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tokkiwrites · 3 months ago

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game show host!joel miller x contestant f! reader ▪︎summary: it's the late 1970s, and you're fresh out of college. for your graduation gift, your parents got you a special ticket to be part of your favorite game show, 'Love Jive'. They didn't know you didn't like the show itselfㅡ but it's smooth talking MC, Joel Miller. ▪︎tags: pwp, age gap (pretty hefty one), super flirty joel, shy/lovestruck reader, afab!reader, pet names galore!!, p in v (unprotected), mirror sex kind of, slight breeding kink, creampie, joel kind of has an innocence kink idk.

▪︎this has been sitting in my drafts for two months now. Hopefully, you enjoy this short and silly 2.45k words one. There is no plot for it honestly, just thought it would be a cute concept. maybe a series might come from it. Who knows? anyway!!! love ya!!

It was the summer of 1979, and the air felt heavy with possibility. You were fresh out of college, diploma in hand, and ready to take on the world—or at least that’s what you told yourself when your parents asked what came next.

Their graduation gift to you? A surprise ticket to Love Jive, the hottest game show on TV. You’d tried to hide your awkward smile when they handed it over, the envelope sparkling with glitter that matched the show’s logo. What they didn’t know was that it wasn’t the show’s ridiculous premise that had you tuning in every week.

It was him.

Joel Miller.

The man was a legend, smooth as honey and twice as sweet. The way his Texan drawl slid over those ridiculous love-related catchphrases? You swore it had ruined you for men your own age. He had to be at least twenty years older than you, but that salt-and-pepper hair, that sly smile, those broad shoulders stretching under his velvet blazer? They didn’t make men like Joel Miller anymore.

So here you were, standing nervously behind the curtain in the Love Jive studio.

“Contestants, ready?” a stagehand called.

Your stomach did a flip as the warm-up announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. The audience clapped and cheered, the excitement infectious. Before you could second-guess yourself, the curtain lifted, and the stage lights bathed you in gold.

And there he was.

Joel Miller stood center stage, microphone in hand, looking like he owned the room— and maybe he did. That million-watt smile lit up his face, his dark eyes sweeping the contestants before landing on you. He did a double take so subtle you almost missed it, but when his smile softened just a fraction, your heart skipped a beat.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” His voice rolled through the air like warm molasses, drawing chuckles from the crowd. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some fine contestants tonight. Y’all ready to find love and maybe a little bit of fun?”

The audience erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to join them. Not when Joel Miller was staring at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“And what’s your name, darlin’?” Joel asked, pointing the microphone toward you.

You blinked, mouth suddenly dry. “Uh—uh, it’s—” You blurted out your name, voice cracking slightly. Joel chuckled, low and smooth, his dimples deepening as he grinned. “Well now, ain’t you just the sweetest thing. Y’all hear that? Even her name’s cute as a button.”

The crowd ooh’d and ahh’d, but Joel’s gaze stayed locked on you.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning ever so slightly closer, “what brings a lovely little thing like you to Love Jive? Lookin’ for romance? Or just here for the spectacle?” Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you prayed the lights were too bright for anyone to notice. “Um, I—I guess you could say both?”

Joel’s eyebrows lifted, and his grin turned downright wicked. “Both, huh? Well, darlin’, I can promise you this much—you’re in for one hell of a show.” The crowd roared their approval as Joel winked at you, leaving your heart thundering in your chest. You’d come to Love Jive expecting to admire Joel Miller from afar. You hadn’t counted on becoming the center of his attention.

And as the game began, one thing became crystal clear: Joel wasn’t just hosting tonight. He was playing a game of his own— and you were the prize he had his sights set on.

Fast forward to the 15-minute commercial break.

The knock on the door came firmly, pulling you out of your flustered thoughts. You glanced at the mirror, smoothing down your blouse and trying to will away the redness on your cheeks. “Come in,” you called out, voice trembling slightly.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Joel Miller, the man of all your desires.

The sight of him so close took your breath away. He leaned casually against the doorframe for a moment, his dark eyes settling on you. His smile, warm and teasing, was the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “Well, there you are,” he drawled, his voice like velvet. “Thought I’d come check on you, see how my favorite contestant’s holdin’ up.” You blinked, trying to find your voice. “Oh, uh—fine! I’m fine,” you stammered, your hands twisting nervously.

Joel stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The dressing room wasn’t large to begin with, and his presence filled it completely, making the space feel even smaller.

“Fine, huh?” he said, leaning against the vanity, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Can’t blame you for bein’ a little flustered. All those lights, all those people… and me.” His grin turned teasing, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment. You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “It’s not—I mean, you’re not—”

“Sweetheart, relax,” Joel interrupted, his voice a low chuckle. “I’m just messin’ with you.” His eyes softened, and he tilted his head. “But if I’m bein’ honest, you’ve got somethin’ about you. That’s got me wonderin’ if maybe I’m the one a little flustered tonight.”

Your heart skipped at his words. “Me?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. Joel’s grin deepened, his dimples on full display. “Yeah, you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. He stepped closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Pretty little thing like you walkin’ in here, lookin’ all sweet and innocent, got every man in the audience wishin’ he was sittin' in my shoes tonight.” You felt like your face might catch fire. “I don’t think that’s true,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel reached out, gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him. His hand was warm and firm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Well, I do,” he said softly, his dark eyes holding yours. “And I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweet girl."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “I was thinkin’... maybe once this show wraps up, you and I could get outta here. Go somewhere quiet. Just you and me.” Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you felt dizzy under his gaze. “You mean… like a date?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Exactly like a date,” he murmured. “What do you say, sweetheart?” You nodded before you could overthink it, your shy smile breaking free. “I’d really like that.” Joel’s grin turned downright wicked. “Good,” he drawled, his hand sliding to cradle your cheek. “’Cause I’ve been dyin’ to do this all night.”

Before you could say another word, Joel leaned in and kissed you. His lips were warm and sure, moving against yours with a perfect mix of confidence and tenderness. You felt your hands instinctively grip the vanity behind you, your knees going weak as his other hand settled lightly on your waist.

The kiss lingered, soft and sweet, but with just enough heat to leave your head all dizzy. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Damn,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, “even better than I imagined.” You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you, shy and giddy all at once. “You imagined kissing me?”

Joel grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Oh, I imagined far more than kissing you, darlin’. Hard not to when you look at me the way you do.” Your heart felt like it might burst, but before you could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Miller, we’re back in two!”

Joel sighed dramatically, giving you a wink as he stepped back. “Guess I better get back to work,” he said, his tone light but his eyes still lingering on you. “Don’t go runnin’ off after the show, y’hear? I’m not done with you yet.” You nodded, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence. With one last smirk, Joel turned and strolled out the door, leaving you breathless.

The show had ended in a blur of applause, flashing lights, and the announcer’s booming voice thanking everyone for watching. Contestants and crew mingled briefly as everyone prepared to leave. You’d just stepped to the side of the stage when one of the other contestants, a bubbly blonde in a bright orange jumpsuit, sidled up to you with a knowing smile.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like you really got Mister Smooth swooning all over ya.”

You blinked, startled. “What? No, I don’t think—”

“Oh, honey,” she interrupted with a laugh, crossing her arms. “Everyone could see the way he was devouring you with his eyes. I swear, I was worried he might forget the rest of us were even there.” Your face went hot, and you shook your head quickly. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” she said with a wink, already walking away. “If by ‘imagining things,’ you mean watching him look at you like you hung the moon. Enjoy it, sweetie. A man like Joel Miller doesn’t come around every day.”

Her words echoed in your head as you made your way back to your dressing room. Closing the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, desperate for a moment to collect yourself. The quiet was a relief after the chaos of the show. You slipped out of your stage outfit and into the dress you’d brought for afterward. A soft yellow dress with bell sleeves, a cinched waist, and a flowing A-line skirt covered in a delicate floral print. It felt like something out of a sunny dream, and you hoped it might give you a touch of the confidence you sorely lacked.

You were smoothing the fabric over your hips when the door opened without warning.

“Oh, wow.” The single word made you whirl around. There he was. Joel Miller, standing in the doorway. His tie was loosened, his shirt collar slightly unbuttoned, and his dark eyes were locked on you. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, the words leaving his lips like a breath. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you managed a shy smile. “Oh, it’s just… just a dress,” you murmured, brushing your hands nervously over the skirt.

Joel stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he approached. His gaze was unwavering, taking you in like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Just a dress, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you could be wearin’ a paper bag, and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in the room.” You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Joel stopped in front of you, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, his touch warm and steady.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, before closing the space between you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. Where the earlier kiss had been soft and tentative, this one was sure, filled with hunger and intent. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a passion that made your knees weak.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only feel. His touch, his warmth, the way he held you like you were something rare. “Been thinkin’ about doin’ that since the first time I saw you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

You let out a breathless laugh, your hands clutching the lapels of his jacket for balance. “You’ve kissed me twice tonight, Joel,” you teased, your voice trembling slightly. Joel grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “Yeah, I have a soft spot for sweet girls like yourself. ” he said before pausing shortly. “And if you’ll let me, darlin’, I’d be doin' a lot more than kissing you.”

Stopping him was the furthest thing from your mind.

"I'll let you.."

Without thinking, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of submission and maybe a little defiance. His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he's won some battle. " You're a good girl," he breathes, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. The contact sends sparks through you, and your skin burns where he touches. Without any hesitation, he spins both of you so that you are facing the large golden mirror above the counter. Joel groans, rolling his shoulders back as he bends you over the vanity, your hips snug in his grip. "God, you're so fuckin' gorgeous, angel."

you look down. "Please.." The man shakes his head and lands a hard smack on one of your asscheeks, making you yelp in the process. He takes his time pulling up your flowy dress, finally taking a look at your soaking panties, white with laced blue details. "Fuck, look at her." His calloused thumb makes contact with your clothed folds, dragging it up and down, in painfully slow circles. In mere seconds, you hear the material rip and then feel the flimsy undergarments fall on the cold tiled floor.

"What a pretty pussy." he mutters under his breath, undoing his trousers. he pulls them a bit down, enough for his manhood to spring free and slap against his covered bellybutton. you can see it all in the mirrorㅡ it's huge, to say the least. you gasp softly as you feel him drag the wet tip of it against your swollen bud, and you hide your gaze, head hanging low in embarrassment. this doesn't last long, as his rough palm grabs at your face pulling it up again. you're making eye contact with him through the lit up mirror and you see him shake his head. "No, baby. You watch while I wreck this pussy, understand?" you shake your head, agreeing, but that isn't good enough so he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, lightly.

"Speak, sweetheart." you breathe out. "Yes, Joel." he drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down as if he didn't make you wait long enough. truthfully you never wanted it to end, so maybe him teasing was his way of making sure this lasts. after he thinks its sufficient, Joel starts to push inside, and godㅡ your breath gets stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thorns. every prick of discomfort is soon replaced by an unexpected surge of delight.

