#Speaking of the True Arena... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

juletheghoul · 22 days ago

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primus

a/n: Something a little different, I am obsessed with General Marcus and the idea of him becoming a gladiator. Hope you enjoy this other world I want to live in lol, no beta and barely proofread!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, body / breast worship-Marcus gives it so right🤤, hand-stuff - female rec'g, taking of virginity, (reader is a slave so there is a power imbalance but so is Marcus), gladiatorial violence, nothing graphic- let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 3.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

The crowd roars loud enough to deafen, the sound of it like a great wave threatening to wash you out to sea but it's nothing new, you’re used to it. The house you serve, have served since birth, has done well for itself in recent years, all thanks to one Gladiator.

Marcus Acacius, the champion of the house of Romulus.

You’d seen him come in years ago and although you had been little more than a child, even then you could see what he had been reduced to, disgraced and defeated and practically at death's door. He had fought though, Gods knew he had fought. And just as you grew and flowered into a woman, he honed his skills anew, won matches throughout the city and had transformed from the disgraced General of Rome, to a true champion of the people.

You could see it even now, watching him make quick work of the paltry opponents sent to fight him in the arena. He swatted them away like troublesome flies, and the crowd loved him for it. The cup was held out to you, just as the man in the sand raised his sword.

“He really is of a form.” One of the hosts of the games remarked about the man fighting below, and your Domina smiled proudly.

“My husband has taken him and honed him, I dare say none in Rome are his equal.”

“We shall have to see about that.” The guest chuckled, not quite convinced but your Dominus laughed, unperturbed and unconvinced.

“My wife speaks truth, my Ludus has shaped him into a God of the arena.”

They continued their friendly bickering, while you watched the man below, you couldn’t deny his allure despite being more than a few years older than you. He looked up to the pulvanis and saluted to his Dominus, to his Domina, and for a heartbeat it felt as though his eyes locked with yours.

Lightning struck in your belly, the intensity of his gaze, even so briefly made your heart race. Ghostly fingers squeezed at your heart when the opponents fell on him, cornering him until he was surrounded. Attention locked on him despite your station, the laughs and doubts of his victory wreathing through the guests you served turned your stomach.

Deaths in the arena were a guarantee, that was to be sure. Every time your Dominus secured spots for his gladiators in the games it was expected that not all would return, this felt different though. He had to survive, why, you could not be sure.

“Aha! There we are. The legend of him is proved. He is victorious, and my wife’s words are true, as always.” Your Dominus smiles, kissing his wife’s hand as the doubters grumble about luck and ill-trained opponents.

The words flow over you, the only thing that draws your attention is the man standing below you, victorious and whole.

–

“The good wine, fetch it for me girl.” The sun shines through the balcony as your Dominus congratulates the gladiators who returned to the villa victorious. His wife, your Domina, sends you for the wine while he speaks at length of their virtues, stoking the fire of survival and vanity in them.

In truth the games hold no interest for you, never had you particularly enjoyed watching men fight to the death, it was a waste and had you the choice, you would never attend another.

They cheer louder than before when you return with the heavy jug, narrowly avoiding dropping it when he turns and catches your eye once more. Marcus has been invited out of the ludus below, and up into the main house.

He is much bigger than you expect. Tall and broad enough to intimidate anyone but the most surprising thing are his eyes, they are the softest thing about him.

“I would reward you, for your victory, for the honour and wealth you have brought to this house. Name your desire and I shall see it done.”

You pour for your Domina, ears straining to hear his voice.

“You honour me Dominus.” It’s so rich, deep and full of smoke. Your main focus is on not spilling the wine.

“I confess, I have felt a desire of late.” Your ears perk up, eyes following suit and when they meet his, they’re already set upon your face.

“You want her?” Your Dominus looks to you now as well, and you feel like a piece upon someone else’s board, to be moved around at their will.

“Only if she desires me as well.” He bows his head, and despite the tiny bloom of gratitude in your chest, your Dominus laughs.

“If she is what you desire, take her. The guards will lead you to the private quarters below and you may keep her there until the morning. I will have wine and a meal brought for the both of you.” Your Dominus waves a hand and it is done. Your virtue has been gifted to a Gladiator.

Your Domina frowns, but says nothing. She merely watches as you are led away, to spend the night with the former General of Rome.

The quarters are indeed private, but meagre. A lumpy bed, a small table with two chairs, an even smaller table with a large basin full of fresh water and clean linen, and a window. The door closes and your heart jumps into your throat.

“Shall I disrobe and lay on the bed?” You reach for the hem of the tunic, silently praying that he would not be too rough. The prudent thing to do, is to get it over with.

“No, wait-“ his hand engulfed yours, stopping you from reaching down and pulling off the fabric that hides your nakedness from him.

“I would speak a while, come.” He gestures to the table and you frown.

“Do you not desire my virtue? Is that not why you asked for me?”

“Yes, well, in truth I desire your company, as well as your body. I have noticed you of late, you have grown into a beautiful woman and I find my thoughts drifting to you often. Of your voice and of your touch. I dream about you.”

Your eyes widen, shocked into silence by his confession.

“I would have you enjoy our coupling, rather than simply enduring it.” His eyes dart away from your form when the guards bring a platter laden with food and drink, and when he gestures again, you finally sit.

He takes his time cleansing himself of the grit and grime of the arena, scrubbing away until a handsome, lined face appears underneath. Once clean, and armor free he sits with you, and urges you to eat.

It is a silent, slightly tense meal. Your fraying nerves had you mostly picking at the fruit and cured meats. The flutter in your belly kept you from overfilling it.

“How long have you served in this house?” His eyes are bright, curious.

“All my life. I was born in this house.” Your fingers fiddle with the edge of your tunic.

“Are you treated well?”

“I mostly tend to the Domina, she is very kind.” Your eyes drift to the bed, and the bottom of your belly falls again to imagine what he’ll ask of you once his own belly is full.

“You spoke of your virtue, you are as of yet untouched?” His voice lowers, almost apologetic.

“Yes. Well, untouched by anyone, except myself. There have been covert kisses here and there, friendly ones with others of my station.” He says nothing, but his gaze travels the expanse of your body. The slide of them is heavy from your breasts down to the slit in your tunic. His food sits forgotten on the small plate in front of him, and now there is hunger of a different kind on his handsome face.

“Do you find me desirable?” He leans back in his chair, broad and golden from the sun. Heat blooms in your chest, filling the corners of you.

“You are kind upon the eyes, I will not lie.” He smiles at this, and the heat spreads to the place between your legs, the place he will fill soon and a shudder travels along your spine.

“Have you enjoyed my victories in the arena?”

“I confess, I do not favour the games. Watching men kill each other holds no interest for me.” He laughs, surprised yet delighted.

“And yet you live and serve in a ludus, watching gladiators come and go your whole life.”

“The Gods have their reasons, I do not presume to question my place.” You shrug, unable to stop the corners of your lips from pulling up into a shy smile.

“Perhaps it is I who is blessed to end up here, in your company.” He muses and for a moment you cannot face his direct stare. “Come, lovely one. Let us to bed.” He rises, holding out his hand for you, It engulfs yours when you accept and join him.

Butterflies swarm as he guides you to the edge of the bed, the fine hairs all over your arms and legs standing on end when those rough, calloused palms skate softly over the curve of your shoulders. His breath fans over your face as he reaches the bottom of your tunic, pulling it up and off. The urge to bring your arms up over your breasts, to reach down and cup your sex makes your hands shake.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” His hands settle on your hips, squeezing at the flesh for a moment before removing his own layers. The sight of him, naked as you, with his heavy sex hardening before your eyes makes you shiver, part nervous, part exhilarated.

When he lays you down, you part your thighs to make space for him, once again praying the pain won’t be unbearable. The confusion paints your face in a frown as he lays beside you, and not directly on you.

“I would have you wet for me before I slip inside.” His tone, his words send another shiver down your spine before he presses his mouth to yours.

You have kissed before, a soft press of your lips to another, the barest taste of their tongue between rebellious giggles in the dark. Marcus’ kiss is nothing like that. He pulls you close, turning your body to press it to his, the stiff peaks of your breasts meeting the solid wall of his chest as his tongue slips past your open mouth and tangles with your own. For a moment, it is a little awkward but he guides you, pulling away before pressing forward again, leading you in his rhythm.

Your heart races, a curious excitement pooling low in your gut, in the yet untouched place between your thighs. You press them together while he claims your mouth.

When he pulls away, his breath comes out in pants and his sex presses hot and heavy against your belly.

“Lay on your back my sweet.” He kisses your shoulder, and you obey. Now, you think, now he will shove that thing inside me and rip me in half. You swallow thickly at the thought, it is so much thicker now, too big, surely.

He presses kisses to your shoulder, trailing them down to your arm, then the side of your breast before he pulls your nipple into his mouth. The steady suck of his mouth at the hardened peak forms a direct line to your cunt, the ache in it pulling a whimper from your mouth and a huff of self-satisfied laughter from him. Your skin is shiny with his spit when he lets it go.

“Does that feel good?” His hand holds the plump of your breast, tongue flicking against the peak while you nod, mouth-open in a silent stare. “What do you feel?” He sucks at it again, harder this time and a gasp leaves your mouth.

“I feel, hot. Warm all over, and an ache–” You pull in a sharp breath when his teeth pull teasingly at the bud. He soothes with his tongue, pink-cheeked and focused.

“Where do you ache?” He lets go, smoothing his palm in the valley between before holding the other one, and worshiping it just the same.

“I ache–oh, I ache–” It’s hard to focus when he sucks at the other nipple, your thighs pressing together without your permission. He stops, eyes flitting about your face.

“Where do you ache, tell me.”

“I ache here.” He follows your hand as it cups your cunt, the soft, fine hair there soaked in arousal like you have never known. He groans to see it, and then his hand pushes yours away, slipping between your thighs to pull them apart. He leans on his elbow, muscles glinting in the soft candle light as his fingers spread open the lips of your sex, exposing your dark pink insides to his gaze.

“Your pretty little cunt is so much better than I dreamed, spread your legs for me my sweet, I would work her open to take my cock.” Your heart races, your cunt clenches and then his fingers find the crux of you. They swirl slowly around the pert, sensitive pearl of your clit. Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘O’ at the way he manipulates you.

“So wet already.” He lowers his head, lips wrapping around a nipple again as he keeps his slow, maddening circuit. Your hands grip the threadbare linen beneath you, whole body clenching as he shoves you closer and closer to a shattering climax with his slow, delicious circles.

“Doesn’t that feel good? Doesn’t that feel so good, my sweet?” He presses his lips to your neck, whispering into your ear and you nod, frantically, clenching around nothing while the edges of everything blur with the threat of pleasure. Around, and around, and around he swirls, consistent, devastating until you can almost taste it.

Your mouth forms a steady chant of yes, yes, yes, as he continues his gentle exploration between your legs, fat pearly drops of his own arousal slipping against your hip but he is in no hurry.

The ache intensifies, the slick pools at the mouth of your cunt, and it's with a final, wet swirl that your climax washes over you. Your legs clamp shut around his hand, your body folds in on itself with the strength of it but it does not stop him, two thick fingers spear into your fluttering entrance, stretching and drawing out the pleasure of it while you gasp into his kiss.

“Gods above.” You whisper to yourself as the blood pounds in your ears, the warmth of his skin, the slick, rhythmic sound of his fingers working away between your legs stoking the fire once more.

“I could spill just watching you.” He pulls his fingers out, dripping in your lust and shoves them into his mouth. “Sweet as summer wine.” He licks them clean, vulgar and sweet all at once.

Again he reaches between your legs, slipping his fingers inside once more but with his thumb swirling around the crux of you.

He brings you to climax again, more intense with his fingers inside, petting at a divine spot you’ve never touched, and again, he doesn’t stop. He repeats his movements, his tongue flicking at your nipple, or licking into your mouth, until it’s too much and you push his hand away.

“Please, no more–I cannot.” You gasp for breath, skin shiny with sweat, the spot beneath you wet where your arousal has dripped down and soaked through the linen.

He laughs softly, proud and cocky at how many times he made you fall apart under his hand.

“If you would let me, I would do that for days.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder before moving up and settling between your thighs. The nervous flutter intensifies as his cock slips between the mess he’s made of your sex.

“I think you are open enough to take me now, I will try to go slow.” He kneels back on his haunches, lifting one leg up to hold. His fingers curl around the top of your knee, your calf resting on his shoulder as he grips his cock in the other hand.

Your belly trembles, part embarrassed, part excited to be so exposed to his gaze. The blunt end of it slides through your swollen folds, coated in your slick before he notches it and it’s with a slight burn that he slips it in. Inch by inch he presses forward, molding you to accept him, shaping you to fit him like a glove.

“Gods above.” He curses low as he bottoms out, so deep you feel him in your lungs.

Your hands ache from how tightly they grip at the fabric beneath you.

With a shuddering breath he holds himself still, allowing you a moment to get used to the intrusion of him, only a moment.

A sharp thrust pulls a gasp from your lips. His grip on your leg tightens, the other hand slides up and holds onto your hip, steadying you to accept the snapping of his hips.

The flex in his arms, the strong, firm muscles of his thighs pressed up against yours, the sheen of sweat glinting on his face and on his chest, all of it only makes it better, his beauty and his obvious desire for you serve to make you leak around him. You can feel it, dripping down your ass to add to the damp spot beneath you, it collects at the base of him too, drenching the curls there.

Your pants, his heavy breathing, and the vulgar sound of his skin slapping against yours is the song of your coupling. The burn is replaced with a pleasant feeling of fullness. It is not as good as his fingers at your clit but his obvious pleasure adds to your own.

“I’m going to come, going to fuck it deep inside of you.” Sweat drips down his nose and the vision of him, so like when he’s in the arena might push you closer to another climax.

