#It's like beating my head against the wall
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Club Rendezvous—Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader
summary— while on spring break, you cross paths with Luigi Mangione at a club, sparking an immediate connection that leads to a night in your hotel room. based on this request.
warnings— grinding, drinking, fingering, cunnilingus, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.
a/n— Those photos are so fratboy Luigi coded, idk I like this little mood board, enjoy <3 I really hope he’s doing well, my heart aches when I think about him.
The club was alive, the high energy vibes only spring break could deliver. Neon lights flashed across the crowd, music boomed loud enough to shake the walls, and you and your friends were in the middle of it all. Drinks in hand, laughter over the music, you were living your best life. Your group wasn’t shy about taking over the dance floor, swaying your hips to the beat, your confidence catching more than a few eyes.
Among those eyes were his. Some tall, dark curly haired guy leaned casually against the bar, drink in hand, charm on full display. His backwards cap barely kept his dark curls in check, and his sleeveless shirt revealed toned arms. He was the type of guy who made heads turn without even trying. And tonight, his focus was on you.
You noticed him when you turned toward the bar, locking eyes for the briefest second. His smirk was teasing, and when he tipped his drink in your direction, you knew the game was on.
“Who’s that fine ass staring at you like you’re the last shot at the bar?” your friend shouted over the music, nudging you.
“Probably just some frat boy who thinks he’s cute,” you replied, though your smile betrayed you.
“Girl, he’s cute!” another friend chimed in. “Go dance with him!”
You rolled your eyes playfully but turned your attention back to the dance floor. It wasn’t long before he made his move, walking through the crowd until he was standing close enough for you to feel his presence.
“You dance as good as you look?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.
“Why don’t you find out?” you shot back, challenging him.
He laughed, the sound sexy and confident. “I was hoping you’d say that, I’m Luigi by the way.”
“And I’m Y/N,” you flirted.
Before you knew it, he was behind you, his hands resting respectfully at your hips, waiting for your cue. When you started to move, he followed your lead effortlessly, the two of you in sync. The beat pulsed through your body as you threw your ass back, his grip tightening slightly to match your rhythm.
Your friends were cheering you on from the sidelines, one even yelling, “Get it, girl! Pull him in!”
“Your friends are wild,” Luigi said with a chuckle, his lips close enough to your ear to send a shiver down your spine.
“They’re hyping me up,” you replied, glancing back at him. “Don’t let ‘em down.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he promised, his cute smirk widening.
You felt on top of the world as you moved together, his presence grounding you while the world spun around you. The chemistry was undeniable, and the looks your friends shot your way only fueled your confidence.
“You’re stealing the show out here,” he murmured.
“Good,” you said, flashing him a grin over your shoulder. “I’m worth it.”
When the song ended, you turned to face him, breathless but grinning. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and for a moment, it felt like maybe you were.
“Wanna grab a drink?” he asked, his tone a mix of boldness and uncertainty.
“Depends,” you said, tilting your head. “Are you buying?”
“For you?” He laughed, already nodding. “Absolutely.”
As you walked toward the bar together, your friends erupted into cheers behind you.
“Go get your white boy, queen!” one shouted, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to,” Luigi joked, glancing at your retreating friends.
“You better,” you replied, “Think you can handle it?”
“With you?” His smirk softened into something genuine. “I’ll try my best.”
Spring break had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.
The bass of the club faded slightly as you and Luigi leaned against the bar, drinks in hand. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d introduced himself, and you couldn’t deny how charming his boyish confidence was. You had a good feeling about him.
“So, what’s your story?” Luigi asked, sipping his drink and leaning closer to hear you over the music.
“Just here for spring break with my girls,” you said with a shrug, “What about you?”
“Same,” he said, his eyes lingering on yours, “Though I’m thinking this night just got a lot better.”
“You’ve got lines, huh?”
“Only when they’re true,” he replied, raising his glass toward you.
Feeling bold, the words spat out of your mouth before you could overthink them. “You wanna come back to my hotel?”
Luigi’s thick eyebrows raised slightly, his grin widening. “I’d love to,” he said, “But only if I get to take you on a date tomorrow morning.”
“Deal.”
Within minutes, he’d called an Uber he paid for, and the two of you were in the backseat, the city lights blurring past the windows. Luigi had his arm draped casually along the back of the seat, his fingers brushing your shoulder. You turned to him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.
The kiss was soft at first, testing, but quickly deepened. His hand slid to cup your jaw, pulling you closer. “You taste like trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating.
“You’re one to talk,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip, earning a low chuckle from him.
By the time you reached the hotel, the air between you was charged. In the elevator, the doors had barely closed before Luigi pressed you against the wall, his lips capturing yours in a feral kiss. His hands roamed over your sides before one slid lower, fingers trailing into your bottoms.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
“Luigi,” you breathed out, your knees going weak as his fingers found your pussy.
“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice low as his fingers thrusted in slow strokes. “You’re so tight.”
You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the soft whimper you let out when his thumb pressed against your clit betrayed you. His lips found your ear. “Don’t you dare hold those moans. I wanna hear you.”
When the elevator dinged, you both barely managed to pull yourselves together, your face dazed and breaths uneven. Stumbling down the hallway, Luigi was still kissing your neck as you fumbled with the keycard, his lips sending shivers down your spine.
The door finally opened, and the two of you stumbled inside, laughing softly before his lips found yours again. You fell back onto the bed, Luigi bracing himself above you as his kisses moved down your neck to your collarbone.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his hands tracing your sides. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”
“You’re just saying that,” you teased.
He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “Nah, I mean it. You’re stunning, and you’re driving me insane.”
His lips claimed yours again, his praise melting into your skin as his hands explored, every touch making you feel like he meant what he said.
His hands worked at the hem of your top, his lips brushing against your jawline. His fingers grazed your skin, pulling off your bottoms next slowly, leaving you in your bra and panties.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes roaming over you like you were something rare. “I don’t think you even realize.”
You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt in response. “You first,” you teased.
With a smirk, Luigi pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned torso with abs that had your breath hitching. When his hands worked to remove your bra, his fingers grazed your nipples. Once he freed you from it, he paused, staring at you as if committing every detail to memory.
“You’re perfect,” he said.
Your panties were the last to go, and when you reached for his waistband, he let out a soft laugh, his hands gently stopping yours. “Let me take care of you first, pretty girl. Tonight’s about you.”
Your lips parted in surprise, but Luigi was already lowering himself onto his knees at the edge of the bed. “Can I?” he asked, fingers resting on your thighs.
You nodded, unable to find your voice, and he flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “Good girl,” he murmured.
The first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, your back arching slightly. He knew what he was doing, his mouth working against you with a precision that had your legs trembling. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging gently as he grinned against your skin.
“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he continued, “I could stay here all night.”
“Luigi,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he pressed his tongue in deeper, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.
“You like that, don’t you?”
Your only response was a soft whimper, your head falling back as his tongue worked wonders against your quivering pussy. He lapped at your juices like a man starved, leaving not one inch of your pussy untouched. When your body finally gave in, shuddering beneath him and creaming, he pulled away, lips and chin glistening to smirk at you.
“You’re a dream,” he whispered, licking his lips and climbing back onto the bed.
You tugged him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. “Lemme take care of you now,” you offered breathlessly, reaching for his waistband again.
Luigi caught your hand, shaking his head with a smirk. “Another time. Tonight, it’s all about you. You’ve got no idea how lucky I feel.”
He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his tenderness making you realize you had scored the jackpot. He stood at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to unbuckle his pants as your gaze followed him. When he finally slipped them off, your eyes widened in disbelief at the sheer size of his hard dick.
“You’re joking,” you murmured, earning a low chuckle from him.
“Don’t worry, baby” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “You can take it. I’ll make sure of it.”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes locking onto yours. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked his tone serious.
“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.
“We can stop anytime,” Luigi reminded you, cupping your cheek. “Just say the word.”
“I’m sure, Luigi,” you assured him.
“Okay, amore,” he whispered, the word rolling off his tongue effortlessly. It sent a shiver down your spine.
Luigi positioned himself above you, one hand gripping yours as he lined his cock with your entrance. His lips brushed against your temple as he slowly pushed in, both of you hissing at the sensation.
“Luigi,” you whimpered, gripping his hand tightly.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised. He set a steady rhythm, his strokes careful but deep enough to find your sweet spot. “You feel so good.”
“You’re so big,” you panted, your head falling back against the pillows.
“Yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to kiss you. “Who’s making you feel good?”
“You are, Luigi,” you gasped, your body reacting to every word and thrust.
“That’s right,” he murmured against your lips. “Only me.”
He quickened his pace slightly, his hand slipping to your waist to steady you. The pleasure was becoming too much as he bottomed out and slammed back in, each thrust making your pussy quiver. “Cum on my dick, amore,” he coaxed, his voice soft.
Your pussy obeyed, a wave of release coursing through you as his thrusts slowed down, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips curving into that beautiful smile.
Before you could fully recover, Luigi flipped you onto your stomach, his hand sliding down your back. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, gripping your hips as he started again.
You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, the pleasure building faster this time. “I— I don’t know if I can hold on,” you stammered, your voice trembling.
“You don’t have to,” he reassured. “Cum for me baby. I’ve got you.”
Your body surrendered again, practically soaking his cock and the sheets, and he leaned down, pressing kisses along your shoulder. He gently turned you onto your side, lifting your leg as he settled behind you. His pace was slower now, deeper inside you, his hand brushing over your thigh as he whispered praises into your ear and you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.
“You’re amazing, amore,” he said, his lips brushing against your neck. “I love this pussy.”
You reached back to touch his arm, your breathing steadying as he continued to hold you close. He pressed kisses to the side of your face, his grip tightening on your leg as he rolled his hips with precision. You were so sensitive, all in your mind was his cock slamming into you then retreating with just the tip before he thrusted back in again. He found your sweet spot each time, your pussy quivering with every movement.
“Luigi,” you moaned, feeling your orgasm approaching.
“I know baby, I know. Cum with me. Can I cum inside you,” he asked.
“Mhmm—please, cum inside me,” you whimpered.
He reached down to rub your clit and it sent you right over the edge. You cried out, your body shaking under his touch as a wave of liquid sprayed from your pussy. He fucked you through your orgasm and soon you felt the feeling of warm sticky cum filling you to the brim.
You both lay there panting, and you could feel his cum oozing from your pussy as he pulled out.
“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, disappearing into the bathroom.
You barely had the energy to lift your head, but moments later, he returned with a warm, damp towel in hand. Sitting beside you, he placed a hand on your thigh and smiled. “Let me take care of you.”
He started cleaning you up carefully. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, glancing at you with concern.
“No,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse. “I’m good. Just tired.”
He chuckled, setting the towel aside and lying down beside you. “Tired? I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, brushing a stray curl from your face.
“You would,” you murmured, cracking a small smile.
He shifted closer, pulling the blanket over both of you. “So,” he started, “was it as good as you imagined it would be?”
“Confident much?” you said as you rolled your eyes playfully.
He grinned, leaning on his elbow to look at you better. “Hey, I’m just asking. You’re the one who moaned ‘Luigi’ about a hundred times.”
“Oh, shut up,” you grew flustered and hit his arm lightly.
“Now, tomorrow before the date, breakfast on the beach? Or room service?”
“Surprise me,” you said, already feeling your eyes grow heavy.
He settled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Deal. Sweet dreams, amore.”
“Night, Luigi,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest as you drifted off, feeling completely safe and cared for.
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Hi! Can you possibly write a Joe Burrow imagine please where he keeps referring to his gf as “wifey” or “my wife” to her and other people when he speaks about her even though they are not married yet. But he is waiting for the moment to pop the big question. Until one night he sees the perfect opportunity to propose right after a small argument about leaving the toothpaste cap off.
my wife | jb
life with joe burrow was nothing short of a dream. you were his safe haven, his number-one fan, and the love of his life. but there was one thing that always made you laugh: joe’s habit of calling you “wifey” or “my wife” to everyone—teammates, friends, family, even strangers.
“yeah, wifey cooked this amazing dinner last night,” he’d say, grinning like a lovestruck fool. or, “my wife’s the reason i’m not walking around in mismatched socks today.”
you’d always roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “joe, i’m not your wife yet.”
“technicality,” he’d reply with a smirk. “you will be.”
you thought it was just joe being joe, but little did you know, he was serious. the ring had been sitting in a drawer in his office for months, waiting for the right moment. joe had planned and replanned his proposal a hundred times, but nothing felt quite perfect.
one night, after a long day for both of you, the two of you were brushing your teeth side by side in the bathroom. you noticed the toothpaste cap sitting off again, and with an exaggerated sigh, you grabbed it and screwed it back on.
“joe,” you said, shaking your head, “how hard is it to put the cap back on? i do it every time.”
he rinsed his toothbrush and gave you a sheepish look. “it’s not that i don’t care—it’s just that i forget.”
“you always forget,” you teased, crossing your arms.
he turned to face you, his lips twitching into a grin. “you’re really gonna make a big deal out of this, huh?”
“yes, because one day, you’re gonna leave it off, and it’s gonna dry out, and then—”
you didn’t get to finish your sentence because joe suddenly dropped to one knee, right there on the bathroom floor.
“joe, what are you doing?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat.
“fixing the toothpaste cap problem for good,” he said, pulling a small velvet box from his hoodie pocket. his voice softened as he opened it, revealing a stunning diamond ring. “i mean, if you’re officially my wife, maybe you’ll have more patience with me leaving the cap off.”
your eyes widened, tears already pooling. “joe…”
“i’m serious,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “you’ve been my wife in my heart for a long time. i’ve been calling you that because it’s how i feel. and now i just want to make it official. will you marry me?”
you stared at him, your hands flying to your mouth as you nodded vigorously. “yes! of course, yes!”
joe slipped the ring onto your finger, standing and wrapping you in a tight embrace. “finally,” he murmured against your hair. “i’ve been dying to ask you.”
“you couldn’t have waited for a more romantic moment?” you teased, laughing through your happy tears.
“why? this is us,” he said, pulling back to look at you. “you, me, and a toothpaste cap argument. it doesn’t get more perfect than that.”
you kissed him, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. and as the two of you stood in the tiny bathroom, your laughter echoing off the walls, you couldn’t agree more.
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KINKTOBER
╰┈➤ DAY EIGHTEEN: DIRTY MASSAGE w/ KENTO NANAMI
"What's the matter?" Kento mutters, brows furrowing in curiosity as he glances up from his book to look at you limping down the hallway. He has one leg over the other as he leans back on the couch, glasses sitting on the edge of his nose, but the frames are unable to hide the immediate concern on his face at your strained movements.
You've just gotten out of bed, hair messy and eyes still droopy. Any other day, you'd be beaming to see your husband comfortably entertaining himself in order to let you sleep in on a Saturday morning. But his gentlemanly act only serves to make you roll your eyes and huff.
"You're the matter, Ken'." You laugh, leaning against the wall to still your quivering legs. It takes Kento a few seconds to absorb your quick comeback, before his eyes widen and he immediately gets up to walk over to you.
"Come here, my love. I'm sorry. I knew I should've been gentler last night. I got ahead of myself." Kento rambles as he pulls you into his arms, patting your head and burying his nose in your hair. You giggle at his instant remorse, pulling away from his chest to smile up at him.
"I'm kidding! I'm not mad. Just in pain." You say gently, filling Kento with a sliver of relief, but he's still kicking himself for putting you in such a state. By no means does he regret the things he did to you in the moment, he just wishes he had maintained at least a smidge of his composure to not render you completely helpless come the morning. It's a sweet sight, but overall, it's a little distressing for the poor, sweet man.
Nanami Kento physically can't have you so weary and wounded on a perfectly good Saturday. No, he needs to make it up to you.
"Let's lay you down for a bit, and I'll massage that pain away, alright?" Kento coaxes gently, already leading you back to the bedroom with a hand pressed to the small of your back before you can respond.
"What're you gonna do about my pussy, Ken'? She's real beat up." You coo teasingly, glancing up at Kento with a sly little smile that has him rolling his eyes.
"Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."
. • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆. °.•°:. *₊° .☆
"Shit- you're so tight, honey." Kento hisses, and you're too fucked out to register whether he's talking about your knotted shoulder blades as his thumbs knead your sore flesh... or your drooling cunt as he fucks you into the mattress.
You're lying flat on your tummy, arms folded beneath your face and hands clinging to the sheets beneath you. It had started as an innocent massage, with Kento perched behind your ass and straddling your legs while pressing his digits deeply into the ridges of your back. But each time you made a show of writhing beneath him and "accidentally" lifting your ass off the bed to graze his stiffening dick, Kento lost more and more of his restraint, until he found himself frantically shoving his cock between your legs and dealing with your poor, achy cunt.
Kento's body smothers the back of yours as you're forced further and deeper into the mattress with each churning, wet thrust. One of his hands come down to grip the globes of your ass, trying to still your desperate movements as you nudge your hips back against him. Seeing how much you need him makes Kento's head spin, and he knows he'll be creaming within the valley of your sweet pussy if you keep backing into him like that, your plush thighs flexing each time you do so.
