#But man this is one of the thing that made me so bitter towards the ending | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ienjoywritingfilth · 4 months ago

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teach me, general

hi: i wrote this because general acacius is still making me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, about the language, about a n y t h i n g this is just a debauched excuse to think of this man naked and fucking.

You've been promised to another man to save Rome, but you have no desire to become his wife. Marcus Acacius has been assigned to ensure you do not flee before your wedding. Things happen.

trope: enemies to lovers

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , Marcus tries to be good but we like him bad, AU as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, allusions (are what whores do for money or candy) to other sex, , i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

"I will not play nursemaid to a spoiled child."

Marcus sweeps the scroll from the desk angrily, standing and stalking to the window, his cape fluttering behind him.

Commander Cassius, an older man and one of The emperor's most trusted advisors stands in the corner, his gnarled hands folded in front of him.

"She has not been a child for quite some time, General Acacius," the commander replies, a smirk crossing his lined mouth.

Marcus only makes a scoffing noise at that, refusing to turn around and give the older man the respect he thinks he deserves.

"She is desperate." the commander adds, walking in Marcus direction. "She is to be wed tomorrow."

"The city talks of nothing else."

Marcus is sick to death with talk of your marriage to a neighbouring royal family. The marriage means bountiful coin and harvest for Rome. It's a step towards unification and the future.

But for the last several months it's all he's heard of between battles. The dress, the food, the entertainment. It's all so grating to hear about when he throws himself into daily combats.

"She has made her feelings on the matter quite clear," the commander says with a gentle exhalation. "There is concern she will flee in the night."

"Why?"

"She has no desire to marry. No interest in continuing the bloodline."

There are rumors of course. That the Prince you've been promised to is dim, that he drinks too much, that he has an eye only for men. It's no wonder you don't look forward to such a union.

"She says she will study at the universities instead," Cassius chuckles. "A silly fantasy. She is a woman after all."

Marcus is quiet with contemplation. He'd just returned from battle days ago. He was still weary, his patience thin. The poor reception home from his family adds to his bitter mood.

"But she is wise beyond her years," the commander says. "She has managed escape more than once, as you well know. It was you yourself who retrieved her the night of her eighteenth birthday in the olive grove was it not?"

Marcus rolls his eyes recalling how you screamed and punched his armour as he dragged you down from the branches, throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed until your voice was hoarse as he carried you home that evening, shouting obscenities in his ear the entire way.

All because you'd wanted a chance to see the Gladiators. You'd begged your parents and they'd been quite clear that it was no place for you. You'd snuck out anyway, caught by Marcus before you could even get to the Coliseum.

When he does not reply the older commander stepped forward, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You have your orders from the Emperor."

Marcus shrugs off the older man's touch, his dark eyes sharp.

"And why must it be me?'

'"Because, General Acacius, you are the one man that cannot be fooled by her."

The slave is at the door when Marcus knocks at your bedroom. Their face is covered; their stance cowered when they open the door widely.

"General Acacius," the quiet voice observes eyes on the ground. Marcus is grim-faced, entering into the room.

"I have been instructed by the Emperor to keep watch tonight."

"I see," the woman nods, her face still tilted respectfully to the floor. "I was just about to fetch her dinner."

Marcus steps further into the lavish room with its bright, white walls and smooth marble floors.

"Where is she?"

"She is in her bed," the slave replies bowing even more lowly.

Marcus' dark eyes move to the bed, seeing the sleeping figure's chest rise and fall through the gauzy curtains that hang on all sides.

"The sun is not yet set."

"She is overcome. Her wishes for the marriage to be called off have been ignored."

Marcus nods, watching as the slave goes to move past him. Her feet slap the floor slowly, everything in her body suggesting an unhurried dedication to her position.

She brushes Marcus' sleeve and he sniffs the air, a familiar scent wafting over him. Roses.

Without warning his large hand darts out, grabbing the slave by the arm and dragging her back into the room before she can leave. The door is slammed shut, her exit blocked.

"General-"

Marcus says nothing; he simply rips the veil from the woman's face, shaking his head in frustration as your uncovered visage stares unblinking back at him.

He watches as you sneer, your irritation clear.

"How did you know?"

"Rosewater," he replies in a husky murmur. "No slave could afford to bathe in such luxury."

You pull your elbow from his grasp, furious at being caught. You call out to the girl in your bed.

"Amilius you are released."

A taller woman a haggard face and wild hair rolls out of the bed. She is clearly a slave but wears an embroidered toga meant for royalty.

"You will still be paid," you assure her as she approaches you both, her eyes on the floor. You retrieve the pouch of clattering coin from your locked cabinet, placing its heavy bundle into her shocked hands.

"It is too much."

"Not at all," you insist. "I thank you for trying. You may keep the clothing as well."

"You are most welcome."

The smile the two of you exchange is sweet and Marcus is furious at the sight of it. How dare you think up this scheme and how dare this slave go along with it?

"You are bold," he says, stepping towards her. "To defy the word of your Emperor and not expect retaliation."

"She did it only to defend me," you break in, stepping between Marcus and the girl. "To give me a chance at escape."

"Treason," Marcus snarls, his eyes still on the girl behind you. "You will be put on trial."

Amilius shrinks back, her eyes wide. The thought of punishment like this never occurred to her. She simply follows what you tell her, as she always has.

"I will say I drugged her," you shoot back. "I will be put on trial. I will be sentenced to death. I choose that. Anything is better than a marriage to that self important caenum!"

Your chest heaves with untapped anger. Marcus knows that this is true. You are just stubborn enough to choose death but it would mean only calamity for Rome.

"Leave us."

Amilius nods and shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. You watch as Marcus locks it before coming back to you.

"So they sent the General," you say with a laugh as you remove the slave’s cloak you were wearing. You drop it into a chair before looking at him. "How fearsome a creature I must be if the strongest General in the army is sent to watch me."

"Fearsome I think not. An annoyance to be sure."

You roll your eyes, going to the table that holds the wine and other spirits. Several chalices are there, empty and ready to be filled.

"Some wine, General?"

Marcus shakes his head. He would never drink when on such a job. He doesn't trust you. You shrug, pouring two glasses anyway.

Marcus is surveying your room, quietly taking in all the personal touches. He notices you position your writing desk to the east, to enjoy the midday sun. Your bed is soft and layered with furs to keep away the chill.

You walk back over to him, holding out the larger chalice to your guest.

"Here."

You watch as Marcus takes both chalices in hand, swapping the one you poured for him with yours. You go to deny him this but he's already taken a deep pull from his glass, smiling at you when you make no move to do the same.

"None for you?"

You try to keep your voice even, not wishing to show your hand.

"I find my thirst rather quenched."

"Is that so? Or is it that I caught onto your pathetic ploy to drug my wine?" Marcus smirks, taking a deep sip.

You say nothing; you bite the inside of your cheek instead. Marcus digs the blade in a little deeper.

"The vial made a rather obvious noise when it hit the rim of the chalice."

You bite so harshly you draw blood.

Its hours later and the fire has been cracking for the better part of the evening since the sun went down.

Marcus sits on an ornate chair before the fire, his body stoic and broad and strangely intimidating despite his continued silence. He has the chair facing you, not letting you out of his sight for even a moment.

You sit at your writing desk, hunched over parchment as you write hurriedly. The scratch of the stylus is the only sound in the bedroom.

Marcus exhales slowly, irritated at needing to be here at all. Knowing his luck, he'll also be forced to be at the royal wedding as well.

You stand and take a stretch, cracking your back as you arch your spine. The flowing fabric drifts over your body pooling at your feet. Marcus takes note of your head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn't remember your profile being this striking. He muses it is one that should be etched onto roman coins, remembered by those to come forever after.

You walk over to him with a tired look in your eyes.

"It is late," you tell Marcus.

Marcus doesn't reply. He simply sits there, waiting for you to tire of whatever game you've begun.

"I thank you for the fire, General."

"You are most welcome."

He isn't expecting you to walk behind him pretending to stoke the fire. And he can only blame his lack of focus on his extreme lack of sleep. He'd managed none during battle and at home it seemed he was more than a little restless.

He feels your hand slide the dagger from his hip, realizing too late. You go streaming across the room, your eyes wild when he races after you.

"Impudice fur!"

"I have stolen nothing," you shoot back at the insult.

The two of you circle what another in the room like your own miniaturized version of the Gladiator pit.

"You have stolen years off my life," Marcus growls. "You have turned my hair silver."

You look at the dark hair threaded with grey in parts.

"You have done that yourself, General, thanks to your love of bloodshed and the battlefield."

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Only a stulte would think my strategy anything other than necessary."

"If you insist," you say rolling your eyes, clearly disbelieving.

"Return the weapon."

Marcus is strong, he is quick and you will have to submit to him. There is little else to do, aside from throwing yourself out the window behind you. The thought of that horrible childish man being your husband makes you seriously consider it.

You can't help it, thoughts of being his wife, of being tethered to such a man disgusts you. You would more readily marry Marcus Acacius if you had to. At least the man had honour and dignity.

And then all at once the answer is clear to you. You drop the knife onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you spin and throw yourself towards the large open window.

Your feet slap against the stone floor as you fling yourself towards the open air. The realization that before you die you will know what it is to fly.

Marcus is on you almost immediately, grabbing you around the middle before you can tumble to outside. He yanks you back, tackling your unwilling body to the ground. He pins your hands to the ground. You attempt to wrench from his grip, squirming under him.

"Stop these foolish games."

"It is no game," you shout. "It is my life! I will choose if I live or die!"

All at once Marcus is very aware that you are not the child he once saw in the halls or at events. The child and then teenager he found so grating with her questions that he took to ignoring her.

"Still yourself."

You wriggle in his grip like a worm. As you do your hips graze his cock and he's shocked to find a stab of arousal hit him.

It's as if for the first time he sees that you've become a woman. A beautiful one at that, all soft curves and kissable mouth. He stares at the damp plump of your lips and realizes that he's growing hard under his toga.

He throws himself off of you, hunched over until he gets to the window. You're rubbing your wrists, completely unaware of what happened as you stand, glaring at him.

"It is what is fated," Marcus barks at you.

"How easy for you to say!" You scoff disgusted. "Tomorrow I will be the wife of a childish boor who would rather chase cock than spend a moment with me. Rome will be safe for a time, yes, but at the cost of my entire being. And you, General Acacius, will go on living your life free of restraint."

"I come with my own shackles, believe me."

"And what is that? Too much coin for wine? Too many prostrating followers who blindly obey you?"

"A wife who married me for my title. Two stepsons with the combined intelligence of a pomegranate seed.” Marcus shakes his head. "You act as if everyone may rule their destiny but true freedom is granted to only the few."

He can see the fight leave your body.

But he knows you’re still upset. He moves over to your desk, needing a break from your smoldering glare. The parchment you were working on earlier sits there, writing unfinished. Marcus takes a scroll in hand, squinting down at it.

"What are these?"

You rush over, your face red as you rip the scroll from his hands.

"Nothing!"

Seeing your weakness Marcus holds it up out of reach, a childish grin on his face as you leap up, trying to grasp them. But it's no use, he's taller, stronger and you fall back, defeated.

“Tell me and I will return it to you.”

"They are poems," you mutter exasperatedly, feeling shy.

"Your own?"

"Yes."

"I wonder what about," Marcus says and he reaches into the desk to find several more scrolls. "What dress to wear to the market? How best to complain about having everything?"

Marcus takes them in hand, a sneer evident in his face as you reach for them again.

“You promised!”

“As you promised your fidelity to the prince.”

“My father promised him. I promised him nothing.”

Marcus lets out a small huff before turning his back to you. You can see him unrolling the scroll, beginning to read. You watch him, feeling both furious and anxious. These are some of your innermost thoughts that he’s reading.

There is a long bout of silence. You watch his broad shoulders sag, his hand flipping the page over and continuing to read. He does this through several sheets until you can't stand it anymore.

"Give it here!"

You pause with your hand on his elbow. He's solemn, but that's not what shocks you. It's the tears that he wipes quickly away with his free hand.

"Are you---"

"No."

You step backwards, your hands falling to your sides. You have known the general since you were a child of thirteen. Over ten years you have been in his company and only now have you seen him lose his composure.

As a child you were convinced he didn't feel true emotions. He was always this tall, impressively stoic figure. You never spoke to him outside of your father's company. You only heard everyone talk of his skills on the battlefield, of his keen mind. The only time he truly emoted in front of you was when he ripped you from the warm embrace of the olive tree, forcing you back to your boring life. Hissing at you that you were ungrateful for all you'd been given.

"This is very beautiful," he admits in a voice dragged over sand. "The way you describe death is very," he searches for the word. "Vivid."

"Thank you," you reply dumbstruck.

You've never received praise for you writing outside your friends. So to receive it in the form of your current enemy is more than a little shocking. Marcus has no allegiance to you, in fact, his response is so genuine because you know he's fighting against his inner desire to chastise or condemn.

Seeing this hulk of a man with tears still damp along his waterline has you softening everywhere. He's looking at the pages and then back at you.

"Have you any others?"

"Yes," you nod.

"All on the same theme?"

"A variety."

"May I see?"

You walk to your writing table, pulling out the parchment you hide from prying eyes and pass them into his outstretched hands. You wait with your lower lip lodged under your top teeth, your fingers twisting together. You don't know why but you crave to know what he's thinking.

You don't need to wait very long.

"It is clear there are limitations to your skills."

He has the familiar arrogant expression on his face as he says this. You bristle sharply at his words and he notices.

"You write of death, you write of jealousy, you write of fear,"' he says. "All of these you compose with obvious talent, with a voice I feel here."

He taps the centre of his chest before he holds up some of the pages you laboured on.

"But these? The poems of love, of desire? They feel false."

You take a moment to digest what he's saying. He's treating you like an equal, as if you're someone who can take the criticism. It propels you to explain instead of running away in embarrassment.

"People want poetry to transcend them, to deliver them somewhere beautiful. How else to do that other than with poems on such topics?"

He holds up the pages.

"It clearly does not come naturally."

"It is a challenge at times."

"You write of loss with such acuity," Marcus explains. "Why then do you describe the action between a man and woman so stiffly?"

"I have experience with loss."

Marcus stares at you, surprised.

As the daughter of the emperor he'd just assumed you'd have your fair share of romances. You're a beautiful woman and if you were anyone else but the Emperor's daughter he might have pursued you himself.

You feel his gaze trained on you and you walk to the fire. The flames reflect in your eyes as Marcus continues to watch you. You swallow your embarrassment and look over your shoulder at him.

"Will you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What I am to expect on my wedding night."

Marcus lets the scroll fall from his hand onto the stone floor. At the sound of its contact he shakes himself, retrieving them and placing them on your desk.

"You have not known the touch of a man?"

With cheeks stained in embarrassment you shake your head.

"I have not. The life of the privileged daughter isn't one that allows for entanglements," you sigh. "I fear for what awaits me."

Marcus thinks of your future husband, a man who doesn't want any part of you. You'll wither on the vine, ripened and juicy and waiting.

What a waste.

"I cannot," Marcus says. "I am simply here to ensure you do not flee."

"Perhaps I will not flee if I know what is to occur."

Marcus sighs and strides towards you. You watch as he pulls over one of the chairs you had at the window, placing it across from the chair you sit in before the fire.

"You will be wed; there will be the wedding celebration with most of Rome at your unity. Then he will take you to his chamber."

You lick your suddenly dry lips.

"I am no fool. I know what the day’s events will be, General. I want to know what happens in consummation."

Marcus inhales deeply. He can feel himself growing stiff. You are a delectable thing, forbidden in so many ways. He itches to touch your skin and taste your cunt.

"He will, he will press his mouth to yours."

"Show me."

"No."

"Please," you beg, coming to stand closer to him. "Once I know what is to come I will feel more able to conquer this fear I feel."

Marcus debates this as he stares at you. And it's his cock that does the thinking for him when he steps closer to you.

Marcus sighs heavily through his aquiline nose. You hold your breath as he grips the back of your neck, like you're a bothersome kitten. Holding you there he lowers his face to yours, grazing your lips with his.

You coo gently at the sensation, your nipples hardening as he wraps his arms around you. He's so broad, so muscular, you feel so vulnerable and yet safe in his arms.

You cling to him, body immediately wrapping around his, pressing so tightly to him that you feel everything. Your hips roll against his and you shudder pleasantly when you feel his breathing hitch.

"More," you beg. Marcus groans, his large hands coming to cup and knead your breasts as his tongue invades your mouth.

He's murdered men, he's plotted army overtaking, and he’s attacked the unarmed, but touching and kissing the virgin daughter of the emperor? This is the most corrupt thing he's ever done.

And you're so desperate for him, no hesitation in any part of you. You just allow him to plunder your body, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck and then the barely concealed valley of your breasts.

His hands move around your body, pressing and caressing and skimming until they land at your backside. You kiss him fervently, feeling his palms tug you against his hard cock.

You whimper, eyes rolling back as the two of you grind against one another. It feels so sinfully good to do such a thing.