“Here it comes–” He presses your legs up, opening them wider, folding you in half while he fucks into you hard enough to make the bed shake. With a low groan, and a thrust deep enough to hurt, he swells impossibly thicker for a moment before emptying himself inside you.

He shudders, grinding himself deeper as you wince, milking himself inside your body before pulling out and falling onto the bed beside you.

You catch your breath for a moment. Surprised, and grateful that despite there being the edge of violence to his taking you, it wasn’t the brutal, awful experience you were afraid it would be. Considering your station in life, it was quite nice.

“Give me a little while, and I will be ready to take you again.” He turns and presses his lips to your shoulder again.

“Again…? You wish to take me again?” There is clear confusion threaded through your voice, but he laughs, goodnaturedly.

“Oh yes, I have you for this one night, I plan on taking advantage. Did you not enjoy it?” He rests on his elbow, head held in his palm while his other hand skates over your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake as it palms one breast, then the other.

“I enjoyed your fingers, you brought me to climax more than I ever have on my own in a single night.” You curl onto your side towards him, soaking up the warmth of his skin.

“But you did not enjoy my cock?” His hand lands on your hip, holding you there and it’s curiously exciting how much skin he can touch at once.

“It was… a lot.” He laughs, nodding for you to continue. “I liked the fullness of it, but you were very deep. I could feel you in my belly and when you spilled it was intense.” He lets out a groan before pressing forward and stealing another kiss.

“It will feel better, we have to find which position you like best. Which angle you enjoy more.” He pulls you closer, tilting your chin up for another kiss, softer this time.

“What position do you enjoy most of all?” Your hands gravitate to his chest, pressing against it to feel his heart thumping against your palm.

“I am partial to being ridden.” He smiles, lip caught between teeth and heat floods your body to know he is imagining it.

“Why do you favour it?”

“Because I like when a woman takes her pleasure from me, It pleases me, to please her.” You could see it then, his soft eyes staring up in devotion as some faceless woman rides his cock. The longer you think on it, the more that faceless woman starts to resemble you.

“I would have you like that next.” He smiles, and you smile back, nodding.

By the time the sun rises, he has taken you every way you can imagine and your sex is so sore you don’t think you’ll be able to walk without wincing.

When the guards come to take you both back to your respective places, they have to physically pull him away from you, his lips pressed against yours in a goodbye kiss.

“You are the only prize I will ever ask for.” He calls over his shoulder as you smile at him.

For the first time in your life, you are excited about the next games.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #marcus acacius smut #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacias x reader #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator ii

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ruins-posts · 1 year ago

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Calling them 'Beautiful' [JJK Men]

Request: How would the JJK Men (Gojo, Nanami, Toji, Geto and Sukuna ) react if called beautiful?

Characters: Gojo, Nanami, Toji, Geto and Sukuna

── "You're so beautiful, Satoru."

The praise escapes your lips, drawing a lazy smile of Gojo's lips. It was true- this man was so majestic, his snow white hair and sharp blue eyes glittering as the pale light of the moon fell into the room through the white curtains.

"That I am, baby," he teases, his calloused thumb gently brushing the skin under your eye. "But..." he pauses to press a languid kiss onto your lips, smiling as he pulls away to resume speaking, "I'll never be close to how beautiful you are."

The smile you crack at those words only add to your beauty- he swears.

── The soft pads of your thumb pressed against Toji's face, caressing the scar at the corner of his lip. Your heart broke when you thought of the trauma he had to endure at such a young age.

His eyes glance upon you, wondering what you're up to. His scar is not something he's very proud of. The memory of its reception still burned into his mind till date. He is about to say something, when he's interrupted by that strangest words you could ever say-

"You're beautiful, Toji..."

He swears his heart stopped for a minute. Regaining his composure a quick kiss is placed on your lips before he speaks again, "Always a cutie, aren't you?"

── Nanami is so gorgeously handsome, you swear by it. Always to well put-together, hair brushed back perfectly, there is no denying the fact that the man is incredibly attractive.

"You're so beautiful, Kento," you compliment him, seated on the bed, watching him intently as he gets ready for work. He pauses, turning around to look at you.

"Beautiful?" he asks, seemingly not being able to register the compliment. But as he does, his lips curl into a smile.

"Thank you, darling." he bends down to kiss your forehead, "But I must say...Nobody rivals you in that arena."

── Your hands are tangled in Geto's soft black hair as he pulls away from yet another passionate kiss. It makes your heart melt, just how incredible he looks.

"So beautiful...'guru..." you mumble, brushing his bangs away from his face. He is slightly taken aback from your words, but is quick to recover, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Is that so?" he asks in a low voice, making butterflies emerge in your belly.

"Mhmm...very beautiful..." you say with a cheeky smile, making him laugh lightly.

"I'm afraid you'll always beat me to it, my love."

── Sukuna has been called a lot of things- a monstrous, dreadful, repulsive being- all of which he believed he certainly was. So when you decided to attack him with that silly compliment of yours, he was, for the very first time, utterly shocked in centuries.

"What did you say, brat?"

"I said you're beautiful, Sukuna." you repeat, brushing your thumbs against the back of the palm of one of his hands, tracing the markings on his skin. "It's the truth," you add, before he can say a word.

"Hmm," is all he replies. He's certain you've lost your mind, but can't help but smile as he pulls you onto his lap and kisses the top of your head.

Maybe you found him beautiful in your eyes, but in his, nobody could hold a candle to the beauty he believed resided in your heart.

#gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #nanami imagine #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #toji imagine #toji x y/n #toji x reader #geto x reader #geto imagines #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna imagine #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #ruins posts

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feirceangel · 8 months ago

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How about a feyd x reader where feyd has reader watch him in the arena to gain her favor. She is impressed with him and respects his prowess. Just before a huge match what if she goes to him and leaves a hand print in paint over his heart as her token rather than a sash like the others. This fires him up/ looks super cool on his skin.

Ooh I love this!! I did my own spin on it but I hope you still enjoy! :)

Imagine | Stained (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: biting

Cheers rise into the polluted air on Giedi Prime, a torrent of frenzied noise which alerts you to the occurrence of yet another gladiatorial event.

You hadn't realized there would be one today. Normally, you notice the announcements and the crowds gathering to go see the festivities. You don't often join them.

Watching people fight to death. . . it's not a habit of yours.

Lately though, you've noticed how often Feyd has been mentioning his fights, never outright asking you to watch them but leaving plenty of hints.

Being from a wealthy family has its benefits, especially on a harsh place such as this. Ever since you've been here, you've tried to make the best of it and befriend as many native Harkonnens as you can.

This first, and dare you say only, friend-adjacent connection you've made has been with Feyd-Rautha.

His brother is too animalistic and angry for your liking, and the Baron is a ghastly man you do not like to interact with. Servants won't speak to you and the Mentat Piter is sickening in his sadistic tendencies.

So, to your surprise, you got to know Feyd the best out of them all.

He's brutal, yes. Menacing and violent as well.

And so alone.

Sure, he has his concubines: his pets that he plays with but soon grows bored of. And yes, he has his mockery of a family: a predatory uncle and a nasty brother.

Yet you can see past his façade of aloofness, see into his inner self. And what you see is a man forged by others into what he is now.

You see a hurting man who doesn't know anything close to true kindness.

So yes, he is wild and vicious. But there is an intelligence and cunning within those dark eyes that you have seen countless times.

He's constantly observing, waiting for his moment to strike. He knows how to play his hand to benefit himself.

Despite his more undesirable traits, you'd dare call him a friend.

The cheering dies down as colourless fireworks burst in the air like ink stains. You watch them, casually leaning against the balcony railing.

Feyd finds you immediately, half undressed and still painted for fighting in the triangular colosseum.

"My lady," he rasps, approaching from behind slowly. "You did not watch the fights."

"It slipped my mind," you reply honestly. "Though I have no doubts you remain the champion, my lord."

His lips quirk upwards, "Naturally."

Your eyes roam over his blood splattered body, taking in the well-defined muscles which are decorated with paint. He's shirtless, how could you not stare?

He basks in your attention, cocky smirk never leaving his face. But it strains once you turn your attention away.

Feyd comes to lean against the rail beside you. You feel his eyes on you.

"You're coming to the next fight," he finally says once he realizes you're content to dwell in the silence.

You turn to face him with a smile, "Am I?"

His eyes narrow, voice quick and sharp, "Yes."

"You didn't ask."

Feyd tilts his head, "It's not a request."

"A command, my lord?"

"Yes," he repeats, leaning closer into your space. Your teasing tone is getting under his skin, you can tell. He's almost touching you now but you don't retreat.

This is the game you play.

"I suppose I can attend the next fight," you hum thoughtfully. "Especially since you've requested it personally."

He backs away slowly and you force yourself into staying still even as you desire to chase after him. His close proximity is intoxicating.

As if he senses your inner battle, he grins and nods to you before sauntering away.

"I will put on a good show for you, my lady."