Your tears fall down onto the surface under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're alright..." he assures you, asking you to surrender.

"Take it all. Atta girl, just like that..." he praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. Joel moves gently at first, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements. His hips dive down with force, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat, assuring you see how good he's destroying you.

Your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, little girl, look how tight she's suckin' me in." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each time. your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around him.

"Oh, god, please.." You manage. pulling at your hair, he starts chuckling. "Am I your god, baby? Ya like beggin'?" While thrusting relentlessly into you, jelly like legs barely holding you up anymore, your knees buckle. Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, this allowed you to take in a big gulp of air before you feel him deeper in your guts.

"Want me to breed this young pussy, huh? Fill you up with my babies? let people inside this roomㅡ let them film it for the whole world to see?" the room spins around you, vision blurry with tears and brain all fuzzy. you try your best to reply. "yes, oh, p-lease, please! "

"Go ahead." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much, Joel!" you cry out, praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into your pulsing cunt. The man buries himself into you as you come down from your high, body almost too limp to register your surroundings. then he slaps your ass, and watches you writhe under him. You looked perfect, like a carved our porcelain doll. With a few more snaps of his hips you feel he's close, his nails digging roughly into your skin as he finally paints your velvet walls with white ropes of come. "God fuckin'ㅡ!" you know that will leave bruises.

the dressing room feels sticky, and the mirror in front of you is all fogged up, but you can just barely make out your face, all tearstained and messy. You moan as he pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you shivering. Joel watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him like the most beautiful piece of art.

You're both quiet for a bit, before he breaks the silence. "You're still up for that date, little lady?"

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction

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4mrplumi · 7 days ago

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00. spiderwocky ── kid-buggy

‎‎ㅤㅤplatonic | spiderverse x spiderman!reader x batfamily | ms. list

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤdisclaimers on masterlist!

index. prologue , chapter one , chapter two , chapter three ... to be continued. based on this

your head slams against the mech’s ceiling, and your vision blurs for a second. a troubled robotic voice keeps reading out statistics, leftwing engine down, visors breaking off, remaining web fluid at 17%, and enemy still engaged.

you have to wince, pushing your head against the whiplash, slamming a half-ripped off metal leg at the large metallic eyeball staring keenly in your direction. mysterio’s been trouble before but… you’ve gotten soft.

a thin wisp of gas permeates the suit’s vents, and sp//dr’s robotic droning takes an almost human, frantic quality. “air quality has been compromised,” it hisses, “(name), pulling out of battle is optimal.” you’ve got to ignore it, you think with strain, a thin string of web leaping out at the building behind mysterio, there are people in more danger than you.

pulling harshly on the string, you can hear the noisy clank of metal as the mech-suit’s arm bolts creak under the pressure, and propel yourself at the sphere. and you do it again, to the left, again, from the right, while sp//dr’s voice reads out the remaining fluid clerically.

"16%", slam it into the concrete building next to you, it makes a dent, "15%", swing it into a billboard, people are screaming, "14%", jump up into the sky on your- the suit’s- good leg, "13%" shoot out two strings to the ground besides mysterio-

"12%", slam him into the concrete, shattering the road under him. you’re running out of air. the sphere breaks a little, curling inwards like a cracked egg. you have to disarm mysterio- before he floods the streets with the brain toxin that-

that’s currently bypassed your filtration systems.

the suit takes a staggering step towards a boy inside the vessel, his head encompassed by a globe of white, a single eye etched and staring. you barely hear his “you’re taller in person”, more focused on another voice whispering to you.

‘make me nothing’, it says, it’s your father's voice. no, it’s sp//dr’s voice. a hand reaches up on its own, crushing a drone, ‘i’m a teenage weapon’. it’s your voice, your head, sp//dr. you can barely breathe, another hand sending a drone flying into the thin walls around you. "safe inside the colours", his face looks at you in pity, admiration.

it’s a familiar look.

you stiffen, your mind clearing to sp//dr’s warnings. ‘i don’t need your love, boy.’ the suit’s arm slams against his skull, and he falls to the ground, with a strangled; “my voice!”.

the brain toxin begins to leave your systems, flushed out by a steady, furious buzz in your ears, your vision clearing as you approach the man. his face is exposed, a bloody, spectacled and oat-haired figure. he croaks to you; “i hate my voice,” as though you’d care of it, “you don’t know me- i’m just a fan…”

his voice becomes shaky, and he’s struggling to blabber out his words. you’re tempted to web his mouth shut. “but i could have been anything to you…”

“did you ever get the mix-disc i made you?” he slurs, his cracked glasses breaking.

you don’t wake up with a jolt. there’s no chain of anxiety that hits you, no spider-sense going off. you’re well tucked under heavy covers when you open your eyes, rigid in your sleep. not in the suit, you haven’t been in it for a while. it’s sill broken, and you’re not… not at work. not right now.

it doesn’t feel natural waking up in the manor. you’ve been opening your eyes to the posters your roommate put up on your walls, insisting on brighter decor. grown used to waking to sounds of chatter, maybe the radio, or the school bell telling you were devastatingly late to class and would be reprimanded for it.

you’re not used to waking up to neat wallpaper in a dark, old room. in the house you’ve barely lived in, barely wanted to live in. wayne manor is a sad place, and you're suddenly glad they send you away for most of the year.

summer vacations are the most miserable time of the year, everyone being sent home or off on vacation with their parents until they come back for next term. all the time you're stuck going to a manor you don’t want to be in, in a city you’re close to hating, with people who’ve made it too obvious they don’t want you here. they never say it to your face. but you know well enough.

but- but this time it’s different. this break, you won’t go to trouble tim with a puzzle you’d hope would interest him, one he’d take from you with a nod, and never think about again. you won’t go watch jason sneak into the pantry from a distance, trying to muster up the courage to talk to him and inevitably fail each time, as he swiftly left again. you won’t even offer to ask alfred if you could help him tend to the garden, only for him to smile pitiably gently at you and ask you if you’d 'rather not spend your time having more fun elsewhere'.

this time, you have work. something to do. someone to be.

you take to sauntering awake to a little desk in the corner of the room at five? four? in the morning, and sliding the drawer open to pull out a thick and scrappy diary. you’ve been writing in this since they first sent you off, since you were nine.

"SP//DR BOT" graces the page you flip to, in bright paint-marker-blue. the picture of a poorly sketched, vaguely-humanoid mecha-suit follows, on which you scrawl with a drying pen. for the last seven months you've had someone to be. so you'd best get to it; kid-buggy.

₊˚⊹ a/n : first fic i've planned up to completion,, let's hope all goes well!! let me know if you want to be in the taglist <3

prologue tags @sirenetheblogger @kenyummy @selvyyr

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star-sim · 9 months ago

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supernova ☆ riki nishimura

☆ hero! riki x fem! villain! reader ☆ summary: riki was the city's top hero, you were the top villain. when your archnemisis pulls up to your apartment late at night, all battered and bruised, you just sighed and took him in. you were a villain, not a monster! ☆ genre: superhero! au, good ol' patching up scene, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, a lil bit of angst ☆ warning(s)? injuries, riki has a panic attack, but it is very brief ☆ word count: 3.7k words ☆ i love this trope sm reblogs are appreciated! >_<

When you were awoken by the sound of banging on your door, you nearly killed someone. It was a dark and stormy night, with rain pouring down so hard that you had to put on your headphones.

But the moment that you saw Riki, your biggest enemy, standing at your doorstep all you could do was sigh, and let him fall into your arms.

"Not again."

By day, you were a regular high school student. You had a lot of friends, with a few admirers and confessions along the way. Like everyone else, you worked hard and kept up with your studies.

By night you were the city's top supervillain, aptly named Supernova for the bright and theatrical spectacles that were your terrorizing.

But while everyone thought you were some evil spawn, you were really just carrying on a family business. Thank your supervillain parents and supervillain grandparents. You had nothing personal towards the civilians that you terrorized, it was all just a part of the job. Because your family was scattered around in different cities for their supervillain activities, you lived on your own.

Enter: Riki Nishimura.

You knew the moment that you saw his grown-out bleached highlights and oversized black clothes, you knew he was up to no good.

He'd transferred to your high school in the middle of the school year, and unfortunately, you had far too many classes with him. It felt like wherever you went, he followed.

You didn't like him.

You knew you were popular at school, and maybe a quiet guy like Riki didn't have good experiences with the popular crowd, but did he have to treat you like you didn't exist? All he did was grumble under his breath something that no one could hear, before putting on his headphones and ignoring the world around him. Some courtesy would be nice!

Oh, you didn't like him one bit.

Which was why the moment that you realized that the new hot-shot superhero in town whose arrival suspiciously aligned with Riki's transfer to your high school was Riki Nishimura himself, you wanted to laugh.

The reckless, brash, and otherwise cocky, yet self-righteous and heroic, superhero persona Riki put on was so perfect, yet so unlike anything you've seen.

Riki Nishimura, who couldn't pay anyone any mind even if he was forced to, fighting crime and representing justice! Hilarious. Leave it to the most arrogant and condescending person to name themself Orion, after the brightest constellation in the sky.

You couldn't remember a single headline you read where he actually saved someone. So much for a so-called superhero.

And your identity was no secret to Riki either.

In the past few months, you and Riki had had multiple showdowns— on rooftops, over traffic, heck, even in Riki's own house. It was no surprise that he figured out pretty quickly that the popular girl that everyone liked was the worst supervillain in the city's history.

Glares in the middle of class, shoving you if you were in his way, and sometimes even purposefully following you to the bathroom just so he can wait outside to pass a few mean words to you. So childish.

The only thing keeping you and him from revealing each other's identities was the fear that the other would reveal your own identity.

Which was why you could almost 100% trust that Riki wouldn't say a word.

You could not stand Riki Nishimura, whether it be his civilian self or his superhero self.

However, something was changing.

Something bad, something bigger than anything you or Riki could even imagine.

There was a bigger, and much worse, villain organization in town.

Instead of pulling little pranks, terrorizing people, and just sometimes breaking in and robbing places, this new villain organization was legitimately hurting people.

You and Riki couldn't help that you were just teenagers, which was why in the first few weeks of this new arrival, you couldn't help but pay no mind to the new villains in town and focus on fighting each other.

But one night, when Riki didn't show up at your window like he usually would to fight you, you found yourself just a tad worried. Not that you cared about Riki. Had he finally resigned and given up on fighting you?

However, when you went on your nightly villain patrol a few hours later, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you found Riki Nishimura in his hero suit slumped over at the back of a dark alleyway, covered in cuts, bruises, and blood, barely conscious.

"What the hell happened?" you asked, as you crouched down in front of him. You couldn't even tell if he was still alive, so you reached down to check his pulse. But the moment that your fingers brushed up against Riki's neck, he jerked away, immediately slapping your hand away.

"Stay the fuck back!" he yelled, suddenly fully awake and alert. Even with the mask over his eyes, you could see how red and blood-shot they were. "Don't— Don't fuckin' touch me!"