"That is enough," Marcus says stiffly, pulling back from you when you make that sound. He looks at your swollen lips and dazed expression.

"Please, show me everything," you whisper. "Teach me."

Marcus has a fairly good idea that your wedding night is going to be brief and awful. The least he could do is give you some pleasure before you're thrust into a lifetime of timid touches and non-existent intimacy.

Just once, a sinful voice whispers. Fuck her just once to see how it feels.

"I cannot."

You feel insecurity wind its way around your ribs before tugging brutally. Its clear Marcus does not find you handsome enough to tempt him or he still sees you as a child. In humiliation you turn from him and take a seat before the fire once more. Your shoulder sag as you gaze down at your clasped fingers on your lap.

You hear Marcus sigh from the window before you sense his approach. He comes to sit in the chair opposite you, his gaze so serious.

"It would be wrong."

"But I desire it."

"It would be dishonourable."

"Please," you beg him again, finally raising your head. "My entire life you have been there for me, coming to my aid. And now I turn to you for the final time, General. Please help me."

"I cannot do it."

"But why?" You demand now, knowing that your patience is wearing thin. "Give me one true reason."

He lifts his muscular frame out of the chair, crossing until he gets to you. You gaze up the length of him, not flinching when he drops to his knees between your parted thighs.

Marcus tilts forward until his body nears yours, his hands on either side of your chair arms. His body is so warm, so broad. You fight the urge to touch his chest as his swollen mouth brushes your ear.

"Because if I were to start, it would take the entirety of the Emperor's army to stop."

You blink slowly, your eyes trailing over his face and body. Your entire body is fizzy, like lightning is coursing through your veins instead of blood.

"I would pull you apart," Marcus hums against your skin. "I would draw noises from you that you cannot begin to imagine. I would have you shaking and begging for more and I would continue."

You can't breathe.

“I would fill you with my seed, marking your womb as mine. I would do it over and over until I was spent, only to do it all again at dawn."

Marcus groans softly, his dark eyes scanning down your toga to the swell of your breasts.

"And even then I would not be able to cease," Marcus says as he squeezes your breasts through your toga. "I would train your mouth, your cunt, every hole you possess in the ways of pleasure. All would be mine, nothing left for another."

You stare at him, unblinking.

"And so you see why I must refrain," he finishes huskily. "Why I cannot give you what you believe you desire."

When did he go from the scowling general to a real man with such a filthy mouth? You’re quivering all over, desperate for him to be even closer. Your eyes drop to his full mouth, aching to feel it again.

"What if that is what I crave? What if I have no desire for you to cease?"

Your fingers go to his, pulling one hand under your toga, leading him up between your silken thighs. Marcus allows it, eyes on you but his hand inching towards your centre.

"You do not know what you ask."

"Show me, Marcus," you whisper, your mouth nearing his. "Make me yours if only for tonight."

Your lips slot between his, kissing with uncertainty as your hands go to the buttons at his shoulder. His fingers are slowly teasing your entrance as he stares at you.

You arch as his thumb begins to circle your clit, his long fingers starting to nudge your liquid heat.

Marcus knows that every inch of you he touches is another year in the pit if he's discovered. You are the most forbidden fruit in Rome. Yet he continues to slide two fingers to the knuckle into your core, curling them as you cry out for him.

At the sharp sound of your cry he withdraws his fingers, glossy with slick. He stands, needing to clear his head. He feels your confused gaze on his back.

"I cannot defile you before your wedding," he explains. "Your chastity is of the utmost importance."

"The slaves tell me of ways to circumvent such an issue," you tell him as the cape he wears falls to the ground.

He watches you untie his toga, urging it from his body until he stands there in nothing but his gladiator sandals.

He is truly a sight to behold. Golden, muscled, captivating in the same way blood along knuckles shine in sunlight. You take your time to walk around him, admiring the tight taut of his ass, the breadth of his wide shoulders littered with scars and the curls that tease the bottom of his neck.

You save his front for last, taking your time to watch the trail of hair move from his navel downward.

His cock is hard, thick and heavy. It weeps at the tip, already so eager. It hangs there; too large for you to imagine entering you as you reach out and touch it. He hisses at the first point of contact.

He watches as you carefully touch him, marvelling at the iron of his cock until the silk of his skin. You trace the vein on the underside, trailing it from the base to just below the mushroom head.

You slide down to your knees, fascinated. Amilius has spoken to you of men when you’ve asked. She has been married and has a child. You know a bit of what men like but only in theory. You lift your eyes up to see Marcus staring down at you with a heated gaze. Your hands go to his thighs, gently resting there.

You grin before leaning forward and placing the sweetest peck to the tip of his manhood.

Marcus growls softly in the back of his throat. His eyes close briefly before opening, looking darker than before. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, gripping it by the base and pulling it towards you.

You part your lips, ready to take him on your tongue and are surprised when instead he drags the tip along your bottom lip, leaving a trail off pre-cum there. You lick the remnants, curious at the salty taste. He watches you with increasing interest.

"Irrumabo," Marcus murmurs, his cock tapping against the full of your bottom lip. "Yes?"

You nod, opening your jaw. Marcus smiles, thumb tracing the curve of your mouth.

"Not tonight," Marcus says as he shakes his head, bringing you to a gentle stand. "Tonight is your pleasure."

He tugs the gown from your body, letting the silk pool on the ground beside you. You shiver under his gaze, noticing his length which twitches.

Marcus feels his breath leave him as your nude body is bared to him. You look so innocent there, waiting for him, gazing nervously at him through your lashes.

"Goddess," Marcus hisses, his hands coming to cup your breasts. "I am a condemned man for even looking at you."

He lowers his head eagerly, nipping and licking your nipples as you cling to him, urging him to take more as you arch your spine.

"Marcus, please more," you moan.

Unceremoniously he pushes you back to sit in your chair, your legs splayed in surprise. He drops to his knees, moving your legs to hook over his wide shoulders. You allow this, your body limp and eager to be posed by his strong arms and hands.

He looks up to see you panting, staring down the length of your body at his face between your legs. Without breaking eye contact Marcus dips forward and licks a stripe up the centre of your sex.

Your eyes immediately shut as pleasure ripples through you. His wide hands grip your creamy thighs, holding them in place as he continues to probe his tongue deeper into your channel.

Your hands grope the air around you fruitlessly. You don't know what to do with them. Marcus notices and he takes your wrists between his grips, forcing them to card through his hair.

He goes back to sucking your clit and you feel your hips buck. Your fingers dig into his skull, holding the curls and you understand why he placed them there.

"Harder," he tells you sharply as he peppers your inner thighs with sweet kisses. You tug harder on his curls and he groans softly in approval.

You make a shuddering noise of pleasure and it dies in your throat as he pulls back from you. His eyes are stormy as he looks up the length of you to give you a disapproving shake of his head.

"Silence, cherub. We do not need the guards coming to investigate your shrieks."

You nod breathlessly, clapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. The sounds are muffled against your palm as he brings his hands to slide under your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth as he consumes you, groaning into your cunt when you cum.

"Marcus!"

"Quiet," he reminds you between licks.

As you sit there in the chair he brings you to a second steady orgasm, revelling in the muffled yips you make when you begin to writhe against his face, coating him in your essence. When your shuddering ends Marcus slowly withdraws his tongue from your cunt, gazing up at you with a dazed look.

"My husband will do this to me?" You pant; your body shiny with perspiration. "It was so pleasant. I felt the sun within my body."

Marcus remains on his knees, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He gives you a pitying look, knowing full well that your husband to be likely won't see you past your wedding night.

The thought enrages him as he sits there, cheek against your thigh as you give him that hopeful expression.

"No," Marcus finally admits. "I believe his actions will be more perfunctory."

You frown.

"How? Show me."

"You ask too much."

"Yes, I do," you admit with no hesitation or embarrassment.

Marcus gives you a calculating look before standing. You sigh, waiting for him to leave when he crouches down beside your chair, sliding his hands behind your back and under your knees and hoists you into his arms.

"I will give you what you desire," he tells you gently. "I can deny you nothing."

"You have denied me much over the years," you remind him with mirth. "When I tried to see the Gladiators fight and you pulled me from that olive tree?"

"And I never heard the end of it. Imagine denying this request? You'd have me hanged."

You give a shy giggle before lacing your fingers behind his neck, your mouth finding his with ease as he carries you to the bed.

The two of you lay in the twisted blankets of the bed, bodies gleaming with sweat. Marcus did exactly as he promised. For hours he took you apart, forcing you to come on his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You took him at every turn, eyes shut and your mouth covered by his palm or his lips.

And now that the dreamy haze bleeds into reality you find yourself frowning. Marcus, with his arms holding your body to his notices immediately.

"What troubles you?"

“Tomorrow I will be another man's wife," you say with tears in your eyes. "Rome will be saved for a time but at what cost? I'll never feel pleasure like this again. I'll never have you in my bed again."

Marcus feels a pull behind his ribs, and he leans forward to kiss you gently. You respond, your tears damp on his cheeks.

"Your lessons will continue," Marcus promises, kissing behind your ear. "I will make sure of it."

"My husband--"

"Will be thankful when you are with child," Marcus tells you in a hush, his hand curving over your stomach. "My child."

Your eyes are luminous.

"After your wedding night he will not come to your chambers," he promises. "But I will. I will drink the nectar between your legs and I will spill myself down your throat. I will have you everywhere and when we pass in public although there are no words to be uttered you will know I think only of you. That I am yours and you are mine."

He wipes away your tears with his large thumbs before pulling your mouth to his. You fall asleep in his arms, the sensation of his body there to protect you through the night.

Marcus stirs the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window; it's cheerful and bright as the sun that hangs high in the sky.

It feels right that your wedding day should be beautiful when you yourself are so exquisite.

Marcus feels his cock hardening immediately at memories of last night. Of the sounds you made and the way you felt. He looks forward to a life with you, even if it must be in secret. You are something special, something like freedom.

He cracks open his eye to take in your sleeping face, but your side of the bed is empty. A scroll is there beside him in the empty bed instead, his name written. With a panic in his heart he unrolls it, finding a lock of your hair tied with a ribbon inside. He takes it, pressing his lips against it as he reads the words from your hand.

Carissamus General. I know that as you read this you will think me a villain, but I promise that my words were true and my body forever yours. Please understand why I could not possibly allow another to touch me. Freedom is for those who take it. I leave you a piece of me in exchange for the piece of you I will carry in my heart. I owe you everything and perhaps in the next life we will have the future you dream of. Until then I wish you the same joy and pleasure you gave me. With all my love, and all that I am.

Marcus reads the beautiful words over and over. They spin around his skull as he dresses, pulling on his toga and cloak. But instead of anger in his expression he smiles serenely.

He's always enjoys a good chase.

#marcus acacius aesthetic #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #gladiator2 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #smut #pedro pascal smut

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br0kenangel · 2 months ago

Text

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 1

Summary: You never thought Aegon be like this. You though that he's probably like all the other rich kids who are only upset because daddy didn't given them money. But you couldn't have been more wrong...

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

He hadn't said a word since entering the room, only slouched low in his chair, his bloodshot eyes tracing patterns in the ceiling like he was watching something she couldn’t see. His bleach-blonde hair was messy, like he hadn't bothered to run a comb through it in days, and the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in even longer.

The silence was unnerving, and she hated it. The ticking clock in the corner of the room sounded like gunfire in the stillness. She cleared her throat and tried to start professionally. "Aegon," she began, her voice soft but steady, "how are you feeling today?"

He chuckled—a low, grating sound that didn’t reach his eyes. "How am I feeling?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn't that a bit cliché? Isn’t that what all therapists ask? I’m not here for small talk, sweetheart."

The way he said sweetheart made her skin crawl. It wasn’t the word itself but the way it slithered off his tongue, sharp and mocking. She shifted in her seat, trying to maintain her calm. "I’m just trying to understand where you’re at. You don't have to say anything you don’t want to."

He smirked, a twisted, unsettling expression that seemed more like a grimace. "Oh, I bet you want to understand me. You think you're gonna fix me? Is that it? Make me better, turn me into a functioning little cog in this shitty world?"

There was an edge to his voice, something dangerous beneath the surface. His eyes were unfocused, distant, as though she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt a chill settle in her chest, but she pushed forward, reminding herself that this was just another patient. A deeply troubled one, yes, but still just a man. She was trained for this.

"I’m not here to fix you, Aegon," she replied carefully. "I’m here to listen and help if I can."

His head snapped toward her so quickly she flinched. He caught it, of course, and his grin widened, predatory now. "You’re scared of me, aren’t you?" he said softly, like he was sharing a secret. "Good. You should be."

Aegon leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at her with intensity that made her skin prickle. "You ever felt like nothing matters, doc? Like every fucking thing is just… pointless? No matter how much you drink, snort, or fuck, it never fills that hole inside you. It just… eats at you, every second of every day, until you can't take it anymore."

His voice was a low growl now, rough around the edges, filled with bitterness. "That's what it’s like in here." He tapped the side of his head, his gaze boring into her, daring her to look away. "Rotten. Empty. Dead. I tried to end it once, you know. Got close, too. But they wouldn’t even let me do that right. My family sent me to you instead. So now here I am, playing the part. But let’s be real—you can't fix this."

There was a rawness to his words that cut through her usual defenses. Y/N felt herself teetering on the edge of something she didn’t want to fall into. His pain was palpable, but it wasn’t the pain of someone who wanted to be saved.

"You don't have to believe in this process," she finally said, her voice tight. "But it’s important that you give it a chance."

Aegon tilted his head, studying her like she was some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. His eyes were glassy, unfocused again, and his smile faltered, giving way to something deeper, more sinister. "You’re not like the others," he muttered, almost to himself. "Most of them are easy to read. But you… I can't quite tell if you’re really here to help or if you just like playing the part."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. There was something unnervingly perceptive about him. He wasn’t just a lost soul spiraling into self-destruction—he was calculating, watching her reactions, testing her boundaries. And it was working. She didn’t like how vulnerable she felt under his gaze.

Y/N straightened in her chair, trying to regain control of the conversation. "I’m here to help, Aegon. That’s my job."

He scoffed, leaning back again, dismissive. "Help," he repeated bitterly. "You wanna help? You can't even help yourself."

His words hit harder than she expected, striking at something deep inside her, and for a moment, she faltered. She wasn’t prepared for how sharp he was, how quickly he cut through her professional veneer. There was something primal in the way he spoke, in the way he moved, that felt less like therapy and more like a predator playing with his prey.

"You look tired," he continued, eyes narrowing. "Overworked. You got that hollow look in your eyes, too. Like me. How long before you break, huh? How long before you’re the one on the other side of this desk?"

Her breath hitched slightly, and Aegon’s smile grew wider, more triumphant. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper that sent chills down her spine. "Maybe we’re not so different after all, doc. Maybe you’re just as fucked up as I am."

Y/N’s hand trembled, and she clenched it into a fist, trying to steady herself. She needed to end this session—now. But she couldn’t show weakness. Not to him. "Our time is almost up," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "We’ll continue this next week."

She checked the clock. He was due in ten minutes.

Her hand brushed the edge of her desk, fingers drumming a quiet, nervous rhythm. She told herself it would be fine. She had control. This was her space, her field. But the knot in her stomach tightened with every second that passed.

A knock on the door broke the silence. Her heart leapt in her chest.

"Come in" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

The door swung open, and there he was, leaning casually against the frame, eyes half-lidded like he couldn't be bothered to care about anything. Aegon strolled into the room with an easy arrogance, tossing himself into the chair like he owned the place. He wore the same leather jacket from last week, cigarette burns dotting its sleeve, his jeans ripped and filthy. His disheveled blonde hair caught the afternoon light, giving him an almost angelic glow, which was disturbingly ironic.

"Doc" he greeted, his voice slick and lazy. "Miss me?"

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze. "Aegon," she said calmly, ignoring his provocations. "How are you feeling today?"

He chuckled, a low sound that rumbled through the room. "Oh, I'm fantastic. Just spent the last few hours getting plastered. Wanna guess how much vodka it takes before you stop feeling like your head is caving in?"

She hesitated. "Did you... did you drink before coming here?"

Aegon gave her a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with something dark. "Nah, don't worry, sweetheart. I'm sober enough to remember your name. For now."

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving hers. "But seriously, let's cut the bullshit. You're not here to ask me how I'm doing. You're here to dissect me, right? Get inside my head. See what makes the fucked-up bitch tick."

Y/N's throat tightened at the way he said bitch-dripping with disdain, self-hatred. His family, the Targaryens, were a wealthy, powerful lineage, tied up politics and scandal. She'd heard the rumors: how Aegon was the black sheep, a public embarrassment, the one they all whispered about behind closed doors. It wasn't hard to see why.

"I'm here to help," she said, trying to regain control of the session. "But that only works if you're willing to engage with the process."

His smirk widened. "You think l'm not engaging? l'm sitting right here, aren't I?" He paused, his gaze growing more intense. "Unless what you really want is for me to spill my guts to you. You want to know what makes me tick, doc? Fine. Let me tell you."