You find yourself alone, wishing he had stayed longer.

~~~

It was not mentioned again, and now you find yourself in your room preparing for the event. You dress modestly, still unaccustomed to the fashions on Giedi Prime. A black dress does nicely, with your hair loose.

You still have plenty of time before your attendance is necessary, but you traverse to the arena despite this. The hallways are as colorless as everywhere else, a maze of black and white.

Feyd is being dressed as you enter the room. His sharp eyes betray a smidge of surprise which he masks underneath an air of haughtiness.

The servants attending him walk on eggshells, knowing that any wrong move could cause their demise.

"You may be dismissed," you say, addressing the servants.

Their eyes flicker to you with uncertainty. The servants do not move until Feyd snarls, "Do as she says!"

Instantly, they are gone.

And it's just you and the warrior.

You approach him slowly, picking up the paint pot that the servant abandoned. Circling him, you note how his eyes never leave you, even when he has to twist his head to keep you in his sights.

"My lord, I hope you can forgive my impertinence, showing up here unannounced."

"Don't be coy," he narrows his eyes, "You're not sorry."

"You're right," you chuckle, swirling the paintbrush through the inky paint. "I'm not sorry to see you, especially like this."

You rake your eyes over his flesh, barely concealed by a cloth wrapped around his waist. He is truly a fine specimen of a man.

"May I?" You ask, stopping in front of him.

He inclines his head. He hadn't been expecting this, since you seemed intent on avoiding the fights entirely.

You begin by painting the smaller rectangles across his chest and then move to his back. Your brushstrokes are slow, methodic.

He anticipates each cool touch as you meticulously paint his flawless skin. He wishes it was your touch he was feeling, your hands against his skin. He craves it.

Next, you adorn his abdomen, barely concealing the excitement you feel being this close to him. As you finish, he reaches for his clothes but you stop him with a hand on his arm.

"I'm not finished, my lord."

Intrigued, he returns his arm to his side, staring you down.

You coat the palm of your right hand with the inky black liquid, never breaking eye contact with Feyd. He doesn't stop you as you press your hand against his warm chest, right where his heart would be.

You start to pull away, but he is quick to grip your wrist, keeping you in place. For a second, you are concerned that you went too far. Maybe this is the day he kills you for your insolence?

Instead, he lunges forward, catching you in a hungry kiss. He bites and takes, and you surrender with ease. A sense of relief and excitement floods your senses as you kiss back just as passionately.

"It is fitting," he says once he parts from you.

He watches as you slowly peel your hand from his skin, leaving a perfect handprint over his heart.

"What is?"

"That you should mark me like this," he grins to reveal blackened teeth. "You are a stain on my heart."

"How so?" You're still breathless, allured by his gravelly voice.

"All it longs for is your touch, you vixen."

You caress his cheek, "I'm just marking what I own. And once you're declared the victor, you can come claim what's yours."

Your words ignite a fire in him and he starts forward but you step back.

His glare is venomous, as if you just deprived him of oxygen.

"You have a fight to win, Feyd. Shouldn't you be preparing?"

Turning, you begin to walk away.

A rough hand snatches your shoulder, and a hot mouth is on your neck before you can blink. He bites down harshly, drawing spots of blood. The pain is expected when dealing with a man like Feyd, but it is still surprising.

You really have gotten under his skin.

He releases the pressure of his teeth and drags his tongue over the wound.

"You needed a mark too, my sweet."

You turn and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head, "Go make me proud, Feyd. I shall see you in your chambers after the fight."

He lets you leave, watching with blood stained lips.

"As you command, so it shall be."

[please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!]

#female reader #feyd oneshot #feyd imagine #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #possessive feyd rautha #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune x reader #x reader #dune part ii #dune 2 #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #fanfic #requested fic

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s-vtoru · 1 year ago

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where's my reward? | wriothesley x reader

ᡴꪫ summary: wriothesley comes to you, his biggest cheerleader, after winning his 5th boxing match this week. he expects a reward for his hard work and who are you to deny him? pairing: boxer!wriothesley x fem!reader warnings: smut, praise kink (wrio), pet names (angel, baby, pretty girl), p in v, porn with plot, breeding kink, implied pregnancy

wriothesley was in the ring, throwing punches to the face and gut of his opponent, almost rarely receiving them from the other end. one uppercut and left jab from the duke left his combatant on the floor gasping for air, covered in bruises and a bloody nose. cheers and clapping erupted from the crowd around the arena as wriothesley was deemed the winner, or champion rather, which happened almost every time. as he held the belt given to him, showing off his well-earned prize off to the crowd, he spotted you just a few feet away from the rink screaming his name and cheering for him. seeing you apart of the crowd, his number one fan, it was his sole reason to keep on going in his boxing career. you are his motivation.

a few interviews and photograph signing later, he was completely spent. all he wanted was to hold you in his arms and head on home. so once he saw you waiting for him in his personal dressing room, he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head in the crook of your neck. you smiled warmly, "hi mr. champion," you spoke, turning your head to press a kiss onto his cheek. man was he happy to hear your sweet voice. "mm. hey," he pressed soft kisses against your neck, fingers messing with the bottom of your shirt. "you did great out there, wrio," you caressed his forearm with the pad of your thumb, the both of you swaying side to side. "thanks baby, couldn't have done it without you," and it was true, if he didn't have you, he wouldn't have made it this far. he wouldn't have been one of the top 3 best boxers in the world.

having you in his arms never got old. he loved feeling your body against his big, bulky frame. remember how spent he was earlier? well, not so much anymore. with you in front of him, looking all pretty in those tight leggings and compression long sleeve shirt with his name on the back that hugged your figure oh so nicely, you can feel his growing bulge against your ass. "i figured you'd be tired after such a long match, but i suppose not?" he chuckled against your shoulder, looking at you through the vanity mirror in front of you both. "well, i was. but then i thought about how i won and.." you raised your eyebrow, not really knowing where he was going with this. "and what?" you could feel him smirk against your skin, his deep gaze on your body and your pretty lips.

"where's my reward?"

".. reward?" you repeated, still confused for a moment before realizing what he meant by 'reward'. "shouldn't i be rewarded for winning today's match and for all my hard work?" a laugh left your lips, turning your body to look at him fully. "oh why yes, of course," you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, a grin spread across your lips. "what would be a good enough reward for you, hm?" wriothesley hummed, ocean blue hues glued to your lips as he came up with an idea. "well, i think this pretty girl in front of me would make a pretty good reward. don't you think?" your cheeks flushed a bright shade of red, getting a bit embarrassed by his words but you pull him closer, your lips just a mere centimeters apart. "then you can have this reward you speak of in any way you want. how's that sound?" your tone was gentle, alluring. a deep chuckle left his lips, his smirk only widening, "sounds perfect," his lips crashed against yours eagerly, hands already finding purchase on your ass.

his leg found its way in between your legs, knee pressing right up against your clothed cunt. you could feel him smiling against your lips, a whimper being pulled out of you from the friction his knee gave you. your panties were already ruined, your slick creating a wet patch on them as well as your leggings. "w—wrio.." you mumbled in the kiss, his tongue finding the opportunity to flood your mouth, dancing against yours in a coinciding rhythm. he tugged on your bottom lip, a fervorous growl leaving his lips. "fuck, you're already so wet for me.. and i barely did anything to you," his eyes bore into yours with an intensity you've never seen before. he wanted to bed you over and fuck you right then and there with no hesitation, but he needed to hold back. just for a while longer.

his head dipped down to your neck, his lips sucking light red marks onto your soft skin that would soon darken in due time. his canines spent no time in leaving their own mark on you, biting down with ease, but not hard enough to cause you any pain but a slight sting. the duke's hips rutted against the fat of your ass, his painfully hardened cock grinding against you with a kind of desperation you knew very well. however, you gathered his attention by cupping his cheeks with your small palms, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "wait.. let me," you retracted your hands, slowly lowering down to your knees, face to face with the bulge portruding through his shorts, "reward you."

wriothesley's cheeks flushed a bright shade of crimson that stretched to the tips of his ears, watching you get down on your knees for him. he licked his lips at the sight of you, his expression contorted with lust and need. "by all means, please," a little grin spread comfortably across your lips, pulling down his shorts and underwear in one swift motion, watching his cock spring out excitedly. a content sigh left your boyfriends lips, finally feeling relieved from the confines of his clothing. you wrapped your hand around his shaft, stroking at a teasingly slow pace that made him grunt. you took your time with him, wanting him to savor every small motion you made as you kept eye contact with him the whole time. after a few slow strokes, you sank your mouth down onto him, absolutely reveling in the way the all time champion shakily groaned.

"oh— fuuck— , that's it.." he placed his hand on top of your head, biting his lower lip at the feeling of your warm mouth around his girth. you swirled your tongue around his cock skillfully, tracing the thick vein all the way down to the base, the dark hairs of his happy trail tickling your nose. he admired how talented you were at sucking his dick, and that tongue of yours — the way it prodded at his slit before taking him back into your mouth with hallowed cheeks — it drove him crazy beyond words. those lewd noises of you choking on his cock was almost enough to bring him to the brink of release, tasting the pre that leaked from his tip as you held onto his thighs for support.

his dick twitched against your tongue, letting you know he was getting close. "baby, mph— i'm close.. gonna cum in your pretty mouth, okay?" you nodded your head in response, your movements picking up pace as you sucking his cock faster, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat. you were growing needy yourself, one of your hands reaching down to rub your cunt through your leggings. your muffled moans sent vibrations against his shaft, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in your throat. at this rate he was panting like an animal in heat, desperate for release so he can hurry up and fill your pussy with his seed next. he placed his other hand on your head, using both of his hands to eagerly fuck his cock into your throat. tears fell down your cheeks from his tip reaching the depths of your mouth. "feels so good baby, shit.. i—i'm gonna—"

one, two, and three more thrusts had him leaning his head back with a drawn out moan, shooting his cum down your throat just like he said he would. you gripped onto his thigh tighter, not letting a single drop of his release go to waste. you swallowed every last bit of his cum, ignoring the salty and bitter aftertaste. "that's a good girl," he stroked your hair with a proud grin on his face, taking his still very much hard shaft out of your mouth. you stood up on your feet, wriothelsey immediately turning you around and bending you over the vanity while he tucked his face in the crook of your neck. "need to be inside you, please.. i need to fuck you, baby," you let out a giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his lips with a alluring smile, "go ahead, wrio.. this is your reward after all, right?" your voice was sweet like honey, yet had a hint of spice to it that sent your black haired boyfriend over the edge.

he spent no time in pulling your leggings and panties down to your ankles and disregarding them completely, just aching to be inside you already. he turned your face towards him by your chin, kissing you hungrily as two of his fingers rubbed circles around your clit. your moans were music to his ears, sending blood streaming straight to his throbbing cock. he gave his shaft a few strokes before pressing his tip against your hole that clenched around nothing, dying to be filled up by your champion of a lover. "gonna put in inside you now, okay?" you hummed, feeling his fat tip ease itself inside of you, sending a stinging sensation through your body. wriothesley was by no means small; he was quite literally big. so as he pushed his massive girth entirely inside you, you gasped at the sudden stretch, beginning to adjust to it.

"you alright, angel? did it hurt?" you loved how sweet he was, how much he wanted to make sure you were okay. that was just how he is, not wanting to hurt you at all. you shook your head, "i—i'm okay, wrio.. just hurry up..," you could hear him scoff, sliding out of you and bottoming out again into your cunt, ripping a moan out of you. "someones impatient, huh?" you nudged him softly leaning your head back on his shoulder as he slowly began to move his hips. "you're— mmf.. s—shit.. one to talk," your voice was shaky, covering your mouth to repress any further noises from reaching anywhere out of the room you both were in. "yeah, i suppose you're right," wriothesley's thrusts became more frequent, biting your lip at the pleasure of his cock in your greedy cunt.

he pressed soft kisses over the marks he left on you earlier, balls deep inside you with his pace quickening with each passing second. it felt like heaven inside of you, feeling your pussy grip onto his thick cock as he took hold of your jaw, turning your attention to the mirror in front of you. "want you to watch me fuck you, watch me earn this pretty reward," he bullied his length into your dripping cunt, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. the pleasure took over your body completely, your vision going white as his tip repeatedly kissed that sweet spongey spot that made you see stars. you uncovered your mouth, drool sneaking passed the corners of your mouth and dripping down your chin.

you loved the way wriothesley fucked you, it was filled with love and lust even if it was rough at the same time. you can tell his movements were sturdy and skilled with the way his hips thrusted his cock deep within your womb, heat rising throughout your whole body. "you did so g—good today wrio, 'm so proud of you!" and you really were, you were so so proud of him. and even though you meant that in a totally innocent way, it set something off inside of the man fucking you from behind. he cursed under his breath, his dick somehow getting bigger inside of you. "w—wrio? you—"

"say it again. tell me how proud you are of me."

you didn't think he'd be the type of person so be into being praised, let alone get aroused by it. but you didn't mind at all, because you truly were extremely proud of him. you know how hard he worked to get where he is now. "i—i'm so so proud of you wrio, y—you did so good out there!" he chuckled to himself, his thrusts becoming more erratic and his heavy breaths turning into feral growls. he loved when you praised him, told him how good he did during his matches. he was an all-time winner, all because of you. and because of his hard work, but mainly you. "ngh.. f—fuck baby, it's all 'cause of you," his thrusts remotely became erratic, unable to stop the reckless pace of his hips slapping against your ass.

your back arched dangerously, allowing your boxing champion to sink his cock deeper within your walls, abusing your cervix in a way that had your legs trembling. wriothesley caught sight of your wavering legs, an idea forming inside that mischievous head of his. without warning, he lifted you up by your thighs, holding them with a fierce grip in his large hands. he fucked up into your pussy harshly, a gravelly groan leaving him as he did so. you could see his cock slip in and out of you through the mirror, watching him split you open with his girthy shaft. "w—wrio! too d—deep!" your moans only got louder, almost positive people from outside the room could hear what you both were up to. "shit, princess, look at you..," he latched his teeth onto your shoulder, wanting to mark you up as much as possible.

