his scruff that he grew out for the sake of you movie. His bottom lip was puffy and split open on one side. An ugly bruise on his cheek spread to his eye that had nearly shut. While his nose has started bleeding- it was still bruised and banged up. On top of that his knuckles were raw and red from the fight.

Truth be told, you weren't in the best shape either. Your nose has started bleeding from that initial punch from the guy. And your sides ached from where you got hit.

The guys tried ganging up on Jimmy, and you tried jumping in to help.

"on a good note... I think I kicked them hard enough so one won't have kids" you chuckled, but Jimmy didn't reciprocate your enjoyment of the joke.

You paused for a moment, then silence almost suffocating

You grabbed the Gauze and Neosporin as scooted towards the edge of the table, your knees barely brushing against his

"here- I can-" "please don't"

You watched in shock as he tore his hands away from your own, grimacing at the touch

"Jimmy wha-...?" You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head in confusion "what's going on"

When he didn't respond you pushed more

"Jimmy, you've just been acting weird- I tried talking to curly but he doesn't know either- is it the role? Jim, if it's too much you don't have to continue-" he yanked his hand away when you grazed your fingers over it accidentally.

You blinked in surprise

"What if they're right?" Jimmy choked out, head in the heels of his palms as his fingers curled into his dark brown locks. "What if I'm just like him- and that why I play him so well?"

"What?- oh.. Jimmy-"

"what if I end up like him- end up hurting everyone- hurting Curly-- he's like my brother man- I can't hurt curly" he choked on a sob.

"Jimmy.. I-" you sighed and ran your hand over your head as you tried to think of proper wording "This-.. you're feeling upset about playing a fucking horrendous character. That's completely normal- Seasoned actors have a hard time playing a role like this- You're a first time actor, for you to be thrusted into acting- having to play- y'Know.. it's normal to be upset or unnerved, but you have to talk to us, you can't just suffer in silence"

Jimmy shook his head, lifting it to meet your eyes with his dark, bloodshot ones. "But Those guys-"

"Drew and Max are pissy because you get to work so closely with anya- meanwhile they're barely allowed in the same proximity as her" you crossed your arms

"but-"

"are you sexually attracted to horses?"

"..what?"

"are you?"

"no-"

"have you ever...?"

"God no! I'd cut off my nuts before I'd ever-"

"ew dude! TMI" you giggled, grinning as he slowly sported a small smile

"and as far as I'm concerned you haven't off'd anyone or been a 'Manipulative Conniving Dictator', so you're fine" you heard him snort at the dictator part

"I just-"

"Jimmy- look at me" you slowly took his hands in yours- your eyes searching his for a moment as you drew circles on the back of his hand using your thumb "You're not him"

+-+-+-+

BONUS:

"Found you n Jimmy on the couch this morning" Anya hummed as she ate a granola bar, helping you build a medical bed by simply holding the screws

"We watched a movie last night and fell asleep- talked for a bit before hand but nothing happened" you muttered, hunched over a rod as you screwed it to the bed frame

"talked? Like when I hear you giggling at 2 am on the phone with him?" Anya has a lazy, teasing grin as she stared down at you, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth as she quietly giggled

Your ears felt extremely hot, and your heart felt like it stop

"shut up!"

You playfully picked up a piece of foam and threw it at Anya's legs

+-+-+-+

YAYAYYAYAYAYYA! up next will be part 2 of Anya x Circe reader, then imma do part 2 of curly, then part 2 of Daisuke!

#Spotify #jimmy x reader #mouthwashing jimmy #jimmy #mouthwashing game #Mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #Actor AU Jimmy #Mouthwashing Jimmy x Reader

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noxiatoxia · 3 months ago

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okay, i’ve been obsessing over your komaeda translations and i must know… given the unsure way he talks in the japanese (lots of filler words), does his dialogue change much after he learns the truth? late ch4, i mean. when he starts being condescending to everyone. i’m also very curious about his big speech about wanting to be called the ultimate hope

Hello, anon! Thank you for the message and interesting question! And thank you for the patience!

So, there's three questions here if I'm understanding:

Does Komaeda's speech pattern (sounding softer and using filler words, or generally downplaying his words) change later into ch.4?

When Komaeda starts rambling about hope, does he speak more clearly and more confidently?

What is the nuance in Komaeda's "hope" speech on the laptop?

I will answer all 3 in this order.

(Also, for anybody confused.... here's my post talking about how Komaeda uses filler words, and here's my post talking about how Komaeda's speech was deliberately changed during the earlier beta to make him sound less confident in himself.)

So, question number one:

1. Does Komaeda talk more rudely, use less filler words, or talk more assuredly in ch.4?

Hmm...I don't think so. He still uses honorifics for everyone (-san for girls and -kun for boys), he still uses sa and ne to the same amount, and he does not seem to devote any sort of rude speech for the most part. It is only his words that change, and not the way he speaks them.

My memory is horrifically bad, so please keep that in mind...I asked my friend @kaiokentimesten for help, and was provided with a good number of lines he remembered from ch.4/5 of Komaeda saying rude things, and I looked them up in the Japanese version. All lines were said in his usual speech formations, so there was no change. Again, the words he spoke just happened to be ruder, but they were said in the same tone.

I will show an example.

KOMAEDA: おっと、安易にハムスターを例に出すと、脱落した彼に怒られちゃうかな? KOMAEDA: Oops. How clumsy of me to use hamsters as an example. Do you think that loser* would've gotten mad at me if he were still here?

*Komaeda does say "dropout" and it's used for people who have been eliminated in a game, or failed a test/exam/otherwise didn't "make the cut". I just think "loser" works better as a translation.

Nothing changes about Komaeda's speech here, he talks the same as he always does. He's just saying meaner words.

(I don't know where the translators got "weakling" from...that's nowhere in the text.)

The only exception I can think of is the beginning of Trial 4. Souda remarks they talk about the murder weapon, and Komaeda three times goes, "Ha?"

It's a funny scene, but significant because, as far as I know, this is the only time Komaeda uses this word.

(I could be wrong, but I'm totally coming up empty right now...please correct me if I am!)

は ha, is very rude. It means "What?" or "Huh?" but is a very rude way to say it. People like Kuzuryuu and Oowada love using it, and Hinata uses it a fair amount, although even Hinata - who's whole design philosophy, as pointed out by the SDR2 artbook, is to be more masculine and ruder than Naegi was - uses え e more often.

え e, うん un, ん nn, あれ are, are more casual but non-rude ways to say "What?"

Komaeda always used one of those first four from what I can remember, or simply 何 nani, which is probably the most neutral way to say "What?"

So to see Komaeda use this is surprising.

This is different than ははは, はっ, or あはは which are normal laughing sounds.

Oh, before we move out of Chapter 4, here's a mistranslation I want to point out (or, less mistranslation, more very direct translation where the joke is lost in English).

KOMAEDA: じゃあ、始めようか。シンキングターイム...ってヤツだね。

Komaeda isn't a stranger to randomly injecting English words into his speech - a quirk that I feel is used to show he's a bookworm/otherwise intelligent (that's just my thought) - and in those instances, instead of translating directly (because using English in English loses the nuance that using English in Japanese does) I would replace it with bigger, more obscure English words.

But this is actually not one of those times.

Another thing Komaeda is no stranger to is making random pop culture references. He does it more than you would think for a character like him.

While "Thinking Time" isn't a reference to any specific Japanese media per se, it's Japanese game show lingo.

For example, a tough question is given to the contestants, and they have 30 seconds to think of the answer before being forced to give one. These 30 seconds are called "Thinking Time".

I don't know the English equivalent. I know there's a countdown timer in stuff like Jeopardy and Minute to Win It, but I don't think they say anything. Sometimes it's "You have [x] seconds, good luck!" Or "and...start!" or suchlike.

I guess in that case, this line is better localized as:

KOMAEDA: Let's start! You have 30 seconds on the clock...good luck!

(I chose 30 seconds because that's how long the "Make your Selection" part lasts maximum).