You lurched away immediately, standing back up on your feet.

And you watched in sheer horror as the one boy you've been fighting for months struggled to his feet, clutching his side. Under the moonlight you could see the streaks of red and skin peeking out under his suit. He was cut. And severely injured everywhere, for that matter.

You'd never forget the sound of Riki's ragged breaths and silent curses under his breath as he stumbled. And what startled you the most was how he clenched his fists, standing defensively.

"Fight me," he breathed, teetering on his feet. "I—I can still fight."

"Are you crazy?!" you cried. "I'm not going to fight you."

"What," Riki rasped. You could hear how strained his voice was, almost as if he had been screaming for hours. "Are you finally giving up? Are you admitting defeat?"

You scoffed. "No, of course not— Oh my god, are you oka—"

Riki was hunched over, clutching the gash on his side. A single stream of light hit his skin just enough for you to see how deep it was. Dark red blood stained Riki's gloved hands. He groaned in pain, a sound that you never wanted to hear again.

The way his shoulders and legs shook like he was about to fall over made your heart pound.

You reflexively reached out for him. "Riki, are you—"

"I said don't touch me!" he shouted, bringing his other hand to shield himself defensively. Yet the moment those words left his lips he fell to his knees. You could see how his face scrunched in pain, his brows furrowed and lips curled. "Just give me a second. I— I just need a second and we can fight."

"You're in no condition to fight," you crossed your arms. "I will not fight you."

But it seemed like your words fell upon deaf ears. Not because Riki wasn't listening, but because he collapsed over himself, falling unconscious.

That night you used your supervillain abilities for good, for the first time ever. But not too good, of course. You just took him to the hospital, making sure that both of you were in your civilian forms and saying that you found him unconscious in the alleyway.

You couldn't look him in the eye the next day at school.

You quickly realized that this wasn't a one-time occurance, because it seemed like every few weeks you'd find Riki severely injured. He'd always proclaim that he could still fight you, but both of you knew that that just wasn't possible.

It was the new villains in town, he finally admitted. They were purposefully targeting Orion, or Riki, for he was the city's main crime-fighter.

And for the first time ever, you actually felt bad for him.

At school, you'd see the way dark eyebags hung under his eyes, a heavy limp in his walk. Sometimes, he wouldn't even spare you a glance.

Since then, the streets have been more dangerous than they ever were.

So now, you couldn't even be surprised when Riki showed up to your apartment in the middle of the night, covered in injuries.

He was still in his hero suit, but there were rips everywhere, coupled with his torn up mask. His hair was wet, whether from the rain outside or from the sweat of fighting. Either way, he was shivering, small whimpers of pain leaving his lips.

The boy fell into your arms almost immediately, and as you pulled him into your peach-lit apartment, warmth kissing his skin, he murmured something.

"Shhh," you whispered into his ear. "Don't talk."

He was heavy, just as heavy as he was all those times you threw him across skyscraper rooftops. Yet as you carried his slumped body to your bathroom, he was as light as a feather.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against your shoulder. His eyes were shut, his body devoid of all life and energy. Only his lips moved. "I didn't— I didn't know where else to go."

You only hushed him.

You set him down on your bathroom counter with a flick! of the lightswitch. It seemed like the moment that he was set down, Riki let his head fall back against the mirror behind him, his body giving out.

Under the warm light of your bathroom, you took a closer look at his face.

Despite the cut on his lip, Riki's lips were purple, probably from being out in the storm for so long. Other than the smudges of dirt and gravel on his face, you couldn't help but notice the streaks of redness streaming down his cheeks. Like he was crying.

You stared at him for a little bit longer. You'd seen him beaten down like this before. As a matter of fact, you've seen him battered like this so many times these past few weeks.

But what set all of those instances apart from now was that you couldn't see that glimmer of hope in Riki's eyes anymore.

All those times before, he would be knocked down and bruised up, yet Riki always had the spirit to stand up again and declare a fight.

But now, all he did was slump back in resignation.

It made your heart clench in your chest.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you realized that Riki was probably more physically hurt than any teenage boy should ever be. You made a bee-line for your kitchen, fixing him a glass of water.

When you came back, you shoved the glass into his hands, forcing him to drink it.

Meanwhile, you started a warm bath for him. When you made sure that he could stand on his own, you gave him his privacy to bathe, with the reassurance that you'd be right outside.

And as the bathroom door shut, you sighed.

Riki shuddered as the warm water touched his skin, sinking down into the bathtub. It hurt to move. His entire body ached like hell. It felt like any wrong move would break his bones.

If someone told him that he'd be bathing in top supervillain Supernova's bathtub a few days ago, he'd lose his mind. But now after the events of tonight— being ambushed, tortured, and beaten by a group of villains before his escape— this felt ordinary.

Riki felt himself relax into the warmth, letting his eyes fall shut.

He felt disgusting. All sweaty and bloodied up, tears still staining his cheeks. The water did just enough to make him feel a little better. Still, even if he was far away from those villains, Riki couldn't shake off the feeling of their hands on him. It made the hairs on his neck stand up. He knew that he was safe now, for they couldn't reach him now. Yet Riki couldn't help but have that eerie feeling that he was being watched, that at any moment, they'd come back and hurt him.

Chills ran down his spine, like spindly cold fingers clawing at his skin. Riki's heart dropped.

He was safe. He knew he was. No one could hurt him. But why could Riki still hear their voices? His breathing became ragged again.

He's okay, he told himself. But his body told him otherwise.

And just as Riki pulled his knees to his chest, digging his nails into his palms as he rocked back and forth, a knock on the bathroom door pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Riki?" your voice rang from the other side of the door. "I got you some clean clothes. I'll leave them out here for when you're done."

"O-Okay," he called back.

His heart still raced in his chest. He bit on his lip.

"Wait," he said from inside the bathroom.

He could hear you hum from the other side.

"C-Can you stay in here with me?"

You didn’t need Riki to explain. After all, your entire family was supervillains. You’ve seen it yourself: how painful and traumatizing it could actually be.

So here you were, pouring bubble bath soap into the tub as Riki sat rigidly.

"Am I making you uncomfortabl—"

"No," Riki answered quickly, pulling his knees closer to his chest. "It’s just awkward."

You nodded understandingly, watching as the bubbles began forming in the water. They came in twos, then fours, and suddenly the entire tub was filled with bubbles.

As if he wasn’t the city’s only protector, and as if he was a young child, Riki watched, fascinated. He reached out to touch the foamy bubbles, staring at his hands.

"Are you okay with the bubbles?" you asked, but Riki only absentmindedly nodded. too occupied with the bubbles. Your lips curved. "How are you feeling now?"

Riki’s eyes flickered up to your face. He was about to shrug, but the aching feeling that he was beginning to forget returned. It struck through him, piercing through his skin in a way that made him hiss, keeling over himself.

Immediately, you rushed to his side. You reached out for him, and for the first time, he didn't jerk away.

Riki turned a little bit, twisting his torso just enough so that you could see his back.

And oh, his back was horrible.

You've seen some bad injuries, but the lashings, gashes, and slashes with red blood oozing out littered his skin. In fact, all across Riki's back and shoulder area you could see some pretty nasty gouges.

But that wasn't the most concerning part. Starting from the base of his neck and trailing down his side, a reddish-mauve colored scar was imprinted. On the inside of his arm, there was a collection of darker blemishes. They were not protruding from the surface, nor were they bumpy. The collection of blemishes continued, spotting his skin, until it reached a large patch.

You knew what it was just by the sight of it: burn scars.

How did he—

It seemed like Riki read your mind.

"I know, I know," he breathed. "Bad, isn't it?"

You nodded, your mind still racing. How the hell does a teenage boy even obtain such a severe burn scar?

"I got—" he let out a groan of pain as he turned back to you so that you couldn't see his back anymore. "I got the new ones earlier when those bastards—" you watched as he paused, his brows crashing together like he was remembering something he didn't want to— "when those bastards captured me."

Before you could question further, he continued. "Those burn scars are old."

"How did you get them?" you blurted.

He gave a sly look, almost with a curve in his lips. "I'm a hero, you know."

When you only gaped at him confused, the grin on his lips grew. "There was a burning apartment complex a few weeks ago. I had to rescue some victims, and got a few burns in the process. No biggie though."

You blinked.

Oh.

Maybe you were wrong about him. You shook off the oncoming guilt, focusing on the boy first.

"When you're ready, I'll patch you up," you said, rising to your feet to inspect your bathroom cabinet.

He hummed.

"Ack— That hurts—!"

"Stay still!"

Riki's physical state was much worse than you thought. It wasn't just his back. It was everywhere else.

He was covered head to toe with bruises and cuts, some of them so severe that you couldn't believe your eyes.

Somehow, even when he was literally injured he still managed to be an asshole. So much of an asshole that you had to give him candies to shut him up.

"How do I know these are not poisoned?" he asked you suspiciously, though with a sly little grin as if his lip wasn't busted. He examined the foil-wrapped candies in his palm as if it were a specimen of science.

You scoffed. "Suit yourself. Either you eat my poison candies or shut up."

He did both.

As you disinfected his wounds, you watched his expressions closely, being careful to hurt him even more.

You stood between his legs as he sat up on the bathroom counter. If punching him square in the face multiple times didn't count, this was probably the closest that you'd ever been to him.

It was completely silent now, so quiet that you could only hear his hisses of pain and the rain that continued to pitter-patter outside. Everything was so still, so quiet that you could almost hear his heart beat.

His wet hair dripped from time to time, a bead of water dripping onto the counter or maybe his chest. Maybe it was a bad time to think this, but you couldn't deny that Riki was a handsome boy. Maybe people at school would disagree, but his rugged and brooding look was always something nice to look at.

You focused on his biggest wounds first, and after patching and bandaging all of them up, you were at last tasked with the injuries on his face.

It was weird to see someone that he'd spent so much time fighting be so kind and tender with him. On most days that he was injured, Riki usually just sloppily cleaned himself up. He ran on pure ambition and passion, at the expense of his physical health. But here you were, gently cradling his face like he was made of glass, a type of warmth that he hadn't experienced in years.

So pretty, was all the thought. He'd be lying if he said that you weren't a formidable opponent. Strong, fiery, and just as much of an asshole as him. But pretty, too.

The feeling of your fingers gently pressing against his lips was weird, but he didn't mind it. The way you wet your lips unconsciously, swiping your tongue over them, made him feel all different things.

Whatever, he thought.

He pushed it all to the back of his mind.

But that was difficult in itself.

You were just so close. He'd been close to you before, when you fought him, but not like this. Not in such an intimate way.

Maybe it was how physically drained he was. Maybe it was the burden of the city weighing down on his shoulders, or the mental distress he underwent earlier. It could be the warmth of your apartment and the sound of raindrops on the window down the hall, or it could be his craving for affection, any at all.

But before he could even think, Riki's hand jerked out to grab your wrist, pulling it away from his lips. And in one swift movement, he smashed his lips onto yours.

