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munson-blurbs · 1 month ago

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Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You never meant for Eddie to know that you had a crush on him. What happened when he found out, courtesy of Mike Wheeler's big mouth?

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), angst to fluff to smut and then back to fluff?? I don't even know, idiots in love, p in v, semi-public sex (we get it on in the van, baby)

Part of @cherrycolored-punk's Softember event!

Divider credit to @saradika

Friday, May 16, 1986: the day you determined that Mike Wheeler was the worst.

You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, it couldn’t be easy growing up in Nancy’s perfect shadow. Just the time you spent working with her on the school newspaper was exhausting.

That was where you were currently sprinting from, weaving through the empty hallways towards the drama room. Leave it to Nancy to schedule an emergency newspaper meeting on a Friday afternoon.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You kept your head down as you breezed into the Hellfire meeting. Even without looking, you could feel the guys glaring at you. The only thing less forgivable than missing a campaign was interrupting one.

Gareth let out a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nice of you to join us, Lady Atwood.” He shifted forward in his seat. “You’re in luck today—our fearless Dungeon Master has yet to grace us with his presence.”

You wrinkled your nose, only then noticing that Eddie’s throne remained empty. “Where is he?”

From his spot at the table, Mike Wheeler scoffed. “Surprised you don’t know, considering you’re basically in love with him.”

You were about to refute his statement, or at least give him a well-deserved middle finger, when you heard a clattering behind you.

Like metal hitting the floor tiles.

No. No, no no no…

“S-Sorry.” Eddie stammered. He quickly scooped up the tin lunch box that doubled as a place to stash his weed. “I had a last-minute deal. Apparently there’s a party at McKinney’s house tonight and he needed some, uh, provisions. So, uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting around the room and looking at everyone except for you. “We can get started.”

There might as well have been a spotlight beaming down, accentuating the embarrassment written all over your face. Everyone in Hellfire knew about your crush on Eddie, but they had the decency to keep it a secret.

Everyone except for Mike Wheeler, apparently. God, you wanted to squish that little shit like a bug beneath your shoe.

It certainly didn’t help that Eddie kept glancing at you, even when he addressed the group. Like he was waiting for you to say something about Mike’s comment. Waiting for you to refute it, to roll your eyes and whip out a snappy comeback. Maybe he was even hoping you would.

He was probably internally cringing just thinking about you having romantic feelings for him.

“Lady Atwood?”

Your gaze instinctively snapped over to Eddie when he said your name. He was looking at you, brown eyes wide with anticipation of your response.

Warmth crept up your neck. He had heard what Mike said about you being in love with him–he had to have. He’d just had the good grace to brush over it because…

Because he didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to cause you any further humiliation.

“Y-Yeah?” You choked on the word, trying to put the incident behind you. But you couldn’t, because the pain of unrequited feelings kept yanking on your heart, drawing tears that you desperately wished would evaporate.

“Gareth the Great has proposed battling the demogorgon.” There was a hint of a smirk on Eddie’s lips. It was your first clue that the move would prove entertaining, perhaps at your character’s demise. “We’re waiting for your input.”

Nodding, you chewed the inside of your cheek and studied the board. Okay, it looked like winning the battle was feasible, though a bit risky. The rest of the club watched as you contemplated; Gareth especially was practically vibrating with anticipation.

Then the ceiling started leaking. Soft drops with no particular rhythm, landing on your cheeks. Just your luck–first Mike’s big mouth spilled your secret, then whatever nastiness was living in Hawkins High School’s pipes was now seeping into your skin.

“Holy shit, is she crying?”

Dustin Henderson’s voice broke into your thoughts. His tone, for possibly the first time since you’d met him, held only concern with a note of snark.

Who was crying? You were the only girl in the club now that Ronnie had graduated, save for the times Erica Sinclair served as a substitute. Which meant…

“Way to go, asshole.” Lucas thwacked Mike across the chest.

“I didn’t know he was there!”

The purple fabric of your shirt darkened beneath your arms as another disconcerting flash of heat hit you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Maybe you’d get lucky and the floor would open beneath you and swallow you up.

“I need to get some air.” Whether you spoke the words aloud or said them silently to yourself, you weren’t sure.

Your feet seemed to carry you out of the room and through the school’s front doors. Tears blurred your vision, and you swiped them away before any other lingering students could see.

The air was warm, teasing of the approaching summer. God, summer—you always spent it with Eddie, lounging by the public pool or sitting down at Lovers Lake. You’d read a book while he pored over his Hellfire notebook, scribbling notes for future campaign ideas.

Would he still want to do that, to spend those long days with you, now that he knew about your pathetic crush?

It wasn’t until you reached the parking lot that you remembered: Eddie drove you to school that morning. If you started walking now, you’d definitely get home before dark. Or maybe you could call your parents from the payphone if you managed to scrounge up the change—

The sound of your name stopped you in your tracks. You should’ve kept walking the moment you saw Eddie, his frizzy curls bouncing as he jogged over to you.

“Hey.” His hand brushed yours, though you pulled away before he could grab ahold of it. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

He sighed. “Okay, let me rephrase that: Why did you leave? Because of what Wheeler said?” Eddie let out a small, disbelieving laugh when you nodded. “He’s such a little shit. Always messing with me. I’m gonna kick his sorry ass one of these days.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Messing with Eddie? “What are you talking about?”

“That joke about you being in love with me. He obviously saw me in the doorway and said it to embarrass me.” A blush crept onto Eddie’s cheeks. “Y’know, ‘cause…”

But you didn’t know. You had no idea what he meant. And as much as Mike was a menace, he seemed sincere when he said he didn’t realize that Eddie was there.

“Because why?”

“Because,” Eddie’s gaze shifted to his van’s tires before he finally looked at you again. “Because he knows I have this dumb crush on you, and he thinks it’s hilarious to fuck with me about it.”

Words evaded you. This had to be some sort of elaborate set-up. Eddie had a crush on you? When girls like Chrissy Cunningham and Heather Holloway lived in the very same town?

Impossible.

Not privy to the argument playing out inside your head—thank God—Eddie babbled on. “I know it’s weird. That’s why I haven’t told you—well, until right now. And I’m starting to regret it, because you’re looking at me like I have three heads. So maybe I’ll just shut up now.”

“No.” Summoning all of your courage, you took his hand in yours and managed a smile. “Eddie, Mike was teasing me because I like you. More than a friend should like a friend.”

Eddie’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “What if I told you…I don’t want to just be friends?”

You let your eyes meet his. “I-I don’t want to just be friends, either.”

He took a pause before he asked his next question. Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you waited for him to speak.

“And what if I did this?” One palm, callused from years of guitar playing, cupped your cheek. Eddie moved closer, his nose bumping against yours in a clumsy attempt to close the gap between you. “Shit, that–that was supposed to be suave.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Munson.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him back towards you and finishing what he had started.

His lips, soft and tasting vaguely of the cigarettes he’d smoked after school, crashed into yours. One hand snaked around your waist and pressed you against him until you felt his metal belt buckle through your shirt.

You moaned softly, letting his tongue into your mouth without hesitation. More, more, more…you needed more. You needed all of him.

It was Eddie who broke the kiss, much to your chagrin. But what he said next made up for the loss.

“Sorry…I’m trying to be a gentleman. But it’s, uh, getting a little hard.” He chuckled, stealing another quick kiss. “Pun very much intended.”

A quick glance proved that Eddie wasn’t lying: His erection tantalizingly strained against his fly. What you wouldn’t give to feel him inside you…

“Y’know, take you on a date, tell you how pretty you look,” Eddie continued, shifting his stance in a pitiful attempt to quell his desire. “I don’t wanna go at it in the school parking lot like some feral rabbits.” He waved his hand haphazardly.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. A date would be nice; perhaps a night at The Hawk, his arm around you as a movie played on a giant screen. Or maybe he’d take you to dinner—nothing as expensive as Enzo’s, but somewhere more romantic than your usual Benny’s hangout.

A date with Eddie was something you’d only ever dreamed of. But right now, you needed to live out a different fantasy before you combusted from an overload of lust.

“Remember the first campaign you created this year?” Your soft voice held a sultry air despite your nerves. “It was your most sadistic one yet. We were all ready to forfeit, but you took pity on us and gave us a hint.”

Taking a deep breath, you plunged your hand into his front pocket. “Do you remember what you said?”

Eddie shook his head. “I can’t remember my own goddamn name right now, Sweetheart.”

You laughed, your finger hooking around his keyring. “You said that sometimes, it’s better to work backwards.”

With a triumphant grin, you plucked the keys from his pocket.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” His own smile betrayed his exasperated exterior as he grabbed your hand. His van seemed a million miles away, though it was parked in one of the closest spots in the lot.

Eddie yanked open the back door, waiting just long enough for you to get settled before he scrambled in behind you. The moment the door closed, he pulled you on top of him.

You could feel him, feel his hardness, against your core. You rolled your hips instinctively, savoring the friction.

Hands clamped down on your denim-covered thighs. “You gotta…you can’t…” Eddie choked, struggling for words. “We’re already about to do it in my van. I don’t wanna look even more pathetic by coming in my pants.”

Warmth blossomed in your body. You could imagine him sputtering out a stream of swear words as he came, flooding his own boxers with his release.

Maybe another day.

Buttons were undone, flies were unzipped, clothes were discarded into a pile in the corner of the van. It was only you and Eddie, not a single scrap of fabric between you.

Sweat glistened on his chest, matting down the sparse hairs that curled around his nipples. You leaned in, kissing just above the demon head tattoo etched on his pec.

“Baby,” he crooned. The new pet name wasn’t lost on you. Your heart beat faster, a butterfly frantically flapping its wings. “Baby, I need you.”

He did need you, unless he was going to take care of his achingly hard cock by himself. The pink tip leaked with pre-cum, and if you had more room, you would have licked it clean off.

You settled for swiping it away with your thumb, his abdomen tightening at the sudden contact. Eddie nearly passed out on the spot when you sucked on your finger, savoring the salty taste.

“Baby,” he groaned again. “I w-wanted to get you off first, ‘cause I know I’m not gonna last like this.”

“S’okay.” You lined him up with your entrance, ignoring the way your hands shook as you slowly sank down onto him. His hips bucked up almost of their own accord. “F-Fuck, Eddie…”

Eddie looked up at you, brown irises wide. He paused for an extra moment; maybe he really had forgotten his own name. “I know, I know,” he said finally. “God, I fucking know, baby.”

His thumb found your clit the second he composed himself, rubbing delicate circles until your toes curled. His other hand held you with just enough force to keep you stable while still being able to ride him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He let out a breathless laugh. “If I wake up and this was all a dream, I’m gonna be pissed.”

You shared the same thought. What if the Eddie laying before you, curls splayed against the worn carpet of his van, groaning your name–your name–was all a mirage? Another fantasy conjured up by your lovesick brain?

“I’ve never had a dream this good before.”

“Me either,” he admitted, “but the only ones that’ve come close involve you.”

You tightened around him, your hands flush against his chest. The fact that you occupied his thoughts, unconscious or otherwise, sent a wave of arousal rolling through you. You wanted to hear every last detail of those dreams, to know exactly what turned him on.

Maybe later. Right now, your focus stayed on the way he touched you. So intentional, so precise. And Eddie worked you through your orgasm, keeping his same rhythm as you came around him.

“There you go, pretty girl. That’s it,” he murmured. “‘M close. Where do you–where can I–”

“Inside.” You’d never been more grateful to be on the pill.

Eddie let himself go, unleashing a torrent of desire. He thrust into you, chasing his own release now that he knew you’d gotten yours.

It was only when he slowed his pace, milking the last drops of cum from his cock, that reality began to settle in.

You just had sex with your best friend in the back of his van, a few hundred feet away from where your friends were gathered around a DnD board–

“Oh my God, Eddie!” Your eyes snapped open in realization. “Hellfire–they’re still there.”

Eddie pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. You relaxed into his chest. “They’re smart guys when they’re not being idiots.” The words vibrated against your skin. “I’m sure they figured out that we weren’t coming back.”

He sighed, wrapping one arm around you. “Can I take you on that date now, baby? Y’know, once we get dressed.” He smirked. “We can go to Scoops Ahoy and split a sundae. And then, if you want, I’ll take you back to my place and undress you again?”

You scrambled for your clothes almost as quickly as you’d shed them, Eddie following suit. And as much as you wanted to have sex with him again, to really take your time and cherish each second, you were equally excited to cuddle up in a booth and share some ice cream.

Friday, May 16, 1986: the day Mike Wheeler’s lack of filter didn’t completely backfire. Because it was also the day that you and Eddie Munson became boyfriend and girlfriend.

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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fushitoru · 11 days ago

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chapter 7: the rebound a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ after the arrival of your dearest brother, you pursue a new angle to the season, one to prove that you, the diamond, will not be scorned. new opportunities with duke nanami arise and with it jealousy and bitterness fester in the ballroom. (6.8k)

prev. the house party | next. the lake

general masterlist | series masterlist

Once again, dear Reader, this humble Author finds herself vindicated. Country house parties, as ever, remain the fertile soil from which the most delicious scandals bloom. And today’s revelation is no exception.

Yes, indeed, you read it here first: the dashing and ever-elusive Lord Satoru Gojo will not be marrying Miss Itadori, this season’s most celebrated diamond. The murmurs have already begun spreading like wildfire, bringing sighs of relief from hopeful ladies and knowing smirks from their watchful chaperones. The eligible Duke-to-be’s sudden return to certified bachelorhood is, no doubt, a development many find most agreeable.

But what, pray, has caused this sudden turn of events? The dissolution of an arrangement so seemingly perfect? Alas, even this Author—a tireless seeker of truths—has found the particulars elusive. Was it a clash of personalities? A misstep at the ball? Or perhaps, a secret grievance unearthed during those long, candlelit evenings at the country estate?

What this Author can confirm is that the ballroom whispers point to Lord Gojo’s own doing, based upon the countenances and actions of the pair at the ball. Did the ever-charming lord tire of his diamond’s sparkle, or has he found a more alluring treasure elsewhere? The possibilities are endless, and so, it seems, is the intrigue surrounding the pair.

One thing remains certain: while Miss Itadori may have stumbled in this engagement, she remains a diamond among gems—brilliant, resilient, and admired. What paths now await her are anyone’s guess, but if this Author knows anything, it is that diamonds shine brightest under pressure.

As for Lord Gojo, the question lingers: will his rakish reputation survive this latest scandal unscathed? Or has he, at last, met a match too dazzling even for him to outshine? Rest assured, dear Reader, this Author will remain ever-vigilant, pen poised and ready to uncover the truth.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

You could have had a bit more tact when informing Sukuna of the events of the past few days, for the reaction you gained made you realize that you may have made a misstep.

“What?!” Sukuna roared, looking at the three of you with fury. Yuji jumped, while you and Choso grimaced. “He did what?!”

“Now, now, brother,” Choso stood up nervously to pat his younger brother on the shoulder. “It is all good and well, for I have arranged for a better match for our dear sister—”

“A duel!” Sukuna bellowed, standing up from his seat on the couch to stomp his way to the door. “I will challenge that Gojo fellow to a duel—” It was only until Yuji ran and tackled him to the ground that he was waylaid to God knows what he was going to do to Lord Gojo. You and Choso could only watch the scene, too perforce to the strength of bulls that your brothers had to be able to interrupt.

A few scratches and awfully purple looking bruises later, Sukuna and Yuji were seated on the couch once again, thanks to Choso’s plead for nonviolence. It was then that Choso started explaining what had occurred in the season so far. “Mother insisted,” he sighed, shaking his head. “She seemed to have struck a mutual…entente with the Duchess of Gojo. It was only a matter of time before Mother forced her ways. Now that it has not redound in her favor, I have even more rationale to have my…way with Sister’s matches. For God’s sake, Sukuna stop glaring at me Mother left me behind on the first ball—”

Sukuna did not stop glaring; in fact, he chose that moment to take a long slurp of his tea while staring fiercely at him while Choso shifted nervously. After a long bout of silence, he finally offered, “I understand Mother can be very pushy, and that you, Choso, are not fierce enough to withstand her.” Choso did not even protest, just offered a deadpan. “But I, however, will not be a feather to a simple blow of the wind that Mother is. It is time our dear sister lived up to her reputation, what she has prepared so hard for.” He looks upon you with a soft gaze—that is, a soft gaze for Sukuna. “No matter how tactless Gojo’s estrangement was, Sister will recover, so long as her morale has not lessened. Sukuna’s head turned sharply to you, “It has not weakened, right Sister? He has not left you heartbroken?”

You could hear your heart as you looked at your brother, dumbfounded. His perceptive gaze disarmed you, but you blurted out a “Of course not” and turned to hastily grab a pastry from the table next to the loveseat you were seated at.. When you looked back at your brother, you jumped as his gaze lingered on you then nonetheless turned to glare at your brother when Yuji opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to irritatedly remark on his denseness.

No matter, you think to yourself. Whatever you feel about Gojo is of no matter. The visit at the manor was only a delay and a small obstacle for your season. It was time to attend to the matter at hand: finding a husband.

The dewy grass kissed the hem of your nightgown as you wandered to the old swing set on the far edge of the manor grounds—a relic of your childhood, weathered but enduring. The creak of the chains was a sound that had long since embedded itself in your memory, a reminder of simpler days when duty had yet to tighten its grip.

You had not been able to sleep.

The house was still, the hush of midnight settling over its grand halls and sprawling grounds. Yet sleep evaded you, your thoughts as restless as the autumn breeze that stirred the curtains of your chamber. In the quiet, the weight of your obligations pressed heavily upon you, a familiar but unwelcome companion. Deciding that solitude under the stars might grant clarity where the confines of your room could not, you slipped on a shawl and had ventured outside.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the quiet, low and teasing. He was seated on a swing with his big frame illustrating a comical sight on the small seat. His silhouette was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of his cigarillo, and the faint ember cast fleeting shadows across his sharp features, making his smirk all the more pronounced.

The unexpected sight of him startled you for a moment, though you quickly masked your surprise. You drew your shawl tighter around your shoulders, the chill of the night settling into your skin, and stepped closer. “And here I thought I was the only one who sought refuge in our old playground at such an hour,” you replied lightly, though your voice carried the faint weight of sleeplessness. “What brings you here?”

He took a long, deliberate drag from the cigarillo before discarding it into the damp grass, the embers hissing softly as they extinguished. Straightening, he gestured to the empty swing beside him. “Thinking,” he said simply. “And you? Or do I even need to ask?”

You hesitated for only a moment before lowering yourself onto the swing, your fingers grazing the cold chains as you pushed back slightly. The seat creaked beneath your weight, swaying gently with your movements. The motion stirred a familiar ache of nostalgia—a reminder of days when life felt less complicated. “What else could it be but the endless circus of expectations Mother has so kindly bestowed upon me?”

The bitterness in your tone was impossible to conceal, and Sukuna chuckled darkly. He reached up to push a hand through his disheveled hair, his movements purposeful, almost theatrical. “Ah, yes,” he said mockingly. “The marriage parade. The grand auctioning of one’s life for the sake of the family name. What a fine role you’ve been cast in, dear sister. I don’t envy you.”

You gave a dry laugh, your voice quiet yet tinged with resolve. “Unfortunately, dear brother,” you began, staring into the star-dappled sky, “it is my duty to be wed.”

Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brow furrowing. “It is not your duty, least of all when it robs you of your freedom.”

A protest began to form on his lips, but you held up a hand, your expression soft yet resolute. “Let me finish,” you said, your tone firm but affectionate. Taking a deep breath, you continued, “If I were to grow old into a spinster, there would be no one to take care of me. You and Yuji would inherit our lands and manors, and Choso is the viscount; there would be no space for me except with some of our aunts.”

At the mention of your aunts, both of you shuddered involuntarily. The thought of their overbearing presence, their sharp tongues and endless criticisms, was enough to unite even the most quarrelsome of siblings.

“You cannot take care of me forever,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the ground. The swing swayed faintly as you spoke, the motion as restless as your thoughts. “One day, you—or any of our brothers—might choose to start a family with someone you love. It would be intrusive of me to remain dependent on you all.”