2. When ranting about hope, does Komaeda speak more clearly, more confidently?

Yes!

In scenes like post- Chapter 1 trial, where Komaeda monologues to the audience for a few minutes before being knocked out - where he is rambling on and on - his speech is noticeably smoother with less pauses or filler injections. I would also venture to say the way he speaks makes it sound like he is stating facts, that he is very confident in his assertions.

3. Komaeda's Hope Speech on the laptop

Firstly, I want to point somethings out...unrelated to the hope speech itself, but just fun to note.

The garbled, loud noise you hear sometimes where Komaeda is speaking is not gibberish (listen here, volume warning). For whatever reason, the English version did not have Bryce Papenbrook record lines for this, and still uses the Japanese version.

It doesn't reveal any new information, sadly. And I can't make out the second one...but it's highly likely in that line I linked that Komaeda is saying 希望は絶望なんかに負けないんだ or "Hope will never lose to despair."

When it comes to the scrambled text...I've never been much of a decoder, but I can point some stuff out.

For one, I'm 99% sure the Japanese team probably provided the translators with the full, unscrambled text so they could better translate it.

That said, it's not impossible to figure this out.

<まじむかつく+超Ｙさしい２こんなにEEものｇ１０２＄うRしｓ～＝～＋いｄｓねうれOｒｚ』

まじむかつく is a term that means "extremely irritated" hence "seriously pissing me off".

The + is the same in both version, I assume it means "and".

The next part needs a little explaining. In Japanese, all consonants (for the most part) are followed by a vowel. on a Japanese keyboard, if you do not finish typing the character, only the consonant shows up.

for example, な is "na". but if you only type the n and don't follow with the a, you get ｎ.

There's a lot of Japanese slang based off this. To type ん you have to type "n" twice. so, a slang form of konnichiwa (こんにちは) is shortened to こん, konn. But it got shortened even further to こｎ.

so, 超Ｙさしい requires a bit of guesswork, as there are several sounds that start with "y", like ゆ yu, よ yo, や ya. the さしい at the end tells us it's an adjective.

超 in this case means "very", like "very expensive" or "very awesome".

Likely, Yさしい is やさしい, which is either "kind" or "easy".

This makes 超Ｙさしい either "extremely kind/nice" or "extremely simply/easy".

Official translators wrote it as "hella nice", aka "very kind".

Beyond that I start to get bad at this xD I don't know where they get "I can't believe something odd like this is only $102".

The 2 may be に, as 2 in Japanese is pronounced に(ni), and に is a particle.

I think the ＥＥ Is to be read like いい (ii) in Japanese. And the ｇ might be が (ga)?

超やさしいにこんなにいいものが１０２＄

こんなにいいもの would be "Such nice stuff" or "Really good stuff".

が at the end could be "But..." or "However..." but if the 102$ is connected somehow, then it may be an object particle.

Maybe it's "Really good stuff gotten easy for $102"

But that isn't fully true to the official English version, so maybe they were provided with more clear words to translate from. Like I said, I'm no good at codes.

The last part is easy though. うRし follows the same rule as before. うれし Ur(e)shi(i), which means "happy". I don't know what the "s" is, since it seems the sentence picks back up at いｄｓね, as うれしい is the full word. "d s" is probably d(e)s(u) with the ne particle at the end. うれしいですね, which means "I'm happy!"

And I'm guessing Orz is the emoticon.

Okay, sorry for rambling. When it comes to the actual speech, there is something interesting to note, albiet small.

The English version is correct in its translation, and the only thing I have to offer is the nuance behind how Komaeda makes his requests.

He says stuff like, "Respect me" "Praise me" "Build a bronze statue of me" and such. And he requests all of these by saying ～てくれ ~tekure.

I don't think Komaeda ever uses this outside of this speech. てくれ can be seen as rather rude. Though the formation looks like an imperative (very rude), it is not, since at it's core, てくれ means you are asking someone to do something for you, not ordering them. It is still the rudest way you can "request" something though.

It's not as severe as Komaeda yelling 黙れよ (damare yo) in 2.5, but it's close behind.

It does show he is being very callous and assertive in this scene, truly a 180 from him being casual but still respectful. This sort of demanding request tone coming from Komaeda is surprising, I feel.

Otherwise...there isn't really any nuance to add, I'm afraid. The speech is rather straight forward and the English version translates it well.

I hope this answers your questions!

#;noxiatalks2ya #nagito komaeda #danganronpa #sdr2 #dr #;translationtalk

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theoddest1 · 1 year ago

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Okay so this new episode that came out (Episode 4) was poorly handled.

TW /// SA

- No warning before the show starts...why? And even if there is no way for Viv to add one, for some stupid ass reason, why didn't she announce to the fandom properly "Hey, this will have very deep topics and imagery that may not be suitable for all audiences."? Why have arguments on threads and fail to do this very easy thing. At least if the episode came out, people would get a heads up, and the word would spread faster PLUS people would see that you at least TRIED

- The episode opens up with a scene of CNC porno played for laughs in an episode that tackles SA. Complete tonal whiplash. Why did it have to open up with Angel showing everyone a porno? It serves no purpose other than to get a cheap laugh (that never came) out of me or anyone else who watches and because of the topic of the episode revolved around it. I'msure that if the episode WASN'T ABOUT SA, that joke would not have been there....but it is. There was legit no good reason to start this fiasco off with such a tone deaf opening.

- Charlie is actually fucking useless and a burden in this episode, serving no other purpose other than being the gateway to further the issues that befall Angel when "trying" to help. This all screams forced. Worse of all, Charlie does nothing to actually HELP Angel out of this, even though he has a clear black eye thanks to it all and literal mirrors breaking as a result of the abuse. We never see an actual development between the two thanks to her foolishness and garbage writing, and it's resolved easily as if this is some early Disney cartoon season that's on a strict deadline. Regardless of whether she apologized or not, she essentially caused the issue and did NOTHING to actually clean her mess. The goddamn B A R T E N D E R had to be used to salvage the pieces. So far, Charlie, as a character, is utterly pathetic and has been a burden to the cast twice so far. Vaggie, who tried to prove herself (moreso Vaggie's fault for going the extra mile for no reason but an obstacle nonetheless), also had an issue that involved Charlie's utter lack of a backbone. Hey, what was it that Charlie said in the pilot that her dad taught her and one of the only thingsshe learned from him? "You don't take shit from other demons"

- Only one scene from the abuse shown was handled well, and it was when Charlie visited, screwed everything up, and Val asked Angel to come to his dressing room. Aside from that, the whole SA imagery is jarring. While this time, the fast pace of it all is not bad, the quick shift into it all with Angel switching from enjoying to hating, to smiling, to frowning, ALONG with the quick pace of it all with the PRIOR KNOWLEDGE SHOWN and the SONG PLAYING, I am getting mixed messages here. Imagery? Shows Angel getting assaulted multiple times with either a forced smile or for some reason ENJOYING sex with Val and the role play situations showcased, is he INTO his abuse? Lyrics? He seems to find arousal in Val controlling him. The song legit reads as follows

"Addicted to this feeling, I can't help but swallow"

This doesn't read like he is "forced" it reads like he is yearning the toxic relationship. Now if this was one of the main issues with the abusive relationship, where it was a codependency built on romanticising the abuser and Angel learning to break free from that horrible view of someone who never loved him and actively harms him, this lyric would make a lot of sense....but that's not what we are shown at all. From the jump, we are shown that Angel HATES being with Val, to the point of him straight up avoiding his texts and voice messages, they actually do an okay job (despite the shoddy voice work) on showcasing how manipulative Val is and his outright explosive temper through this scene in episode 2. We see that Angel does NOT wanna have association with Val, is tired of it all, and even got drunk to down his sorrows. Yet these lyrics present it all as though it's just a very rocky love life like those songs you hear on the radio with the singer lamenting about how awful their relationship was but still miss their toxic boo-boo. It just...doesn't read like an SA song and could mean anything regarding the type of abuse he is facing. It's kinda vague in hindsight. That's MY take on the lyrics, though.