All time stopped.

It was just the two of you frozen.

And then, you pulled away, resting your hands on the counters to stabilize yourself.

"We can't—" you whispered against his lips, a whimper coming from your lips when Riki's hand wrapped around your waist— "We can't do this."

"Why not?" he rasped, leaning into you again. You pulled away just enough for him to miss your lips.

"You're you, and I'm me," you shook your head. "It won't work."

Yet all your resolve crumbled when Riki's hand slithered up to gently push your head closer to his, his lip brushing against yours.

"It's just a kiss," he said coolly. Then, he pressed his lips against yours again, and the moment that they touched, you hungrily deepened the kiss. You gripped the countertops under your fingertips, leaning into him as you ravage his lips.

"And plus—" Riki murmured against your lips between kisses— "We're kissing as you and me, not Orion the hero and Supernova the villain—"

"Just shut up," you shut him up with your lips.

And he did.

"I have something to tell you."

The two of you settled into bed a while ago. You forced Riki to stay the night, because it was still too dangerous for him to leave right now.

It's quiet again. Although there was a wall of pillows separating the two of you, you couldn't help the beating in your chest. And you were sure Riki couldn't either.

It was getting late. You could feel that familiar burn in your eyes, the sensation you got when you were getting sleepy. You could tell from Riki's softer, much more slurred voice that he was, too.

"What's up?"

He was silent for a little bit. "It's about the villains. It's really bad—"

You shook your head. "Tell me tomorrow morning."

"No," he continued, and you could hear the strain in his voice. The desperation. "I— I need your help. The city is at risk, and—"

"Tell me tomorrow," was all you said. You could hear him sigh. "Riki, I promise that I'll help you. But you are exhausted right now. Tell me in the morning."

"Okay."

It took much longer for Riki to fall asleep than it did for you. He was awake until the sun rose, not even being gifted with the privilege of rest.

There were a few times where Riki almost started crying, blinking back his tears. It felt hopeless as thoughts raced through his head.

But then he'd hear you stir and feel you reach for him, and Riki would take it as a sign to slow down.

He didn't know if tomorrow would come.

He didn't even know if tomorrow would be kind to him.

But for some reason, the thought of you being beside him while it all fell down made him feel just a little bit better.

How strange.

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen imagines #riki imagines #riki x reader #riki fluff #riki angst #nishimura riki #niki enhypen #niki fluff #niki imagines #niki x reader #riki enhypen #nishimura riki enhypen #star-sim #vanya-writes

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sexlapis · 7 months ago

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࿔ read me to sleep…

ᰋ nanami kento x gn!reader

ns4w, fluff, dirty talk no sex, very suggestive, finger sucking, petnames: baby, sweet thing, darling. soft nanami, nanami babies reader, nanami reading to reader, talks about cocks and holes 🤷‍♀️, d/s dynamics

. synopsis: after a long week, nanami helps you to relax.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc: 1.1k

a/n: me writing a fanfic? who would’ve thought?? extract is from ‘the professor’ by charlotte brontê. i enjoyed it but apparently it’s not very well liked. anyway, here’s me being very normal about nanami.

masterlists

your cheek rests on the cool, ivory porcelain of the bathtub. warm water envelopes your body, coming all the way up to your chest which is petaled with tufts of scented bubbles. the orange gleam of the sunset casts a gentle, easy light over the bathroom, colouring the bath water and the supple skin of your body.

it’s quiet. the only sounds being emitted come from the soft ripples of the water when you move and your husband’s low, soft speaking. your eyes droop.

��are you even listening?”

nanami sits on a wooden chair right in front of the bathtub. on long days like this, most of the time on a friday, you both just need to wind down, relax, unravel the knots curled up in your bones, ease the ache inside your head and erase the never ending thoughts in your mind.

‘…yet been my experience of life, I had once had the opportunity of contemplating, near at hand, an example of the results produced by a course of interesting and romantic domestic treachery. No golden halo of fiction was about this example, I saw it bare and real, and it was very loathsome. I saw a mind degraded by the practice of mean subterfuge, by the habit of perfidious deception, and a body depraved by the infectious influence of the vice-polluted soul. I had suffered much from the forced and prolonged view of this spectacle; those sufferings I did not now regret, for their simple recollection acted as a most wholesome antidote to temptation. They had inscribed on my reason the conviction that unlawful pleasure, trenching on another's rights, is delusive and envenomed pleasure; its hollowness disappoints at the time, its poison cruelly tortures afterwards, its effects deprave forever.’

he wears his white, button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his suit jacket long gone, his tie loose and dangling down, and dark slacks sit on his legs very nicely. and, your favourite thing of all, he wears his reading glasses, the pair that he only wears around you.

“yeah, yeah ‘m listening. just tired.”

you have, in fact, not been listening that much.

if you weren’t slowly dozing off to sleep to the smooth timbre of his voice, you were blatantly admiring the cerulean veins that travelled up the pale expanse of his forearm. and if not that, you watched with half-lidded eyes how the tendons of his large hands moved when he turned a page, or the sight of the pink pillows of his lips in motion, or the prominence of his adam’s apple or-

“you really aren’t listening, are you?”

this time, you had the sense to feel a little embarrassed, feel some heat rise on your face. “uhhhhhhh…”

nanami tilts his head, definitely not looking at your chest, “what is going on in that little head of yours?”

“what-nothing! i just, i-,” you sigh, licking your lips, unabashedly staring at the bulge in his slacks “you just look sexy.”

he chuckles, his eyes crinkled and the sound rumbling through his chest. nanami moves his chair forward, closer to where you rest your head, and leans down slightly.

“i don’t think it’s just that,” he utters. nanami then raises his hand to your sweet, languorous face, coated with droplets of water, your wet eyelashes framing the tender yet desiring gaze of eyes. his heart beats a little faster.

he cups your cheeks with one big hand, trailing his index and middle finger to your plush lips, asking for an opening. you do so gladly, moaning quietly when his thick, rough fingers sit and press on your tongue, saliva seeping around his fingers. “i think my little darling just wants my cock inside of that sloppy little hole. isn’t that right?”

his brash words and his fingers, they are inching further and further towards your throat, make your face burn and a dull, throbbing pit of want curl up where you want him the most.

you blink drowsily, almost half asleep at this point, nibbling on his fingers in your mouth, giving them one long lick. “yessss…yes i want it inside of me so much.”

“oh, baby,” nanami coos, “i’m only teasing you. i know you’re tired…”

you whine. it’s muffled over his fingers, which you continue to suck on softly. his eyes darken.

“don’t tempt me,” nanami groans, briefly relishing in the feeling of your mouth suctioned over his fingers, “you know i can't resist that little mouth of yours...”

his fingers leave your sighing mouth, now glistening and wet, connected by a silky line of gossamer to your lips.

nanami hums, pleased by the debauched, satisfied expression plastered on your face. he swipes your lips with your own spit, making them gleam in the shine of the sunset. such actions make you picture his taut, large length, how uses it to generously rub his expense all over your lips and cheeks, using and painting your face like his secret, erotic canvas.

unfortunately for you, your fatigue outweighs your lustful cravings. you let your eyes fall shut. a hand finds itself on top of your head, caressing there softly. a purr leaves your throat. nanami wills himself to ignore his very obvious desire for at this moment.

“i think it’s someone’s bedtime.”

nanami pats his thighs and stands to get your towel. you pout at the loss of stimulation on your head, but it’s quickly wiped away when nanami unplugs the bath, helps you out of it with his hand in yours, and wraps the towel around your damp body like a cocoon.

you waddle over to you and nanami’s shared bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. you were going to sleep so well tonight.

“nanami.” you whisper to him as he takes off his watch. “nanami, come here. read the rest of the chapter, please.”

“darling, you’re about to fall asleep.”

“yeah but i want you to read me to sleep.”

nanami huffs, a small smile on his face. the bed dios where he sits down next to your head, and you take the chance to lay your head on his lap, snuggling comfortably. his hand finds your head to caress one again, making you chirp with glee.

“alright. just this one chapter and that’s it.”

you let him read to you.

at first you listen, you really do, but after a few minutes his words turn into white noise, the low-tone of his voice rumbles through you, the warmth of his lap acts as a pillow and the final blow is when he decides to draw circles over your temple with his thumb.

before you know it, you’re gradually drifting off to sleep, into a serene dreamland, forgetting about all the stress you experienced today.

nanami closes the book and carefully manoeuvres you from his lap and onto the bed properly. he knows you’ll probably wake up shortly, considering you’re still just in your towel, but for now, he savours this moments and how endearing you look, curled up and snoring in your fluffy towel.

“sweet thing…” he kisses your forehead, resting his lips there fore a moment, “my sweet, little thing…”

…♡

#for the ppl with ***** ****** i got you 🙌#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami x self insert #nanami x gn!reader #nanami x gender neutral!reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento smut #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami fluff #kento nanami smut

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ryuusea · 2 months ago

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sherliam rkgk, flirting with “mr. scott” + drabble:

A pleased smile pulls at the corner of his lips, easily mistaken for pleasantries by anybody else. But he isn’t just anyone else. Sherlock Holmes recognizes the playful invitation to a game, and lets himself be tugged in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit by the renowned consulting detective, and London’s savior, the Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

“You teach maths, correct, Mr… Scott, was it? Do you like maths puns?”

With that, Sherlock crowds into him, so close that his chest is but a mere breath’s take away from the teacher’s back. Mr. Scott isn’t daunted by the bold move, does not allow himself to be pushed up against the blackboard. He indulges Sherlock with a curious lilt of his head.

“Indeed. As for the latter, perhaps. Impress me, Mr. Holmes.”

A wide and eager grin, egged on by his words, splits across his face. Sherlock picks up a piece of chalk and leans around Mr. Scott, to messily scratch in the answer to the arithmetic problem on the board just beside his head. Sherlock doesn’t miss the way the other turns his face in towards his exposed neck, nor the surreptitious inhale. It sends shivers along Sherlock’s spine, not unlike the first time he had been allured by scarlet eyes admiring sequences in a spiraling staircase.

Sherlock sets down the chalk, leans back just enough so he can drink in the look the maths teacher is giving him from beneath hooded lashes, also dyed dark – that kid really is thorough with his disguises – it’s a patient, expectant look. One you don’t want to disappoint.

“Ya know, I feel like we could manage some integration later.”

“Oh? What kind of integration?”

He licks his lips, an already eager grin turning wolfish. “The type with undefined limits.”

A shift as he considers Sherlock’s words, spectacles catching the light through the windows. For but a split second, Sherlock cannot see those eyes through the reflected sunlight on the lenses. Then, a soft laugh puffs out from between lightly pursed lips. Mr. Scott raises a hand to his mouth, chuckles again. It reminds Sherlock of mornings over shared coffee, filled with amused, yet most importantly of all, approving smiles. Sherlock feels his heart surge, chest swelling with warmth – it’s been far too long, he’s missed seeing and hearing that –

The maths teacher fully turns around then. It’s his turn to push him back, to invade Sherlock’s space.