His other hand, the only part of his hazy body that remembers his original task, still soothingly rubs the top of your back, massaging your aching muscles while his hefty cock massages your gooey, sloshing cunny with his long, lingering strokes deep inside your core.
You're getting closer, the throbbing in your lower tummy building up into a mind numbing tightness that radiates throughout you. Each passionate thrust sends shudders rolling through your body, the moans spilling from your lips muffled by your arms. Kento carefully grips a handful of your hair and pulls it back into a messy, makeshift ponytail, nuzzling his nose against your neck as he groans and pants against your skin.
"There you go. M- My sweet girl..." He whispers, dragging his teeth along your jawline as his other hand squeezes your shoulder as he fights the urge to cum the second he feels your pussy clinging around his girth.
It's safe to say that you're no longer thinking about the soreness in your thighs and back, Kento's fat dick always and forever occupying the best of the real estate in your pretty brain...
me when i'm still working on kinktober in january 2025: ☹️🫣😢
me when i realise it still counts as me posting content: 😜😁🥳
#ultravioletrayz#kinktober 2024#kinktober#𖤓uv c𖤓#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jujutsu nanami#jjk nanami#nanami x reader#nanami kento#nanami smut#kento nanami x y/n#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami#kento x reader#kento x y/n#kento smut#kento x you#jjk kento#nanamin#nanami kento smut#kento nanami x you#kento nanami smut#kento nanami fluff#jjk#jjk smut
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Ludos Imperiales II
Summary: Princess!Reader makes a deal with the Emperor to try and save her mates.
Content Warnings: Violence, Blood and Gore, Gladiator Tournament, Physical Abuse.
Part One
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I can’t breathe. The world spins in dizzying swirls around me. Mates.
Not one.
Not two.
Three!
All of them enemies of the Empire. Rebels scheduled for execution. Fate has always been a cruel bastard in all matters concerning me, but this feels like a personal attack on my existence. Someone in the Celestial Plain is laughing at this twisted attempt of a joke. How could I be so close to happiness and be forced to sit here and watch it be ripped from me one blood splatter at a time?
The Game Maker starts speaking again, his voice booming across the arena. I can’t make out any of the words; they’re all muddled together in my ears. This cannot be happening to me! It’s not fair! I’ve been the perfect daughter, even when it shattered me; I was a model student; I’ve upheld the law to the very letter; I make weekly sacrifices to the Mother; I built my own lararium to offer nightly prayers to the gods. I have been devought and loyal to both the gods and the Empire and this is the thanks I get?
I can’t tear my eyes away from where the three of them stand in the center of the Pit, waiting for the gates to open again. The violet eyed one, Rhysand-- gods even his name is pretty--won’t stop staring at my Father, challenging him to speak, to fight, to do something other than sit there like a coward while someone else kills for him.
My Father must understand the challenge in that gaze, because he finally stands and goes to the edge of the booth, weathered hands splayed out against the worn stones bearing a flag with his crest embroidered upon it. “Citizens of the Empire!”
The crowd gives a raucous shout.
I simply scoot a little closer to Brannagh to be able to see around Father.
My movements do not break the silent battle happening with Rhysand, but it does draw the eye of Azriel, who’s bloodied head tilts to the side quizzically as he takes me in. I feel a blush creep its way up my cheeks, the booth suddenly too hot as I try to meet his gaze. That hazel gaze bears an intensity that keeps me in place, but I cannot help but feel like I’ve been stripped bare, as if he can see straight into my chest, where my heart still pounds an uneven beat.
“Before you stands that which threatens our peace, our security, and most importantly the prosperity that our people hold so dear.”
The tall one, Cassian frowns at that, but Rhysand grins, as if he has won whatever silent battle he’s been having with my Father. He tips his head back and bellows, so that not a single soul here misses it, “There is no prosperity or peace in the Empire! There is only enslavement and death!”
The boos that had started coming from the crowd die, as if someone had collectively cut off their air supply.
The muscles in my Father’s back tighten as he realizes what is happening.
“Outside these walls we all starve! Supplies to every corner of the Empire have dwindled to single bags of grain, meant only to feed the soldiers that terrorize us in every corner of the world. You do not hear from your families in the far reaches because your mail is censored. Your loved ones have been dragged from their beds and crucified without trial. The only prosperity in this Empire is for Hybern himself.”
I finally tear my gaze away from Azriel’s silent study to look at Amarantha for confirmation that it is true.
“You should have slit his throat on the battlefield,” Dagdan snarls in her direction.
The power seeping from my fingers tears a hole through my skirts, singing across my thighs. The errant strand only hidden by the way I keep the fabric bunched in my hands. I do not allow myself to wince against the sting and give myself away.
“Those were not my orders!” Amarantha snarls, her teeth flashing as she stands. Her slaves jump out of her way, cowering against each other for safety. “Your Highness, silence him before he incites a riot!”
No! No! No! This can’t be happening to me! Not again. It is like watching my Mother be taken away all over again. I had just stood there. Unable to cry or scream or fight. I could only watch. That was what she trained me to do. She had even nodded her approval to my stillness as they’d dragged her away, as if it had been right. None of it was right. None of this was right!
“Your Master will tell you pretty stories but we are all his slaves in the end. Illyria has had enough! We will not sit by and let our women and children starve! If that makes us rebels and traitors to the crown, so be it! But what would you do if it was your children in the streets? Your wives being carted off to service foreign elites? Your sons forced to kill and die for an Empire that can’t even feed you?” Rhysand screams.
My Father, silently, motions to one of his Praetorians, a crossbow already swinging from the clip at his back.
The pounding of my heart in my ears will swallow me. Everything in the world slows and narrows into the motion of an arrow being fit into the crossbow.
Move! Move! Move! A dark ether of my power slithers up my wrists, catching Brannagh’s attention. She must make some snide remark about it, because I, distantly, see her lips move but no sound ever reaches my ears. I have to stop this. I have to do something!
I’m on my feet without conscious thought of what I’m doing. “Father, wait!” My hands reach for him, the sizzle of pain as my power skitters across his skin enough to make him turn and face me. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m saying, the words spew as if they have a mind of their own.
“If you kill him now like this you will incite a riot!”
His face twists, a snarl slipping past his clenched teeth. I have royally pissed him off, disgraced him here in front of his Inner Circle, where they watch from nearby booths. The thought would usually send me cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs, but the fear I feel for him is nothing against the fear I feel for them. The thing that links our souls together burns and rattles beneath my rib cage, needing to defend, to fight.
“Call off your guard!” I hiss, reaching out a hand and letting that dark power that lives inside me show. I’ll strike him dead if he so much as moves a finger towards the trigger. “Let us be diplomatic about this.”
“Who are you,” Father snarls, taking an advancing step towards me. The booth shakes as his own dark power rises to meet mine. “To challenge me, child?!”
I hold my ground, even though my body trembles. It is only the dutiful teachings of my Mother that keep my chin up instead of bowing it to my chest as every muscle screams for me to do. “I am not challenging you, I am trying to think about our people.”
I clench my fists again, dimming my power in feigned submission. “Go about this a different way. Show the people that ruthlessness is not always the answer to our nation’s problems.”
“Are you suggesting I spare an enemy?” Father snarls.
I honestly don’t know what my plan is here. I’m just throwing things against the wall and hoping something, anything, sticks, otherwise my only option is to fling myself down into the Pit and hope the power thrumming in my veins is enough to save my mates.
“No,” if I am to keep all of our heads, I must be crafty. I must play the games my Father plays. My gaze flicks to where Amarantha’s slaves remain huddled together, a desperate thought forming in my head. My stomach turns at the mere idea, but if it can save them…?
“You mean to entertain the people and quell all possible chances of further rebellion, but we have seen time and time again that no execution or crucifixion has done that. We merely make martyr after martyr. We encourage others to take up the cause.”
“Let them fight,” I’m going to be sick! It feels like there’s a knot forming in my chest. “And if they survive, let them live, let them be gladiators.” It’s unthinkable, it puts them in danger time and time again. “The betting will be astronomical. The people will return time and time again in hopes of seeing them fall. That money can provide support to the edges of the Empire. Prove him wrong by sending extra aid to those outside our walls.”
To his credit, my Father does listen to me ramble. The Mother has smiled on me for once, if he had been in one of his fits today he would have had Amarantha kill me where I stood. It is a miracle the Praetorian didn’t take me out for wielding so close to him in the first place.
“And you would have them what? Live in the slave quarters where they can incite a riot with all the dregs?” Amarantha hisses.
I’ll lose him if I let her forked tongue keep whispering in his ear. I am not blind, I know that she has more favor with him than I ever have. “No. Leaving them free to whisper with the other gladiators would be a mistake. Let someone claim responsibility for them.”
The plan forms in my mind as I speak. I don’t like it. I’m not sure that it’ll even work, but I have to try and save them. I cannot let them die while I stand here uselessly watching as I did with my Mother. I will never be useless or silent again. “Give them to me.”
Brannagh chokes on her wine behind me.
Amarantha’s jaw actually drops in shock.
“I will take responsibility for them. They will be monitored by my guard. To our people it will look like you mean to humiliate three great warriors, by shackling them to me. It is no secret what our people think of me.”
Dagdan’s snort is proof enough how weak I look in the eyes of our people. I am nothing but a sheltered, pampered princess to them. Up until today they didn’t even know that I’d inherited my Father’s powers. Good, let them all think me weak and useless and meek, they will never know the claws and fangs that hide beneath my skin until it is too late. Father included.
“She is not strong enough to keep them in check,” Amarantha hisses. “If you are to do it, give them to me.”
I barely reign in my powers, barely keep my teeth behind my lips. They are mine and I will be damned before I let her put her grubby little paws on them!
“You may monitor them as often or as random as you wish, Father,” I speak over her instead, fighting to keep his attention. “I will move back into the Palace. I will sit in every meeting. I…” There is one sure thing that will guarantee his approval of this awful plan of mine. “I will marry whoever you choose for me.”
His dark brows raise in surprise. “And what would prompt this sudden loyalty to me, child?”
I raise my chin. “I have sat too long in the dark, and I could not see it until…” I have already bartered my soul, what will some more empty words mean in the end? “I could not see it until you removed that traitor and her poisoned tongue from the house. I see it now. I have failed our people and I mean to make it right.”
He flicks his gaze over his shoulder, down into the Pit. “The gorsian stone should keep Rhysand in line. And with enough guards, you might be able to keep them locked up. If they should survive the fight.”
“Sometimes death is a mercy,” I say, the words tasting like bile.
He takes a step closer, so we’re nearly nose to nose. “And if you fail to keep them in line, it will be you that dies in this arena, do you understand?”
Better me than them.
“You cannot be serious, Your Highness!” Amarantha squeaks, her voice shrill.
I nod, trying not to gloat in my victory over her. “I understand.”
Father grins, pleased with himself as he snags my hand and brings me back into view of the arena. “Please forgive the delay, the Princess and I were just discussing what our guests had to say about the state of our Empire.”
I feel three sets of eyes settle on me like a brand. The bond, still so new and raw in my chest, feels like chains rattling against my ribcage. I cannot tell if it is their anxiety or my own.
“Let it be known that this Empire is a democracy, and that I, as your Emperor, care about the state of affairs that all of our people live in.”
I try to meet the gaze of the senators and highly decorated soldiers sitting in the booths that line the upper ring of the arena. These will be the most upset by the news. The next ring of wealthy merchants and shopkeepers, tradesmen and fleet keeps will be the ones that take what they hear here back to the streets. Word will spread. The people will know what happened here, how the Emperor suddenly decided to care about them. It will be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I try to not look down at the Pit; try not to think about the life I’m condemning them to.
“Our beloved Princess is very concerned about your well-being,” Father continues and there’s a collective cheer from the lower levels. “And so, we have decided not to execute these rebels today.”
The tone immediately shifts to one of confusion.
“They will compete as gladiators. Should they prove resourceful enough to survive, they will be branded as gladiators, and sponsored by our Princess.” Great, not only do they have to survive the damned arena, they have to survive any threats from other gladiators who will seek to take out well-sponsored competition.
Even from our vantage point I hear Cassian curse in disbelief.
“She has so graciously decided that all their winnings will be sent to any hurting corners of the Empire, should there be any to be found.”
The crowd takes a moment to process what he says. It even takes me a minute to comprehend the last part. He’d really send all the money that I’d earn as their sponsor to the poor? That’s a hefty bit of charity, even for him. There has to be some sort of catch?
“So, let these males fight! Let’s see how far they are willing to go for their people.”
There it is. They could choose to sit down and die in the arena, making themselves martyrs as Amarantha thinks they intended, and then, instead, they would look like they were not willing to make sacrifices for their people. If they fought, competed for whatever earnings were bet on them, then they would be heroes. A symbol of strength only the great Emperor Hybern could make. Father really is the best at these political games.
The crowd roars as trumpets blow three times.
Father motions me back to our seats.
“You don’t really think they can win, do you, cousin?” Dagdan questions.
The ground shakes as a giant strolls out of the tunnels. The creature is so large he has to bend over nearly double to fit. When he stands to his full height, his bald head is practically even with the edge of our booth. Terrible scars crisscross over his body like spiderwebs. Hybern went to war first with the land of Giants, the war had lasted decades. My Grandfather had taken many giants as slaves and forced them to kill each other in this arena. Some gladiators were able to earn their freedom, but the devastation that the Giants had wrought on our people made my Grandfather declare that no Giant could ever be made free. The poor creature had probably been chained here, fighting in the Pit long before I was even born.
“They survived Amarantha,” I retort.
The General bristles. “I thought you didn’t place bets on the first day?”
I reach for another glass of wine, trying to settle my nerves. “There’s a first time for everything.” Perhaps making an enemy out of her is unwise, but the bond chafes against my ribcage at the thought of her being anywhere near any of them. Better to keep her attention on me than on them.
Another horn blows, prompting the giant to move and I hold my breath as he reaches a meaty hand down to grab one of the Illyrians. The males scatter, Cassian going into a roll between the Giant’s legs, using the blind spot to his advantage while Rhysand drags Azriel out of the way with an arm around his waist. He’s practically carrying Azriel now, who’s broken wings seem to be getting heavier by the minute.
Cassian roars as he stretches out a hand, a wave of red tinted energy blasting from his palm. The arch or power slams into the Giant’s calf, blasting away a chunk of skin and muscle, splattering blood across the nearest wall.
The Giant roars as he falls to one knee.
Cassian sprints behind him, out of reach of the hand that comes sweeping down at him. This time, he’s the distraction as Rhysand uses the hand not holding Azriel upright to unleash a blast of dark, obsidian power.
My own magic flares in response. It is a darkness so like my own, the sight of it a siren call that has me leaning forward in my seat. If he can unleash a blast powerful enough to leave a gash across the Giant’s bare chest with those gorsian chains around his neck, how much damage can he do without it?
The Giant’s cries of pain echo throughout the amphitheater; using the distraction, Cassian continues to blast away at it’s leg while Rhys throws blow after blow at it’s chest. They fair far better than I anticipated they would, but I know better than to let hope get the better of me. It is far too easily ripped away in this arena.
As if on cue, the gates open again and a pack of wargs come sprinting into the arena.
The crowd erupts in cheers, and my heart once again thunders in my chest. What have I done? It takes all my training to not start chewing on my thumbnail. How am I supposed to save them from this?
Amarantha claps gleefully as one of the wargs breaks away from the pack to lunge straight for Azriel’s throat.
No! No! No- Azriel raises a scarred hand to blast the beast backward with a wave of blue tinted magic. There isn’t enough time to sigh in relief, not as the rest of the pack splits in two, one circling Rhysand and Azriel, the other taking a shot at the Giant. Those rows of razor sharp and needle thin teeth sink into the Giant’s already bleeding leg, momentarily distracting it as it swings wildly around the arena, arms pinwheeling as it fights to balance on one leg while the other flails in an attempt to shake the beasts off.
“They’re not supposed to attack the Giant!” Brannagh whines.
I gulp down my wine, hoping it will push the wave of nausea that rolls through me down. I’ve signed their death warrants. I’ve gotten my mates killed.
Cassian, in the chaos, has managed to find half of a spear, the blade rusted from the recent rain, but he hurls it with acute precision nonetheless, piercing through the oddly shaped skull of a warg snapping at Azriel’s wings.
Rhysand and Azriel have moved to stand back to back, their varying shades of magic weaving between their fingers as they prepare to strike the snapping beasts that circle them.
The Giant topples over as the three wargs held tight to it’s wounded calf find a nerve. There’s not enough room in the arena to let him fall without incident. The poor creature topples right into the wall opposite us, knocking away a section of stone and nearly dragging a Senator and his mistress into the Pit.
The Praetorians launch from our booth to aid the screaming couple.
It might have been funny under different circumstances, but I cannot peel my eyes away from my mates as the blast beast after beast away with their magic. Even wounded, even stunted by the chains, they are the most powerful wielders I’ve ever seen. Even if Cassian’s and Azriel’s magic sprays with less precision than usual without the siphons Illyrians are known for, every blow is calculated. They do not miss. Warg after warg falls, their leathery skin blistered or blasted away from multiple blows. Even wounded, the males remain in perfect sync, filling in any gaps the other might lack. They manage to kill five of the eight beasts, the other three still mercilessly tearing through the Giant’s leg, even as the guards try to push him off the wall.