Sukuna scoffed, his voice rising slightly with indignation. “You know better than anyone that I aim to travel the world. I cannot be chained to a family or a manor—not now, not ever.”

You turned to him, your eyes softening as you regarded his familiar fire, the same defiance that had always set him apart from the others. “Sukuna,” you said gently, your voice tinged with fondness, “you may do as you please, and I would never wish to impede you. But I cannot rely on you indefinitely. You deserve to live freely, to make your own choices without the burden of my future weighing on your conscience.”

Once again, silence enveloped you both, broken only by the faint creak of the swings and the rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, Sukuna eventually broke the quiet with a heavy sigh. “Then we must make sure to do well and find you a husband on your terms.”

You turned to him, brow arched in curiosity. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk, “that you must stop playing the part Mother has assigned you. Demure and meek may be what she wants, but it’s hardly the truth of you. Besides,” he added, leaning closer as if to share a conspiracy, “do you think the kind of husband you’d want would fall for such a facade?”

His words caught you off guard, and you frowned slightly. “Are you implying I’m to frighten potential suitors away?”

“Not frighten,” Sukuna corrected, his tone amused. “But consider this: if a man is drawn to meekness, might that not suggest he wishes to dominate or control? Would you truly wish to tether yourself to such a person? Or would you rather find someone who can appreciate your independence, who will meet you as an equal?”

His reasoning gave you pause. The image of a husband who might respect your will, who might value the sharpness of your mind and the strength of your character, was tempting—if not entirely what you needed. “And how, pray tell, do you suggest I go about finding such a man?”

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Start by being yourself, unapologetically. Let them see the wit, the fire, the resolve that I know so well. Let them see you, and if they can’t handle it, then they aren’t worth your time.”

You smiled faintly, your heart lighter from his words. After all, this scheming was due on your part; you were only grateful this shift occurred with Sukuna as your humble advisor. “It’s a daring plan, brother. Let us hope it does not lead to my complete social ruin.”

Sukuna laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “If it does, then you shall travel the world with me. Who needs societal approval when there’s an entire world to explore?”

For a moment, the weight of your burdens felt a little easier to bear. Under the vast, starlit sky, you allowed yourself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a future where duty and happiness could coexist.

Despite the peace conversing with Sukuna had granted you, sleep evaded you still, leaving you to roll onto your side, the cool fabric of the pillow offering no solace. Your thoughts had been louder than ever these past weeks, and one name in particular echoed through your mind like a stubborn refrain: Gojo.

His face came unbidden, as vivid as if he were standing at the foot of your bed. That insufferable smirk, the casual way he tilted his head as if always in on some grand secret. He saw through you—that much was undeniable, no matter how much you abhorred it. It wasn’t just the way his piercing gaze seemed to cut through your defenses, stripping away the layers of pleasantries and propriety until you were left exposed. It was his words, too—sharp, direct, and unyielding. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t content to let you be the demure and dutiful daughter your mother had so painstakingly sculpted.

You turned onto your back, staring up at the shadowed canopy above, the weight of his judgment pressing against your chest. “He wouldn’t want to marry me either,” you thought bitterly, biting your lip to suppress a laugh that was more self-deprecating than amused. Why would he? I am only but a pathological people-pleaser—a woman who smiles and nods and folds herself into whatever shape is required of her. It was a role you had perfected, a mask you wore so often that you sometimes forgot it wasn’t your face. And yet, he saw through it.

That was the part that unsettled you most—not his arrogance, not his sharp tongue, but his ability to cut through your defenses as though they were paper. He saw you, in all your contradictions and uncertainties, and somehow, you suspected that he pitied you for them. Or worse, respected you less for it.

Your stomach twisted at the thought, and you turned onto your other side, burying your face into the pillow. No wonder I’m still unmarried. The thought came unbidden, sharp and cruel. What man would want a wife who couldn’t even decide who she wanted to be?

But that wasn’t fair—not entirely. You had a plan, didn’t you? A bold, liberating plan that would take you far from the shadow of your mother’s expectations. You could already picture her face when you told her—calm, composed, and quietly furious, as though your refusal to obey were a personal affront. The thought brought the faintest flicker of satisfaction, but it was fleeting.

The plan wasn’t perfect, nor was it foolproof. It hinged on one pivotal point: finding a husband who could be an equal partner rather than a master. A man who could grant you the freedom to forge your own path in peace, without the constant weight of disapproval bearing down on you.

Your thoughts wandered to Duke Nanami. Equal in power to Gojo, fair-minded, and kind—a man with no appetite for games or artifice. If you manage to secure a match with him, the ton would not view your…blunder with Gojo with such amusement. Insofar your interactions this season, he had always treated you with quiet respect, never pressing you into conversations you didn’t wish to have or cornering you with expectations. He would be a good man to marry, you thought. A safe choice.

And yet, even as you considered him, Gojo’s face intruded once more, unwelcome and unavoidable. Duke Nanami was everything Gojo wasn’t—measured, steady, predictable. But it was Gojo who set your mind alight, who made you question things you had long accepted as unchangeable truths. He irritated you, challenged you, unnerved you in a way no one else did.

You sighed, turning again, the sheets tangling around your legs like restraints. The very fact that Gojo occupied your thoughts at all was infuriating. He had no place there, no right to linger in the quiet moments when you were supposed to find peace. And yet, here he was, as persistent in your mind as he was in person.

The plan. You needed to focus on the plan. Liberating yourself from your mother’s expectations wasn’t about Gojo or Duke Nanami or anyone else. It was about reclaiming yourself, about becoming a woman who didn’t need to twist herself into shapes for anyone—not your mother, not a potential husband, and certainly not Gojo.

And it would start at your wardrobe.

You give the most polite smile you can muster, but you do not need the mirror in front of you to know that your countenance is strained, the edges of your smile not reaching your eyes. “Lower it even further.”

A beat passes in the room as the modiste, your mother, and Sukuna stare at you in incredulity. The bustline to your dress is low. Of course, it is not yet teetering on the edge of what is socially acceptable, and that is the position you want it to be. Hence, you gesture to Sukuna, prompting him to regain his senses and snap his head towards Momo. “Please attend to my sister’s request.”

You could smell what you mother was about to say, even if she had not yet done so. “My dear,” she began, “I hardly think that’s appro–” Sukuna’s glares reorients itself now to focus on your mother, and she purses her lips with what appears to be arduous effort, knowing a quarrel with Sukuna would escalate quite quickly, both immediate and unwise.

Madame Momo, for the better, offers no protest as she lowers the deep, wine red fabric she was upholding against your body. If you were not wearing your regular clothes, you would know that quite a bit of the swell of your breasts would be framed by the dress. However, it wasn’t enough. “A bit lower.”

The modiste lets out a small sigh, her needle poised mid-air as she hesitates. “My lady, to lower it further would risk—” she pauses delicately, “—compromising the structural integrity of the gown.”

“I appreciate your insight, Madame, and know that you are quite skilled at your craft,” you flash her a semi-apologetic smile. After all, she is the one that has to attend to your…rebranding crisis and revamp a majority of your wardrobe. “However, I am afraid that I’d like to do something new this season. Something eye-catching.”

A faint chuckle escapes her lips, no doubt spurred on by the flattery. With a practiced hand, she adjusts the fabric once more, lowering it to the precise balance of scandalous and sophisticated. She steps back, her critical eye assessing her own handiwork. “Well, it will definitely be eye-catching.”

“Precisely.” You nod in approval, smoothing the line of the fabric with your fingers. “I believe Lady Whistledown,” you add, your voice tinged with knowing confidence, “will ensure that the modiste responsible for the diamond’s striking attire becomes the talk of the season.”

Momo’s lips twitch into a smile, and she dips her head in acknowledgment, already returning to her work with renewed purpose. Sukuna, standing to the side, folds his arms and smirks at the scene, clearly entertained by your audacity.

Your mother, meanwhile, remains silent, though her pursed lips betray her disapproval. Let her simmer, you think, satisfaction curling in your chest. This season is yours to command, and you will not be overlooked.

I cannot do this. I cannot I cannot I cannot I cann—

“Sister!” Sukuna called out. You regained your senses, snapping your head at once to look at him, who was holding out his hand. Swallowing, you grabbed it so he could assist you out of the carriage. What had you in a tizzy was the sheer amount of people. Yet again, you were attending your first party after the events in the countryside but this time without your mother and Yuuji. Not only had the people you were accompanied with changed, but also different attire. A red silk dress fell over your curves gracefully, the draping across your chest a bit lower than usual. It is the dress of your dreams—one that you would have worn if not for your mother and her beliefs regarding your image. Now, your clothing was still socially acceptable but nevertheless daring—exactly the image you wanted to present.

However, it was safe to say that after the events of the house party, venturing out in another—with so much of your chest exposed—had you nervous. Oh God, perhaps this wasn’t the brightest of my ideas— (a/n she’s just a girl :( )

“Presenting Miss Itadori, Mister Itadori, and the Right Honorable The Viscount Itadori!” As you were announced to the room, with your brothers linking arms on either side of you, you smiled—trying not to let the nerves show. At the sound of your name, the buzz of conversation faltered, dozens of heads turning toward you. You felt the weight of their gazes—sharp, judgmental, curious. You were certain half of them were eager to witness the fallout of Whistledown’s latest scandal, while the other half seemed transfixed by the boldness of your attire.

Your eyes flitted over the sea of faces as you moved through the room. There were gasps, poorly veiled whispers, and even a few widened eyes aimed at Sukuna, but what truly set your nerves alight was the attention fixed squarely on you. You resisted the urge to fidget, to adjust the neckline of your gown, to shrink under their scrutiny.

Then, amid the crowd, your gaze locked onto a familiar figure with a piercing stare—Suguru Geto.

He was lounging by the far wall, a glass of wine in hand, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth. An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he shook his head, clearly entertained. Your heart stuttered, the heat rushing to your cheeks making your nerves spike further. Am I being mocked?

Before the thought could consume you, he raised his glass in a mock salute, a gesture of acknowledgment—perhaps even respect. He then nudged the man standing next to him, none other than Duke Nanami.

Your pulse quickened at the sight of the Duke, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to Geto’s casual amusement. The weight of Nanami’s steady, discerning gaze was one you weren’t prepared to meet—not tonight. In the periphery, you caught Geto slipping toward the courtyard, his laughter soft but audible as he disappeared into the night.

You tore your gaze away just in time, focusing straight ahead as you approached the Queen. Your shoulders stiffened, the intricate beading of your gown catching in the light. The murmurs grew fainter, the towering figure of Her Majesty now looming just ahead. With each step, your pulse thundered louder in your ears, but you kept your chin high, determined not to falter.

When you and your brothers reached the foot of the throne, you slipped your arms free from theirs and sank into the deepest curtsy you could manage. "Your Majesty," you murmured, lowering your head to avoid the weight of her gaze. The richness of the room—gold-trimmed drapes, towering portraits, and the hum of whispered conversations—did little to steady your nerves.

"Rise," the Queen commanded, her tone clipped and dismissive, the single word laced with impatience. You obeyed, your movements deliberate and slow, feeling the weight of every eye in the chamber on your shoulders. When you met her gaze, she was already appraising you, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. Her scrutiny was clinical, and when she sighed audibly, it was clear her judgment was far from favorable.

“I have not been…pleased by the recent affairs, diamond,” the Queen began, her voice cold and detached, like a blade gliding through silk. A sniff punctuated her words, and the lump in your throat grew harder to swallow. “I fear this is a failure to the crown.”

The room seemed to tilt, your heartbeat quickening in your chest. The Queen’s disappointment carried a weight that could crush reputations, and yours was teetering precariously on the edge of her approval.

“However,” her tone shifted ever so slightly, and you found yourself snapping to attention, clinging to that single word like a lifeline. “Your recent change in…style is fitting.”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard her correctly. The Queen’s gaze lingered on the daring neckline of your gown, the rich red fabric catching the light in just the right way to emphasize its boldness. “You are not a simple and bland gem, Miss Itadori.” Her words were deliberate, measured, and the faintest hint of approval gleamed in her sharp eyes. “You are a diamond, and you must start to shine like it.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The Queen’s words were praise, yes, but they also carried an implicit warning: a diamond that failed to sparkle was of no use to anyone, least of all the crown.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you said, your voice steady but quiet, and you curtsied again, the fabric of your gown whispering against the marble floor. The Queen’s gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention elsewhere, her dismissal unspoken but clear. As you rose again, Choso placed a reassuring hand on your elbow, a subtle anchor in the sea of your swirling thoughts.

A light, “You all are dismissed.”

The cool night air wrapped around Suguru Geto as he strolled into the courtyard, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path. The faint strains of the ballroom's orchestra followed him, muffled now by the grand walls of the manor. A slow, self-satisfied smile crept across his lips as he glanced up at the stars. The night felt ripe with possibility, though it was the scene he had just left that truly amused him.

He exhaled, letting the crisp air settle over him, before taking another measured step toward the fountain at the courtyard’s center. His fingers grazed the cool stone edge, the chill a welcome change from the warmth of the crowded ballroom. He savored the silence, only for it to be broken by the familiar sound of approaching footsteps.

“Geto,” a voice called out, casual but clipped.

Suguru turned slowly, almost lazily, as though he hadn’t already recognized the speaker. Gojo Satoru emerged from the shadows of the colonnade, his silver hair glowing faintly in the moonlight. He moved with his usual languid ease, though his sharp blue gaze belied his carefree demeanor.

“Well, well,” Suguru greeted, his tone light but edged with something sharp. “You’re out here. Don’t tell me you’ve finally tired of the fawning crowds?”

Gojo came to a stop a few paces away, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the marble columns. “Needed some air. The room’s packed with too many people pretending to like each other.” His gaze flicked to Suguru, scrutinizing. “And you? Slipping out to avoid trouble, or cause it?”

Suguru chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Oh, you wound me, Satoru. Can’t a man enjoy a moment of peace without being accused of scheming?”

“You?” Gojo raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Not a chance. So, what’s your angle this time?”

Suguru let the question hang, savoring the quiet tension between them. He set his glass down on the fountain’s edge, turning to fully face Gojo. His smirk widened as he finally spoke. “No angle. Just admiring the company tonight. Speaking of which…” He paused for dramatic effect, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Miss Itadori made quite the entrance.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t change immediately, but Suguru saw the faint flicker of something—irritation, maybe, or something more carefully hidden. Gojo’s mouth twitched into a scoff, though the sound was faint, almost perfunctory.

“What about her?” Gojo asked, his tone deliberately disinterested, but Suguru noted how his fingers flexed briefly before he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the sky as if considering his next words carefully. “She looked… radiant tonight. Stunning, really. I can’t imagine half the room wasn’t staring. Though, I must say, some seemed more surprised than others.” His eyes darted back to Gojo, watching for a reaction.

Gojo rolled his eyes, though there was a tightness in his jaw that Suguru didn’t miss. “She’s just another debutante. Why would I care what she’s wearing?”

“Why indeed?” Suguru replied, his voice deceptively mild. He stepped closer, leaning against the fountain with an easy grace. “But it does make one wonder—what kind of man would care? Surely someone with a sharp eye for detail. Someone with… let’s say, a bustful interest.”

Gojo stiffened slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Suguru tilted his head, studying Gojo with an intensity that bordered on playful. “Because I could swear you seemed a little distracted back there. And not by the Queen, mind you. Why did you leave as soon as the Itadoris were announced?”

“Drop it, Geto.” Gojo’s voice was sharper now, but there was an edge of unease beneath the command.

Suguru’s smirk deepened as he tried to fight the urge to snicker at his friend, but he let the moment linger, letting Gojo stew in his discomfort. He picked up his wine glass again, swirling the liquid idly before taking another slow sip. Finally, he straightened, his tone turning lighter, though no less pointed.

“Well, whatever it is—or isn’t—you’d better sort it out soon.” He started to walk past Gojo, his footsteps deliberately slow. Just as he passed, he paused, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in danger of losing your famously cool head.”

Gojo didn’t respond immediately, but Suguru didn’t need him to. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw—those were all the confirmation he needed for his plan.

Suguru chuckled softly, a sound more amused than mocking, and continued on his way, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the night, Satoru. Something tells me it’s going to be… illuminating.”

Left alone, Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he glared at the retreating figure. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked fervor. Still, Suguru’s words lingered, circling his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He turned his gaze back toward the ballroom, his thoughts uncomfortably crowded with images of a certain young lady and the maddening smirk of a man who always seemed to know too much.

It appears that you and Duke Nanami have much in common, for you are able to hold a most pleasant conversation with him.

The din of the ballroom fades to a dull murmur as you stand near the refreshment table, your gaze politely fixed on the Duke. His presence is commanding yet unassuming—a rare quality that draws you in. Dressed in a deep navy coat that matches the intensity of his solemn eyes, he inclines his head slightly as he speaks, the weight of his words tempered by the gentleness in his tone.

The arrangement is perfect. You have successfully caught your target, much to the chagrin of ladies. After all, it was not all days that Duke Nanami took interest in a lady. You would have to credit Choso; he had researched that HIs Grace did not like overbearing mamas accompanying their girls—a most rational opinion. Posing fiery opinions without the presence of anyone except yourself, it seemed that you had hit the mark.

“I find, Miss Itadori,” he says, his voice smooth yet deliberate, “that many in our circles underestimate the joy of simple pursuits. They mistake extravagance for fulfillment.” He takes a measured sip from his glass, his gloved fingers resting lightly on its stem.

You nod, a genuine smile forming on your lips. “I could not agree more, Your Grace. There is a certain comfort in the unadorned pleasures of life. A good book, a quiet morning—these seem to me the most worthwhile indulgences.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in what might pass as a rare smile. “Indeed. Though I daresay, quiet mornings are hard to come by when the season is in full swing.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost swallowed by the music that swells across the room. “Quite so. I suppose we are all too busy chasing the next waltz or whispering about the latest Whistledown missive.”

At the mention of Whistledown, the Duke raises a brow, his expression a mixture of amusement and intrigue. “Ah, yes. Our ever-watchful chronicler. One wonders if she, too, finds time for quiet mornings.”

“I imagine she must,” you reply. “After all, how else would she craft such keen observations? A mind as sharp as hers surely requires moments of reflection.”

“Reflection, yes,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting briefly to the chandelier above, as if lost in thought. Then, returning his attention to you, he asks, “And what of you, Miss Itadori? Amidst the bustle, do you find moments to reflect?”

The question catches you off guard—not because it is intrusive, but because it is sincere. Few have ever asked you such things. You hesitate, then answer truthfully. “I try, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the season has left little room for it. It seems my every step is watched, my every word weighed. I sometimes wonder if I have forgotten how to simply be.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, you feel as though he truly sees you—not as the diamond of the season, not as the subject of idle gossip, but as a person. “That is a heavy burden to bear,” he says quietly. “Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself a reprieve. Even diamonds require care, lest they lose their brilliance.”

The words settle over you like a balm, and you find yourself holding his gaze longer than propriety might dictate. There is no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. It is both comforting and disarming. Before you can respond, a burst of laughter from a nearby group breaks the spell. You glance away, suddenly aware of your surroundings once more. “You are kind to say so, Your Grace,” you murmur, your voice steadier than you feel.

“I merely speak the truth, Miss Itadori,” he replies, bowing his head slightly.

A pause lingers between you, not uncomfortable but weighty with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he clears his throat, his tone lighter as he says, “Would you care to take a turn about the room? I find the air here grows rather stifling.”

You smile, grateful for the excuse to move. “I would like that very much.”

As he offers his arm, you place your hand lightly upon it, allowing him to guide you into the throng. The music swells once more, and though the room is as noisy and crowded as ever, the world feels a little quieter with Duke Nanami by your side. You can see it—early mornings with Nanami, enjoying gentle banter as he returned your thoughts without any ire, without snark or judgment. Quiet respect and gentle affection filling your days. A life free of chaos, where your worries dissipate into the steady calm of his demeanor. Perhaps this could be happiness. A steady, uncomplicated happiness.

But then you see him.