“I’m afraid that’s well above my pay grade, Mr. Holmes, I am but a teacher to primary school children…” His eyes narrow, sharpening, darting towards the classroom doorway in warning. Ah. But, shielded from view by Sherlock, he lifts a hand to run a teasing forefinger down Sherlock’s shirt placket, down until he’s caught at the intersection of his closed jacket, then withdraws, “But we can continue this conversation in my office.”

—

Thanks to this Reddit post for inspiration:

#sherliam #references to mtp part 2 manga #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #drabble #wip #flirting #with math #scott sensei liam #liam james moriarty #ynm sherlock Holmes

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kookie-doughs · 29 days ago

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What's Wrong With The Slytherins?

Slytherin Gang X Reader

-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat.

Chapter 1: I'm Going To Leave

You're lost in your own world, a smile playing on your lips as you reread the exchange with the gang.

"L/N!" Athena's voice, sharp and clear, slices through the hum. You blink, pulled back to reality. She stands with hands on hips, fiery hair framing her face, a mock glare masking a playful glint in her eyes.

"Bloody hell, Y/N," she chuckle, peeking at the held device. "I've been calling you for ten minutes! What's got your attention?"

A blush, warm as embers, bloomed on your cheeks. "Phone? I was..." Contemplating whether to share the event to her or keep to yourself you smiled, deciding against it not long after as its much easier that way to keeo your identity secret. "Just lost in thought, that's all."

The suspicion lingering in Athena's emerald eyes was palpable, but she wisely held her tongue. "I have DADA with Ced," she announced, linking her arm with yours. "Let me walk you to Charms before then. Maybe along the way, you'll feel like... enlightening me about your sudden trance."

You chuckled, the warm sound hollow as you clutched the secret close. As you ambled through the throng, a murmur rippled through the crowd, the path ahead inexplicably clearing. Heads swiveled, whispers fluttered on the breeze. "It's Tom Riddle," a student breathed, their voice laced with a swooning awe that made your stomach churn.

Athena tugged you discreetly to the side, her gaze fixed on the approaching figure. Tom Riddle. Tall, regal, with an aura of power that seemed to hang in the air like incense. You followed his path with your eyes, your heart doing a clumsy tap dance in your chest.

It wasn't that you weren't in love with him, you just weren't like the simpering girls who practically melted at his smile. No, you'd seen past the polished exterior, glimpsed the darkness simmering beneath the charm. Tom Riddle was smart, yes, dangerously so. Handsome, undeniably. Nice? Hardly.

Yet, a part of you, a reckless, foolish part, couldn't deny a grudging admiration. He was fascinating, an enigma wrapped in a riddle. And now, the mystery seemed to brush against you, you had garnered his attention.

The world narrowed to just him, his dark hair catching the dying sunlight, his lips quirking in a sardonic smile. You forgot Athena, forgot Charms, forgot everything but the pull of the shadows he cast.

Was it fear? Excitement? Curiosity? Had he figured you out? You didn't have the answer, not yet. But as Tom Riddle's gaze brushed yours, you knew this was just the beginning.

The final chime of the bell echoed through the corridor, signaling the start of Charms. You watched Athena skip off to DADA, her eyes still sparkling with Tom Riddle's afterglow.

As you settled into your Charms seat, your gaze couldn't help but stray towards the door. Every rustle of robes, every whispered word, made your head snap up in hope. Would Tom, just for a moment, glance your way? Would he recognize the clues you'd left scattered?

You'd subtly moved your quill to point in his direction during Professor Flitwick's lecture, hoping he'd catch the unspoken message. You'd let out a small cough whenever your eyes met his in the bustling hallways, a barely-there sound only he might understand.

Professor Flitwick, perched on a pile of enchanted textbooks, noticed your gaze wandering once too often. His sharp eyes, twinkling behind oversized spectacles, darted towards you. "Miss L/N," he squeaked in a voice surprisingly booming for his stature, "would you care to demonstrate the Summoning Charm for the class?"

Panic seized you. Your mind, tangled in Tom Riddle's cryptic magic and unspoken attraction, was barren of spell formations. Yet, to your surprise, Tom's gaze met yours, a faint glint of amusement dancing in his brown eyes. It was as if he'd seen right through you.

Taking a deep breath, you channeled the image. You flicked your wand, whispering the incantation with newfound confidence.

A hush fell over the classroom. Professor Flitwick, despite his diminutive stature, clapped his hands with glee. "Excellent, Miss L/N! As expected from a L/N!" His praise washed over you, but your eyes remained fixed on Tom.

A thrill coursed through you, a dangerous mix of fear and excitement. Tom locked eyes with you and wrote something down. Does he know? Would he befriend you? Are you gonna get closer with him? Or had you simply drawn the attention of a dangerous predator?

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Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay

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calamity-calliope · 2 years ago

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This, as far as I'm aware, is how the Dark-Spectacled Admiral and the Commodore interact at public events and I will not be convinced otherwise

#fallen london #the dark-spectacled admiral #the commodore #the new sequence #sunless sea #meme

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eu-nicola · 3 months ago

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sacrifice

summary: you are a noble woman who faces an impossible situation: sacrifice your freedom and marry a cruel senator to save Lucius

warnings: violence, angst (idk)

word counter: 5084

author’s note: english is not my first language

The air in the imperial hall was thick with unbearable tension. The emperor's voice echoed with an authority that seemed to crush every corner of the room, while his eyes analyzed you with a calculating disdain. Sitting before him, you could feel the weight of the words he'd just spoken, as if they were a dagger pressing against your neck.

“It's a simple exchange,” he had said, his tone almost bored, as if discussing the terms of a minor treaty. “You accept the marriage to Senator Callidus, and in return, Lucius will be freed. We won't pursue him again, nor will we send him back to the arena. He will live, as long as you play your part.”

Your breath caught in your lungs. The thought of Lucius, dragged back into the suffering and humiliation of the arena, tormented you. You had witnessed the cruel spectacle of gladiators fighting for their lives in front of an indifferent crowd too many times. But Lucius wasn't like the others. He was fire contained in flesh and bone, a man whose spirit couldn't be broken, no matter how much the Empire tried with every lash and chain. His only “crim was his blood, a heritage that marked him as a threat to the throne.

On the other hand, there was Senator Callidus. His name made you sick. He was known for his insatiable greed, his cruelty towards the weak, and his contempt for everything you stood for. If you accepted the marriage, your life would become a constant hell. His poisonous words and calculating gaze would be your daily companions, and any hope of freedom would disappear forever.

The emperor watched you in silence, savoring your internal struggle. He knew he was asking for an unimaginable sacrifice, but to him, your feelings were irrelevant. What mattered was what his Empire would gain from the union. Callidus was influential, and his support would ensure political stability that the emperor wasn't willing to pass up.

When you finally retreated to your chambers, despair wrapped around you like a cloak. You didn't sleep that night. The candles burned down to melted wax as your mind wandered through every dark corner of your dilemma. Part of you wanted to reject the proposal with every fiber of your being. You didn’t want to become a pawn in a political game or the wife of a man who despised you as much as you despised him.

But the image of Lucius wouldn’t let you rest. You remembered him in moments when his rare but sincere smile had lit up the darkest days of your life. You remembered how, even chained and wounded, he had found strength to comfort you when everything seemed lost. He was so much more than a gladiator. He was a symbol of everything the Empire feared and, at the same time, everything you admired: courage, resilience, freedom.

Day by day, the torment grew. You found yourself wandering the palace gardens, searching for answers in the whisper of the wind or the rustling of the leaves. Your maidens watched from afar, whispering among themselves about your pale complexion and the way your hands trembled constantly. No one dared approach, except one.

“My lady,” said Ilena, your most loyal maid, in a quiet but concerned tone. “What are you going to do?.”

You looked up at her, and for a moment, you wanted to unload your anguish. But what could you say? What words could capture the weight of a decision that would affect not only your life but Lucius's and the fate of an entire Empire?

“I don't know, Ilena,” you whispered finally, your voice broken.

That night, as the stars twinkled on the horizon, you made the decision to visit Lucius in secret. You managed to convince one of the guards to let you into the dungeons where he was held. When you arrived, the sight of his chained figure tore at your soul. Despite the visible wounds on his skin, Lucius greeted you with the same intense gaze he'd always had.

“You shouldn't be here,” he said softly, though there was no reproach in his words.

“And you shouldn't be here either,” you replied, feeling your tears threatening to spill.

He tilted his head, studying you as if he could read every one of your thoughts. “What’s going on? Your face says more than your lips want to admit.”

You told him everything. Every word came out with difficulty, as if revealing the dilemma made it even more real. When you finished, Lucius remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke.

ñDon't do it,” he said, his voice firm. “Don't sacrifice your life for mine. This place, these chains... they're not worse than losing you”

His words hit you like a storm. For a moment, you felt the temptation to do what he asked: reject the marriage and find some other way to save him. But reality was cruel, and you knew it. There wouldn't be another chance.

When you left the dungeons, with Lucius's words echoing in your mind, you understood that the time for indecision had passed. The choice had to be made, and whatever path you took would mark you forever.

When you returned home and found rest in your chambers, the sound of hurried footsteps approaching down the hallway ruined it all. Then, the door to your room flew open, and your mother stormed in like a whirlwind. Her face was pale, not with exhaustion, but with contained fury. Behind her, your father and older brother entered, their expressions shifting between disbelief and disgust.

“Is it true?,” your mother demanded, her tone icy. She didn't need to explain what she meant; the rumor had spread quickly, as it always did in the palace.

You remained silent, but your tense posture was enough of an answer.

“By the gods! You can't do this.” Your father's voice boomed with authority. “Marry that man? Callidus? Do you know what it will mean for our family? It will drag us into the mud along with his name.”

“I’d rather die than see you by the side of a monster like him,”

your mother added with a coldness that cut through you like a sharp blade.

Your brother, who rarely got involved in family matters, stepped forward. His gaze was filled with genuine concern, and that hurt more than your parents' words. “Sister, you don't have to do this. We’ll find another way to help Lucius. There are... other ways.”

“What ways?,” you asked harshly, standing up. Indignation began to burn in your chest. “Talk to the emperor? Beg for Lucius's life when we all know he's already made his decision? There’s no other way.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” your father retorted, crossing his arms. “Callidus isn't just corrupt, he’s a dangerous man. If you marry him, he won’t just destroy your life, he’ll destroy ours. Our family will lose the respect of the court. We'll be the subject of mockery and rumors.”

"It's a gladiator," your mother replied with disdain, her words laced with contempt. "He's not worth the sacrifice of a daughter or the prestige of a house like ours."

The words hit you like a whip. How could they be so blind? Lucius wasn’t just a gladiator; he was a life, a hope. But in the eyes of your family, they only saw chains and blood.

"I’ve already made my decision," you said firmly, crossing your arms.