There was something unsettling about the way he shifted in his chair, like a predator getting comfortable before striking. His smile faded, replaced with a cold, hollow expression that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I hate everything," he began, his voice flat, detached. "I hate waking up. I hate breathing. I hate the sound of my own fucking voice. I hate this-" He gestured around the room, his fingers trembling slightly."一all this therapy bullshit. I hate my family. I hate the way they look at me like l'm some broken toy they can't fix."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you know what I really hate? The fact that no matter what I do, nothing makes me feel alive. Drugs? Alcohol? Sex? It's just noise. All of it. And I'm so fucking tired of feeling empty."

His words hung in the air like smoke, choking the room. Y/N felt the urge to recoil, to put some distance between them, but she couldn't. There was something magnetic about him, a dark pull that made it hard to look away.

"You think I want to be here?" he continued, his eyes burning with intensity. "My family dragged me to this fucking place because I tried to put a bullet in my brain last month. They thought therapy would 'fix' me. But they don't get it. They never did."

He leaned back, letting out a bitter laugh. "But you know what's funny? Sitting here, looking at you, I almost want to believe it. l almost want to see if you can figure me out, doc. Maybe you'll crack the code."

His eyes bored into hers, and for a split second, Y/N swore she saw something vulnerable flicker behind the mask- something raw and desperate. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual cold sneer.

"You think you can handle that?" he asked softly. "Think you can fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed?"

Y/N's grip on her pen tightened. Her throat felt dry, her palms clammy. There was no easy answer to his question, no textbook response to the way he twisted everything around him into chaos. But she knew one thing-Aegon wasn't just here to be saved. He was here to test her, to see how far he could push before she cracked.

"l'm not here to fix you, Aegon,' she said, repeating her earlier sentiment. "But I am here to listen. To understand."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Listen to what? My sob story? Poor little rich boy, drinking and fucking his way through life, all because he's sad? You really think there's anything left to understand?"

Y/N met his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. "I think there's more to you than what you're showing me."

Aegon went still, his smirk vanishing as his eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, it felt like the room shrank, the walls closing in, leaving just the two of them in an uncomfortable silence. He stared at her, unblinking, and she could feel the weight of his scrutiny, like he was peeling back layers she didn't even know existed.

"You really believe that?" he asked quietly, his voice soft for the first time since he walked in. "That there's something worth saving?"

Her chest tightened, but she nodded. "I do."

Aegon let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into fists. His eyes darted to the floor, and for a split second, he looked vulnerable, lost, like a boy drowning in a sea of emotions he couldn't control.

But then the mask was back. The smirk. The mocking tone. "Well, doc" he said, standing up suddenly, towering over her. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, his movements confident and careless, as though he hadn't just let her glimpse the broken pieces hidden beneath the surface.

Just before he stepped out, he paused, glancing back at her. "I'll be seeing you again, doc. And maybe next time, we'll get to the fun stuff."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the room with the heavy silence that always followed him. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her heart pounding in her chest.

There was something deeply unsettling about Aegon一something that made her feel like she was in way over her head.

The third session was different. The air in Y/N’s office felt heavier, thicker. She could sense it the moment Aegon walked in. His eyes, normally sharp with that mocking edge, were duller today. His movements more erratic. The usual arrogant saunter was replaced by something twitchy, unstable. He slouched into his chair, tapping his leg rapidly, the rhythm almost frantic.

His fingers moved to his mouth, picking at his nails, tearing at the skin until she saw faint streaks of red. He didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Good morning, Aegon,” Y/N began cautiously, watching him closely. “How are you today?”

He snorted but didn’t look at her, his eyes darting around the room like he was searching for something he’d never find. “How do you think I’m feeling?” he muttered, biting down hard on the side of his nail until it cracked and blood welled up.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, but she kept her voice steady. “It seems like you’re on edge today. Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His leg tapped faster, his jaw tight. “Does it even fucking matter?” he muttered under his breath. His hands trembled slightly as he dug his nails into his palms, leaving angry red marks. "None of this shit matters. Not you, not me. It’s all just... noise."

She stayed silent, giving him space to speak, watching his body language as the tension in the room escalated. He was unraveling, fraying at the edges, and it was becoming harder to predict where he might break.

“I keep thinking about that night,” he said suddenly, his voice hollow. “That night I almost did it.”

He didn’t need to explain further; she knew what he meant. The night he tried to take his own life.

“I was this close, you know?” he continued, holding his fingers up to show just how narrow the gap was between life and death. “But then my fucking family showed up and ruined it. Dragged me out of my misery and threw me into this shitshow. Therapy, rehab, whatever else they think will fix me. But nothing’s going to fix me. I’m not broken. I’m just done.”

Y/N swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “Aegon, I know you’re in pain. But there are other ways to cope. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He snapped his gaze to hers, a sudden wildness flashing in his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? None of this is about pain. It’s about being fucking empty. Do you know what that feels like? To be so hollow inside that no amount of drugs, booze, or people can fill it?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “I don’t,” she admitted, her voice softer than she intended. “But I’m here to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Aegon’s laughter was bitter, almost manic. “Understand? You think you can understand me? No one understands. Everyone thinks I’m some tragic fucking mess just because I have money and a pretty face, but that’s why they keep coming back, isn’t it? They don’t care if I’m broken. They care because I’m rich, because I’m still good-looking enough for them to pretend for a night that I’m something more.”

He paused, his leg still bouncing, eyes narrowed and locked on hers with unsettling intensity. “Even you. You sit there, all composed and professional, pretending to care. But deep down, I know you don’t. You’re just waiting for your paycheck like the rest of them.”

Y/N frowned. “That’s not true, Aegon. I’m here because I want to help.”

He leaned forward abruptly, his eyes wild and feverish. “You don’t get it, do you? None of this matters! You can’t help me, no one can, and I’m so fucking tired of everyone pretending that you can!”

The energy in the room shifted abruptly. His voice rose, turning sharp and angry, his breathing quickening. She could see him unraveling, could feel the way his entire demeanor was changing—darker, more dangerous.

“I’m not some fucking experiment!” he screamed, his voice cracking as he stood up from his chair so suddenly that it toppled over. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Sitting there with your calm face, acting like you’re not fucking scared of me. But I can see it, I can feel it—”

“Aegon, calm down,” Y/N said, her heart racing, hands instinctively tightening around the arms of her chair. “I’m not trying to control you.”

But her words seemed to push him further over the edge. His face twisted with rage, and before she could react, he lunged toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, his grip almost painful.

“You think you know me?” he shouted, his face inches from hers, tears welling in his eyes. “You think you can fix me? You think you can save me from this hell?”

His grip tightened, shaking her, but before Y/N could register her own fear, something inside her snapped—an instinct she hadn’t known she had. Instead of pulling away, instead of screaming or trying to push him off, she reached out and pulled him into an embrace.

Aegon froze.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly despite the tremor in her own hands, despite the rapid pounding of her heart. “Aegon,” she whispered, her voice steady even though she felt anything but. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

For a moment, he stood there, tense and unresponsive. His body was rigid, his breathing erratic, and she could feel the anger vibrating through him, threatening to explode again. But then, slowly, something shifted. His hands, which had been gripping her shoulders so tightly, loosened. His body sagged against hers, like all the fight had drained out of him in one overwhelming rush.

“I’m not okay,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so fucked up, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Y/N tightened her arms around him, feeling his hot, uneven breath against her neck. “You don’t have to stop it alone.”

He let out a choked sob, his body trembling against hers as he broke down, the tears he had been holding back spilling over. He clung to her like a lifeline, his face buried in her shoulder, his breath hitching with each quiet, painful sob.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

Y/N held him, her own emotions swirling inside her, a mixture of fear, pity, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She stroked his back gently, trying to soothe the storm inside him. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you don’t.”

Aegon’s sobs quieted after a while, his grip on her softening but never letting go completely. He pressed his face into her shoulder, his breathing still uneven, but calmer now. The anger and violence had passed, leaving only the raw, vulnerable boy beneath.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours—Aegon clinging to her, and Y/N holding him as if her arms were the only thing tethering him to the world.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His eyes were red and swollen, his face streaked with tears, and for the first time since they met, she saw him without the mask.

Aegon was broken, but not in the way he pretended to be. Not just a reckless addict or a wealthy, self-destructive mess. He was something else, something much more fragile than she had imagined.

And that scared her more than anything.

He swallowed hard, his voice a quiet rasp. “W-why did you do that?”

Y/N met his gaze, unsure how to answer. She didn’t know why. It was instinct, something she hadn’t planned, something that felt both right and terribly dangerous at the same time.

“Because I wanted to,” she said softly.

Aegon stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers like he was trying to find something—some kind of answer, some kind of reassurance that she wouldn’t leave him like everyone else had.

Finally, he nodded, and without another word, he leaned back into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder, his breathing evening out as they sat there, together in the quiet, broken pieces of their shared moment.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure if she was the one trying to save him—or if he was dragging her into the darkness with him.

The room was eerily silent when Aegon walked in this time. The familiar twitch in his leg was absent, the nervous energy that usually radiated off him replaced with something else—something that made Y/N’s skin prickle. His eyes were still as sharp as ever, but now they were focused. Too focused. He looked at her with an intensity that felt almost suffocating.

He sat down slowly, his movements no longer erratic but deliberate. He didn’t fidget, didn’t bite at his nails. Instead, he folded his hands neatly in his lap and leaned back in the chair, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Good morning, Aegon,” she greeted him cautiously, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice smoother than she was used to. Calm, almost unnervingly so. He looked... composed. For the first time since they started these sessions, he didn’t seem like a bomb waiting to go off. But something about that felt even more dangerous.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze still locked on hers. “Better,” he said softly. “Much better, actually.”

Y/N hesitated. “That’s good to hear. Do you want to talk about what’s been helping?”

Aegon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve found a new hobby,” he said, his voice almost too casual, like he was talking about something mundane. “Something to keep me... occupied.”

A ripple of unease washed over her. “What kind of hobby?”

Aegon nodded, his eyes gleaming with an odd sort of excitement. “I found this beautiful dove. Just… sitting there, all alone. She's perfect. White feathers, soft. You ever touch a dove before?”

“No,” Y/N said slowly, her stomach beginning to churn.

Aegon’s smile widened. “You should. They’re so fragile, you know? So delicate. It’s like… like holding something that could break if you squeeze too hard.” His fingers twitched, as if mimicking the act of squeezing. “I’ve been taking care of her. Watching her.”

Y/N nodded slowly, unsure where this was going but feeling an icy tendril of dread curl around her spine. “That sounds nice. Taking care of something can be a good way to—”

“I want to rip her wings off.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the casual cruelty in his tone sending a chill down her spine. Aegon’s expression hadn’t changed; he still wore that same unsettling smile.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

His eyes were bright now, shining with an eerie intensity. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. About how beautiful she is, but how much better it would be if she couldn’t fly away. If I could keep her with me, forever. If she couldn’t go anywhere else, just… mine.”

Y/N felt the bile rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, keeping her voice steady. “Aegon, that’s—”

“Isn’t that what love is?” he interrupted, his eyes wide, his expression so sincere, so disturbingly genuine. “You love something so much that you can’t stand the thought of it leaving. So you do whatever you have to, to make sure it stays. Even if that means taking something away. Like wings.”

“Aegon, that’s not—”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” he continued, his voice rising slightly with excitement, as if he had stumbled upon some great revelation. “Why should something so beautiful get to leave? Why should she get to fly away and leave me behind? She doesn’t need wings. She just needs me.”

Y/N felt the room closing in around her, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She had dealt with disturbed patients before, but this… this was different. Aegon wasn’t just unstable. He was dangerous. She could feel it in the air, in the way his gaze bore into her, in the way his words seemed to twist around her, suffocating her.

It had been two weeks since that conversation in her office, and Aegon had come to every session since. Something had shifted after that day—something subtle but unnerving.

The way he looked at her now, the way he lingered on her every movement, made Y/N feel more vulnerable than ever before.

“Morning, Aegon,” Y/N said, her voice steady but her pulse quickening slightly. She had grown used to reading him in subtle ways—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers would twitch against his leg, and that obsessive stare. But today, it felt heavier.

“Morning sweetheart,” he replied smoothly, his voice quiet but deliberate.

Y/N tried to proceed with the session as usual, asking him questions, probing his thoughts, but his answers were vague, almost detached, as if he wasn’t really interested in discussing himself anymore. He wasn’t playing the part of the tragic, self-destructive mess. He was... different.

“You seem a little more composed today,” Y/N commented, keeping her tone neutral. “How are you feeling about everything? Still feeling as empty as before?”

Aegon’s lips twitched into a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Empty? No, not so much anymore.” His gaze was fixed on her in a way that made the room feel smaller. “I’ve been... paying attention to other things lately. Other people.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Other people? What do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still glued to hers, but his body language more relaxed than usual. “You know, the people around me. The ones who matter. The ones who actually care.”

There was an implication in his words that sent a shiver down her spine. “And who do you think cares, Aegon?”

His smile widened, but it was the kind of smile that felt wrong, too intimate. “You do.”

Y/N blinked, trying to maintain her composure. She had to remind herself that she was the professional here, that this was her job, and she couldn’t let him get under her skin. But the way he was looking at her made it hard to breathe.

“I’m here to help you, yes,” she replied calmly. “That’s what therapy is about.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were studying her. “That’s not what I mean.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken again. “You care about me... in a different way.”

Y/N felt her skin prickle with unease. She forced herself to remain professional, to push through the growing discomfort. “Aegon, we’ve talked about this before. My role is to help you as your therapist. Nothing more.”

His smile didn’t falter. “You keep saying that, but we both know there’s more to it. I can see the way you look at me now. You’re not scared anymore. What you said. How you held me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You care.”

“I’m here to help,” she repeated firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Aegon didn’t say anything for a moment. He just watched her, his eyes tracking every movement, every flicker of emotion on her face. It was like he was dissecting her with his gaze, trying to pick her apart piece by piece.

Finally, he leaned forward slightly, his smile fading into something more serious. “You looked really good last night, by the way.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What?”

“In your pajamas,” he added, his voice casual, as if he were commenting on the weather. “The ones you wore when you made tea. Light blue, with the little lace trim. You really should wear those more often.”

For a moment, the world around her went silent. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Aegon was staring at her, unblinking, his expression disturbingly calm, like he had just complimented her on her shoes or her hair.

Her mind raced. How did he know? There was no way he could have seen her last night. Her apartment was on the third floor, and she lived alone. She had made tea before bed, just like every night, but how could he possibly know that?

“Aegon,” she began, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “What... what do you mean?”

He just smiled, that same disturbing smile that never quite reached his eyes. “I just think you looked nice, that’s all.”

The room felt like it was closing in on her, her skin crawling with the weight of his words. Her mind reeled, her heart hammering in her chest. How did he know what I was wearing last night?

Her breath came in shallow gasps, the panic rising in her throat as she tried to process the implications. Had he been watching her? Was he following her outside of their sessions? The thought sent a wave of nausea through her.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you talking about?”

But before he could answer, the soft chime of the clock signaled the end of their session. Aegon stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. He stretched, glancing at her with that same unsettling smile, and then made his way to the door.

“I guess we’ll have to pick this up next time,” he said casually, as if they had been discussing nothing more than the weather.

He paused at the door, turning back to look at her one last time, his eyes lingering on her with that same unnerving intensity. “See you soon, Y/N.”

And then he was gone, leaving Y/N alone in the room, her heart racing, her mind spinning with fear and uncertainty.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The air felt thick, suffocating, as the weight of his words sank in.

He was watching me.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 ��𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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tightjeansjavi · 10 months ago

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warm me up

A/N: the voices won this round! @strang3lov3 & @speckledemerald also, this was my first time writing game!joel 👀 this could also be show!joel if that's what you're into! This fic really got away from me today and I didn't think it would be nearly as long as I planned it to be..but that's just sometimes how things work out 😉 huge thank u to Bug for making me this cute lil mood board and I LOVE the deers!!🤍

~word count: 3.3k~

Summary: while on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

Pairing I game!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (explicit & implicit) enemies to lovers, implied age gap (non-specific) consent, cock warming, one sleeping bag trope, close proximity, using one's body warmth for survival, denial of feelings, mean!joel, grumpy!joel, reader is a spitfire and gets under Joel's skin easily, joel has a big cock! He is a big big man! teasing, banter, sexual tension, fluff, foul language, pet names: (darlin, sweetheart, and princess) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!

Joel is freezing, shaking like a goddamn leaf. It’s ironic, given his disposition. You should have tried to retrace your steps back to Jackson hours ago, but the winter was unforgiving, and the two of you have found yourselves in a real pickle; a frozen one.

“I told you that we were going to end up getting lost out here, Joel.” You grumble alongside him with your arms crossed over your chest. Your teeth are chattering, and it’s grinding his gears.

“We ain’t fuckin’ lost, sweetheart.” He gruffs back and adjusts his rifle strap along his shoulder. “I know where I’m goin.’”

You scoff at this because if he did know where he was going, you wouldn’t be fucking lost in a fucking blizzard right now!