You abhor your traitorous heart for lurching ever so slightly at the sight of Gojo. He is standing near the edge of the ballroom, the golden light catching on his shock of silver hair as though it had been crafted to draw attention. His smile—always so bright, so effortless—makes the lady beside him laugh. She looks at him with a sultry, yet detached and amused expression, her fan flicking lazily as if to dismiss her own growing interest.

Your chest tightens. You know this scene well. It is one you have observed too many times, and yet you have never been able to steel yourself against the sting it brings. The way he leans ever so slightly toward the lady, as though she were the only person in the room. The way his laughter echoes, a sound full of mirth and mischief, as if he had no weight upon his shoulders.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You tell yourself he doesn’t matter.

But then, as though he feels the weight of your gaze, Gojo turns his head. Your pulse quickens as his eyes widen, the usual lazy charm momentarily replaced by something sharper, something you can’t quite place.

First, his gaze lands on your face, his eyes sweeping over it with a quickness that feels like a jolt to your chest. Then, they drop lower, and you feel the heat of his scrutiny settle uncomfortably on your chest. A flicker of something crosses his expression—shock, perhaps, or something else entirely—but before you can decipher it, his gaze moves again, lower still, to where your hand rests upon the Duke’s arm.

It is subtle, the way his jaw tightens. The way his smile falters, only to return a moment later, forced and brittle. He shifts his weight, turning back toward the lady at his side, but not before you catch the way his fingers twitch at his side.

You force yourself to look away, to focus instead on Duke Nanami’s steady presence beside you. He has not noticed the exchange—or if he has, he is far too polite to show it.

And yet, the moment lingers. Gojo’s image burns in your mind like the fading glow of a candle, stubbornly refusing to extinguish. You loathe the way your heart betrays you, its treacherous rhythm quickened not by the Duke’s calm assurance, but by the mere sight of a man who has always been more trouble than he’s worth.

Nanami’s voice cuts through your tumultuous thoughts, soft and grounding. “You seem distracted, Miss Itadori,” he remarks, his gaze kind but curious.

You manage a small smile, tightening your grip on his arm as though it might anchor you. “Not at all, Your Grace. Perhaps just…overwhelmed by the crowd.”

He nods, accepting your answer without pressing further. “Understandable. These gatherings can be rather tiresome.”

“Yes,” you murmur, casting one last glance in Gojo’s direction before forcing your focus back to the Duke. “Tiresome indeed.”

But even as you walk beside Nanami, his presence a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the evening, you cannot help but feel the weight of Gojo’s lingering gaze, the memory of his startled expression etched into your thoughts like a brand. You cannot help but observe the situation. Tonight, you would be ending the night on Duke Nanami’s arm, and Gojo with another woman.

Is this not what you both wanted?

Today, it seems that the usual trio at White’s is only a duo. The blonde and raven head swirl their alcohol in their shimmering glasses while sharing a comfortable silence. That is, until one interrupts.

“How do we know we’re not simply toying with her?” The blonde man’s voice is steady but tinged with unease, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glances toward his companion. “It would not be honorable of me to pursue Miss Itadori under the pretense of riling Gojo, as you seem intent on doing—”

“Kento!” The raven-haired man—Lord Geto—throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and unapologetically amused. He leans forward slightly, propping his elbow on the armrest, as his grin widens. “So confident in your lady-pleasing and romancing abilities, aren’t you?” Nanami’s frown deepens, but Geto merely waves him off, his laughter subsiding to a mischievous chuckle. “No, no—don’t worry. You misunderstand me. This isn’t about Miss Itadori falling for you, though,” he smirks, “I’m sure you’d manage well enough.” His tone is teasing, but his words lack any true malice.

“Then what is it about?” Nanami’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though he remains as composed as ever, swirling his drink in quiet contemplation.

Geto straightens, a glint of something sharper flashing in his dark eyes. “It’s about them. They’re idiots, Kento—idiots in love, the both of them. And it is our duty, as Satoru’s friends,” he pauses, meeting Nanami’s gaze with deliberate emphasis, “to help him realize what he truly desires.”

Nanami snorts, setting his glass down with a muted clink. “You just want to toy with them, to orchestrate the ton and its leading source of gossip.”

The corner of Geto’s mouth quirks upward in a sly smile, one that practically oozes self-satisfaction. “That, my dear friend,” he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, “I cannot deny.”

They lapse into silence once more, the kind that only years of friendship can create, as the firelight flickers and dances on the walls around them. Nanami tips his glass back, savoring the warmth of the whiskey as he contemplates Geto’s words—and the inevitable chaos that would follow in their wake.

prev. the house party | next. the lake

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n HEYYY POOKIES IT'S HERE IT'S HERE WHAT DID WE THINK. also here is the bridgerton!gojo playlist if anyone is interested!!! i apologize it is 99% taylor swift but i will be adding more diverse songs

despite the miss itadori hate in recent times our girl is BOUNCING BACKK #mogged i cant wait for her to become even more of a diva in the next few chapterssss!!!! (not rn shes going through her sad girl era or wtvr)

suguru (left) and nanami (right) at this whole drama

also i hope none of you WHORESSSS simped for geto when we made eye contact with him (im looking at zaynesbathrobe anon and all those anons that are obsessed with bridgerton!geto). stay FOCUSED girls gays and theys

thank you for readinggggg. a hot new bombshell will be entering the villa in the next few chapters can we guess who he is??? hint he has huge tits and smelly balls

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

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@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

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chlorinecake · 3 months ago

Text

﴾ This Is How Much IDGAF — 𝐇.𝐇𝐉 ׅ ㅤ֢ ㅤׄㅤ

▹PAIRING: Possessive Boyfriend Hyunjin x F. Reader

▹ GENRE: ⚠︎ Smut, Model / Idol Au, Angst, Fluff

── 𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈 ܃ While at a prestigious fashion event with your boyfriend, you two made your public debut as a celebrity couple. However, after Hyunjin caught sight of you mingling with a flirtatious stranger, he was determined to remind you who you belonged to before the night was out...

▹ WARNINGS: KINKTOBER SPECIAL, foul language, kissing, jealous!hyunjin lol, degrading kink, face slapping, oral (m. receiving), orgasm denial, spit kink, S&M, some spanking, rough unprotected sex, hair pulling

▹ 𝐖ORD 𝐂OUNT ⨾ 4074 ࿐Day 11

AS HYUNJIN'S GIRLFRIEND, you had always felt comfortable stepping into the limelight that often surrounded him, even when his fame far surpassed yours.

It never bothered you that he was the center of attention at events like these, and in fact, you genuinely preferred blending into the crowd at times...

It’s actually how you first met each other.

You were relatively new in the modeling world, and Hyunjin was an A-lister. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes when he approached you, asking for your name and if you knew where the drink bar was.

Since then, you two are both a happy couple now, and with that, Hyunjin wanted to make tonight special for you; he planned to publicly announce your relationship and the idea of stepping out as a couple made your palms sweat with anticipation.

Hyunjin stood in front of the mirror while adjusting his necktie; it was something he did all the time on his own, but today, the task was proving to be much more difficult than usual.

You were busy retouching your makeup when you caught on to his little sighs of frustration, and immediately, putting your makeup brush down, you replaced his anxious fingers with your own, adjusting the tie flaps for him with meticulous precision.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin said with a soft smile, but you could tell it was a forced one given the tension in his eyebrows.

“You��re welcome, baby,” you returned, giving the tie a few more tugs until it was just right, “I’ve never seen you this nervous before…”

He chuckled at your words as you took a step back to check him out, the sleek black suit he wore hugging his figure perfectly with every line accentuating his modelesque figure.

“Me neither,” he replied, in between applying some final touches of his cologne, “I just don’t know what to expect from tonight…”

“Then don’t expect anything at all,” you whispered, gently squeezing his bicep through his suit, “you’re gonna do great, alright?”

His tender gaze flickered from your face and back to the mirror as he took in the reflection of you two standing beside each other, and you looked absolutely stunning together.

Hyunjin could almost see all the adoring headlines and flashing lights in the back of his mind already, making his heart flutter with pride.

“Alright,” he repeated, and much more confidently this time, snagging off his necktie single-handedly as the extra fabric was only making it harder for him to relax and he looked much hotter without it anyway.

Hooking your hand in his, the two of you exchanged a brief kiss, waltzing out of the dressing room and beyond excited to have attended the fashion event.

Stepping out of the sleek limousine, you and Hyunjin soon arrived at the venue, and the atmosphere was electric.

Famous faces mingled in designer attire, and fashion elitists swarmed around the gleaming runway, champagne glasses glad in hand.

Admittedly, the scene was pretentiously grandiose, from the red carpet outside to the elaborate decor inside the atmosphere was made even more dynamic thanks to the electric dance music playing.

It was a bit overwhelming when people started to approach the two of you because as mentioned previously, you both were accredited to your own standard of fame; you had your past and future fashion representatives tugging at your attention while Hyunjin interacted with fellow models from his circle as well.

You both radiated joy, your smiles bright and infectious, as grace and charm seemed to flow from you like a warm glow. With your arms intertwined, you were resolute in your commitment to remain side by side all evening.

And ironically so, as almost every conversation, including the harsh barking from photographers, led to the same, faithful, question: “Are you two together?”

As brief as it was, the question meant the world to you.

The warmth of adoration that surrounded you two tonight was undeniable, and it melted your heart to see how confident he was.

Scanning the room, it seemed like everyone’s eyes were on you two now, so it was like you had no other choice but to split up to take the attention off yourselves.

“I’ll see you in a bit, baby,” Hyunjin whispered while kissing the temple of your head, “don’t go too far, now…”

“I won’t,” you smiled, letting go of his hand before eventually finding yourself by the drink bar, chatting it up with someacquaintances and familiar faces.

You remember running into Momo, who actually worked at the same company as your boyfriend, and she congratulated you on coming public about your relationship.

“That takes a lot of courage to do in this industry, and I couldn’t be happier for you and Hyunjin,” she hummed before eventually walking away, leaving you to yourself again.

After a while, Hyunjin still hadn’t come to find you yet…

That’s when a certain partygoer made his way over to you, a glint of mischief dangling in his eyes as he winked, making your face heat up as you didn’t know how to respond to such behavior.

He had been noticeably eyeing since you and Hyunjin parted ways, and before you knew it, he was already making small talk with you.

“Nice dress,” he began in a voice smoother than the champagne bubbling over in everyone’s glasses. “And is that a Versace necklace? It looks stunning on your complexion.”

He reached out his hand to examine the chain up close now, and you internally shivered at the feeling of his cold fingers grazing your chest.

“Thank you,” you returned shyly, “my boyfriend’s actually an ambassador for Versace… this is a custom-made piece…”

The man gave you a look, one that told you he wasn’t buying the whole ‘boyfriend name drop’ trick at all, so he continued.

“I suppose that makes you a very lucky girl then,” he smirked before finally letting go of your necklace, “is that ring from him, too?”

His confidence was off-putting, but you brushed the annoyance aside, thinking it was harmless banter, “Yeah, it’s a promise ring…”

“Oh, I know what it is,” he chuckled sarcastically while licking his lips, “Though, I can’t say you’re fortunate anymore if Mr. Versace doesn’t even let you touch him—”

“It’s a symbol of our loyalty,” you corrected him as sternly as you could.

And giving him the benefit of the doubt, you assumed that the champagne had something to do with this man’s inappropriate boldness.

“My apologies, darling,” he said more quietly this time, “I didn’t mean to offend you, that’s just my sense of humor…”

“It’s alright, no offense taken,” you replied, not meeting his face now as his sharp features were only magnified under the venue lighting…

The two of you exchanged a few more words before you felt a sharp grip on your arm, one that was masked by a forced smile of pleasantness.

It was Hyunjin, who unbeknownst to you, had watched the entire exchange… his previously tender expression shifted as he caught sight of the guy leaning in too closely, laughing too loudly, and getting too touchy.

You felt a sudden tension in the air; the warmth of the event seemed to drain away now that Hyunjin was by your side again.

“Hey,” Hyunjin started, and the typically playful tone of his voice was replaced by a steely edge. You could see the anger flaring behind his dark eyes, making your stomach flutter at the way his jaw visibly tightened as he spoke, “I think you should leave.”

And with this, the stranger only smirked, perhaps not taking your boyfriend seriously, but that only fueled Hyunjin's possessiveness even more.

“Look man, we were only talking—”

“Well did she tell you she was spoken for?… Huh?” Hyunjin asked, his protective and jealous grip on you growing tighter.

“I mean, she might’ve mentioned it, but with looks like hers, you can’t blame a guy for not caring, right?”

Hyunjin scoffed, and you felt your heartbeat increase with each passing second.

Before you could even process all that was happening, your boyfriend wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him just to make it undeniably clear who you belonged to.

“Come on, babe,” he said with a forced smile, dragging you away from the unwelcome attention, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet…”

Of course, that was a lie, but he only said it because he didn’t want the creepy guy trying to follow you two…

You kind of wished you knew the strange man’s name now, but it wouldn’t make a difference to Hyunjin anyway; he was already pissed at you… pissed that you just stood there and let that guy disrespect your relationship like that, and pissed that you didn’t walk away and just stood there, soaking up all his bullshit…

The rest of the night played out like a dance that lacked harmony; Hyunjin's smile never wavered from his face, just as his grip never wavered from your hand.

A throng of people already began to disperse out and about the main floor, though Hyunjin didn't even bother waiting for everyone to leave.

Walking past the elevator, he steered you towards the stairs, his eyes ridden with determination as he led you to a secluded area in the building.

The space oddly mimicked a kitchen given the steel accents and tile flooring…

You knew what was coming, and a strange mix of dread and exhilaration filled you as Hyunjin’s playful façade vanished completely.

“What the hell was that ____?” Hyunjin hissed without hesitation, voice low but intense as he took off his jacket and tossed it aside, already feeling too hot with his rage.

“I thought you knew better than to entertain guys like that… God, I… I brought you here to support me, ____…. to celebrate us… not so you could run off and flirt with strangers—”

“You know damn well I wasn’t flirting with him, Hyunjin,” you protested through a shaky voice, finally meeting his eyes, “I would never do something like that to you…”

Hyunjin’s expression softened slightly, but the tension remained as bold as ever.

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you allowed it, ____,” Hyunjin returned, and you felt your spirit break all overagain.

“What do you mean I allowed it—what was I supposed to do, Hyunjin?… Scream like a damsel in distress while you were chatting it up with elite designers?” You raised your voice at him, and your use of sarcasm only provoked him further.

Pressing you against the wall, you felt your heart skip a bit at the anger radiating off of him now, and if he wasn’t so handsome, he’d likely look like a raging bull at this moment.

“I don’t want anyone thinking they have a chance with you, ____… I’m not just yelling at you for fun,” he scorned, only to take his free hand and hold your face in place.

You felt so ashamed at this moment, so confused; it was never your intention to encourage the stranger to behave in such a way, and you’d say Hyunjin was getting way too worked up over a simple interaction—

“Get out of your head slut, I’m still talking to you,” Hyunjin went on, keeping your body fused against the wall, “What were you just thinking about, anyways, huh?…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, and it had everything to do with the tears forming in your eyes now; Hyunjin had never called you such a thing—

“Oh, so you’re the kind of slut that cries instead of talking now?” He continued to degrade you, “because you sure had a lot to say when that guy had his hands on you…”

You shook your head at his words, not even bothering to hide your tears anymore as a few slid down your face anyway.

“Aww… What is it, dolly… hm? Do I have to touch you to get you to talk for me?” He whispered condescendingly, only to tighten his grip on your face and force a weak whimper out of you…

“H-Hyunjin—“ you stuttered while lifting your arm to remove his painful grip from your face, but he instead found your hand in his own, pinning your wrist to the wall.

“You don’t get to touch me right now,” he slithered impossibly close to your face now, and his voice went straight to your core, lingering there long enough for you to feel yourself pulse slightly.

It was embarrassing, honestly… the fact that you were getting turned on by the cruelty in his words…

Hyunjin looked down for a second, letting out an attractive sigh to exhale some of his nerves.

Your emotions were still spiraling inside you, and despite how the look in his eyes should’ve intimidated you, it only turned you on even more, and in all honesty, he was feeling the same way himself.

The only reason he looked back up so suddenly was because he caught sight of the way you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together for leverage, and he felt himself getting harder by the minute.

“Why’d you just stand there, love?… knowing I’d get upset like this…” Hyunjin whispered, voice hoarse as he looked at you with his piercing gaze, “Unless you wanted to make me mad… is that what happened?”

He honestly had rendered you speechless; you had no clue what he wanted to hear right now, and it didn’t help that your brain kept dozing off, failing to focus on anything but the thought of him fucking you—

“Hyunjin!” You gasped, feeling a wad of his spit decorate your face now.

“That’s how dumb sluts are treated,” he said, and it was clear that his patience had reached its limit on tolerating your bullshit. “And since you don’t have anything to say other than my name, I’ll just have to find a new use for your mouth.”

Letting your wrist free and removing his grip from your face, his hands find your shoulders, shoving you down to the ground knees-first before promptly undoing his pants, and he can feel your weak eyes watching his every move now…

His dick is quick to come out, too, eager and erect as one of his hands finds your scalp, angling your head upward to face him.

“Suck it,” he commands, and your lips hesitantly but surely invite his cock into the warmth of your mouth, and he visibly bites back a groan at the feeling.

Needing something to brace on, your hands find his thighs, but he swats them away, staying firm on his rule that you don’t get to touch him.

Your first instinct was to use your hands to help you take his length, too, but you knew better than to give that a try.

Opening your throat the best you could, you bobbed your head against his shaft at a medium pace, making sure you tightened your lips around the base just how he liked it.

But by now, it was getting much harder for him to seem unfazed as tiny groans of pleasure started to slip past his mouth the more and more you sucked, genuinely enjoying the taste of him.

Hyunjin was embarrassingly close to finishing, cursing under his breath while guiding your head to move a little slower, as you had only been sucking for a few minutes.

That’s when suddenly, he shoved your head down as far as your throat could go before you started gagging.

“Such a pathetic cock whore,” he spat, feeling himself twitch at the sight of foggy eyeliner staining your face now.

Pulling out of your mouth, a dense string of precum kept you together until he told you to stand up for him.

You were completely drunk on lust right now, and that was all without having a single swig of alcohol in your system.

Hyunjin’s hands found your waist, and you were promptly laid on the countertop, back-first.

The metal surface was cold against your skin, making your whole body shiver before your boyfriend eventually grabbed your thighs, roughly angling them so he could have perfect access to your cunt.

Leaning down, he was gracious enough to find your lips in a kiss, even though affection from him was one of the last things he felt you deserved right now.

“So wet already,” he murmured against your mouth, reaching down a hand to glide his digits over your folds, and you felt your abdomen tighten every time one of his silver rings grazed your sensitive sex, “Did that guy turn you on, or is it just me?”

“Ahh~” You moaned suddenly, and only because he slapped your cunt the moment you tried putting your hands in his hair for leverage.

He knew how much you loved his hair, and just touching him in general; not allowing you to have such access to him was doing exactly what he intended it to do…

“You know I only get this way for you, Hyun,” you whined beneath him, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised you had anything to say at all given your pathetic silence thus far.

However, his stoic expression soon returned as he brushed off your words, determined to teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget.

Hyunjin lined himself up with your eager hole, preventing any other thoughts from crossing your mind as he buried himself deep inside you, stretching your walls out inch by inch.

“Here’s something you can think about the next time another guy flirts with you,” he groaned at the tightness, and you swear a part of your heart crumbled at the fiery look on his face.

After the first few snaps of his hips, Hyunjin had your voice echoing off the walls, thighs trembling at the sides of his waist as he pounded into you at a pace you weren’t expecting so soon.

“That’s it, slut… let everyone hear how I make you mine,” he whispered, leaning back down to leave a trail of sloppy, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, the both of you humming at sensation.

“Fuck~” you cried out with your eyes sealed shut, getting lost in the rhythm of your body rocking up and down against the countertop.

Your tits shook with the movements, and his pelvis never felt so good while grinding against your burning clit.

“You like it rough, don't you, baby?” Your boyfriend grunted, his voice strained with desire and effort.

Your hands went to find his shoulders for balance, but he had them pinned to the countertop in a matter of no time, snickering to himself at the frustration brewing on your features.