The silence that followed was deafening. Your mother looked at you as if she couldn’t recognize you, while your father closed his eyes, shaking his head with a mix of frustration and resignation.

"If you do this," your father finally said, his voice full of warning, "don’t expect our support. Don’t expect protection when things get tough. Because they will get tough, I assure you."

"Father..." your brother murmured, as if still wanting to calm the situation, but your father raised a hand to silence him.

"No," you said, lifting your chin with determination. "I don’t need your support. This isn’t for you or for me. It’s for him. And if that means losing everything I have, then so be it."

When your family left the room, the air felt colder, as if they had left a void behind. You stood there, staring at the closed door, as tears threatened to fall. But you refused to let them out.

There would be no turning back. The choice was made.

The next day, the emperor received you in the same hall where the deal had been made. His expression remained impassive as you announced your decision with the same firmness you had used with your family.

"Very well," he said, offering a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I knew it. You’re a smart woman. Callidus will be pleased."

You didn’t say anything, just nodded while the words "Callidus will be pleased" echoed in your mind like an unpleasant echo. You knew what awaited you: a bleak future, a constant struggle. But you also knew that somewhere, Lucius would live free, far from the suffering and cruelty of the Empire.

As the days passed, time seemed to move faster than a shooting star, and each new dawn brought a reminder of your impending fate. The preparations for your marriage to Callidus were underway, like an unstoppable machine. The maids measured you for dresses, servants debated the arrangement of flowers, and heralds were already practicing how to announce your union with the senator to the court. Everything felt surreal, as if you were living someone else’s life.

But what tormented you the most weren’t the details of the marriage, but the messages that began arriving. The emperor, in his infinite ability to manipulate, had begun sending you envoys with disturbing messages, each one more unsettling than the last.

The first message arrived one morning while you were having breakfast alone in your chambers. A young messenger, dressed in the colors of the imperial palace, bowed deeply before speaking.

"My lady," he began, with a carefully neutral voice, "The emperor has received reports that Lucius has accepted his fate as a gladiator. According to rumors, he is willing to fight in the arena again."

You set the cup you were holding down so gently that it barely made a sound against the plate. You looked at the messenger in disbelief.

"Where do these rumors come from?" you asked, trying to stay calm.

"Lucius himself is said to have expressed his willingness in his last conversation with the guards," the young man replied. "They say he even asked to be trained again."

The words felt like a dagger slowly sinking into your chest. You knew Lucius would never accept his fate as a gladiator; not after everything he had suffered. But doubt slid into your mind, like poison. What if he had changed his mind? What if he had decided that your sacrifice was in vain?

You stood up abruptly. "You may leave," you said, the coldness in your voice hiding the storm raging inside you.

The messenger bowed again and left, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The room, which you usually found comforting, suddenly felt oppressive. You paced back and forth, trying to clear your mind, but the messenger's words continued to echo.

The following days brought more messages, each one designed to erode your resolve.

A different envoy arrived on the third day, informing you that Lucius had begun training in secret, showing a renewed skill that impressed even the most seasoned gladiators. On the fifth day, another messenger claimed that Lucius had made disparaging remarks about your sacrifice, supposedly saying that he didn’t need you to save him, that he would rather die in the arena than depend on you.

That last statement left you paralyzed. For hours, you sat in your room, staring into space. The messenger’s words repeated like an incessant echo in your mind.

"What if it’s true?" you asked quietly. The possibility that Lucius didn’t want to be saved, that you were sacrificing your life for someone who didn’t want your help, began to consume your thoughts.

Ilena, your maid, approached quietly and set a cup of tea on the table beside you. She knelt beside you, her eyes filled with concern.

"My lady," she said softly, "do you really believe these news... are true?"

"I don’t know," you admitted, a lump in your throat. "I can’t ignore them, but I can’t fully believe them either."

"Then maybe you shouldn’t believe them," Ilena suggested gently. "Emperors aren’t known for their honesty. He’s always after something."

You knew Ilena was right. Both emperors didn’t need the truth to get what they wanted. But even knowing that, the doubts were impossible to ignore.

As you struggled with the doubts planted by the emperors, deep in the dungeons of the imperial palace, Lucius also faced an internal storm. The chains that kept him physically bound couldn’t restrain the flood of thoughts that overwhelmed his mind. Each day, he saw how his fate hung by a thread, depending on your decision.

At first, his focus was entirely on survival. He had learned to hide any sign of vulnerability, becoming an almost imperturbable figure in front of the guards and the spectators who attended the arena fights. However, your secret visits had planted a seed of something he hadn’t expected: hope.

The furtive conversations between you and him became the only light in his dark days. Every word shared, every furtive glance, began to blur the barrier he had built around his heart. What began as simple recognition of your humanity slowly transformed into something deeper and more complex.

Lucius remembered his wife, Arishat, whose death had left an unfillable void. Arishat had been his anchor, the reason he fought to survive in the arena and dream of a life beyond the chains. Her memory was sacred, a testament of love and loss that he swore never to betray. Accepting your sacrifice would mean giving up the hope he had placed in a future he never knew.

Every time he saw you, he felt a mix of gratitude and confusion. The strength you showed in facing oppression and sacrifice inspired him, but it also made him question his own feelings. Was it possible, after all this time, for his heart to open again? Could he allow himself to feel something more than the need to survive?

Those answers never came for Lucius, and he had to leave them in oblivion. When the day of the wedding came, the blinding and cruel sunlight bathed the imperial palace, casting long and stretched shadows on the ground. The grand square was adorned with colorful flags and garlands, but everything seemed like a mockery compared to the weight you felt on your shoulders. Your wedding to Callidus, the senator who despised everything you represented, felt more like a farce than a celebration. However, the emperor had decided that the true ceremony of the day would be something else, one that would take place in the arena, before the eyes of the entire court and the people.

The spectacle had been carefully orchestrated. While preparations for your wedding continued inside the palace, the stands of the imperial coliseum were filling with eager spectators. Men and women from all social classes gathered to witness a battle that, according to the emperor's rules, would not only be a fight to the death but a sacrifice that would mark the destiny of everyone present.

As you were led to the arena, the air seemed to grow dense. You could hear the screams of the onlookers, the expectant crowd waiting for a slaughter. The cage Lucius had to fight in was already being prepared, and the entire palace seemed to have been transformed into a stage for the impending fatality.

Both emperors watched you from their elevated thrones, their eyes fixed on you as if they were enjoying your pain. They knew what you had sacrificed. They knew you had given yourself to this fate in the hope that Lucius would gain the freedom he so desired. But they also knew this would be a cruel reminder of what real power in the empire entailed: sacrifice, suffering, and absolute control.

The arena began to fill with a palpable tension as the gladiators were pushed into the center, among them Lucius, who, despite the visible scars of his suffering, stood tall, his face marked by a determination that made your stomach twist. You knew what the emperor had done. You knew he had manipulated him, that the news of your sacrifice had reached his ears, and that the only reason he fought with such ferocity was the promise of your life, of your sacrifice. The emperor trusted that, upon learning the magnitude of your pain, Lucius would fight harder than ever, driven by a rage that would shake even the most fearsome opponent.

From the stands, with the sun burning your skin, your eyes locked onto Lucius. You could see the internal struggle reflected in his face. You knew he didn't want to fight, but the thought of losing you, of losing the chance for redemption you offered him, was pushing him beyond his limits.

The emperor raised his hand, and in that instant, the fight began.

The gladiator Lucius had to face was a large man, with armor that gleamed under the sun, armed with a sword as sharp as a serpent. Lucius was unarmed, his hands bound behind his back, and only his agility, training, and will could save him. At first, the fight was a cruel game for the opponent. Lucius, caught between his desire to survive and the need to honor your sacrifice, moved with impressive skill, but every blow he took seemed to break him a little more. The fight was not only physical; it was emotional, mental. His mind was a battlefield.

From the stands, you felt powerless. You couldn't take your eyes off Lucius, yet every move he made tore you apart more and more. The sound of metal clashing against metal, the crowd's roar, everything mixed into a torrent of pain and despair. Every time Lucius fell to the ground, a scream died in your throat, but you couldn't do anything, nothing but watch.

They forced you to stay there, as a witness, to witness the horror of what the emperor had planned. The palace priest, with a voice that was sacred but empty, began to proclaim the fight as a blessing for the Empire, while the shadows of the gladiators stretched across the arena, merging with your own despair.

Lucius stood up once more, his face covered in blood, his body battered with bruises. There was something in his gaze that pierced your soul: a mix of rage and resignation, fear and bravery, as if he had already accepted the inevitable. But, at the same time, his eyes met yours, and in that brief exchange of glances, you could see the love and gratitude, but also the anguish of knowing that his freedom could cost you your life.

The large man raised his sword for the final blow, and in that moment, something changed in Lucius. The strength he had been controlling throughout the fight burst out in a surge of raw energy. With a cry of fury, he jumped on his opponent, unarmed, but with a ferocity that seemed to defy logic itself. The fight turned into a torrent of force and blood, and finally, with a swift and deadly move, Lucius dispatched his enemy.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but for you, everything was chaos, an abyss you couldn't escape. Lucius had won, yes, but at what cost? The emperor watched from his throne with a cold smile, while you felt your soul tearing apart.

The fallen gladiator lay in the arena, a symbol of what the emperor expected from everyone: submission. But Lucius, with his breath heavy and his body aching, stood tall, looking at you with eyes filled with conflicted gratitude. You knew what that meant: the price of his victory had been too high. He had fought for your sacrifice, for your freedom, and at that moment, he couldn’t be free.

You had stayed standing, watching the scene, believing for a moment that maybe all of Lucius suffering had made sense, that maybe the emperor would keep his promise. But the blow of reality was as violent as the clash of steel on the sand.

A guard stepped up to Lucius with firm steps, the gleam of his sword reflecting the sunlight like a deadly threat. Your heart stopped. The emperor had never intended to free Lucius. It was all a lie, a manipulation to ensure that he would die before the eyes of the people. The promise of freedom had only been a way to gain Lucius’ loyalty in the arena, a way to manipulate his will until it was too late.

The guard raised his sword, and a scream of horror escaped your lips. Chaos took over you. You couldn’t stand still, watching the man you had tried to save being led to his death by the hand of a cruel tyrant. The pain in your chest, the despair, the rage transformed into a courage you never thought you had. You couldn’t, you mustn’t, allow the emperor to succeed. Lucius didn’t deserve to die like that.

Without thinking, your voice trembling with contained fury, but clear and determined.

“Stop!” you shouted, looking directly at the emperor. “This is a lie! The freedom you promised me was nothing but a mockery! Lucius must not die! The sacrifice has been mine, not his!”

Your voice echoed across the arena, and a heavy silence followed your declaration. The guards turned towards you, their gazes cold, but the crowd started to murmur, and then, what seemed impossible, happened. Inspired by your words, the slaves, the gladiators, the prisoners, all those condemned to the arena, rose. A cry of rebellion rose up, a roar that made the Coliseum tremble. The chains were shattered, weapons were taken, and the anger held for years of suffering overflowed. The rebellion had begun.