“Right. I’m sure you do know where you’re going, Joel.” You mutter sarcastically under your breath.

He whips around to face you, cheeks speckled in red from the cold and even in the lowlight, you can see individual snowflakes sticking to his lashes.

“Alright, miss ‘I know everything.’ Which way do you think we should go?” He awaits your answer with a cocked brow and his lips pursed together. They’re severely cracked and on the verge of bleeding from the bitter cold.

“Not the direction we’re currently headed, that’s for damn sure! Let’s just fucking turn around and retrace our steps.” You bite back and watch the way that his jaw ticks from your tone. God, you’re a real thorn in this man’s side.

“Retrace our steps?” He laughs, shaking his head to the side and sucks in a harsh cold breath of air into his lungs. “The snow has covered up our tracks, you idiot.” He’s so fucking condescending, and you’ve just about had enough with his shit attitude for one day. Your blood is positively boiling under your thick layer of clothes, and you’d much rather succumb to Mother Nature and her wrath than spend another minute with this insufferable, annoying, mean, and painfully handsome man.

“Fuck you, Joel. I’m retracing my steps whether you have a say in it or not!” You snap and turn on your heel before you feel a rough, gloved-clad hand grasp your upper arm and yank you back towards a hard and very solid presence at your back.

“Quit your fuckin’ yappin!’” He barks against the shell of your ear. His voice is rasped, crackling like a roaring fire. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere without me, you got that?!” His grip around your arm only tightens when you tried to shove him away, but he’s built like a fucking steel fridge, and you’re no match for him.

“Then stop being a fucking asshole, Joel! I’d rather freeze to death out here than spend another minute with you!”

You mean every word. Well, you think that you do.

He sneers at your attempt to wound him with your words, as if a man with a heart made out of pure concrete can possibly be affected by the means of your figurative little daggers. They ricochet off his body and fall to the snow, disappearing under a sheet of white. “I wouldn’t have to be an asshole if you would just fuckin’ listen for once in your life! God, when we get back, and we will, I’m tellin’ Tommy that I ain’t ever goin’ on patrol with your ass again.”

His steel-like grip loosens when you don’t immediately bite back like he expects you too. He wants you to fight back, to call him names and send his own blood boiling because at least then he feels alive.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” You nearly whisper and bite down on the inside of your cheek, tasting harsh copper on your tongue.

“Fine.” He agrees and finally releases your arm. “We’re gonna wait out this damn storm for the night, and then tomorrow we’ll retrace our steps home. Who knows, sweetheart. Tommy might have already sent out a search party for us.”

“Let’s fucking hope that’s the case. The sooner this storm lets up, the better.” You think you’re going to cry, but you push your tears down as far as you possibly can. You have to conserve your energy, after all. Besides, Joel Miller isn’t worth your precious tears. Not even close.

He begins to survey the surrounding area. The woods offered some reliable cover with the thick evergreens acting as a shield from the treacherous wind. The snow is still falling in large flakes, but he might be able to get a fire going if he’s lucky.

“We should..probably y’know, share a sleepin’ bag for extra heat.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, feeling kinda silly in the moment because what did he have to be nervous for? His reasoning for sharing warmth was logical. It was just his survival instincts kicking in, right?

You, on the other hand, were unfazed by his request. Sure, it made perfect sense to share body heat with this man. Why the hell did he look so distraught over it - weirdo.

“Did Bear Grylls teach you that, Miller?” You look at him with a smirk playing on your lips. “If that’s the case, then we should probably sleep naked.”

That feeling that had laid dormant for so long, was beginning to reawaken and defrost at the thought of your warm, pliant, soft body being tucked up around him in close proximity. You were annoying, sure, and he could hardly tolerate your presence, but he couldn’t deny that you were a thing of beauty, and neither could his cock.

“No. Some reality TV star didn’t teach me the survival skills that I know, sweetheart. I’m jus’ that good.” He sounds cocky, full of himself and perhaps there’s a bit of eagerness detected in his tone? Maybe the dead giveaway is the way his cheeks flush, and this time it isn’t because of the cold.

You shrug and drop your pack and sleeping bag at your boots. “Whatever you say, Joel.”

He clears his throat and drops his hand from where it was resting against the back of his neck. He stares at you for a second longer than he would have liked to, and then announces that he’s going to go find some wood for a fire, and for you to stay put.

You wave him off and unroll your sleeping bag with a huff and begin to mentally question how the hell is this grizzly of a man going to fit inside of your sleeping bag? Oh well! Time to defy all the odds that have been stacked against you.

When Joel returns, he finds you already tucked away under the sleeping bag with your clothes neatly folded on top of your backpack. He managed to find a few fallen tree branches that would make good kindling, and some thicker logs for the base of the fire.

He avoids making direct eye contact with you as he crouches down and constructs a fire that he hopes to god will keep the two of you warm throughout the cold night ahead.

You already have taken notice of his suddenly quiet and almost docile demeanor with just your head visible and peeking out of the sleeping bag

“Are you sure that fire is going to last the night, Joel?”

His shoulders and back immediately tense from your question and you can already picture him clenching his jaw and muttering under his breath.

“Ain’t no tellin’ if it will last the night, sweetheart.” He stokes at the ember glowing logs with the end of a spare stick before looking over his shoulder at you. “Y’comfy in there?” His voice rasps, dipping down an octave and sounding much, much, lower.

“Yep.” You chirp. “Nice and cozy in here, Joel. Did I mention it’s very, very warm?”

He snorts under his breath, tearing his gaze away from you and focuses back on the fire. “Yeah. I bet it is.”

What you really want to say is: and it would be even warmer if you were here with me. But you refrain, and instead bury your face further into the contained warmth emitting from the sleeping bag.

Joel is hesitating, and that part couldn’t be anymore obvious based on his tense stature. Maybe he could just accept losing feeling in his fingers and toes instead of crossing that boundary with you. Or, he could man up and deal with the immediate feelings that would come as soon as his hands would inevitably touch your warm skin.

“Joel?”

Your voice tears him away from his thoughts briefly. “Hm?”

“Aren’t you..cold?”

Freezing. My cock and balls are about to fuckin’ fall off.

“M’fine.” He insists.

“So goddamn stubborn.” He hears you mutter under your breath followed by the sound of the sleeping bag zipper being pulled down. “Get in here before you freeze to death. I’m serious, Joel.”

“Fuck off. I said m’fine.” He grumbles and turns over his shoulder to look at you once more. His eyes catch a sliver of skin, a nipple peeking out from under the fabric as you were sitting up. His head whips around so fast he swears that his brain just got rattled around in his skull.

“Would you just be a fucking man and take your clothes off and get in here?”

So impatient, he thinks.

“You jus’ wanna see me naked.” He quips back.

“For fuck sakes, Joel. I just don’t want you to freeze out here. Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes.

“Jus’..don’t peek. Alright?” He slowly stands up from his place alongside the fire as he starts to shuck his heavy coat off his shoulders.

“Fine. I won’t peek, okay? Scouts honor.” You promise him and bring your hand over your eyes to cover them.

He’s grumbling to himself the whole time as he begins to undress. He bitches about the cold, his cock, and his nearly frozen toes as you listen quietly to the sound of his belt buckle being undone. He does not fold his clothes neatly like you did and instead they are left in a pile near the fire. He dashes for your sleeping bag, yanking the zipper down in a fury and climbs inside.

It’s a tight fit indeed with barely any room for him to squeeze in but he makes it work.

“Fuck!” His yell is muffled as he struggles to make himself comfortable in what little space he has. “Fuckin’ cannot believe I actually listened to you.” He rubs his hands together, blowing hot air between them.

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.” You stifle a laugh which earns you a displeased glare. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you just would have—”

“Do not start with me, sweetheart. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” His brows furrow and his jaw is clenched so tightly, you’re shocked that it hasn’t shattered.

“You’re all bark and no bite, Joel.” You mutter back and roll over onto your side so your back is facing him. You close your eyes and fully intend to get some much needed and deserved sleep, but the man beside you is squirming and making a big fuss.

“Darlin’ I know you ain’t want anythin’ to do with a man like me, but it was your idea for us to get naked under here..so all I’m askin’ is—”

“Just do whatever it is you need to do, Joel. Can you just be quiet about it? All I want to do right now is sleep, and your fussing about is making that really fucking difficult for me to achieve.” You snap.

“Are you givin’ me permission, sweetheart? Cus’ the last thing I want is for you to bite my damn fingers off if I touch you. So as long as it’s alright with you..” he trails off and you take matters into your own hands by reaching behind you and finding his cold hands and yanking them around your body. You couldn’t help but yelp from the stark difference of temperature from your body heat to his hands.

“You’re fucking freezing, Joel.” You state the obvious and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I didn’t exactly have time to warm them up, sweetheart. My apologies that my hands aren’t at the right temperature for ya.” You think you hear him snicker under his breath, but maybe it’s just his close proximity that makes you hear things.

“Whatever. It’s fine.” You reassure him.

His hands are big, huge, and the skin on his palms and fingers are rough. The feeling overall is quite pleasant, and soon enough his hands don’t feel like an ice block - quite the opposite actually.

He grunts softly as attempts to make himself comfortable without pressing himself into your back. It’s proving to be a challenge as it is, and he has this feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, that this challenge is going to get the best of him.

“What’s wrong now, Joel?” You try to ignore the way his thumbs are gently stroking the space between the curve of your breasts and under your rib cage, and how his touch on your skin is beginning to light a fire in your belly, and between your thighs. His touch is gentle and it’s making your head spin with need and desire.

“I jus’—I don’t wanna make y’feel uncomfortable s’all.” He admits, voice rasping deeply. “I’m fuckin’ freezin’, darlin’ but I don’t wanna—”

“Just shut up and stick your dick in me, Joel. You’ll be warmer then.” You surprise both yourself and him.

His meaty palms squeeze you gently, fingertips kneading the flesh as he inhales a shaky, yet audible breath. The tight confines of your shared sleeping bag suddenly feel ten times tighter, and hotter. It’s suffocating in a delicious sense that you and Joel are stuck here together in this rather..unfortunate situation. You hate him, and he hates you, yet the thought of his thick cock nestling between your thighs sounds like absolute heaven on a plate right now.

Joel thinks he’s on the verge of passing out from your vulgar statement. It’s been god knows how long since he’s felt the warmth of a woman’s body around his cock. It’s been too goddamn long, he thinks.

“..well, if you’re askin.’” He whispers as his hands maneuver your body to press back against him. One strong arm anchors itself around your waist, engaging you in a warm hold when you feel his hard, broad chest pressing against your back. You haven’t even seen his cock, yet you already can tell that he’s big. The word big might not even be able to describe the massive size that is Joel Miller.

“This doesn’t mean anything. Right, Joel?” You ask through the thick growing tension that coils itself around you and the burly man beside you like a snake.

“Doesn’t mean nothin’ at all, sweetheart. Jus’ sharin’ body heat for survival, like you said.” He rasps and blows a hot puff of air against the back of your neck as his strong thighs wrap around your own. Even this man’s feet are fucking huge in every sense.

Y’know what they say about big feet? An even bigger—heart. I was going to say heart.

“Okay.” You squeak out as you relax further into his hold around you.

“Can you jus’ let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point? Cus’ if that’s the case, I’ll slip right out. No questions asked, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his apparent nervousness. It was sweet, in a Joel-like fashion. Hell must have frozen over right then and there because the Joel you had grown so accustomed to, was anything but sweet.

“Wow. You sure know how to romance a lady up, Miller. Did Tommy teach you how to do that?” You couldn’t help but wiggle your ass back against him. The thought of reaching down between your thighs and touching yourself crossed your mind, but you refrained.

He laughed, and it sent a wave of arousal gushing like a river because his laugh was beautiful. It was music to your fucking ears.

“Shut the fuck up.” His teeth grazed at the spot where your neck meets your jaw. He bit down, drawing blood to the surface of his indentation in your skin. “I taught Tommy everythin’ he needs to know on romancin’ a woman. Don’t get it twisted, sweetheart.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, big boy.” You nearly purred. Your back arched towards him, a suppressed moan desperate to be set free when his teeth marked you.

“I think someone is a bit too eager over this whole arrangement that we have found ourselves in.” He comments in a low rasp and his hand drifts down from your hip and nudges your thighs apart with a practiced ease. His heavy cock pressed firmly against your lower back as he let out another praising grunt from between his lips.

“Stop playing with me, Joel. I don’t want to be played with.” You hiss under your breath when you feel the backside of his knuckles slowly drag through the seam of your cunt.

“Y’sure about that, sweetheart? If you don’t wanna be played with, then what do you want?”

Frankly, he’s taking too long for your liking and you decided then and there to take matters into your own hands; literally. You reach between your bodies before he even has a chance to protest as you blindly search for his cock. Your warm palm barely fits around the girth of him.

“I want you to take your cock and stretch me open, Joel. Think you can handle that? Best not keep a lady waiting. It’s awfully rude.” You tsk under your breath.

He growls as his hips buck upwards into your hand like he’s never felt the touch of a woman’s palm before in his life.

“Fine. I like a woman that knows exactly what she wants, anyway. Won’t keep ya waitin’ any longer, princess.”

Joel Miller is a man of his word and just when you think he’s bluffing, you feel the thick press of the head of his cock sliding through your slick folds and notching at your entrance.

He groans against your ear, jaw clenching, and teeth grinding because you’re tight and hugging him like a fucking fist.

“Jesus fuck. That’s a tight cunt if I’ve ever felt one.” He rasps as you slowly pull him in further at the rate that he pushes his hips. Soon, he’s bottomed out with his hips firmly pressed into your ass. His legs stay tangled through yours as his arms come to wrap you up in his hold once more.

“Fuck.” You breathe, lashes fluttering as he stretches you open. He fits snuggly, almost as if your pussy was making a home for his cock to stay there awhile, all cozy and warm with you. “See? Was that so fucking difficult?”

He shakes his head and you swear you can feel him grinning against your skin. “Nope. It wasn’t difficult at all, sweetheart. In fact, I think I’ll stay here awhile.” Yeah, he’s definitely enjoying this.

You smile at this, burying your face into the solid muscle of his bicep, pressing the lightest kiss there. Maybe you even nibbled on it, and maybe he chuckled and pulled you in even closer.

“Stay as long as you’d please, Joel.” You whisper softly.

Come morning the embers from the fire had long since died out, and the storm had since passed. You and Joel were still a bunch of tangled limbs and connected warmth by the time Tommy and the rest of patrol had found you.

Joel had since grown soft with his cock still buried deep within your warmth and his face was buried in your neck with peaceful snores slipping past his plush lips. His eyes barely peeked open when he heard familiar voices muffled, yet nearby. Tommy had just brushed a bit of snow off the top of the sleeping bag and pulled the zipper down when he was met with a sight that he wasn’t expecting.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He chuckled and shot his big brother a cheeky wink.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications!

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tsumuus · 3 months ago

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bakugou with a s/o who’s love language is physical touch

Being in a relationship with Bakugou Katsuki was like navigating a storm. His intensity, sharp tongue, and aversion to most things mushy or sentimental were well-known, and you had learned to adapt to his ways over time. You knew he wasn’t one for touchy displays of affection; in fact, you were more than aware of his discomfort when people got too close. It was just who he was- a man who cherished his personal space, who communicated more with his actions and words than through physical touch.

But physical touch was your love language. It was how you expressed affection, comfort, and care. A gentle brush of fingers, a soft hug from behind, or even just holding hands- it made you feel connected, loved. Yet, for the sake of Katsuki, you always held back, afraid to push boundaries, afraid that your touch might feel like an intrusion rather than a comfort. You understood him, respected his space, and never wanted to make him uncomfortable, even if that meant stifling your natural instincts.

Still, there were times when the need to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, became overwhelming. On those days, you settled for brushing your arm against his, or leaning your head on his shoulder for a brief moment before pulling away. You told yourself it was enough. But sometimes, you longed for more.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was more perceptive than he let on. He noticed the way your hand hesitated before reaching for his, the way you quickly pulled away after a brief touch, the way your shoulders slumped ever so slightly when he moved away too quickly. He knew you were holding back, that you were trying not to burden him with your need for physical affection.

And damn it, it made him feel like an idiot.

He wasn’t blind to how much you loved him, nor was he oblivious to how you expressed that love. You were all soft touches and warm embraces, while he was all rough edges and biting remarks. It was an odd combination, but it worked. Still, the thought of you feeling like you had to restrain yourself for his sake left a bitter taste in his mouth.

One evening, after a particularly long day of training, the two of you were lounging on the couch, the quiet hum of the television filling the room. You were curled up on one end, a safe distance away from him, your hands tucked under your legs as if you were trying to keep them from reaching out. Katsuki, for once, wasn’t in the mood for distance.

He shifted closer to you, making you glance up in surprise. Without a word, he reached out, his hand finding yours and pulling it from under your legs. His grip was firm but not rough, his fingers intertwining with yours as he tugged you toward him.

“Katsuki?” You questioned softly, uncertain of his intentions.