“Aww, don’t tell me you thought I’d move on that easily,” he smirked, only to hiss the moment you very intentionally clenched your walls around him.

“Please,” you begged, and you’re not sure what for, but Hyunjin obliged anyway, pounding into you with an increasing force with his balls slapping against your ass with each deep thrust.

The sound of your flesh slapping together filled your ears now, accompanied by shaky pleas and needy moans.

“God,” he panted desperately, releasing your wrists so he grip your thighs again, spreading you wider as he continued to punish your pussy.

Leaning down, Hyunjin’s mouth captured one of your erect nipples through the thin fabric of your dress, sucking and nibbling on it gently to send shocks of pleasure throughout your sweaty body.

“You’re mine, ____… all fucking mine,” he whispered through slurred words, and his voice was so low that you felt it in your knees.

You were getting close to the edge already as your body coiled tighter with each hit of his hips, but from experience, you could Hyunjin was even closer.

His mouth was right below your ear now as you struggled to keep your hands off of him, and with one more faithful attempt, you let your fingers get lost in his scalp, but this time, he didn’t reject your touch.

With gentle eyes, your boyfriend lifted his weight off of you, holding your face in place while finding your lips in yet another passionate kiss.

And was with that alone that your walls shattered around him, clenching and milking his cock as his entire body quivered at the powerful orgasm washing over him.

The metal countertop no longer seemed cold as his warm cum splashed inside you, his muscular body tensing slightly as adorably throaty groans slipped past his swollen lips.

“Hyunjin,” your voice came out quietly and breathy as his hips suddenly stopped moving, and when his dark eyes peered into your weak ones, you knew your misery wasn’t over quite yet.

“Oh, don’t even start,” he began, slipping out of your cunt with a foul wet sound, and your core almost cried at the sudden emptiness, “You’re lucky you even got that much…”

As badly as your inner being wanted to curse him out for chasing his orgasm only to deny you of a release, you decided it was best to simply sulk and accept it.

Sliding off the counter, Hyunjin helped you out by wiping the evidence of arousal and intimacy from between your legs before readjusting your clothes for you…

It was an interesting form of déjà vu as you thought back to a few hours prior when you helped him fasten his tie back.

Giving him a playful look, your fingers found the side of your dress as you gently tugged, alluding to the way he tossed his tie away earlier.

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to be bad after everything I just did to you” he chuckled, playfully swatting your hand away. His laughter, although brief, was contagious, and you couldn't help but giggle yourself now as you leaned against his shoulder given the way your legs started to tingle from falling asleep.

The warmth of his body was comforting, and you felt a sense of safety in his presence once he secured a protective hand at your waist.

Hyunjin was sure to grab his jacket in his free hand as well, the fabric draping over your shoulders like a shield against the cool evening air as you both made your way back to the main venue.

The photographers were too busy capturing shots of the models strutting down the runway to notice you two slipping in, and thankfully so since neither of you looked as put together as you did half an hour ago with your hair slightly tousled and his shirt wrinkled from the prior fit of sexual tension.

You and Hyunjin managed to snag some seats in the back that were nestled under the soft, ambient lighting, casting a subtle glow around you.

Slender silhouettes of models glided before your eyes with their outfits appearing as blurs of color and fabric... though,your focus was entirely on the man beside you.

Leaning closer to him, you rested your head on his shoulder, sighing at the comforting scent of his cologne as a shy smirk danced on his lips.

“Are you okay, love?.... I mean... was I maybe too harsh earlier?” A now much calmer Hyunjin inquired through a whisper, voice low and teasing, but there was a hint of genuine concern in his eyes, “You looked like you were on the verge of passing out, honestly...”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at his words, nudging him with your elbow; “I did not! I was just… enjoying the moment,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you.

“Enjoying the moment, huh?” He repeated playfully, raising an eyebrow at your demeanor, “Is that what you call it when you can hardly stand up on your own without even finishing?”

You laughed, the sound light and airy, and it felt good to let go of the tension from before. “Okay, maybe you were a little over the top, I'll admit--”

“Baby, why didn't you tell me?!”

“But,” you went on to continue, dragging out the word to get his attention again, “I still enjoyed every last second of it...”

He fell quiet at your words as yet another shy smile tugged at his lips, revealing his adorable dimples, “Promise?”

“Promise,” you recited, tugging the swell of his bicep even tighter now as both your eyes turned back to the stage, making sure to stay close to each other for the rest of the night.

✎𓂃 Thanks for reading DAY 11's fic entry for my 2024 Kinktober Event !! Once again, I'm a bit late to posting this, but nonetheless, if you're interested, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist here !!

♱ PERM TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy (miss you), @wonbinisbabygurl @watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

♱ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs @mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij @yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess @zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier @idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings @stormy1408 @crownj1min @jay-0n3s @gacktsa @leeknowinggg @d-dilemma @mrsjohnnysuh

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mondaymelon · 3 months ago

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₊⊹ … 99% NOT LOVE ! | kinich x gn!reader

— in which two people notice what two people don't .

— i've gone absolutely batshit over him your honour. im going to now start writing for kinich like a crazed man dying of thirst in the desert. let it be known that streamer!au kinich, enemies to lovers with poacher mc and other ideas are coming up (no im not cheating on xiao shush)

mualani notices it.

"hehe."

and you hear it.

"so! there's a little..." she stares at you with the most serious face you've ever seen on the girl, acting suspiciously unlike herself. gesturing at you with exaggerated hand movements, then pointing toward who knows where, she eyes you. mischievously. "something that's 'going on', yea?"

and at first, you have absolutely no clue what she could be referring to. mualani is a sociable person, after all. her definition of "something" could range anywhere between a particularly cute baby saurian to an out-of-control-bonfire turned wildfire.

with the only eventful thing today being a brief morning surf session with sharky, you just sat there, never having felt more lost.

mualani grabs your shoulders in an iron grip, leaning forward to the point she's almost beginning to seem menacing. you can see the moment where she tries to think over something (which she never does quite successfully) before she straight up shouts:

"ah!! i'll just spell it out for you!! you. and kinich. bestie. spill."

ajaw did more than just "notice" it.

"you..! kIINICH, did you seriously have to-"

"noisy."

"selfish assh- ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD K'UHUL AJAW HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THE DISRESPECT! TIME AND TIME AGAIN, yOU'VE-"

"once again, ajaw. be quiet."

"sure sure, and pretend i didn't see you and that someone do a little smoochy-smooch, huh?! UGH, now you've asked for it- KINICH AND LOVEY DOVEY, SITTIN' IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

ajaw was what you would call a "witness". though, most would use that term in regards to one seeing a crime or heinous event take place — this event was nothing of that nature.

well, as far as kinich was concerned, the matter was simple. you'd ventured all the way to scions of the canopy to give him a gift, (claiming it was for the time he'd helped you after a couple of yumkausarus hadn't enjoyed your fruit offering and instead decided to off you), and he'd refused to accept it. he wasn't one to receive reimbursement for others, and he didn't particularly like talking either — it was a well-known fact, almost law in natlan, that if the malipo ignored your words, all you need do was apologize and continue on.

well, you did exactly the opposite.

"no thanks."

"...sorry?"

"i don't need it."

"haha, so 'malipo' kinich's rumored no-nonsense nature really proved to be true! now come over here so i can give you my fucking gift!"

you were rather adamant about giving it to him. the reason? you'd bought the gift on a whim after seeing it being sold by a passing merchant, advertised as "80% only today if you buy within the next like 4 minutes" and you'd immediately dropped every mora you had. it was the most useless little thing ever, and you didn't want it at this point, but.. the deals. how could you return such an item???

naturally, you handed it off to the man you'd seen for a good two minutes before he flew, or did whatever his thing was, away. the man had remembered furrowing his brows the slightest, listening to ajaw's persistent yellings of "IT'S AN OFFERING TO ME, TAKE IT" and feeling an oncoming headache. "i said i didn't.."

as he turned to walk away, three unfortunate(?) things occured.

a rock under your shoe and a very graceful process of falling to the ground

kinich looking back (his mistake)

a kiss...?

oh, and two extra.

4. ajaw had saw it all. 5. and mualani, who had saw you from a distance and was coming to greet you, was faced with a sight she could not process.

...Now that he thought over it again, was the matter really "simple"? kinich's job was what he considered simple — split 70% to investigation, 10% to final decision, and 10% to execution, well portioned and planned out.

then, this...

"girlie, you've seriously got the wrong idea. i'm telling you, we aren't dating!"

"mmmokay. of course! because not-dating people kiss allll the time!"

you paused for a moment, remembering kinich's even tone, stern gaze, and... ah, a face that deserved a gold medal.

"it's only 99% not love, okay mualani? but if it wasn't..."

"... and it's 99% not love, ajaw."

(a/n) darling im back from jail part 2. daddys home part 2. not funny? ok. HIHIHIHI ive bene really built like a sun dried raisin lately but kinich is the healing holy water that has saved me i will write more for him in the future because i love him a stupid amount its like the first time in a decade I've written for just ONE character and AND AND

I THOUGHT HE WOULDNT OCME HOME BECAUSE I ONLY HAD 68 WISHES OUT OF MY ORIGINAL LIKE 100+ AND RUINED MY CHANCES BECAUSE OF REALLY REALLY WANTING MuALANI (i love her sm) BUT. BUT BRO CAME HOME. ON THE FIRST 10 PULL AND WON THE 50/50 JUST LIKE MUALANI DID (or is it 45/55 now idk) LIVE LAUGH LOVE KINICH !!

[ tags: ] @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @intpessimistic

( dm or comment to be added ! i might miss ur comment so just to be sure, leave a comment on the actual masterlists page on my pinned ^ ^ )

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munsster · 5 months ago

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fixer upper

A/N: IM ACTUALLY SO EMBARASSED TO ADMIT THIS IS BASED ON ‘FIXER UPPER’ FROM FROZEN 💀💀💀 does that mean it counts as a song fic…….. (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: The kids aren’t saying you can change him, per se. They’re only saying that love’s a force that’s powerful and strange. 2.8k words

Warnings: fluff, babygirl steve, cursing, mentions of toxic (?) relationship, hopeless pining, pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting

Steve can barely see through his rose-tinted daydream, but he's sure he recognizes your smile as soon as you enter the food court. And you lead a trail of whiny teenagers right to his register. This is the fourth time this week you've heard about Steve's lusturous hair and dazzling eyes. You have to hand it to them, they're not bad salesmen, just a tad young to elicit ethos. What the hell do they know about love anyway.

That's what happens when you're licensed and free on a Friday afternoon: babysitting duty. Now, in the event that Steve had been the one saddled with the party on his day off, he would've argued that they're not really babies and they should be self-sufficient. Knowing Dustin, however, this argument proves to be false almost every time.

But it wasn't Steve, it was you. Steve doesn't think he's heard you complain about one thing in your life.

Not even your deadbeat boyfriend called Brad. Who, as Dustin and Max and Robin love to remind him, is utterly replaceable and on thin ice every other week. Steve knows better than to get his hopes up after three months of having them crushed, though. He's learned to live with the strong sense of yearning he feels whenever you're within thirty feet of him.

Take now, for example: you're coralling half a dozen brats into a somewhat single-file line without even having to raise your voice. He should think it's impressive, but he's too distracted by your lip gloss and your voice and the way you did your hair today.

"I hope you give discounts to distressed young women," you tease, brows knitting when you look up at him. This is the part where he's supposed to respond with something charming. Sexy and charismatic, maybe.

"Oh, uh," he chuckles, "No, I mean, yeah. Sure"—Oh, but you smile at him and all that pent up charisma flies out the neon-framed sliding doors. They chatter out their orders at lightning speed, and he can barely catch half of what they're saying when you look at him like that. You finally make it to the register and pay half price. And your cone is always on the house, of course.

"Isn't he such a gentleman?" Max says unenthusiastically. Lucas elbows her side before retreating with Dustin.

"He's also a great driver!" Will chirps, shuffling away to one of the booths with Mike and El who giggle the whole way there. You turn back to Steve who stares off at them incredulously.

"You see what I have to deal with?" you say with some degree of affection for the chaos.

"Aw, come on," Steve says, tilting his head with a shrug, "you love it."

"I think they keep forgetting I already have a boyfriend."

Not much of a boyfriend if you ask me, he thinks.

But what he says: "Ah, yes. The elusive Brad."

You roll your eyes and grin at him. You know Steve has a crush on you. Or else the kids and Robin wouldn't be so adamant on marketing him to you. It's sweet, really. And honestly, you don't think Steve's unfit to play boyfriend or anything, but you're also not disloyal.

Your scoop melts down the side of the cone between your fingers. Steve nearly hurls himself across the counter handing you a thick stack of napkins.

"Shit, thanks," you huff, lapping at the stream of sticky ice cream. His stomach churns as his face screws into a sickly smile.

"Yeah. No problem."

"No, really"—you wrap a napkin around the cone, shoving the rest into your pocket—"I don't know what I'd do if I had to pay the entire bill everytime one of them had a craving."

"Really, it's not a problem," he shrugs it off like it doesn't come out of his paycheck. "I like helping out pretty girls when I can."

You giggle and tilt your head. "Steve Harrington, you're my hero."

He's almost embarassed at how fast his face flushes red hot and frantic. He reaches for the back of his neck on impulse, and any attempt he makes at seeming suave is foiled by Robin patting him on the shoulder.

"If you think that's heroic, there was this one time he singlehandedly saved Hawkins with this sick baseball bat with nails—"

He huffs, "Robin—"

"No, seriously! Don't be so modest, Steve, you're selling yourself short!"

"I'm not trying to sell myself at all!" he says, turning her around and guiding her towards the door to the back room.

"Great seeing you!" she hollers over her shoulder just before disappearing behind the swinging door. You wave with a chuckle. Steve tuts, fixing his sailor hat and shaking his head.

"Did you really do all that? Save Hawkins, I mean?" you ask. And you seem genuinely interested which is why it guts him. The one girl who actually gives a shit is coincidentally unavailable.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging, "but only to clear my conscience. It's like penance, or whatever."

You giggle, not sure if he's being truthful or playing it off. He meets your eyes and he's sure his heart stops dead in his chest for a beat. Nobody pulls off mall lighting like you.

The kids come skipping back to the counter, declaring they've all got different wants and needs around the mall for the next few hours.

"Okay, hold on, I promised I'd have you guys back before my date," you say, Steve overseeing the conversation from over your shoulder.

"Well," he interjects, "when's your date?" All the attention shifts to Steve, and he suddenly wishes he could swallow up the words and take them back for good.

"Two hours from now. Across town," you say, looking a little guilty knowing he's about to make the kindest offer of the year.

"I'm off at five, so I can just"—stop talking—"take them home after my shift."

"Steve, really, you don't have to—"

El grins, eyes wide as she whispers in Max's ear.

Steve shakes his head, "Sweetheart, believe me, I want to. Besides, you've already been through enough with the rascals. Go have fun."

You turn to the kids, almost pleading with them to accept Steve's generosity.

"Is that okay with you guys? I don't wanna leave you stranded," you admit.

They nod in agreement, throwing out a couple yes's and sure's. They're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, but you still feel bad dumping them on Steve like this.

Dustin interrupts: "This really just goes to show how Steve is a great candidate for marriage and other domestic relations. He can be odd at times and he might care too much about his hair, but you can tell by his actions that he would be a very reliable husband, a generous life partner, and—"

"And a great friend," you giggle, trying not to let Dustin get too carried away. You have sat through enough of his speeches for one day. "Now, quit trying to set us up!"

Steve rolls his eyes at the boy. "Seriously, at least wait 'til she's single. Then she can reject me for me."

You whip back to face him with a sour look on your face.

"Steven! That's not—that's rude to yourself," you huff, "Say three nice things."

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at you.

"You're pretty, I like your shoes, and you smell nice."

"About you!"

"Ohh," he feigns surprise, "No." But you reach across the counter to whack him on the arm with a shocking amount of force. The kids chuckle from behind you. Steve can't help but smile when you raise your brows proudly. "Fine! I am deserving of love, I am great company, and my hair looks particularly shiny today."

"Good," you nod, "I agree. And I have to go, see ya!"

"With which one?" he says, watching you jog out of the store waving. "Wait! Sweetheart? Agree with which one??"

Steve sighs sharply, hands perched decidedly on his hips as his gaze falls flat on the militia of pre teens staring him down.

"What do you want?" he says.

"You're hopeless," Max says, mouth pressed in a hard line before she wanders off, arm-in-arm with El.

"Yeah, dude. And kinda desperate," Mike shrugs.

"Hey," he grumbles. Who knew such harsh words could come from such little humans. You'd think they'd be harmless at this age. You'd be wrong.

"You're a total virgin," Dustin says, very matter-of-factly.

Steve cocks a brow, honestly trying not to laugh at the severity of Dustin's demeanor when he says it. "I don't even think you know what that means."

Dustin blinks. "Well, I think you haven't had sex in long enough that you qualify as one."

"Shit."

...

Much to Steve’s surprise, it only takes butthead Brad two more weeks to absolutely shatter your heart. No one knows the complete details other than it happened at a frat party and you had to walk back to the dorms alone. But Steve doesn’t need complete details to know he wants to shatter Brad’s jaw with his fist.

But he also vowed to use means other than violence to get his point across. He should be awarded for the amount of restraint it took to see your bloodshot eyes and not speed immediately off towards Asshole University like a Brad-seeking atomic missile.

Of course, he’s thankful you felt comfortable enough to call him. In fact, he was the first one you rang. And he knows this fact because you told him while you were sniffling away tears a week and a half after the break up.

Now, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his beemer, curled into your sweater, and listening to late night soft rock radio while he focuses on the dark highway ahead of him. You hadn’t wanted to do anything else but sit in his car and think. His heart clenches everytime you wipe away a tear with your soggy sleeve.

He pulls off the highway during an ad break, finding a secluded diner surrounded by nothing but trees and gas stations. He pulls into a parking spot near the back of the lot where the overhead lights aren’t blinding, but you aren’t completely in the dark. He leaves the car on so the cold doesn’t seep in, engine still purring softly from under the hood.

“Who needs ‘em,” he says in attempt to lighten the mood. “Being single is way cooler. Take it from me. You get a bed all to yourself and you can fart whenever you want.”

You’re frowning, but you know he means well. You just can’t help the fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh, come here,” he whispers, leaning over the center console and dipping his hands over your shoulder and around your waist. His arms feel so strong and so warm where they envelop you entirely. Steve always was the best hug you ever receieved.

You can’t help but chuckle wetly into his collar after a moment.

“God, he was such an asshole, wasn’t he?”

“Uh, duh! Doesn’t take a genius to…” Steve laughs, pausing and brushing the hair away from your damp cheeks. “I know, sweetheart, and you deserve heaps better. You were always way too cool for that loser.”

You blink up at him in the low light. There’s a kind of twinkle in your eye that makes the tips of his ears hot. This time, you reach for him, weaving your arms beneath his jacket with a deep sigh. Your breathing slows against his neck, and he rubs your back while your arms tighten a little around his waist.

He can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking whenever you look at him with your doe eyes, seemingly sweet and far too inquisitive. He knows you’re probably just looking, maybe thinking of something else. But the hopeless romantic in him rattles his rib cage and shouts you might actually consider him this time.

“Wanna go get shakes? On me,” he whispers. You sniffle, wiping your aching nose on the cuff of your sleeve.

“I can pay for myself,” you tease, popping open the car door when he cuts the engine.

“Nope! Sorry, I don’t let girls pay, remember? Super sexist, I know. Plus the whole pretty privilege thing. Honestly, I should just be paying you at this point,” he says, hooking his arm around your back and feeling yours reach for his shoulder as you march towards the diner.

“I agree, rich boy,” you chuckle, “Reparations are in order for wrongdoings on behalf of your sex.”

He chuckles. He’s absolutely head over heels.

The waitress seats you at a cozy booth in the corner and makes a casual comment about the cute couple, asking how long you two have been together. Steve flounders at the question, flustered and pink in the face.

“Oh, we’re actually… not together,” you say, laughing awkwardly when she pouts and, again, remarks on how cute you’d be together. You order shakes for the both of you before perching your chin in your hand. Steve’s still reeling when the waitress walks away.