- Husk's song is a trash fire. He sees Angel is down in the dumps and proceeds to talk shit about him pretty much relaying his sorrows, saying it's okay to feed into your vices, and downplaying the actual situation at hand. So let's get this straight.

Angel- A sexual abuse victim forced into sex slavery to appease all sorts of people's sexual desires whether he likes it or not, including pleasuring his pimp who physically abuses him often all cause he sold his soul

Husk- Gambled his life away and lost his title as overlord, serves under Alastor all cause he sold his soul.

How is this even...the same at all? Even if Husk is lacking some context, he SEES that Angel normalized drinking roofied drinks and works for Val SOMEONE HUSK SHOULD KNOW ABOUT AND WHAT HE DOES but nah, screw Angel. Even if he honest to God (irony) wanted to actually help, why tf would Husk think this was sound advice? Why does Husk just SUDDENLY care? No build up, no memorable dynamic, no nothing. Realistically, CHARLIE should be the one singing with Angel or maybe Vaggie because she heard the story from Charlie. Not Husk. He is self aware enough where he knows this "advice" wouldn't work but nah. Nothing about the song makes sense. Telling someone going through it that "you're a loser" pretty much a no one, an insignificant individual, when VAL has made it clear that Angel would be nothing without him...yeah no the only reason why this whole song "worked" was cause the writers wanted it to, so Angel is happy with being a loser for being a victim of SA and selling his soul to someone who abuses him in various ways consistently.

This episode is terrible

Jarring for any newcomers

Who have no idea who these characters are

#vivziepop critical #hazbin critical #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel husk #vivziepop criticism

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dumbgoondog · 4 months ago

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Kenjaku NSFW Alphabet

MDNI +18 NSFW

I ain’t satisfied to much with this might revisit, but I got a general idea started.

Cw/Tw - SA allegations, manipulation, CNC, unhealthy, and gore? Brain shit.

(A)ftercare - He’s on it fr fr. Washing you, had a drink ready, cuddles, praise, kisses. He is a lover, and a good one at that.

(B)ody Part - your neck. It’s so very complex, he likes marking it, choking you too. There’s so much trust to let someone touch your neck and he loves that.

(C)um - Say it with me! Breeder! Breeding! B-R-E-E-D! Inside! As deep as he can! Or as deep in him as you can! He gave birth. Probably has in the past given birth and gotten people pregnant too. The death paintings as well. Let’s be real.

(D)irty Secret - finger his brain or just touch it in general. It’s sensitive so be gentle but god he loves it! It’s a cursed object so don’t worry about breaking it easy, if you’re to rough it can hurt tho.

(E)xperience - A lot. Multiple centuries worth. He’s not a whore per se, but sex certainly is a tool for survival.

(F)avorite Position - both standing, from behind, arch your back so he can hold your throat and kiss you.

(G)oofy - not really… sadly. He can be goofy tho and make you roll your eyes in amusement because he might get distracted and start yappin with his dick in you.

(H)air - he’s got that trimmed and washed. Well groomed. Smells great!

(I)ntimacy - he’s so intimate, no matter how hard he’s fucking your brains out. He’s here to worship your body like it’s the answer to all of his problems.

(J)ack off - Not really. Unless it’s to tease. Again, it’s more a tool to him.

(K)ink - science kink. We all saw the nurse fit. He loves exploring your body like it’s the first human body he’s ever seen, and finding all the unique things about it. Finding your limits, what feels best, what is a turn on, all of it. Improper use of jujustu too.

(L)ocation - he has to favorite location, he do like it in public tho. Risky is delicious, he likes the fun of it!

(M)otivation - Not specifically a turn on, but he loves your passions and when you’re really into something! He’s super supportive about it too.

(N)o - you cannot fuck his brain or use a strap on it. The mouth is too small, and it’ll hurt to slide between the halves like that.

(O)ral - he loves receiving oral. As much as he sticks that damn tongue out, he wants to talk to you while you suck him off more.

(P)ace - he’s rough. He can be fast or slow, but he’s rough and cruel. He teases HARD. He wants you begging and to break yo brain.

(Q)uicky - he’s up for a quicky but prefers to take his time and enjoy things. He’s a journey man, not a results man.

(R)isk - he LOVES trying new things, he loves learning that people have a kink for and why, where it came from. Trauma based or developed from something? Was it hereditary? He’s tried a lot and is up for a lot.

(S)tamina - yes. God he has a lot. He stops when you’re done. You’ve not found him to ever tap out first.

(T)oys - He honestly prefers using toys on you than using himself! He loves it, watching your reactions touching, controlling the toy and the pace, he loves it.

(U)nfair - He’s a massive tease, being coy and making you ask for everything. He loves barely touching or using things against you. He loves denying you from cumming or ruining your orgasm if you’re into it.

(V)olume - he’s a low groan and huffer. Grunts and hums of delight. He loves if you’re loud too

(W)ild Card - As perfect as he is with you… he’s not a good guy. He’s explicitly very very evil. He’s controlling, and you don’t even know it. He curates your friend group, how your work is going and when you’ll get a raise or promotion. He slowly influences what you wear and eat too. Nothing crazy, but he likes knowing he is apart of your every waking moment and especially when you break his expectations or do something out of routine! He does love you. He’s just taking care of you in his mind, because he has so much experience he knows what’s good for you.

(X)-ray - BLACK LACE THONG. I am dead serious. He’s a fancy ass, and he thinks it’s funny plus comfy as hell. He thinks it’s a power move as well. He LOVED your first reaction to it as well.

(Y)es - CNC, what with bitches thinking he raped that girl, it was a bit traumatic honestly! He swore off sex for a bit even! Then he like many with sexual trauma learned about CNC and uses it as a healthy kink thang. He likes being the victim and the aggressor and he’s kinda private about it. He needs to trust you a lot first.

(Z)zz - Oh I could see him nappin, he’s taking care of you then cuddling up, put on a show, and nap with you. He likes the vulnerability and the domestic feel of it. Despite his grand age and protest, he IS still human and craves that connection.

#dogs tag #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #kenjaku #smut #jjk smut #x Reader #kenjaku x reader #jjk kenjaku #bad alphabet

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paperometria · 2 months ago

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Ieri ho avuto una telefonata con una dei docenti del corso universitario dove insegnerò a Settembre, ed è stata la goccia finale su un vaso colmo di sfiducia verso il sistema, al punto tale che non so se continuerò questa esperienza. E francamente parlando, anche se quella che sto per raccontare non ne è la causa, capisco anche perché non si trovano più insegnanti, a queste condizioni non accetto nemmeno io di esserlo, porterò alla fine questa avventura e amen.

E' da settimane che mi confronto con altre persone che insegnano, come il mio amico che insegna alla Facoltà di Ingegneria alla Federico II, e altri docenti in Italia e qui, anche perché io ho sempre voglia di imparare da persone che si fanno il mazzo da secoli su queste cose e ne hanno da dirtene, ma stavolta sto imparando che non è cosa

Ieri la frase che mi ha gelato di più è stata

non esagerare che i ragazzi poi si annoiano

Chi mi conosce sa che io adoro insegnare, e chi mi ha seguito su @papero-learning sa che faccio sempre di tutto per rendere digeribili concetti che non sono alla portata quotidiana di tutti (se poi ci riesco è un altro paio di maniche, ma lo sforzo c'è), ma qua sta avvenendo un cambio di paradigma che, a mio parere, è molto pericoloso, e se questo cambio è dovuto ad un salto generazionale inevitabile, allora vuol dire che ci siamo scollati, e io non intendo contribuire a 'sta pagliacciata.