“Come here,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against his side. It was uncharacteristic of him, this sudden display of affection, but you didn’t protest. Instead, you let yourself melt into his warmth, your heart pounding in your chest as you rested your head against his shoulder.

His touch was hesitant at first, almost awkward as if he was unsure of how to navigate this. But then, as he felt you relax against him, he allowed himself to do the same. His arm around your waist tightened slightly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your hand, still held in his, was brought up to rest against his chest, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles.

“You don’t have to hold back, you know,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “You wanna touch me, then touch me. I don’t care.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. It wasn’t often that Katsuki was this straightforward about his feelings. You knew he cared, knew he loved you, but he rarely expressed it so openly.

“Are you sure?” you asked, still hesitant despite his words.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied, his tone slightly irritated, but you could hear the underlying softness in it. “You think I don’t notice when you pull away? I’m not a damn idiot. I know you need this.”

You bit your lip, your eyes stinging with unshed tears as you squeezed his hand. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

“You don’t,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “It’s just… different with you, okay? I’m not used to it, but… I don’t hate it. I kinda like it, actually. So stop holdin’ back.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, warmth flooding your chest as you leaned up to press a soft kiss against his jaw. “Thank you, Katsuki.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck, and it only made your smile widen. You knew he wasn’t the type to initiate touch often, and you never expected him to be. But knowing that he was willing to make this effort for you, that he was willing to let you in just a little bit more, made your heart swell with love for him.

You snuggled closer to him, your free hand reaching up to run through his hair, and this time, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a contented sigh, his eyes closing as he relaxed against you.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was more than enough.

masterlist

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milfsloverblog · 3 months ago

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Good Luck, Babe! (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: I know, I know. I’ve got series waiting for an update blah blah blah. But when something sparks your inspiration, you just got to get to work!! This one’s - obviously - inspired by the Chappell Roan song. This is full on ANGST, HURT NOT COMFORT, you’ve been warned! One shot, no second chapter to fix it all. We love the pain. Hope you’ll enjoy my darlings and don’t forget to like and reblog if you do!! <3

Larissa had been startled awake by a sudden loud noise, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom she shared with the banshee that slept next to her.

Not a literal one - although that might have been a better choice, Larissa thought as she turned her head towards the man she’d been sharing a bed with for over a decade and nearly two. Ha, there it was again. That loud snoring that kept her awake for nights on end. A banshee, that’s what he sounded like.

She sat up, carefully swinging her legs on the side of the bed and trying her best not to wake him up - somehow the snoring was still more bearable than his incessant yapping when he was awake.

Larissa took a deep breath, rubbing her hands on her face as she contemplated what to do with the rest of her night. She had a little over four hours left of sleep before her alarm would go off, signifying the beginning of her working day. She brushed her fingers through her silver hair, holding back a whine when some of it got stuck in her wedding ring.

Oh bitter irony, she thought as she pulled away to inspect the golden ring on her left hand.

The banshee snored again, pulling Larissa out of her thoughts and nearly making her consider squeezing a pillow on her husband’s face. Instead, she quietly got out of bed, throwing a silky robe on her silkier shoulders and tying it close as a shiver ran down her spine.

Things could have been so different.

As her hand brushed down the wooden handrails of the main stairs, Larissa couldn’t help but reminisce about her younger days. She thought of Nevermore when she was only a student there and not in charge of it. The Poe cup, the Rave’N, the feeling of soft hands on her skin. Larissa stopped dead in her tracks. She could have sworn that she had felt it, right there in the middle of the staircase, the ghost of soft hands on her midriff. She took a deep breath and hurried down the stairs on the tip of her toes, still not wanting to wake up the banshee that rested upstairs.

Turning the light on as she made her way to the kitchen, Larissa walked straight to the sink and knelt to access the cupboard below it. She didn’t even look at the bottles, grabbing the first one that met her hand and pulling it out of the cupboard. It would be a good one anyway, her darling husband always made sure of it. Grand wine, grand house (that she had been against buying), grand life, grand wife. The thought left a bitter taste in Larissa’s mouth and she hurried to open the bottle, eager to replace the bitterness of a wasted life with the bitter taste of an aged Chianti.

As she sipped on her freshly poured wine, Larissa’s mind transported her back to a night twenty years ago.

“They’ll catch us!” Larissa half-whispered as her hand squeezed yours.

“Everyone’s at the Rave’N, they won’t even notice we’re gone. Come on, even if they did, Nevermore’s brightest student and its biggest weirdo? No one would speculate that we’re together. They’ll think that you went to bed early, as a bright student should, and that I’m hiding in some dark corner all alone like a loser.” You joked, pushing the door to your room open.

“I’m not Nevermore’s brightest student, Morticia is,” Larissa said, her crimson-painted lips falling in a soft pout.

“Ha, so nothing about me not being a weirdo or a loser?” You feigned being hurt before letting out a chuckle. “Morticia doesn’t have half of your intelligence nor a quarter of your beauty. She’s got a big pair of tits, that’s all.” You shrugged, closing the door behind you.

Something churned inside Larissa’s stomach, the early stirrings of jealousy making her face grow hot at the mere thought of you finding Morticia somewhat attractive.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

“Wait, I’ve got something-“You didn’t have time to finish your sentence as Larissa's lips crashed against yours, bruising and demanding.

Larissa opened her mouth and you quickly followed, allowing her to thrust her tongue against yours in a dance you two had been rehearsing for months. Her lips moved down your chin and up your jaw, leaving a trail of red marks that you’d have to scrub at in the morning.

“Riss-“ you whined when she nipped at the thin skin of your neck, gently pulling away from her. “Wait, wait-“

Larissa reluctantly let go of you, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb and clearing her throat.

“I want to take my time,” you explained. “We always do this so quickly, most of the time I can’t even get you fully naked. Let’s take our time, everyone will be busy downstairs for another couple of hours.”

Larissa pushed a small smile and nodded. She sat down on your bed and watched as you pulled something from underneath it.

“How on earth did you get that?!” She squealed, nearly ripping the green bottle from your hand.

“Borrowed it from the kitchen,” you shrugged.

“You know that borrowing means you’ll give it back at some point, right?” Larissa mumbled as she read the tag on the bottle.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll buy some cheap bottle from the supermarket downtown and put it back in the kitchen.”

Larissa let out a snorting laugh and shook her head.

“Do you even know how much this is worth?” She said, gesturing with the bottle in her hand.

“Now don’t be rude,” you raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one that comes from a rich family, not me.”

“Shut up and pour us a glass, if you have anything to open the bottle with!” Larissa pouted. You knew she hated being reminded that she came from money, but it simply was the truth.

“Who do you take me for, a rookie?” You huffed as you opened your bedside table only to pull out a bottle opener and wave it victoriously in Larissa’s face, making her laugh.

What happened next was a little blurry in Larissa’s mind. She remembered sharing the wine, drinking straight from the bottle as you laughed about everything and nothing. She remembered spilling wine on the awfully expensive gown her father had bought her for the Rave’N, and then soft hands helping her out of it. Her head between your thighs, yours between hers. She remembered falling asleep in your arms and waking up still in your arms the next morning. And that had been the breaking point for Larissa. Her parents would never agree to this, to her having this sort of feelings for women, for you. She had to nip this in the bud before it went too far. And so she did.

Larissa made sure to avoid you like the plague after that night, going as far as becoming friends with Morticia Frump and her clique even though she knew how much you disliked them. And then came Henry. He wasn’t Larissa’s type, obviously. But he would please her parents and so she let him court her until they officially became a thing. Then everything had gone so fast, her final year at Nevermore, the graduation, Henry proposing.

“Larissa!” You ran after her inside Nevermore after witnessing Henry’s proposal in the yard. What a dick move, proposing right after she had graduated. Nice way to steal her spotlight.

Larissa spun on her heels, fidgeting with the new ring that felt unfamiliar on her left hand.

“What do you want?” She sighed, trying her best to keep her eyes off of you.

“You can’t do that,” you said, shaking your head. “You can’t marry him, you don’t even love him! Larissa, please…”

“Please what?” Larissa snapped. “What did you think? That this fling we had would turn into more than it was? Don’t be ridiculous.”

You swallowed your pain, refusing to let your heart burst at the seam.

“When you wake up next to him in a decade or two,” you said, fighting against the lump in your throat. “And you’ll realise that you’re nothing more than his wife, you’ll think of me. You’ll think of everything we shared all of those years ago.“

It was Larissa’s turn to swallow thickly as she took in your words. Marrying him meant security, a normal life. But it also meant losing her freedom, Larissa knew that.

“Say something,” you pleaded, hoping that it would be enough for your ex-lover to change her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she simply replied, holding her head high as she always did in any situation - good or bad. “You knew this would come to an end.” She added before giving a small nod and walking past you, the sound of her kitten heels echoing down the corridor.

She hadn’t seen you since. You hadn’t replied to the wedding invite she had sent. She had hoped you’d show up, she’d hoped to prove to you that she had made the right choice. That she was happy in the life she had picked for herself. That she had moved on. But she hadn’t really moved on, had she? Drinking herself half-blind almost two decades after she’d last seen you. Maybe you had moved on. Surely you had.

When Larissa was pulled back to reality, to the empty kitchen and the emptier glass of wine in her hand, tears had started running down her cheeks which she hastily wiped away.

She had thought about reaching out more times than she would ever admit. But she never dared. Not when she had found your Facebook and you seemed so happy with that woman on your profile picture. She would never dare reach out to you for she knew that you would tell her what you always did whenever she had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

I told you so, Larissa. You know I hate to say it but I told you so.

And Larissa wished, she wished she had listened to you. She wished she could go back in time and she wished she could forget you.

But Larissa knew - she would have to stop the world to stop the feeling.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic, @im-a-carnivorous-plant, @dingdongthetail, @azu-zu, @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld , @niceminipotato , @agathaandgwenslesbian, @witchesmortuary , @notmeellaannyy , @gwenilover, @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @vigelvictoria, @fictionalized-lesbian , @weems13 , @lynn1ebug, @ness029 , @geekyarmorel , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr , @winterfireblond , @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @spacetoaim22 @1-800-milfdilf @vendocrap8008 @opalthefrog @jkregal l @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @raya0jpg @xuukoo @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @dumbasslesbi @larissaoftarthweems @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @thesamesweetie @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @franouo @mysteriouslysapphic @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #no beta we die like larissa #larissa weems x y/n

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girlwiththoughts13 · 4 months ago

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No place for a Dragon

Aemond Targaryen x F!reader

Warnings: Targ-cest/ smut!