Brannagh laughs at the tears that fall from the Giant’s eyes as he swats uselessly at the beasts. No matter how many times his massive fists slams against them, they will not let go. His blood runs like a river through the center of the Pit.
Many of the crowd laugh too.
These are my people? This is what I am to inherit? This misery and suffering and apathy towards the suffering of others? We are monsters!
As soon as I can get my mates out of this godsforsaken Pit, I will find a way to get them far, far away from this place, where it can never hurt them again. And then, when I know they are safe, I will make sure that this place burns.
Rhysand seems to take pity on his opponent, as he steps away from Azriel’s back to blast one of the remaining wargs off the Giant’s calf. From the distance across the arena, the blow is not a killing one, and aggravated, the warg turns its attack to Rhysand.
My breath hitches in my throat as he lowers himself into a crouch, hands splaying in the damp earth. There is a sword a couple feet from him, if he runs, he might make it there first. But he doesn’t run, he waits until the beast gets close before hurling dust in it’s eyes. While it’s distracted, a rope of star studded magic unfurls from his palm and wraps around the beast’s throat. Instead of killing it, he hurls it back at the others, knocking all of them free from the Giant’s leg.
The crowd boos.
My heart clenches in my chest. He could have let them end this fight now, could have let those beasts tear clean through the Giant’s leg and won by default, but he didn’t. He chose to fight fair, to do the dirty work himself.
The three beasts turn on him as he sprints for the sword. There’s just enough time for him to get a firm grip on the hilt before the first lunges, its claws tearing through his forearm as he fights to get the angle he needs to win. Blood splatters, those handsome features twisting in pain as he adjusts his stance. Cassian runs towards him, but he won’t make it in time.
There’s no more wine to distract me, I’ve fully bitten through my lip now. Please if there are any gods left to hear me, don’t let him die here!
Rhysand moves with the grace of a well-practiced swordsman, each step flowing into the next like a dance as he cleaves through one beast's head, and severs the paw of a second. In mere seconds, he manages to dispatch the rest, leaving the mangled bodies at his feet. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and under different circumstances I might have been too distracted by his beauty to notice the Giant move.
Rhysand might have been the better male, but that didn’t save him from the Giant’s hand as it swatted him across the battlefield like he was a pesky fly. I bite deeper through my lip to keep back a scream as his body bounces across the muddy floor until he meets a wall.
Cassian and Azriel roar in outrage and the tether that sits in my chest rattles so hard against my rib cage I think it might rip right out of me. This can’t be happening!
The Giant rises on shaking legs, then falls back onto its knees, using its meaty fists to bash against the arena floor, in what looks like the world’s deadliest game of Whack-A-Mole. Red and blue magic flashes across the arena as the Illyrian’s throw blow after blow, leaving bleeding gashes in the Giant’s fist. Across the arena, Rhysand rolls onto his back, forehead covered in blood as he struggles to get upright. He’s alive at least. Barely. But alive.
I vow to the Mother and any other god that can hear me that if they survive the fight I will find somewhere safe for them. I will do whatever it takes to keep them out of this arena for good.
“They are persistent, I’ll give them that,” Dagdan muses.
I feel rather than see my Father’s frown as he takes in all the chaos with the experience of a seasoned strategist. I know that he is calculating their odds, mapping out every possible outcome. I wonder if Cassian launching into the air, wings beating so hard to get him airborne that I feel a gust of hot air on my face, was part of his calculations? If he could have foreseen the blast of energy Cassian’s hurls into the Giant’s eyes, blinding him?
The Giant abandons his attempts at smashing them to grab at his eyes, large hands clawing at his sizzling flesh. The whole arena can smell burnt skin, but Cassian doesn’t let up, he aims blow after blow at the Giant’s head, until he finally falls over backwards, neck slamming hard against the already broken stone.
I look away, stomach in my throat as the resounding crack fills the amphitheater.
The crowd roars in disbelief as Cassian tucks in his wings and descends back into the Pit. He hits the ground running, footfalls heavy in the mud as he rushes to Rhysand’s side. Azriel is not far behind him. With their combined strength, they manage to get Rhysand back on his feet.
I pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. They’re alive!
Father stands and makes his way to the edge of the booth again. “For whatever reason, the Goddess has smiled upon you three today! Today, you will live. Let us hope you remain in Her favor.” He doesn’t sound super thrilled by the prospect as he turns his back to the crowd, slate gray eyes pinched as they fall to me.
“Walk with me.”
I stand, trying to keep my singed skirts in my hands so he cannot see the damage I’d done. Or the blood from my palms. If he suspects I was at all nervous for the outcome, I could ruin everything. I must keep my composure.
And not run down the stairs to the gates and throw myself at my mates like every fiber of my being screams at me to do.
The guards follow as we exit the booth. In moments there will be chaos as beings scatter to find the Games Keepers and collect their winnings, or pay their debts, but for a moment, the crowd lingers in their seats, watching as the Illyrians are led out of the Pit.
“You embarrassed us today,” he hisses once we’re out of Amarantha’s earshot. The anger in his tone is enough to make me try and take a step away from him, but he throws an arm around my shoulders to keep me against his side. To any onlookers, we are just father and daughter having a chat. His voice is low enough that no one will hear the threats he hisses in my ear.
“You hide away in the River House for months, mourning a traitor who was plotting to overthrow me and now you make a spectacle of yourself! I should have you cast out into the streets!”
My only way out is to placate him. “I am sorry, Father.”
“Sorry,” he snarls, fingers digging tight enough into my shoulder to bruise. “Your apologies mean nothing! I swear, if you do not do everything you promised to do today, I will throw you into this arena! And I will use your own advice to keep you alive long enough to ensure you have a couple matches to prolong your suffering.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I meant what I said, Father.” Mostly. Perhaps I can secure passage for all of us out of here and we never have to think about the Empire again. The more I think about it, the more pleased I am with the idea. Yes, I just need to make it look like I am taking them as slaves, and once we’re out from the watchful eye of my Father, we can all run far, far away. Maybe I am more clever than I thought.
He leads us down the steps to a door that will eventually lead us to the gladiator cages and a guard swings open the heavy iron for us. Once we’re out from under the eye of the people, the rough stone walls closing in tight--a means to ensure none of the larger gladiators can make a run for the door and escape--he releases his grip on me.
Torches line the walls casting his face in near shadow as he pauses at the bottom of a second, smaller, set of stairs. I shiver despite myself as the door slams shut, sealing me in. I suppose at this point I should be prepared, but I’m not, and when his open hand slams across my cheek I lose my balance and slip down the last two steps of the staircase.
“Don’t ever question me again!” He hisses.
The guards pretend to not notice, as they always have.
I grit my teeth against the ringing in my ears, against the hot tears that threaten to escape me, focusing instead on carefully getting back on my feet. Stay down too long he’ll kick in my ribs like he used to when I was a child. Get up too fast and he’ll assume he hadn’t hit me hard enough. I put over emphasis into finding a handhold in the wall, making sure I keep my stinging cheek against my shoulder. The tremor in my hands is not feigned fear, I’ve been terrified of him my entire life, but I do exaggerate it just as my Mother taught me.
“Spoiled brat!” He grumbles as he stalks forward into the tunnel. “I coddled you too much.”
I glare at his back once I’m sure he’s no longer looking at me. I hate him! I’ve hated him my entire fucking life. He’s ruined everything. Taken everything from me. Everything I’d ever loved he’d wiped off the face of the earth, all because I had the misfortune of being a female. All because he couldn’t have a precious son.
I grit my teeth so hard they hurt as I brush my skirts off and follow after him. I will be glad when I am finally out of his sight. Far, far away from this stupid Empire. At least I have mates; someone out in this Mother forsaken world who will care about me; who won’t hate me just for existing. At least there is one thing he can’t ruin for me.
I am too distracted with my thoughts to note the paths we take. I distantly hear the sound of injured men groaning, catch a whiff of filth and animal waste, but it’s all a blur. This will all be a bad dream soon. Soon I will have my mates and I will never have to deal with him again. I can be happy. I will be happy.
By the time he finally stops walking, I’ve schooled my features into a perfect mask; have brushed a few loose strands of hair in front of my face to hide the red mark across my cheek. He will suspect nothing until it is too late. Then he can have his precious Empire. It will be the only thing left he can control.
A guard opens what looks like a cage door, the iron old and rusted, and the guards that have been trailing behind us step in first.
“Against the wall!” They bark.
There’s no light in the cell, just the flickering of the torch on the wall behind us. I don’t know what to expect.
“Fuck you, Imperial Pig!” Cassian.
I bite my tongue to keep back the grin that threatens to escape me, my mask slipping. He’s not so hurt that he can’t put up a fight. The thought warms something in my chest. Headstrong, stubborn, if the sound of scuffling coming from inside the dark cell is anything to go by, and sarcastic--everything I need to counter my reserved nature. I need that energy. I need him. The surety of that makes me square my shoulders.
“Easy, Cass.” Rhysand. His voice is smooth as silk, even if the words are a little slurred. “We don’t want trouble.”
“The fuck we don’t!” Cassian shouts. “I’m no one’s fucking pet!”
The guard at the door, once sure the others inside are secure, steps away to grab the torch off its perch in the hallway, and sets it into an old rung on the inside of the cell, bathing the room in its soft glow.
Father steps in first.
For a moment, I hesitate, heart in my throat. I need them. I need that strength I saw in the arena. Need that fire Cassian spews. The surety that Rhysand carries himself with. I need them. And if I show any sign of that, they're dead.
The guard, now back at the door, eyes me quizzically.
I draw a shaky breath and school my features back into a perfectly bored mask.
I can do this.
I will do this.
I won’t let Hybern take anything else from me, no matter the games I have to play.
I tell it to myself over and over as I step into the cell.
----------------
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˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 12 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
୨୧┇Telemachus x reader
୨୧┇warning: Telemachus is lowkey hormonal in this
────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───
Y/n was up against the wall. Her lips moving quickly and hungrily against Telemachus’s. Her delicate hands moving up and down his back, pulling him closer and closer. One of his hands was next to her head, the other gently grasped the back of her head.
“Y/n...” Telemacus breathed, his lips not leaving her skin and moving down her jawline to her neck. He heard her-
Telemachus resisted the urge to violently scream and bang his head against the wall. The boy bent down, opening the trapdoor to the tunnel leading to his mother’s room. His thoughts of Y/n only worsened. No matter where he went, she continued to consume his every waking thought. Even while he was about to visit his mother, he was thinking of extremely inappropriate things he should not be thinking of.
Telemachus crawled through the tunnel, cursing himself along the way. He tried to clear any unholy thought from his head and calmly talked to his mother about his day. Ask her about her weaving and discuss how beautiful the weather had been today. And talk about how he wanted to kiss and adore every inch of-
This is bad.
Telemachus gets to the end of the passageway. He takes a deep breath preparing himself fully for the conversation ahead. He unlatched the trapdoor, and crawled through, wiping off his tunic as he stood. He glanced up and saw his mother straightening up her bed, before she saw her son standing there.
“Hello Telemachus,” Penelope sweetly smiled, “Have you had a good day?”
Telemachus held himself back from saying, “It was more than good.” Instead he responded, “Yeah..yeah..it was..pretty good…How was your day?”
“Oh it was perfectly fine. I weaved for a while before I snuck out to the gardens to tend to the lavender..are you quite alright Telemachus?” Penelope tilted her head, glancing at her son. Telemachus was red in the face, his hands slightly shaking. The mention of lavender seemed to only make his turmoil worsen.
“I can’t take this anymore,” Telemachus yelled, burying his face in his hands, “I kissed her.”
“I’m sorry?” His mother asked in a confused manner.
“I did it, mother. I was mad and I cornered her up against the wall. We went back and forth insulting each other and something just-happened..I just kissed her.” The boy explained, running around like someone had cut off his head.
Trying to understand the situation, she moved closer, “Y/n?”
“Y/N!” He shrieked, “And I can’t get her out of my head. She just...lives there now.” He pulled at his hair to show his point, and he groaned in disgust. The prince quickly turned to face his mother.
“But she’s so gorgeous. Her hair and her face and her eyes. It makes me hate her. I really do hate her for it. I shouldn’t be kissing her. She’s the enemy. I know, I know. I don’t know what got in me. I think I’m mentally ill...but how could anyone blame me? How could you have Y/n...Y/n standing in front of you and not kiss her. Everytime I see her I just want to kiss her and wipe the smug grin off her face. But she doesn’t want me. And I don’t want her. This was an accident. A complete mistake. But she didn’t push me away. She would’ve pushed me away if she didn’t like it right? Y/n makes me so sick-” Telemachus was moving around the room, using his arms for emphasis as he frantically paced. He only stopped when his mother’s hand was over his mouth.
“Please be quiet..for one second.” The queen laughed at her son’s panic. Telemachus took a deep breath and his mother took her hand off of his mouth.
“What do I do?” He quietly said, looking down into his mother’s brown eyes. All his mother did was sigh and put her hand on his shoulder.
Penelope’s hand then moved down to his chest where his heart was frantically beating at even the simple thought of Y/n, “Lead with your heart Telemachus..it’s what you do best.”
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Telemachus lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling as the flickering light of the oil lamp danced across the room. The palace was silent except for the distant murmur of waves crashing against the Ithacan shores. Yet, despite the stillness, his thoughts were anything but calm.
He clenched his jaw and turned onto his side, burying his face in the pillow. Why can’t I stop thinking about it? The memory of Y/N’s lips on his flashed vividly in his mind, soft and sudden and charged with an intensity he hadn’t expected. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image to fade.
But it didn’t.
Instead, the memory grew more vivid, and before he could stop himself, his mind wandered to the way she’d felt against him, her hand pressed to his chest, her body so close to his that he could feel her warmth. His thoughts turned darker, imagining things he’d never dare admit aloud. His hands on her waist as he ravaged her, wanting to feel her around his—“No!”— He yelled out, shaking his head violently as if he could physically dislodge the images.
“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, rolling onto his other side. His heart pounded, and he felt his face flush despite being alone. He tried counting sheep, thinking of Odysseus’s great adventures, or reciting the Greek tales in his mind, but nothing worked. His thoughts kept slipping back to her, her smirk, her sharp tongue, her teasing remarks, and now, her kiss.
“Stop it, stop it,” he hissed under his breath, throwing an arm over his face. Yet, the more he tried to fight the images, the stronger they became. He rolled again, this time so forcefully that he lost his balance. With a yelp, he tumbled out of bed and landed on the cold stone floor with a dull thud. For a moment, he just lay there, sprawled on the ground, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. His face was burning, his body restless, and his pride thoroughly bruised. He sat up slowly, rubbing his elbow where he’d knocked it against the floor. “Get a grip, Telemachus,” he said to himself, his voice sharp with self-reproach. “She’s just—she’s Y/N. Antinous’s sister. A thorn in my side. Nothing more. The kiss was nothing more than an accident, and I bet she thinks that too.”
But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.
With a frustrated groan, he climbed back into bed, yanking the blanket over his head as if hiding would somehow banish the thoughts plaguing him.
Sleep, however, continued to elude him.
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Telemachus paced his room, wringing his hands as his mind waged war against itself. Every logical thought screamed at him to stay put, to push down the chaotic emotions that had been bubbling since the kiss. Yet, the pull of Y/N, her smirk, her sharp tongue, the brief but searing connection they’d shared, was too strong to resist.
Before he could stop himself, he was slipping through the secret passageway, the torch in his hand casting long, flickering shadows against the damp walls. His heart pounded with every step, his breath shallow as he approached the entrance to her room.
He pushed the concealed panel aside quietly, stepping into her dimly lit chamber. She was asleep, her face half buried in her pillow, strands of curly hair splayed out like a halo. For a moment, Telemachus simply stood there, watching her. She seemed so… peaceful, so unlike the sharp tongued tease he argued with daily. But even in sleep, she was Y/N—a force of chaos he couldn’t get out of his mind.
As he took a hesitant step forward, the floor creaked beneath his weight. She stirred, her brows furrowing slightly before her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, her gaze focusing on him in the faint light. “Telemachus?” she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep. She didn’t seem alarmed this time, more confused than anything. “What are you doing here?”
Telemachus froze, his pulse racing. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. “Don’t tell me you’re here to break another vase,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. Her voice held a familiar teasing lilt, but it lacked the sharp edge he was used to. “If you are, I’d recommend actually trying to break it.”
Her casual tone was the final crack in Telemachus’s resolve. He threw his hands up, his voice loud and raw with emotion. “I can’t stop thinking about you!” Her eyes widened, and she sat up fully, the blanket slipping slightly off her shoulders.
“I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t do anything without you invading my mind,” he continued, pacing in front of her like a man possessed. “You’ve been driving me insane, Y/N! Ever since that kiss—damn it, ever since before the kiss I’ve been losing my mind!”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn’t give her the chance. “And I know you don’t care. I know you probably think I’m some foolish little prince who doesn’t know what he wants. But I don’t care anymore.” His voice cracked as he stopped in front of her, looking down at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Just let me kiss you one last time, and then I’ll leave. I swear. Just one more kiss.”