Io trovo inaccettabile che chi ha deciso volontariamente di iscriversi ad un corso universitario specializzante trovi "noiosa" la teoria. Sì, vero, ci sono dei prof di merda, come ci sono dei colleghi di merda, dei capi di merda, amen. Si può rendere qualsiasi contenuto interessante, ma non a scapito della conoscenza approfondita di un argomento che un corso deve fornire. Un concetto come il massimo comune denominatore può essere raccontato a mo' di Superquark, anzi, deve essere così per tutti coloro che non hanno scelto di fare dell'algebra la loro ragione di vita, ma chi ha deciso altrimenti si deve studiare tutte le cazzo di proprietà, e se un ragazzo di 20 anni ancora non ha compreso che quelle cose apparentemente fini a se stesse fanno parte di quei tanti piccoli mattoni che compongono l'impalcatura di una professione futura, beh, allora tanto vale che vada a rubare o che si faccia spiegare le cose da ChatGPT. E' un discorso da vecchio di merda? Sì, boh, non lo so, e anche se fosse me ne fotto.

Tutti questi ragionamenti me li sarei tenuti per me, o ci avrei scritto sopra molto più in là, ma (sarà che a volte si allineano i pianeti) il reblog di @kon-igi al post di @nusta stamattina ha dato fuoco a quella mia lunga coda di paglia formatasi in queste settimane di confronto con le persone di cui parlavo prima. Sì, i post parlavano d'altro, però boh, io ci ho visto alla radice una matrice che, sebbene io condivida in linee generali quello che ha scritto Kon, non accetto più quando quel tipo di discorso inizia ad infiltrarsi subdolamente in aree dove la velocità non è ammissibile e l'intensità per me è solo sinonimo di approfondimento. Ripeto ancora, il reblog era molto probabilmente inteso per altri contesti, ma io temo che ormai ci si stia arrendendo al fatto che o è tutta una tiktokata (=> romanticizzazione e spettacolarizzazione), anche la scienza, o non se ne fa più nulla.

La tizia della frase sopra in corsivo, prima di organizzare il nostro incontro, mi aveva scritto nell'email

due to the lack of programming skills we started learning programming Java and did only data structures like array list, linked lists and binary trees

Il suo corso è un corso del secondo anno di teoria dell'informazione, e scrivere due to the lack of programming skills è un fallimento su tutta la linea, e non ce l'ho con lei, perché con chi parli parli sembra che sia tutto così, e io mi trovo a dovermi fare carico di concetti avanzati (il mio corso è di programmazione avanzata) col problema che non capiranno un cazzo, perché, per non essere troppo noiosi, i miei colleghi hanno dovuto derogare la qualità dell'insegnamento a favore di, come vogliamo chiamarla, una gita al parco a scrivere un paio di if-then-else?

Tutto questo sfogo non è inteso per mettermi dalla parte della ragione, è solo uno sfogo per aiutarmi ad accettare il fatto che non appartengo più ad un mondo che è andato troppo avanti per me, e di adeguarmi sinceramente non ne ho voglia, soprattutto perché lo trovo deontologicamente parlando una bestemmia, lascio il posto a persone più capaci.

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carmasi · 2 months ago

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I'm honestly looking to just drop the whole ACOTAR fandom all together.

And is just the little things.

mainly i was just feed up with the E/riel being disrespectful. and not listening to reason and just trying to feed their own self insert delusion.

Then it was the constant Hate that Elain get because she is "useless" when there is so much to unpack on her character.

Then there is the constant paised of SA and Manipulation all because he's hot and he was end game.

most recently, which didn't used to bother be as much until I did my second read of acotar and started to understand this character and started to do more critical analysis

and that is the AMOUNT OF HATE TAMLIN GET. like is not just the hate because he did bad things (as so did Rhysand and the inner circle). Is the blatant lies, the things that they attached to him as being responsible that I just read and I'm like. Did we read the same book?

becaused yes Feyre talk to him about her worried, after Rhysand took her, and she was doing better enough to try and speak up for herself. and he didn't listen and that was wrong, and while I truly believed he was trying his best, in the best way he knew how to, deal with his situation and the amount of card that were deal to him, a still doesn't excuse being unable to communicate with your partner. but is how you learn from this.

and the whole argumen after silver flame where everyone Hated nesta, and suddenly we realize that she did what she dis for a reason and now we love her? you really don't need a tamlin book to realize that he like nesta and everyone else on the book had lot is trauma, and somehow he's the person who gets the most hate. We just need to read the book considering everyone else POV to realize, Tamlin had a lot on his plate and pressure got to him

This may just be me ranting becaused I have grown to love Tamlin's character so much, because of his flaws and his growth and is like everyone forgets how e all fel for him on book one, his stoic and annoying face, and the way feyre finally saw him be free and himself during calanmai, where he was joyful and dance with is people. Like that Tamlin still there. he's just been burn and sadly continues to be. and when i see all the hate he get it really makes me sad. That's it.. i just, i suddenly got bombarded with so much tamlin hate post that it enraged me becaused some of those post highlight things that are untrue

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #tamlin acotar #sjm critical

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thevoidstaredback · 9 months ago

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Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools: Letters Between Brothers

Still no letter from Damian. He’d been checking the mailbox every day for a year, but he understood why. Kind of. He gets that Damian and his family were under a lot of stress after Mr. Wayne was kidnapped, and they're probably celebrating now that he’s back, but that still didn’t stop the tiny bit of hurt Danny felt whenever he noticed the lack of responses from his brother.

A bigger part of him was wondering why it was taking so long for Damian to respond. Sure, his father had gone missing, and that was a lot of stress, but now he was back and it’d been nearly four months, but there was still no letter.

Maybe Damian really did hate him. Or maybe he’d forgotten about him? He hoped neither was the case, but he knew both were possibilities.

“Tot nicio scrisoare, nu?” Jazz asked. She was fluent in Romanian now, having taken to the language like a fish to water. Part of that was probably because Danny refused to teach her Arabic unless she learned three other languages, all of which had to be derived from different alphabets.

“Nu.” his shoulders slumped after he closed the mailbox, letters for his parents in his hand.

Jazz nudged his shoulder with hers. “Curaj! Măcar știi că e bine? El și familia sa au postat în mod regulat pe rețelele lor de socializare.”

Danny huffed. “ابتهج، كما تقول. لو كان الأمر بهذه السهولة، لكنت أسعد شخص في العالم.”

“Ce a fost asta?” she glared playfully at him from the corner of her eye.

“Nimic!” he stated. “De unde știi că postează în mod regulat? Îi urmărești pe Waynes?”

“Bineînțeles că îi urmăresc pe Waynes! La început a fost pentru că toată lumea îi urmărește, dar apoi mi-ai spus că Damian Wayne este fratele tău? Nu puteam să nu-i urmăresc.”

“Eu nu... Cum ai aflat că Damian e fratele meu? Nu ți-am spus niciodată asta.”

“Pentru că sunt chiar atât de grozav!” She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she said this, the wind making it go all over. “Nu a fost așa de greu, Danny. Voi doi arătați aproape la fel.”

He sighed. “I mean, I guess we look sorta alike.”

“‘Sorta’?” she scoffed, “Have you seen a picture of him recently? If people see you two side-by-side, they’re gonna find out your twins. I’m surprised no one’s mistaken you for him yet.”

“I’m not in a high enough circle to be mistaken for him. Sure, maybe Sam’s parents would make the mistake if they didn’t hate me enough to recognise me on vibes alone.” He opened the front door. “Seriously, how do they do that? If I hadn’t already made sure, I’d think they were tracking me.”

“You checked for trackers?”

“You would not believe the kind of shit that my Mother taught me about. And if you thought that was bad, father is so much more paranoid.”

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow, closing the door behind her. “Brucie Wayne, the man who once went viral for getting so drunk that he kissed a reporter because he thought he looked like Superman?”

“Yep.”

“We are talking about the same man, yeah?”

Danny just shrugged. “Paranoia’s hereditary.”

“It’s really not.” Jazz said.

Danny led the way up the stairs, leaving the door to his room open after he walked in, changing the conversation as Jazz did the same. “Your Romanian is sounding pretty good!”

“‘Pretty good’?” she called back, “I’m fluent!”

“Yeah, but you still have an accent.”

“So do you!”

“Yes, but mine is purposeful.”

“Why?”

“Do make you look better.”