"fuck.. i'm gonna cum soon," his thrusts had gotten sloppy, pace faltering too, feeling his cock twitch eagerly against your gummy insides. "i—inside.. c—cum inside wrio.." your expression was all fucked out; mouth agape, tongue lolled out, practically begging him to empty his load into your womb. those words had only turned him on even more, a chuckle leaving him, "well shit, baby, gladly," his pace picked up instantly, his grip on your thighs now deadly as he pounded into you from below. you leaned your head back onto his shoulder, feeling that heat build up in the pit of your stomach. "c—cumming! i'm cumming—!" it didn't take long for that coil to unravel, squirting all over his cock, your juices coating the mirror in front of you. wriothesley was on the verge of cumming too once feeling your pussy pulse around him, sending blood rushing throughout his body.

a few more thrusts against your g-spot had him spilling his warm cum inside of you, a deep, shaky moan erupting from your boyfriend. you both took a minute to catch your breaths, you clearly losing all feeling in your lower body. he set you down on the vanity, grabbing your panties from the ground and slipping them up halfway. "wrio..?" you looked at him, only to be met with his scheming gaze. he watched as his cum seeped out of your gaping hole, using two digits to scoop his seed back up and push it inside of you. until then, that's when he slipped your panties up all the way. a wave of heat coated your cheeks letting out a content scoff. "can't let it go to waste now, can we?" you rolled your eyes at his comment, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "hmm, i guess not."

after getting you all dressed, himself included — him only having to zip up his pants and whatnot — he leaned closely into your ear, placing his hand over your tummy, giving it slow rubs. "after all, i don't mind having another cheerleader to cheer me on," he pressed his lips against yours, kissing you slow and passionately before continuing, "that would be a pretty amazing reward, no?"

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut

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ace-turned-confused · 4 months ago

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mould me for ruin

marcus acacius masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: marcus acacius x virgin f!reader summary: after years of watching general acacius, you long to wield a sword of your own — an opportunity arises for your dreams to come true, in more ways than one word count: 4,6k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied / inexperienced & a virgin, probably historically inaccurate yippie!, unspecified juicy age gap, pet names, smut, loss of virginity, f masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v, comeplay, praise kink, size difference, bit of corruption & innocence kink, some dacryphilia, dirty talk & possessive acacius, Armour Stays On, Skirt Stays On extra info: subligaculum = underwear, mamillare = breastband/bra — if this is wrong then yell at google, not me a/n: so i watched the trailer with my best friend, looked at her immediately and said “i need him to tackle me to the ground” and here we are. i couldn’t help myself. @morallyinept thank you Jett for encouraging me to write this and listening to my deranged rambling, love you so much my friend 🤍 not beta'd, live laugh love

You’ve watched him for years — defending his honour, moulding young boys into fearless soldiers, striding up the palace steps to stand before the emperor. His confidence never falters, and it’s astonishing how his men follow his constant orders, never complaining, never challenging him. He speaks, they listen — you would do the same.

You’ve always dreamed of what wearing armour like his would feel like — how it would weigh down your shoulders, how it would clunk and rattle as you walk, how the leather would flow around your legs. That’s all it’s ever been — a dream, a fantasy. You’ve found as of late that you’ve had other dreams, too.

General Marcus Acacius has always been something of a God to you, he could never do wrong in your eyes and you often thought of him at fleeting moments during your day’s duties. Now, you think of him at night, too, and you don’t know how to stop. Instead of wearing that armour yourself, you’ve started imagining how it would feel if someone else pressed it into your skin. In all of your dreams, it’s Acacius wearing that armour.

You’ve noticed it’s not just your mind that’s affected — you feel unbearably warm, a throbbing sensation between your legs that only intensifies if you ignore it. You used to squeeze your legs together to try and quell that feeling, soon finding that it turned into pleasure.

You’ve always been a curious girl — one night you pulled off your sheets and shoved your hand down to explore yourself, finding you were wet, and if you pressed your fingers into one specific spot for long enough, you felt euphoric. This happens most nights now, and you have to cover your mouth when it’s quiet to avoid waking someone up.

You wondered if anyone else experienced this too but have always been too scared to ask — sometimes you feel embarrassed just thinking about it.

Acacius would never dare to even look at you, for what would a man of his stature want with a girl like you, but there’s no harm in you continuing to look at him — lingering in the shadows during training hours, fixated on him during noble proceedings. You swear sometimes he stares directly at you in a crowd, eyes burning into you as he singles you out.

The sun is just beginning to set, Marcus’ final session of the day has concluded and the servants have come to harp to his every need. One brings cloth for his face, another a small cup filled with water for drinking. A young boy had nicked his arm during a one-on-one showcase, the blood now dried on his skin as bandaging is wrapped around his bicep. The boy looked terrified of what the consequences might be, but Marcus reassured him that no real harm was done.

His body aches as he longs for rest — he’s not quite as young and agile as he once was.

Trudging out of the arena, he notices you — it’s not the first time, either. He imagines you just have an inquisitive mind and are fascinated by the spectacle of physical combat, as most are — but you don’t seem engrossed by the pompous behaviour or extravagant events. It appears as though you live in hopes of being able to train, that you dream you could be the one in the arena. You step out of hiding and try to sneak off in the opposite direction.

“Something you are looking for, girl?”

You halt in your tracks, turning to face him with wide eyes. You don’t respond.

“Answer when you are questioned.”

“I did not intend to be a bother, General Acacius, I will be on my way, my apologies.”

“There is no need for an apology. I have seen you here before — on many occasions, in fact.” He steps towards you and you stand, unmoving. “Tell me, girl, why are you really here.”

Your eyes flicker around as you consider your answer, fingers twitching at your sides as you chew on your lip. Finally, you tell him, “I… simply enjoy watching. You are finely skilled, it is magnificent to witness. All of you, I do not watch you alone, of course.” Your voice wavers as you rush out your last sentence.

“Do you wish to be in the arena, yourself?”

“I could not.”

“I did not ask if you could or could not.”

Again, you don’t respond as your gaze lowers to focus on his chestplate, eyes tracing the twisting gold patterns. He considers how to get the truth from you, and his decision is undoubtedly something he shouldn’t entertain.

“Meet me at sundown tomorrow in the clearing by the lake, it is not too far a journey on foot. You have never been spotted here, so I imagine you will have no difficulty making it out there undetected.”

You sputter out a reply as he walks off, tripping over your words but don’t make any real effort to stop or counter him. Whether or not you show up tomorrow is ultimately your decision, and he will not hold it against you if you choose to remain in the shadows. He does hope you do join him, though, he hopes you might surprise him.

You’ve spent all day weighing up what to do. A few others noticed your mind was distant but you managed to keep their suspicions at bay. When the General caught you the night prior, you were certain you’d be in trouble but he was shockingly calm.

He stood right before you and for the first time, you could take in his features — you’ve only ever been able to admire him from afar. Grey streaks on his temples and spread along his jawline, steel gaze and curved nose, arms and shoulders even thicker and broader up close. You felt that low heat settle between your legs as he questioned you — your dreams will be far more vivid from now on.

Acacius was right when he assumed you could make it out here unnoticed, you’ve mastered the art after years of sneaking around. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when you hear rustling in the tree line behind you. You turn and see him break through the foliage, clad in his armour with a sword on either hip.

“You are here.” He runs his eyes over your whole body as he moves into the clearing.

He walks out towards you and draws one sword, angling the blade to catch the light as he flips it around in his hand before presenting the grip to you. You furrow your brow in confusion.

“Unless you have one in your own possession, you will need a sword. I did not bring two for my own use.”

You take it in hand, clenching your fist repeatedly to get a feel for it, twirling the sword around — it’s easier to handle than you imagined, but still a solid weight.

“Tonight we will just begin with a few basic movements. You need to be in control of your weapon — if you fear it, that is when you will harm yourself.”

You spend hours focused on moving the sword around your body, watching Acacius’ demonstrations and then mirroring them. It’s not long before you can speed up your actions, remembering the patterns without having to be shown.

“I must admit, I am impressed. You are managing the blade well.” You glance up at him mid-performance — he rests a hand on his hip, his lips just starting to curl into a small smile. “Do you have a weapon of your own? I will not tell.”

“I have a small dagger I found long ago, I find peace in keeping it well-maintained.”

“You will carry it on your person at all times.”

“I should not.”

“This is not a case of should or should not, you will carry it. You may be secure near the arena and its surroundings, but this world is not always a safe one. Your dagger will do you more good in your hand than in your bedchamber.”

He walks towards the water's edge and looks out over the lake. Turning to face you, the moonlight bounces off the water and shines around him — he looks otherworldly. You realise now, as you stand under the twinkling stars, just how long the two of you have been out here.

“It is late, we should make our way back to town. I would like to continue your training, you have made a promising start — if you wish to learn more.”

“Thank you, General. I would like that. When will we next meet?”

“The night after tomorrow. You cannot practise during daylight on your own, and repetition is necessary for mastering an art like this. I will see you then.”

“May I ask…” You fidget with the sword in your hand. “How come we are so far out? Would it not be simpler to just train in the arena?”

“And think what would happen if someone were to see — a girl, sparring with a general in the arena after dark? You will be sent for exile, or worse.”

You hand the sword back to Acacius, eyes flitting up to his and breath hitching in your chest as his hand grips over yours.

“Goodnight, General.”

“Rest well, you will need it.”

He bids you goodnight, sheathing the sword back on his hip. You glance back at him as you retreat into the woods and he’s still watching you. You’re not sure how much sleep you’ll get, but you’ll definitely be well-rested.

It feels as though time had stopped altogether the past two days. Your duties dragged on for hours and you tossed in your sleep. You'd snuck off as usual to view the training sessions, but it isn’t enough anymore now that you’ve done it yourself and spent time alone with Acacius.

You ran his words over in your head, your dagger will do you more good in your hand than in your bedchamber, and he is right. What use is a weapon that you cannot use? You tried tucking it into your subligaculum, but it would dislodge as soon as your movements became vigorous. You took some spare cloth and tied it around your calf, managing to secure the dagger in a way that would remain in place without drawing your own blood in the process. You’re eager to show off your craftsmanship to him.

Acacius is nowhere to be seen when you arrive tonight, a gentle breeze dancing in the leaves and causing small ripples on the water’s surface, lamplight flickering in the distance across the lake. You can hear rustling behind you but pass it off as the wind or woodland creatures until you hear a significant snap and fling yourself around.

You’re met with Acacius, standing no more than an arm's length away — he slashes his sword towards you before you can greet him. You duck down to the ground, air displaced above your head as you look up at him in shock.

“Your reflexes are defensive… swift, but defensive.”

You rise slowly, unsure what his further plans are, chest heaving as you try to calm yourself. Staring at him, you see he’s focused on your hand, a small smirk on his face — following his eyes you realise you’d taken hold of your dagger, the blade shining as it catches the setting sun.

“I see you are carrying your blade, good girl.”

You feel hot. You didn’t know mere words could do to you what your dreams do, but you push it down and blame the adrenaline coursing through your body.

“You already know how to defend yourself, that much is clear. Here we are training to attack, to kill, if that is what will save you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, General.”

You nod and lift your tunic to your knee, still taking in deep breaths as you secure your dagger once more. What was the point of this exercise?

“How did you know I would not retaliate?”

“You would not have stopped if I had been a real threat. You know in your mind I would not harm you, just as I know you would not harm me. That is what makes a bond like this successful: trust.”

The night’s session goes smoothly after that. You do a few repeats of your basic movements and advance into cutting through the air with the blade, Acacius a safe distance away should you lose your grip. Just like your first night, the moon is high up in the night sky by the time you remember the outside world.

“You are making quick progress. How about we try sparring? No complex movements, just stick to what you know.”

So you do, and to your own amazement you do rather well — grip never loosening, you maintain your focus on Acacius the entire time as your blades clash together, dirt whirring up around your feet as you dance around each other. Neither of you back down on your final connection, Acacius grinning at you from behind both blades.

“Should you succeed in this, you shall soon stand high above the rest. Even if they do not know it.”

You both drop your hands, swords by your sides as he stays close. You’re silent as you stare at him blankly, confused by his statement.

“Do you know of any other soldier that has trained by moonlight, alone with me? Those men… those boys, they train because it is their duty. A boy is born to fight. You? Well, it would seem you were born to fight, too.” His voice is soft, his usual curt tone lost to the night breeze. There’s a fond smile on his face, eyes full of admiration as he speaks to you.

“I have often seen you lingering around the arena, I can always spot you in a crowd…” His tongue darts out as his gaze drops to your lips momentarily, before looking into your eyes again. “It is unusual for a girl like you to have such a keen interest in such a… physical activity.”

“Do you think our kind should keep to our traditions? That men should fight and women should care for them?”

“Would I be alone with you under the stars if I thought as much?”

With heat radiating from his body, it takes everything in you not to lean forward into him. His hand brushes over yours as he reaches for your sword, slipping it from your grip to sheath it.

“I think that is enough for tonight. We will keep to this schedule unless I have other commitments — a night of rest, a night of work. There are proceedings at the palace tomorrow, I expect you will be there to witness it?”

“I will, yes.”

Still close to you, he shifts his gaze between your eyes — if you were further apart you might miss the hint of a grin playing on his face.

“It will be quite the sight.” He winks at you and steps back, eyes still locked on yours. “Goodnight, my little rascal.”

You watch as he disappears through the rough, waiting until the only sounds you hear are those from the lapping water and rustling leaves. You lift your tunic hastily, pushing your hand into your subligaculum and down between your legs.

Your problem has only worsened since you properly met Acacius — you relieved yourself after your first training session and last night. Now, however, the wetness has spread to the inside of your thighs, too, the pulsing sensations more intense than usual. You press your fingers into your swollen bud, moving your hand side to side and it doesn’t take long before you come — stretching your free hand out to anchor yourself against a tree, it’s the fiercest feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You hope it won’t take long to fall asleep once you reach town.

It will be quite the sight — you’d tried to decipher what he meant but fell short. It seems that Acacius is rarely untruthful in his words — the events at the palace really were a sight. More specifically, he was a sight.

You had stood in the crowd, not expecting too much excitement, when a broad figure ascending the palace steps caught your eye. Billowing white cape and gold-plated cuffs, when he turned to face the crowds you realised it was him. His usual armour was replaced by, no doubt expensive, white and trimmed in gold, his skirt falling around and between his thick thighs as he climbed.