The emperor watched the scene, stunned, not understanding immediately what was happening. His eyes moved quickly from side to side, looking for a way out, but the room was already filled with chaos. The roar of the crowd, the sound of fights breaking out, the soldiers’ desperation as they didn’t know how to control the rebellion, all of it surrounded you.

The guard who had been about to execute Lucius hesitated for a moment, glancing at the growing revolt with fear. Seizing the distraction, Lucius, exhausted but with a fury renewed in his eyes, stood up with strength that seemed to come from the very pain that had marked him for years. You knew you had to get to him before it was too late.

Running towards the arena, you dodged the falling bodies, the deafening noise of the battles around you. When you reached Lucius, he looked at you in surprise, and for a moment, his eyes showed vulnerability, as if he couldn’t believe that amidst all this, in the middle of the chaos, you had come for him.

You stopped in front of him, your breath heavy, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were about to explode. Lucius, his eyes full of emotion, stepped toward you, his hand trembling slightly as it touched your face, as if he couldn’t believe you were really there, in front of him. The rebellion continued to tear everything apart around you, but in that moment, there were only the two of you, amidst an unparalleled chaos.

“You did it,” he murmured, his voice full of awe and gratitude. “What you did… Why?”

“I don’t know,” you responded, trembling. “But I couldn’t let them kill you. Not after everything we did, after everything we sacrificed… I promised I’d free you, and I won’t break that promise.”

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, as if the words caressed your soul. When he opened them again, there was a deep sincerity in them, a fragility that only you could see. His hands took yours firmly, as if he feared you might disappear.

“The sacrifice, right?” he said bitterly, but a weak smile appeared on his lips. “You’ve given everything for me, and I… I don’t know if I can live with that. But now… now I don’t know how to let you go, how to let you keep suffering for me.”

The words you had kept hidden for so long finally came out, like a confession buried deep within you. “Lucius, I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but… I love you. And I can’t keep seeing you in this life without freedom. I can’t keep living without knowing I fought for you.”

Lucius trembled, the shock in his eyes echoing your own feelings. The crowd kept fighting, the clashing of swords and shouts barely reaching your ears. Yet, all of that disappeared when he moved closer to you, his lips seeking yours in a kiss that changed everything.

The world, the Coliseum, the emperor, all vanished the moment his lips touched yours. It didn’t matter what happened next, it didn’t matter what awaited you at the end of this rebellion. Only Lucius and you existed, the love you shared in that fraction of time when the history of an empire fell, but the love of two souls rose above it all.

The kiss was all you needed. He held you, kept you close, as if afraid of losing you, and it tasted like sacrifice, hope, a forbidden love that defied the laws of an entire empire.

After that, Lucius pulled away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the crowd that was celebrating the rebellion, his back straight with a new determination, a new opportunity.

As he walked away, you stayed there, amidst the turmoil, the fighting, and the chaos you had unleashed. The smell of burnt gunpowder and the sound of the echoes of rebellion still rang in your ears. The feeling of having freed him was bittersweet. There was a bitter satisfaction, as if you had given your soul to a cause greater than yourself, but at the same time, you knew that the peace you had won for him was only the beginning of a personal torment you would have to face alone.

You sat on the ground, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Lucius’ face still lingered in your mind, his gaze intense and full of gratitude before he left. It had been your sacrifice that had freed him, that had kept him alive, but now he, now free, had a future that you couldn’t share. The irony of it all tore you apart inside.

The rebellion continued. The slaves and gladiators kept fighting, taking advantage of the chaos to gain ground, while the emperor’s forces tried to restore order. You knew the price of your bravery would be high. The guards were already approaching, their eyes reflecting the emperor’s fury. They had seen you publicly defy his authority, expose his betrayal, and all of that wouldn’t go unnoticed. The temptation to run, to join Lucius in his escape, was strong, but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t bear the consequences if you did. The emperor, in his rage, wouldn’t hesitate to crush what was left of you to make an example of your disobedience.

One of the soldiers stepped closer, his eyes cold and calculating, and without saying a word, you were surrounded by a group of guards. There were no shouts, no threats, just the heavy silence of imminent defeat.

You stood up with dignity, even though the weight of your decisions, your actions, struck you with every step. It didn’t matter what the emperor did to you now. You had already given everything you had. Lucius was free.

The following days became a series of trials, punishments, and confinements. You were kept prisoner in the Imperial Palace, locked in your chambers where no one came to see you. Yet, even in the darkness of your thoughts, the image of Lucius kept you alive. You knew he was far away, seeking his freedom, fighting for his life in a way that no longer belonged to you. Despite all you had lost, there was some comfort in knowing he had a new chance to fight for his future, to redeem himself.

Rome looked at you as a traitor, as a woman who had defied the will of her emperor, and you couldn’t foresee what the future would hold for you. You knew it would be a long road to earn redemption, and the emperor wouldn’t easily forget the humiliation you had caused him. The death penalty was a real possibility, but still, you were certain you had done the right thing.

Loneliness was unbearable, but sometimes, when everything calmed down, when darkness took over your cell, you felt something inside you. A presence that had grown within you without you knowing. It was a feeling that filled you with both fear and hope. In the silence of your chambers, you realized what you waiting: a child of Lucius.

Weeks passed slowly. The sentence you had been given seemed like a sentence to invisibility, to oblivion. Your body started to change, and with it, the weight of the life growing inside you. You had returned to “normal,” your charges forgiven, and now the child you carried would be called your husband’s son, not Lucius’, but at least you knew he would be safe. Every time you thought of him, of his smile, you felt him close. Maybe you would never see him again, but the love you shared could never fade.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #lucius verus x you #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator ll #gladiator x reader #gladiator movie #gladiator fanfiction #paul mescal

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kryoee7 · 2 months ago

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The Architect and the Muse

this is my first time writing a fic soo lmk what you think ! -

The control room hummed with subdued power, its sleek walls and towering monitors casting a cold, unyielding glow. On the screens, the macabre ballet of Red Light, Green Light unfolded—players moving and stopping, their lives dictated by a mechanical doll’s gaze. Death punctuated the air like gunshots, for that was exactly what they were.

At the center of it all, Hwang In-Ho sat in his throne-like chair, his tailored suit immaculate despite the undercurrent of violence in the room. His mask, as much a shield as a crown, obscured his expression, but the weight of his presence was unmistakable. Draped across his lap, you embodied an eerie grace, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the armrest as your gaze lingered on the carnage below.

“You see her hesitate?” In-Ho’s voice was a low, commanding rumble, his gloved hand resting possessively on your hip. “Player 029. Her legs quiver before every step. Weakness will swallow her whole.”

You tilted your head slightly, lips curving into a faint smirk. “And yet, the bold ones are the real spectacle. They’re the first to break when things get… personal.”

His fingers tightened reflexively on your waist, a quiet affirmation. “And the ones who don’t break?”

“They burn,” you said, your tone as detached as it was assured. “Beautifully, I might add.”

Your eyes remained fixed on the monitors, cataloging every stutter, every falter, every flash of defiance, as your mind began to drift to where it all started..

The rain lashed against the cracked pavement of a forgotten alleyway. Hwang In-Ho, disheveled and gaunt, leaned against the wall, his suit tattered and soaked. He clutched the prize money, his victory in the games a hollow triumph that gnawed at his soul.

“You look like hell,” a voice remarked, cutting through the storm.

He glanced up sharply, and there you stood, umbrella in hand, the rain sliding off its edges as if refusing to touch you. Your sharp eyes seemed to dissect him in an instant.

“And you,” he rasped, voice raw with despair, “look like you don’t belong here.”

“Maybe,” you replied, stepping closer. “But you do. And I’m curious—what keeps someone like you standing when it’d be so much easier to fall?”

He didn’t answer, but something in your gaze held him there, a tether he didn’t know he needed. Over time, your quiet strength became his anchor, your sharp mind his counsel. When you discovered the horrors behind the games, you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stayed. You stayed, and he began to realize you weren’t just his salvation—you were his equal.

Snapping out of it, the tension in the air was a living thing. The eerie melody of "Red light, Green light" echoed across the arena, the giant doll swiveling its head with mechanical precision.

On the monitors, Player 029 hesitated again.

“Watch,” In-Ho murmured, his voice reverent. “She’s done.”

The crack of a rifle confirmed it. The player’s body hit the ground, lifeless.

You leaned back against his chest, your calm mirroring his own. His arm tightened around you, fingers brushing yours in a silent exchange.

“Some surprises,” you murmured, gesturing to another screen. A bold player—Player 067—had darted forward in defiance of the doll’s rhythm, earning gasps from her fellow competitors.

“She’ll be one to watch,” In-Ho admitted, a rare hint of admiration threading his tone.

You hummed in agreement, the faintest trace of a smile playing on your lips. “For now.”

The room dimmed, the monitors fading into standby mode as the first game drew to a bloody close. In-Ho removed his mask, revealing the sharp planes of his face. His eyes, dark and searching, found yours.

“You see things I don’t,” he murmured, his hand cupping your jaw. “I trust your eyes more than my own.”

You chuckled, a soft sound that belied the weight of your shared history. “Careful, In-Ho. You’ll spoil me with that worship.”

His gaze hardened slightly, a reminder of the feral edge that always lingered just beneath his surface. “You’re already spoiled. And I’d destroy anyone who tried to take that from you.”

You traced your finger along the edge of his jaw, your touch as much a challenge as an affirmation. “You’d better." You mutter as you draw closer to him. In-Ho's thumb brushed over your lower lip, the gesture a silent question. You answered by tilting your head forward slightly, inviting him closer. His breath was warm against your mouth, the faint scent of mint and expensive cologne mixing in the air. When he kissed you, it was with the same fierce intensity he brought to every battle, but tempered with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Your hands slid around his neck, fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair as you deepened the kiss. The world around you faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing in your ears. You felt the tension in his muscles, the way they flexed under your touch, and the heat that seemed to radiate from his very core.

In-Ho's grip tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. His other hand rested on the small of your back, the pressure both reassuring and demanding. You could feel his desire, a potent force that seemed to vibrate in the air around you. It matched the thundering of your pulse, the rush of blood in your veins.

But as the final buzzer sounded, the room flooding with light and the sound of cheers and curses from the other players, you reluctantly broke the kiss. In-Ho's eyes searched yours, the question clear even without words. You nodded, and pulled away. The moment had been perfect, a secret shared between the two of you amidst the chaos of the games.

The surviving players were herded out of the arena, their terror lingering in the air like smoke. The control room was silent but for the crackle of monitors.

You rose gracefully from In-Ho’s lap, smoothing over your suit. Your voice, calm but laced with an edge, broke the quiet.

“Let’s make the second game… unforgettable.”

In-Ho smirked, his voice low and amused. “What do you have in mind?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your eyes alight with something dangerous. “Why don’t i join with you? Shake things up a little.”

His laughter was a dark, rumbling sound. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good thing I like the heat.”