Because their rooms are diagonal from each other, the ball that Jazz threw landed in Danny’s room, bouncing off the wall and hitting his arm. “Jerk!”

He laughed, rubbing his arm. “You love me.”

“A moral obligation.”

He feigned hurt. “Is that all I am to you? A moral obligation?”

“Yes!”

“Ouch, Jazzy, that hurts. Truly.”

“I’m sure.” She leaned against the doorframe to his room, her arms crossed. “Will you teach me Arabic now? I learned A Latin-derived language like you told me to.”

He shook his head. “Three languages, remember? Three languages and then I would teach you Arabic.”

She groaned, rolling her head back and then to the left to glare at him. “Fine! Which one are you gonna teach me now?”

Danny thought for a moment, mentally rifling through the languages he knew. “Russian,” he decided, “it’s based off of Old East Salvic.”

“But that’s gonna take forever!” Jazz whined.

“No it’s not,” Danny shot back, “It only took me a few months to learn.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re like, a super-genius.”

“What does that make you? You’re smarter than me.”

“Evidently not,” she huffed. “Where do I start?”

He grabbed a book off his shelf, one he’d bought two years into his stay with the Fentons. “The Cyrillic Alphabet. It’s what Russian uses.”

Jazz flipped through the Russian dictionary. “These are just straighter versions of the English Alphabet.”

“Not quite,” Danny said, “But, yeah.”

Jazz sighed, closing the book. “Great. Another year of studying before you make me learn another language before Arabic. What’s it gonna be that time, huh? Korean?”

“I was actually thinking Japanese.”

She groaned again, walking away to her room. “That was a joke, D!”

“No it wasn’t!” Her door closed in response. Danny huffed a laugh before closing his own door and settling at his desk.

He sighed, looking at the homework page. It was all stuff he already knew, stuff he’d been taught when he was a kid. When were they going to get to stuff he didn’t know?

It probably didn’t help that he got so bored doing his homework that he took college courses instead. At least those had material he’d not gotten the chance to learn in Nanda Parbat! If he got his Bachelor's early, would Jack and Maddie let him drop out, or would they make him get a GED? He already had one, but that wasn’t the point. Maybe, if he got his Masters? Though, that would mean he’d have to actually choose something to major in, and Danny wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of commitment.

A lie. He was stuck between majoring in linguistics and astronomy. A problem for later Danny, he decided.

In the past year, he’d taken very quickly to astrology. It was fun, learning new things and beliefs about the stars and planets. He’d tried to get Sam and Tucker interested, but neither took to it very much. They’d tried, like good friends, but it didn’t click with them. However, Sam did start looking into magic and stuff, which then got him into magic and stuff. Tucker wasn’t into it, but they’d managed to combine all of their interests into one.

The computer code Tucker and Danny had started was coming along well, for them being barely in eighth grade. It was designed to look like a star chart, but the code itself had runes mixed in. None of them were really sure if the runes would do anything, but they thought they looked cool, so the runes were left in.

They were nowhere near a final product, but they were making good progress. Probably due to the fact that they were spending as much time as they could on it. It was hard to keep it a secret from everyone, though. They’d originally wanted to tell Jazz, but she hadn’t shown any interest in any of their hobbies, so they didn’t. Maybe in the future?

That’s what Danny opted to work on instead of his homework. He had designed the star chart based off of what he’d had access to at the time, but now more stars were being discovered and more planets were being introduced. It wasn’t going to be officially part of their coding project, but he figured it’d be nice to have anyway.

The problem with making a new star chart was that he had nowhere to hang it. His walls all had posters on them, and furniture blocked what space there was. The door was too small, either. Sure, he could move stuff around, but that was a lot of work he really didn’t want to do. However, he looked up, his ceiling was looking mighty plain.

However, after staring at it for nearly twenty minutes, he found it hard to focus on the star chart, too. His thoughts kept wandering back to his brother. Was Damian alright? Why hadn’t he replied? Even a small, one-sentence scrap of paper would’ve been a nice reprieve from his anxiety!

He toyed with the idea of sending another letter, despite that he’d told his brother he’d wait, but he didn’t. He very nearly did several times, but he managed to pull himself away from doing so. He didn’t think it’d be appreciated at all.

He groaned in frustration and harshly shoved his chair away from his desk, standing up and shoving it back into place. Then, he left his room. He needed a distraction that wouldn’t make him focus.

He grabbed his phone and opened the chat he had with Sam and Tucker and told them his problem. They both agreed to come over to hang out. Danny didn’t think he’d ever get tired of being around his friends, no matter what. He hoped they felt the same way, too.

Impatiently, he waited by the front door for his friends to arrive. When they did, they found themselves haphazardly sprawled over the couch and chairs on the main floor. They weren’t really doing anything other than sitting together, the TV turned on with a low volume for white noise.

Eventually, though, Sam asked, “So, what’re your parents working on in the basement?”

Danny shrugged as best he could from how he was laying, his legs over the back of the chair and his head hanging upside down. “The same thing as always; the Ghost Portal.” He was heavy on the sarcasm of the title. It was completely inane and unoriginal.

Sam perked up. “They’ve actually been working on a portal?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “Since they were in college, I think.”

“Really?” Tucker asked, his interest peaked.

A nod. “Yep.”

“Can we go see it?” the other boy asked again.

Danny hesitated. “Um, I’m not sure. My parents aren’t home right now, I don’t know if the lab’s messy…or safe.”

“It can’t be that bad!” Sam jumped up from her own chair, “C’mon! Just a quick look!”

Tucker, too, stood, “Yeah, man. We won’t touch anything. Scout’s Honor!”

“You’re not a scout,” Danny said, though he stood with them.

“Please?” Sam said, “You know we’ll just go down there anyway, with or without you.”

Tucker was the one to hesitate this time. “I don’t know about that. I mean, it’s a science lab. I don’t think I’d wanna go down there without someone who knows it well.”

“And you think that’s me?” Danny asked. Another look at his friends’ faces had him caving. “Alright, fine, but none of us are touching anything. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, man!” The two agreed.

He took the lead, stopping just before the entrance to the basement, the caution sign on the door not doing anything to dissuade either of his friends.”For the record: I don’t like this at all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam waved him off, “Tell it to the judge.”

With another heavy sigh, Danny opened the basement door and started down the steps, the other two following closely behind him, not closing the door behind them. The carpet on the stairs had been torn up and badly replaced with uneven linoleum tiles. The walls were also covered in the same sheet metal as the lab itself, cut and applied much more neatly than the stairs. The wall at the bottom of the stairs had been carved into shelves for cleaning supplies, a small vertical pocket having been cut out for a broom and a mop. To the right was another door, this one reinforced metal, that led into the lab. The doorframe was covered over in caution tape as a final warning.

Trudging on, Danny opened the vertically sliding door and walked into his parent’s lab. As he expected, it was messy. Papers were scattered around, half built somethings ended up where there wasn’t paper, blueprints were taped haphazardly to the walls, and there were tools scattered all over the floor. Garage shelves lined one wall, holding completed inventions. Whatever tools weren’t on the floor, and empty jars of all sizes.

The architect’s desk was against the wall with the door, filing cabinets stood on the other side of the desk, all the drawers open. The wall next to the door - not the same wall because of the corner turning in - was where the garage shelves were pushed, four of them taking up the entire wall. Directly across from the door and dest was the newest addition to the lab. A sliding door of reinforced glass led into the “weapons room” where the completed weaponry and safety equipment was all stored. Directly across from the garage shelves, set into the furthermost wall of the lab, was the pièce de résistance: The Ghost Portal.

The trio carefully stepped their way into the room, Danny picking up some tools from the floor so they had a spot to stand. As promised, they didn’t touch anything except for the tools which they piled in a corner.

“Whoa.” Tucker admired, “That’s so cool!”