The grey in his hair and heavy arms accentuated by his new noble appearance, he stood tall and surveyed, hands clasped teasingly in front of his skirt. Just as he told you before, his eyes found you amongst everyone else and stayed on you the entire time, only breaking contact out of courtesy when others spoke with him.

You’ve never been too taken by proceedings like this, always far more keen on the soldiers’ training, but you wonder now if Acacius knows how he infiltrates your thoughts, knows the obscene way your body reacts to them. Why else would he have laid a claim like that?

It was all you could think about the entire day and night, and you think about it now, still, as you try sparring with him. It’s not as simple as the previous time, you find your movements are limited by your tunic, the fabric not as giving as before. You lower your sword and raise your spare hand to stop him, huffing in frustration.

“Is something the matter?”

“It— it is not your problem. I simply need to collect myself. Refocus.” You ready yourself with a defeated sigh but Acacius stands straight.

“Is something. The matter?”

“My tunic, it— I cannot move as I did the other night. As I said, it is not your problem.”

“You can remove it if that would help.”

You stand, bewildered at his comment.

“It is just you and I and the stars. You can remove your tunic if you will spar better without it.”

It seems he isn’t going to continue otherwise, so you place your sword on the ground. He doesn’t turn away from you, either, eyes fixed on you as you look to the floor and reach for your hem. Lifting it up your body and over your head, your skin feels blazing hot under his gaze as you stand nearly bare before him, your mamillare, subligaculum and the dagger secured on your calf your only coverings.

“You are quite the sight, even for a rascal.” You meet his eyes at his words, his gaze hungry. He finally resumes his stance and you retrieve your sword, preparing for the challenge.

The hunger in his eyes only grows stronger the longer you fight, his movements quickening as he advances and forces you backwards. He knocks the sword clean out of your grasp, the blade’s clanking muffled by the earth as he tackles you to the ground, pushing you beneath him and holding you in place.

“It seems your grip is not as secure as you believed…” He pauses as he rakes his eyes over you. “You were quite taken at the palace yesterday, I take it you enjoyed what you saw?”

“It was… quite exhilarating,” you sigh as he shifts, the edge of his breastplate catching on that spot your fingers find all too easily.

“What is wrong, rascal?” You gasp softly as he relaxes, resting almost his full weight on you. You squirm underneath him as you try lifting your hips in search of friction. You notice a change in his eyes and he ticks his jaw.

“Does that feel good?” He punctuates his words by grinding himself into you and holding himself there. “Do you touch yourself?”

“I do not know—” You knock your head back into the ground, pinching your eyes as he grinds his armour into you again. “I do not know what happens, but… it feels good.”

“Have you ever pushed a finger inside of yourself?”

You try turning to the side, his blunt words and forceful movements becoming too much for your uneducated mind.

“You can tell me.”

“I did not know I could do that. Is it not…” you look into his eyes again in search of reassurance, “Is it not shameful, what I do?”

He chuckles at your question, a hint of darkness still in his tone, “My sweet girl, there is nothing shameful about it. Many people pleasure themselves, and others — it is a wonderous thing.”

He lifts himself to push his hand under your subligaculum, fingers circling your bundle of nerves before dragging them through your folds. You feel a different kind of pressure as he repositions his fingers, pushing two inside of you and you cry out, his thick fingers slowly sliding further and further.

Leaning on his elbow, his free hand comes up to caress your cheek and you lean into his touch, heaving and gasping as you get used to the new sensation.

“When do you touch yourself?”

You make no response, your head spinning as that familiar heat that pools in your spine starts growing, only this time it’s far hotter. He grips your jaw, shaking you lightly to get your attention.

“You listen and answer to me. Do not forget that.”

“At night. I… at night.”

“And what makes you seek relief? I can feel how wet you are, my girl — what makes you wet?”

“You.” You moan to the stars as you clench around his fingers, heat coursing through your body as your legs stiffen. That night you came in this very same spot had been the best, but this easily tops it. He pulls his fingers from you as you open your eyes again, and suddenly you feel painfully empty.

“I make you wet?”

“Yes. I think of you when I touch myself. Sometimes I… sometimes I dream of you.”

He kneels back between your legs, manhandling you to push your discarded tunic under your body as he strips off the little clothing you still had on, leaving you completely naked. He smooths his fingers up and down between your legs.

“You are… so sweet, so pure. A girl like you is truly a treasure.”

Sitting up to rest on your elbows, you watch as he pulls his shorts down his thighs, tanned skin peeking through the dark leather of his skirt. He pushes the straps aside, taking his cock in his hand and stroking himself languidly, a twisted smile on his face as you stare, your lips parted in awe.

“Have you seen a man before?”

“Not like this, no. Will it hurt?”

“It may, you are such a delicate girl… but it will certainly be a pleasurable pain.”

He leans over you, cock poking the inside of your thigh as he brings himself close, lips ghosting yours. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand between your bodies, running your fingers through your sticky folds.

“Do you feel how dripping wet with arousal you are, my girl? Do you feel how much your body craves mine?” He takes your hand, coated in slick and twists it to rub his length against your palm. “Do you feel how much my body craves yours, too?”

You try wrapping your hand around him, fingers splayed wide as you feel how hot his skin is, thick and heavy and hard, just like the rest of his body. He sighs softly as you tighten your grip experimentally.

“Will it… will it fit inside of me?” You look at him, eyebrows knitted in worry. His two fingers alone felt like they filled you completely, you’re not sure how you could possibly take more.

“We will make it fit. A good girl like you will soon learn to take me. You were made for me — your body craves mine, remember?”

You nod lazily as he lays you down and cradles your cheek again, your eyes fluttering closed as he softly presses his lips to your forehead. He drags his cock through your folds, nudging himself just inside your entrance. The stretch stings, your face contorted as you groan, but even with the pain you can feel that fire burning in your belly again. His thumb draws circles into your cheek, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I would hate to think how another man would ruin you. You are so tight, so perfect.” He inches forward, forcing your legs further apart and he looks down to where he breaches you. “I will be the only man to ruin you.”

He thrusts into you, sheathing himself completely as tears trickle down your cheeks and past your ears. He wipes them away with his thumb, peppering your face with kisses.

“My poor, sweet girl. Tell me how it feels.”

“So big…” You whine as you clench around his length, over and over. Through glassy eyes, you can see his devilish grin as he chuckles at your response.

“Only good girls can simply take what they are given like this, you are doing so well.” He pulls your hand between your bodies again, spreading your fingers around where he splits you open. You moan, a new wave of wetness pooling around his cock. “Even in your rebellion, that’s all you want to be, isn’t it? A good girl — always apologetic, always wanting to make me proud.”

He gives you no chance to comment or fully adjust to his size as he pulls out and snaps his hips back into yours. Your tailbone and shoulder blades dig uncomfortably into the hard ground beneath you, rendered defenceless as he pins you down by your shoulders. His gaze flickers up to you, hunger in his eyes turned dark as if he’s starving. He pays little attention to you now as he pistons into you over and over, all sense of care gone as he uses you for his own bliss — and yet, you’re on the verge of release again.

It still burns, being stretched almost unbearably wide, but had you known about these possibilities, you would’ve hunted for this far sooner. His cock drags heavily against your walls, the leather and stitching of his skirt chafing against your thighs, chestplate digging into your lower abdomen and you realise he was right — it is a pleasurable pain.

“Come again for me, my girl. Reach your high again, I know you are close.”

You attempt a response, but your words are incoherent.

“Good girls do as they are told — listen, and I will reward you.”

Your legs tense as you clamp down on him, coating his cock as you come again. You think you hear him grunting, senses overwhelmed by the ringing in your ears, unsure if the stars you see are from the night sky or your own pleasure. You’re still trembling when he pulls out and hovers above you, pumping himself with a tight fist until he spills over your stomach and up between your breasts.

Panting as he comes down, you lie beneath him and your curiosity takes over again — you run your fingers through the milky ropes covering your skin, lifting your hand to watch it web between your fingers. You crane your neck and stick your tongue out to taste it, your eyes on Acacius the whole time.

“My perfect girl…” It comes out barely above a whisper, a crooked smile on his face as he leans down to kiss you properly. He’s strikingly gentle, the scruff of his beard and moustache prickling against your skin, his hand curling to cradle your head. “There is still so much for you to learn, and I am eager to teach you. You are my rascal, after all.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @cafekitsune

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius smut #gladiator fanfiction

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woman-for-women · 1 year ago

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“...men come to me or to other feminists and say:

"What you're saying about men isn't true. It isn't true of me. I don't feel that way. I'm opposed to all of this."

And I say: don't tell me. Tell the pornographers. Tell the pimps. Tell the warmakers. Tell the rape apologists and the rape celebrationists and the pro-rape ideologues. Tell the novelists who think that rape is wonderful. Tell Larry Flynt. Tell Hugh Hefner. There's no point in telling me. I'm only a woman. There's nothing I can do about it. These men presume to speak for you. They are in the public arena saying that they represent you. If they don't, then you had better let them know."

- Andrea Dworkin

#w4w post #quotes #Andrea dworkin #Dworkin

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absolutely-zero-regrets · 2 years ago

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just killed god with the power of really impressive sandcastles

#beat the master crown in the true arena! just have the final fight left…#kirby #kirby spoilers #krtdl spoilers #just in case yknow?#zero speaks

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emjayewrites · 8 days ago

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what's up, jude? what's up, lila? (hey there, delilah epilogue) • jude bellingham

SYNOPSIS: Real Madrid football star Jude Bellingham has had a big crush on Delilah "Lila" Hamilton, the younger sister of Formula 1 legend Lewis Hamilton, for a while. As their budding romance unfolds, will they be able to navigate the pressures of fame and family dynamics?

PAIRINGS: Jude Bellingham x Delilah "Lila" Hamilton (face claim Rayan Xasan)

WARNINGS: cursing, f1/football b.s., overly protective siblings, light smut, adult jokes (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @dreamingjude @foreverisntenough @nichmeddar @lettersofgold @judesvirtual @perfecttrashface @alika-4466 @cocobutterqwueen @leilaxaliel @ispywithmylileye @vile-harlot @bellinghaalands @certifiedlesbianbaddie @yeea-nah @empressdede @saturnville @pinkcatcus @shepgurl @ffenthusiastt @serpenttines-library @judesprincess @bbgkoo @enretrogue @liamundi

A/N: This series is officially finished! Thank you for your support, comments, and appreciation for this fic. I will be doing two more one-shots for Jobe. Please keep in mind that this is set before my recent Jobe oneshot and around Chapter 3 of FBF (August 2024). You will see more of Lila and Jude in my other series, Fouled by Fate, which picks up literally the same time as this finishes. Jude and Lila are my babies, and I'm so happy you guys loved them, too!

The air in the Olympic fencing arena buzzed with anticipation. Lila sat between Snoop Dogg and Nina Dobrev, trying to focus on Miles' match while being acutely aware of the camera shutters working overtime behind them. As usual, they seemed more interested in her brother than the actual competition.

"There go the vultures," Lila muttered as another burst of flashes erupted, no doubt capturing Lewis and Amara's every move. She could already imagine tomorrow's tabloid headlines: "F1 Champion's New Love" or something equally dramatic.

"Let 'em talk," Snoop said beside her, his laid-back drawl carrying a hint of amusement. "They gonna do it anyway, might as well give 'em something to talk about."

Lila smiled, grateful for his easy-going presence. "True. Though I think they've got enough material with those two," she nodded towards Lewis and Amara, who were engrossed in conversation with Shaun White.

"Speaking of headlines," Snoop continued, "saw your Versace previews. Looking fire, baby girl."

"Thanks," Lila beamed. The campaign had been a dream come true, though she couldn't wait to show Jude the final results in September. "Just hoping I did the brand justice."

"Please," Nina chimed in from her other side. "You're killing it."

Snoop nodded in agreement, then his expression turned more serious. "Now, what about that soccer boy of yours? He treating you right?"

Lila felt warmth spread through her chest at the mention of Jude. He was back in Madrid, throwing himself into pre-season training with Real Madrid, while she was set to join him in two days. "He's perfect," she said softly. "More than perfect, actually."

"Good," Snoop said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "'Cause you know we got your back if he ain't."

A cheer erupted from the crowd as Miles scored a point. Lila jumped up, clapping enthusiastically. From the corner of her eye, she caught Amara squeezing Lewis' hand in excitement, and she couldn't help but smile. Despite her initial reservations, she had to admit - they looked good together.

As she sat back down, her phone buzzed with a message from Jude:

Miss you. Madrid's not the same without you x

Lila's smile widened as she typed back a quick reply. Two more days, and she'd be back where she belonged - in Madrid with Jude.

The crowd collectively groaned as Miles lost his chance at gold. Lila slumped back in her seat, disappointed for her bonus brother but proud he was still in contention for bronze.

As people began to shuffle out of their seats, Lila stood to hug Snoop goodbye. "Thanks for coming, Uncle Snoop."

"Anything for you, baby girl. Keep killing it out there."

Lewis approached, that easy smile of his in place. "Unc, you good for dinner tomorrow?"

"You know it," Snoop replied. "Hit me up with the details."

While Lewis got caught up chatting with what seemed like half the arena, Lila and Amara found themselves standing off to the side. Camera shutters continued their relentless clicking behind them.

"Watch this," Amara muttered, doing a spot-on impression of Lewis' media voice. "'Yeah man, just trying to support my bestie Miles, you know what I mean?'"

Lila burst into giggles. "Oh my god, that's exactly how he sounds!"

As they shared a laugh, Lila couldn't help but think how naturally Amara fit into their world. She had an ease about her that made everything feel less intense, less serious.

Finally, Lewis made his way back to them, immediately pulling Amara in for a soft kiss. The cameras went absolutely mental, the rapid-fire clicks almost deafening.

Amara pulled back with a smirk. "You're doing this on purpose now, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Lewis grinned, not looking the least bit apologetic.

"You two are ridiculous," Lila said, rolling her eyes fondly. But watching them together, she felt a surge of happiness for her brother. He deserved someone who could handle both his world and his heart with equal grace.

"Says the girl who's about to run off to Madrid to be with her footballer," Lewis teased.

"Speaking of," Amara added, "when does your flight leave?"

"Day after tomorrow," Lila replied, already counting down the hours until she'd see Jude again.

"Well then," Lewis said, wrapping an arm around each of them, "let's make the most of our time together. Dinner?"

As they made their way out of the arena, dodging photographers and well-wishers alike, Lila felt a sense of contentment wash over her. Everything was falling into place - her career, her relationship, her family. Even her brother's love life. Who would have thought?

The restaurant was one of those impossibly chic Parisian spots, all soft lighting and understated elegance. As they settled into their round table, Lila couldn't help but notice how everyone had naturally paired off - Lewis with Amara, Nina with Shaun, even Spinz had brought his girlfriend along. She felt like a sixth wheel, acutely aware of Jude's absence.

Her brother caught her pout. "Aw Peanut, what's wrong?"