Word count: 1k

~~~~~

The cold winds and bitter snow that dust over your skin feels far more harsh against the heat your body naturally emits. The frigid temperatures of Winterfell is no place for a dragon. The thought of remaining here until the ends of your days is more frightening than the prospect of marriage. For the lord stark is a kind and honorable man, that rarity alone makes your dreadful thoughts gently fade.

Despite this union being an arranged one-all to strengthen the north as a ally for your mother Rhaenrya- Cregan Stark had done his best the last 2 sennights of your residence in the foreboding halls to quail your concerns of a loveless marriage. He vowed to aways be faithful, and in time, come to love you as deeply as a man loves a woman.

There was no doubt you would preform your duties and give the wolf of the north your companionship, your body, and your name, but your heart was not as compliant.

It's not that you didn't find him attractive or kind or all the things a lady would hope for in a future husband; however your heart simply did not beat, at his more than adequate attributes.

How you wished to rip put your own heart, tear it asunder and remold it to fit the lord stark. He may speak true, as the years come love will grow.

In the main Hall of the keep you clutch onto the furs wrapped around your shoulders and await to meet the kinslayer himself. It has been long since you set your eyes upon your uncle. It seems he is still as brazen as ever, showing up to a house that went against Aegon's claim and alone at that. You wondered what was crossing through his mind. Did he think to take on the soldiers on his own? Even vhagar would not be able to defeat thousands of angry northern men.

Regardless of the trap you suspected, if able, capturing the second son of the whore Queen would be a feat for your side.

Lord stark stood beside you, jaw set and hand tightened around his sword. You could feel his eyes move to the side of your face, no doubt blaming you for the arrival of the man with the largest dragon in the known world.

Continuing to stare straight you decide to break the thick silence. "Will you turn me in to save your house?" The worry has set in your thoughts since the circling of the monstrous beast was spotted. Aemond surely is not here to discuss the notion of peace.

"Do you think so low of me?" You finally meet his gaze and find nothing short of offense, Starks were no oath breakers, to be accused by his betrothed of all people, made him believe he was not doing enough for you or the war efforts.

Before you could answer, the large wooden doors creaked open snapping your stare to the approaching men.

Four men surrounded the dragon prince as they walked, ensuring he did not try to assassinate there liege lord or their princess.

When the men came to a halt your betrothed stepped forward shielding you from view.

"I'd say I admire your boldness but I believe it's just stupidity that has lead you to my lands" Cregan spoke with clear distain and although his back was to you, you know his face is just as thunderous.

"I had to see for myself if the rumors were true, my dear niece being sold off. Tell me Lord Stark has she spread her legs for you yet? If she's anything like her mother then I suppose that answers that." Aemond speaks with a cruel tone and a smirk that never falters splayed across his face. The allegations against you and your mother, wretches a small gasp from your lips.

"How dare you, come here, dishonor Lord Stark and spew vile insults toward my mother the Queen and her daughter? I could have your head for that, send it to your bitch of a mother" The sudden sound of your voice and the threat against his mother struck a nerve if the hard-set in his eye was anything to go by.

"Nyke gōntan daor māzigon kesīr naejot vīlībagon nyke jorrāelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda ao mērī" I did not come here to fight I need to speak with you, alone. His switch to your mother tongue was a obvious slight to Cregan, but you had not time to dwell on that, not when he was asking the impossible of you.

You did not give him the satisfaction of answering him in your native language. "Do you think I'd go anywhere with you alone? So that you may slit my throat or worse take me to the red keep as a hostage of the usurpers?"

"Give me one reason not to string you up? Or send you to the Dragon Queen?" Cregan obviously had picked up on Aemond's intentions and had begun to reach his limits of his presence.

The sinister smile returned on Aemond's face, making your blood run cold, knowing his hand was about to be revealed. "You're right. You could kill me right now or keep me as a prisoner, but not before Vhager burns this entire castle to the ground. I am prepared to meet my maker, are you Lord Stark?"

The Lord of Winterfell goes to rebuttal such a threat but Aemond continues. "Or, niece, we could have civil conversation, after which I promise to return you to your pup."

You step around Cregan, prompting him to reach his hand out to stop you from advancing. He gives you a pointed look, one you return.

You place your hand atop his to soothe his worries. You lean up to his ear and he angles his face down to meet yours. "I'll be okay, your house shouldn't suffer over a mere denial of conversation" The whisper of your voice reaches him and only him. You pull away to show your resolve leaning up once more to press a firm kiss on his cheek. Squeezing his arm as you pass.

Reaching Aemond he holds out his own arm to you, one you ignore. He lets out a chuckle and gives his head a light shake.

As you walk Aemond tells you of a cottage he happened upon, a near by place he had left Vhagar awaiting his return. Although you hate the idea of leaving the safety of Winterfell grounds, Aemond will not budge to a private audience in your quarters, therefore you walk silently beside him.

You stop walking when you both reach the door of the quaint cottage. Vhagar a little off to the side puffing out hot air, that reaches you from where you stand. He looks back at you with amusement. "Scared niece?"

Donning a smirk of your own you proceed onward aware of the mistake you were making and finding you did not care at all.

"Ohh.. Fuck!" The moans run out of your open mouth as your slammed up and down on Aemond's cock in rapid motions. The echo of your skins clapping together Is heard throughout the small space and should any one happen to find themselves taking a stroll near the grounds would surely hear the raptures of your pure pleasure.

Aemond latches onto your bouncing tit, suckling at your nipple and bringing a hand to knead the other. His free hand that rested upon your lower back, reaches up to take a strong hold on the back of your head, yanking the sliver tresses back from where you hidden your head in the crook of his neck.

He moves his feet to root them to the ground, to meet your thrust, your rhythm restrained by the small chair you ride him on.

"Does your pup still believe you a maiden?" His thrust growing harsher at the mention of your intended. "Does he know I've ruined you? Gotten deep inside this tight cunt and imprinted my name on the mouth of your womb?" It is a wonder he speaks as if not strained from supporting your weight atop him and the excursion of fucking up into you.

There is no desire within you to answer. You wish to forget of the realities of the outside world and be here and now. Feeling his warm skin on yours creating fire that stokes you completely alight. This will be the last time you lay together the war of fire and blood rearing its rotten head. You realize that was the reason for this. Showing up and demanding an audience with you. Risking his life for one more night with his princess, his niece, his love.

You place one small palm on his mouth to stop more vulgarness from spewing out. "Just shut up and fuck me harder, unless the dragon would like to yield to the wolf?" Aemond lets out a growl and winds his arms around you, standing to his full height with you in his arms. He manages to stay inside you as he walks you to the near by table. When he sets you down he pushes down on your stomach to lay your back flat against it,

The way he was fucking you earlier has nothing on the way he pounded into you now, practically embedding your skin in the oak of the table. Aemond has one hand on your hip and the other comes up to wrap tightly around your throat cutting off your air immediately. Your hand grabs his wrist but you make no attempt to free yourself from his grasp. Despite the circumstances there is no fear in your body, instead you find hot arousal, one that makes your already wet cunt gush more liquid at the base of his cock.

"My, my, look at this, what a sight" You glance up at him, his eye trained directly on the place where his cock disappears within you.

His deft fingers circle up to your clit and that is your undoing, your legs shake from around his waist and your back arches up, head thrown back, a loud moan tearing through you.

Aemond lifts you up to him, from the gap you made when your back raised off the table. Your head falls on his shoulder, limp from being throughly sated. Gone are the precise thrusts, replaced by quick hard shoves inside you, desperate to reach his peak. Once more he tugs your head back and kisses you deeply passionately, It remind you of when you were children, ignored by your elders and seeking love in each other. Kisses hidden beneath the blanket of darkness.

Aemond's stills and groans quietly as his seed fills you to the very end of you and there is a small part of you that hopes it takes root, so that you may have a piece of him always, even when he is gone.

"I love you" You both whisper, low as if you will be strike down by all the gods if heard.

Mayhap's you have already been scorned by their fury.

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen

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ymechi · 1 year ago

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The hidden creator

I had a plot bunny idea

TW: usual cult stuff, hints of yandere

-gn reader (I tried making it gender-neutral if there is a comment that is off please tell me and I will fix it)

EDIT: 14/11/2023 (changed some wording and other stuff nothing major)

Creator Reader Pov:

-You were just a regular person who one day woke up in Teyvat out of all places

-You realized you still had all your game features and figured it was one of the perks of being isekaied like in other isekai stories

-The whole thing is weird and why you were here, you had no idea

-After the novelty wears off you take some time mourning the loss of your previous life and the people you knew

-After that you try to get a semblance of a normal life like getting a job and trying to be independent

-Despite having a game system you do not want to be an adventurer or learn how to fight it's not for you

-You were previously an average civilian and raised as one it would be hard to become a fighter now

-Instead you gravitated towards creating things, you found an apprentice position in a clockwork shop in Fontaine

-It is fun and you get to tinker with gears and clocks, learning how various machines work and how to create your own items

-overall you are content

-Except weird people occasionally come by the shop you work at including the Iudex of Fontaine which had both you and the shopkeeper sweating the first few times

-Yet the man who insisted you call him by his name Neuvilette is really polite and nice to talk to, soon you warmed up to him

-You could not help the feeling as if you knew him from before, as if you forgot something, you were unusually fond of him.

-Your other "clients" if you could call them that were more intimidating, you had no idea what they were doing in this shop and it scared you

-The Fatui Harbringers occasionally stopped by the shop to buy a trinket or two before leaving, it honestly scared you and the thaught of running away to another nation had crossed your mind once or twice yet you liked your job and your boss and you made some good friends here so it was hard to leave

-Overall you were doing okay

-Except it seems the people here almost in a cult-like manner worship a creator that was never in the game lore

-It is said they resided in Celestia and not many people actually got to see them, not that it mattered for a nobody like you

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

Tsaritsa Pov:

-The Tsaritsa knew their so called creator was fake

-She knew she had to get rid of the fake creator as they and Celestia had caused irreparable damage

-Even if she had to stain her hands

-One day it happened something shifted in the earth, air, water- no the whole of Teyvat

-It happened so softly like a small snowflake landing on the ground

-She was hypnotized as if a siren was beckoning her she found you.

-You were their true creator

-You were wearing apprenticeship clothes tinkering with something in your hands and deeply concentrated

-She wondered if that is how you created the universe with careful and steady hands guiding and shaping it to your will.

-She wanted to take you away from this. . . small shop, yet she knew begrudgingly you were safe here, if anyone were to find out a sliver of your existence. . .

-You were safer hidden among mortals

-It left a bitter taste in her mouth

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

Neuvilette Pov

-It just happened one day, out of the blue, he could feel it in the shift of the waters

-The way Furina shifted and turned her head unable to sit still confirmed he was not the only one feeling this

-Something happened and he had no idea what exactly happened

-There was this familiar presence this comforting feeling, ancient old instincts waking up

-He followed it without thought until he came upon an in inconspicuous clockwork shop

-He was confused but did not hesitate to step inside

-Then he saw you and everything clicked

-It was you his creator his universe his everything

-You were back

-It seems in this incarnation you were just a human

-That was fine he was oaky with that as long as you were here

-His heart ached seeing you

-He wanted to hug and ask you to never leave again to always stay by his side, for you to comfort him after what had happened and console him

-He should take you way somewhere safer somewhere better not here-

-But weren't you safer hiding among mortals, a part of his mind whispered, no one would suspect you being here even the fake (he cursed them) would not think of finding you here, if he brought you back with him it would create more attention on you

-Attention that would cause you trouble

-He left with defeat on his steps

-It was later he would met the Tsaritsa and a deal was struck

-All for your sake

#genshin impact #sagau #self aware au #self aware genshin #neuvillette #the tsaritsa #fatui harbringers #fatui #cult au #slight yandere #I am too lazy to proofread it right now sorry for any mistakes #this was just some random idea tbh #the creator reader has no idea they are the creator they just wana tinker with clockworks #neuvilette genshin #when will we get more Tsaritsa lore mihoyo plz-#would you guys think that Pantalone would buy out the whole stock whenever it is his turn to visit?

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beetlejuicyy · 5 months ago

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based on Hashira Training Arc ep. 5; I can't get this week's episode off my mind

w/c: 1.1k

find me on AO3 | masterlist

divider @enanet

summary: As Sanemi's wife, you try not to intervene in his relationship with his little brother. However, he had crossed the line this time.

Sanemi's favorite moment of the day was exactly now, during these two short hours at sunset, right after dinner. His day was full of training the demon slayer corps while his night was dedicated to his own training, fighting fellow hashira. That left exactly two hours in between for you, his wife. You were gone for most of the day lately, since training so many people was turning his yard into a battlefield, loud and dirty. You also knew he was rather harsh in his teachings, so it was best to give him space to do his duty while minding your own business.

"What's wrong with you?" Sanemi finally asked when you refused to let him lay his head on your lap.

It was the usual unwinding ritual of his day, eat your delicious food and relax under your touch, his features softened, his voice gentle, his touch careful and loving. But today you seemed cold. He tried to ignore all the signs until you put a book in your lap, just as he was sitting down next to you on the porch. This was Sanemi's last straw.

"What is wrong with you?!" You've never been this angry with him, at least you've never showed it so far. After the terrible day he had this was the last thing he needed, a moody wife.

"You're the one barely talking." Sanemi pointed out. He picked the book from your lap and put it away, annoyed. "You're the one choosing a stupid book instead of your husband."

"How was training today, Sanemi?" You asked, at last. It was the first question you asked him everyday, although the tone was different now. Accusing, angry and patronizing.

"Thanks for asking." He inssisted on expressing his bitterness before answering. "It was great."

"Was the part where you almost blinded your little brother for life great?"

Shock took over your husband's appearance, as his eyes widened, his hand frozen in the air, not daring to touch you anymore. You never got into their fights. Fight was a word not so suited for their relationship anyway. You tried to understand that Sanemi's behaviour was rooted in his own trauma while still trying to console and protect Genya as much as you could. But today, when Tanjiro of all people approached you on your way back home to tell you, you couldn't withstand it any longer.

"So the brat finally started snitching on me?"

The weight of your palm would have left a large red spot on his cheek if Sanemi wouldn't have swiftly caught your wrist when you almost slapped him. Tears were blurring your vision but you didn't want to let them fall. So you yanked your hand away from his grip, sniffing and trying to hold them back. Your husband had no idea how he was supposed to act, so he stood there, guilt and pity intertwined in his eyes as looked at you.

"Genya admires you the most, you idiot!" You wiped your tears away as you spoke. "He would never tell me anything bad about you, no matter how poorly you treat him." Sanemi's eyes could only dart towards the floor, his hands clenched in tight fists. "He only has you, how can you tell him you have no little brother? How can you seriously attack him? You know you're much stronger. How can you tell him to quit? All he wants is to be like you!" Accusations flew out of your mouth like daggers, stabbing him one after the other, forcing him to remember and see his actions from another point of view. "Have you..." Your voice broke off halfway as you voiced your last thought, and your pain made him look up at you, worried. "Have you no heart?" You couldn't contain your tears anymore. Not when your mind was full of the contradiction between the man that was your husband and the man that was an older brother. How could he be so patient, so loving, so considerate with you yet be such a monster towards his own little brother?

A loud voice inside Sanemi's head was screaming to comfort you, to reassure you that he had a heart indeed and it all of it belonged to you. But, as small and helpless as you looked compared to his bigger, stronger build, he didn't dare to get closer to you. He didn't dare to move one finger. The time that was supposed to be the happiest of his day turned into painful silence, as you wiped your tears away and he was left to reflect on his actions. The sun was almost gone from the sky. The darker it got you remembered that Obanai was probably already waiting for your husband for their usual night training.

"Don't you have anything to say?" You asked, afraid that Sanemi might actually leave without a word, making it even harder to reach him later when he would return. He wasn't good with expressing his feelings and towards you he would refrain from saying anything, scared that his poor choice of words would do more harm. But silence was even more harming.

"He needs to get stronger. I can't babysit him on the battlefield."

"You're not babysitting him at all." You sneered at him. However, his low voice and his effort to contain himself in front of you made your heart melt. He could be better, only if he tried.

"He can't weild a sword properly. He said he even ate demons."

"Don't you think it takes so much courage and strenght to do these things?"

Sanemi looked at you bewildered, his entire concept of strength crushing down inside his mind as you pointed out the obvious, the truth that was right in front of him but he was too blind, too caught up in his own world to see. He only sighed in defeat. His wife outsmarted him once again.

It was getting late and you still had to clean the table and tidy around before going to sleep. As you sat up and passed by him on your way, Sanemi caught you by the wrist. His gesture reminded you immediately of the previous moment when you almost slapped him, regret washing over you.

"Can I hold you for a moment?" He mumbled like a scolded child, not sure if he deserved it anymore. You pulled him in and his toned arms wrapped around your legs, his cheek pressed against your belly. You ran your hand through his hair as you felt the strong, almost desprate grip he had on you, like he was afraid you would leave. You didn't forgive him yet. But that could wait a few more moments. As his face nuzzled against the soft fabric of your clothes you realized he was still a big child in a man's body, unsure how to handle anything other than fighting.

"Sanemi." Contrary to the gentle touch of your fingers in his hair, your voice was stern. "Promise me you'll fix this when you come back."

He only nodded against your body before pulling away completely. Only after he was long gone you noticed the tears that left wet spots on your clothes.

next》》 Yearning | Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

#sanemi shinaguzawa #sanemi x reader #shinazugawa sanemi #kny sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny

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seichv · 9 months ago

Text

❛ WITH YOUR MOUTH.❜

clean up after yourself when you make a mess. 2.3k words.

contents: nsfw content (mdni), f!reader, daddy kink (mentioned like once), oral (both receiving), p in v, creampie, squirting, toji calls you: brat, sweetheart, slut, baby, etc.

note: i have risen from the dead friends ;D seriously though, its been a while since ive written... life's been wild of late and i was lacking motivation but im back on my zoom now hehe (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

you might have fucked up.

down spills the coffee that you chucked at toji, the brawny man standing motionless with a look of amusement as the hot liquid poured down his body, the sound of the cup tumbling onto the ground echoing in the kitchen. what exactly led to that? you may ask. quite frankly, you don’t even remember. it was likely another one of those days where you had a stick up your ass just because; with your bratty attitude leading you to get all pissy about every little thing.

and here you are, your pupils dilating as you freeze in place while watching toji’s expression. it remains indifferent for the most part, as you would expect from someone like him. that’s until his eyes trail back up to meet your face, and there’s something about his gaze that just shifts in a way. you’re gulping, your body stiffening in alarm. there’s a faint chuckle that escapes his lips before he speaks up with that gravelly voice of his.