“Not really,” Danny scrunched his nose up. It had been completed, but his parents hadn’t turned it on yet, saying that they were making sure they had everything ready before they did. Personally, he thought that they’d tried and failed to open it. The inside of it was still messy, but not nearly as bad as the lab floor was. He still didn’t like going near it; it gave him a bad feeling, and he’d been taught to trust his gut when logic was useless. Logic, when dealing with anything having to do with his parents, was use;ess, so he listened to his gut. His gut said to stay away, so he always did his best.

“You should go in it.” Sam suggested.

It took Danny a second to clock that she’d been talking to him. “What?”

“Go stand in it,” she elaborated, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her skirt, “I want a picture.”

“Then you go stand in it and I’ll take the picture!”

“You told us not to touch anything! Standing inside whatever that thing is is considered as touching it.”

Tucker shrugged when Danny looked to him for help. “Don’t look at me, man, she’s right. Besides, I think it’d make a pretty cool picture.”

“Not helpful.” he glared. A few seconds later, he groaned. “Alright, you guys win.” While they cheered, he marched himself over to the Armory, as his parents called it, and put on his HAZMAT suit. He hated the feel of the thing, but any form of safety was appreciated at the moment.

He subconsciously noted that the suit no longer felt completely like rubber, as though it had been remade with some kind of cloth that had rubber mixed in with it. Still, changed into it behind the curtain in the Armory. He would’ve much preferred to keep his clothes on under it, but it was too tight for that to be an option. Pulling the black gloves on, he rejoined his friends in the lab proper.

Sam cat-whistled at him. “You look miserable.”

“Like a wet cat.” Tucker agreed.

Danny scowled at them. “Yeah? Why don’t you put this thing on and stand in the portal?”

They both shook their heads. “Your own rules, D,” Sam reminded with a smirk. She held up her flip-phone, ready to take her picture. “Now, hurry up. I want to get outta here before your parents or Jazz comes down.”

Like Jazz would be caught dead coming down here willingly. “Why’d you ask to come down here if you didn’t wanna be caught down here?” Regardless, Danny relented, picking his way across the floor and to the empty mass of the portal lodged into the wall.

It was still as foreboding as the first - and only other - time it’d gone near it. It looked bright from this side, the combination of the bright lab lights and the LEDs lining the space behind it gave the illusion of brightness. Danny knew, however, that it was much darker on the inside.

He stepped over the threshold of the octagonal archway and into the dark, ten-foot void behind it. Again, as he’d observed the first time stepping into the thing, the glowing blue circuitry that was embedded into the metal sheeting on the walls seemed to make the hallway dimmer, the white LED work lights lining the floor doing nothing to brighten it. He knew there were cables on the floor, but he could no longer see them; his parents had covered them in black that matched the floor.

Not bringing a flashlight was probably a mistake.

The sound in the lab seemed nearly gone, too, taken over by the humming of electricity running through the ten-foot hallway he now stood in. He could hear faint murmurs of Tucker and Sam talking, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He had a really, really bad feeling about this.

Just before he turned around, he heard the distinct sound of a phone’s camera shutter. It cut through the electrical hum surrounding him like a hot knife through butter. It startled him, and he jumped. His foot caught on a cable, tripping him up. He flailed for a second,disappointing his Mother’s training, before catching himself on the wall. There was a soft click as his hand sunk into the wall. Behind him, there were two screams.

Danny’s final thought before the pain of the situation registered in his head was, “Now I’ll never get to touch the stars.”

Some think that when you die, it’s peaceful. Brain activity doesn’t stop for another five minutes after the body dies, so most people think that those five minutes is your life replaying for you as one final dream, lulling you into either your afterlife or into your next life or into non-existence.

The body dies, so sensation must stop, too, right? The brain stops sending signals to the body because it stops responding.

Danny would like to say that, in his humble opinion, as well as basing it off his own experience, those people are full of shit.

He died, but he didn’t stop feeling. Even when he’d been sure he’d gone numb from dying and reviving and dying and reviving over and over again, he still felt every signal that had been sent through his body.

Five minutes after the body dies, the brain dies. Danny’s didn’t, not even after ten minutes. It kept sending signals to his pain receptors, telling them that he was being ripped apart and pieced back together so fast that the actions were near simultaneous!

He wasn’t sure if it was just a rift into another dimension/world that had opened up on top and through him, or if another dimension/world had been dragged to and through him. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to know. He just knew that it was painful and that he wanted it to stop.

Overall, it wasn’t an experience he’d wish upon even his worst enemy.

“Danny!” He heard the sob over the ringing in his ears, though it was quiet and far away.

“Wha’?” he groaned, his hand moving to his head. “Wha’ t’e ‘ell?”

Two pairs of arms wrapped around him, sending a jolt of pain through his sensitive nerves. “Danny!”

He weakly pushed at them, trying to get them off because contact hurts! “‘et offa me!”

The two pulled back, fussing over him without touching him.

“Danny!” Tucker sobbed, “Are you okay? Obviously not; that was a stupid question. Can you see? Can you hear? Can you feel anything?”

Danny nodded. “I can feel that everything hurts,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. He opened his eyes, closing them right after, then he tried again slowly. He blinked slowly a few more times before blinking normally. “My sight’s good…mostly.”

“‘Mostly’?” Sam demanded, “What do you mean ‘mostly’?”

He closed his left eye, opened it, then closed his right eye. “That’s not good.”

“What?” Tucker asked, “What’s not good? You can’t just say that-!”

“My left eye. I can’t see.”

“What?!”

He ignored them, focusing on his hearing. He covered his left ear, uncovered it, and covered his right. “Do me a favor and say something?” He recovered his left ear.

“Like- like what?” Tuck asked nervously. Both he and Sam were watching Danny’s hands.

Dany nodded, covering his right ear and uncovering his left. “Again?”

Sam spoke this time, “What do you want us to say?”

Danny froze for a second, scrambling to stand up. The two followed after, steadying him when he almost fell back down. His eyes widened and he forced Tucker onto his left side, keeping Sam on his right. “Say something, both of you.”

The two shared a look over his head before Sam said, “You’re scaring us, jerk, what’s wrong?” and Tucker said, “What’s going on, man?”

He stumbled again, his full weight dropping onto his friends as they caught him, sending all three of them to the floor in a heap. “...I can’t hear.”

It was quiet. “...what?”

“My-my left ear-! I- It’s ringing and I can’t hear-!”This would mess everything up! It couldn’t be permanent, right? It was just the aftershocks of whatever the hell just appended to him! He’d be fine in a few hours, a few day’s tops. He’d be able to hear again and see again. It’d be fine.

He forced his breathing to slow, focusing back on what Sam and Tuck were saying to him.

“Are-are you back with us, D?” He hated that her voice sounded so small. It didn’t suit her in the slightest.

He nodded. “Y-yeah. Let’s…let’s get outta here, yeah?”

The two nodded, each grabbing an arm to help him up. When he was standing again, an arm over either of his friends’ shoulders, he finally saw the portal.

It was toxic green, the colour of radiation in cartoons. The room seemed to be darker, near pitch closest to the portal, but it staved it off with its green glow. Was it absorbing the light? The overhead lights were all working perfectly fine. The green was moving, swirling with darker green lines mixed in with it. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

They left the lab.

Sam’s parents paid for Danny’s hospital trip a week later. For as much as they hated him, they weren’t about to let him pay for a hospital trip with his own allowance because his parents were neglectful and didn’t even know he’d been hurt.

And Sam promised to wear pink at the next party she’d attend.

So, Danny sat on the hospital bed, waiting for the doctor or nurse or someone to come tell him that his hearing and sight were going to come back. They asked a lot of questions that he didn’t like, but he answered them anyway.

“How did this happen?”

“There was an accident in my parents’ lab.”

“Where were your parents?”

“Gone. They left the lab unlocked and I wanted to see what they were working on.”

This was his fault. Under no circumstances were Tucker or Sam to take any of the blame. He got hurt because of his own stupidity.