"Probably misses her lil' boyfriend," Spinz commented, making Lewis roll his eyes, though without his usual bite.

"Li, you'll see him soon. You know co-dependency isn't healthy."

That made her scoff. "I'm perfectly capable of fending for myself, Lewis. I don't need Jude all the time."

Both Lewis and Amara cocked their heads to the side, clearly unconvinced.

"Okay, Peanut. We could go shopping tomorrow, okay?" Lewis offered, and Lila instantly perked up.

"For my Birkin?" she asked hopefully, grinning so wide all thirty-two teeth were on display.

"Yes…" Lewis said, taking a sip of his water. Amara nudged him playfully. "What? You want a Birkin too, baby?"

"No, Lewis," Amara shook her head with a light chuckle. "You're crazy."

Why was she in her business? Lila's eyebrows shot up at Amara's intervention. She was ready to shut this down if needed - brother's girlfriend or not.

But Amara surprised her again. "But if you want to properly get the job done, I say give her a car as well. What's going on with that?" She winked at Lila.

"Yeah, Lew, where's my new Benz?" Lila added.

The whole table erupted in laughter.

"I thought you wanted a G Wagon?" Lewis noted.

"That too. Now that you 'bout to be making Ferrari money, you can afford two cars and a Birkin," she mused.

"Don't you have money?" her brother countered. "Matter of fact, didn't your footballer sign a new contract with Louis Vuitton and Real Madrid?"

"Yes," Lila stated proudly, holding her head higher. "But I already ran his pockets. You're next, big brother." She held out her hand, beckoning for money.

"You're fuckin’ rotten," he said, shaking his head.

"You made me like this," she retorted, earning a chorus of "oohs" and "she got you there, bud" from around the table.

"Damn, if this is you with your sister, I can only imagine a baby," Amara joked.

Lewis turned to look at her, his expression softening. "The baby is going to be worse, especially if it's a girl."

The tender moment between them made Lila smile despite herself. Maybe Amara wasn't so bad after all. Still, she made a mental note to call Jude later. Paris was beautiful, but it would be even better with him here.

Jobe was feeling good, riding the high after a solid win against Cardiff City. The locker room had been buzzing with energy, and the post-match celebrations were still fresh in his mind. And now, with the next day off, he was looking forward to a chill weekend with Justine. It had been about a week into their friends-with-benefits situation, and things were going alright. They’d kept it simple—texts, memes, and a couple of calls to talk through some stuff. Both of them knew what it was, and with her teaching placement starting next month, they were trying to squeeze in as much time together as they could.

Jobe's phone buzzed just as he heard the knock on the door. He knew it was Justine before even checking the message.

Opening the door, he saw her standing there, a smile on her face, overnight bag in hand. "Come in," Jobe said, grabbing the bag from her and stepping aside to let her in.

"Thanks," she said, stepping into the flat, her eyes taking in the space.

Jobe’s place was pretty much what you’d expect from a guy his age who was constantly in and out because of training and matches. It wasn’t dirty by any means, but it had that "organized mess" vibe. The living room had a couple of plates stacked on the coffee table, a few empty water bottles scattered around, and his PlayStation controllers tangled up in their wires. A couple of framed posters of his favorite musicians were hung up, alongside signed football jerseys—one from his own club and another from Jude’s time at Dortmund. His football boots were near the door, and a pile of laundry sat on a chair near the kitchen, waiting for attention. But amidst the mess, you could tell he had his routine. His boots were always in the same spot, the dishes were stacked neatly, even if they weren’t washed, and his training gear was laid out for the next session in a tidy heap.

"Nice place," Justine commented, though her tone was playful. She set down her handbag and glanced around. "Bit of a bachelor pad vibe, though.”

Jobe chuckled, shrugging. "I like to call it 'controlled chaos.' I know where everything is." He dropped her overnight bag near the sofa and then looked over at her, catching the way she was taking it all in.

Justine kicked off her sneakers, making herself comfortable as she wandered around. "So, you’re sure you don’t need to tidy up a bit? I mean, what if your mum drops by?" she teased, her eyes landing on the pile of laundry.

Jobe smirked, running a hand through his hair. "Mum’s not coming all the way up here, trust me. And besides, you know how it is—footie, eat, sleep, repeat."

He stepped closer to her, catching her wrist and pulling her into him. "But if it bothers you, I could clean up… or we could just pretend it doesn’t exist." He grinned, his tone suggestive.

Justine laughed, rolling her eyes. "I think I’ll survive. For now."

Jobe grinned back, his eyes lingering on her a bit longer. He was enjoying how easy things felt between them. They weren’t exactly all over each other every day, but the dynamic worked. They could spend time apart, shoot a meme, and laugh over random stuff, then meet up when it made sense. It wasn’t serious, and that’s what made it feel good. With Justine’s teaching placement starting soon and his season about to kick into full gear, they both knew things would get busier. That was why this weekend together felt important. A little downtime before life got crazy again.

As he led her further into the flat, Jobe motioned to the sofa. "Make yourself at home. I’ll grab us something to drink." He headed toward the kitchen, glancing back at her as she settled in.

"Where’s Jude these days?" Justine asked, leaning back on the couch, her eyes following him.

Jobe grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. "Madrid. He’s getting ready for the season training and all that." He tossed one bottle to her, watching as she caught it easily. “His girl, Lila, is in Paris for the Olympics. She’s been sending me pics of all the events she’s been going to, living her best life."

Justine smiled, twisting the cap off her bottle. "Lila is so cool. Must be amazing being around all those athletes."

Jobe nodded. "Yeah, she’s loving it. Said she’s planning to send me a signed jersey from Team USA’s basketball squad. Gotta say, I’m a bit jealous, but happy for her." He sat down next to her, stretching out his legs and letting out a content sigh. "So, how’s the teaching stuff coming along?"

Justine took a sip of her water, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Placement starts next month. I’m excited but nervous. It’s gonna be intense, but I’m ready for it."

Jobe nodded, appreciating her drive. "I bet you’ll smash it." He gave her a playful nudge. "But until then, you’ve got me all to yourself for the weekend.”

She smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Lucky me.”

Jobe grinned, leaning in closer. "Nah, lucky me," he said, brushing his lips against hers in a soft kiss. The kiss deepened quickly, the heat between them intensifying. Jobe's teeth gently nibbled on Justine's bottom lip, and he couldn't help but look at how great her lips looked. "These lips of yours would feel much better wrapped around me."

Justine pulled back just slightly, catching his gaze with a sharp look. "I could say the same about those pussy-eating lips of yours. You better be good for it, Bellingham."

Jobe smirked, his fingers hooking under the waistband of his joggers. "I'm definitely good for it, Jus." Without breaking eye contact, he yanked both his joggers and boxers down in one smooth motion, letting them ball around his ankles. His erection sprung free, the tip already glistening with arousal.

Justine’s eyes flicked down, and instinctively, her hand wrapped around him, her touch firm yet teasing as she stroked him slowly. Her fingers moved with precision, using the wetness already there to aid her in her movements. Jobe let out a soft groan, loving the way her hand felt on him.

"You swallow, right?" he joked, his voice low and breathy, unable to resist teasing her. Justine's hand tightened around his shaft in response, causing him to release a shaky breath. "I kinda like that rough shit though. Just fair warning."

She shot him a deadly glare. "You wouldn’t like it if I bite it off," she replied, her tone sharp but playful, matching his energy.

"Ooh, is that a promise?" Jobe continued to joke, even though the tightness of her grip had his head spinning. "You’re a lil’ freak, aren’t ya?"

"Shut the fuck up," Justine snapped back with a smirk, then bent forward, her lips parting as she took him into her mouth.

The warmth of her tongue and the wetness of her mouth wrapped around him sent a jolt of pleasure through Jobe’s entire body. He sucked in a breath, his hand instinctively moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his hips rocking slightly forward, pushing deeper into her mouth.

Justine worked him with skill, her tongue swirling around the tip before she took more of him, bobbing her head slowly at first, then building a steady rhythm. Jobe’s head fell back against the sofa, his hand tightening in her hair as his mind went hazy from the pleasure.

For the first time in a while, he felt like he could just relax. Football was going great, things with Justine were fun and uncomplicated, and he had the whole weekend to look forward to. Life, for now, felt pretty good.

Lewis lay sprawled on his back, the sheets loosely tangled around his legs, the night air from the open window gently sweeping across the room. Paris glimmered outside, a soft halo of lights casting the room in a muted glow. Beside him, Amara was curled into the crook of his arm, her body warm and soft against his.

Their last night together before she would head back to LA.

He exhaled quietly, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of his thoughts settled in. This season so far had been a blur—races, podiums, media appearances. And now, just a few days in Paris before he headed off to Africa for his summer break then he’d finished out the rest of the F1 season. But this wasn’t what had him distracted. It was Amara. The way things had shifted between them.

Casual wasn’t casual anymore.

They’d made it official. He had never thought it would feel so different, yet it did. He liked it—liked her—but now there was something heavier on his chest. At thirty-nine, Lewis couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through his fingers. Racing had always been his focus, his purpose. But as the years went by, he started thinking more about what came next. His future. And whether Amara was part of it.

"You're quiet," Amara’s voice broke through his thoughts, her head lifting slightly from his chest to look at him. She wore that smile he had come to like—a mix of warmth and curiosity, like she could read him even when he tried to hide behind silence.

Lewis chuckled softly, his hand brushing through her hair. "Just thinking."

"About what?" she asked, her fingers lazily tracing circles on his skin.

"About you. About us." He paused for a moment, then added, "About where things are going."

Amara shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at him. She studied his face, her brow furrowing slightly. "You nervous or something?"

Lewis exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Not nervous. Just… thinking ahead, I guess."

"About what?"

He hesitated for a second, then let the words spill out. "I’m almost forty, Amara. Racing’s not gonna last forever, and it’s got me wondering what I want when that’s over. Who I want."

Her gaze softened, and she remained silent for a beat, letting his words hang in the air between them. They had been together for a while now, but making it official had added a new layer. It was no longer just about having fun or being in the moment. There was something more real about it now. Something that required them to actually consider the future, together or not.

"I get it," she said finally, her voice soft but steady. "I’ve been thinking about it too."

Lewis glanced at her, slightly surprised. "You have?"

She nodded. "I mean, I’m not getting any younger either. And with so much going on with my modeling career, I’ve been wondering how we’re going to balance this. You’ve got your races, your whole F1 world, and I have my career. It’s a lot."

He ran a hand down his face, feeling the weight of her words settle in. It was a lot. Their lives were worlds apart—him on the road, jumping between cities and circuits, and her life in LA. They had been good at keeping things light, making it work, but now they were both staring at the reality of what this would look like long-term.

"I don’t want to be the guy that holds you back," Lewis said quietly. "Or the one that’s never around because I’m chasing the next race."

Amara looked at him, her hand resting on his chest. "And I don’t want to be the woman who can’t keep up with you, or who’s left behind because your life is moving at a hundred miles per hour."

They both fell silent, the truth of their situation sinking in. There was no easy answer here. No neat solution to make things fit. But at the same time, neither of them was ready to walk away. They were in it now—official, committed—and that meant figuring it out together.

"I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out," Lewis said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. "But I want to try. I want to see where this can go."

Amara smiled softly, her eyes glimmering in the dim light. "So do I."

They kissed again, a slower, deeper kiss that spoke more of reassurance than passion. When they finally pulled apart, Amara rested her head on his chest once more, her fingers idly playing with the chain around his neck.

"So?" she asked quietly.

Lewis exhaled, staring at the ceiling again. "I'm off to Africa then I have to finish out the season. After that… I don’t know. I guess we figure it out."

Amara nodded against his chest, her voice growing softer as she spoke. "Well, I’ll be here, figuring it out with you."

They lay like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, letting the weight of the conversation settle into something lighter. The future still felt uncertain, but for now, they were in this together, and that was enough.

As Lewis’s thoughts drifted, he couldn’t help but think about Lila. She was in Madrid right now with Jude and Lewis had to admit, he was starting to like the guy more than he expected. Jude had surprised him—calm, focused, and deeply committed to Lila. It was something he could respect.

He had always been protective of his little sister, especially when it came to guys. But Jude had earned his approval, bit by bit. And now, seeing how happy Lila was, it made him wonder if maybe this thing with Amara could be the real deal too.

"You're thinking about them, aren’t you?" Amara’s voice pulled him back to the present.

Lewis chuckled. "How’d you know?"

"I can tell when your brain’s somewhere else. Lila and Jude, right?"

"Yeah," Lewis admitted. "I didn’t think I’d like him at first. Thought he was too much of a dickhead for her. But now… I don’t know. He’s been good for her. They’ve been good for each other."

Amara smiled. "Sounds like you’re coming around."

Lewis nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I guess I am."

He thought about how happy Lila seemed with Jude, how they made it work despite their different worlds. It gave him a little bit of hope, knowing that maybe he and Amara could figure things out too.

"You know," he said after a moment, "watching them makes me think about us. And I’m starting to think… maybe we’ve got a shot at this. Even with everything going on."

Amara looked up at him, her eyes warm and steady. "I think so too."

They shared another kiss, slow and tender, before settling back into the comfort of each other’s arms. Tomorrow, Amara would head back to LA, and Lewis would leave Paris to enjoy the rest of his summer break. But tonight, in the quiet of their last night together, they had each other. And for now, that was all that mattered.

Jude wiped the sweat from his forehead after another grueling day of training in Madrid. As intense as his sessions were, nothing compared to the way his heart soared when he thought about Lila. Waking up and going to bed with her these past few days had been pure bliss, and the fact that she’d be with him for a few more days and joining him in Poland for the UEFA Final against Atalanta kept that dopey grin plastered across his face.

There was also plenty of tea from the day that he couldn’t wait to spill. Shit had been wild recently—Trent broke up with that girl he’d been seeing, an actor's daughter, and was already on the rebound. His barber, Adam, was thinking about having another kid, which seemed crazy, but Adam was in his thirties, so Jude guessed it was expected. Jobe was hanging out with Justine nonstop, even though his little brother swore he wasn’t trying to be in a relationship. Jude wasn’t buying it, though—it sounded like Jobe was real close to the deep in. And then, there was Aurélien and his crazy-ass arranged marriage. It was wild as fuck to Jude.

As soon as Jude got home, he kicked off his football boots at the front door and padded inside, calling out, "Lila!"

"In the kitchen," came her sweet voice, and Jude headed straight there, chuckling. Lila had been spending a lot of time in the kitchen lately, and he wasn’t complaining one bit, especially since her cooking was amazing. Plus, with his mum back in Birmingham for the week, home-cooked meals felt like a luxury.

The delicious smell hit him as soon as he entered the kitchen. "Lila, babes, shit's really hit the fan today," he said, walking up behind her as she stood at the stove. Her petite frame barely cleared the stove itself. He kissed the top of her head and gave her a playful smack on the ass as he made his way to the fridge to grab a Gatorade.