“Funny. We can’t even escape the third-degree from complete strangers,” you tease, winking at him from just a few feet away. Jesus, he’d think you were trying to kill him if you didn’t seem so lighthearted and playful.

“Yeah, pretty funny,” he sighs. And he’s probably being so obvious. Or maybe that’s how he is all of the time, so his heart eyes seem subtle. Or it’s obvious all of the time.

The waitress slides the shakes in front of you, and the bright red cherries sink further into the whipped cream.

“You know,” you murmur between sips, “I always thought you were pretty cute.”

He nearly chokes on his mouthful of chocolate malt, clearing his throat and trying not to crumble in on himself.

“Oh. Yeah, I get that a lot,” he huffs, “Mostly from little old ladies, but—Hey!”

You flick him and say, “Really! I know it’s not couth considering… Brad and all, but…”

“You’re being facetious,” Steve accuses.

“No—”

“Sarcastic!”

“Steve—”

“Ironic?”

“Try serious!” you hum, “I’m just saying, you’re very handsome. I was shocked to learn you were single when we first met.”

Steve’s blushing and puffing trying to maintain eye contact.

“What can I say? I’m just,” he huffs, “I’m not really worried about it.”

You tilt your head. “You’re not?”

“Nah. I know the right girl will find me in the end. Even if it takes a while. I don’t mind waiting for the right one.”

You settle back in the padded seat, wincing when it squeals beneath you. It makes you feel a little dejected, but you suppose he’s right. Especially because he seems so confident. So sure. It’s admirable. You want to be that sure of soulmates and love and the future.

“I feel the same way,” you whisper. He finishes off the rest of his glass with a smile.

“Though, it doesn’t exactly help having a bunch of little shitheads telling you to go get laid all the time,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it” you lean in, “Just break up with him, steve is so much nicer. Dump that loser. Steve has a big crush on you.”

“They said that?” Steve’s not dumb, he’s sure you know by now, but he thought it was all conjecture. They will be hearing about this next time they want free ice cream.

“Yeah, that was like their main point. But I know with all the love in my heart they’re all full of shit.”

You shrug, and he chuckles dryly. He can’t decide whether you knowing is for better or for worse.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Steve drives you home. You fall asleep in the car, and he keeps the radio low so as not to wake you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, he doesn’t care about the time or the fact that he lives far. He does, however, care about the way you smile lazily and peck his cheek in thanks.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

He says it but he wants to tell you what he’s feeling. He wants to ask if you’re over Brad. He knows you’re not and that’s okay, but he wants to ask if he can hold your hand to keep it warm. He wants to ask what kind of flowers you like and if it would be okay for him to drop them off on your doorstep tomorrow. He has so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t want to suffocate you.

He doesn’t know that you wouldn’t mind him asking.

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#the babygirlification of steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #x reader #fluff #stranger things x reader #x fem!reader #friends to lovers #stranger things season three #scoops ahoy

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whosscruffylooking · 1 month ago

Text

Militiae Species Amor Est

Militiae species amor est - "Love is a kind of war."

Part II Is Up Now!

This is a story based on an original character, Iris. She has no description in regards to hair, skin color, eye color, etc. It doesn't follow any particular timeline and the events in this story extend longer than the events of the movie. I saw the movie last night and wrote this today in between appointments, so please don't judge if it's slightly messy haha. Please enjoy!

warnings:// some mentions of blood and weapons. time period typical violence.

word count: 6.7k

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The air in the colosseum was thick with noise—cheers, jeers, and the distant clang of swords meeting shields. You sat stiffly in the patrician’s box beside your fiancé, Caius, his hand possessively resting on the arm of your chair. He was absorbed in the spectacle, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement every time the sand turned red. You barely heard him as he leaned close, muttering about the skill of one gladiator. Your attention, however, was elsewhere.

“Hanno,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the crowd, and the colosseum erupted into a frenzy. “The Eagle of the Arena!”

The title was grand, but it wasn’t the name that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the description whispered about him in every corner of Rome: a fighter with unmatched presence, defiance in his eyes, and a grace that reminded you of someone you thought you’d lost forever.

Lucius.

The boy who had once been your entire world.

Your heart raced as the gates creaked open, and Hanno stepped into the sunlight. The sight of him stole your breath. He was older now, broader, his body honed by years of struggle, but there was no mistaking him. His hair, still curling the way you remembered, caught the light, and his eyes—those stormy blue eyes that had once looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered—swept over the crowd.

Lucius.

He moved like the wind, his steps steady, his posture unshaken. The arena seemed to bend to him, the crowd hanging on his every movement. He raised his sword, saluting the emperor, but you knew him too well to miss the flicker of contempt in his gaze. That small defiance confirmed it.

You didn’t realize you were staring until Caius’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“You seem unusually captivated, my dear,” he said, his tone light but edged with suspicion.

You blinked, dragging your gaze away from the arena. “It’s… he’s remarkable,” you managed, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

Caius smirked, his pride swelling as if he were responsible for the spectacle before you. “Hanno is Rome’s finest now. A true warrior.”

Your eyes drifted back to Lucius—Hanno—before you could stop yourself. Memories of your childhood together flooded your mind: running through the gardens of Lucilla’s villa, the way his laughter had filled the air like music, the nights you whispered your dreams to each other under the stars.

He had been everything to you, even though the world told you he couldn’t be. You were a servant, an invisible presence in the household of his mother, Lucilla. But to Lucius, you had been more. He’d promised you, one night under the moon, that he would find a way for you to be together.

That promise had been shattered the day Maximus died. Lucius was sent away, his mother’s grief consuming everything in its path. You were left behind, forced to grow up in silence, betrothed to Caius—a man you didn’t love, who saw you as nothing more than a beautiful possession.

Now, years later, here he was. The boy who had held your hand in secret was now a man commanding the attention of thousands, and yet he was still fighting. Not just for survival, but for something greater. For freedom.

You couldn’t look away.

As the match began, Lucius moved with the precision and grace of someone born to the sword. Every strike, every parry, every step was measured and deliberate. He fought like a man who had nothing to lose and everything to prove.

When the fight ended—his opponent crumpled in the sand, and the crowd screamed his name—Lucius raised his head. For a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and you saw recognition spark there, sharp and immediate.

He knew you.

Your breath caught, your hands gripping the edge of your chair. He didn’t look away, his chest heaving as he stared up at you. The distance between you felt both vast and nonexistent.

“Are you unwell?” Caius’s voice jolted you back to reality, his brows furrowed in irritation.

You forced a smile, your heart pounding. “No. It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was him.

Lucius.

And you would find him again. No matter what it took.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The roar of the crowd surged like a wave, crashing against the walls of the colosseum, but Lucius barely heard it. He stood in the center of the arena, the weight of his sword steady in his hand, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the fight. The sand beneath his feet was stained red, the air thick with heat and blood.

Another victory. Another step toward survival.

He turned to acknowledge the emperor with a sharp salute, but his movements were mechanical. His body obeyed out of habit, but his mind was elsewhere, as it always was after a fight. Somewhere far from Rome, far from the sand and the chains. Somewhere warm and quiet, where he wasn’t a gladiator, wasn’t the Eagle of the Arena.

Then he looked up at the crowd, scanning the patrician’s box with a glance he’d perfected—casual enough not to attract suspicion, sharp enough to note every detail.

And he saw her.

At first, he thought his exhaustion was playing tricks on him. He blinked, his grip tightening on his sword as he stared at the woman seated high above. The sun caught her hair, and though she was dressed in the fine silks of a noblewoman, there was no mistaking her.

It was her.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The world around him blurred—the cheers of the crowd, the stink of the arena, even the pain radiating from his bruised ribs. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the woman in front of him.

She was older now, more poised, her features sharper, but it was still her. The same eyes he used to stare into when they were children, the same curve of her lips that had whispered his name in the dark corners of his mother’s villa. The servant girl who had once been his whole world.

The girl he had loved.

Her eyes widened as they locked on his, a mix of shock and disbelief crossing her face. He wondered if she thought him a ghost, just as he had often imagined her face in dreams, only to wake and find himself alone. But this wasn’t a dream. She was here.

His chest tightened as a thousand memories flooded back. Running barefoot through the gardens together, laughing as they dodged his tutors and stole food from the kitchens. Her small, warm hands brushing his as they sat by the fountain, sharing secrets no one else could know.

And then the promises. He had been so sure, so determined, swearing under a sky full of stars that he would always protect her, always come back for her. But life had taken that choice from him. His father’s death, his mother’s grief—it had torn him from her side and thrown him into a world where love had no place.

Yet here she was, staring at him as though no time had passed at all.

The man beside her shifted in his seat, leaning close to speak to her. Lucius’s jaw clenched as the man’s hand brushed hers, the gesture small but possessive. So, she was engaged. Of course, she was. A woman like her, even a servant, could be bartered into a match that served some Roman noble’s ambitions.

But when she looked at her betrothed, there was no warmth in her eyes. None of the light he remembered.

She turned back to him, and for a moment, it felt as though the years melted away. The noise of the arena faded, the weight of his chains forgotten. It was just her and him, as it had always been.

Lucius felt something stir inside him, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

Hope.

His salute lingered a moment longer than it should have, his gaze unwavering. He saw the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her chair as if grounding herself against the storm inside her.

And then the guards called for him to return to the cells. The gate creaked open behind him. He forced himself to turn, to walk away, but every step felt heavier than the last.

She was here. She had found him.

And now, no matter the cost, he would find her again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The barracks were dark and quiet, save for the faint crackle of the brazier in the corner. Lucius sat on the edge of the wooden bench, his head bowed, his hands idly tracing the grooves of the blade across his lap. Around him, the other gladiators had fallen into a tense silence, their usual jests and muttered complaints subdued after the day’s bloodshed.

He’d been Hanno for so long now, the name sliding easily from the lips of the guards, the crowd, the men who fought and bled beside him. Hanno, the invincible gladiator, the Eagle of the Arena. No one questioned where he had come from, why his skills surpassed so many others. They only saw what they wanted—a spectacle, a story to worship or envy.

But tonight, none of that mattered.

Her face had been burned into his mind since he’d seen her, her wide eyes locking with his in the colosseum. Every move he made since had been automatic, his body fighting and surviving on instinct, while his mind reeled with the impossible truth: she was alive.

He gritted his teeth, clenching the blade harder. For years, he’d allowed himself to believe she was lost to him, married off to some faceless noble, her life swallowed by the world of the Roman elite. He’d tried to bury the ache of it, the guilt that he hadn’t fought harder to keep her, the memories of her laugh, her touch, her whispered promises in the moonlight.

But now she was here, close enough to reach, yet still out of his grasp.

“Oi, Hanno,” a gruff voice broke the silence. One of the older gladiators, Gaius, sat sharpening his sword in the corner, his one good eye glinting in the firelight. “You’ve been starin’ at that blade like it owes you coin. What’s on your mind?”

Lucius glanced up, his expression carefully neutral. “Nothing.”

Gaius snorted, unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar. You’ve been off since the games today. Can’t say I blame you—crowds like that, they’ll rattle anyone.” He leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his scarred face. “Or maybe it was someone in the crowd?”

Lucius froze, but only for a moment. Long enough for Gaius’s grin to widen.

“Thought so,” Gaius said. “Some patrician woman caught your eye, eh? Happens to the best of us. Those fine silks and soft hands… nothin’ like the sand and blood we’re used to.”

Lucius forced a smirk, playing along. “Maybe. She looked familiar, that’s all.”

“Familiar?” Gaius raised a brow. “A patrician you’d know? From before?” He lowered his voice, his tone suddenly serious. “Careful, lad. That kind of thinking’ll get you killed. We’re gladiators now, not men with pasts.”

Lucius ignored the warning, leaning back and keeping his voice casual. “You’ve been here longer than most. You hear things. You know people. If I wanted to find out about someone—just out of curiosity—how would I go about it?”

Gaius squinted at him, suspicious now. “Depends who you’re asking about.”

“Her,” Lucius said, his tone sharper than he intended. “She was in the patrician’s box today. y/h/c, y/e/c. Engaged to some nobleman.”

Gaius let out a low whistle. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Hanno. Asking about a patrician’s bride-to-be? What, you think you’ll sweep her off her feet, carry her out of here on your shield?” He laughed, but when Lucius didn’t respond, the humor faded from his face.

“You’re serious,” Gaius muttered.

Lucius didn’t answer, his jaw set in a way that made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go.

Gaius sighed, shaking his head. “Fine. But you didn’t hear this from me. There’s a steward who works the colosseum, handles the guests in the noble galleries. Quintus is his name. He’s got loose lips when he’s had a bit to drink. You might learn something from him.”

Lucius nodded, already planning his next move. He would find this Quintus, he would learn what he could, and he would find a way to see her.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The barracks were suffocating, the air heavy with the stench of sweat and blood. Lucius sat on the stone bench, his head bowed, hands clasped as though in prayer. But he wasn’t praying. Not to the gods, at least. If they had ever cared for him, they had long since turned their backs.

Her face haunted him—the moment he’d locked eyes with her in the patrician’s box. Everything about that instant had shattered his focus, his purpose. The games, the crowd, the blood—they had all faded in that one heartbeat when he saw her again. Iris.

The name stirred something deep within him—something he had buried long ago. She shouldn’t have been there. In this place, with him, after all this time. But there she was, sitting among the nobles, looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and recognition, as though she, too, had never forgotten their past. The girl he had loved. The girl he had lost.

He had to know who she was with now—who held her heart.

He caught Titus, one of the younger gladiators, in the corridor late that night when the air had cooled and the others were lost in their rest. The torchlight cast shadows that made everything feel like a dream.

“I need you to send a message,” Lucius said, his voice quiet but firm.

Titus hesitated, glancing nervously at the hallway. “A message? To who?”

“Quintus. The steward,” Lucius said. “Tell him Hanno requests an audience.”

Titus frowned, confused. “Quintus? Why him?”

“Just do it,” Lucius ordered, his tone hardening. “Tell him the Eagle wants to speak to him.”

Reluctantly, Titus nodded and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lucius alone again with his racing thoughts.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It wasn’t long before Quintus arrived, stepping into the dim light of the corridor with a casual air that belied his sharp eyes. He stopped just outside the bars of Lucius’s cell, arms crossed, his usual smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

“To what do I owe the honor, Hanno?” Quintus asked, his voice thick with mockery.

Lucius moved to the bars, his grip tight. “I need information.”

Quintus’s eyebrow arched. “Information? About what?”

“Her,” Lucius said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The woman who was in the patrician’s box today. Iris.” He said her name with a careful hesitation, as though he had spoken it too many times in his head already. “I want to know who she’s engaged to.”

Quintus’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked his surprise. “Caius Livius, if you must know,” he replied, his tone as indifferent as ever. “She’s promised to him. A senator’s son.”

Lucius’s jaw tightened, anger rising like a fire within him. Caius. The name tasted bitter on his tongue. He had no claim on Iris anymore, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“And where do I find her?” Lucius asked, his voice colder than before.

Quintus leaned closer, his expression unreadable. “You think you can just walk into their life and take what’s already promised?”

“I didn’t ask for your judgment,” Lucius shot back, gripping the bars so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I asked for information.“

Quintus held his gaze for a long moment, as though weighing the consequences of giving away more than he should. “Fine ,” he said finally, his voice lowering. “The wedding is planned for the Saturnalia, and he’ll be parading around the city like any nobleman would. But you, Hanno, are nothing but a gladiator. You’re not in their world anymore.”

Lucius’s eyes hardened, his resolve set. He didn’t care. He would find a way.

Quintus sighed, seeing the determination in Lucius’s eyes. “Be careful. Men like Caius do not take kindly to those who try to steal what they believe belongs to them.”

“I don’t care about their world,” Lucius muttered, his grip still tight on the bars.

Quintus chuckled softly, backing away. “As you wish, Hanno. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Lucius standing alone in the darkened cell.

Iris. She was still here, still within his reach. But now he had to find a way to cross the divide between the life she lived and the life he had been forced into. It would take time, cunning, and risks—he knew that.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The days dragged on in the darkened confines of his cell, but Lucius’s mind was sharp, focused on one singular goal. Iris. Her name burned in his chest like a flame, and every passing hour only fueled his determination to find a way to see her again.

The opportunity finally came in the form of a pre-wedding celebration, a lavish event that would be held in honor of Caius Livius and Iris’s upcoming union. Lucius had learned the details from his fleeting conversation with Quintus. The nobles would gather, music would fill the air, and the festivities would overflow with rich food and wine. And what better place to make a grand appearance, to show his worth and cement his place in the arena, than there?

It was a risky move, but Lucius had long learned that risks were the only path to getting what he wanted. And he wanted Iris back in his life—somehow.

He had been pacing in his cell for days, his mind spinning with ways to gain Macrinus’s approval. The man who oversaw the gladiators was a hard man to impress, focused only on profit and spectacle. But Lucius knew something that could sway him—something that could make Macrinus see the value in letting him appear outside the arena.

When the time came, Lucius finally approached Macrinus after training. The large man stood by the door to the gladiator barracks, as usual, his eyes calculating, a permanent frown etched across his face.

“You’ve got something on your mind, Hanno?” Macrinus’s voice was rough, like gravel scraping against stone.

“I want to fight at the pre-wedding celebration,” Lucius said boldly, stepping forward, meeting Macrinus’s gaze without flinching.

Macrinus’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing as he studied Lucius with suspicion. “What do you mean? You’re already booked for the next game.”

Lucius’s voice remained calm, confident. “A demonstration. A show for the nobles. Not just a fight. A spectacle—something more than just the blood and sand they’re used to. I am worth more than that. My name is already known. They’ll talk about this for weeks. It’ll bring attention to the arena.”

Macrinus scoffed. “I’m not here to pander to noble whims. They want to see blood, Hanno, not performances.”

Lucius leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, convincing tone. “What if you gave them both? The fight, the blood, and the spectacle? You know how the rich love their games, their entertainment. They’ll throw more coin at you than you’ve seen in months. You think I’m just a tool for the sand? No. I’m a showman, too. I can be both your champion and your attraction, Macrinus.”

Macrinus studied him for a long moment, a trace of hesitation on his face. Lucius knew he had his attention. It was all about playing to the man’s greed.

“You think they’ll pay for that?” Macrinus asked skeptically.

“I know they will,” Lucius replied confidently. “You know they will.”

There was a long pause, the silence thick with the weight of the decision. Finally, Macrinus spoke, his tone begrudging. “Fine. But don’t disappoint me, Hanno. If you fail to deliver, you’ll never see the light of day again. Understood?”

Lucius gave him a single, sharp nod. “Understood.”

The deal was struck. He would appear at the celebration—not as a mere gladiator, but as an entertainer, a spectacle that would tantalize the nobles and remind them of the fierce warriors they had come to worship. But Lucius’s true goal wasn’t just to perform. It was to find Iris again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The night of the pre-wedding celebration arrived, and the grand estate was alive with opulence. Torches lined the paths, casting flickering shadows over the marble columns that held up the towering structure. The air was thick with the sound of music, the chatter of guests, the clinking of goblets filled with wine. Lucius stood in the center of the courtyard, wearing a costume not meant for battle but for spectacle—a fighter’s attire mixed with elaborate decorations meant to draw the eye.

The moment he stepped into the midst of the crowd, all eyes were on him. His reputation had already preceded him, and now, in the midst of this rich, noble gathering, the anticipation of the fight—his performance—was palpable.

Lucius’s heart pounded in his chest, but not because of the crowd’s gaze. He was searching for her. Iris.

It didn’t take long before his eyes found her, seated at the edge of the grand table, surrounded by the high-ranking men and women of Rome. She was seated next to Caius, her fiancé, but it was her presence that caught Lucius’s attention, her graceful posture, the way she held herself with a quiet elegance that made his heart ache.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, but Lucius knew this was his chance. He had to speak with her. He had to know if she remembered what they had shared. If she felt the same pull he did.

He played his part well, engaging in a mock duel with one of the other gladiators, performing for the crowd, his movements sharp and exaggerated. He could hear the gasps of excitement, the laughter, and the murmurs of approval. But his gaze never left her.