The doctor had told him and Sam’s father - because he wasn’t allowed to go alone - that they’d have to call Jack and Maddie and explain the situation. He begged them not to; they had enough on their plates! Besides, it’s not like they’d care. He didn’t let them call Jazz, either. She had enough to worry about. He can take care of himself. He did, however, compromise with them. Until he turned eighteen, his legal guardian changed, or he became emancipated, Jeremy Manson was to be alerted wherever he had to go to the hospital. Jeremy was slightly upset by this, but he allowed it. He didn’t like Dany, but he hated the Fenton parents even more. Besides, it would look good socially if it was found out by the public.

“Thank you for being here, Mr. Manson.” Danny said. They were still waiting for the doctor to come back.

Mr. Manson gave a tight smile. “It’s okay. I don’t like you, but I don’t want to see you hurt.” He sighed in frustration. “It’s no secret that me and Pamala don’t like your parents, but this only puts them in an even worse light. What are they thinking? Leaving their lab unlocked-! No, even having a lab in the first place!”

“Mr. Manson!” Danny called, “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, Daniel. You got seriously hurt. Your friend Tuker or my darling Samantha could’ve been seriously hurt! That’s not anywhere near okay!”

“‘Danyal’.” he corrected lightly, “My name is pronounced ‘Danyal’. And it’s okay because it was my fault.”

Mr. Manson shook his head again, locking eyes with Danny. “Listen to me, Danyal-” Danny smiled slightly at the pronunciation correction. “-This is not your fault. Your parents allowed access to their lab by leaving the door unlocked. Anything that happened in that lab was their fault, okay?”

Danny shook his head. “But-”

“No,” the man cut off. He took a breath and sat down. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

He hesitated for a moment, weighing his options in his head. On one hand, he could totally handle keeping it a secret. On the other hand, what did he have to keep secret? It would probably be good for an adult to know what happened, especially on the off chance that he doesn’t actually fully heal from it.

Danny took a deep breath. “Promise you won’t be mad at anyone?”

Confused, Mr. Manson nodded, “No more than I already am.”

“Okay,” he nodded to himself, “Okay. So, We were at my place, watching TV. I mentioned what my parents were working on, and Sam said she wanted to see it. I told them it was a bad idea, but Tucker wanted to, too, and I wasn’t about to let them go down there on their own and potentially get hurt!” He breathed deep again. “Sam said she wanted a picture of the portal - that’s what my parents have been working on - and she told me to go stand in it. I told her to go stand in it because I’ve been in it before - last year about - and I didn’t like it because it gave off a weird vibe. Anyway, she and Tuck ganged up on me because I told them not to touch anything in the lab and they made me go stand in the portal. I changed, and stepped into the thing.” Another deep breath. “But, it’s really weird in there because it’s so dark, no matter how much light there was in the tunnel or in the lab itself - and it was really quiet, too. I didn’t know that Sam was gonna take the picture, so when she did, the sound startled me- It just sounded so loud…” He slowed down a bit with a smaller inhale. “I tripped and caught myself on the wall, but I guess my parents put the ‘on’ switch on the inside…I hit it when I tripped.” He felt tears running down his cheeks. His voice got quieter. He was aware that there was another person in the room now, probably the doctor. “It hurt. It hurt so bad!It felt like I was being ripped apart and put back together again over and over and- I think I died…” He felt himself paling. “I died Mr. Manson! I-!” Sobs cut him off, heavy and body shaking. He felt himself get pulled into a hug.

Mr. Manson had his arms around Danny, holding him to his chest. Why? Mr. Manson didn’t like Danny, so why..? He leaned into the embrace, tears soaking the man’s shirt.

“And now I can’t see and hear and my arm and hand keep spasming-!”

He continued to cry for nearly an hour. When he was calm enough, he pulled away and wiped his face with his hand. Look at him. Being a civilian for so long has made him soft. He’s crying over such a trivial thing.

The doctor’s voice was soft as she spoke, telling him what was wrong. There was no way to fix what was done, not until he was an adult, at least, because he refused to tell his parents. She recommended hearing aids and glasses because his hearing and sight weren’t gone, but they may as well have been. She also explained, after he’d told them about hitting the button, that because the point of contact had been his hand, he was going to have issues with touch and muscle spasms. She said it was nerve damage and that compression cuffs would help him. The chronic pain, however, would follow him for the rest of his life. She had also noted the lichtenberg scars trailing from his hand, up his arm, down his chest and back, up his neck, and up to his eye, over his ear. They were faint enough to not be seen at first, but they were noticeable upon further inspection.

At the end of the visit, Mr. Manson paid and drove him home. Before he could get out of the car, Mr. Manson said, “Thank you for telling me. And, thank you for keeping Samantha safe.”

Danny smiled smally at him. “It’s alright, Mr. Manson. I don’t ever plan on letting her or Tucker get hurt if I can help it. Besides, I didn’t do much of anything.”

“That’s not true,” Mr. Manson shook his head. “And, please, call me Jeremy.”

“But you don’t like me, Mr. Manson,” he tilted his head slightly.

Mr. Manson laughed. “Call it an olive branch, okay?”

Danny chuckled. “Okay, Mr. Jeremy.”

The man shook his head. “I’m glad you told me. I’ll talk to Pamala; You’re welcome in our home if you ever need to leave this place, okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Jeremy.” He nodded and got out of the car. “Thank you, again.”

“Anytime.”

He closed the door and watched as Mr. Jeremy drove off. Then, he checked the mailbox. Still no letter. With a sigh, he adjusted the strap of the bag he was holding - supplies the hospital had given him to help that Mr. Jeremy paid for - and went into his house.

Jack and Maddie weren’t home again, likely getting more supplies and stuff to stock the lab. After he’d opened the portal, he’d sent Sam and Tucker home; he didn’t want them there when his parents saw the activated portal. They’d celebrated when they saw it, taking him and Jazz to dinner. Then, they’d locked themselves down in the lab with the portal, studying it and making stuff to use on whatever came through. If anything ever came through. During the day, they’d spend a few hours out of the house, gathering things to study whatever they caught coming through. Honestly, Danny didn’t know when they had time to sleep or eat.

He hoped that nothing ever came through. He hoped that the portal would destabilize and shut down. He hoped a lot of things.

Sitting at the desk in his room, the door closed, Danny picked up a pencil. He was ambidextrous, though he mostly used his left hand. Until recently, that is. The handwriting was horrible compared to writing with his left, but he had to let Damian know what had happened.

***

Damian Wayne, Sept. 8th, 2013

I don’t know if you got my last letters, nor do I know if you want to hear from me, but there’s something I have to tell you. I don’t want to keep secrets from you anymore.

I was in an accident a few days ago. My foster parents have been working on a portal into another dimension since they were in college. Recently, they got the final product done and built in our basement. Sam and Tucker wanted a picture of me in it, so I went in and I tripped-

***

The pencil fell through his fingers and clattered on the desk, rolling off before falling to the floor, stopping a few inches away. Danny stared at his hand. He didn’t finish the letter.

Translation 1 - Romanian: Stoll no letter, huh? Translation 2 - Romanian: Nope Translation 3 - Romanian: Cheer up! At least you know he's alright? He and his family have been posting on their socials regularly. Translation 4 - Arabic: Cheer up, she says. If it were that easy, I'd be the happiest person in the world. Translation 5 - Romanian: What was that? Translation 6 - Romanian: Nothing! … How do you know that they're posting regularly? Do you follow the Waynes? Translation 7 - Romanian: Of course I follow the Waynes! At first it was because everyone followed them, but then you told me that Damian Wyane is your brother? I couldn’t not check in on them. Translation 8 - Romanian: I didn't- How did you find out Damian's my brother? I never told you that. Translation 9 - Romanian: Because I’m just that awesome! … It wasn’t that hard, Danny. You two look almost exactly alike.