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of his confession. Y/n stared at him, her expression unreadable, her lips slightly parted as if she didn’t know how to respond. Telemachus, trembling and flushed from his outburst, took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Forget it,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration and embarrassment. “I’ll go.”
But even as he turned, he couldn’t bring himself to move another step, waiting—hoping—for her to say something. His shoulders slumped in defeat as the weight of his own confession settled over him. His feet felt like lead, but before he could take another step, he felt a hand grab his wrist.
He froze.
“Telemachus,” Y/N’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, so unlike the sharp, teasing tone he was used to. Before he could turn to face her, she tugged on his arm, pulling him back toward her. His balance wavered, and before he knew it, her other hand had slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips.
The kiss wasn’t like their first, hurried and impulsive. This one was slower, deeper, and deliberate. It wasn’t just a clash of emotions but an acknowledgment of everything unspoken between them. Telemachus’s breath hitched as he leaned into her, his hands instinctively gripping her waist as if to ground himself. Her touch was firm but not forceful, her lips moving against his in a way that sent his mind spiraling.
When she finally pulled back, just a breath away, her gaze locked onto his. The teasing smirk he’d expected wasn’t there; instead, her eyes were searching, hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure what to say next. “You’re such an idiot,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Telemachus blinked, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears. “I—what?”
“You burst into my room, ranting like a madman,” she said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And then you’re just…going to leave after saying all that?”
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “I thought you didn’t care—”
“Maybe you don’t know everything, little wolf,” she interrupted, her hand still resting lightly on his neck. They stood there in silence, the air between them heavy and electric. Telemachus opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” she said, her smirk finally returning as she released him and leaned back against her pillows. “You’ll hurt yourself trying to use that little cute brain of yours.”
Telemachus stepped back, dazed and breathless. “I—uh, I should go,” he stammered, his face flushed. He turned toward the secret passage, his legs unsteady. As he reached the hidden door, his foot caught on the edge of her rug, and he stumbled, nearly falling face first into the wall.
She laughed softly behind him. “Try not to trip over yourself next time, wolf.” He straightened, waving a hand awkwardly as he avoided looking back. “I’m fine!” he called over his shoulder, his voice cracking slightly. “Perfectly fine!”
The door slid shut behind him,
Y/n sighed as she lay back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. The room felt unusually quiet after Telemachus’s abrupt departure, his flustered stammering still echoing faintly in her ears. She brushed her fingers over her lips absentmindedly, her thoughts swirling in a way she wasn’t used to.
Then, the door to the secret passage creaked open again.
She shot up, her eyes narrowing. “Telemachus?”
Sure enough, there he was, standing awkwardly in the doorway with a sheepish look on his face. His hair was even messier than before, and he avoided her gaze as he stepped into the room, shutting the passage behind him. “Are you serious?” she asked, crossing her arms. “What now?”
“I—I couldn’t leave,” he admitted, his voice quiet but earnest. “I don’t want to leave you, Y/N. Not tonight.” Her expression softened, though she quickly masked it with a raised eyebrow. “What, did you forget how to get back to your room? Or are you just this clingy?”
“I’m serious,” he said, taking a hesitant step closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t want to spend another night lying awake, wishing I were here instead.” She opened her mouth to respond, but the raw vulnerability in his eyes stopped her. For all his usual blustering and self-righteousness, he looked…honest. Lost, even.
She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Then tell me to leave,” he challenged, his voice trembling slightly. “Tell me, and I’ll go.” Her lips parted, but the words didn’t come. She stared at him for a long moment, and then, with a resigned groan, she patted the space next to her on the bed. “Fine. But just this once.”
Telemachus hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, before he moved to sit beside her. The bed was warm, and y/n’s presence so close made his thoughts swim.
“Lie down,” she instructed, rolling her eyes. “You look like a kicked puppy standing there.” He did as she said, his body stiff and awkward as he stretched out beside her. She reached for a blanket, draping it over both of them before shifting closer, her arm wrapping loosely around him.
“Are you comfortable now, little wolf?” she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation but also something softer. Telemachus nodded, though his face was burning. “Yeah… thanks.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. Y/N’s hand rested on his shoulder, her breathing slow and steady. Telemachus found himself relaxing despite the storm of emotions in his chest. “Don’t make this a habit,” she muttered sleepily, her head resting lightly against his.
“I won’t,” he whispered, though the thought of leaving her side felt impossible now. Moments later, her breathing deepened as she drifted off, her arm tightening slightly around him. Telemachus, still wide awake, allowed himself a small, fleeting smile before finally succumbing to sleep, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.
@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r
#epic the musical#epic the musical x reader#epic telemachus#telemachus#telemachus x reader#aphrodites gamble
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Peach Wine
Are you both drunk off of the peach wine or each other?
cw. smut, penetrative sex, cowgirl position, creampie, female reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact.
Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated. Enjoy~
The taste of peach wine lay heavy on your tongue when you kissed Brant, your plush lips tingling when the familiar, heavy scent of alcohol invaded your senses. You can feel the effects of the alcohol lingering in your system, taste it mixing with Brant’s saliva as it dripped from his tongue. It made your head feel giddy, your mind clouded in a thick haze of lust as you struggled to form a coherent sentence. A salacious moan tickled the back of your throat as you kissed Brant harder, your bare bodies pressed and tangled together as you revelled in the confusion. Warmth licked at the base of your spine and pooled into the pit of your stomach, the coil knotting impossibly tight when Brant bumped his hips into yours and buried his boiling cock deeper into the soused walls of your chubby pussy.
Arousal beaded from the wet seam of your fat cunt, creamy folds weeping around Brant’s thick girth as he split apart the drooling folds with such dizzying ease it made the base of your skull burn with a pleasant itch. Your long lashes fluttered over your burning cheeks as your pussy continued to drip around him, thick thighs squeezed around his waist as he leisurely bounced you in his lap, burying his cock deeper inside of you until your pussy intimately remembered the shape of him. He hummed a merry tune against the plump seam of your kiss swollen lips, tucking the bruised skin between his teeth as another sweet noise dripped from your tongue like cloyingly sweet honey and he eagerly lapped it up like a man parched at sea.
"Hmm, you taste so sweet my dear~" he cooed softly. "Has all the peach wine made you all the more sweeter?"
His hot breaths mingled with your rough pants as he caught your lips in a searing kiss again, swallowing your moans and cries of ecstasy as he nudged his cock a little deeper inside you. You buried your hands in his short tufts of hair, the silky black tresses slipping through your fingers like fine silk as you tugged on the baby hairs lining the nape of his neck. Your blood simmered hotly in your veins as another spike of arousal flared in the pit of your soft stomach, your plump thighs trembling around Brant’s waist he sucked on your tongue and lapped at the beads of saliva clinging to the corners of your lips. The slick, aching nub of your clit flushed to life every time the tightly packed bundle of nerves clapped against Brant’s pelvis, thick curls of pubic hair cushioned against the sensitive skin as your fat cunt continued to drool messily and swallow him whole like a starving beast. His strong hands anchored to your plump hips, squeezing the pillowy soft skin until the soft pudge spilled between the splayed digits of his fingers. You whined every time he squeezed you, the tips of your ears burning red hot as your messy pussy clenched around his cock.
"Brant" you whined into the heat of his mouth. "Stop teasing me."
Your little huff of indignation was also swallowed by Brant’s greedy mouth as he kissed you breathless, your pulse droning in your ears like the loud beat of a drum as your heart threatened to jump out of your throat. It was getting harder for you to think in the heat of the moment, your body burning up from the press of Brant’s body beneath you, his strong chest pressed into yours as your fat tits squished against the hard contours of muscles and your pebbling nipples brushed against his clammy skin with every jolt of his hips. It made you whine as you shyly tucked your face into the crook of his neck, lips pressed against his pulse as little bolts of lightning crackled down the notches of your spine with every rough dig of his cock into your velvety soft walls. You could feel the fat tip of his cock nudging against the soft, gummy patch deep inside of you that made bright stars waver in your vision, arousal freely dripping from you as easily as the peach wine flowed this fine evening.
The tips of your fingers tingled with numbness as you dug them into his shoulders, toes curling into the soles of your feet as you choked on a hiccup of pleasure, whining his name with a drunken slur as the boiling coil in your stomach threatened to snap at any moment. A soft chuckle breezed past Brant’s lips as you rest your face on his chest, peeking up at him beneath the soft flutter of your lashes brushing against your flustered, round cheeks as you stared up at him with eyes just as dazed as your mind. You couldn’t control the cant of your hips any longer as you eagerly bounced along his cock, angling your hips to make him hit that sweet spot in you over and over again until you were drooling all over his chest. You were a completely debauched sight, a constellation of tears clinging to your lashes as they pleasure threatened to spill over, hair ruffled and mused as your sumptuous skin dotted with pearls of sweat that shimmered under the pale candlelight. Brant wrapped his strong arms tight around your plump waist, hands squeezing your love handles as he used it as leverage to buck up into you. You could barely hear his soft praises and coos over your own rapturous whines as your voice echoed around the stuffy bedroom.
"That’s it" Brant cooed. "What a good girl, just for me. Is my good girl going to cum now? I would be the happiest man if you cum right now."
His coy voice filled your ears, your body trembling in his lap as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, his hat he had placed on top of your head earlier starting to slip and obscure your vision as fireworks exploded in the pit of your stomach. You unfurled with a loud cry, eyes slipping close from the bliss as your body drowned in a sea of rapture. White hot relief flooded your veins as your pussy pulsed, his cock sucked into the hug of your snug pussy as your juices squirted all around him. Brant moaned, hips stuttering as your fat pussy squeezed him tighter, coaxing him to release and milking him for every last drop. Your stomach tingled as thick ropes of white filled you up, the tip of his twitching cock resting against your white-hot nerves as you rode the ebb and flow of your orgasm.
Brant caught your lips in a kiss once more, the rim of his hat falling over his eyes as your mouths slotted against each other like perfect puzzle pieces. You grind your sopping cunt into his lap as he lazily bumped his hips into yours, pearls of his cum slipping down your trembling legs in thick rivulets and dripping through the messy folds of your feverish cunt. You hummed softly against Brant’s mouth as you kissed him back, hands rubbing along his shoulders and delving back into his hair as you combed your fingers through the tresses.
"Does my pretty baby feel full?" he asked, words starting to slur as the alcohol finally caught up with him.
You hummed softly, squeezing your thick thighs tighter around his waist as more pearls of cum dripped from your stuffed pussy.
"Maybe one more?" you mused.
Brant chuckled as he kissed the tip of your nose, hands squeezing your soft waist as you giggled softly. "Whatever my pretty girl wants~"
#my writing#wuwa#wuthering waves#wuwa x reader#wuthering waves x reader#wuwa brant#wuthering waves brant#wuwa brant x reader#wuthering waves brant x reader#wuwa smut#wuthering waves smut#x reader#x fem reader#x chubby reader#nsft#smut#brant x reader
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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt and fuckgirl!reader meet
the music pulses through the house, a bass-heavy rhythm that you can feel vibrating in your chest. laughter and voices mix with the beat, a chaotic symphony of a saturday night party. the air is thick with the scent of perfume, spilled drinks, and the faintest hint of weed.
you’re at the center of it all, like always. your friends hang on your every word, their giggles rising like bubbles in a soda as you recount some outrageous story that’s half true and half too good to believe.
you take a sip of your drink—something sweet and strong—and let your gaze wander lazily over the crowd. you know almost everyone here, and they all know you. the thrill of attention is comforting, warm and familiar, and it boosts your ego. but then, your eyes catch on someone unfamiliar.
he’s leaning against the wall, partially hidden in the shadow of a flickering neon sign. a plaid shirt, worn jeans, and a beer bottle held loosely in one hand.
he’s quiet, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of caution and curiosity. his lips curl into a faint, almost invisible smile when he watches someone stumble over a poorly executed dance move. he’s not part of the chaos, not like you are. he’s observing, separate and untouchable.
very intriguing.
you tilt your head and narrow your eyes, studying him for a moment longer. he doesn’t fit here—not with the sweaty, writhing crowd or the boisterous laughter spilling over from a nearby beer pong table. it's enough to make you curious.
without thinking twice, you excuse yourself from your friends with a playful wave and weave through the crowd, your hips swaying just enough to part the sea of drunken bodies. the floor sticks faintly under your heels as you approach him, and you feel his eyes flicker to you before quickly darting back to his beer.
"hey," you smirk, letting the word slide out like it’s dipped in honey. you lean casually against the wall next to him, your shoulder almost brushing his but not quite. "never seen you before," you snicker, sipping your drink.
his lips quirk up slightly, but he doesn’t look at you. not directly. "'cause i don't go out," he shrugs.
"yeah, clearly," you laugh, loud enough to drown out the rest of the room. "you don't seem to fit in, no offense at all by the way."
"you're right," he mumbles, looking toward the group of people dancing like idiots and shakes his head.
you raise an eyebrow, amused. "so why are you here then?"
the boy shrugs, taking a sip of his beer, "came with my brothers."
you smirk curiously, leaning a bit closer to him against the wall as you speak with a hint of seductiveness, "yeah? who's your brothers?"
he notices your closeness, snickering a bit under his breath responding nonchalantly, "chris and nick."
you tilt your head to the side, your lips parting as the image of nick and chris pop into your head. you know of them, knowing that they're triplets, but you had never seen the third one around before. "so you're the third triplet?"
the boy nods, but it’s not with any pride or enthusiasm. it’s more like he’s trying to explain away his awkwardness, or maybe even justify why you've never seen him before. '"yeah," he mutters, taking another sip of his beer like it’ll help him escape the conversation.
"i see," you say with a smirk, drawing the words out slow. "so you’re just the quiet one?"
he looks at you for the first time in the conversation, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might smile, but he doesn’t. instead, he shrugs. "something like that. they’re more the… social type. m'not really big on crowds."
"what's your name baby?" you quip flirtatiously, keeping the charming smirk on your face.
he doesn't seem amused by the pet name, almost like he expected you to say something like that. "matt," he mutters, taking another sip of his beer.
there's a small, nagging frustration creeping in—something you’re not used to feeling. normally, guys are falling over themselves just to talk to you, to get a little attention. but matt? he’s too cool, too calm, almost like you’re just another part of the background noise to him.
but then there’s that flicker in his eyes—just enough to make your heart race. he’s not falling for your usual moves, but you can see it now: there’s something more beneath that nonchalant, cool exterior. a curiosity, maybe even a hint of interest. it’s not the usual eager gaze you’re used to, but there's something almost…enticing about the way he’s not giving it to you.
it sparks something else inside you. something deeper. maybe it's the challenge. maybe it’s the way he doesn’t need you to flatter his ego to get your attention. whatever it is, it’s stirring something inside you, something that makes you want him even more.
when you tell matt your name, keeping up your suggestive tone, he scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk as his eyes flit from the crowd to your face, "i know."
𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: nothing newww i'm sorry :( i j redid my introduction for this au and decided to post their meet as a prompt. but new things are coming soon !! i've just been in a funk and i don't feel like writing lately
thank you for reading!! <3
tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03
@chrissturnsfav ™
#matt sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo smut#sturniolo smut#ᰔᩚ loser!matt x fuckgirl!reader prompt#ᰔᩚ loser!matt x fuckgirl!reader#chrissturnsfav ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo triplets x reader#matthew sturniolo x reader
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something new 💝 (steddie microfic, steddie bingo)
For @steddiemicrofic January prompt, ‘new’ and @steddiebingo fill, ‘soulmates.’
Rating: M; WC: 517; CW: Omegaverse; Tags: Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, fluff, mild angst and h/c, Steve and Chrissy are besties, strangers to lovers, steddie soulmates. Summary: The Omega darling of the entire High School, Steve Harrington figured he was totally in control… until Eddie Munson happened.
💝💝💝💝💝
Steve sat in the corridor, leaning against the music-room wall. On the other side, a voice soared above a thrash-metal beat and melted his inner Omega into a puddle of need.
“Steve? You’re late for cheerleading practice… Oh!” Chrissy crouched down, stroked his clammy brow. “Stevie, you’re burning up.”
“I-it’s that voice.”
This was new, frightening. Steve daily flirted his ass off without breaking sweat—the Omega Princess of Hawkins High. This terrifyingly wonderful sound, however, hit some catastrophic resonance.
Slick gushed into his cheerleader hotpants. “Chrissy, what’s happening?”
“I think,” said the other Omega, “Eddie is happening.”
“Munson?”
The wild noisy music checked out, scaring Steve shitless. Eddie was a ‘dangerous’ bad-boy Alpha. They’d never even spoken.
“Sssssh, breathe,” said Chrissy. “C’mon, let’s clean you up.”
They skipped practice, while Steve calmed. Chrissy reassured him she’d known Eddie for years: “He looks scary, but he’s really nice.”