When the crowd finally began to thin out, when the festivities had moved inside to the banquet hall, Lucius saw his opportunity. He took a deep breath, stepping away from the cheering spectators and weaving through the courtyard, making his way toward the quiet area where Iris had slipped away from the crowd.

His pulse quickened as he neared her, and when he saw her alone for the briefest of moments, he stepped forward, his heart pounding with urgency. But just as his hand reached for the veil of the moment, a shadow fell across his path, and he froze.

“Iris.”

Her name, spoken with the weight of ownership, cut through the air. Lucius’s breath caught in his throat as Caius Livius stepped into view, his posture commanding and his eyes sharp with the kind of possessive authority that had always made Lucius’s skin crawl.

Iris’s face faltered for a split second, the mask she had been wearing slipping just enough to reveal the turmoil beneath. She turned, her eyes wide with shock at Caius’s sudden appearance.

“I was about to—” Iris began, but Caius stepped closer, his presence towering over her, blocking Lucius’s approach.

“You were about to what?” Caius’s voice was calm, but there was a hard edge to it. His gaze flicked briefly to Lucius, a look of recognition passing between them before he returned his attention to Iris, his hand subtly resting possessively on her arm. “You should be with your guests, Iris. This isn’t the time for wandering off.”

Iris stiffened at his touch, but she said nothing, her eyes darting briefly toward Lucius.

“I just… needed a moment,” Iris murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She pulled her arm away from Caius’s grasp, the coldness of the gesture unnoticed by him, though Lucius felt the tension between them all the same.

Caius, however, didn’t miss the unspoken exchange. His eyes narrowed, and his tone sharpened. “I’ll take her back inside. It’s better that way.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he placed a firm hand at the small of her back and guided her away, leaving Lucius standing frozen in the shadows of the courtyard, the words he longed to say locked behind his teeth.

As they disappeared into the throng of nobles, Lucius’s gaze remained on Iris, heart sinking as the distance between them grew. He had come so close—too close—and yet fate had thrown him back into the same endless fight.

This was far from over.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The atmosphere in the grand hall was suffocating. Candles flickered in golden sconces, casting long shadows along the marble floor. The chatter of the guests—nobles and dignitaries alike—filled the air, but Iris barely heard any of it. Her mind was elsewhere, her heart somewhere far from the lavish feast unfolding before her.

Tonight was supposed to be a celebration—a night to honor the union of herself and Caius Livius. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped. She had played her part in the arrangements, had donned the gown of a bride and smiled for the guests, but everything felt like a dream she couldn’t wake from. Caius, standing at her side, had not noticed the distance growing between them. His attention was fixed on the guests, on his own image as a future senator, as a man who had already secured his place in Roman society. But for Iris, it was all just a gilded cage, and she was desperate to escape it.

Her gaze drifted toward the center of the room, where the gladiators—Lucius among them, disguised as Hanno—stood, their presence an odd contrast to the aristocratic crowd. They had been invited for spectacle, for entertainment, to make the celebration more “authentic” in the eyes of the nobles. But Iris only saw the man she had once known—Lucius.

There, in the corner of the hall, he stood with his fellow gladiators, their grim faces betraying nothing of what Iris felt in her chest. The way he moved—like a predator, every inch a warrior, but still, something about him seemed so familiar, so painfully alive.

Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. It was brief, a moment suspended in time, but it was enough. He hadn’t seen her as a noblewoman. He hadn’t seen her as the fiancée of Caius Livius. He saw her, Iris, the girl who had once run barefoot through the gardens of Lucilla’s estate with him, the girl who had watched him train and fought by his side in secret. And in that instant, she could see the same longing in his eyes—the same recognition that told her he had never forgotten her, either.

Her heart raced, and she felt the familiar tug of old emotions threatening to pull her back to him. The years apart, the choices they had made, all seemed so distant now. But standing there, in the same room, everything she had tried to bury came flooding back.

“Iris?” Caius’s voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the reality of the celebration. She turned to face her fiancé, whose eyes were sharp with suspicion. “You’re not listening.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, offering him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I was… distracted.” She forced her gaze away from Lucius and back to Caius, though the effort felt like a betrayal. “I need to step outside for a moment,” she added, the words tumbling from her lips before she could think better of it.

“Outside?” Caius raised an eyebrow, his face hardening. “Why?”

“I just… need air,” Iris said, her voice trembling. She couldn’t explain it to him—not in this moment, not in front of the guests. She didn’t even fully understand herself.

Caius’ frown deepened. “We’re in the middle of a celebration, Iris. You can’t just—”

“I must go,” she interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended. She could feel the weight of the room, the pressure of everyone watching, and it made her skin crawl. “I’ll return shortly.” She didn’t wait for his response, turning away and heading toward the door before he could say another word.

She had already rehearsed this moment in her mind a hundred times—slipping away unnoticed, making her way to the stables where the gladiators were kept. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but the pull of Lucius—the pull of him—was stronger than any duty she had.

Tonight, of all nights, he would be transported separately from the others. She had learned of his arrival through whispers, and she knew the gladiators would be kept in the cages, awaiting transport to the barracks after the night’s festivities.

But Iris didn’t want to wait. She needed to see him again, to know if it was truly him.

She had paid off a guard earlier, sliding him a small pouch of gold, instructing him to turn a blind eye to her movements. He had agreed, eyes gleaming with greed. She knew it was risky, but she had no choice.

She made her way to the small courtyard behind the villa, where the cages awaited the gladiators. It was dark here, the shadows stretching long and deep, and Iris felt the safety of being hidden, away from the scrutiny of the celebration. The night was still, save for the sound of distant chatter from the main hall.

Iris crouched low behind one of the larger cages, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew they’d arrive soon, and she had one chance—just one. The cage was meant to carry the gladiators back to their quarters, but Iris had found a way to be there first. She slid inside one of the empty cages, curling into the corner where the shadows would hide her. She had to remain out of sight. If anyone saw her, if anyone knew she was here, it would be over.

The cage door creaked open, and the sound of boots on stone grew louder. She held her breath, knowing who it was. When Lucius—or Hanno—finally stepped inside, his form battered, bloodied, and worn from the fight, he stopped, pausing in the doorway. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling, his posture slightly hunched from exhaustion. But even in this broken state, there was no mistaking him.

He didn’t see her at first, his gaze on the floor, but then his eyes flicked up, and they locked. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Iris…” His voice was low, hoarse, almost disbelieving, as if he had to convince himself that she was real.

She swallowed, heart in her throat, and stepped forward. The air between them was thick with unsaid words, but neither of them moved. Not at first. “It’s me,” she said softly, almost in a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell between them.

Lucius’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of her. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, but still, there was something holding him back. He paused, just a few feet away, as if trying to process the impossible truth of the moment. His eyes searched hers, as if looking for something—some reassurance that this wasn’t just a dream.

“What are you doing here, Iris?” he asked quietly, his voice rough. “You shouldn’t be here. You—” He glanced toward the entrance, where the guards had started moving around, no doubt expecting him to leave soon. “You should be with your fiancé. This is no place for you.”

Her heart stung at the mention of her betrothed. But she couldn’t turn away now, not when he was standing here in front of her, so close and yet so far. She took a tentative step toward him, her fingers brushing the cold bars of the cage, wanting to feel him, to know that he was still the same.

“I couldn’t stay away,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just needed to see you. To know that you’re still here. That you’re still alive.”

Lucius’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away from her. His eyes were filled with something she couldn’t quite place—sorrow, regret, and something deeper, something that made her heart ache with a longing she knew she couldn’t act on.

“I’m not who I was,” he said, his voice quieter now, filled with a mixture of pain and something more. “I’m not that boy anymore, Iris.”

Iris closed her eyes for a moment, her hand still gripping the bars, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside her. She knew the truth of his words. They both knew that nothing had changed—except everything had. The life she had once known with him was long gone. She was promised to another. Lucius was a gladiator, shackled by the life he had been forced into.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she said, her voice breaking as she opened her eyes to meet his. “I just wanted to see you. To know you’re still fighting. To remind myself that you’re real.” Her hand trembled slightly, reaching out. She could barely make herself do it—touch him, feel the reality of him. She just needed to know he wasn’t a memory.

He stood still, watching her, his own hand coming up as if he reached for her, but he didn’t. There was an unspoken understanding between them now—one that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. They couldn’t change what had happened, couldn’t undo the time that had passed. The distance between them now was unbridgeable.

“You have to keep fighting,” Iris said softly, her voice full of quiet desperation. “You have to win these battles, Lucius. Not just for your freedom—but for yourself.”

He nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in his chest. “I’ll keep fighting,” he said, but his voice was strained. “But what if I don’t win? What if there’s nothing left for me once this is over?”

“You have to try,” she said, shaking her head. She felt her throat tighten, but she held it together, taking a deep breath. “For you. For the chance to have something more than this. I can’t change what’s already been decided. But you…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “You can still change your life. You can change Rome. The emperor’s reign terror over us all. The very thing Maximus fought to destroy has been reborn. This…this could be Rome’s second coming. You could change everything!”

He stood still, eyes narrowed as she spoke, her voice growing more urgent, more pleading. The hope in her words was thick, almost suffocating. The weight of her expectations settled onto his shoulders, heavier than any armor he had ever worn in the arena. She was asking him to be a symbol, to be something more than just the man who had been torn apart by the brutal hands of fate. To rise up, to fight—not for his life, not for his freedom—but for something else, something bigger than them both.

The bitterness swirled inside him, bitterness he couldn’t quite shake, even though he knew it wasn’t fair. He wanted to pull her close and ask if she had really come here for him—or if she had come because she needed him to be more than the gladiator she saw. Was she still seeing the boy she once knew? Or had the weight of Rome’s problems and the brutality of their world transformed that image into something else?

“You think I’m here to save Rome?” His voice was low, thick with disbelief, and maybe something sharper, something closer to anger. He took a step closer, his breath quickening. “Have you really come to ask me to fix a city that’s rotting from the inside? To fight in the name of some grand idea, as if that would change anything?”

He could see the shock in her eyes, the way she stiffened at his words, but the feeling that burned inside him wouldn’t let him soften his tone. “I was a boy who used to laugh with you. Who dreamed of something better. And now, I’m here, in chains, fighting for my life like some beast in a cage—and you expect me to change the world? To fight for a cause that wasn’t mine? To be your hero? What do you even want from me, Iris?”

The sharpness of his words hung in the air, and he regretted them almost immediately. He knew it wasn’t her fault. He knew the weight of everything she had said came from a place of fear, of wanting him to be the person he used to be—the person she wanted him to be. But something inside him twisted in frustration, the lingering taste of his own disillusionment clouding his thoughts.

“You don’t even know what it’s like in here,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but still edged with that underlying anger. “What it takes to survive. I’m not some gladiator who can just rise up and change the world, Iris. I’m just a man trying to get through the next fight. And if I die in the arena tomorrow, what’s left of me? What good does it do Rome?”

His fists clenched at his sides, but his gaze softened just a little, though he didn’t allow himself to look away from her. “I know what your life is supposed to be. I know you’ve got your future planned out, with your betrothed and your family. You don’t need me. You don’t need this.” He gestured toward the cage, the arena that held him captive. “You don’t need someone like me anymore.”

There was silence between them now, and for a long moment, Lucius simply stared at her, the weight of his words still hanging between them. It wasn’t anger he felt—not entirely—but frustration, confusion, and something deeper that he couldn’t put into words.

"You do not get to ask me to be someone I’m not anymore.”

Iris stood there, her hand still gripping the bars, her body trembling slightly under the weight of his words. She hadn’t come here to convince him to save the empire. She had come to see him, to remind herself of who he was before he became Hanno—the gladiator. But Lucius, had taken it another way.

Maybe it was too much for him to hear. Maybe he didn’t know what to do with her presence here, what she expected from him, what he was still capable of giving. And maybe he was right to be angry, right to wonder what had brought her here tonight.

But Iris, standing in the cold dark of the cage with him, wanted to say that she didn’t care about all the politics, the battles, the blood. She didn’t care about Rome or her betrothed or the life that had been set out for her. She just wanted him. The boy she had known, the one who had made her laugh and dreamed of a future together. The man standing in front of her now, in chains, so far from the man he had once been.

But she didn’t know how to tell him that. Instead, she stepped back, slowly, her heart breaking with each movement. She had come here to see him, to remind herself of who he was—but now, as he stood there, unable to see past the fight that consumed him, it felt like all of that was slipping away again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She turned away, the weight of his words still echoing in her ears. “I didn’t mean to ask you to be someone you’re not.”

And with that, she walked away, the door of the cage closing behind her with a final, resounding thud. Lucius watched her go, his chest heavy with regret, but no words came. The cage was cold. The night outside was full of laughter and light, and yet, it felt impossibly far away.

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator ||#hanno x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal x reader #lucius verus x y/n #lucius verus x you

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flowerandblood · 6 months ago

Text

Duty and desire (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, angst, praise kink activated, lactation kink, fluff ]

[ description: An incident between her husband and their sons causes her uncle to completely break down. She decides to show him how deep her feelings are towards him and to comfort him. A heartbroken, vulnerable, infatuated Aemond in need of simple tenderness. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. I couldn't sleep and that's how I mentally coped with what I saw in the second episode of the second season. You're welcome, lol. If you still didn't watch it, wait with reading it (if you don't like any kind of spoilers). It can be read as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had returned to their chamber earlier, tense and visibly frustrated despite the fact that he usually spent that part of the day sparring with their sons, training them in the wielding of the sword.

She smiled at him from above her book, watching as he involuntarily looked into the cradle where Visenya slept peacefully.

The birth of their first daughter was joyous news for the entire kingdom, including them.

"So early?" She asked, spreading out comfortably in her chair, curious about this change of plans. Her uncle only pursed his lips at her words, walking over to the table where she sat and reached for a cup, into which he poured himself a little wine.

He remained silent.

A bad sign.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, seeing that hundreds of thoughts were currently running through his mind, which if they did not find an outlet would eventually explode in the form of his fury.

He took a few deep sips from his goblet without looking at her, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"Viserys and Aegon have suggested that Ser Robert should be the one to train them today. They apparently want to become archers." He said with a sneer and anger that startled her. She swallowed hard, closing the book, understanding full well that his words were only the tip of what he was really thinking about.

"In your presence they always feel they have to prove themselves. They're afraid of being ridiculed in front of you. Maybe it's…"

"At their age I dreamt of my father doing for me what I do for them. This is our time together." He growled, looking out of the corner of his eye into the area where she sat, but not directly at her, immersed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

"I know." She whispered and her words, something about the way she said them made his lip tremble, made him lower his head in shame and cover his face with his hand, drawing in air loudly.

"They are terrified at the sight of me. Both of them. They don't love me, they just fear me. Their own father." He mouthed, his quivering voice betraying that although he tried to control himself, something about the thought had broken him.

She stood up from her seat, shaking her head, coming up to him quickly, wanting to touch his arm with her hand, but he moved away and turned his head, not wanting her to see what was happening to him.

"If you could hear with what pride and admiration they speak of you when you are not there. They so desperately want to please you." She muttered in pain, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he might have believed he was a bad father, when they both knew how hard he tried.

"To please me? My sons, they live to please me? And if they don't then what will happen to them? Hm?" He asked and fell silent, looking at her at last, his eye red with grief and despair, his face simultaneously red and pale with emotion, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

He covered his eyes with his hand as he burst into silent sobs, as if he had not stifled the thought for a day or a month, but for years, ever since their first son had been born.

She looked at him in disbelief, stunned, at the same time hurt and saddened by his words, by the thought of how he judged and perceived himself.

"Looking into my eyes do you see anything other than love?" She asked, renewing her attempt, taking a step towards him, and this time he didn't pushed her away, looking at her uncertainly.

"– it's something else –" He whispered.

"– how can it be? – do you think I would love a man who is a bad father to my children? –" She asked further, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing, his cheeks red from tears.

"– stop it –" He said and turned away, wiping his face, walking to the other side of the room, embarrassed and ashamed of his weakness.

"– sit down on the bed, husband – I want to explain a few things to you –" She finally said.

He sighed heavily and did as she asked, making room beside himself, looking down at his hands, heartbroken. She, however, walked up to him and did not sit next to him, but on his lap, surprising him by taking his warm, red face in her hands, stroking his moist skin with her thumbs.

For a moment she simply looked at him, all helpless and vulnerable, feeling the heat in her chest.

"– you're defending our family – you're the rock that protects us – you have to show strength – be determined – and that's hard when you're king and father at the same time – the burden of the crown is great and you know it – you're trying to prepare them for it –" She whispered, with each successive word placing kisses on his red face: on his forehead, his temple, his eyebrows, his eyelid, his cheekbone, his lips, his jaw.

She felt his hands involuntarily rise to her waist, stroking her through the material of her gown.

"– so why don't they understand this? – why do they push me away? –" He muttered, focusing his gaze on her full, plump lips, his manhood hidden in his breeches pulsed softly in a natural reaction to her closeness.

"– because they are still children – children who need their father to love them no matter what – a father who will sometimes let them go their own way –" She said softly, in a gentle, light motion untying the black ribbon at the back of his head, making the front strands of his silver hair fall over his shoulders.

"– I just want to spend time with them like a father with his sons – I want them to need me –" He whispered, and she nodded, letting his broad hand move her hip closer, making her body press against his.

"– I know, my husband – my sweet, sweet husband –" She whispered and heard him draw in the air loudly, surprised, his erection pulsed hard between her thighs.

She licked her lips, wondering if he was aroused by what he was hearing.

"– my husband is so good to me –" She gasped softly, letting their lips join in hot, sticky, lazy kisses, making wonderful heat surge through her body. "– my sweet friend – my sweet boy –"

She shuddered as his fingers tightened on the material of her gown, his throat leaving a sound she had never heard before.

He moaned.

Not the way he usually did, low and deep, when it was on the verge of panting, but high, the way she did when he gave her sweet pleasure.

Their fingers tightened on their bodies, letting their mouths find each other in greedy, violent, deep kisses – his cock between her thighs swelled all over and pulsed, hot, betraying that he was now completely ready to possess her.

"– I love you – please –" He muttered, forcibly ripping her gown off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, all swollen with milk. Something like a sigh of delight and relief left his throat as he sank his face into her sternum, his thumbs stroking and teasing her nipples hard from the cold.

She moaned as she tilted her head back, untying the material of his breeches, feeling the wonderful, pleasurable wetness between her thighs, proving that she was ready to receive him deep inside her.

"– my sweet husband deserve to be soothed – doesn't he? – to feel his beloved wife – how warm she is – how wet she is –" She whispered, cupping his swollen, quivering erection in her palm, feeling how incredibly hard it was, its tip thick and smooth, dripping with his moisture.

"– yes –" He mumbled in shame, directing one of her breasts to his face, holding it in his hand, finding her nipple with his mouth, beginning to suck it loudly along with her milk as she guided the head of his cock against her pulsing slit.

"– ah – my husband is so hard for me – makes me feel so fucking good – so, so big –" She cooed, sinking slowly onto his manhood only to lift herself on it with a loud click of her wetness, opening her thirsty, fleshy cunt again and again on his long, throbbing erection.

"– f-fuck –" He exhaled, embarrassed, imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, clearly aroused by what she was saying and how she was behaving, needing her affection, her acceptance, her closeness, everything he couldn't ask of anyone else outside the door of their chamber.

"– it's all yours, my dearest – I can ride you all night – you'll fill me with your seed as many times as I need, won't you? –" She gasped, and he groaned loudly into the skin of her breasts, clamping his hot hands on her hips, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, panting and quivering along with her.

She wasn't sure she had ever experienced a similar orgasm, so overpowering, hot, soothing, delightful.

"– f-fuck – f-fuck, Aemond, yes –" She whimpered, throwing her head back as she felt his body convulse, his warm seed filling her womb wit his low moans of pleasure.

He released her nipple from his mouth, panting heavily, snuggling his cheek into her chest, letting her arms embrace him in a tight grip, her lips placing tender, hot kisses on his hair.