Part 6 Part 8

#Tales of Conquest. Warnings of Fools #Letters Between Brothers #part 7 #word count: 5.5k #my writing #ao3 #ao3 writer #fanfic #dc x dp #ghouls and gang writing event 2024 #dpxdcbang2024 #g&g24

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 1 year ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Joe Velasco

I’ve always wanted to do this, and I thought it would be fast and easy but boy was I wrong. I think I went a little overboard, but I enjoyed this, and I would do it again for other characters. WARNING: There is a small mention of SA

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Joe is an aftercare king. He has been touched starved most of his life and loves physical contact. He wants to stay in bed and hold you, caress your body, and kiss your skin until your heartrates even out and the sweat from your lovemaking cools. He will run his hands through your hair and whisper sweet words in your ear. You can tell how much he enjoyed the sex by the ratio of English to Spanish. He defaults back to his mother tongue the harder the climax hits which leaves him in a state of superior orgasmic high.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Joe’s favorite body part of his is his arms. He keeps himself in good shape for his job and is proud of the physical effects it has on his body. He likes knowing that he is strong and that if he needs to, he can protect you.

Joe’s love your body in its entirety. He makes that very clear to you many times over. If you ever had any body issues this man is the cure for them. That said he is definitely a thigh man. Any chance he gets his hands smooth over your thighs, squeezing the tender flesh and muscles there. He loves to slide between your thighs, kissing and sucking bruises into them. When he knows you’ll indulge him he will lay his head on your lap for hours while watching the football game or when he is exhausted from work, take a nap.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Joe isn’t really concerned with his own cum. He doesn’t have a breeding kink and he has always been rigidly careful with all his sexual partners, always using condoms. It took months into a steady relationship with you and the assurance of birth control to convince him to do it raw. You were shocked to find out that you were the first person he ever had sex without protection with.

He is, however, obsessed with your arousal. He wants to make sure you are completely soaked. He loves the taste and the feel of it dripping down his chin or thighs depending on the position.

D = Dirty secret (self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Joe lost his virginity to a girl who was in the gang back in Jaurez that he helped when he was younger. He was only thirteen and the girl was nineteen. It was an awkward experience, and the girl was high on something. Joe doesn’t like to think about it and has never admitted that he hadn’t consented to it. All his friends thought it was so cool that he had been with an older girl, so he never made a big deal out of it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Joe has experience, mostly with hookups and one-night stands. He had a Casanova phase. The women were fast but warm. He learned a lot about women this way but towards the end, it just left him feeling emotionally empty.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Joe’s favorite position is missionary, mating press, or anything position that is face to face. Joe likes to kiss, and he is good with his tongue. He gets quite hypnotized watching your breast bounce. It gives him easy access to suck on your breast or slide his hands between your legs to play with your clit.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Joe is more passionate and serious in bed. But the longer you guys are together and the more intimate you get the more his humor shows. The pillow talk is where he gets more relaxed and jokes around.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Joe doesn’t do a full manscape, but he likes to keep his hair trimmed up. But if his life gets busy, he doesn’t think much about it. He is the type of guy that if you requested him to completely shave, would do his best to oblige you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Joe loves intimacy even if he doesn’t realize it. He likes making his partner feel good and like there is a connection. When he is in a stable relationship the intimacy from him doesn’t just double but triples. He wants to touch you, hold you, finger your hair, share eye contact, and most of all he wants you to know that he sees you and that you see him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Joe masturbates but not to an extreme. He would much rather wait until he has time to have sex with you. He usually only does it when he is trying to blow off steam or has had a stressful day. He will also take care of himself if he is horny, but you aren’t in the mood to have sex.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Joe has a praise kink and loves to dirty talk. He loves hearing the sounds from your lovemaking. The moans and groans you make, the smack of your bodies meeting, the squelching sounds of wet pussy as he thrusts into you good and hard. A bonus kink of Joe’s is thigh-high stockings, the man goes feral when you wear them. Be warned that you will probably be sporting finger-shaped bruises on your thighs for weeks after.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bed or couch is the usual go-to for Joe. He likes the comfortability and versatility that they provide for positions and moving around. He has of course christened his entire place with you and has found various other preferences. He likes shower sex but gets tired of the water running cold before he is through with you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Joe doesn’t need much reason to have sex. A big turn-on for him is when you initiate. There is just something about you wanting him and having no trouble showing it, that has all his blood heading south.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Joe is not willing to share. He will never be okay with having another person join in on your sex life.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Joe loves to give oral. If he could eat your pussy every day, he would. He is a pro at it and doesn’t stop until your legs are shaking and you're trying to push him away from being overstimulated. Then he will take his time licking up his mess from your inner thighs.

Joe always enjoys a good blow job. You on your knees in front of him sucking his cock, tongue licking, spit lubricating the slide he could lose his damn mind. That being said, at the beginning of your relationship he would never ask for one. He had bad experiences with some of the women he was with not enjoying it, giving little to no effort, or complaining. It made it not worth it to him because he wanted to bring his partners pleasure and their obvious distaste for the act was a turnoff for him. He stopped asking and for a long time, none of his hookups offered so he went without. He was shocked and unbelievably turned on by how into you were. He still doesn’t like asking, and you offer often so he doesn’t have to, but he will on occasion now.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Joe is on both sides of his coin. He can be slow and passionate, especially during lazy morning sex. when the mood strikes making you feel every inch of his cock filling you. Whispering praises into your ear and caressing your skin. His default is on the rougher side. He will take you fast and rough, skin slapping against yours. He will take you, make you his, and leave some sort of love bite on your skin to remember him by.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

While Joe would prefer to take his time, he enjoys quickies. Life is fast past and busy there is no way of getting around it if you want to steal some time for release in each other. He will also admit that the limited time and having to finish up and act like it never happened adds a sense of urgency and can make the experience hotter.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Joe is willing to take some risks. He likes to experiment and is willing to try pretty much anything you request. Working at SVU and what he has seen there are some lines he won’t cross.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Joe has a higher stamina. He can drag foreplay and sex out for hours. He will also go multiple rounds if you have the time and energy. The two of you tend to have 24-hour fuck-a-tons after he gets back from undercover assignments leaving you both sore and walking a bit funny for a few days afterward.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, Joe doesn’t have any toys. He doesn’t see the use for them but would probably use them on you if you asked. He’s more of a restraint guy, he would prefer to cuff or tie you up.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is the biggest tease. He will have you so worked up that you will be hating him as much as you love him. You will be shaking and begging him to just take you already. The payoff is more than worth it, the orgasm and the afterglow high are otherworldly.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Joe is pretty vocal he will grunt and groan. He likes to talk dirty when he is taking you and gets off on the sounds you guys make when having sex. He can be quiet with the right motivation for doing the deed in more risqué spots.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

While Joe doesn’t smoke often anymore, he always has a spare pack of cigarettes in his house and in his motorcycle side bag. He only craves them when his stress level gets too high or when he has had a particularly rough round of sex that releases that stress. He doesn’t like anyone to know and goes to great lengths to cover it when he does. You had found out when he had lit one up while you were supposed to be showering but had come back in to urge Joe to join you.

He had been sitting on the bed, a cigarette held loosely in his fingers as he blew smoke out the window. His body was relaxed, and he seemed at peace at that moment. He had been embarrassed you had caught him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Joe is a shower, not a grower. He is a big boy with above average in size cock, about 6.5 to 7 inches long. He is girthy enough that there is a definite stretch when he first enters you but nothing overwhelming.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Joe has an above-average sex drive. He wants to have sex multiple times a week. He also goes through phases where he wants to spend days in the bedroom, inside of you. It does occasionally dip with bad cases at work or when his personal life feels out of control.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Joe tries to stay awake after, but he usually ends up falling asleep quickly. It’s hard for him not to when he is riding the high from his orgasm and your soft body is tucked into his. You can try to sneak out of bed to use the bathroom or grab a glass of water, but you will wake him. Joe is a light sleeper.

Another one is done! I have been loving writing again. I think I might branch out and do some other SVU characters too. I started rewatching season 13 and I forgot how much I loved Nick Amaro- I'm not ashamed to admit I have it bad for Latino men! So anyways I have a few ideas for him too. I love Barba and Carisi too, but I think I would struggle writing for them. If you want me to attempt just let me know along with any request.

#joe velasco #jose velasco #jose velasco x you #joe velasco x reader #jose velasco x reader #joe velasco x you #svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu

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