"Jude! Jesus Christ!" Lila yelped, scolding him, but Jude just scoffed as he took a swig of his drink.

"I don’t know why you’re complaining. You damn sure weren’t last night when I had you—"

"Jude Victor William, I hope you aren’t about to say what I think you are?" his mother’s voice suddenly interrupted, shaking him to his core.

"Mmmhmmm, see?" Lila pointed to her phone, which was propped up against a jar of peppers on FaceTime with his mum.

"Li, what the hell? Why didn’t you warn me?" Jude sputtered, quickly closing his Gatorade and trying to put on his most innocent face. "Hi Mummy. How’s Dad?"

His mother rolled her eyes, but there was a smile there. "Your dad’s taking a nap, love. How are you?"

"Can’t complain. Ancelotti’s been working us hard, but you know we’re gonna kick ass on Saturday."

"Language, Jude," she lightly scolded. "But yes, Lila was just telling me how excited she was to visit Poland."

Jude squinted at Lila. "Why’re you chatting with my girl, Mum? Something wrong?"

"I can’t talk to my daughter-in-law now?" his mother asked with mock offense, clutching fake pearls.

"Come off it, Mum," Jude groaned, but then something clicked. "Wait, daughter-in-law? You plottin’ something?"

"Maybe," his mum teased, "but Lila wanted my recipe for pepper steak, so I decided to hop on and give her a step-by-step. We got to talking about other things. Anyway, Lila, just let it simmer for twenty minutes and you know how to plate it with the rice and plantains?"

Jude’s eyes widened at the mention of plantains. "She made plantains too?" He glanced over at the other burner, where a pan of freshly fried plantains sat.

"Wait until dinner is ready, you pest," Lila scolded, swatting him away. She turned back to his mother. "Thank you so much, Denise. I’ll talk to you later."

"Later, Li," his mum said, then directed her goodbye to Jude. "Bye, sweetheart."

"Bye, Mummy." Jude blew her a kiss before she hung up. "Daughter-in-law?" Jude teased Lila as she put the lid on the pot.

Lila laughed and pointed at him. “Didn’t you have something to tell me?”

"Oh right, yeah," Jude said, leaning against the counter. "Remember how I told you about Aurélien and that crazy-ass arranged marriage set up by his parents?"

"Yeah…"

"And that his fiancée’s been living with him in Madrid?"

"Yeah, Jude, this is old news."

"Well, get this: he’s bringing her to Poland with him."

"No fucking way!” Lila’s jaw dropped.

"Way. Told me he doesn’t want her to ‘feel lonely or some shit’.” Jude put up air quotes and tried his best to mimic Aurélien’s French accent. "But he’s not slick. Apparently, her father’s a nightmare, and you know how Aurélien gets when he’s protective, so she’s tagging along. He even wanted me to ask you if you’d hang out with her in the stands."

"Wow, that’s major!" Lila said, wide-eyed.

"Right?” Jude laughed.

"Her name’s Zuri?"

"Yeah."

"Wait, hold on a second." Lila grabbed her phone, pulling up Instagram.

Jude leaned over. "Are you stalking her?"

"Well, you’ve met her before. I don’t even know what she looks like, so of course, I’m stalking her."

Jude chuckled, letting her logic win. After a few taps and scrolls, she finally found Zuri’s profile. "Oh, she’s pretty! I love her tooth gem."

"Yeah, she’s a real nice girl," Jude said, sneaking over to grab a plantain from the pan.

"JUDE!" Lila pinched his side, making him flinch and giggle.

"Stop it, woman! You know I’m ticklish there!" he protested.

"Serves you right for trying to eat all my plantains. Dinner’s almost ready," Lila scolded, smiling.

Jude couldn’t help but pull her close, kissing her deeply. "I love you, Lila," he murmured, eyes soft but full of intensity.

"I love you more, Jude," she whispered back, her gaze never leaving his.

Jude held Lila close, her warmth enveloping him in a way nothing else ever could. He couldn’t help but smile as he pressed his forehead to hers, his heart swelling with something far deeper than affection. It was as though every moment they spent together reminded him just how lucky he was to have her in his life. He never thought that after all those months of pining over her on social media, she would become his entire world. But here they were. His girl. His everything.

Jude thought back to the way he’d once daydreamed about what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her, and now it was his daily reality. And he still couldn’t get enough. Her laughter, the way she danced around the house in his oversized shirts, how she always knew just when he needed to be comforted or teased—it all felt surreal.

He couldn’t imagine his life without her now. Training, matches, and everything else seemed like background noise when compared to her presence. Lila was the one thing that made sense in all the chaos. The grounding force that kept him centered when everything around him felt like it was moving too fast.

Pulling back slightly, Jude cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "You know you're it for me, right?" he said quietly, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely showed. "I don't need anything else. Just you."

Lila smiled up at him, her heart-shaped lips curving into that sweet smile that had him hooked from the beginning. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "You're stuck with me, Jude Bellingham."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Jude realized this was what he'd always wanted. Not the fame, not the attention, but the quiet moments like these. The ones where he could just be Jude, not a football star, not someone always in the spotlight. Just a man, hopelessly in love with the woman who made his life feel complete.

This was it. His endgame.

And for the first time in a long time, Jude felt like he had everything he needed.

THE END......

PLEASE CHECK OUT FOULED BY FATE BUT FIRST....

June 2030

Six years had passed since Jude Bellingham first fell in love with Delilah Hamilton, but he hadn’t been able to wait until he was twenty-eight to marry her. Miraculously, he made it to twenty-seven, although Lord knows he wanted to marry her the same year they got together. Instead, they’d spent their years soaking up every bit of life: endless vacations, family gatherings, navigating hard times together. Jude had won two Ballon d'Ors, led England to two Euro championships, and they’d watched Lewis claim his rightful eighth and ninth World Drivers’ Championships (really his ninth and tenth, if you know you know) before retiring three years ago—but he's still involved, serving none other than Chief Strategic Partnerships & Marketing Officer of Formula 1. He even helped led Real Madrid to another UEFA Champions League win last year and then he finally proposed to Lila on Valentine’s Day.

Now, months later, today was here—their wedding day.

The setting was perfect: Lewis’ villa in Tuscany, Italy, where the sun cast a golden glow across the vineyard-covered hills. Jude smiled to himself, grateful to his future brother-in-law for footing the bill for this extravagant celebration, though he swore he’d pay him back—maybe by babysitting his and Amara’s three kids, which would be a task in itself. Lewis had married Amara just before Jude and Lila celebrated their second anniversary, and now their family was complete with three lively little girls whom Lila adored. She always played with them, spoiled them with gifts, and Jude loved watching her transform into "Auntie Lila" whenever they were around.

As for their own wedding, Jude didn’t care about the details—he just wanted to marry her. The flowers, the decorations, the grand design? All of Lila’s ideas, every last touch, from the romantic white rose arrangements to the silk drapery, yet Jude counted down the minutes until she became his wife.

In the groom's room, Jude was getting ready with his closest mates and his brother—Jobe, Trent, Camavinga, Aurélien, Odin, Toby, Noah, and of course, Lewis. The atmosphere was a mix of excitement and banter as they adjusted their tuxedoes, smoked cigars, and exchanged light banter.

Just then, the door creaked open to reveal Zuri, Aurélien’s wife, her baby bump noticeable under the flowy gown she wore. At seven months pregnant with their second child, she still moved with the quickness of a New Yorker. Zuri whispered something to Aurélien, and his brow furrowed.

"Another blowout?" he asked, kissing his teeth in exasperation. It was clearly about their 10-month-old son, Etiénne. "I’ll be right back," Aurélien sighed, "Eti had another blowout."

"Damn, what are you guys feeding him?" Trent joked as he tightened his bow tie.

"Seriously," Jobe added with a laugh. "Give him some medicine or something. Poor lil' dude has to have tummy issues."

Aurélien just shook his head and left the room. Zuri was about to follow him, but Jude caught her wrist, his eyes full of curiosity.

"How’s Li doin’?" he asked, the nervousness finally creeping into his voice.

Zuri gave him a pointed look and folded her arms over her bump. "No, I can't tell you anything."

"What? Not even if she's okay?" Jude added, flashing her his signature puppy dog eyes. "Please, Zu, just tell me."

"Fine," Zuri groaned dramatically, then leaned in. "She’s eating… and crying because your Mum gifted her something blue. It was your grandmother's earrings."

Of course, she was crying. Lila had been an emotional wreck all week, but Jude felt warmth flood his chest knowing his mum had gifted Lila such a meaningful heirloom.

"At least she's eating," Jude mused.

"Yeah… weird stuff too… like she’s—" Zuri stopped mid-sentence, cutting a sharp glance at Jude. Leaning closer, she whispered in his ear, "She's pregnant?"

Jude just nodded, unable to hide the smug grin that spread across his face.

"Wow, wasted no time, did you?" Zuri teased, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Jude shrugged with a grin. "They both have my last name, so it doesn’t matter."

Zuri shook her head, laughing softly before she slipped out of the room. Jude couldn’t help but think about the promise he’d made—how he wouldn’t get Lila pregnant before they hit their first anniversary as husband and wife. Well, so much for that plan. But as far as he was concerned, it could be worse. At least by the time Baby JB made his or her entrance, Lila would officially be Mrs. Delilah Hamilton-Bellingham.

With final adjustments made to their tuxes and a few snaps from the wedding photographer, the guys made their way to the ceremony’s venue–a small, recently renovated church located on the tail end of Lewis’ estate. As Jude walked down the aisle, shaking hands and receiving well-wishes from guests, his heart raced faster with every step. His friends and family were all there—teammates, coaches, Lila’s family, and more. But his focus was on what came next: the moment he'd been waiting for.

The groomsmen filed down the aisle, followed by the bridesmaids, with Jade, Lila’s best friend, as her matron of honor. Then the air shifted. The anticipation grew as every guest stood to witness the bride’s arrival.

The French doors opened, and there she was.

Lila walked down the aisle, arm in arm with her father, Anthony, who kept wiping tears of joy from his face. She looked radiant in her princess-style wedding dress, lace veil, and the long train reminiscent of Princess Diana’s iconic gown. "Ave Maria" filled the air, and Jude’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her. She looked every bit like an angel—his angel.

A single tear slipped from his eye, and he quickly wiped it away, only for more to follow as Lila got closer. Finally, she stood in front of him, the woman he’d loved for years.

"Who gives this woman away?" asked the priest.

Anthony, overcome with emotion, was bawling, unable to speak. Lewis stepped forward from the groomsmen to comfort their father as the murmurs in the crowd grew. After hugging both his son and daughter, Anthony finally managed to choke out, "I give her away," before placing Lila’s hand into Jude’s.

Jude looked down at Lila’s veil-covered face, her eyes brimming with tears, her cheeks stained from the emotions of the day. He couldn’t stop himself from whispering, "I love you, Lila Bila."

"I love you more, Judey Bear," she whispered back.

They barely registered the priest’s words about marriage and its tribulations. All that mattered was this moment—just the two of them, standing together, ready to start the rest of their lives.

#emjayewrites #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham #hey there delilah #jude x delilah #jude x lila #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader #real madrid fanfic

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thepencilnerd · 1 month ago

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take a slice

Summary: No one could imagine a more cunning or manipulative player than Shuntaro Chishiya—until he meets you. complete fic on my ao3 here <3 Word Count: 3.8k Contains: Depictions of violence, unresolved sexual tension, emotional constipation

A/N: because I binge-watched Alice In Borderland in the span of two days and I am very late to the party (but never too late for self-indulgent fan service)

Chishiya spots you across the same floor, your black silhouette nearly lost in the shadows of the night. It’s only your movement that catches his attention, the dark outerwear a sharp contrast to his bright white jacket. You and he are the only players scouting from this vantage point, watching from above while the chaos brews below.

The night is eerily quiet—the calm before the storm, as they say. Your gaze locks onto his, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. Chishiya feels his heartbeat falter, a fleeting hitch he quickly tamps down.

Before he can fully process it, you’ve already vanished around a corner, just as a rain of bullets peppers the area behind you.

A boy’s voice echoes from below, frantic. "The only way to clear this game is to work together!"

Bullshit , you think.

There must be a reason behind the attacker's anchoring position, Chishiya muses.

Of course.

When you finally make your way to the safe room, you’re welcomed by four unfamiliar figures: the spree-killing horse, the brunette boy from earlier, a girl with a bob, and the blonde.

Chishiya strikes swiftly, the crackle of his taser breaking the stillness. The masked attacker crumples to the floor, their face hitting the ground with a muffled thud. You waste no time, stomping down hard on their wrist, sending the gun skittering from their hand. Before they can recover, you grab the weapon and fire a single round into the crown of their skull.

When you glance up, you catch the faintest trace of a smirk ghosting across the blonde’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly.

In the seconds that follow, the two other players in the room hastily slam their hands on the red buttons lining the walls.

GAME COMPLETE. CONGRATULATIONS WINNERS.

Turning around, a pair of wide eyes greets you.

“Thank you,” the boy finally speaks, addressing you and the blonde in a shaky voice.

You respond with a nod, glancing over at the girl and seeing her return the acknowledgement.

“Don’t mention it.” The blonde’s condescending tone from behind you is paralleled only by his burning gaze, locking onto you immediately. He almost misses seeing you slip something from the dead body into your pocket.

You feel his focus linger on you as you leave the room.

The night air is thick with tension, the distant cries from nearby arenas only amplifying the silence with each footstep behind you. You don’t bother turning around; you already know who it is.

Chishiya steps into your peripheral vision, his pace unhurried, like a cat stalking in the shadows. The forest buzzes with the threat of unseen dangers, but all his attention is locked on you.

"You didn’t have to kill him," he says, his voice casual, almost amused, as though discussing the weather.

You don’t stop walking. "You didn’t stop me."

A quiet chuckle escapes him, barely more than a breath. "True." His tone remains light, but there’s an edge beneath it, like he’s testing you, challenging you. "Still, you’ve got a certain efficiency. Impressive."

Your expression stays neutral. And yet, Chishiya’s presence beside you stirs something strange—a shared awareness, as if you’re both circling an invisible boundary neither of you are quite ready to cross—yet.

"You took something," he says, breaking the silence again, his voice calm but probing. His gaze stays forward, unreadable. "From the body."

You glance at him briefly, just enough to meet his eyes, which glint with curiosity under the moonlight. He’s trying to figure you out.

"And what if I did?" There’s a challenge in your voice now.

Chishiya’s smirk returns, faint but unmistakable. "Nothing. For now."

The tension between you tightens, pulling you closer in the silence. The game isn’t over. Not between the two of you.

As you continue walking, he trails behind, but soon loses sight of you in the dense trees. Shadows shift, swallowing you whole. He barely has time to catch his breath before a sudden force slams him to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. The disturbed soil and decaying leaves soften his fall, but his back still hits the earth with a solid thud.

Your knee digs sharply into his sternum, pinning him down. One hand tightens around his throat, not enough to choke him but enough to strain his breath. The cold, unforgiving edge of a blade presses against his cheek—a silent threat.

Chishiya’s indifferent expression makes your skin crawl, yet his stoic, unflinching gaze cuts through the moment like a dagger—piercing both hot and cold at once. Neither of you speak. It’s a game of cat and cat, both of you testing the other's resolve in this tense, silent standoff.

For a fleeting moment, he wonders if you can read each other’s thoughts.