"– forgive me – I'm ashamed – I –"

"– you are my husband – let me give you relief when you need it –" She whispered, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"– but – it was –"

"– a husband can show tenderness and understanding to his wife, but a wife to her husband cannot? –" She asked in pain, and he swallowed hard, letting out a loud, shuddering breath.

"– it won't happen again –" He muttered, needing, apparently, for her to tell that lie so he could stop thinking about how weak he was, how he needed it, how pleasant it was.

That he would beg in his mind for more.

More of her tenderness.

More of her praise.

More of her love.

"– as you wish –"

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clonecaptains · 4 months ago

Text

No Vacancy

a tyler owens x shy reader fic

warnings: none! she/her pronouns mentioned; no use of y/n; this is all cozy fluff

word count: 3k

summary: you're part of the wrangler crew and have a crush on tyler. and you're debating on acting on these feelings. you might just get your chance when he shows up at your motel room.

a/n: this is my first tyler fic! this is the ol 'there's only one bed' trope - and im already planning a part two! hope yall enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All these motel rooms look the same. Warm earth tones all over the place and strange prints on the bedspread. But after a long day like today, it’s a welcome sight. That bed’s calling your name. You shrug your bag off your shoulder and hit the light switch. The lamp in the corner illuminates the room in a warm glow. It’s cozy.

The door clicks behind you; and you stand in the room for a moment deciding what you want to do next. Your job was done for the day. You are the official tornado wrangler social media accounts manager. Now that the wrangler team has gained a substantial following, it’s your job to post updates about new videos or the latest t-shirt design up for charity purposes. You’ve posted what you needed to post for the day, and now is your chance to rest.

You decide on a shower to think about the events of the day while you clean off.

Today was a first for you. It was your first time being in tornado while sitting in the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck. You’ve been on the team now for a while, but it was part of your initiation they’d said. Tyler was sweet. He pulled you aside telling you that you didn’t have to if you didn’t want to. And you really didn’t want to, but you wanted to prove to yourself that you could. More than that, you trusted Tyler would keep you safe.

You loved watching him, and his excitement was contagious despite your fears of this major storm. He’d been blasting his storm playlist, but when it got close to the moment, he made sure you were ok.

When the storm hit and passed you over, you couldn’t help but scream – in fear or excitement you don’t know. You grabbed Tyler’s arm in the heat of the moment, and feeling his warm skin under your fingertips was more of a thrill than the storm was.

You’re not sure how well you’re keeping the secret that you’re completely in love with him. You fell the first day you met him several months ago. And while you did prove to yourself that you could handle a tornado – you don’t know if you can handle the ache you feel when you’re around him. Riding shotgun in his truck today and touching his arm will keep you on cloud nine for the next week.

A creak in the pipes of this old motel tears you from your thoughts. You get out of the shower and dry off to put on your pjs. That’s when your mind drifts back to Tyler. How sweet he was with you all day leading up to your first tornado, and how he let you hold his arm. How he checked on you a dozen times after to make sure you weren’t too shaken.

You were shaken, but not but the storm. No matter how often you’re around him – he has the same effect on you. He makes you feel dizzy. His presence is so hard to ignore. It’s not just his handsome face or broad muscular frame – though that certainly is a factor – it’s his charm and relaxed demeanor. He’s a perfect balance of rowdy and sweet. And you are smitten.

You wince thinking about how it’s probably painfully obvious to the rest of the team. And what’s worse, it’s obvious to him too. If he’s seen it – and hasn’t said anything then you can only assume he doesn’t feel the same way.

All of this goes through your mind during your nightly routine. It’s early in the night, you left the wranglers down in the parking lot – most of them were still having a beer chatting over the day’s storm. You can faintly hear people talking outside while the night is winding down.

You settle into bed turning on the TV when you hear keys turning in the lock on your door. Much to your surprise – the door opens and who but Tyler himself is standing in the doorway. He’s just as confused as you. He steps backwards out of the doorway to check the key in his hand and the number on the door. He smiles with a soft huff – shaking his head at something you didn’t know what until later.

“This is the right room according to this,” he holds up the key and closes the door behind him. Suddenly the room feels a hundred times smaller. You feel yourself start to panic.

“They set this up,” Tyler continues. “I know it was Boone,” he laughs setting his bag down on the table near the door. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he tells you right away to try and ease the fear he can probably see in your eyes.

You don’t have a reply because you’re still shocked he’s standing in your room.

“You did great today by the way,” Tyler was still talking, and you were glad for it.

But you do find your voice, “Thank you.” That actually means a lot to you.

“Wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. He’s rifling through his bag.

“No, no,” you feign being nonchalant and he cracks a smile. “Tyler, do you want to check if there’s another room available?” you ask him in the same breath. “I don’t want you to sleep on the floor, that won’t be comfortable at all.”

“Tryin’ to kick me out?” he gives a little wink as he reaches for the phone to call the front desk.

The phone call was quick – not long enough for you to decide which outcome you’d prefer.

Do you want him to stay? if he stayed then you’d have to deal with your crush being in your room all night. Having to play it cool as best you could. Or do you want him to leave? And regret later that you didn’t say anything about how you felt when you had a good chance to in this moment

The choice is made for you in the span of a few seconds.

“No more rooms,” he clicked his tongue. “The floor’ll be fine!”

That’s one of the things you admire most about him. He’s considerate and polite – and he’s happy to be. You know the floor is not comfortable. But he offered like it was the most common thing in the world.

“I am gonna shower first,” he says. “You showered right?” he asks pointing at you, and you nod “yeah! Go for it!”

Now that he knew he was staying, he takes off his boots. Something about them resting on the floor by the doorway makes your heart ache. It’s so close to what it could be like if you were together. A taste of domestic life with Tyler.

He disappears into the bathroom, and you resume flipping through the TV channels. You hope that will distract you from thinking about your crush being very naked and wet on the other side of that door. It’s not like you intentionally linger on it, but when you hear the shower curtain rings slide along the curtain rod and the water kick on - your face warms heavily.

When you hear him quietly hum in the shower, you feel yourself begin to relax. Something about it warms your heart, you think maybe he feels comfortable and doesn’t mind being heard while he hums.

You know the tune, one of the songs he’d been blasting in the truck recently. That makes you think back to being in the tornado again. You can’t believe you did that. Maybe that is your sign to do something else brave. If you could weather that storm surely you could admit your feelings to Tyler.

What if he didn’t feel the same? Then you’d have to awkwardly share a room, and the rest of the time spent working at this job with him knowing you have a crush on him.

How many times have you heard him say “if you feel it, chase it.” If he felt it, would he not have chased it by now? You feel it and you want to chase him, but he makes your knees weak.

What if he does feel the same? How do you maneuver this? There are too many questions, and you don’t know any of the answers. All that you know was you have it bad for him and it hurts. It’s such an ache. Being around him all the time for work, but never having him. You’re embarrassed to admit how much touching his arm earlier was a thrill, it’s all you’d been able to think about.

The more you think about all of this, the harder your heart beats. You’ve barely had time to process anything since he’s been in your room. It gets even worse when the shower stops. You hear when the curtain opens, and when his feet touch the floor.

Then you hear your name.

“There aren’t any towels.”

Oh no. You forgotten you’d used them both. You weren’t expecting to have to share.

“I’ll go get you one! I’m sorry I used them both!” You grab the key and dart out the room, you dn’t even care that someone might see you in your pajamas. You’d rather go grab one for him than wait awkwardly for a towel to be brought up. The less you have to think about him naked in the next room the better for your sanity.

You grab the towels and an extra pillow from the front desk and head back.

“I’m coming in!” You laugh opening the door, and you hear him laugh from the bathroom. “Ok I have them,” you tell him near the bathroom door. He opens it just a smidge and sticks his hand out. You both laugh when you hand him the towels. The awkward moment acknowledged and laughed at instead of worrying about it.

“Thank you,” he replies as he closes the door.

You sit on the bed again, but this time instead of sitting in the middle – you sit more on one side. It’s big enough for you to share so you don’t see why not. It’s not fair for him to sleep on the floor.

As hard as you try to prepare yourself for sharing a bed with him, it lands like a brick in the pit of your stomach when he steps out of the bathroom. The scent of his bodywash hits you first, you always loved how he smells. But just looking at him, he’s a dream.

He’s wearing a soft worn t-shirt and some gym shorts. His hair’s a mess, and it makes you giggle to see it so unruly. He smiles at your quiet laugh.

“Something funny?” he prods running the towel over his head again before hooking it on the back of the door.

“Your hair is always so perfect!”

“You’re getting an exclusive behind the scenes look,” he smiles moving towards the table where he’d put his stuff. He digs through his bag to pull out his phone and charger - plugging it into the nearest outlet.

“Tyler?” your voice comes out timid. He looks up from his phone and sets it down to give you his attention. “You can stay up here,” you point to the empty half of the bed. “I got an extra pillow too.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” his eyes are soft, his brows furrow.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on the floor!”

He’s quiet for a moment. He looks at his hat sitting on the table amongst his things, and he strokes along the brim of the hat. Usually, you’re able to read him but this leaves you a little miffed. It makes your heart start to beat a little faster from the anticipation.

“Alright,” he decides standing up.

Ok, ok. Don’t panic. This is what you asked for.

He checks the lock on the door making sure it’s locked, and he turns off the floor lamp in the corner.

“On or off?” he asks near the bathroom. When you tell him ‘Off’, he taps that light switch and the loud hum from that light stops. The only light now is from the TV across from the bed.

Your heart is fluttering in your chest when he pulls the covers back. When he sits down and you feel his weight on the mattress - that really gets your heart pounding. He pulls the blankets back over himself and lays down with a heavy sigh. You know he’s tired, he’d been driving like a maniac into storms all day.

Though he’s more than just a rowdy storm chaser, he works long hours helping families and doing charity work. You love him for all these things. And you’re glad it’s dark because you feel like you might cry. He’s so close, and you have no idea what to say or do to tell him what you feel.

“Can I turn this off?” you ask trying to hide the quiver in your voice.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies and sinks further into the blankets. Both of you shift to get comfortable now in the dark, and his leg touches yours - causing you to jump. You don’t mean to gasp, but it slips out.

“Sorry!” he laughs and it relieves some tension. Some. You can’t calm down and you don’t know how to. He’s just a few inches away!! You were both lying on your backs, and his shoulder’s almost touching yours. You can still smell his body wash from earlier.

Just say it. Tell him you love him. You survived a tornado today!

You try to hype yourself up, but it isn’t working.

Before you plan out anything to say, you blurt out his name. That’s all you can muster. But this time, it’s worse than before, and your voice quivers audibly. More than that, you’re starting to tremble.

“Hey, hey- it’s ok,” he rolls over on his side to face you. “Me too,” he says and you have no idea what he’s talking about. Until he reachs for you in the dark. “Give me your hand,” he whispers and you roll on your side to face him. You reach towards him, and he gently wraps his hand around your wrist – guiding it to his chest. He puts your hand over his heart, and you feel it pounding under the warmth of his skin and soft shirt. “You see, I have a crush on this girl-“

Your eyes have adjusted in the dark and it’s enough to see the soft, almost shy look he gives you.

“Really?” you whisper. “Me?”

He lets go of your wrist and puts his hand on top of yours and presses down, emphasizing his point.

“Why haven’t you said anything til now? What happened to ‘if you feel it chase it’?”

He clears his throat comically and shifts a little, “Well, I-, ok you got me. Maybe I was a little nervous.” He shrugs. Your hand hasn’t moved from his chest, neither has his hand. He slowly starts to curl his fingers around your hand.

“You? Nervous for me? Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all day today?” you pause. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.” He scoots a little closer to you, ready to listen. “It wasn’t the tornado I’ve been thinking about. It’s been how it felt to touch your arm today.” Your face is on fire. But it gives you a thrill to feel his heart jump and see the smile on his face widen.

He lets go of your hand and hooks his arm so his forearm is close to your face. “Would you like to again?” he teases, and you shove his chest playfully. He laughs, a good deep laugh. He’s relieved and happy. It makes your face hurt from your own smile, and you shyly move your hand from his chest to touch his forearm.

The air shifts. You both feel it when you stroke up and down his arm. You aren’t going to tell him how much you love feeling his arm hair under your fingertips. But he could probably figure it out. Maybe you didn’t mind if he knew.

He reaches for you then, your hand curls around his wrist this time. His hand cradles the back of your head, and he pulls you closer.

“I’m sorry I waited so long for this, I didn’t want to scare you. But truth is I was scared,” he admits.

“I was too, I was scared you didn’t feel the same way,” you whisper back. Your faces are so close to each other, and your bodies almost touching. You can feel the warmth from him.

He lets out a soft grunt like he’s been hit, shocked at what you just said to him.

“Can I?” he asks. You know what he’s asking. His expression is so sweet, so gentle. Another reason you love him. You feel safe in his presence, in his grasp.

“Yes,” you whisper, and then you start to laugh at yourself.

“What?” he smiles laughing.

“I was just gonna say you should ‘chase it’,” you smile. You barely finish the sentence before he closes the gap between you. Warm lips on yours, his nose pressing into your cheek. The stubble on his chin brushes your skin as you whimper into his mouth.

It’s a brief kiss before it breaks. There’s a slight pause where you look at each other smiling, enjoying the moment. Then he dives in for a deeper kiss. His arms pulling you closer, holding you tight to him. Though you wouldn’t dream of pulling away.

At some point you do break apart, both a little breathless. You feel dizzy and lovesick from the way he’s looking at you; something tells you he feels the same.

He starts to laugh again, shaking his head. “We won’t hear the end of this one.”

“Nope,” you smile knowing already what Lily and Dani will have to say.

“I know Boone had a hand in this.”

“Lily and Dani too, they’ve been pushing me to talk to you for weeks,” you giggle burying your face in his neck. He hugs you to him and squeezes. He adds a little reassuring rub on your back. “I’m still scared,” you admit, a secret murmured into his skin.

“I know,” he squeezes again. “Me too. Don’t want to lose you. But you’re worth chasing.”

You hum happily into his neck when a big yawn takes over you.

“Sorry,” you giggle, his laugh joining yours.

“You had a big day. Riding in your first tornado! That and the kissin’ outta wear anybody out,” he winks. Then tilts his head down to kiss your forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“Don’t let go,” you yawn, cuddling into his chest.

He whispers quietly against the top of your head, “never.”

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x shy reader #twisters fic #my writing

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grimmweepers · 1 month ago

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— ★ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when being assigned a joint research project with a very attractive haravatat student proves to be more distracting than you ever anticipated

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: akademiya!student alhaitham x akademiya!student reader, afab!reader, established relationship (early stages), secret relationship, sex in the desert, flirting, playful banter, casual nudity, no preparation, rough fucking, multiple positions, creampie, not proofread. obv they are adults. 2.1k wc MDNI. 18+ ONLY. | masterlist

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The heat had already taken hold of you this morning.

Even before you opened your eyes, the desert sun had crept into the makeshift tent, meandered across your skin, and clung to the bedding beneath you. Outside, you could hear the wind humming in a lulling rhythm but the air inside was still heavy—scented faintly of canvas, sand, and Alhaitham.

Officially, this trip was sanctioned by the Akademiya to catalog ruins and decipher inscriptions long buried in the dunes. Your joint project culminated in months of preparation but between your academic pursuits, you and Alhaitham fell into the trap of proximity, lured by the temptation of wandering eyes and coy smiles exchanged over the rim of coffee cups.

Long nights spent under oil lamps became less about studying and more about the rush it gave you when your knees brushed beneath low tables. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on reading when Alhaitham sat so close that his scent clouded you entirely.

Wandering eyes turned to coy smiles turned to lingering touches turned to… well.

Such distractions would be frowned upon by the Akademiya, yes, but how could you resist when Alhaitham treated you like you were the most fascinating discovery he had ever encountered? You both agreed on discretion to save yourself from the mortification of other scholars and seniors. They didn’t need to know about his sweet confession and the many other things you both got up to when nothing but the stars could witness you.

So unofficially—this trip was the perfect excuse to stay tangled together despite the sweltering heat.

You blinked against the wedge of sunlight, rolling over to a very bare Alhaitham sprawled beside you, one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other resting just centimetres from your waist.

“Morning,” his voice was thick with sleep but when your eyes met, you saw that his expression was immensely not.

“What’s got you so focused?” you said groggily, propping yourself on your elbow as you faced him. “Already thinking about all the hard work waiting for us today?”

Your clothes were still discarded from the night before, sitting in a crumpled heap near the corner of your bedroll. Perhaps the events of last night were why he was looking at you with that slanted smile.

“Do you always think about work the moment you open your eyes?” he replied, tracing small circles on you.

“Someone has to keep us on task,” you shot back, raising a brow.

“I didn’t realise I was sharing a tent with a Matra.”

Of the 20 languages he knew, the same mouth rendered him incapable of completing this project in a timely manner—what should have been done two days ago was instead spent with his tongue on your skin.

Not that you had many complaints.

“Mm,” he added. “And here I thought mornings were for recharging, not nagging.”

“For someone who implores efficiency in all things,” you said, poking his nose, “You spend a suspicious amount of time lying around. Observing me isn’t going to help your thesis.”

“Observing you is a worthwhile distraction actually,” his hand began to slip onto the bare curve of your hip, “In fact, I think you’re my most compelling subject.”

“I would pay you sacks of mora to include that in your report,” you retorted, clicking your tongue with false annoyance, but you were too focused on something else to actually care.

“I’ll pass,” he tipped his chin at you, “Instead of mora, another thorough exploration should suffice.”

“You’re avoiding work.”

“I prefer to think of it as redefining priorities.”

“Oh? And what’s at the top of that list now, Mr. Alhaitham?” You felt wrapped in warmth but you weren’t sure if it was from the desert or his fingers settling between your thighs.

“Must you know?” He pressed his body against you, “It seems to me you don’t think we can afford to delay.”

Suddenly, the tent felt smaller, and something familiar coiled low in your belly. You let out a soft sigh, shifting closer to him, “Enough.”

The word felt hollow, even to your own ears.

He not only decided he wanted a repeat of last night (and the night before) but also the right to brag about passing with flying colours even when he was buried inside you during the most crucial part of the research.

It became a cycle—he apologised for keeping you distracted and you forgave him by moaning his name.

Never one to be so sexually inclined but now he understood why men sculpted monuments to their obsessions, why poets spilled ink in worship of carnal desires. Lust was not a sin because it was tempted, but because it was consumed. However, the way Alhaitham consumed you was completely intentional.

You were no different from his books. He spread you open, studied you, and read every inch of you all the same.

“I personally think we have plenty of time,” he leaned forward, slowly grazing his lips across your neck before kissing your pulse point. “Trust me.”

And trust him you did.

The world outside was quickly forgotten after he turned you on your back. Your words died in your throat as he hovered above you, capturing you in a careful kiss that tasted of salt and skin.

There was plenty of time in the way his fingers coveted pleasure out of you.

There was plenty of time in the way he mapped your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone with love bites. Like you were something so desirable to him.

Beads of sweat rolled down your temple as the tip of his cock shallowly pressed your entrance. Your mouth fell open—the friction was maddening, and every inch of you clung to him. Even when his lips ghosted the swell of your chest, he was lucky your skin was there to swallow his quiet grunts each time his hips moved against your tight hole.

“Patience,” he said when you instinctively arched your back, though his own breathing was uneven. Already, his hair was tousled and damp from the heat of your bodies mingling and you felt his length throbbing on your thigh. He was so hard, you couldn’t help but wonder if the one who actually needed patience was him.

You couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Speak for yourself,” you said, swiveling your hip upwards. A groan left his lips so quickly you saw a blush spread across his cheeks. “You’re barely holding it together.”

He grumbled in response. “You find joy in others’ misery.”

“Not at all.”

Although, your teasing wasn’t for naught. Alhaitham wasn’t exactly famous for bedding women so seeing you stripped of everything that made you prim and proper left him craving you that much more. “You should take it as a compliment that I—”

“So I’m the problem?” you laughed under him to mask the flutter in your stomach.

“Precisely.” You were glad he remained obstinate even when he so lewdly towered over you. “You’re in such a hurry this morning. If you want to be reckless, I won’t be blamed for the consequences.”