“c’mere.” he tells you. you know better than to disregard him, so you start stepping closer to him. though just because you’re listening to him doesn't mean you’ll do away with the bitter expression you got going on, as it's still very prominently plastered onto your face. and these steps youre taking, they’re slow as fuck. you’re definitely mistaken if you think that he’s got the patience for that shit right now.

because of that, in a blink of an eye you’ve got your throat seized by one of his meaty hands, yanking you closer and forcing you to maintain eye contact. his figure looms over yours, and you can almost see some veins seeping through his neck. “you just had to pull that shit on me, huh?” you could practically just say that he’s spitting venom with the way he's speaking. you narrowed your eyes, sucking in a sharp breath before speaking. “well, had you not been a total jackass—”

“yeah?” toji cuts you off, his face lowering some more as his head tilts to the side, giving your throat a little squeeze. you've got some real nerve with the back-talk, and he really isn't in the mood for tolerating that shit anymore. he looks down at his drenched, coffee-stained shirt, his tongue poking out to lick the scar at the corner of his mouth before he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh.

“clean up the motherfucking mess you made,” he says. now, that would initially give you the thought of wiping the ground with a towel or mop, and maybe doing him the favor of throwing his shirt in the laundry, right?

“with your mouth.”

… wait, what?

your eyes go wide, and you're glaring up at the man like he’s got 10 heads. he doesn't look like he's joking, really. and that’s because he’s not. it takes you a hot minute before you could get words out of your mouth. “... huh? the fuck is wrong with you? clean the damn floor with my mouth?! what’s that supposed to mean, you gross bastard—”

“to hell with the fucking floor.” he interrupts. “i didn’t say nothin’ bout the floor, dumb brat.” toji adds, his fingers trailing up toward your jaw, taking your face in his hand as he turned it side to side as he spoke, as if he were trying to get your attention. i mean, there's only one other mess other than the one on the floor. the mess on him. before you could open your mouth to muster up a response, toji speaks again. “tch, yeah. keep staring at me like a dumb little girl,” your body temperature begins to soar with his words. “take off my shirt.”

you honestly cannot believe this man. you blink rapidly with furrowed eyebrows, stuttering like a broken record. “toji, what are you even going on about right now—”

“nah, sweetheart. don’t give me that crap.” what is this, the 1000th fucking time this man has interrupted you? goddamnit. “take. off. the. shirt.” toji repeats himself, putting emphasis on each word like he’s talking to a complete moron. you started chuckling to yourself in disbelief, shaking your head with a look on your face that read, ‘he’s got to be kidding.’

“yeah, no. toji, give me a fucking break.” you responded, snickering between your words, and ooh toji was just itching to bend you over the damn counter and fuck you till you’re screaming… to get those vocal cords to rupture. there will never be a single day where he’d hesitate to get you to straighten the fuck up.

before you know it, both of toji’s hands grab your wrists, almost painfully. he then starts walking, backing you up to the kitchen counter. once he’s got you pushed up against it, he pulls your hands onto his abdomen, staring dangerously into your eyes.

though you wouldn't want to admit it, you can’t help but feel a growing ache between your legs at the feeling of those shredded abs of his. his body is something different. toji’s eyes flicker up and down from your hands and back to your eyes, a smug grin laying across his face at how small your hands are on his big, muscular body. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, your tough and bratty facade slowly diminishing as you leisurely began lifting toji’s shirt, a satisfied hum escaping his lips at your compliance; though it took rather longer than he wanted.

you now have got quite the nice look at his abs, and there goes the throbbing sensation again in your cunt. fuck… he’s hot. “yeahh, now you got that mouth shut, huh? drooling and gawking over my body. hah, go on then.” toji boasts, his teeth showing through that damn smirk. you’re unable to hold it in any longer, your hands dragging toji’s shirt up as he pulls his head out, letting the fabric drop to the ground with your stomach churning at the sight of his bare upper body. you quickly kneeled, your composure flying right out the window.

your mouth latches onto his lower stomach, your tongue roaming along his skin. if your eyes peered a bit lower, you’d be able to get a peek at the growing bulge in toji’s sweats. you can hear slightly muted curses coming from under his breath, and you were being sloppy with it, your lashes batting as you looked up at him. your tongue started traveling upward, just barely reaching his chest until a grunt-like huff is let out from toji.

he now pulls you off by the hair, coaxing a small gasp for your lips. “fuck .. you’re putting that slutty mouth on my cock now.” he mutters, reaching for his pants before you take care of them for him, eagerly dragging them down along with his boxers, his girthy length springing right out.

without another second to waste, your tongue lolls out, one of your hands wrapped around the base of his dick while you slapped the tip on your wet muscle, drawing a throaty grunt from him. he loved it when you put on a show for him like that. you then take him all the way in, a nasty moan slipping from your throat at the way his big cock had given you a whole mouthful. saliva drips down from your lips, and you begin bobbing your head up and down, the lewd noises blaring in your ears.

“shiiit… look at you. fuckin’ pacified by this dick, huh?” his voice is gruff yet slightly shaky, and god… you’re obsessed with hearing his noises, how you make him feel. “one minute she’s yappin’ like a bitchy little brat, next minute she’s mmf— taking this dick down her throat like a dirty slut... tch.” his words had your pussy leaking, you can feel your panties beginning to soak. your eyebrows curled inward as you kept your eyes on him, tears threatening to prickle at the corners of your eyes from how full he was stuffing your mouth, hitting your uvula.

in the middle of sucking him off, you pulled up your shirt with one hand, just enough for your tits to show out. now both your hands begin to fondle with your tits as you continue to suck him off, and this draws a long ass moan from toji, watching you slobber on him with no hands had him fucked. you can see how his lower abdomen was caving in with each breath he took, and that's when he takes a hold of your jaw, pulling you off of him, your lips sliding off with a pop. you had him on the brink of cumming, and he didn't want to just yet. he needed your pretty pussy.

you lick your lips with a smile, standing up on your feet as toji hoists you up by the waist, propping you up onto the counter. he hauls your shorts down in an instant, a string of your slick following your panties and toji sneers at the sight. “pretty pussy’s all wet f’me, hm?” you nod eagerly, and he slides a thumb down your clit, causing your hips to jerk, which has him chuckling to himself yet again. “mhmm… relax yourself, needy girl.”

toji hikes your legs up, your hands hooking beneath your knees so you could hold them up for him. he gets between your legs, blowing on your clit and prompting you to clench around nothing. “tojiii…” you drag his name out in a whine, before toji kisses on your pussy.

“didn’t i tell you to relax? don’t fuckin’ ‘tojiii~’ me.” he mocks, finally diving in to your heat, his tongue delving right between your folds. your head immediately falls back, your lips parting open while lewd little mewls flee from your lips. he’s a messy eater, a mixture of your arousal and his saliva smearing all over your pussy lips and drizzling down his chin. it’s slurp after slurp, your body twitching with no stop, your eyes rolled back to your skull with your toes curling. “ohh, fuuck… toji–!” you croak out, your thighs shaking as you start to fail to hold your legs up, his mouth had you stupid already. as he notices this, he holds them for you with force, but throws him over his shoulders.

because now he's standing again, spitting on your cunt one last time before he does so. “keep those eyes on me when i fuck this pussy, you hear me?” toji says, and you quickly nod in abidance.

he’s so fucking girthy, his thick length stretching you like elastic. his veined hands grasp at your waist, his hips starting to snap into yours at a steady pace. he’s reaching deep, hitting all the right spots inside you that triggered the sluttiest moans from you, your back arching as your walls clamp down on him. “only now you wanna get your shit together, hmm? only when i stuff you full of this dick?” he grunts, the sounds of your skin slapping blasting all throughout the place. “mngh–! y-yeah… feels so g-good…!” you blabber, the tears you had poking through your eyes were now starting to blur your vision. his cock was just made to fuck you, he felt so damn good.

“h-hah… that’s what i thought.” he grumbles, the pace of his thrusts immediately escalating. now the next thing he does drives you fucking mad. he grabs your arms, pulling them up so that they’re around your neck. he then snakes his hands beneath your legs and now has them over his forearms, letting your feet dangle. he’s got you off the counter, and starts fucking you standing, picked up in his arms. a squeal breaks loose from your mouth, your arms clinging around his neck for dear life. “oh m’god, yes–! ‘m cumming, d-daddy!” you cry out, your body going limp like a ragdoll, like a toy just for toji to fuck relentlessly.

you can feel that coil in your lower stomach that's just mere seconds away from snapping. and he does this thing when he’s close, his jaw clenches and you can see how the veins in his neck contract. that gives you the sign to clench around him even harder, a loud groan breaking out his throat.

“fuckin’ milking my shit when you s-squeeze me like that… holy fuckkk, baby—” toji’s breathing is uneven, coming out in raspy huffs. and it's only a matter of time before you let out your final moan, a real salacious one at that. you shook violently, gasping for air as you squirted all over him, your orgasm hitting you like a damn bus.

toji’s jaw goes slack, his head falling back as he chases his own high, still ramming into you despite you being fucking gone. tears start to spill from your eyes from the overstimulation, your eyes barely even able to stay open properly.

his load finally spills into your cunt, coming in thick, hot spurts. he twitches inside you, before placing you back down onto the counter and pulling out slowly, his cum oozing from your hole. he steps forward and cups your face, pressing a kiss on your nose before letting his forehead rest atop yours. “you alright, pretty?” he murmurs, and you look up into his eyes, nodding slowly with a soft smile. he grins, wiping the tears that stained your supple cheeks with his thumb.

“you did real good f’me, baby.” he murmurs, his words going straight to your core, fluttering in your stomach. he then catches your eyes wandering away, staying on the ground. he then turns to look as well, and his eyes fall upon the absolute mess made of the floor. it was the coffee you had threw at him, now mixed with your squirt. oh, fucking hell.

“... well, good luck with that, sweetheart.” toji says, laughing to himself as you land a smack to his arm.

“oh, fuck you toji!”

#toji x reader #anime #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #jjk smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #toji x y/n #anime smut #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro toji #jujustu kaisen smut #呪術廻戦

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lillithsalvatore · 3 months ago

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million dollar man

pairing: royal!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

summary: the price of loving a million dollar man, a prince

warning: modern royal au!, mention of cheating, angst, minor dni, cursing, asshole jace (?), cried. like and reblog are appreciated!! my 1st imagine, please be nice!!

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"Did you fuck her, Jace? Answer me!" you demanded your soon-to-be-husband, your voice trembling with anger as you stared at Jace, eyes burning with rage. In your hand was a newspaper from a well-known publication, which you held up in front of him. A news about him with his 'childhood bestfriend'

When Jace finally confessed, nearly shouting, "Once, just once, and I fucking regreted it" your heart tightened. His admission felt like a powerful blow to the trust and pride you had invested in him. Your anger intensified, but beneath it all, a deep sadness began to take hold of your mind.

"Once?" You gave a bitter smile. "Even once is fucking enough to destroy everything we had, Jace."

Jace looked at you with regretful eyes, but that only made you feel more exhausted. "Do you know? I trusted you more than I trusted myself. And you betrayed that trust for a moment of weakness."

"Y/n…" Jace began, trying to approach you, but you raised your hand to stop him.

"Don't!" you choked out, but your voice remained firm. "Don't make this worse Jace”

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I loved you sincerely, but love cannot continue when trust has been shattered."

Finally, you turned away, heading toward the door,

"I hope you never make anyone else feel the way I did."

Jace stood there, frozen, feeling the pain in every word you spoke. He realized that you were not just angry about the betrayal, but also about feeling disregarded, pushed aside in a relationship where you had poured all your heart and soul.

"Y/n, I'm sorry, —" Jace said, his voice trembling, but you couldn't bear to hear any more. Apologies at this point only deepened the pain.

"Don't apologize, Jace," you replied, your voice breaking with sobs. "Sorry doesn't change anything. You chose her over me, It's always been her, Jace."

You could feel Jace's hand still holding yours, but now, that warmth no longer provided the comfort it once did. Instead, it only reminded you of the times he wasn't there for you, when he chose to protect someone else over you.

“Please don’t do this, please let me fix it” He begged

"I tried so hard, Jace. I gave you everything I had, but you chose her, even if you didn't realize it," you said, your voice now filled with nothing but exhaustion and despair.

Jace didn't know what to do, what to say to fix his mistake. He could feel everything between you falling apart, piece by piece, with no way to put it back together.

"Y/n, I—" Jace started, but you interrupted him, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

"I can't stay here anymore, Jace. I can't keep going like this. I guess that's the price of loving a million dollar man."

"And I giving this ring back to you, I hope you'll find someone who deserve it" You turned away, moving towards the door, trying to leave this suffocating space before your heart completely shattered.

Before opening the door, you looked back at Jace one last time, hoping he would understand what you couldn't put into words: that you had loved him deeply, but you couldn't stay with someone who no longer belonged to you.

And then, you walked out of the apartment. As the door closed behind you, you felt a profound sadness but also a sense of relief, as if a great burden had been lifted. The tears had dried up, leaving a void in your heart, but it was a necessary emptiness, allowing you to move forward, to find yourself again and rebuild your life from the ruins.

And though the pain was immense, you knew you had done the right thing. You chose yourself

Jace might realize his mistake, but it was too late. The love and trust you had given him were no longer intact. Now, you had to seek happiness for yourself, a happiness unbound by emotional scars.

And so, you moved on, looking toward the future, knowing you deserved a true love, a love that would never betray you.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon modern au #modern!jacaerys velaryon #harry collett #harry collett imagine #harry collet imagines #harry collett x you #harry collett x reader #harry collett x y/n

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mochiwrites · 9 months ago

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couldn’t help writing a lil thing from @plumadot’s arts (linked here and here!)🥺👉👈 third life scarian possessed me so hard I broke out of my burn out for this reblogs would be really cool and awesome okaythankyou

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“And how are preparations for Doom Day going, my good sir?” Scar’s voice is a light sound behind him, tone cheerful and inquisitive all at once.

Grian turns around from where he’s knee deep in sand, a small hole dug out in front of him. Scar comes to stand beside him, red eyes staring down at him. His gaze is soft, far too soft for a man who’s meant to be anything but.

With a soft noise, Grian pushes himself up to stand while dusting off his hands. He leaves his shovel in the ground by the hole. His wings flutter.

He hums, surveying the area. He gazes at the holes of sand, where the tnt will be set down, at the place where a bunker will be built. “Not bad, I’d say. I think this place’ll be ready by tomorrow or some time ‘round then.”

Scar whistles, moving to casually wrap an arm around the green life’s shoulders. “Amayzin’!” His lips lift in a smile. “Man, those Dogwarts guys won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“That’s if this trap even works, Scar,” Grian mutters, unable to hold back the bitterness in his voice. His traps have hardly worked all game, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t worried about this one failing too. “It has to,” he says, brows knitting together, “there’s too much riding on this one.”

His eyes trail over to Scar, who doesn’t seem to share his worries.

“Aw, c’mon G,” Scar starts as he pulls the other toward him. He tugs so that Grian’s facing him, their faces a few inches apart. Grian can feel how warm Scar is this close, can see the way his chest rises and falls. “I have total trust in you and your trapping skills. So relax a little, yeah?”

Grian frowns at him in turn. Speculation and trust aren’t good enough when up against his fail rate. He needs one hundred percent certainty. But he can’t just test this one. It’s a one time pull. “Scar—”

Careful fingers grab his chin, rough and calloused from the harsh conditions of the desert but still far too careful. Red names aren’t supposed to be careful or gentle, and yet here Scar is.

“I trust you,” Scar says again, and Grian doesn’t think this is how things are supposed to go. It’s not the first time he’s had this thought, and he’s sure it won’t be the last (provided they both survive this, that is). “You really do worry too much.”

“One of us has to while you’re off gallivanting around without a shirt on,” Grian grumbles while reaching for the edge of Scar’s cloak. He holds onto it, fingers digging into the fabric.

Scar lifts a playful brow at Grian’s comment, “Does that mean I look good while valligaggling?”

Grian snorts, the action laced with too much affection. “That’s not even a word, Scar,” he replies with a little laugh, one that makes Scar’s grin widen.

“It’s close enough,” the man hums in answer, their faces moving closer. His hand drops to Grian’s elbow, the other drawing him in closer by the waist. Red eyes flutter shut as his breath ghosts over Grian’s lips. “And it made you laugh.”

“Your priorities are seriously mixed up,” Grian’s voice is hardly above a whisper as watches as Scar draws in closer.

Their lips meet seconds later, chapped and warm. Grian stares at Scar’s face, the way the creases in his forehead smooth over and relax. He looks so content, a funny feeling to express when the powder keg is seconds from exploding.

It hardly takes any time at all for Scar to deepen the kiss, raising his hand from Grian’s elbow to hold the edge of his jaw. His thumb settles too close to Grian’s throat, yet not an ounce of fear runs through him. His eyes shut as he presses his lips back against Scar’s, a bit more pressure than the other applies. He catches Scar’s wrist in his hand, and his grip is a little tight at first (too tight for a green name). He has to remind himself to loosen his hand, but Scar never gives a reaction.

He simply angles Grian’s chin up slightly, hand shifting to cup his cheek. His fingers tangle in his hair, brushing against his ear.

It’s kind of a shame they’re blowing up the desert. He wouldn’t mind sharing more kisses with Scar out in the open chilly air like this.

Scar kisses him like he’s something fragile, something precious. He kisses him like he’s afraid of breaking him, and really it’s laughable how gentle he is with Grian. His eyes say he shouldn’t be.

(Ironic then, that Grian is wearing more red than him.)

It’s with a soft sigh that Scar pulls back, setting their foreheads against one another. So easily, so fluidly, he holds Grian’s face in both of his hands, one of his thumbs brushing along his cheek. There’s a fond smile on his face, and Grian feels a little dazed by the sight.

“Gri,” Scar says quietly, a moment shared for only the two of them, “I need you to know, I—”

Some kind of alarm rings in Grian’s head, and he knows he cannot let Scar finish that sentence. Panic runs down his spine like electricity, zapping him. He sets his hands on Scar’s front, gently pushing back as he turns his head away.

“H-Haha, we’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?” he questions, some kind of desperate attempt to change the conversation. “We have a war to prepare for, remember?”

He doesn’t watch Scar’s face as he turns away, unable to face it. He turns his back to Scar, wings twitching behind him. Grian purposefully looks down at the sand before him, reminding himself of what he’s meant to be doing. “We, uh, have much to do still,” he says, trying to focus on anything but Scar. “I mean, unless you want me to lose my first life!”

Grian goes to say more, but two hands land on his shoulders, stopping him. He jumps just slightly, startled. Yet it doesn’t last long as he feels Scar’s warmth against his back. “…Scar,” he mumbles.

Arms wrap around him proper, holding him close. He feels Scar bury his face in his hair as the smell of lilacs and poppies flood his senses. “Just a little longer, okay?” the red name murmurs so softly.

Let me hold you for a little longer.

Stay with me for a little longer.

Pretend this’ll last for a little longer.

How selfish, Scar is. Grian looks down at the sand below, its mocking grains. He grabs hold of Scar, keeping him right where he is. “…I’m not going to die, Scar.”

“Promise me.” Scar’s arms tighten around him, giving away how much he needs Grian to stay alive. How much he treasures Grian, both his partnership and company.

Grian squeezes him. He supposes he’s a little selfish as well. “…I promise.”

Scar lets out a shaky breath, burying his face further into Grian’s hair.

They don’t move for a little while. A gentle red name and a green name clothed in far too much crimson. Together they stand, selfishly.

#mochi writes #scarian #trafficshipping #AAAAAAAA SORRY IF THIS IS ROUGH #I HAVENT WRITTEN ALL WEEK ;;;;;;#ALSO HI PLUME I HOPE THIS IS OKAY JDFHGJFHG #I couldn’t resist doing a little drabble on this #ueueueueue these boys can create So many feeling #and not talk about their own <3

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improbable-outset · 7 months ago

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📄 𝐈’𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Angst, post-break up, Miguel’s heartbroken, he really shouldn’t be though, sexual frustration, innuendos, soreness from sex, male masturbation, sexual flashbacks MINORS DNI🔞