As the monitors flickered to life again, the next game revealed itself—a playground, with two giant rainbow circles on either side of the place. The room seemed to hum with anticipation, the stakes rising for both the players and the couple who controlled their fates.

In-Ho reached for your hand, his voice a whisper. “Let’s see if they can survive your game.”

Your smile was razor-sharp. “Let’s see if they can survive us.”

#hwang inho x reader #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in-ho x reader #front man x reader #hwang in ho #hwang in-ho #lee byung hun #player 001 #young-il #squidgame #squid game #squid game season 2

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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i think that last fic you wrote for me is my new favorite thing to reread on here! could i request a pt two where they’re all just having a chill day/ night and then they all get ready for bed together and lay down for cuddles plz? the way you write for poly!marauders is just so perfect! tysm again for reading my requests!! -🌶️

Awww that makes me so happy, I'm so glad you liked it! And of course you can my love <3

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 981 words

Though James typically prefers you with no clothes on, he does think you look pretty cute in his big t-shirt. He bunches the fabric in his hands as he comes up behind you, setting his head on your shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, smiling at him through a mouthful of toothpaste.

He gazes at you in the mirror. “Just admiring the view.”

“Oi,” Sirius elbows him, hands wet with whatever product in his billion-step skincare routine he’s currently rubbing into his face. His hair is scraped back into a bun to keep it out of the way. (James loves it when he wears it like that.) “Quit stealing my lines, Potter.”

James doesn’t even need to speak; he knows the best way to rile Sirius right now doesn’t involve words. He grabs his dark-haired boyfriend by the chin, landing a smacker right on his cheek.

Sirius shouts just as James pulls back, grimacing.

“Fuck, Pads, what’s in that shit?” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, getting rid of any remaining product from Sirius’ face. “Have you poisoned me?”

“Serves you right,” Sirius shoots back. “Everyone else knows better than to mess with my routine. I hope you are poisoned for contaminating my skin like that.”

James looks about for support, but you only roll your eyes, spitting into the sink.

“Don’t wish poisoning upon people, love,” Remus says mildly from the bedroom, and it’s not much, but James seizes upon it. He sends Sirius a triumphant look.

“I only wanted kisses, Moons,” he whines, padding into the bedroom and laying himself pitifully across Remus’ lap. “You get it, don’t you?”

Remus smiles, bending to press his lips to James’. “Merlin, Sirius,” he says teasingly, “you really don’t know what you’re missing.”

James chases him for more, propping himself up on his elbow and keeping Remus close with a hand at the nape of his neck.

It doesn’t take long before Sirius is rushing out, his skincare routine apparently finished for the night as he chases you into the bedroom. James and Remus both stop to watch the spectacle as he grabs you around the waist, dipping you low and kissing you passionately. You make a sound of muffled surprise against his lips, breaking away after a second.

“Sirius!” You laugh, flustered. “You cannot just attack me because you’re jealous! I won’t be a pawn in your game.”

Sirius puts on a show of hurt, straightening you but keeping his hands steadfastly around your waist. “You’re not a pawn, baby. You’re the best piece on the board.”

You let out a loud, barking laugh at that, extricating yourself from his hold. “That’s really awful,” you tell him, stepping backwards towards the bed. “If you think James is stealing your lines, you need to come up with some better material.”

Sirius’ mouth drops open, and James snickers.

You sit down on the bed and launch into your nightly routine of demolishing your joints, twisting around to coax painful-sounding cracking noises from your back, and Remus moves away from James to begin his nightly routine of trying to foil you, taking your shoulders in his hands before you can rotate your spine in the other direction.

“Quit that,” he says, looking at you severely.

You nod, but no sooner does Remus remove his hands from you than you’re contorting your back again, eliciting a series of popping noises that makes James wonder whether you might’ve broken something.

Remus shakes his head at you, disappointed but not necessarily surprised. “I’m going to kill you,” he promises.

You grin. “You’re all talk.”

You’re nearly as bad as Sirius when you get like this, but Remus knows just how to handle you, wrestling you flat onto the bed and laying down atop you. He toys with your hair lazily, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

“Are you ready to wind down?” he asks you placidly.

You’re laughing, squirming feebly underneath his weight, and James can’t help but chuckle, grabbing one of your hands by the wrist when you try to pinch at Remus’ side.

“Traitor,” you say to him.

“I take no sides,” he replies easily. “Sorry, angel.”

“Darling,” Remus hums lazily, getting your attention again. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”

You roll your eyes and sigh greatly, but nod. Remus doesn’t let you off that easily this time, though, passing you immediately to Sirius, who tugs you tight to his front, your nose squishing into his cheek as he peppers your face with kisses.

“Oh, I see,” James says, getting into the opposite side of the bed. “So they can touch your face, but I can’t, huh?”

“Anyone can, once the product has dried,” Sirius says cooly, settling down with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. “Your mistake was jumping the gun, Potter.”

“Can we be done with this?” you ask. “Remus is tired.”

“Don’t use him as your scapegoat,” Sirius says, but peers over you to see Remus anyway, a tiny bit of worry in the squint of his eyes. “You’re not tired, are you Moons?”

“Only the normal amount,” Remus says, eyes already closed.

James coos, touching his lips to the high point of Remus’ cheekbone, just beside a jagged scar.

“Poor boy, we’re tormenting him,” he says lightly, and Sirius rolls his eyes but quiets down.

For a good, long while, it’s silent. James watches the light in the room change as cars drive past, their headlights filtering through the curtains. The breathing around him becomes slower, more even. His own body relaxes into the mattress, eyelids drooping as he starts to give into that sweet, soft heaviness that waits just past the threshold of sleep.

He hears a quiet rustling of sheets, and then a loud cracking sound comes from your side of the bed.

A low voice. “Don’t make me come over there.”

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gojozballs · 2 months ago

Text

Gojo x Reader "Consumed by Emperor"

Warnings: [This story contains dark themes, including obsessive behavior, yandere tendencies, manipulation, and violence. There are depictions of physical and emotional abuse, and elements of power imbalance.]

Yep, guess this is turning into a yandere series

Materialist

In the blood-soaked arena of Ancient Rome, where violence is the highest form of entertainment, a woman trapped in the vicious cycle of gladiatorial combat must face not only the brutal fight of her brother but the terrifying interest of the Emperor himself, Gojo Satoru, who sees in her something far more intriguing than the battlefield.

Ancient Rome a civilization where violence was the highest form of entertainment, and bloodshed in the arena was nothing but a spectacle for the masses. The Colosseum roared with life, a deafening mixture of jeers, laughter, and thunderous applause.

Among the sea of cheering spectators stood a lone woman, her fists clenched tightly against her sides. Y/N, a woman who loathed the brutality of these fights, yet found herself trapped within their cruel grip.

She had no choice.

Because the man in that pit, the so-called "punching bag" gladiator, was her older brother—Fushiguro Megumi.

"Megumi, you promised! You promised that you'd stop! That was supposed to be your last fight!" Y/N’s voice cracked as she grabbed his wrist earlier that day, desperation clear in her eyes.

Megumi scoffed, shaking off her grip. "Quit it, Y/N. This is my dignity and pride we're talking about."

But what was dignity when it was at the cost of his life?

And now, here she stood, watching yet another fight where people cheered for his defeat, waiting for her world to be shattered yet again.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the Colosseum, making Y/N’s stomach churn.

“Are you ready for yet another brawl?”

A deafening roar of excitement surged through the stands, making Y/N grip the edge of her cloak. She hated this. She hated them. She hated this place.

“Fushiguro Megumi the all time punching bag returns!”

The crowd erupted into laughter. Y/N felt her blood boil, her nails digging into her palms so hard that she almost drew blood.

But the next words that left the announcer’s mouth?

They sent ice through her veins.

“However—there’s a twist! Since someone of immense power has decided to grace us with his presence… What an honor for such a punching bag to fight against our one and only Emperor Gojo Satoru!"

A collective gasp rang through the Colosseum before the crowd exploded in cheers.

Women squealed, men chanted his name, and a heavy air of admiration thickened the arena. Y/N could hear the people around her gossiping, their voices buzzing in excitement.

"The Emperor himself? Is this a joke?" "Why would someone as powerful as him waste his time on that pathetic gladiator?" "Well, it’ll be fun to see him crush that loser in an instant!"

Y/N shut her eyes tight, forcing herself to drown out the noise. She already knew who Gojo was a ruler as untouchable as the gods themselves, a man who basked in absolute power, a man whose icy blue eyes had never once flickered with mercy.

She had seen him before, countless times, but he never mattered enough for her to care.

Until now.

The arena fell dead silent as two figures entered the pit.

Megumi stood tall, his muscles scarred from countless battles, his breath steady. He had been preparing for this moment his entire life, but even he knew this was different.

Across from him, Gojo Satoru stood with an air of effortless arrogance, his golden laurel crown glimmering under the Roman sun. Unlike the usual battle-worn gladiators, he wore pristine, snow-white robes, a stark contrast to the blood-stained sands beneath his feet.

He didn’t even bother drawing a weapon.

"This is disappointing," Gojo hummed, rolling his shoulders lazily. "You’re the one they keep throwing in here? What, are you Rome’s favorite plaything?"

Megumi’s jaw clenched.

Gojo grinned, his piercing blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he took a slow step forward.

"I expected at least a little challenge, but look at you so serious. So angry. Hah, is it because your little sister is watching?"

Megumi lunged without hesitation, his gladius slashing toward the Emperor’s throat.

But in the blink of an eye—Gojo was gone.

The next second, Megumi found himself on his knees, a crushing force pressing down on his body. His breath hitched as he looked up—Gojo stood above him, completely untouched, a smug smile dancing on his lips.

"You’re slow," Gojo sighed dramatically. "And here I thought you’d be fun."

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Y/N’s nails dug into her palms so hard she could feel blood seeping from her skin. She wanted to look she wanted to see what was happening but she knew if she opened her eyes, she would break.

Gojo’s voice was mocking, playful, yet dripping with something much darker beneath the surface.

"Tell me, Megumi, does it feel bad knowing she’s listening?" His voice lowered, only for Megumi to hear. "Knowing she’s hearing every little insult, every little laugh, every little whimper you make?"

Megumi growled, trying to push himself up, but Gojo’s boot pressed against his back, forcing him down.

"She must hate this."

A slow, taunting chuckle escaped Gojo’s lips as he leaned in closer, whispering just loud enough for Y/N to hear.

"Or maybe… she’s just too scared to open her eyes."

The laughter of the crowd roared in her ears. Y/N’s entire body trembled, her chest tightening with rage, with helplessness, with hatred.

And for the first time—Gojo turned his gaze directly toward her.

Even though her eyes were shut, even though she refused to look—she felt it.

A slow, creeping sensation of being watched.

A chilling amusement, a predator’s interest.

And worse?

The suffocating feeling that this man this untouchable, all-powerful ruler had just found something new to entertain himself with.

Her.

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