Then a strategic purse of lips followed suit, “I thought you enjoyed my patience.”

Patience. That damned word again.

Screw patience. Whatever consequence he was referring to was burning away any semblance of patience you might have had left. Thus far, he had taken his time with you but he had only taken his time with you. If he could be more crude, you wanted to see it—feel it.

“Alhaitham,” his entire name rolled off your tongue. Quick and demanding. Your tone only fueled the fire in his seafoam eyes. “Stop talking.”

The end of your words dissolved into a gasp as he thrust into you, hard and sudden, stretching you with a fervor you hadn’t felt before.

His muscles flexed while you dragged your nails down his spine, closing your legs around him for even an ounce of stability. The rhythm he set was already so relentless that his hands gripped your thighs, pulling them higher around his waist to drive himself deeper, and the change in angle made all sound catch in your throat.

“Haitham—!” a cry rippled from how hips were snapping against yours with a pace that was anything but patient. He had accepted your unspoken challenge so quickly, that nothing would have prepared you.

Your head swam.

The wet, sloppy slaps of skin meeting skin filled the tent, blending in with your jagged moans and his lower grunts. No part of his brain wasn’t thinking about how soaked you already were, how you welcomed him so easily before he slipped—no—pushed it in.

His hair clung to his forehead, every movement felt tight and addictive. When he leaned down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, “Is this fast enough for you?”

You could only whimper in response, feeling your toes curl as his hoarse voice and your own pleasure consumed you.

He shifted, pulling you onto your side and hooking your leg over his shoulder. The new position sent another shockwave through you, and your priceless whines filled the small space as he drove into you over and over again.

The heat of the tent seemed endless, but so did the hunger between you. Alhaitham’s pace never truly slowed—each time your whines softened, each time you thought the storm of his touch subsided, he just tossed you into a new position, kindling the fire all over again.

“I want to hear you,” he growled while his chest was flushed against your back. Reaching to lift your leg so his heavy cock could invade you deeper, you tried to muffle your moans into the bedding. But he grabbed your chin, tilting you to look at him, “Head up.” He half-chuckled, “You were so mouthy before. What happened to that?”

Before you could answer—or think—he shifted again, this time unsteadily pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dug into the bedding but at that point, holding yourself upright proved difficult. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you to ride him as his mouth leisurely latched onto the peak of your breast. The combination left you shuddering, clinging to his shoulders as his fingers pressed bruises into your hips.

“Did you know,” he slurred against your skin, “that you’re terrible and incredible?” His praise made your cheeks burn but terrible? Terrible was the way he fucking you so hard you could barely roll your hips.

“Y-You might want to refresh yourself,” you chewed your bottom lip from yet another hard thrust, “On the meaning of ‘terrible.’” You could feel the remnants of your previous orgasms dripping down on him, “Because that’s you.”

Time blurred. You lost count of the positions, of the way he had you on all fours only to have you back in his arms moments later, of how many times you greedily begged for more. Every touch was electric; if only you could clutch him closer. The noises were shameless and the scent of filthy sex and sweat was nothing shy of erotic.

When he pinned you beneath him again, you felt him stiffen. Every inch that sunk into you felt more desperate and even the way he called your name sounded huskier. You could have sworn the tent walls were ruffling in sync from his losing control.

Your lips parted in a silent scream and with a final throb around his cock and a deep drawn-out groan in your ear, he released inside you for the first time. Your body drew out his pleasure as his forehead pressed against your shoulder. His laboured breathing told you everything about the ecstasy he was experiencing, like his body and brain were struggling to stay connected. Finally, he pulled out, trembling and sensitive, and collapsed beside you who was still panting.

Ultimately you got what you wanted: unfiltered crude sex with your insufferably hot research partner. Your pulse ran wild.

A hazy silence settled, broken only by his stroking your hand to check if you were okay. Part of him wondered if he went a bit too far which you wordlessly answered by rubbing him back. He held you, and like last night (and the night before), you lay glistening and tangled together in the aftermath.

It was a perfect system, a hopeless, delirious cycle.

“Well,” he said as he returned to tracing circles on you, “I think that concludes this morning’s exploration.”

You rolled your eyes, still dizzy and breathless, “Do you think the Akademiya will accept that as your final thesis?”

His lips quirked into a rare, little grin. “Hard to say. Who knows which of the sages might secretly be perverts?”

“Alhaitham,” you groaned, swatting weakly at his chest.

But then his arms tightened around you. And you didn’t mind. You didn’t protest. You believed you might have even loved being clad in nothing, lying in a cramped, too-warm tent that reeked in the musk of what transpired.

There was, as he said, plenty of time to finish the project. And if this was part of the process, you weren’t in any hurry.

a/n: idk if i love or hate this but it’s so hot where i am rn and the only thing i can do to distract myself from perishing from the heat is to pretend i’m here!!!

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

#☾ grimmweepers #house of solis occasum #nereids' realm #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin smut #al haitham smut #gi smut #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x you #genshin x y/n

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doumadono · 8 months ago

Text

Warnings: threesome, fem!reader, m/m/f, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, rimming, anal, orgasm denial, dom/sub, names calling, poly relationship, unprotected p in a & p in v

Synopsis: Bakugo's birthday is a special day, and you with Kirishima plan a steamy morning for your boyfriend

A/N: the prompt is: threesome for Bakugo's birthday ft. Kirishima I decided to post this one a bit earlier. Happy birthday, my sweet little gremlin!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST BAKUGO'S BIRTHDAY EVENT 2024

Despite being pro heroes, Bakugo and Kirishima shared their flat with you, a sidekick working for their hero agency.

You weren't quite sure how it began, but eventually, you found yourself in a relationship with not just one, but both of your bosses.

And you didn't mind in the slightest. Both of them were such distinct personalities, and you felt privileged to know both sides of them.

Kirishima, known for his gentle nature, was not only as endearing and sweet as a puppy in public but also had a darker side that yearned to dominate those around him in his private life.

Bakugo, on the other hand, was the most snarky, driven, and grumpy man you'd ever met. Yet, behind the doors of your luxury apartment, he was quieter than his public persona, often letting Kirishima take the lead in decision-making.

Today, however, wasn't just any ordinary date on the calendar. It was April 20th - Bakugo's birthday.

Of course, Dynamight wasn't one for celebrations. He saw them as mundane and completely unnecessary ways to mark getting one year closer to the inevitable end, as he often referred to birthdays.

After all, it was Bakugo's birthday, and with a little help from you, Kirishima had planned a surprise that would leave Dynamight speechless.

As the first rays of the sun peeked through the curtains, Bakugo was rudely awakened by a firm hand gripping his already hard cock. He was having a vivid, wet dream about you and Eijiro when he was jolted awake by the rubbing sensation, growling in frustration. Katsuki groaned, his crimson eyes fluttering open to see Kirishima's smirking face.

"Happy birthday, Kats," red-haired purred, his hand moving up and down Bakugo's shaft. "Were you having naughty dreams again? I bet you were, considering you were grinding your dick against my ass in your sleep," Eijiro chuckled softly, lying on his side and watching Katsuki.

Bakugo grunted, his hips bucking up into Kirishima's hand. "Shut up, Eijiro," he growled, his voice husky with sleep and slowly accumulating desire.

Kirishima leaned down, capturing Bakugo's lips in a searing kiss. Their tongues danced together, exploring each other's mouths with a familiarity that only came from years of being lovers.

Bakugo's hands found their way into Kirishima's fiery locks, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Breaking the kiss, Kirishima trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down Bakugo's neck, nibbling and sucking on the tender skin, leaving marks that would last for days.

Bakugo groaned, his head falling back as Kirishima's sharp teeth scraped against his collarbone. Kirishima's hand never stopped moving, pumping Bakugo's cock with a steady rhythm that had Bakugo writhing beneath him.

Moving lower, Kirishima licked and sucked on Bakugo's pierced nipples, causing Bakugo to hiss and arch his back slightly. Bakugo's hands moved from Kirishima's hair to his shoulders, his nails digging into the firm muscles as he tried to regain some control.

But Kirishima was having none of it. He pushed Bakugo's hands away, pinning them above his head as he continued his assault on Dynamight's body.

Bakugo struggled, trying to free his hands, but Kirishima proved to be stronger, at least this time. "Eijiro," Bakugo growled, his eyes flashing with an anger that was quickly replaced by arousal.

Kirishima just smirked, releasing Bakugo's hands and moving lower. He licked a trail down Bakugo's stomach, his tongue dipping into the navel before moving lower still, along Katsuki’s blond happy trail. Bakugo's cock twitched in anticipation, and Kirishima blew a cool breath over the head, causing Bakugo to groan and buck his hips.

“Fuck,” the blond-haired man grunted deeply.

The birthday boy wasn't aware that you were seated in his armchair on the opposite side of the room, watching the scene unfold with anticipation.

You couldn't deny it, watching boys together was a massive turn-on. Especially when Kirishima took charge — he was always slow and passionate, unlike Katsuki, who went straight for the main event at the first opportunity.

Without warning, Eijiro took Katsuki's cock into his mouth, sucking hard.

Bakugo's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a guttural moan, his hands fisting the sheets as Kirishima's head bobbed up and down. Kirishima's tongue swirled around the head, lapping up the precum that was already leaking out.

Bakugo, who was usually so brash and aggressive, seemed almost vulnerable at this moment.

Kirishima bobbed his head up and down, his mouth working Bakugo's cock expertly, his tongue swirling around the tip, making Bakugo moan louder. Kirishima cast glances at Bakugo's flushed face from beneath his long, dark lashes.

Why did guys always have such great lashes? You pouted to yourself, pondering the unfairness of it all while fondling your breasts.

"Oh, fuck, Kirishima… Yes, just like that," Bakugo moaned, his hips thrusting forward, his cock hitting the back of Kirishima's throat.

Eijiro gagged slightly but didn't stop, his hands now working Bakugo's balls.

Katsuki’s cock was hard as steel, his tip aggressively red, his entire shaft throbbing with desire.

Just when Bakugo thought he couldn't take it anymore, Kirishima stopped, releasing Bakugo's cock with a pop. "Not yet, handsome," Eijiro mused, trailing his tongue slowly up Dynamight's body. "You need to earn your orgasm," the red-haired cooed.

A frown creased Bakugo's forehead; the blond panted, attempting to thrust his hips to create friction against Eijiro's abdomen, but it was futile. "You're a fucking tease," Katsuki growled, then pulled Eijiro into a heated kiss, wrapping one arm around his neck.

Red Riot pulled back from the kiss after a moment, giving Katsuki's temple a peck. "We've got a spectator," he whispered in a seductive tone, turning to you with a wink.

Bakugo shifted his gaze, and you could swear his cheeks deepened in colour upon seeing you there, dressed only in your lacy, white underwear, watching them with a slight bite to your lower lip. "Hey, Katsy," you greeted him softly.

It wasn't the first time you'd been intimate with either of them, though. The arrangement was straightforward — you could be with each other whenever the mood struck, but it stayed behind closed doors - the boys didn't want the world to know they were in a poly relationship. The media would catch wind of it in no time, and it could actually harm their reputations. And you'd always respected that boundary. You found yourself leaning more towards Kirishima, appreciating the gentler nature of your sex with him compared to Bakugo's roughness. But you’d never been with both of them at the same time.

You rose from your spot with a sway in your hips, making your way to the bed. With a flick of your fingers, you unclasped your bra, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. Like a predator stalking its prey, you crept onto the bed towards the boys, planting a kiss on Kirishima's lips before turning to Bakugo. "Happy birthday, Dynamight," you whispered in his ear, teasingly licking his earlobe. You turned to him a second later, your eyes meeting his crimson ones, and you saw the pure hunger in them. You leaned in, your lips brushing his slightly chapped ones, a soft, slow kiss that promised a day filled with passion and pleasure.

Katsuki’s hand reached up, cupping your cheek, deepening the kiss, his tongue exploring yours.

Your hands roamed his body, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath the pads of your fingers, your digits tracing the lines of his abs. You felt his cock stir against your palm, hardening even more with each passing second. You broke the kiss, your lips trailing down his neck, licking and nibbling, eliciting a low groan from him. You lazily stroked his shaft, gently sucking on the pulse point on the side of his neck, ensuring to leave a hickey behind, a sign of your fondness for one and only Bakugo Katsuki.

"You two idiots are spoiling me rotten today," Bakugo growled, rolling his head back on his pillow. “Goddamn, this feels so fucking good. Happy birthday to me, I guess," he growled, his voice low and husky.

You felt his calloused fingers traced a path down your spine, sending shivers down your body as you started jerking him faster.

With one swift motion, he rolled on top of you, effortlessly pinning you down on the mattress and peppering your chest with kisses and nips. He then got off you, kneeling beside your head and stroking his own cock. "Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth for me," he commanded.

You complied without hesitation, welcoming the mushroom head of his cock onto your flexed tongue seconds later.

Meanwhile, Kirishima took off his sweatpants, watching the two of you while lazily stroking himself. "Shit, you guys are so hot," the red-haired whispered, giving his own palm a lick before returning to stroke his dick.

Bakugo was surprisingly gentle with you this time, slowly moving his hips as he kissed you deeply. Of course, he couldn't resist fondling your breasts and slipping his rough hand between your thighs, rubbing your folds through the lace of your panties. “Someone’s wet, tsk!” he commanded with a grin that curled the corners of his lips upwards.

You used your hand to slide his foreskin a few times after pulling his cock out of your mouth to spit on its head. All the while, you glanced up at him, admiring the slight frown creasing his forehead as he hissed, watching you work. With your free hand, you gently cupped and fondled his ball sack between your fingers.

“Shit,” Bakugo rolled his head back a little. "This little minx is going to be the death of me one day."

Kirishima couldn't hold back any longer and knelt beside you as well, leaning in to playfully suck on Katsuki's nipples, toying with his barbells. "Kats, love," Kirishima whispered after sharing a passionate kiss with his boyfriend. "I want to... I need to fuck you, please," his voice was nothing but a plea.

Bakugo grabbed a fistful of your hair, gently pulling your head back, earning himself a sad pout from you. He glanced at Kirishima, giving the red-haired's cock a few quick strokes after spitting on its tip. "Go ahead."

Kirishima moved to kneel behind Bakugo, admiring his boyfriend’s tight ass. He licked his lips in anticipation, knowing that he was about to give Bakugo the best morning of his life. His strong hands spread Bakugo’s cheeks apart. He leaned in and licked Katsuki's hole, his tongue swirling around it, making it wet and ready for his fingers. He flicked his tongue against the puckered hole several times, humming. Then, Eijiro reached for the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of lube, squirting some onto his fingers.��

Bakugo moaned as Kirishima inserted one finger, then two, into his ass, moving them in and out in a slow and steady rhythm. “Suck my cock,” he growled, lightly tapping your cheek to grab your attention as you were completely engrossed in listening to his pants while Kirishima fucked his ass.

As the obedient girl you were, you ran the tip of your tongue along your lips to moist them and took his throbbing cock into your mouth again, gently bobbing your head back and forth as Bakugo resumed rubbing your pussy.

He pushed your panties aside, revealing your glistening pussy, juices already escaping due to your intense arousal you were experiencing. “Tsk, you naughty brat,” Bakugo growled as he pushed two of his fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you; your sounds were muffled by his throbbing member fucking your mouth.

Kirishima could tell that Katsuki was ready, so he lubed up his cock and lined himself with his boyfriend’s ass, gently poking the tight hole as he slowly entered Bakugo's ass.

Bakugo's breath caught as he felt the fullness of Kirishima's cock inside him, stretching him to the limit. “Fuck.”

Kirishima's movements were slow and deliberate, allowing Bakugo to adjust to the sensation.

Soon, Bakugo's moans grew louder, and he pushed back against Kirishima, urging him to move faster.

Kirishima obliged, his hips snapping forward as he thrust into Bakugo over and over again. “You’re so tight for me, handsome,” the red-haired praised.

Bakugo's hands gripped your hair tightly as he kept on fucking your mouth, his knuckles white as he felt the tight knot building inside of his tummy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” the blond warned in a husky voice.

Kirishima's hand reached around, finding Katsuki’s cock and stroking it in time with his thrusts. Eijiro's thrusts grew more urgent, his own moans mingling with Bakugo's. "No, no, no, handsome. You'll cum when I say so. This time, you're not in charge here," Kirishima growled, nibbling at the back of Katsuki's neck, increasing his pace. Red Riot gripped Dynamight's hips tighter, pounding into him relentlessly, their bodies slick with sweat.

Bakugo's moans grew louder, his body tensing as he neared his climax. With a final thrust, Kirishima nearly sent Bakugo over the edge, his cock throbbing inside of Katsuki as he spilled his seed in his boyfriend’s asshole, slowly pulling out, watching his semen trickle out and pooling on the sheets between Bakugo’s legs. “Holy shit, Kats, I love you so much,” Eijiro grabbed Katsuki’s chin and turned his head around to kiss him passionately.

Bakugo's cock throbbed intensely in your mouth, and just when you thought he was about to release, he pulled away, muttering something about fucking you hard. You couldn't quite catch his words though; your mind was still foggy from watching the boys getting laid.

Moments later, all you felt was a rough tug at your ankle, causing you to slide towards the center of the bed. Bakugo leaned forward, planting kisses along the valley between your breasts and trailing his warm, wet tongue down your body. With his canines, he caught the edge of your panties and pulled them down your legs. Then, he nuzzled his nose against your moist mound, inhaling the strong, multifaceted scent of your arousal. Bakugo didn't hold back of course, eagerly licking your slit and lightly nibbling your clit, savoring the taste of your wetness on his tongue. “Fuck, you’re so delicious, little cunt,” he murmured, blowing cold air on your slick entrance which made you shudder in pleasure. He sucked your pussy lips into his mouth and let them go after a moment with a loud, wet sound.

Soon, you felt the tip of his cock rubbing up and down against your entrance, all hot and hard.

He positioned himself at your entrance and pushed inside roughly, making you cry out in pleasure and pain. He was monstrous, filling you up completely.

Kirishima lay beside you, slowly tracing his tongue along your collarbones before moving down your chest, flicking his tongue around your perky nipples.

Bakugo’s cock was slamming into your pussy with a force that made you see stars.

“That’s it, slut, that’s it,” Katsuki growled, a bead of sweat forming on his temple as he kept on fucking you hard enough to make the bed creak to the rhythm of his thrusts. He was relentless, fucking you with a ferocity that literally took your breath away.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and gasps. Bakugo's thrusts became erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his release. He reached out to rub your clit, his fingers roughly circling it as he continued to pound into you, slapping your slit from time to time. “Who’s been such a naughty, needy slut?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

"I was, I was!" you whined, threading one hand into Kirishima's hair as he teased your nipples, while the other gripped Bakugo's forearm as if trying to anchor yourself.

Dynamight’s tip grazed all the right spots inside you, and you rolled your hips, craving more friction while moaning his name.

Suddenly, Bakugo gripped your hips tightly, lifting them off the mattress effortlessly. This forced you to arch your back as he thrust into you from a new angle, reaching deeper than before, penetrating the deepest parts of your sweet pussy. He turned his gaze towards Kirishima, pleading evident in his crimson eyes, silently begging for permission to finally reach his climax.

With a merciful nod, Eijiro spoke up, "You've been such a good, patient boy. You can cum now, handsome."

With a final, particularly hard thrust, Bakugo came, his cock spurting cum inside you, his orgasm ripping through him, causing him to cry out in ecstasy. “Ooooooughhh, God! Fuuuuck!”

Your orgasm followed shortly after, and your pussy clenched around his dick rhythmically, your juices coating his shaft entirely as you screamed his name, repeating it like a mantra.

You both collapsed onto the bed, your bodies slick with sweat and cum.

"Happy birthday, Katsuki," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming as you reached your hand out to stroke his slightly unshaven cheek.

"Happy birthday, my love," Kirishima accompanied, pressing a kiss to Katsuki’s forehead.

tagging: @shonen-brainrot @gold24fish @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @proherodabisballsack @bakugoscunny @misafiryanki @hornydynamight @pridefulbakugou @einexx @crystalwolfblog @doumaslotus

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