𝐀/𝐍: Hey, hope you didn’t forget about me🥹 it’s been a while. I saw this fan art of Miggy in the shower after I wrote this and thought it was pretty fitting

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It’s been over a year since you split up, but unfortunately for Miguel, things are still taking a toll. Even after going your separate ways, you still have to see each other everyday and it was affecting his performance. Meanwhile, your dual life as a loyal lover and as Spider-Woman is putting a lingering strain on your new relationship. The ripple effect of your breakup is coming back to bite you in the ass in the most unexpected way possible.

Things were already hard enough after you and Miguel broke things off. But having to be your boss while not allowing his heartbreak to get in the way of leading a group of Spider People, including yourself, was modifying.

He didn’t realise how much the aftermath affected him until his recruits had noticed his performance was lacking.

His combat skills were becoming sloppy making him prone to more injury. It was frustrating how much he was letting this get to his head— he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.

After the third trip to the Spider Medbay, it dawned on him that he had to accept things as they were now and move on. His job as a leader will be at risk otherwise.

Initially, he thought he was doing a decent job ignoring his pain. He was growing used to seeing you everyday without your affection, especially since he was accustomed to being alone before you got together.

But after the latest Spider meeting, Miguel was left with fresh salt on the wound.

As you sat down on your seat before he commenced the meeting, your face scrunched slightly from the ache between your legs.

An obvious sign that you’ve just been dicked down by your current flame recently. No one else in the board room had noticed but he definitely did.

And he hated himself for it.

If the situation were different, where you didn't feel any resentment towards him after he broke your heart, he wouldn’t pay any mind to it.

There was a time where he would’ve felt his ego soar after seeing you struggling to sit down like that — only because he knew it was him and his dick that was the cause of that. But now he was left with bitter pain and yearning.

Back then, he knew he could manhandle you if he wanted to. But he would never do anything that could affect your agility and performance as a crime fighter.

Albeit, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fuck you good enough so you would get drunk from his dick and he got to witness your mind going numb.

But now he had lost that privilege. He couldn’t see your worn out face anymore after he made you come.

The mere notion of another man touching you like that, let alone seeing you in that state, was enough to send him spiraling. Not that he would let you be aware of that.

This new guy wasn’t even aware of your double life as Spiderwoman. He wouldn’t be as cautious and mindful when fucking you like Miguel would.

It was one of the convenient things in your relationship— why you were perfect for each other. Until it wasn’t. He had to force himself to continue like this wasn’t tearing him apart inside.

Eventually the meeting came to a conclusion and everyone made their way to the cafeteria for their lunch break. Miguel, on the other hand, headed back to his office in solitary.

Every muscle in his body felt heavy and it felt like extra labour just to walk back to his office. He didn’t catch you following behind until you called out his name.

“Miguel,” he turned to see you walk up towards him.

As foolish as it was, for a fleeting moment he thought you were going to comfort him; put your hands on his shoulders and give him a massage or peppered his face with kisses when everyone had left, just like you used to.

The fantasy vanished just as quickly as it came when you spoke your mind.

“I think my watch needs calibrating, it’s acting up,” you told him, gesturing to your watch. Of course.

You would only approach him when you need something from him. That was how it had been, he shouldn’t expect anything more.

“Alright pass it over, I’ll give you a day pass in the meantime,” he said as he fished out a day pass for you to wear.

You removed your watch from your hand and passed it to him before taking the wrist band and putting it on.

Once it was secure, you turned your heels to leave. He felt his adrenaline spike as he watched you and out of impulse, he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Hey um,” He started, making you turn back around to look at him. Your eyes bore onto his, something he thought he’d never witness again after you split up. Except this time, there wasn’t any warmth in your gaze as there used to be; instead, there was nothing but a void.

Shit

The room suddenly felt like it was getting hotter. Or maybe that was the heat rushing to his cheeks out of sheer discomfort.

Either way he felt like his inner thoughts were written all over his face and you could read him. You probably could sense something was wrong but you weren’t going to comment on it.

He wouldn’t blame you…

Now you had your full attention on him, even if it was only brief. He had to make sure he played his card right and tread through this carefully.

“How’s everything?” He asked meekly. He tried to keep his composure as controlled as he could, keeping a tight lid on his raw emotions.

“Fine.” The word came out so curt, it didn’t even feel like a proper response.

It hurt his pride knowing another man could make you sore like he can, just the way you like it. On top of that, he was treating you better and was making you happy. Something that he couldn’t do.

You deserved a partner who would be there for you, support you and nurture that mutual love. Not just someone who was good in bed.

Unfortunately he was so drawn into his train of thoughts about your man, his mouth moved faster than his mind before he could even stop himself, initiating a word vomit.

“Is he treating you well,”

Shit shit shit…

Why did he bring him up? Now he probably looked pathetic. He could see you drift your gaze away after he asked that. Obviously the topic was pretty sensitive.

“Mhmm” you hummed in approval. You were clearly not comfortable with sharing more. Judging by how you responded, you had moved on and healed from the pain he had caused you.

He shouldn’t shit on your new man; he never even met the guy (other than watching the surveillance footage of your dimension while monitoring the Multiverse like he always did)

So he had no valid reason to hate on him if everything was going well with you.

And he knew you weren’t going to willingly share about your current relationship. You were a private person and he always valued that while you were both still together.

But now it was working against his favour. Despite being fully aware that your personal life wasn’t any of his business anymore, he was still desperate to know everything.

There was a sense of antipathy that was growing in his heart towards your new life without him in it. No matter how much he would lie to himself and deny it was there, it only heightened as more time passed.

The silence that was shared between the two of you was making it hard to breathe. It felt like all the oxygen in the room wasn’t enough to fill his lungs with the tranquility he needed.

You should get going, don’t want to hold you back any longer than I already have.

Eventually, Miguel gave a subtle nod before shifting his attention to your watch in his hand. He wanted to end the premature conversation before he said something he will regret.

The last thing he heard was your footsteps getting quieter as you left his office, leaving him in his own thoughts.

Miguel felt some of the tension leaving his body, like melted candle wax, as he took the first step into his apartment— his confinement safe space.

But despite being surrounded by the comfortable air in his home, his muscles were still aching. Today was more physically demanding than usual as he was on his feet all day, containing not just one but three anomalies, all in different dimensions.

Fatigue seeped into his bones. But it wasn’t just the physical tasks that drained him. His mind was constantly running with relentless questions, though there was one that struck him the most.

Could he manage to lead the Spider Society without being consumed by his emotional turmoil? More importantly, without being consumed by the reminders of his loss. Gabriella.

You.

It has been a year since you both split up and he’s still unable to break free from the haunting memories of his past. Thinking about your breakup was making him dizzy. The overhead lights in his apartment suddenly felt too bright and sickening.

“Lyla, could you dim the lights please?” He called out before he headed to the bathroom. The lights dimmed just as demanded.

“Lights are dimmed now, Miguel,” Lyla’s digital voice chirped. Miguel’s thoughts remained on you as he made his way towards the shower.

He couldn’t stop himself from recalling the last conversation you both just had back in HQ. It was brief but your reluctant body language was enough to speak volume.

Part of him wanted to know what was going through your head when he asked about your current relationship, even if it was just a slip up. But at the same time, after seeing the way your demeanor shifted when he asked, he would rather stay clueless about it.

He stepped into the shower and twisted the shower knob, adjusting the water to the right temperature. Steam was released into the air from the hot water, creating condensation on the cold tiles.

The hot spray from the shower ran over him as he allowed the water to rinse over his whole body. He sighed as he felt his muscles instantly unwind from the hot water but the warmth also seemed to amplify his solitude.

He rested one of his hands on the glass panel that was fogging up from the steam. The shower continued to spray over his back and his mind continued to wander.

As much as he tried to forget about today, he couldn’t stop thinking back to the Spider meeting from earlier and how you were struggling to sit without the obvious sourness between your legs. Seeing you in that state gave him erotic flashbacks that he didn’t want to recrystallise in his head, especially now.

Suddenly, a memory that he had tried so hard to bury deep in his core resurfaced in his head, blaring at him. The image of you bent over in his shower; your hands and your bare tits being pressed against the same glass panel he had his hands on right now, while he was thrusting you from behind.

He couldn’t shake off the memory no matter how hard he tried. The thoughts continued to run through his head and just like clockwork, he felt himself getting bricked up.

How pathetic. He let his unwanted memories get the best of him and now it was affecting the rest of his body.

His cock was twitching and he could feel the subtle throb of his pulse from the sensitive areas. His free hand reached to clasped around the length with his mind conflicted from his aching predicament.

As much as he knew how bad his situation was right now, he couldn’t stop himself from caving into his own desperation. Out of impulse, he started to stroke at a steady pace with that image of you stuck behind his eyelids.

This was wrong. So wrong. Thinking about you in such an elaborate manner while getting off to it, especially when he was aware that you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. After everything he put you through…

But his head wasn’t thinking about any reasoning or morals anymore. At least no one could see the state he was in right now.

The grip from his hands could never replicate the sensation of your walls clenching around him— along with your wetness that would coat his dick.

He was drawn back to those memories of you in his shower again. You always used to take him so well, especially from behind. He would nuzzle his face into your neck while fucking you relentlessly.

The bathroom would be filled with the sounds of your pretty moans over the spray of the water that would echo over the tiles in the shower.

Each thrust would push you further against the glass panel. Your hands and tits would always be imprinted on the surface by the end of it, and every time he would be reluctant to wipe it away.

He increased the pace of his strokes just from recalling that memory, with his eyes bored onto the panel. His heart was pulsated in his chest as he was losing himself in the bliss of his own fantasies.

The memory of your breakup was now forgotten as he was reliving these memories. It was almost tangible, he could almost hear you moaning out fragments of his name in his mind. But it was probably just his auditory hallucinations.

He longed to feel you again, hearing you say his name just like you used to. Feeling your touch again would scratch the irritable itch that had always lingered. Even if he knew he’d never have you again, he still dreamt about you.

His climax was crawling up to him painstakingly slow. He recalled those moments where you would touch yourself afterwards, just to feel how much he had stuffed you with his cum.

The memory, along with the built up anger and longing, was enough for him to unravel and his orgasm came crashing down on him— it was almost overwhelming.

The evidence of his guilt spilled over his knuckles before getting washed away by the spray of the shower. But it wasn’t enough to erase what he just did.

The post-nut clarity disappeared once he realised what he got himself into and how far he fell into the rabbit hole of his own desires. It felt like every object in the bathroom just witnessed his own sin.

He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower before he wrapped a towel around his waist. Water was dripping from his hair and fell over his bare shoulders and back, but he paid no attention to it.

Everything that had just happened a few moments ago was sinking into him, and although he scrubbed himself clean from his own cum, there was still the unsettling awareness of his own mishap weighing on his shoulders.

It was making his stomach twist with nausea. Shame quickly settled over him, like a cloud hovering over his head. It continued to follow him as he made his way to his bedroom.

Miguel grabbed a set of clean clothes from the dresser and got himself dressed for bed. Even with the unease that was lingering in his head, his routine still felt mechanical and familiar. Nothing else seemed to change.

Once he was dressed, he slipped under the cool covers of his bed, shutting out everything that had happened today.

Part 2

Just lmk if you wanna be tagged

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @miguels-aranita @thealleydog @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @strawberryjuice9 @lazyjellyfish300 @ghost-lantern @what-the-jams @mcmiracles @monarchberrysblog @niyahwhoreworld @keigoloveminty @ewan-tef @ginanet @mrsoharaa @flowerlemonss-blog @shadowarchon @smartyren @famouscattale @stressed-cherry @hrhmimieucliffe @ultravioletrayz @grxnde-dwt @homewreckingwreck @your-antares-universe @crimin4llyins4ne @tojishugetiddies @miguel-ohara-wifey

Now I’m gonna log off for two days bc I don’t want to see ppls immediate reaction to this 😟

Btw, I will be interacting with your fics and reblogging from my second account @lmaoyouwhore (don’t pree the blog too hard, it’s still under construction lol)

Ayrus xoxo

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rbfclassy · 7 months ago

Text

MONEY LOVE! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...toji loves to come into the club every week and spend his time watching you dance, finding himself infatuated with you

INFO...toji x stripper fem!reader, no smut, sexual tension, toji is kinda older, toji is rich, talks of blowjob, talks of sex, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

welcome to my second account everyone I’m @classyrbf but now I’m writing on here cause I’m shadowbanned so do not be alarmed if the writing and layout is similar bc it is me lol

At the end of every Friday, Toji finds himself driving to the strip club at the edge of town. The one that’s always crowded with gross old men looking to take one the dancers home for the night, ones that could never keep their hands to themselves, and eventually get kicked out for being too drunk. As much as he dislikes it, he only goes there for one thing. You.

He sits there, narrow eyes watching your figure sway around the pole, heels hitting the floor with each step you took. The bitter alcohol burns his throat as he takes a sip, watching the way you bend over in front of him, arching your back. All the others mutter around him, catcalling you and saying the most cliche things, but Toji keeps his thoughts to himself. Instead, he pulls out a wad of cash, counting the bills one by one. “Sweetheart,” he calls out to get your attention. You slowly turn towards him with a small smile. He hands you a few bills before saying, “keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll earn the rest.”

Toji knows that you’ve seen him before, always comes around the same time, the only man who tips big in this shitty town. The others just watch and get their dicks hard. With him, you’ve taken a liking, even if you didn’t know his name. He kept to himself, a reserved man, but he only ever watched you, wanted you. It made you feel special in a way. You kneel down in front of Toji, smirking at him. “What’s your name, Mister?” You ask, chuckling. Toji stares you down, a stoic expression on his face. “Oh, come on. You’re not gonna answer? I see you in here all the time,” you tease, reaching out to touch his hand. Still, no answer.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you come over here!” The others shout out, whistling. You pull away from Toji, strutting across the stage to give the other men a show, wrapping your leg around the pole and twirling around it.

It isn’t until almost the end of your shift when your manager tells you someone requested a private dance. You were exhausted, but still, all you were thinking about was the money. Hopefully, whoever this person was had it. You changed into another scandalous outfit, freshening up before you headed over to the private rooms. Slowly opening the door, your eyes met with Toji’s. “Still here?” You smiled, shutting the door behind you.

He sat on the velvet couch, legs spread, the purple led lights bouncing off of his skin. You walked over to him, standing in between his legs as he stared up at you. “What is it that you’re looking for, hm?” You asked, leaning over so you were face to face with him. Your lips were only inches away from his. “I see you every week, same day, same time, yet I don’t even know your name.”

“Toji Fushiguro,” he answered, plainly.

“And what is it that you want, Toji?” Your hands slowly pushed him back, brining your legs over his waist, straddling him. The scent of expensive cologne filled your lungs.

He found it hard not to touch you right now, your body pressed right against him and he couldn’t do a single thing about it. He’s become infatuated with you, more infatuated than he’s ever wanted to be. He stared you in the eye, catching the glint and that smirk you always have. He finally decided to break the silence. “I want you.”

A laugh erupted from your chest as you shook your head at him. “We don’t do those kinds of services here. Strictly a strip club, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying, sweetheart. I don’t mean sex,” he scoffed.

“Oh.” You blinked, shocked.

“I wanna take you on a date, spend time with you. You’re a beautiful girl who deserves more than old creeps trying to fuck her every second just because she’s doing her job. Though, it completely your choice.” He slightly tilted his head to the side.

“Do you…mean it?” You asked, mostly at a loss for words.

“When are you free?” He questioned.

“All day tomorrow, I’m not doing a thing,” you replied.

“Good.” He picked you up off of his lap, sitting you on the couch. “Here’s my number, text me.” He handed you a small slip of paper. “Oh, and here’s the rest of that cash.” He pulled out the wad of cash he had in his hand earlier, giving it to you like nothing. “When are you off work?”

“Um,” you stared up at his tall and muscular figure, “in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll take you home, I’ll be outside.” He walked out the room, leaving you sitting there on the couch dumbfounded. Did that seriously just happen? Muffled club music filled your ears as you sat there, staring into the room. Your gaze slowly shifted to the money in your hand, a mix of five thousand and ten thousand yen bills.

The back door the club squeaked as you opened it, the night breeze hitting you in the face as soon as you stepped out. A small shiver sent up your spine, heels clicking against the pavement, eyes wandering around the parking lot for Toji. Turning the corner, you caught sight of him. He was leaning against his car, cigarette in hand as he blew the excess smoke from his lungs. A smile crept up on your face, slowly walking over to him. “Hey,” you spoke, catching his attention.

He looked up, seeing you standing right in front of him. You adjusted the duffel bag you had on your shoulder, full of the money you made tonight and the outfits you had brought along. “You ready?” He asked, flicking his cigarette on the floor and snuffing it with his shoe. You gave a simple nod. He opened the passenger door for you, allowing you to get it first and shutting it behind you. The gesture made you smile even if it was the bare minimum. You’ve barely met this guy, yet he’s the first to treat you with more respect than anyone you’ve ever met. “Where do you live, sweetheart?”

“Oh, I live on 51st street, you know those apartments by the highway,” you informed.

“Yeah, I know, I pass by there all the time heading to work.” He reversed out of the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to make sure no cars were approaching.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything from me? Like at all? Not even a kiss? Heated makeout session? A blowjob?” You asked, laughing slightly.

Toji chuckled at you, shaking his head, “as much as I would love those things, no”

“Really?!” You asked, surprised.

“Really.” He glanced at you.

“Mmm, then how about after our first date?” You asked in a sultry tone.

“Do you really wanna fuck me that bad?” He stopped the car at a red light, turning his head to look at you.

“You kind of make it hard for me to not want to,” you explained, placing your hands around his arm, hugging it towards you.

“And why is that?” He placed his finger under your chin, lifting your chin. Your breath got caught in your throat as you stared into his dark eyes, feeling your heart beat rapidly against your chest.

“You’re the first guy to ever treat me nicely,” you quietly told.

“As much as I’m flattered, it’s basic human decency. So, get used to it, yeah?” The light turned green, Toji tearing his gaze away from you as he began to drive again. You put your hands back in your lap, fiddling with the fabric of your duffel bag. The rest of the car ride was silent, but not awkwardly silent. It was peaceful, the roads empty, and feeling the small breeze on your skin from the cracked window. It was almost enough to put you asleep until the car came to a full stop.

You looked up to see you were in front of your apartment building. As you undid your seatbelt, Toji stopped you. “Tomorrow five o’clock, I’ll be here.”

“And I’ll be ready.” You smiled. He watched you open the car door before you stopped and turned back to face him. You leaned in planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” you muttered and stepped out of the car. He made sure you got in the building safely before pulling off. The scent of your perfume lingered in the car, and he could feel the lipgloss from your kiss still on his cheek, though he felt no need to wipe it off. He knew he was going to make you his girl the moment he laid eyes on you that night three months ago.

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