Later, in the canteen, Steve tentatively approached Eddie, who glanced his way, eyes narrowing. His Alpha musk—smoky-sweet with undertones of freshly-fired iron—stabbed Steve like a smoldering dagger.
Steve woke up at home, confused and mildly slick, a wisp of Eddie’s scent still upon him.
Horror struck.
He’d fainted! Chrissy, who sat by his bed, told him Eddie had been worried, and they’d brought him home together. Ugh, he was still so ashamed.
Steve couldn’t face college the next day. By lunchtime, multiple deliveries of chocolates and flowers had arrived from various Alphas.
Nothing new. None of them smelled of Eddie. He’d blown it.
Then an envelope landed on the doormat, containing a mixtape lightly doused in... Eddie’s scent.
Steve slid it into his Walkman and lay down, pulse skittering.
Hardcore-metal thrilled through him, interjected with soft-rock he already loved, like Bon Jovi.
Finally, Eddie sang.
Steve writhed, stroking himself, weeping with need. Eddie husked in his ears: “Never even spoken, never fucking touched. You tore inside me, twisting viscera, totally fucked me up…”
In the aftermath, Steve trembled, stunned.
The phone rang.
His parents were away, so Eddie came straight over. Chrissy, too, for support. This time, Steve perched on the bed, while Eddie approached cautiously. He kneeled to take Steve’s hand, smiling tentatively.
“This is new for me,” he mumbled, blushing and almost bashful. He kissed Steve’s fingers, setting Steve reeling giddily, tingling head-to-toe: “Never courted an Omega, like, old-school, before.”
Steve nearly yelled: This is the first time I’ve genuinely wanted to be courted. Instead, he said, “I love your voice.”
Please jump my bones already?
Eddie blushed harder and beamed wolfishly. Steve clasped his wrist and tugged him onto the bed, and animal magnetism did the rest. Eddie took Steve in his arms. Excruciatingly sweetly, Eddie’s lips brushed Steve’s, tongue probing gently. Steve tipped his throat back with a relieved sigh, turning willingly pliant. Eddie licked and nuzzled his scent-gland, setting him purring.
Chrissy giggled. “Gonna call Rob to pick me up.”
A month later, they were going steady. Eddie finally shared the title of the song he wrote that first day, when the longing in Steve’s Omega scent hijacked him and transformed his life forever:
‘Soulmates.’
💝💝💝💝💝
zero pressure tag: @wheneverfeasible 💚 My stranger things fic on AO3
#steddiemicroficjanuary#steddiemicrofic#steddiebingo#steddie omegaverse#omegaverse steddie#alpha eddie munson#omega steve harrington#steddie#steddiebingo2025#steddie fic#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie microfic
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Are u trying to kiss me?
yunho x mingi
oneshot | mdni
1.1k
Where Yunho and Mingi’s casual hangout goes from tipsy laughs to full-on "holy crap, are we doing this"
nsfw tags under
m/m, bottom mingi, top yunho, dryhumping, friends to ?, alcohol, drinking, makeout, kissing, horny drunks xd, blushing, subtle touching, grinding, blow job mentioned, and idk what more lol
Yunho and Mingi had been best friends forever—practically glued to each other since middle school. They’d been through all the cringe-worthy phases together: the awkward growth spurts that left them tripping over their own feet, the regrettable haircuts they’d both agreed were “cool” at the time, and crushes so embarrassing they swore to take them to their graves. Late-night ramen runs and arguing over the last piece of kimchi? That was their love language.
But tonight was… weird. Different.
Yunho had gotten it into his head to try out some new alcohol recipe he found online, proudly declaring it was a “genius masterpiece” that would change their lives. Naturally, Mingi volunteered to be the guinea pig. Free booze? Say less.
Now, a couple of bottles deep, the kitchen looked like a war zone—half-empty glasses scattered across the counter, sticky spills everywhere, and Mingi’s obnoxiously loud laughter echoing off the walls. He was leaning against the kitchen island, cheeks flushed red, head tilted back as he lost it over something Yunho said… except Yunho couldn’t even remember what was so funny.
All Yunho could focus on was Mingi. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way his lips curled into that stupidly endearing grin, the way he looked so ridiculously carefree right now. Yunho found himself staring, his heart doing this weird little flutter thing in his chest.
“Dude, you’re, like, bright red,” Yunho teased, reaching out to poke Mingi’s cheek.
Mingi swatted his hand away, still grinning. “Shut up, I’m not red. You’re red.”
“Oh wow, killer comeback,” Yunho snorted, rolling his eyes.
Mingi just laughed harder, leaning into Yunho’s space without a care in the world. His shoulder brushed Yunho’s arm, and for some reason, Yunho froze. It wasn’t like Mingi wasn’t touchy—he was always in Yunho’s space, throwing an arm around him, hanging off him like a human koala. But tonight, it felt… different.
“You talk too much,” Mingi mumbled, his grin softening as his gaze locked on Yunho’s face.
“What?” Yunho blinked, his voice quieter than he intended.
“I said, you talk too much.” Mingi’s hand landed on Yunho’s shoulder, sliding down his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I like touching you,” he added, completely nonchalant, like he wasn’t flipping Yunho’s entire world upside down.
Yunho blinked again. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re soft,” Mingi said with a teasing grin, giving Yunho’s bicep a squeeze. “Weirdly soft for a guy your size.”
“Oh my god, you’re so dumb,” Yunho groaned, shoving him lightly.
“Yeah, but I’m your dumbass,” Mingi shot back without missing a beat.
Yunho froze. That wasn’t new—Mingi said that kind of stuff all the time. But tonight, it felt different. Heavier. Loaded with something Yunho didn’t quite understand but couldn’t ignore. And when Mingi leaned in, his face suddenly way too close, that something became impossible to avoid.
“Mingi,” Yunho said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”
Mingi tilted his head, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Thinking about kissing you.”
“What?” Yunho’s voice cracked so hard he might as well have hit puberty again.
“I mean, unless you don’t want me to,” Mingi said, his smirk faltering a little.
“I—uh—are you serious right now?” Yunho stammered, his brain short-circuiting.
Mingi shrugged. “Kinda.”
“Kinda?” Yunho echoed, eyes wide.
“Fine, yes, I’m serious.”
Yunho opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t get the words out. His eyes darted to Mingi’s lips, then back to his eyes, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in.
The kiss started soft—almost hesitant, like neither of them could believe it was actually happening. But then Mingi made this quiet little noise, something between a sigh and a whimper, and Yunho was a goner.
Mingi kissed like he did everything else—with his whole heart. His hands slid up Yunho’s back, pulling him closer, while Yunho’s hands instinctively found Mingi’s hips. They pressed together, their bodies fitting like they were meant to, and Yunho couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss.
Their hands wandered, exploring each other's bodies with increasing urgency as their kisses deepened. It was more intoxicating than the alcohol they'd consumed, and neither of them could get enough.
Mingi whimpered again, his hips moving instinctively against Yunho’s. The sound shot through Yunho’s system like a live wire, it was the hottest thing Yunho has ever heard and wanted to hear it again, he couldn’t help but grind back.
Mingi's hips were unstoppable, moving faster and faster, he’d never felt this overwhelmed, this hot and bothered, not like this before.
Yunho must've noticed how frantic Mingi had become, and without missing a beat, he matched his rhythm. He slid his tongue along Mingi's neck, nipping at his jaw and biting at his ear, his voice low and teasing. "You wanna come, baby?"
Mingi's spine tingled at the sound of Yunho's voice—damn, he sounded so fucking hot talking to him like that.
“Yunho,” Mingi gasped, his head falling against Yunho’s shoulder. His whole body trembled, his nails digging into Yunho’s arms as a broken moan escaped his lips. He stilled after a second, shuddering in Yunho’s arms as he caught his breath.
Yunho held him close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Mingi’s back. His own heart was racing, his head spinning, but all he cared about was Mingi.
“You good?” Yunho asked softly, pulling back just enough to see Mingi’s face.
Mingi let out a shaky laugh, his cheeks flushed and his grin lopsided. “Good? I’m amazing,” he said, his voice still breathless. Then his eyes flicked down to Yunho’s lap, and his grin faded. “But, uh… you didn’t…”
Yunho shook his head quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Seriously.”
Mingi’s hand shot out, grabbing Yunho’s wrist before he could move away. “No,” he said firmly, his tone more serious than Yunho had ever heard. “Let me take care of you.”
Before Yunho could protest, Mingi was sinking to his knees, his hands already working at Yunho’s belt. The alcohol haze was gone now, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered emotion between them.
As Mingi looked up at him, his dark eyes filled with something Yunho could only describe as pure want, Yunho knew one thing for sure: this was, without a doubt, the best experiment he’d ever attempted.
#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez smut#mingi#yunho#ateez imagines#ateez oneshot#mingi smut#yunho smut#yungi smut#kpop#kpop smut#yungi#yungi fic#atz#smut
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UNBREAK MY HEART [ from scratch pt. iii ]
a/n: i’m not jinxing myself no more y’all. every time i say ima post something, i get super busy and it gets pushed back a whole week. so here’s part 4, it’s just as tense as the last part so pls don’t hate me <3
warnings: angstt
"un-break my heart , say you'll love me again undo this hurt you caused when you walked out the door and walked out of my life"
“You look like hell, uce,” Jon finally broke the empty silence that filled his living room.
Joe sat on the edge of Jon’s couch, staring blankly at the bottle of beer in his hand. The condensation dripped down onto his palm, cold and unrelenting, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in his chest. He hadn’t planned to come here, but the quiet echoes of his own house had been unbearable. Jon’s place, noisy with the distant sound of his kids playing in the backyard, at least gave him the illusion of calm. He huffed out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Thanks. That’s exactly what I came to hear.” Joe leaned back. The television played some highlights of last night’s football game, but neither of them paid much attention.
Jon sat in the armchair beside him, his sharp gaze pinned on his cousin. He didn’t push, not yet, but Joe knew the look. It was the same one Jon gave him when they were kids, back when Joe had tried to hide bruises he got from football practice. The look that said Jon could see right through him.
“What’s goin on?”
“Nothing.” Joe shrugged, taking a slow sip of his beer and keeping his gaze fixed on the bottle.
“Bullshit.” Jon’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a challenge.
Joe clenched his jaw. “It’s just the rehab.”
Jon’s brow lifted. “The rehab? Or Camille?”
At her name, Joe’s stomach twisted, and the beer suddenly tasted bitter. He set the bottle down on the coffee table with a thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, too bad,” Jon said, unfazed. “You’re here, which means you do wanna talk about it. You just don’t know how to start.”
Joe’s head snapped up, anger flaring in his chest. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
Jon shrugged. “I’ve known you your whole life. You bottle everything up, uce. Always have. You keep stuffing things down until they explode. And when they do, you the one left pickin up the pieces.”
Joe scoffed, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s better that way. Some things don’t need to be talked about.”
“Like Camille?” Jon pressed.
Joe glared at him, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it.”
“Then make me get it,” Jon said, his tone softening as his posture straightened. “Come on, Joe. What’s really goin on?”
For a moment, Joe said nothing. He stared at the wall, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he didn’t want to feel. The lime-washed wall blurred in his mind, replaced by Camille’s face—the tension in her jaw when she was focused, the way her voice softened just enough when she thought he was in pain.
But he let the words come, sharp and raw, cutting through the silence.
“Seeing her every day is like ripping open a wound that won’t heal,” he said, his voice low and strained. “She’s right there, just trying to fix my shoulder like… like none of it even mattered. Like I didn’t matter. Like she didn’t walk out on me without a damn word.”
Jon hummed, letting a beat pass before speaking. “You think that’s how she really feels?”
“I don’t know,” Joe snapped. “And honestly, I don’t care.” He leaned forward again, his hands gripping his knees. “I gave her everything, Jon. I didn’t hold anything back. I loved her, and she still left. And now she’s just…here. And I’m supposed to just… what? Pretend it didn’t happen? Pretend I’m not still pissed as hell that she didn’t even give me a chance to fix whatever the hell went wrong?”
Jon leaned forward too, his expression serious. “So you gonna tell her all that? Or you just gonna carry it around, hoping she’ll figure it out on her own?”
Joe shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “It wouldn’t matter, she still walked out of that rink. I fought for her, Jon. I fought like hell after that. What’s the point of trying to bring it up?”
“The point,” Jon said, his voice steady, “is that you still care. And don’t try to deny it, uce, ‘cause I can see it all over your face. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be this angry. You wouldn’t be here, venting to me.”
Joe’s chest tightened, and he looked away, his jaw clenching. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” Jon agreed. “But the thing is —you got a choice. You can keep holdin on to all this anger, or you can let yourself feel the other stuff too. The hurt, the love, the hope. Yeah, she left, but she’s here now. Don’t you think that might mean something?”
“The hell am I supposed to do about it now? Cause every time I see her, all I feel is this...mix of anger and—” He stopped, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I can’t do that shit again. I won’t.”
Jon sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Look, I’m not sayin you shouldn’t protect yourself. But you’re not just protecting yourself—you’re shutting her out. And maybe she deserves that, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe you just gotta be honest with yourself and Cam. You got her in front of you again, uce. How many people get that kind of second chance? But if you don’t at least try to talk some of it out, you gonna regret it.”
The room fell quiet again, the weight of Jon’s words pressing on Joe’s chest. He didn’t respond, unable to find the right thing to say.
Jon stood, clapping a hand on Joe’s shoulder. As Jon walked back to the kitchen, Joe sat, staring at the condensation pooling on the coffee table. He hated that his cousin was right.
But knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things.
—---
Architect was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around Joe like a vice, squeezing tight and leaving no room to breathe. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead only served to amplify the emptiness. He glanced at the clock on the far wall. 7:45 PM. The place had officially closed fifteen minutes ago, but he and Camille were still here. Alone.
She stood a few feet away, her back to him as she sanitized the treatment table. The sharp smell of cleaning solution filled the air, and her movements were mechanical, almost as if she were trying to avoid looking at him.
“Alright,” she said, her voice clipped as she turned to face him. “Let’s get started. We’ll do some stretches first, then work on the strengthening exercises.”
Joe nodded, the words sticking in his throat as he sat down on the edge of the table. His body ached, not from the rehab, but from the weight he’d been carrying since the moment she walked back into his life. Almost two full weeks of these sessions, of her being so close yet so distant, had worn him down to the raw nerve.
Camille reached for his arm, gently guiding it into position for the stretch. Her touch was clinical, but his skin burned where her fingers brushed against him, igniting a fire he’d been trying to smother since the day she’d left.
“Joe, relax your shoulder, you’re compensating with your back again.” she instructed, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before darting away.
“I got it,” He snapped, his tone sharper than intended.
Camille stepped back, swallowing the urge to bite back. Instead, she softened her voice. “I know you do. But this isn’t about pushing through pain, it’s about healing.”
Joe dropped his arm abruptly, the band snapping back as he let out a frustrated grunt. “Healing?” he said bitterly, his voice low but laced with anger. “You think this is healing? Having to sit here, day after day, while you pretend like nothing happened between us?”
Camille froze, the words slicing through the professional barrier she’d carefully maintained. “Pretending? Joe-”
“I’m not gonna put up with this!” he gestured between them. “This… act you been putting on for the past two weeks. Actin’ like we’re all good. Like you didn’t just walk out of my life without a saying anything.”
Her eyes widened as her face faltered slightly. “Joe, I’m here to help you with your recovery. That’s all.”
“Bullshit,” he shot back, sliding off the table. “You don’t just get to come back into my life and pretend like we’re strangers. You don’t get to act like what you did didn’t wreck me.”
“Can you just lis—”
“No,” he cut her off, creating some distance between them. His broad shoulders heaved as he turned to face her, his eyes blazing. “You don’t get to talk right now. I spent two years with you, Camille. Two years building a life, planning a future, only for you to rip it all away without even telling me why. Do you know how many nights I sat in that empty house, wondering what I did wrong? Wondering why I wasn’t enough for you?”
Her composure cracked, her lips trembling as she took a step back. “It wasn’t about you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Then what was it about?” he demanded, his anger boiling over. “Because from where I was standing, it sure as hell felt like it was about me.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away, straightening her shoulders. “You… you were everything to me, Joe. And that terrified me. I was scared of losing myself in you. I-I didn’t know how to handle it.”
“So you ran,” he said bitterly. “Instead of talking to me, instead of letting me in, you just left.”
“I didn’t know how to stay,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I was afraid I’d ruin everything. Afraid I’d ruin you.”
Joe laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Well, congratulations. You managed to do that anyway.”
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between them. Camille’s tears finally spilled over, but she held his gaze, refusing to look away. “I know I hurt you. And I’ve hated myself for it every single day. But you were so sure of everything. Your career, your life, your love for me… I didn’t know how to keep up with that. I didn’t know how to be enough for you.”
Joe’s expression softened, though the hurt lingered in his eyes. “You were enough, Camille. You were always enough. But you didn’t even give me the chance to show you that. You didn’t trust me to handle your fears. You just left.”
Camille’s voice broke as she replied, “Because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t think I deserved the kind of love you were offering. And by the time I realized I was wrong, it felt too late to come back.”