You feel him gulp beneath your hand, his pulse quickening under your fingers. Both of his hands remain raised in surrender by his ears, calm, unwavering, and empty of any weapon or defense. His eyes flicker to the deep scar on your neck, lingering there for just a moment.

The air between you thickens. What feels like minutes pass in the span of heartbeats.

Without warning, you spring up and disappear into the night.

Chishiya stays on the ground for a moment, catching his breath. He sits up slowly, eyes tracing the path you took into the darkness. His chest rises and falls unevenly, the phantom cold of the blade still lingering on his skin. Silence wraps around him like a fog, but his pulse betrays him—racing, driven by more than just adrenaline.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, he feels something—a strange tug deep in his core, like something vital slipped away the moment you left. A curiosity stirs, mingling with the remnants of tension, a silent acknowledgment that this game isn’t over.

It’s only just begun.

Chishiya’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. Your piercing gaze and the scar on your neck are seared into his mind. He knows he’ll see you again. And next time, he won’t be caught off guard.

“You look like you have something on your mind.”

Kuina sits down across from Chishiya, her curiosity piqued as she watches him stare off into the distance. The evening air is still, a rare calmness settling over the Beach after a chaotic night.

Chishiya leans back, crossing his arms, a faint hum escaping his lips. “Just an interesting game tonight,” he replies casually, but there’s a lingering spark in his gaze that betrays more.

Kuina raises an eyebrow. “Must’ve been some game, then.”

“Perhaps,” Chishiya says, his voice smooth and unhurried. The rush of endorphins from the near-death experience still thrums faintly through his veins.

The cause? A player whose actions were as cunning and unpredictable as his own. The thrill of narrowing down their motivations felt like a puzzle finally worth solving.

His mind drifts back to the game, replaying each moment like scenes in a movie. The chaos, the desperate shouts, and the blaring alarms all felt distant—mere background noise compared to the razor-sharp focus he'd found himself drawn to. That focus was centered on one person.

You had been an anomaly from the start. There was a precision in the way you moved, calculated and unfazed by the panic unraveling around you. It was as if you thrived on the chaos, embraced it even, letting it fuel each step you took. While the other players were scrambling to find shelter or allies, you seemed to anticipate every move, predicting the patterns before they even unfolded.

And then, the moment that had truly hooked him: the kill. Cold, efficient, and executed without a trace of hesitation. You weren’t just surviving; you were playing the game in its purest form—adapting, evolving, always a step ahead. There was no hesitation in your actions, no unnecessary flourish—just the unyielding will to end a threat. It wasn’t just about self-preservation; it was about winning. And that’s what made you different.

Chishiya’s curiosity flared the instant your eyes met his in the aftermath. For the briefest moment, he’d seen a flicker of something—recognition, maybe even a hint of challenge. Like you were silently asking him if he had what it took to keep up.

It was absurd, really, to feel anything in the Borderlands beyond the mechanical urge to survive. But something had shifted tonight. For the first time in what felt like forever, the game had become more than a series of calculated risks and rewards: it had become interesting.

Chishiya’s gaze shifts back to the window where lights scatter the sky. His fingers tap idly on the armrest of his chair, a rhythm betraying the restlessness he tries to mask. He’s always prided himself on being detached, keeping emotions and sentiment far from his calculations. Yet here he is, preoccupied with thoughts that don't have a place in his carefully constructed logic.

"You're quiet," Kuina observes, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. "More than usual, I mean."

Chishiya’s smirk is faint, barely there. “Am I?”

She shrugs, leaning back in her seat. “You’ve been lost in your own head since you got back.”

Chishiya’s expression doesn’t falter, but there’s a slight shift in his demeanor—a barely perceptible sign of vulnerability, quickly smoothed over. “Maybe I’m just considering... possibilities,” he replies, the words coming slower than usual, as if he’s testing how they sound.

Kuina’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Possibilities, huh?” She tilts her head, studying him. “That’s one way of putting it. Or maybe… a person?”

Chishiya’s silence is uncharacteristic. He feels the pull to dismiss the notion immediately, to scoff at the idea of being distracted by a person, much less affected by them. But instead, he pauses. It’s enough for Kuina to catch on, her curiosity piqued.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, a teasing smile curling on her lips. “You’re actually thinking about someone, aren’t you?” When he doesn’t respond, she presses further. “It’s a girl, right? Did she do something to catch your eye?”

Chishiya finally meets her gaze, his own guarded but not entirely dismissive. “She’s... unusual,” he admits, the words coming out almost reluctantly. “Not like the others.”

Kuina arches an eyebrow. “Unusual how? Smart? Dangerous?”

“Both,” he replies without hesitation. “Efficient, focused. But there’s something else.” He uncrosses his arms, feeling oddly exposed, as though admitting to these thoughts makes them more real, more tangible. “It’s like she’s not playing the same game as the rest of them.”

Kuina studies him for a moment, then lets out a soft laugh. “You’ve got it bad,” she says, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be drawn to someone for more than their utility.”

He scoffs, a ghost of his usual arrogance returning. “Don’t get carried away. I’m only interested because she might be useful.”

“Sure,” Kuina says with a knowing grin. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Chishiya falls silent again, but the truth gnaws at him. He knows it’s more than just her utility in the grand scheme of escaping this hellhole. It’s the way she challenges him—forces him to reevaluate his strategies and makes him wonder if there’s more to this game than just surviving.

He hates how that thought clings to him, even as he tries to push it away.

Chishiya shifts in his chair, feeling a dull ache radiate from his chest. He’s been operating on a different level since encountering you, and the physical reminder feels almost like an anchor to what he’s been trying to navigate.

He glances at Kuina, who’s still watching him with an amused expression, still probing. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

“Just considering my next move,” he replies, a hint of a smirk returning to his lips. “The game is full of variables, and I need to prepare for them.”

“Variables, huh? Is that what you call her now?” Kuina teases, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table.

“Focus,” he snaps lightly, but there’s no real heat in his voice. Instead, his mind races ahead to the next game, and how he can draw you in, maybe even observe you more closely. He’s already picturing the scenarios—the players, the setting, the stakes.

What he really wants is a way to see you again. To understand the force that pulls him toward you, the complexity that makes you more than just another player. The anticipation churns within him, exciting yet unnerving.

“What if I made a move to recruit her?” he muses aloud, considering the prospect. “She could be an asset. If she operates outside the norm, that could change the dynamics of our strategies.”

“Or it could blow up in your face,” Kuina counters, her tone light but her gaze serious. “You’re not exactly known for your emotionality, Chishiya. What if she doesn’t want to play?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, brushing off her concern. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

But the truth is, he knows that this isn’t merely about the game anymore. It’s about the way you make him feel—like a player in a game he thought he understood, now suddenly complex and exhilarating. Chishiya can’t shake the thought that if he wants to unlock the potential you represent, he’ll have to make a move soon.

He allows himself a moment of vulnerability, resting his chin on his hand as he reflects. “What if I want to see her again, Kuina? What if it’s not just about strategy anymore?”

Kuina’s eyes widen, clearly surprised by his admission. “Wow. You’re actually admitting you care.”

Chishiya rolls his eyes but can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Sure,” she says, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Just remember, sometimes the best strategies are the ones that come from the heart.”

With that, Chishiya’s mind drifts again, calculating and assessing. He’ll be ready for the next game. He’ll be prepared to take any risk to find you again, to unravel the mystery of what you truly are: a partner, a rival, or perhaps something more. As the night draws to a close, the shadows deepen, but a flicker of determination ignites within him.

He will see you again.

A few days have passed since the last game, but the adrenaline still courses through your veins, lingering like a ghost. You survived, but the victory feels hollow, overshadowed by the memory of the indifferent blonde boy who’s drawn you in more than you care to admit.

Your thoughts drift back to that game—its intensity still vivid in your mind. It was like no other you’d experienced, where survival felt more like a dance with death than a struggle against it. And he was at the center of it, moving through the chaos with a calculated grace that caught your attention long before you understood why.

It wasn’t just that he was calm under pressure. Plenty of players had nerves of steel. It was his indifference, the way he seemed detached from the dangers around him, as though nothing could touch him. Where others flinched or panicked, he merely observed, as if the unfolding chaos was a puzzle to solve rather than a life-or-death situation. That kind of control was rare in the Borderlands, and in some strange way, it felt like a dare, an unspoken challenge that made you want to test him, to see if there was anything that could shatter that composure.

You remember the moment you locked eyes across the chaos, the way the world seemed to fade into the background. It was brief, but in that instant, it felt like a silent conversation—an understanding that went beyond words. There was something sharp in his gaze, a spark of curiosity that mirrored your own. It was as if he was evaluating you, sizing you up just as you were doing to him. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if you were seeing a part of yourself reflected back in those cold, calculating eyes.

But it wasn’t just his composure or his gaze that drew you in. It was the way he acted in those crucial seconds when lives hung in the balance. While others scrambled to save themselves, he made moves that seemed almost playful, like he was toying with the danger rather than simply evading it. There was a thrill in watching him maneuver through the madness with an ease that bordered on arrogance, as though he was always three steps ahead of everyone else—including you.

And then there was the moment when the game ended. You had both survived, of course, but there was something in the way he looked at you afterward, something that lingered, a faint smirk that hinted he had seen more than you’d intended to reveal. It wasn’t pity; it was as if he recognized a kindred spirit, someone who understood the game on a different level. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt truly seen.

That feeling unsettles you even now, as you sit by the fire, staring into the flames. It’s not that you seek validation in the Borderlands; you’ve learned long ago that the only approval that matters is your own. But there’s something about his quiet confidence, the way he seemed to acknowledge you without saying a word, that’s hard to shake. It makes you wonder if he was as unaffected as he appeared or if there was more beneath the surface, something hidden behind that cool exterior.

You clench your jaw, frustrated with yourself for even thinking about him this much. He was just another player—albeit a skilled one—and you’ve dealt with plenty of them before. But there’s a part of you that can’t ignore the way his presence lingers, like a splinter in your mind, a question that refuses to be answered.

Why did he make such an impression on you? Was it his composure, his intelligence, or the quiet thrill of crossing paths with someone who didn’t play by the same rules as everyone else? Or was it the way he seemed to see you in return, as if you were more than just a piece on the board?

You realize that you don’t know the answers—and perhaps that’s what’s most intriguing of all. There’s an unfinished quality to your last encounter, a feeling that your story with him isn’t over yet. It’s as if the game itself has drawn a line between you, daring you to cross it again.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thoughts that have become stubborn visitors in your mind. Why does he occupy your thoughts so much? Is it his calm indifference, the way he moved with calculated grace? Or is it something more that stirs a curiosity you can’t quite define?

Pushing the thoughts aside, you focus on your routine, an independent existence in the Borderlands, where survival means mastering skills few have the patience to learn. You've carved out a small camp nestled within the trees, camouflaged by foliage, a sanctuary of sorts amidst the chaos.

Every morning, you rise before dawn, the cool air biting at your skin as you check your traps. The gentle sounds of the forest waking around you are a familiar symphony, one you find solace in. You harvest small game—rabbits, birds, whatever you can catch—and meticulously prepare them, savoring the simple act of cooking over a small fire.

Hunting and foraging have become second nature. You collect wild herbs and edible plants, storing them in makeshift pouches crafted from scavenged materials. Each successful hunt reminds you of your resilience and strength.

But even as you focus on these tasks, your mind drifts back to him—the blonde boy from the game. The way his piercing gaze seemed to see right through you, as if he was calculating your every move. It’s unsettling yet exhilarating, a contradiction you can’t wrap your head around.

The sun climbs higher, and you take a break from your chores to wash your hands in a nearby stream, the water refreshing against your skin. As you splash your face, you catch your reflection in the rippling surface, a mix of determination and uncertainty staring back at you.

You spend the afternoon working on camp, reinforcing the makeshift walls and clearing away debris that threatens your space. But even as you work to distract yourself, you can almost feel his presence lurking at the edge of your thoughts, his smirk dancing on your mind like a memory that refuses to fade.

Eventually, you settle on a log outside your camp, a piece of driftwood you dragged from the riverbank. Pulling out your small notebook, you begin to sketch the maps of the Borderlands, noting down resources and potential hideouts. It’s practical, a way to keep your mind sharp, but each mark on the page feels like a tether to the games, to the players who dance around you like shadows.

You reach into your pocket and pull out the small, crumpled piece of paper you took from the body during the game. You’ve looked at it countless times since then, trying to make sense of the chaotic scribbles. It’s a series of numbers and symbols—coordinates, perhaps, or some kind of code. Whatever it is, it’s not immediately clear, and that only deepens your curiosity.

You flatten the paper against the rough surface of the log, comparing it with your sketches. Could it be a location in the Borderlands? A clue to something hidden or an upcoming game? The patterns don’t align with any familiar maps, but something about the markings feels deliberate, as though there’s a message buried within them. You trace the lines with your finger, committing them to memory, trying to see what the original owner had seen. What was so important that they’d die with it?

Your mind drifts back to the moment you took it. The blonde boy’s eyes had flickered towards you—just for a heartbeat—when you pocketed the paper. Did he know what it meant, or had he noticed the same curiosity in you that you now feel?

As you draw, memories of the game resurface: his calculated moves, his indifferent demeanor, and the strange thrill of standing against him. There’s something magnetic about his presence, something that both fascinates and frustrates you.

In the fading light of dusk, you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the forest wash over you. The call of distant birds, the rustle of branches—each note a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re here, navigating a world filled with peril and unpredictability. But still, the thought lingers. Will your paths cross in the next game, or will you remain a ghost in his memory?

With a sigh, you shake your head and return to your sketches, determination settling in your chest. It doesn’t matter. Yet, in the depths of your mind, a part of you yearns for that inevitable meeting, that chance to unravel the enigma that is the blonde boy.

As darkness settles over the forest, you tuck your notebook away, the images of your maps a promise of the journey ahead. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new games to navigate. And if fate has its way, perhaps it will also bring him back into your orbit once more.

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