He'd figured this moment would come, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Joe turned away, running a hand over his face as he tried to calm the storm inside him. “I loved you, Camille. I still…” He stopped himself, his chest heaving. “I would’ve never given up on us like that. ”
“I know I made a mistake.” Her voice cracked again, and she quickly wiped at her tears. “And I never stopped loving you. I just—" Her voice rang in his ears, the rawness of her words made his chest tighten. “I don't know if it's too late, but I needed you to know that.”
Joe's eyes fell shut, his mind warring between anger and the yearning he’d tried to bury. Her confession hung in the air, vulnerable and raw like a blade against his skin, carving open old wounds he thought had scarred over. For so long, he had craved those words. In the sleepless nights when the silence was louder than his thoughts, in the moments when he reached for his phone only to remember there was no one waiting on the other end. He wanted to yell, to tell her she was too late, that the man she had left behind didn’t exist anymore. But the truth… the truth was that her absence had never stopped haunting him. He stood rigid, his emotions snarled in a web of anger, longing, and something dangerously close to hope.
Camille searched his face, her own filled with fragile hope and deep regret. "I’m not asking you to forgive me," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just asking for a chance to show you that I’m not the same person who left.”
“I don't trust you," he admitted, a long silence filled the room before he shook his head softly. "But I…I don’t know if I can let you go again, either.”
#roman reigns fanfiction#roman reigns fanfic#roman reigns fic#roman reigns x black!oc#roman reigns x oc
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What Lurks Beneath - Chapter 3
Viktor x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 4442 Words; Rating 18+ MDNI for Eventual Smut
AO3 | Prev
CW: Some slight ableism this chapter.
My mind—the restless, wandering thing—is only half on-task. The other drifts back to the shared lab—it’s cool metal shelves and sterile walls, the bite of chemicals hanging in the air. Specifically, the fresh set of samples waiting for me patiently in the fridge, which had been procured over a couple of visits to the undercity. Waiting. Ever the gentleman, Viktor insisted on coming with each time.
The words on the page before me blur as I twirl my pen. It’s only a quick jot away from the office. Perhaps I could take lunch there instead of at my desk. A bit questionable? But, tempting.
Unfortunately for me, Heimerdinger appears intent on giving me a stroke at the big hour of 9am instead. Breaking the silence, he asks, “have you considered presenting at the symposium?”
I let out a sputtering cough, eyes widening. Across the room, he waits.
“I hadn’t,” I gawk, “I’m not sure I have anything worth presenting, sir.”
He wags a finger my way, regarding me with a stern brow that I’d find intimidating on any other man. “I’ve seen too many a great scientist fall prey to false modesty.”
I frown.
“I have on good authority from a certain predecessor of yours that your research holds great potential, my girl,” He preaches. I pinch my nose at the term as he continues, “with a little hard work and guidance, of course!”
I tap my pen against the page, marking up the margins of the poor student’s paper haphazardly. Dot dot dotdotdot.
“I’ll think about it,” I say at last.
His eyes narrow for a moment, disappointed, before light flashes behind them. “Perhaps a private space is in order.”
I gape. That’s quite the bribe. What could possibly motivate this sudden investment in my career? “Sir I—”
“Now, now,” he repeats, closing his eyes as he walks into his adjoining office, “I won’t hear another word. Consider it!!”
His door clicks shut.
I sigh. I’d have to live and breathe my research, especially with the symposium at the end of the quarter. But I could possibly secure funding for my project. No more personal bankrolling and personal time and borrowed supplies. My nose pinches, I could care less about the competitive aspect. Progress, however…
“Sir,” my voice cuts the silence like a knife, “I’ll take you up on that lab.”
***
It’s in that very lab that I see Viktor next.
The space is a mess, as all good labs are. Half-empty boxes in the corner, a sparse arrangement of supplies scattered throughout the rest. But it’s my own, and it is wonderful. Finally able to break away from the small mountain of paperwork, I hum softly to myself as I work.
“I thought I might find you here,” a familiar lilting voice speaks.
My eyes remain glued to the microscope, the corners of my mouth tugging upwards, “I think I have you to thank for this.”
A few paces closer, I hear him shrug as he sets an object on the table, “eh, hardly.”
I look up. Standing at my side, he takes the room in with curious eyes. Drinking in each detail. Atop the desk sit a notebook and a mechanical pencil—sturdy, with a surprisingly ornate metal casing. He lifts his hand, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“A lab-warming gift,” he says, a small laugh escaping him. His mouth is a half-grimace, color dusting his cheeks.
I laugh, and he sharply turns, muttering something about ‘taking his leave’ as he stalks towards the exit.
“Hey, hold up, Vik.”
His steps falter, he keeps his back to me as he waits, tilting his head in my direction.
“I’m sure you’re sick of these little excursions, and this one isn’t in the undercity, so, no pressure.” My foot taps erratically, and I can feel the back of my neck heating as I continue, “anyways, I’m going to take some benthic samples from where the river is widest. I’ve arranged for a boat next week. You’re welcome to come.”
He blinks at me. A beat passes, and when I’m positive I’ve made a horrible fool of myself and overstepped, he replies, “I would… enjoy that.”
Oh. His expression is surprisingly gentle.
That’s that, then.
***
It’s that same expression that graces his features as he leans his arms against the railing, watching where the river meets the coast while we pull away from the wharf. Eyes wide, mouth parted. That not-quite-crease in his brow softening, as if he’s five years younger. He takes a deep breath in. Out.
“I’m starting to move on to biodiversity surveys,” I say. It’s an excuse to talk, and a rather lame one. I’ll take any.
He hums, eyes still scanning the coast, “hence the benthic samples.”
“Exactly,” I look over the edge of the ship into the deep dark below, I shudder, all too aware of what lay beneath. “I need samples of the less... polluted areas of the river anyways. Two birds: meet stone.”
He propped his chin on his elbow, looking at me from the side of his eye, “how soon will you return to the undercity? I imagine your timeline has moved forward.”
“Something like that. Though, I’m not sure when.” I laugh, shifting closer to nudge him with my elbow, “and how is your presentation? Prepared?”
He grimaced, but doesn’t budge, “mh, we will be. More or less.”
“How confident,” I laugh dryly.
The corner of his mouth twitches, “no, I don’t think I’ll be prepared for that until after it’s already done.”
My eyebrows raise.
“The prototype, however, is nearly ready to go!” he says with mock enthusiasm. He rubs at his chin, “I am.. eh, not a fan of public speaking.”
“Huh. You could have fooled me.”
“Funny,” he clipped.
“I’m serious. You’re always so,” I wave towards him, searching for the word, “confident.”
He squints at the water. Reading a page that’s not quite there. With another tilt of the head, he looks at me. Eyes focused, bright. “Self-assurance does not necessitate a lust for the limelight,” he says, his gaze shifting back to the water for a moment before returning to mine. There’s a flicker in his eyes, something I can’t quite decipher.
If we were closer, I’d call bullshit. Instead, I settle on a lopsided smile, “fair enough, Viktor.”
The trip proves surprisingly fruitful, save for one glaring issue: the ecosystem is under much more strain than I initially anticipated. Still, it was nice to see Viktor so… relaxed. Soft.
If I want to have a half-decent report in the next handful of weeks, I’ll need to do more faunal surveys. Measurable surveys. Possibly even find a link between the inevitable biomagnification and Piltover’s economy, if I’m really lucky. And all of this requires one thing. A knot forms in my stomach.
I’ll need to seek out Professor Haynes. Head of the Marine Biology department and God-king of supplies. A few of which I need.
***
It’s fairly early in the morning, the academy halls still quiet as I approach his door.
I rap on his office door, calling out, “sir?”
A quick grunt of ‘come in’ and I’m standing beyond the threshold. My eye’s scan the edges of his room. A mess of books line the shelves as sun pours through the window, the columns of light highlighting each speck of dust. Beige and musty. I fear my smile comes across as more of a grimace as I greet the man behind the desk.
“Ah, you’ve been making quite a stir,” he smiles up at me, though his eyes hold no warmth.
I cough, shifting on my foot, “I haven’t accomplished anything worth ‘stirring’ over, sir.”
“True.”
I tongue my cheek. Okay, I may have walked into that. Still, it stings. I swallow down my reaction.
He’s keen on twisting the dagger, “your little pet project has, at least. Especially considering the… location.”
I shrug, “it’s fairly standard, sir. I recall learning about habitat restoration from you during my studies. Why not improve our own back yard?”
His eyes narrow, leaning backward as he regards me, “what brings you to my office?”
“I need an electrofisher, sir.”
“Unfortunately, they’re all booked for the next 6 months.”
Bullshit. Utter bullshit. “Is there no way sir—“
“Do you have any idea how many requests I receive for such equipment? They’re all in use for the foreseeable future.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Perhaps you should choose a less ambitious area of study.”
I grit my teeth, the urge to slam the door on my way out all too great.
***
Heimerdinger is hardly more receptive. Supportive, yes. But intent on taking Haynes’ side—or, at least, believing his end of the story. My heart pulses wildly as I sit in his office for the second time today. He insisted on speaking to Haynes himself after the first. Citing my need for patience and ensuring me that it couldn’t possibly be driven by any personal biases. A few hours later, he returns to the office with a pleased smile, motioning for me to follow.
Of course, his idea of good news is out-of-touch:
“You will have access to your equipment in a few weeks, my dear,” he declares.
My heart sinks. “Sir, I don’t have many weeks left—“
“I know, I know,” he sighs, “but there’s nothing to be done. A little patience and you’ll see; the time will fly right by!”
I huff, standing from my chair so fast the chair rubs against the floor with a loud groan. “Thank you for your time, sir,” I grit out.
Eager to escape, I nearly run face first into Jayce’s stunned self waiting in the main room outside. I mutter a quick apology, sidestepping him as I make my way to the courtyard. My usual spot. A bench tucked away amongst the trees; perfect for lunch, fuming, or a combination of the two.
The air was warm, but a dark cloud hung low on the horizon, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. Weeks. He wants me to wait weeks? My research can’t afford it. Especially given the gods-forsaken timetable his insistence put me on. I pick at my nails as I glare out across the courtyard.
Jayce, it appears, has followed after.
“Hey,” he pants, jogging to standing above me.
My eyes shift towards him, narrowing, I give him a polite nod. We don’t often speak, what purpose could he have with me now?
“I heard your conversation with Heimerdinger,” he starts.
Ah, that.
I bristle, watching him expectantly.
“In my experience, pushback generally means you’re on the right path.” His smile is lopsided.
I blinked, the air catching in my throat. Right. He’d been Piltover’s golden boy—Heimer’s personal protégé—for so many years I nearly forgot, “you were nearly expelled.”
He starts at first, a moment of surprise crossing his features. It quickly melts into a fond smile, eyes glazed and far-off. “I was,” he confirms, “it was Viktor that saved my research.”
“Right,” I exhale. I distantly wonder if he’s always had a habit of doing that. Supporting from the wings. Guilt gnaws in my stomach.
Jayce coughs, a put-on little noise to buy him confidence to say the next words to a near-stranger, “V says the work you’re doing is good.”
I nod, shifting in my seat. I’m eager to look anywhere but his direction, choosing instead to watch the students and professors walking across the quad. Uncomfortable. Yet, a part of my heart sings. My voice comes out stilted, “I keep hearing that.”
“Keep at it,” he says, earnest, “steal a damn boat if you have to.”
I snort, “thanks, Jayce.”
He nods, eyes glued to the building over as he nods once more—towards at himself more than me. An awkward wave, and he’s returning towards Heimer’s office.
***
I opt out of larceny, for the time being. Choosing instead to conduct visual surveys, in addition to a few other benthic grabs. Which, naturally, means more Undercity visits.
We worked backwards, this time. Ending up at the uppermost research site; a calm, brighter alcove on the river. The space is shielded from prying eyes and relatively clean. As far as the undercity goes, at least. The crisp air still holding that metallic undercurrent, but lacking all the usual rot and decay. Viktor sets delicately atop a boulder, ankles tucked against it.
I watch as he scribbles labels on the sample jars, delicate fingers holding it eye-level as he writes with the other hand.
“You sure this isn’t your true calling, Viktor?” I tease scribbling notes in my field journal. Bird counts, visible flora and fauna in the areas we’ve visited. It’s a slow process.
He laughs for a second, before growing serious as the words sink on, “mh, no, biology is not a preferred subject of mine.”
My brows pinch together. “Don’t invite you out next time, noted.”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye, mouth quirking up. And there’s something in the way his eyes are glazed over that has me leaning towards him, asking, “did you study biology? When you were younger?”
It’d make sense—why he so quickly picked up on these things. Second nature, like riding a bike.
“When I was very young, yes,” he replied. Called it. His lips form a thin line that I’m learning means he doesn’t intend on elaborating. Alright, then.
I set down my notebook, sighing as I stand. He watches me, expression closely guarded as he waits for my next move. I think he’s used to people pressing him. Instead, my fingers rise to the buttons of my blouse.
It takes a moment before the gears slide into place. “What are you doing?” He sputters.
I shrug, “diving.”
He gawks, before snapping his gaze away as the shirt slips off my shoulders to reveal the wet suit beneath.
“Relax, dork,” I laugh, kicking off my pants as well, “I’m wearing something under.”.
“I will not relax,” he hisses, “it’s dangerous!”
I shrug, crouching down to rifle through my bag for my goggles and rebreather. “Can you swim, Viktor?”
If the way he glowers at me is enough to say no, the way he whacks my calf with his cane is enough to shout it.
I laugh, “noted.”
A satisfied smirk crosses his face momentarily before he swallows, his eyes flickering from my face downward haphazardly until he averts his gaze entirely. “I’m able to swim,” he clarifies, “I simply never learned.”
“You should,” I reply, walking towards the water. It’s cold. Damn near frigid on my skin. I hiss as I muscle past the pins pricking into my skin with each step. “I could teach you, sometime.”
Back at the shore, he watches; ears flaming red as he blinks rapidly. Another harsh swallow. He holds my gaze in a way that makes me crave the cool of the water. Biting the bullet, I let myself sink.
The beneath water is tinged green, hazy—streaks of that odd oil-slick iridescence as the light refracts into columns. Errant trash from above collects in crags of the rocks along the floor. Empty. So, heartbreakingly empty. I pop back up.
Above, still perched on his rock, Viktor watches. Lips a thin line, eyebrows heavy. His fists tense and relax as I resurface.
I pull off my rebreather momentarily, “Vik? Take notes for me?”
He nods, scrambling across to grab my notebook from the boulder across from him. He blinks up at me, waiting. I dive back below.
We work like that for some time. Resurfacing every few minutes to rattle off the various species I do manage to find. His eyes flicker—concern, relief, and back again as I dive down. Finally, he speaks up, voice strained, “you really should stop.”
Whatever brief shyness was there earlier is gone as he glowers at me as I rise from the water.
“A warning, next time,” he huffed, thumb idly pressing into the palm of his hand.
I nod, stepping back to my bag to grab the towel I stashed inside. He watches me from his periphery as I grab my clothes, as well. I stand, taking a step closer. With my spare hand, my fingers slide atop his hair—incredibly soft, god, of course it had to be soft—guiding his head to face away.
“See that rock?” I laugh, breathless.
“Hm?” His voice is strained.
“Eyes there, soldier.”
He shifts, back straightening as I let him go. As I quickly slip out of my wetsuit and into my clothes, I note his foot tapping rapidly against the ground, and oh the red is back. Flaming tips of his ears that I would very much like to kiss. I shake my head, biting back a laugh as I complete the last of the buttons on my shirt.
“Okay, let’s go,” I breathe.
The walk back is quiet, but comfortable. It isn’t until we’re tucked away into the bathysphere that he speaks, “you shouldn’t endanger yourself. It would be better to borrow the supplies you need.”
I laugh, “Jayce told you about that, huh?”
“I’m serious,” he urges. His thumb still worries at his palm, skin red.
I ignore his statement, “what’s wrong with your hand?”
“Nothing,” his hands still, fingers flexing, “just gets sore sometimes.”
I grab his wrist, pulling his hand towards me, he makes a small noise of shock. But makes no move to pull away as I speak, “I won’t make a habit of it, Viktor. Though, you could argue stealing from the academy is endangering oneself.”
He doesn’t reply, instead blinking down at our hands. I keep my touch light, smoothing out the muscle in his hand, from his thumb down to where his and hand wrist me. He swallows, looking back out the bathysphere window.
“We hit a snag with our prototype for the demonstration,” he sighs, “I’ll have to ‘buckle down,’ as Jayce puts it, for a bit.”
I hum in reply. A little, selfish part of me savors the feel of his skin on mine as I see the top of the railway nearing. I slow to a near stop.
His hand is ripped from mine as the door opens, though not unkindly. He’s the first to scramble out.
On the platform, to the side, I look up at him. “Are you headed back to the lab?”
His answering look says that was a stupid question, and it’s my turn to glower at him.
“If you’re going to lecture me about putting my body in jeopardy,” I raise my brow, “you should listen to your own warnings.”
He scoffs, rolling his shoulder, fingers flexing out form the handle of his cane. “I’m fine.”
“I know you are,” I reply.
He stares down at me, and I can tell I’m rubbing him the wrong way. So I add, “it’s been a long day. You can burn the candle at both ends tomorrow.”
A beat, and he nods, sighing.
“Have a good night, Vik,” I say, patting him on the arm as I walk away.
***
Days blend into weeks—just a couple. Regardless, it feels far too stagnant for my liking. All my previous samples have been processed, and I have the burning desire to return. To move forward. It beats its ever-present thrum of a song in the back of my mind.
Perhaps I’m being a little impatient. In all fairness, it’s hard not to be, with my research being arbitrarily held hostage by a man with enough biases to fill a lake. Much like the torrential downpour that has filled the river over the past week. It’s been a couple days since the rain stopped, and the river is at its crest.
Up by half a meter, it seems.
The air smells of ozone and metal. I drop a wire with a weight affixed to it into the water’s depths at one of our spots along the river. A bit rudimentary, but easily transportable and much less likely to grab attention than lugging a staff gauge through the city would be. Careful not to get myself robbed, or worse, I opted for quick and light. A notebook, Viktor’s gift pencil, tucked into a small bag hidden beneath my coat.
Viktor, I expect, would be livid to find me here alone.
What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.
I pull up on the wire as soon as it hits the bottom. 2.8 meters. I’ll have to return again in a few days to confirm my estimate. I start winding.
“Not quite the ideal place for a tour, topsider,” comes a controlled voice from behind. Dropping the wire into the water entirely, cursing, as I turn to look; mismatched eyes meeting my own. My skin crawls. He’s dressed well, which, somehow, is all the more concerning. You don’t make money like that in the undercity without spilling blood.
“Fortunately I’m not a tourist,” I say back, hoping my voice comes across as neutral.
Eyebrows pinch, followed by the thin line of his mouth breaking into a wolffish grin. The kind that devours for sport. His head tilts, sizing me up with a snaking glance. “No, you aren’t.”
He takes a few paces, coming to stand at my shoulder, looking out at the water. “I’ve been monitoring you, you know. Topsider academic coming to the undercity, never a good sign…” his voice trails off, sign said with a taunting little lilt. Like a private joke with an old friend. He’s enjoying toying with me, I realize.
“I’m not up to anything—“
“I will be the judge of that,” he sneers, “though in this case, I do believe you’re telling the truth.”
My shoulders relax, just a little.
His answering stare is a command: elaborate.
“I’m a marine biologist,” I supply, “researching habitat restoration.”
“How altruistic,” he scoffs, “for what purpose?”
I pause, head tilting.
“Nothing comes without a motivation,” he explains, voice bored as if speaking to a child. There’s something else, though. It’s laced with conviction. A creed.
I shift my eyes away from his, fixing them on the water. “Those are my own concern,” it’s a stupid response, and one I’m sure he doesn’t often hear. Quick to add an olive branch, I say, “I can assure you I mean no harm to the people here.”
He laughs dryly. “That so? How rare.”
I swallow.
He regards me for a moment, searching my eyes for an answer. Whatever he finds, it must be satisfactions as his lithe hand is held out. As I take it, he purrs, “to finding opportunities below, then. I expect you’ll find plenty of resistance above.”
I respond with a level stare, “I appreciate your candor.”
He smirks.
“Better return soon, girl,” he shrugs, “be in touch.”
A threat?
I don’t bother replying, watching as he stalks off. I wait a few minutes before I make my own retreat. As I cross the lanes, I stare back at that neon eye hovering above us all.
Watching.
Quite the calling card.
***
The next day, I bury myself in books. Stacks of them fetched from the academy library over multiple trips sit towering across the tables in my lab. I groan, burying my face in the latest: a rather dated book titled Restorative Ecology for Acquatic Systems.
A rap at the door, and I’m smirking into the pages as I call out a quick ‘come in.’ I don’t get many visitors. Yet.
“Hey,” I breathe, looking up to see Viktor standing before me.
Purple pools sit beneath his eyes. I frown. He has been burning the candle at both ends, then.
“Hello,” he echoes with a smile. A bit of bright breaking through the exhaustion.
“You look tired,” the words tumble out before I can help it. He gives a little shrug, sheepish. God, why isn’t he saying anything? I’ve nothing to offer but hot air, “how’s the prototype?”
“Good, good,” his eyes continue scan the room, “and your research? I was looking for you yesterday.”
I cringe.
His eyes narrow.
I look down, running my fingers along the pages, “I went to the undercity.”
He frowns, taking a step closer with a heavy sigh. I start to ramble, “really, Vik, it was just one trip. I needed my research—”
I stop myself. I don’t need to defend myself on this. So, what?
“You could have asked me,” is all he says.
The way he stares down at me, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip, a hint of disappointment in his eyes, makes my breath catch. The truth spills out unbidden, “you were busy and, after last time, I didn’t want to unnecessarily drag you across the city just to spend five minutes measuring the water.”
“Last time?” He blinks, cogs turning behind his eyes.
My own eyes flicker down to his leg. Involuntarily.
Hurt flashes across his face, his jaw tightening. I swallow, the silence stretching between us. This is going completely, unnecessarily, wrong.
He takes a deep breath in. Out.
“Let me be very clear,” he says, taking a step closer, “I do not need you to infantilize me.”
“Viktor,” I sigh, “I wasn’t—“
“Stop,” he spits, eyes burning into mine, “I am perfectly capable of deciding what is too much and what will fit into my schedule.”
I can feel my face burning—cheeks hot, head light. I push back from the table, standing to face him head on. The air thickens. “You’re a complete, utter hypocrite, Viktor.”
His mouth opens, surprise flickering across his features as I close the remaining space between us. I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“You are,” I continue with a poke to his sternum, “I don’t need babying, either, Viktor. I’m a grown woman—a perfectly rational one—who can assess risk and travel alone just fine. The fact that this is even an argument is ridiculous.”
He stares down at me, a glint of something unreadable as his gaze drops to my mouth. His breath hitches. Something hot and electric curls in my stomach.
It’d be so easy to close that gap.
“Leave, Viktor.” I sigh, sitting to return to my books, “I don’t have time for this.”
I feel frigid even saying it.
He stands above me for a moment longer, and from the edge of my vision I see his knuckles turn white as his hand fidgets and flexes. One, two, three times. A ragged sigh and he’s stomping off, door slamming behind him.
#viktor smut#arcane viktor#viktor x reader#viktor lol#arcane smut#arcane x y/n#arcane x you#arcane x reader#arcane fic#arcane drabbles#arcane writing#arcane season one#viktor x oc#jayvik#if you squint#more like ex!jayce#jaymel#viktor arcane smut#minors dni#minors do not interact#viktor arcane#viktor x original character#viktor
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fem!reader
"sunday!"
the question comes out more as a statement in your surprise. sunday's mouth goes dry when you blink up at him, lashes meeting at the corners of your eyes, expression full of the purest expectation.
you're sitting on your bed in your nightclothes, legs folded underneath you, with some pictures scattered over a scrapbook before you, and he feels flushed and light-headed all at once. he needs this etched into his brain. commissioned from an artist, maybe, a full wall-to-wall piece to display in a secret gallery if he was still head of his family.
...which sunday knew he'd spend hours in front of, shuddering and groaning, fisting himself faster and harder the more he thought about you.
"...good evening," he replies after a beat. sunday closes and seals the door behind him, and yet makes no move to come further into the room.
you watch him curiously for a moment. "well, come in." you pat the bed next to you. "have a seat."
sunday obeys, mechanically, robotically. you turn around to dig for something in your drawer, and sunday realises he might have stained himself when your whole ass is on display for him in your thin shorts, shifting and flexing as you move.
"umm... here!" you display the item with a flourish, turning back to face him. "some crackers i snuck from the reverie. i thought you might be homesick, so i kept some for you."
homesick? for reverie biscuits? the whole idea is so ridiculous, so innocent, that sunday can't help but cup the back of your neck and yank you into a kiss.
you gasp against him in surprise, clinging to his shoulders for balance as sunday all but tries to pull you into his lap. the scrapbook falls to the floor, but his tongue is busy mapping out the soft insides of your cheeks, lapping up the faint taste of lip balm.
"s-sunday! stop." you manage to pull away long enough to slip your thumb over his lips. he leans into you, forehead to forehead, pressing small kisses onto the pad of your fingers instead as if he can't bear to be apart from you for too long. "we can't... not here."
"then where?" he pushes you over onto your back this time, caging you in with his arms, and you find you don't have the heart to resist. "the express' walls are soundproof. the door is locked."
as you hesitate, he lowers his nose to hover just above your pulse. you can feel his heat, nearly feverish, the shallow, rapid rhythm of his breath. "please. i... i need you."
when you scratch your hand lightly over his scalp, the sound he makes in his chest is desperate and whining.
you say yes. and sunday finds himself nestled between your thighs, his teeth nipping at the softness just above the hem of your shorts. his fingers are splayed, stroking at your stomach, sides, locking and unlocking with your fingers in restless pleasure.
"sunday," you gasp, biting back the sweetest whine. he spreads your folds so gently it sends arousal pooling in your belly, and nestles his cheek against your inner thigh.
"you smell... delectable," sunday murmurs, almost to himself. his lips capture your sensitive pearl and you whimper so good sunday swears he nearly cums.
inexperienced but eager, sunday sucks and nibbles and laps up your arousal like an eager puppy, moaning as if he was the one being pleasured instead.
"my love, my angel," he mumbles underneath your gasps each time his tongue slips into your weeping hole.
"sun- mmph- sunday-" your back arches, thighs trembling with each swell of pleasure. sunday groans when you bury your fingers into his hair.
"cum for me, angel, cum..." a gloved hand finds its way to your clit. the bolt of pleasure that follows has you writhing, squeezing around sunday's tongue.
"'m cumming," you wail, writhing in his grasp, riding out the praise that vibrates through your pussy. "cumming, cumming, sunday~"
#hsr smut#hsr x reader smut#x reader smut#hsr x reader#honkai star rail#star rail#sunday smut#sunday#hsr sunday#sunday hsr#i've yet to finish 2.7 but this assumes he's with the express
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Ohoh Can you tell me something about the WIP "Supernova"??
A few months back I read “Mysterious Encounters In My Neighborhood” and I took one look at the male leads and said “god i want to write a jiuyuan dynamic kinda like that” and ended up with a Shen Yuan dream demon au of sorts and also he’s an old man :)
I don’t know if I want it to still be called Supernova or to use that title for another jiuyuan thing I’m working on but it’s based off the song Supernova by Yunosuke and Haruno. By the music video you can assume why I assign it to jiuyuan lol
anyway here’s part of the wip
Snap
“Ugh, does this world even have bolt cutters?” A muffled voice carries through the door.
The chains hit the ground, the sound he’s always wanted to hear. Waited to hear. His legs are bunched against his beating chest, awaiting what this unknown man is going to do to him. Lots of men visited the Qius to do business, but they would never be allowed to touch him in the shed. Who would be allowed to open the shed other than the guards and Qiu Jianluo?
The door creaks as it opens outward, the moonlight outlining the old man in front of him. His form is shaped by several layers of simple robes, rounded glasses placed upon his face. Strands of his white hair frame his head, floating around him as if not affected by gravity. For a second he believes the rest of the old man’s hair is tied behind him, but no, it’s almost a shear cut at the base of his neck.
The metal tool that cut through the chains is thrown to the side, the man dusting his calloused hands.
“Strange, and here I would have thought you would have realized you’re dreaming right now.”
“Excuse me?”
His voice is deeper now, as it should be.
…This man was right. He had been foolish, falling into the same nightmare again. He is no longer some sniveling child submitting to his fate in a dingy shack. He is now a Peak Lord, and he should act like one.
“Not even a hello? Truly you are as they say, I suppose.”
Shen Qingqiu stands, “Who are you? How did you manage to break through the wards?”
“And the thanks I get! C’mon, would you have liked to be stuck in these dreams again?”
His wrinkles exaggerate as his face sours, and all of a sudden he’s sitting within a room with bright walls, windows to a night sky without any stars. There is a large seat not made from wood but plushed with fabric that the old man sits upon, relaxing into it.
The old man looks at him expectantly, “Well? Sit. I made this for your comfort.”
“Answer my questions.”
“Haven’t you already figured that out?”
There’s a smirk on his face that he should wipe off this instant.
“The demonic ways of dream manipulation were wiped out.”
“Ah, but you can’t kill an idea can you? And who says I wasn’t already wiped out long before your time?”
“So you’re a stray spirit.”
“Call it how you’d like it.”
Looking around the room it’s larger than he realizes, housing what looks to be a kitchen, a dining table, and this seating space all in one area. The lights are brighter than any candle and look more similar to the balls of light conjured through using qi. There are holes in the ceiling to house these lights, casting a brightness that is uncomfortable in this artificial night.
The city outside almost fights back the night sky with lights of all colors. What look like carriages carry lights to light up the roads ahead, all clustered against each other to create a strip across the land. Buildings, taller than he’s ever seen, have lights peppered across their floors. Housing from what it looks like.
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So in the original 1977 run of What if...?, issue 44 covered the topic of "what if Captain America wasn't discovered in the ice until the 1980s." And the answer is that in the interim, a fascist, segregationist junta comes to power in the USA using the assistance and iconography of William Burnside- the white-supremacist reactionary successor to Captain America who was created by Marvel editorial to retroactively explain Cap's handful of abortive appearances as a red-scare communist hunter in the 1950s, when he was supposed to be in the ice. Most of the superheroes get neutralized, assassinated or co-opted, the real Cap is rescued by the crew of a Navy Sub that's on the verge of defection, and the comic ends on the verge of the second American Civil War. The issue oscillates rapidly between competent, prescient commentary and the exact cornball pablum you'd expect from a bronze-age one-shot trying to suss out the "real meaning of America", but either way I've always been interested in this branch of the Marvel universe getting more than just the one issue of table-time. Superpowered urban civil war in 1980s America is a compelling concept!
One of the reasons I like this comic is that it's one of several works from the late 70s/early 80s - mainline Captain America itself among them- that hit upon the idea that it would be comically easy to sell the American populace on strongman authoritarianism if it came wrapped in a cape and domino mask. This scene is an example of that; "Captain America" at a rally parading his team of all-American jackboots. Two of the members are, to the best of my knowledge, new characters: Golden Girl (later called out as an untrained actress kept on the lineup to illicit a very specific strain of nostalgia for Bettie-Page styled cheesecake) and embodied-specter of racist violence The Hangman (who... might be black, based on this coloring job? Potentially either very smart or very stupid depending on the level of thought put into it). But rounding out the lineup you've got... Hawkeye, which is the beat from this comic that I really like and the reason I decided to write this post.
Because Hawkeye, Clint Barton, has developed over time into the default scrappy underdog hero that gets to be one of the holdouts in dystopian alternate-universe situations like these- Old Man Logan, House of M, Next Avengers, Age of Ultron, What If...? S1ep8, Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows, Age of Apocalypse, Marvel Universe Vs. The Avengers, these are just off the top of my head. It's a fun contrast, the dynamic of the "shit, man, this superhero war is fucked" hardscrabble carnie being the last man on the wall against something that would give Superman pause. So they do it a lot. Not here, though! And there's a level of honesty to that that I really appreciate. We're dealing with a guy who became a superhero in the first place because he was annoyed that Iron Man upstaged his carnival act, he almost immediately pivoted and agreed to try and kill Iron Man because an attractive woman asked him to, he tries to steal the armor to sell it, and even when he initially went straight there was an undercurrent of celebrity pursuit and showboating to his decision to join The Avengers. Absent the character development that was a direct result of falling in with the real Steve Rogers, all the assumptions about the character that have formed downstream of that, is it that insane that a guy with his early mercenary characterization would throw in with a fascist regime that paid him well and let him peacock? I don't think so!
#this was written way closer to “Hawkeye as a self-absorbed fickle jackass” than however you'd call what he's become#So I think Gillis remembered and extrapolated#neat detail!#what if...?#hawkeye#clint barton#marvel#marvel comics#captain america#steve rogers#thoughts#meta#what if 44
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Blood and Chains
Chapter Six- Bleeding Hearts
Choso x F!reader
Previous | Chapter Index | Next
Content: Multiple POV, trust issues, stalking, blood and violence, cursed techniques
You followed him in silence, the only sounds to be heard were the light drizzle of rain pitter-pattering on the sidewalk and the occasional car passing by. Each step you took with careful confidence, doing the best to minimize the sound of boots scuffing on the concrete. Slinking around in the shadows as you followed your boyfriend through the city streets. Losing track of how long has passed and just how far you have wandered from your apartment.
When Choso reached an alley, he stopped and looked around, maybe he had a feeling someone was tailing him, but you were out of sight. He hesitated, staring off in your direction for a second that felt like it lasted a year, before finally disappearing around the corner. Should I turn back? You question yourself over and over, frozen in place as you watch the darkness of the alley swallow him whole. But it's too late, your curiosity and fears have already pushed you this far. Might as well see this through to the end, or the anxieties in your mind will never forgive you. Staying a constant nagging fear, living in the back of your head. The only way to extinguish the dark storm plaguing your thoughts is to follow through with your personal mission. So you push on, entering the alleyway Choso walked down. The alley was even darker than the city streets. Not a single light to illuminate the path, no longer able to see the outline of his pigtails as you made your way through what you hoped was the correct way.
As you walk, you bump into something hard, hitting your hip on a sharp corner. Shit. His clunky shoes stopped in their tracks, he heard the clamoring of the large item you ran into. Pressing your palm to the side, feeling cold metal and something sticky and rotten smelling stuck to it. A dumpster, you ran straight into a dumpster. Standing in fear beside it, you could almost feel his piercing gaze scanning you, even in the dark. Heart beating wildly against your ribcage, holding your breath. This is bad, this is so bad. Closing your eyes tightly, you hope and pray to whatever higher being is out there, that he can't see you in the darkness.
His thick shoes take one step closer to you, but by some wicked twist of fate, you are saved. The lid of the dumpster shakes, and a raspy meow of a street cat echoes off the alley's brick walls. The click-clack of its untrimmed claws on the pavement grows quieter as it walks further away from you, toward the direction of Choso. He lets out a low chuckle, his clothing crinkling as he lowers himself to the ground.
“You scared me little one,” he whispers. The cat's loud purr fills the air. Even during your distrustful stalking, you can't help but smile. Finding it cute how your secretive boyfriend stopped to pet a stray cat on his late-night stroll. “Was it you following me all along?” He asks the cat. The cat responds with a loud meow, rubbing its head harder into Choso’s petting hand.
“Go home,” his voice brings you back to reality. A shiver runs down your spine that you try to suppress. You're not sure if he's talking to you or the cat at this point. Surely, he has no idea that you're there hiding beside the dumpster? Muscles tense, not daring to move an inch. You half expected him to say something more, to call your name out and question you. It isn't until you hear his footsteps pick up again, that you realize you're in the clear. The clunk of his shoes grows quieter as he makes his way through the alleyway. You wait until you can barely hear him before you make another move.
The cat turns and makes his way toward you, purring as it rubs around your ankles. Bending slightly, you scratch him under his chin. Feeling the greasy fur and flea bites, typical of an alley cat.
“Thanks,” you whisper, “I promise to come bring you treats, you saved my skin.” You tell the cat, who lets out a content meow in response like he understood every word you just said before he jumps back up on top of the dumpster.
This is so stupid. Hesitating before you follow him once again. Hearing Choso's words replay, go home. And you almost listened, almost turned your body toward the way you came and let your feet carry you back to the safety of your home.
But you didn’t.
You push forward through the alley and spot Choso on the other side. Walking on a beaten-up sidewalk that leads to a neighborhood. This time you are even more careful, creating a bigger distance between him as you follow. However, it seems he is more relaxed now, not constantly checking over his shoulder to see if he's being followed. Walking quicker than before. You wonder if he knows he's on the bad side of town, if that's why he's picking up pace. You were always careful to avoid this street, not wanting to get caught up in the violence you've seen on the news.
As you continue, you follow Choso through the neighborhood. Many of the houses look abandoned and worn down. Which confuses you, why is he here? What could be so important about this place that he had to abruptly leave you? You continue to follow, a few of the homes you pass do have lights on, signs of life inside. Though even the lived-in houses look just as bad as the abandoned ones.
He finally stops, pausing in the front yard of a large house, lights on inside but the tattered curtains are drawn. Whose house is this? You crouch down behind an overgrown bush at the edge of the yard as you watch him stand there. Blood roaring in your ears as you jump to conclusions. He’s cheating, he's just like the other men. Hot tears prick your eyes as you wait to see the woman he left your home for.
“Hey!” Choso’s head turns to the sound of the voice and you follow his line of sight. Instead of seeing a pretty woman, you see the cheerful pink-haired boy.
Yuji.
And now you have even more questions than before.
Yuji approaches his older brother, too far away for you to hear their conversation. You know Choso well enough by now that you can read his body language, his shoulders slightly slumped, his weight shifting back and forth between his feet. He's irritated. If it's directed at his brother or something else, you have no clue. You can hear the loud sigh leave Choso’s lips from your hiding place. The two boys then turn and enter the home, leaving the door wide open. As you watch them disappear into the house, guilt immediately floods you. Guilt for not trusting him, for thinking he would cheat. Still not sure what he's up to with Yuji, but you are now certain it's nothing concerning you. Maybe he really was on a last-minute call for his work.
You should have turned and left the second you saw them turn their backs, but you still had more questions. And maybe, if you stayed and observed just a bit longer, maybe there would be answers.
So you stayed, watching from the bush as you heard them run around inside the house. Incoherent shouting. The curtains hanging in the windows blowing as they run past. A splatter of blood decorates the downstairs window like a Jackson Pollock painting. Maybe your theory about Choso being an assassin wasn't so far off after all. Though it's hard to believe, golden retriever boy Yuji is also caught up in this line of work. Another thick splotch of blood hits the glass, causing you to flinch. I shouldn't be here. The danger of the situation really starts to sink in.
Rising to your feet quickly, you give the house one last look. Not wanting to stick around and see the faces of the victims inside. Or to see the look on Choso’s face when he realizes you followed him all the way here.
Too late for that.
Choso stands in the doorway, his eyes on you. Shouting your name as he begins to run out of the house in your direction. His voice loud enough to shake the earth you stand on, but not out of anger. Out of fear. From the corner of your eye you see a hunch-backed humanoid figure rushing toward you on long legs. It's moving at incredible speed, Yuji running behind it as he reaches forward. His fingers trying to grasp purchase on its wrinkly pale skin. Yet the creature remains faster as it barrels toward you. Yuji’s eyes wide with terror while the three eyes of the creature twinkle with blood lust.
Everything happens in slow motion, your blood roaring in your ears as you stand still. A deer caught in headlights. Unable to do anything but watch. Watch as the terrifying monster runs at you, its arms shaped like curved blades. Watch as Yuji tries and fails to reach for it again and again. Watch as Choso cries out your name, sounding as fearful as you feel. You look down at your feet, trying to send a signal to move. Knees daring to buckle beneath you when all you want to do is run away.
A sharp press to your back, a pain like you've never felt. Still looking down, you can't seem to tear your eyes away as you watch a deep hole open up in your abdomen. The blade cut straight through to the other side, accompanied by unbearable pain. The once pale green skin of the creature now a deep crimson from your blood. Red drops pool on the flattened grass below your feet. The sounds of the world cut out, muffled and numb. Like your ears are underwater. You lift your gaze up and find Choso, his face paler than ever before and his face tattoo almost looks distorted and sharper, crossing over his eyes as he glares at the creature with unmatched anger. The last thing you see is him standing across the yard, his palms pressed together as his mouth moves. Your heavy eyelids flutter shut as the head of the creature explodes, painting your hair in warm blood. The blade arm exits your body and you feel Yuji catch you before you collapse to the ground.
“Choso…I’m sorry” you manage to weakly get out before completely losing consciousness.
˚ ✦ . Choso's POV . ✦ . ★⋆.
~A few minutes before~
Choso looks down at the purple skin of the transfigured human as it stills on the ground, blood leaking from the fatal wound he gave it. The call was right. Mahito had been here. This poor family had enjoyed their last dinner together before the curse waltzed in and transformed them all. Choso sighs as he checks the time. He was thankful for Yuji meeting him here. The faster the brothers took care of the two curses, the faster he could get back to his girlfriend. He really wanted to send Yuji on his own and stay home with her, but the risk that Mahito could still be around scared him far too much to ditch him. Yuji runs down the stairs toward him, his shoes hitting each step loudly.
“Finished yours off?” Choso asks. Yuji nods, though there is a touch of sadness. No matter how many times he does it, having to end the transfigured humans always seems to break a piece of him.
“Yup. Was kinda a small one, so it wasn't much trouble.” He claims. Yuji bends down to pick up a family portrait that fell from the wall, his thumb smearing the blood across the glass to reveal the picture underneath. It shows three of them. Mother, father and a young girl.
“Choso…” Yuji trails off, eyes wide. Choso takes a step closer as Yuji turns to him. “I think there is a third-” Yuji can't even finish his sentence before a tall pale green figure runs out the back door. Yuji instantly drops the frame, glass shattering as it hits the floor, and chases after it. Choso lets out an exaggerated sigh as he walks toward the front door. He’s confident Yuji will finish it off, but just in case, he wants to prepare for backup. Just one more and he can return home to you.
You, who should be back safely at home, snuggled into your blankets as you await his return. You, whose beautiful eyes stare at him across the yard as you stand from behind a bush. Choso blinks. Once. Twice. Hoping you would disappear like a figment of his imagination. Three times, and you're still here. He can’t imagine why or even how you knew where he was. Did you follow him? Do you not trust him? He should be angry, but he's not. Not when he knows the weight of the situation you're now involved in. He’s absolutely terrified.
From his peripherals, he sees Yuji chasing after the transfigured human, running straight toward you. His worst nightmare, this is why Choso swore off relationships. He didn’t want you hurt because of him and his dangerous lifestyle. He shouts your name, as loud as possible. Hoping that will activate your fight or flight, hoping you pick the latter and you can run faster than you did the day he found you in Shibuya. Yet you don't move, still as a statue.
He cries your name over and over, desperate for you to move as he quickens his pace toward you. Vocal cords straining as he tries to reach your thoughts hidden away in the unmoving husk of your body. Yuji is gaining on it but this transfigured human has longer legs, moving at a slightly faster speed. It's going to be close, unable to tell if Yuji will reach it first or if it will reach you first. Choso is rushing forward, but the wet sound of the blade stabbing through the left side of your stomach makes him pause. Time froze as he stared at you, the gaping wound and the creature's sharp arm stuck through it. This is worse than a nightmare, this is a living hell.
No…no no no no no! This can't be happening, this isn't real! His breath is caught in his throat. Narrowing his eyes at your attacker, he sees red. He hasn't felt this angry in a long time. Clapping his palms together, fingers pointed at the head of the transfigured human, gathering all his strength.
“Piercing Blood!” He releases the condensed beam of blood, shooting straight through the middle eye of the creature. It’s head explodes on impact, coating the back of your hair in thick, sticky blood. Yuji pulls the transfigured human away and catches you in his hands, gently lowering your body to the already red-stained grass. Choso hurries forward, falling to his knees before you.
“Choso…I’m sorry” He barely hears the words leave your dry cracked lips.
“This can't be happening…this isn't happening” he mutters to himself, picking up one of your hands and holding it in his. “Yuji, tell me this isn't real,” he lifts his gaze to his brothers, tears already streaming down his cheek. Yuji frowns, dropping his gaze to the serious wound.
“It is, Choso.” He can't lie to his brother, not when you're bleeding out right here in front of both of them. “I’ll call Shoko, she should be able to save her.” Yuji says, gently adjusting you so your head lays on Choso’s lap. Then standing, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and dialing Shoko, pacing in the yard a few feet from Choso.
Choso is holding your hand tightly, trying to get you to wake up and say something, anything. He doesn't understand why you are here, why you were apologizing. But he doesn't care. He just wants you back, alive and safe. Seeing your smile, hearing your laugh. He needs you back.
“Wake up, little flower.” He whispers, bending to place a soft kiss on your brow. “Please…please…wake up, stay with me. I ca-can’t lose you,” his voice cracking as he pleads for you. Tears rain on your cheeks as he watches your lifeless expression.
Your hand grows cold in his blazing hot palm, fading further and further. No, no. Not again. Please not again. Choso looks over at Yuji who is still talking to Shoko.
“We are losing her!” Choso cries out.
“Shoko is on her way” Yuji does his best to stay calm, not wanting to heighten Choso’s anxieties further.
“There is no time, she is losing too much blood!” He’s yelling back at him, there is no calming him as he eyes the deep wound in your stomach. Blood oozing out. “She…she’s not going to make it.” Choso swallows hard.
“She will, Shoko is hurrying. She will be here soon I promise,” Yuji assures him, even though he isn't certain. He truly doesn't know if you are going to be fine. But Choso panicking more isn't helping anyone. “Hmm? Yeah, I'm still here.” Yuji continues pacing as he talks to Shoko, giving directions to their location. Choso looks down at you, watching each shallow and labored breath, seeing the last signs of life drain from your face.
There has to be something I can do. He tries to think of an idea, he knows you won't last another five minutes unless he can do something. He racks his brain trying to formulate a plan, willing to try anything if it means he won't have to watch you exhale your last breath in his arms.
Then, he forms an idea. Maybe a stupid one. Maybe one that won't work. Honestly, it might get you killed or worse. The risks are high, with maybe a 1% chance your body will respond positively. Choso doesn't care, he would take any risk if it meant he doesn't lose you today.
He glances over at Yuji, his back turned to the both of you. He doesn't bother asking his brother for his opinion on this plan because he already knows what Yuji would say. No.
But you need blood, now.
Choso grips one of your hands tightly with his, holding the other hand up, palm to the starry sky. Gathering his blood into a small sphere in the center of his palm. Taking a shaky breath before he begins.
He's never attempted using his blood manipulation for a blood transfusion before, and certainly never even considered doing this on a regular human. His blood is considered poisonous, and if this doesn't work he may be the reason you end up dying. Desperate for any chance at life, even a slim chance that the toxin won't instantly kill you, he takes the risk. If he can give you just enough until help arrives, just enough to replace what is necessary, you may survive. Afterward, Shoko can probably just give you something to counteract the negative effects. He doesn't think too much about the consequences of his cursed blood and won't allow him to think about what it might do to you.
He places his palm with the sphere of blood to the hole in your stomach. Letting his blood mix with your own. Flowing freely through your body, traveling to every limb and organ. Filling you with life, his life. He would give his whole life for you if he could, if he knew it would keep you breathing. Wouldn't even hesitate to sacrifice himself for you. He closes his eyes as he takes control, his blood pushing alongside yours. Mixing inside you like a cauldron creating a potion of endless love. His other hand, the one clutching yours like a lifeline, starts to feel a hint of warmth radiating from you again. A sign you have been granted at least a few more minutes of life, hopefully, that's enough until a real doctor can stabilize you.
“Choso?” Yuji’s shocked voice cuts into his thoughts, causing him to flash open his eyes. Twisting his head to look over at his brother, whose eyes are wide with horror. Mouth agape as he witnesses the act.
“What have you done?” Yuji asks him.
dividers by @saradika-graphics
Taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @angel04-01
#Choso#choso fanfiction#JJK#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen choso#long fic#jjk fanfiction#jjk fanfic#Choso Kamo#choso x y/n#choso x reader#choso x you#reader insert#romance#eventual smut#choso x female reader#choso my beloved#choso fic#slow burn#jjk long fic
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; wip wednesday
wasn’t tagged and i said i was going to bed but u know what. i am nothing if not inconsistent <3
more hesham content. one childhood moment & one gabriele moment.
—
The first time I truly got angry, was right before my eleventh birthday, and Rashid told me he was moving to Port Said.
“Why?” was all I asked. And all Rashid did was shrug.
I wanted a real answer — I always do — so I nudged him with my foot. Rashid looked annoyed, but I didn’t care.
“My dad says we have to, it’s for his job.”
“What’s in Port Said?”
“Why would he tell me?”
First I got impatient. “He’s training you, isn’t he?”
Rashid rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t tell you.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Hesham, it’s none of your business, okay?”
Back then, I didn’t know, but Rashid used to have this way of behaving that he emulated from his father. Looking back, I think it was on purpose. He lifted his chin and really articulated his words, in an attempt to look and sound older than he was. I never pointed it out.
I had been nervously swing my legs back and forth from the wall we were sitting on. They became still and rigid when I tried to find the words.
I have known anger, my dad introduced me to it. He would throw plates and slam doors and yell a lot. I would have to stand there and watch, anything else made it worse. Although I didn’t throw a plate like he would, I was angry.
“You’re my friend. It is my business.”
—
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I breathed.
“Why not? There’s nobody watching us.”
“You know that’s not—“ His left hand lightly touched my side and I shuddered. It was mortifying how easy I had lost control of my own body.
Gabriele noticed and he pulled away, still remaining inches from my face. I didn’t dare to breathe. I could distinguish every freckle on his nose and took him in as I would a rare piece of art. He tilted his head, and lifted his hand to trace his fingers over my cheek.
“That’s a face worth going to hell for,” he said slowly, followed by an incredulous laugh; the most beautiful laugh I have ever heard in my life. I laughed along with him, despite the frantic beating of my heart.
As I eagerly leaned back in, I could still feel his smile against my lips.
tag list:
@adelaidedrubman @auricfog @carlosoliveiraa @cetra @cptcassian
@confidentandgood @elvves @famewolf @florbelles @full---ofstarlight
@imogenkol @jackiesarch @johnnystorm @lavampira @leviiackrman
@loriane-elmuerto @pricemarshfield @risingsh0t @roberthouse69 @raresvtm
@shellibisshe @statichvm @thedeadthree @tommyarashikage @travellingseal
@tuseranita @unholymilf @viktorgf
#the last one is corny but get this. they are a little corny sometimes.#my writing#oc: hesham#the others too but whatever
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